#THE CAKE IS A LIE AND IS A LOAF OF BREAD INSTEAD

[snippitysnoop]

Day 31: Eating cake!!

Happy Halloween btw :D

In the image they’re eating Barnbrack (or Barmbrack whatever you call it) which is a traditional Irish sweetened bread eaten at Halloween. Traditionally it has a ring baked into it, and whoever finds the ring in their slice will be the next to get married. I thought Wheatley would get the ring

[chococara25]

Thanksgiving

AU where Buck woke up, thinking about Tommy and decided to cook for Thanksgiving, baking crusty pecan pies & pumpkin pies, delicious green bean casseroles and sweet potato gratins, cheesy cauliflower cheese with turkey bacon bits, creamy mashed potatoes and the classic stuffings.

After done with baking and cooking, he realized he had no one to give it to (Everyone would just give him weird looks if he brings everything to potluck Thanksgiving dinner, plus they had forbid him from cooking) and wondering if he should donate to the homeless shelters cos at least someone can sleep warm with a full stomach when Lucy Donato texted him out of nowhere complaining how everyone is swamped in calls all day long and how hungry they are including Tommy, who came in to cover someone's shift and EPIPHANY!! He can just give them to the 217 AND check on Tommy at the same time.

He starts to pack everything before separating some food into different containers and stick a sticky note on each of them. He then unload the bread loaves and cookies he had been making for the past week into a basket cos waste not, want not right?

Tommy coming back from a weird call involving some idiots trying to make turkey barbacoa in their backyard when he saw everyone gathering around the dining table, stuffing their face, moaning about the delicious food and praising the cook.

He was confused till he turned around to see Evan of all people staring at him, unruly curls and dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey. Lucy said you guys haven't eaten all day." Evan looked awkwardly at him.

(At the corner of his eyes, he can see Lucy slunking off guiltily, carrying a whole pie and weird a plate of cupcakes with her)

Evan looked as if he wanted to say something but looked away, his lips twisted unhappily. He pushed a bag full of containers and a basket full of bread and cookies at them before running away.

Tommy hid in one of the closets, checking the bag and basket, its contents each marked by a sticky note.

The Banana Loaf - "Everytime I think of calling you, I baked instead. Now my fridge is full but I'm still thinking about you."

The Snickerdoodle cookies - "Jee asked where cool uncle Tommy was. She misses her tea party partner."

Vanilla and raspberry mascarpone loaf cake - "I can't stop thinking how you would enjoy all the cakes and pastries I made for the past few months."

green bean casserole - "I still have your clothes and I kept wearing them to sleep cos its the closest thing I have to you because I have a hard time falling asleep without you holding me in your arms"

Carrot cake loaf - "I saw a helicopter today at work and I wonder if it was you flying it. We never did have that flying lesson."

cauliflower cheese - I'm sorry I never told you I love you when I really do. I love you and I missed every single minute the moment you walk out of my life.

pecan pie - I'm sorry I said the wrong things when I asked you to move in with me. I'm sorry I too much in the end for you and drove you away."

pumpkin pie - I'm sorry you felt pressured but I didn't lie, I really admire you and your confidence made me feel safe, being with you was like waking up for the first time from the lightning coma, I could breath again and you were the one who set me free.

sweet potato gratin - "You said you were my first but not my last. Tommy, you might be my first boyfriend but you definitely my last."

stuffings - "You are my beginning and my forever happy ending. I have no interest in looking for a different happy ending if you're not in it."

By the time he reached the last container, his eyesight were blurry with unshed tears.

Brownies - "Can we try one more time? I'm not ready to give on us."

Tommy was startled when the door to the closet swung open, Captain Pruitt looming over him with a plate of pecan pie in her hands. "I saw firefighter Buckley earlier when he dropped off the food. I don't know what's going on between the two of you and why both of you decided to break up, but Kinard, that man looks as if he still in love with you."

She panicked as Tommy burst into loud tears, holding the container of brownies to his chest.

Evan was cleaning up his kitchen, he was too tired and too emotionally wrung out to stay for the Thanksgiving dinner other than dropping off the last two pies for everyone to enjoy.

He frowned when he hear the doorbell, wondering if Maddie is going to stage another intervention on him when he opened the door, before staring in surprise.

Tommy was standing in front of him, still wearing his flight suit, holding the container with brownies and the sticky notes in his arms.

"Can we talk?" He asked with hopeful eyes.

Evan pulled him into the loft, closing the door behind them.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

“We're all Mad here."

This is the first of a 7-part headcanon series for the Rollo at the Writing Desk blog event; the theme is basically "Rollo pays a visit to each of the dorms, and then chaos ensues". He'll have a chance to reconnect with old enemies friends from Glorious Masquerade, as well as meet new deplorable mages people! First up, an oldie but a goodie... Heartslabyul! (This one is extremely long because there are so many characters to account for 🤡)

A Big Heartslabyul Welcome to Rollo!

His nose is assaulted with the overpowering aroma of roses as soon as he steps foot into the garden. In his hand is an invitation to Heartslabyul: it's the 5th of the month, and therefore, they will be holding a tea party as per the rules of the Queen of Hearts. The guest of honor? Him: Rollo Flamme.

He's immediately flanked by two lines of Heartslabyul students in dorm uniforms, their faces painted with a card suit and trumpets in hand. The brass instruments sound loudly as he passes.

The dorm has gone out of its way to prepare for this occasion: they've strung up lots of flags and lanterns, brought out their best tablecloths and fanciest silverware. The roses are both red and white today too--the colors together, signaling the arrival of a new acquaintance.

Rollo grimaces at the fanfare, the colorful decorations strung up, the sickeningly sweet smells wafting over. It's an ill reminder of Topsy-Turvy Day back home, how all the locals delight in the sin called magic.

Waiting for Rollo deep in the rose garden is the dorm leader and his second-in-command to greet him. Riddle offers a small, polite smile and extends a hand. "Rollo-senpai." (His thinking is, "Rollo-senpai is the headmaster's esteemed guest. Regardless of what happened in the past, we must maintain decorum for the duration of his stay.") Trey nods and gives a slight tip his hat.

Rollo meets them with a stiff smile of his own. His grasp on Riddle’s hand is impersonal, cold. “Riddle-kun and company. I am humbled to be invited to participate in your dormitory’s time-honored traditions.” (It’s a lie, but no one needs to know.)

The celebration begins! Rollo is allowed to sit near the head of the table, and he’s presented with a generous selection of familiar foods: croissants, madeleines, mousses, choux pastries, macarons, tarte tarin… even accursed savarin, the cake he considered the least appetizing.

“I did some research on the City of Flowers,” Trey casually explains. “I heard that’s where you’re from, so I wanted to give you a taste of home away from home.” (And in spite of how much he loathes mages, even Rollo is impressed. “Hmm, most astute. I must say, I commend your diligence.”)

Deuce offers to help Trey serve the guests. He's clumsy as he goes about pouring tea and passing out treats, but he's trying his best! When Deuce gets to Rollo, he attempts to bow in reverence--but ends up smacking his head into Rollo's chin and spilling tea all over him instead!

... Needless to say, Rollo is NOT happy about it, especially not when Riddle intervenes with magic to clean him up against his wishes. Deuce apologizes profusely to him for the rest of the day.

With the abundance of sweets, poor Cater's suffering out here. He makes whatever excuses he can to shove off his desserts onto Rollo, gushing about how "We gotta spoil our guest with Heartslabyul hospitality! Go on, have some of Cay-kun's cakes!"

Riddle offers Rollo a strawberry tart as a sort of... peace offering? Rollo accepts it, but he takes only a small sliver from the whole tart and nibbles on that like a starving man might ration his last loaf of bread. It raises eyebrows, but Riddle wisely chooses to not comment. It doesn't go unnoticed by Rollo, who simply replies, "Everything in moderation."

There's some tension amongst the group, on account of what went down in the City of Flowers having been told to a few select dorm members. Ace in particular is eyeing Rollo suspiciously while he munched on a slice of cherry pie.

"This dorm can barely handle one anger-prone arsonist," he had told Deuce prior to the party, "now we're supposed to deal with TWO? You might as well just set the whole garden on fire to save us some time." (But to Ace's surprise, Deuce actually defended Rollo. "He deserves a chance to redeem himself! If I'm aiming to go from delinquent to honor student, then I should have the same faith in others to change too!")

Whenever Rollo has his back to the first years, Ace makes faces at him or mimics the uptight way Rollo sits—back straight, fingers laced, expression neutral yet stern. When Rollo looks back, Ace returns to acting like everything is totally normal.

Shockingly, it’s Rollo that makes the first faux paus of the afternoon. After the incident with Deuce, he requests coffee in lieu of tea, which earns audible gasps from around the garden. Rollo stares at all the mobs gawking at him as though he has committed a heinous crime. Riddle looks like he's going to strangle a cat. “… Have I said something out of turn?”

Trey intervenes with a fresh cup of tea and tells everyone to relax, whispering to Rollo that coffee is only for birthdays. Really, Trey ends up playing mediator for the entire party.

It's then that Rollo learns that there exists a set of rules penned by the Queen of Hearts herself. Riddle proudly declares that he knows all 810 of them by heart (and that he expects all of his dorm members to do the same to honor the Queen's spirit of strictness). "Oh? And just what might these rules be?" Rollo asks.

Riddle's more than happy to oblige with a looong lecture about the 810 rules. He starts a pop quiz on the spot to test Rollo, and, to everyone's shock, he answers each and every one of them correctly. "I guess you're not student council president of Noble Bell College for nothing," Riddle mutters. "You have an impressive memory." (In truth, Rollo only made an effort to perform well out of sheer spite.)

Cater mentions that he thinks Riddle and Rollo are a lot alike. This riles them both up, and they simultaneously shout, “In what way am I like him?!” (“Ooh, you even share the same thoughts. That’s big twin energy,” Cater laughs.)

While talking over tea, Cater learns that Rollo writes letters instead of using social media. "Eeeeh, there are people that live in this day and age without a Magicam account?! How do you survive..." Cater proceeds to spend the rest of the party chatting him up and trying to convince him to make an account so he can keep in touch (terrible, really--Cater is exactly the type of noisy, frivolous person Rollo detests), all the while Rollo tries his best to dodge questions.

The meal is finished without further (major) incidents--but roughly 15 minutes in, Riddle claps his hands and announces that everyone must leave the table, as per rule 271. Rollo starts to excuse himself, Trey lays a hand on his shoulder and beams. "We need one more player for croquet."

And so Rollo is dragged into playing a round with the Heartslabyul boys. He's told the rules and handed a red flamingo and hedgehog (both of which stare at him dubiously as he handles them as though they're diseased).

On his first turn, Rollo struggles to get his mallet and ball to behave! The flamingo keeps twisting its neck instead of staying straight for his shot, and the hedgehog keeps scampering away!! "Strange, they usually behave so well," Riddle notes. ("They must not like the cartoon supervillain vibes he's giving off," Ace grumbles in the background. "A-Ace! You can't just say that!" Deuce protests. "What if he hears?!")

His hedgehog sneezes when he at last punts it, which brings the game to a screeching halt as all the card soldiers burst out into song. (Rule 304, Rollo lamented. Why can't they be silent like unrung bells?! His blood pressure is rising, his ears ringing. He tries to focus on the match to distract himself.)

Over time, Rollo becomes more accustomed with how to get a control of his mallet and ball--he's back in the game! (It's not that he's particularly competitive, but he absolutely refuses to be outdone by these haughty NRC mages... especially not Riddle, who's smirking at him so smugly!)

Unfortunately for Rollo, he can't beat Riddle despite his best efforts--though he does manage to snag second place, pulling a little ahead of Trey. There's polite clapping from the other players to congratulate them (though a few look worried).

As Rollo is returning his equipment, a horrible realization dawns on him: rule 703: Whoever comes in 2nd place during a croquet match must serve tea to the Queen the next day. He slowly turns to Riddle, whose arms are folded expectantly. "I eagerly await my tea," the redhead tells him.

Rollo feels faint. He dabs at his forehead with his handkerchief in a vain attempt to dispel some of his dread. (It doesn't help one bit.)

Before he's able to leave, Cater pulls in him by the arm, his phone at the ready. "We should totes take a group selfie to commemorate the occasion~ Since you don't have a Magicam account, I'll print up a copy for you to pick up when you drop by tomorrow!"

Rollo doesn't have the chance to protest before Heartslabyul members crowd around him, squeezing in for the photo. It's hard for him to breathe, trapped between all these writhing bodies and surrounded by boisterous laughter.

He catches the eye of Riddle beside him and manages to choke out, "How you manage with this kind of madness every day, I'll never understand."

"It is mad, yes," Riddle says with a knowing smile, "and there are days when my dorm members drive me up the wall and leave me with no choice but to collar them in retaliation. Still... I think that's part of the fun. The chaos is ours to share. It's something I've never experienced in the small world I came from."

"Preposterous. There is no conceivable way anyone in their right mind would be endeared to this."

... Right?

Just as the tendril of doubt makes itself known… SNAP! The picture is taken, forever immortalizing the moment.

[slutnali]

Answer two of the wips asks you haven’t done yet

oo ty bestie 💜✨ [sorry this is a lil late]

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

This is something I've been working on for years on and off because it's one of those types that I just have so much love for and so many HC's and things I want to do. I actually have an outline of it and it's very much slice of life throughout Denali and Rosé's relationship. The series is called Best Part named after the song by H.E.R and Daniel Ceasar and each update will be named after a love song [haven't decided what to name the first one though rip]

Denali just bought her own space to open up her bakery. She meets contractor/handywoman Rosé at the hardware store [h*me dep*t] and they get to talking ofc in which Rosie agrees to take a look at the state of the bakery and eventually agrees to help with renovations

This series is very much my baby and there's themes about growing up Latina and the expectations put on by your family to be a woman of the house and tend to the men.. themes of some challenges/discomfort masc lesbians face, acts of service as a love language, food & cooking as a love language, the beauty of femme x masc/butch relationships [disclaimer: all types of lesbian relationships are valid‼️ for this fic series i just wanted to explore a different type of dynamic? if thats the right word? for these two bc theyre usually written femme x femme in most, if not all lesbian fics]

Its just so warm and full of love, like a freshly baked loaf of sweet bread

also features Jan as Rosé's younger sister who is an interior decorator, their cousin Lemon as Jan's assistant, Lagoona as Jan's partner and childhood bff to rosie, ex chocolatier Priyanka who quit her job to work with Nali and cake/cookie decorator Willow. maybe more to come but i doubt it

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

By the time they’d dropped off the sweets a very hormonal Jan had been craving, it’d been dark out and neither wanted to attempt showing up to a restaurant knowing it’d still be full to the brim with patrons waiting to be seated and stressed waiters running about. 

So they opt for grabbing pizza and heading to Denali’s place instead with Rosé promising she’d take her on an actual date next time.

Next time.

The promise rings in Denali’s ears and she has to hold back the cheeky smile that threatens to form across glossed lips. Whether Rosé was confident this would go well or not, neither could be sure, but it’d be a lie if she said she didn’t admire her confidence and eagerness in wanting to spend more time with her.

“What’re you thinking about?”

With a (somewhat sheepish) shake of her head in response, Denali says, “Just happy they fixed the elevator.”

[graymatters]

Triptych

M | 1.8K | On AO3 | Veela!Draco, body horror, blood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mild sexual content 

Many thanks to @corvuscrowned for the beta work 💚 and to @floydig for all the horror chats 😂

i.

The spine of a single feather, sleek and wet with blood, erupts from the thin skin draped over my collarbone. It mocks me in the bathroom mirror, unsightly and pale quills stained pink. My shoulders droop, and my spine rounds, a weary folding beneath the weight of an unsurprising development, as a crimson droplet runs smooth down my ribs.

“Babe, are you ready to go?” Harry calls from the bedroom. He’s taken to calling me babe lately. The word knocks about in my skull, overstaying its welcome.

“What’s it called when little birds shed their feathers?” I ask my reflection, arching forward until my breath fogs the glass. My nose wrinkles at the stench, prompting a swift snatch of my toothbrush from the plastic cup on the sink.

“Er…” Harry ponders as he waltzes into the bathroom, running an aimless hand through his hair. In the reflection, I watch him smooth over my naked back and bum with heavy-lidded eyes, lips tugged upward in an appreciative grin and glasses crooked on the sunburnt bridge of his nose. I think he might be perfect, and it terrifies me.

“Mulching?”

Almost, my dear, but not quite.

“Molting, I think,” I murmur around my toothbrush, scraping the frayed bristles violently against my gums.

“That’s what I said.”

“No.” I spit, frowning at the bright blood tinting the frothy toothpaste. “Molting. Not mulching.”

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening as he looks at my chest in the mirror. And I mean looks, not the passing glance that you toss at the empty glass that’s sat on your end table for three days, not the glassy gaze of a Seeker fading into auto-pilot above the pitch. No, I’m talking about the undivided attention afforded to a tragic train derailment with dozens of fatalities, the careful pondering over a loaf of bread that may have gone off, the terrifying and wondrous stare of finding your enemy naked in your bed.

“Draco, are you bleeding?” He moves to grip my shoulders but stops when he gets a closer look, hands held mid-air as though his puppeteer got bored, hung his strings on the hook, and took a smoke break. “Is that a—”

“I never could tell if Mother was serious about the Veela blood.” I frown as Harry still stands, unmoving but for the tremble in his fingers. “Harry, why are you shaking?”

Harry doesn’t answer as I lean across the sink, poking at the delicate spine with my fingertip. He just stares dumbly at my reflection, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers. I huff a laugh through my nose, feeling the universe’s sick sense of humor settle heavily over my bloodied chest.

“I wonder if I’ll molt.”

Read ii. & iii. below the cut.

ii.

Harry’s left the cap off the toothpaste again, leaving it to ooze onto the bathroom countertop. I could easily dismiss the caked-on paste from the porcelain. All it would take is a snap of my fingers, a muttered jumble of pseudo-Latin under my breath to make it disappear. However, a crescendo of unfortunate events through the week culminated in a Ministry-issued number that replaced my name, a reminder of the creature that replaces my identity. The thought numbs my limbs, rattles my nerves, and prickles at the remnants of my fleeting patience.

“Harry!”

“Did you say something, Draco?” he shouts from down the hall. I wait, listening for footsteps that don’t come.

“Harry! Will you come here for a minute?” A rustle of irritation blooms beneath my skin, scaly skin and ivory feathers shifting restlessly, eager to surface. With a forced sigh, I snap my eyelids shut, concentrating on pulling the musty bathroom air in and out of my lungs.

“What is it, babe? Is everything all right?”

I open my eyes, meeting my own steely gaze in the mirror. The skin over my neck, my collarbone, my temple, crawls with the anxious magic that pulses underneath, like a spider’s trapped beneath the surface. I can almost see the iridescent shimmer of that scaly skin that lurks somewhere between the delicate dermal layers that cover my neck. Harry catches my stare, his gaze soft and a sleepy smile plastered on his face. He looks at me like there isn’t ruinous blood in my veins, like the war in my body doesn’t seep out of my pores, infecting the air between us like the stench of a rotting corpse.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve him, but he’s looking at me like he doesn’t know or doesn’t care. And this week has been so very long.

“Nothing, love.” My eyes fall to the open tube of toothpaste as I reach an unsteady hand out behind me, softening once I feel the slide of Harry’s fingers between mine.

He moves to stand behind me, wrapping his hands over my ribs and dotting honeyed kisses along my neck and shoulders like he can’t see the rustle of feathered plumes tucked deep in the sinewy fibers. Though guilt twists in my gut, strangling my lungs and wringing my heart, I ignore it, instead melting beneath Harry’s touch.

“You’re so gorgeous, Draco,” he murmurs behind my ear. “Look at you,” he whispers, softly gripping my neck beneath my jaw, forcing me to stare myself down in the mirror as his other hand dips beneath my waistband, palming my cock. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Thoughts blurred, I gasp as he ruts against my arse, as I thicken in his hand and a heady rush soothes the irritable magic that bristles beneath my skin. I groan against the pressure of his palm over my throat, feeling the vibration in my chest.

He catches my eye in the mirror, raising a brow in silent question. I nod in answer, preening at the satisfied smirk that overcomes Harry’s face as he slips a spit-slicked finger inside me, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

“So fucking beautiful, and you’re all mine.”

And then I hum, a pleased and pathetic whimper of a song, because I know he’s right.

iii.

The heat of the shower burns my skin, painting my limbs and the tops of my feet in a pink, watercolor flush. I let the water strip away the remnants of the evening, the cigarette smoke that clings to my hair and the grease and salt lodged beneath my fingernails. It doesn’t wash away the memories of the Weasel’s grimace, or the distasteful curl of Granger’s lip. Instead, they linger, trapped in the clouds of steam like a bird’s wings, wet with oil.

“Draco? Are you here? Awfully nice of you to run out on me like that. Ron and Hermione are sure to love you, now.”

A single, vehement beep pierces the thick air of the bathroom, cascading into a series of agonizing tones as the fire alarm protests the steam of the shower.

I look up from my spot on the tile floor, entranced by the flashing red light on the screeching machine.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry bursts through the door and yells over the blare of the alarm. “How long have you been in here?” He clambers onto the countertop to reach the horrid device, fumbling with the buttons before finally ripping it from its base on the ceiling. It falls to the floor; a smattering of dusty plastic shards decorates the floor on impact.

“Draco, are you even listening?”

I nod, feeling the itch of magic over my palms, the roll of frustration between my shoulder blades.

“Draco?” He opens the shower door, eyes following the stream of water that falls from the tip of my nose. “What’s wrong?”

My vision blurs, the yellow bathroom light, shining stellate over the grungy shower tile.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, eyes wide and incredulous as an unhinged laugh crawls out my lips. “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

A curl falls in his eyes, damp from the humid air. His gaze is soft, aching, like he wants to wipe away the malicious glances, the tainted blood in the rotten chambers of my heart, the ink on my arm.

Loving him is too much.

Anxious anger burns a trail starting at the tips of my fingers, drawing claws to break through the skin beneath my nails and a black, tarry flush to creep towards my elbows like my arms have been dipped in soot. I roll my neck at the feeling of hundreds of feathery needles piercing through the skin of my collarbone, my neck, my shoulders. A flash of pain, lightning hot, grips my spine as a set of wings punctures the surface between my shoulder blades, hanging low in the tight space of the shower.

The water runs red, my back hot from the wash of blood.

With a guttural roar, I whip towards Harry, wanting to squeeze his ribs between my disfigured hands and feel the stutter of his breath.

But he doesn’t move, he doesn’t turn to walk away. In fact, rather than a look of fear or disgust, Harry watches me the same way Mother watched me when my pet Kneazle died, devoured by the Nepenthes. Like I’m still a child who doesn’t know what to do with his hurt.

“Draco, I’m sorry—”

“You’re in love with a fucking monster, Harry. Why are you even here?” A heat burns beneath my palms as I grip the frame of the shower.

Harry sighs, taking a slow and careful step forward to shut off the water, leaving a slow trickle to caress the smooth surface of my wings.

“Come here, Draco,” he whispers, gesturing for me to step out of the shower. “Come on, babe; I’ve got you.”

Loving him is too much. Too much to weather. Too much to resist.

I tumble into his arms, catching a blood-stained, ivory wing on the shower door and jostling Harry’s glasses. As the fog of the mirror clears, I watch as my face appears, nose elongated and eyes pitch-black, the skin of my neck and arms cracked where the feathers have broken through the layers like an iceberg piercing the sea. With a stuttered sob, I grip Harry’s shoulders and tuck my face into his neck, unable to contain myself anymore.

I’m not sure how long we huddle on the bathroom floor, cramped between the toilet and the shower. Long enough for the feathers to recede beneath my skin, for my wings to fold in on themselves and lie soft against my back. The sun has long set, shrouding the bathroom in darkness, as Harry still runs his hands through my hair, untangling the knots as he whispers lovely reassurances into my ear and presses kisses over my jaw.

“Draco, I love you, you know that?”

“Of course, I do.”

“What do you need, Draco?”

“I don’t know.”

“Need me, then. It’s that easy. Draco, just—need me.”

I nod, a trembling and stuttered admission, because I know he’s right.

Also on AO3.

[witchfinderblog]

Lammas /Lughnasadh- the First Harvest

Time of Year

This sabbat is usually celebrated on the 1st of August in the northern hemishpere, and February 1st in the southern hemisphere. The reason they are at different times is due to the difference in seasons. Instead, on August 1st, some witches in the southern hemisphere celebrate Imbolc (or Imbolg). Some southern hemisphere witches will instead choose to celebrate the same sabbats as the northern hemisphere and adapt their celebrations to their current season instead. This post mainly focuses on Lammas/Lughnasadh in Autumn and I will refer to it as Lammas from here onwards, although both terms can be used.

Name origins and history

The name Lughnasadh (pronounced LOO-na-sa) derives from the name of the Celtic god of the sun and craftsmanship, Lugh (also spelled Lou). In Irish legend the festival began with Lugh himself, who held a funeral feast and sporting event in honour of his foster mother, Tailtiu. She had died from exhaustion after clearing farmland all over Ireland so that the people could grow crops. Lugh was also a warrior God, so many pagans celebrate with competitive sport and games at this time of year.

The name Lammas has Saxon origins, as a contraction of the words "Loaf mass" meaning a Christian celebration of the harvest. In fact, Christians used to celebrate Lammas and there were traditional rituals that strongly resemble pagan rituals: the first grain of the harvest would be made into a loaf of bread, which would then be quartered and places in the four corners of the house to ensure protection and prosperity. Over time, Christians abandoned these rituals and pagans took over the celebration of Lammas.

The two words came from different areas (Lughnasadh from Ireland and Scotland, Lammas from Southern England and Saxon-inhabited Europe) but have become synonymous in modern pagan celebrations.

Other names include Gŵyl Awst (Welsh) and August Eve.

What do we celebrate?

Lammas is a celebration of the first harvest of the year, with the next harvest being at Mabon in mid-September (northern hemisphere). The days are getting shorter and the crops have finished growing and are ready to be harvested.

Correspondences

Wiccans believe it is the time when the God has finished transferring his energy into the crops and he is ready to lie down and rest for the colder months ahead. Other wiccans believe that a part of him is sacrificed when the grain is harvested and is reborn later in the year.

Lammas is a time of fulfillment, abundance, connection and gratitude. Spells for mental and physical gain are strong at this time, and meditation focusing on these themes can be associated with Lammas. If you can, meditate outside, as it is a great way to connect with nature, but be safe and don't risk your health to do so. Rituals using the sun's energy or the fire and earth elements are particularly effective too.

Colours: brown, orange, yellow, gold (autumn/harvest colours)

Symbols: wheat, sickle or scythe, bread, baskets, fresh fruit and vegetables, corn

Crystals: amber, citrine, aventurine, cat's eye, gold topaz, carnelian, clear quartz

Herbs and plants: sage, mint, basil, aloe, rose, wheat, barley, rye, hops, blackthorn, hazel, gorse, meadowsweet

Flowers: marigold, sunflower, calendula

Animals: rooster, buck, cow, sheep

Foods: bread (or anything else made from grains), potatoes, pies (homemade if possible), wine and beer (if you are of legal drinking age)

Gods/goddesses: Ceres, Vesta, Demeter, Hestia, Corn Mother, Lugh, John Barleycorn, Isis

Activities and Festivities

In Ireland, there is a festival typically from the 10th to the 12th of August called Puck Fair, where a wild goat (a symbol of fertility) is brought from the hills and crowned King Puck. It is paraded around for three days while there are parades, dances, face painting and street entertainment, then it is released back to the hills after the festival is over. This is one of the oldest known celebrations of Lammas and is present in ancient Irish literature.

Activities to do at home could be things like baking bread, pies or cakes, decorating your altar with baked goods, ribbons, seasonal flowers and fruits, and one of the most popular things to do is make a corn dolly. These are little figures made of corn stalks that are woven together, with designs ranging from very simple to incredibly skilled and complex.

EDIT: I have been informed by @irelandseyeonmythology that this is not a corn dolly, it is a traditional love knot. Instead of a proposal, these are used throughout the year to publically display the couple's courtship and their intention of marriage in the spring season.

When I made this a while ago I was told it was a corn dolly, hence the mistake. Anyway, here's how to make a love knot:

How to make it:

Using 3 stalks of corn, tie them together just below the ears (the bushy bit) and plait the stalks together, leaving about 2-3 inches un-plaited. Twist the plaited part around twice to make the 'head' of the knot and tie it together with a ribbon of any colour. The colour of the ribbon changes the meaning slightly (see the correspondences of colour magick).

Go for a walk if you can, and try to go somewhere with nature. If you have a dog, walk your dog. Try and get some fresh air outside, it's really good for mental, physical and spiritual health!

However you celebrate,

Happy Lammas/Lughnasadh everyone!

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {10}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: 2 chapters in 1 day? Sure did. You all know how I feel about a cliche rain scene. 

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

The days after Feyre had met Isobel and Mor passed in a blur. She had not seen Rhysand at all, but he had written, saying that his mother was not doing well and he would be taking care of her.

The thought saddened Feyre, and it had become all she could think about. She had only met Isobel once, but she was a lovely woman who made Feyre feel cherished and made her laugh harder than she had in a long time. 

She also couldn’t bear to see Rhysand hurting, watching his mother grow more and more sick as the days passed. 

So, when she woke three days after Rhysand’s last letter, she decided that she should pay them a visit. After hurrying to the library and grabbing a book, she wandered to the kitchen, where she found the cook rustling about, making lunch preparations.

“Arnie, could I have a loaf of bread? And, perhaps, some lemonade?”

Arnie made the best lemonade. Feyre had asked him for it countless times throughout the fifteen years he’d been with them.

Arnie smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he did so. “Of course, dear. All for yourself?”

“Thought I’d visit some friends in the village,” Feyre said, adjusting the hat on her head. 

“Very well, my dear,” he smiled,and got a canvas bag where he placed a fresh loaf of bread and a tin canister of freshly-squeezed lemonade. 

“Thank you, Arnie,” she smiled, graciously, before hurrying out the back door of the kitchen. 

“Be safe, my dear!” he called after her, waving her off.

Feyre remembered when she was a child, loving being with Arnie in the kitchen. He would always sneak her cookies and let her lick the spoon every time he made cakes or muffins. 

Her mother had caught her once, sitting on the counter in one of her finest gowns, licking a spoon covered in chocolate dough. She looked at Feyre, then at Arnie, and whispered, “Your secret is safe with me.” She left and never spoke of it again. Feyre couldn’t have been more than seven. 

The memory still brought a smile to her lips. 

It was late morning, and the clouds were gathering in front of the sun, but it was warm. Feyre decided to walk her normal route through the woods. She tossed the canvas bag over her shoulder and held up her skirt as she made her way inside. There was a soft breeze that was calming. 

Feyre loved being in nature. She loved the way the leaves rustled with the wind, loved the way the path was uneven, forcing her to climb over logs and through dirt. It was peaceful. It was real, far from their heavy golden curtains and marble floors. Even in her dress, Feyre felt more at home in the woods than she did in their manor. Perhaps one day, when she’s old and no one has a say in what she does anymore, she could have a little log cabin in the woods.

She wondered if perhaps Rhysand longed for such things.

Once the inn was within view, a soft rain began to fall. It was mostly blocked by the trees until she fell out of the woods and onto the cobblestone street. She hurried inside of the inn before she could get too wet. 

The inn was quiet, and Feyre saw no one as she walked up the stairs, down the hall, and to the final door. She knocked, softly.

A moment later, it creaked open, and Rhysand stood their, brows raised. “Feyre?”

“I’m sorry to just drop by, I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, in equal quietness. 

Rhysand smiled, opening the door further. She had never seen him so casual, in nothing but his shirt sleeves and loose trousers. His feet were bare. Even his hair was in disarray, as if he had woken up and immediately come to his mother’s side. “You could never intrude. Come in, please.” 

“Do we have a guest?” A soft voice came from inside. “Is it Feyre?”

Rhysand looked from inside of the room then back to Feyre, his grin widening. “She’s asked a lot about you these past few days.”

“And you told her all good things, I hope?” Feyre asked, raising a brow.

Rhysand chuckled. “I never lie to my mother, Feyre.”

He stepped aside and, with a laugh of her own, Feyre swept into the room. Isobel was indeed looking worse than she had the other day. Her skin was pale, clammy, her hair braided back to reveal dark circles beneath her eyes. She wore a nightgown and was bundled in blankets.

“Hello, darling,” Isobel smiled. “Do excuse me. I am not made for company.”

“Oh, not at all,” Feyre said, sitting in the chair by her bedside. “Pardon my intrusion. I heard you were feeling unwell and wanted to see how you were fairing.” 

“Not an intrusion at all,” she smiled, as Rhysand walked to the other side of the room and sat in an armchair, watching the two of them thoughtfully. “I’m feeling quite alright. Except for Mor had to go into town and leave me all alone with this one.” She gestured to Rhysand, who rolled his eyes dramatically. 

Feyre grinned. “Well, Arnie, my cook, made you some fresh bread and lemonade.”

“How thoughtful,” Isobel smiled, as Feyre put the canister and wrapped bread on the table near Rhysand before walking back to the chair by the bed and sitting down. “I also brought some poetry, if you wish to be read to. I….do not know if that is strange or not, but my mother used to read poetry to me when I was unwell, and now when me or my sisters are unwell, we read to each other. I always found it comforting.”

Isobel reached out a shaky hand to where Feyre sat and patted her knee. “That sounds lovely.”

Feyre nodded and took the book out of the bag. “Do you enjoy John Keats? I have always enjoyed his work.”

“Quite so,” Isobel said, thoughtfully, as she leaned further back into her pillows. “Ode to a Nightingale has always been my favorite.”

Feyre knew Rhysand was staring at her, and she suddenly felt nervous. She did not often read in front of others, never those who were not a part of her family. It had never been a strength of hers. 

Feyre cleared her throat, and began to read one of Keats’ most famous pieces. “My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.”

She finished and moved on to Modern Love and by the time she had finished that, Isobel had drifted into a comfortable sleep. Feyre slowly closed her book then looked to Rhysand where he sat on the opposite side of the room. 

His lips were parted, his chin perched in his palm on the armrest, one bare ankle tossed over the other, his legs outstretched.

He was watching her with such intensity and adoration that Feyre suddenly felt nude. She couldn’t breath, couldn’t think of a word to say. Instead, she took the canvas bag and put the book inside, then rose from her chair.

“I should go,” she whispered. “Let her rest.” 

Rhysand, as if just realizing he was staring, cleared his throat and shot to his feet. “It’s raining, you should wait.” 

Feyre glanced out the window and, sure enough, the sprinkling had turned into a downpour. “Not to worry. I came through the woods, the trees will block the worst of it.”

Rhysand smiled, softly. “I should have known.”

Feyre met him with a smile of her own. “I do hope she gets well soon.”

He nodded. He still wore the smile, but it no longer met his eyes. “Thank you for the lemonade, and the bread. And for reading. She enjoyed that quite a bit. Allowed her to forget about the circumstances enough that she could rest. For that, I am grateful.”

Feyre nodded, and before she could convince herself otherwise, she leaned up on the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to Rhysand’s tanned cheek. “Until next time, then.”

Rhysand had frozen in place, and it was not until she was nearly out the door that she heard him say, “Until next time.”

She went back down the hall, and down the stairs, and still saw no one else as she got to the threshold. She looked from the edge of the woods, then up to the sky where thick droplets were falling from dark clouds.

It would be a quick run.

Feyre tossed the bag over her shoulder, now lighter due to lack of contents, and held up her skirt before hauling herself into the downpour. But she had barely made it a quarter of the way to the trees before the door of the inn burst open and Rhysand, still without socks or shoes, was running toward her.

His ivory shirt was already soaked by the time he made it to where she stood, his dark hair matted to his tanned skin.

Feyre opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but she didn’t have time. The moment she opened her mouth, it was met with his. 

She instantly fell into him, one arm wrapping around his neck, one hand pressed softly against his smooth cheek.

He gathered her close to him, those broad arms holding her tightly by her waist. She didn’t have to say a word as he put one arm beneath her knees and the other beneath her arms, lifting her in the air, her face in the crook of his neck as he walked back toward the inn. 

She had wondered what it would be like to kiss there, but that curiosity faded and turned to delight as she did so. His skin was warm, smelling of lavender. The moment her mouth touched the sensitive spot just above his collarbone, she could feel his breathing shift.

He took her up the stairs and down the hallway, stopping at the same room in which she had cleaned his wound.

He whispered her name as they tumbled inside, the door closing behind them. Feyre dropped her bag and undid the ribbon that held her hat as he pressed her up against the inside of the door. Her green skirt inched up to her thighs as she changed her position, her legs wrapping around his waist.

She felt wild.

Improper.

Irresponsible.

And she let it all consume her.

Rhysand’s violet eyes were bright as he took his lips from hers. They stared at each other a moment, both breathing heavily, until Feyre reached up and undid the top button of his shirt, then the next, and the next, until his chest was bare. He held onto her thighs, only letting go when each sleeve went down his arm, his drenched shirt ending up on the wooden floorboards.

Feyre traced his chest muscles, his abdomen muscles, his biceps, his forearms. She ran her fingers gently back up his arms, and over his shoulders. Rhysand shuttered beneath her touch. 

“Feyre,” he whispered. She could feel his heart pounding through his chest. 

“Let me down,” she breathed.

He obliged, and the moment her boots hit the floor, she turned her back to him and moved her hair out of the way. 

Rhysand hesitated before running his fingers down the buttons of her dress. “Feyre…”

“You have brought me to this inn on multiple occasions,” Feyre began, voice quiet, shaking. “Do not tell me you are worried about jeopardizing my virtue, now.”

He laughed, breathily, and dropped his hand. “I want to, Feyre. You don’t know how badly I want to, but-”

“I want to, too,” she said, turning to face him. There was no more sarcastic mask, no more snarky remarks or humor dancing in his eyes. He looked at her, completely raw as she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his bare chest. 

He let loose a long, deep breath, one that completely halted when Feyre unbuttoned his trousers. He didn’t breath until the last button faded away and they were hanging loosely around his hips.

“Do you intend to kill me?” he muttered. 

With a grin, she turned her back to him, once again, and pulled her hair aside.

Rhysand undid the buttons, one by one. 

~~~~~

Cassian hadn’t seen Nesta since they were by the lake, days before. They had finished, and once she had caught her breath, she pulled back on her undergarments, straightened out her dress, and hurried away, leaving Cassian with his chest bare and his trousers halfway down his thighs. 

She had been blatantly ignoring him since, so he didn’t push. 

He stayed in his own little world. If she wanted to ignore what happened, then he would, too. 

Morning had turned into afternoon by the time Cassian had finished his chores, and he was packing up when his roommate showed up in the stables.

Cassian raised his brows. “Troubled?”

Azriel hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck as he said, “I need your help.”

“Okay,” Cassian said. “Of course. What do you need?”

He hesitated again, which told Cassian that this was no small request. “Know what? Nevermind. I’ll figure something out.”

He nodded his thanks and began to walk away, but Cassian quickly caught up to him. 

Azriel looked unnerved. 

“What’s going on?” Cassian asked, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

Azriel could have put up a good fight, but he didn’t bother. He stopped, and turned to face him. “I have to get away.”

Cassian blinked. “What?”

“Okay,” Azriel began, taking a deep breath. “I’m...we’re leaving tonight, but no one can know. And I need your help.” 

“We?” Cassian repeated. “As in you and me?”

“No,” Azriel said, closing his eyes. “Elain and myself.”

“Elain,” Cassian repeated. Azriel nodded. “As in Lady Elain?”

“I will answer all your questions, okay? Just...I need your help.”

Cassian did not hesitate. “Okay.” 

~~~~~

Elain looked at the small travel case she had on her bed. Not much would fit inside.

She had thought of what she would like to bring with her, what to pack if she were never to come back to the manor. 

After a deep breath and a lot of deliberation, Elain selected some jewels and put them inside. She gathered her journal and all the notes she had saved from Azriel and put them inside of the case, too. A second day dress and a nightgown went in, and her hairbrush. 

And just with that, it was full.

She looked around at the rest of her belongings, of things so expensive but so insignificant. If belongings were what she was leaving behind to be with Azriel, then it was all worth it.

She wrote a letter to each of her sisters, in which she had given Azriel to give to his roommate, so that he could give them to Nesta and Feyre. 

Azriel trusted Cassian. So Elain did, too. 

She was excited, but she was equally terrified. She couldn’t sleep the night before, and every second that passed seemed to take far too long. 

By dawn the next day, they would be gone, far away from the manor, ready to start their new life. 

Elain would no longer be a Lady.

Instead, she would become Azriel’s wife. 

~~~~~

Nesta hated the very sight of him.

She watched him out the library window, discussing something with the handsome butler. When the butler walked away, Cassian looked up to see her sitting in the window.

He raised a brow.

Nesta’s book snapped shut and she stormed through the manor until she reached the side door, closest to the stables. She threw it open and stalked his direction, finding him leaning against the door of the stables, eating an apple.

“Done ignoring me?” he asked, mouth full.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Stop watching me.”

“Pardon?” he asked, taking another bite.

“I’ve noticed you looking at me the past few days and I want you to stop,” she snapped.

Cassian watched Nesta as he swallowed his bite of apple and set it down on the post next to him. When he said nothing, it seemed to anger her more.

Throwing her hands in the air, Nesta said, “What happened between you and I will not happen again. Therefore, stop looking at me as if it will.”

“Okay,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “Anything else?”

Nesta blinked. “You are absolutely filthy.”

“Well, I do work with horses,” he said, shrugging. “Shall I bathe in the lake again? You’re more than welcome to join.”

Nesta stepped close to him and pressed her finger against his chest. “You will not speak to me like that. I am a Lady.”

“Are you?” Cassian asked, amused. “You could have fooled me.” 

Nesta’s eyes narrowed even more. “You are foul. I loathe you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he promised, then added, “my Lady.”

She went to pull her hand away, but he caught her wrist. “Leaving so soon? And here I thought we were having a moment. Is hateful talk not your love language?”

There was no one else outside, but Nesta could not risk someone approaching. They were standing far too close. They were touching.

She snatched her arm out of his grasp and took a step back, fixing her posture. She lifted her chin high and said, “I assume you have not told anyone about what occurred the other day.”

Cassian walked into the stables and began cleaning up supplies as he said, “Do you truly think me so careless?”

Nesta huffed as she followed him. “I don’t know. I don’t know you.”

“Don’t you? We’ve shared some interesting moments since my employment,” he said, grinning over his shoulder as he put a brush away.

Nesta shook her head. “I am not in the mood for games, Cassian.” It was such a rarity that she used his true name. “You mustn’t tell anyone. Swear to me.” 

Cassian sighed as he turned around to face her. He saw the fear she had, the fear that came from realizing that she was not perfect and hating herself for it. “Fine. I swear it.”

After a curt nod, Nesta turned her back to him and hurried away, back toward the house. She stopped, just outside of the stables. “Meet me by the lake. Just before midnight.”

When she looked back over her shoulder, his hazel eyes held a mischievous glint. 

She could feel him watching her until she disappeared through the door.

~~~~~

Feyre had not known what to expect when it all began. All she knew was that if pleasuring herself was invigorating, the pleasure of sex must surely feel the same.

But it was so much greater. 

Rhysand was gentle with her, at first.

He laid her down atop his bed and trailed gentle kisses down her body before guiding her toward him, and pushing himself inside. 

It had been beautiful. Sweet. Romantic.

Her heart had never been so full of emotion as they made love for the first time, and once they were done, and he asked if she was okay, she just laughed. 

“I am better than okay,” she promised, and he kissed her, softly.

The second time was not gentle, at all. 

Feyre found it even better than the first. 

Which could be seen from the marks she had made across his back with her nails. 

“I’m exhausted,” he said, flinging himself back against the pillows. “You exhaust me.”

“Perhaps I should go then?” Feyre asked, climbing up his body and resting her chin atop his chest.

Rhysand laughed, his smile glorious. “Please, do not. If you did, I’d be afraid-”

A loud knock came on his door. “Rhysand?” it was Mor. “Auntie and I are preparing for dinner. Will you be joining us?”

“Er,” Rhysand hesitated. Feyre had to put her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing. “I am getting ready to go out for a bit. I’ll be back soon.”

“Very well,” she called. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

Feyre waited for her footsteps to sound down the hall before she asked, “You’d be afraid of what?”

Rhysand lifted a brow, gently rubbing her back with the tips of his fingers. “What?”

“You said that if I left, you’d be afraid. Afraid of what?”

Rhysand’s fingers slowed, but he didn’t stop. “That you wouldn’t come back.”

Feyre chuckled. “I just made love to you twice. Why would I not come back?”

Rhysand took her face into his hands and brushed back her hair. “You are too good a woman, Feyre Archeron. Too good for any man, especially me.”

“Although I agree,” Feyre began, making Rhysand laugh, “you do not give yourself much credit. I have seen the truth of your heart, and I quite like what I see.”

Rhysand’s brows went up. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Feyre confirmed. “Which is good, if I am to be your wife, after all.”

Rhysand’s body stopped, every part of him coming to a halt. “Say that again, I’m sure I misheard it.”

Feyre’s smile widened as she began, once more, “If I am to be your wife-”

“Stop,” he said, putting his hand over her mouth. “No.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “You are the most dramatic man I have ever known,” she said, muffled through his hand.

Rhysand flipped Feyre onto her back and hovered over her. She trailed her fingers along his chest as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I have no ring,” he said, kissing her nose. “And we are at an inn.” He kissed her lips. “And I am nude.”

“As am I,” she said, giggling as his head dipped down to trail his tongue along one of her breasts, then the other. 

“I’ve noticed,” he said, the tone of his voice causing her toes to curl. “I must propose to you properly. You mustn’t know it’s coming. Besides, you could change your mind. You hated me up until today.”

Feyre shook her head, taking his face into her hands and pulling him down, so that her lips touched his. “I never hated you, Rhys.”

His eyes softened. 

“But I’m going to know it’s coming,” she grinned. “Were I not always meant to become your wife?” 

Rhysand let his body fall against hers. He rested an elbow on each side of her face. “From the very first moment I saw you.” 

The third time they made love that afternoon, all the walls had come down. 

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books​ @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth​ @queenofillea1​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @levivlio​ @hellolenas​ @burritowithfeels​ @that-other-pineapple​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @raghad-50725 @musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld​ @negativenesta  @welcometothespeaknowworldtour​ @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @sannelovesreading​ @nerdperson524 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nerdperson524​ @mariamuses​ @gorl-power

[banditthewriter]

Once More - Tommy Shelby

Well, here we have it, my first try at Tommy Shelby. Probably butchered it, but hey.

Not tagging anyone, but if you like it, let me know?

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The morning was gray and dim, but that was fairly common in Birmingham. You had grown accustomed to the dreary weather that seemed to cloak the area. Small Heath in particular always seemed to be dark and moody.

It fit your outlook these last few weeks. Whereas once upon a time you wouldn't have noticed the clouds or the damp, too caught up in being on cloud nine, now it was all you could see.

Every letter that your mother wrote you was full of her begging you to follow her out of Birmingham and away from the past. She told you that your aunt was happy to make up a new room for you, painted lovely pictures of how your life would be in the new town, but you always turned her down. 

I'm not so heartbroken that I must run away from my own home.

And you were heartbroken, make no mistake. It followed you around like a dark cloud, but you had grown used to it. As used to it as you were the rainy days. 

On this dreary Tuesday, you grabbed a basket and headed to the bakery. You needed another loaf of bread and, if you were very lucky, there might be some sweets for you to purchase as well. With your plan in mind, you entered the bakery with a hopeful smile. 

The smile fell almost immediately when you recognized two of the occupants of the bakery. One was a boy named Daniel Black. The other more familiar was a boy named Finn Shelby. 

He hadn't recognized you yet, but you know it was only a matter of time. You'd been around the boy since he was barely to your knee. For the longest time, he had considered you a sister to him. And his brother had talked about making that a reality, not too long ago. 

Some days you hated Thomas Shelby with everything inside of you. Other days, most days, you missed him so much it hurt to breathe. 

You turned to leave, determined to come back once the youths had vacated the premises, but the baker called your name. With a dull smile, and ignoring the curious eyes over by the barrel of sweet taffy, you made your way over to the counter.

"Mr Hansford," you greeted as you looked over the fresh baked breads he had lined up, "can I get a loaf of my regular?"

As he went to work to get that packaged for you, you turned to look at the two boys once more. They weren't watching you, thankfully, but they were watching Hansford. Eyes on Hansford, they pocketed taffy by the handful. You could see a lump in Daniel's pocket that was most likely some of the other sweets Hansford was famous for. You imagined Finn had a similar lump in his pocket.

The familiar overprotective nature came over you. You might not have married into their family like you had once dreamed, but you'd still known Finn since he was a toddler. He knew better than that.

You quietly thanked Mr Hansford for your bread and promised to come by for some of the delicious looking cakes in his case. Quickly you made your way out of the bakery and off towards an alley. 

There you waited for the two youths to emerge. You listened as they laughed and joked about their haul, both chewing on a piece of taffy. You gave them about two steps past the alley before you stepped out.

"Daniel Black and Finn Shelby, you both stop right this instant."

You half expected them to take off running down the street, but they both froze in their tracks. More like Finn froze and Daniel followed his lead. Slowly they turned to face you, obviously trying to chew the sticky taffy fast enough to swallow the evidence. 

"Y/N," Finn called as he swallowed thickly, "haven't seen you in a while. You look very pretty in that dress."

You raised an eyebrow at him before you looked at Daniel. He was still chewing so you gave him a moment.

"Yeah Miss Y/N, it really brings out your kind eyes."

The corner of your mouth twitched but you didn't let them see it. Instead you purposefully marched up to both of them and poked their sides where their ill-gotten gains were. 

"Now I'm sure you both have a receipt for these goods, don't you?"

Daniel looked like he was going to be sick, either from being caught or the amount of sugar he'd ingested. Finn didn't look much better but there was a strong line of confidence in him that reminded you of his brothers. 

Mule headedness more like it.

"We didn't get one," Finn said with a tilt of his chin that reminded you of John. He was daring you to challenge him. 

This little squirt actually thought to challenge you. You did almost smile that time.

"Oh well that's simple enough. We can just go on and ask him how much he charged you. I want to make sure you boys aren't wasting your month allowances on sweets."

You turned to head that way when Daniel made a distressed sound.

"Tell 'er Finn," he pleaded with wide eyes.

Finn, for all his bravado a moment ago, looked like he had swallowed something bitter.

"You can't do that Y/N. We didn't, well, we didn't pay."

You tapped your finger on your chin as you looked between the two boys. Daniel was probably eleven, maybe younger if he had recently had a growth spurt. Finn was almost thirteen, but even at that age he knew the way it should be. 

He was raised better than that. 

"To live to see the day when a Black and a Shelby can't afford their own sweets," you said with a dramatic shake of your head, shifting your basket with your bread onto your other arm. "Well I think I should talk to both of your families and let them know that your allowances should be increased."

Daniel didn't know you that well and the boy looked almost pleased with the notion. Finn on the other hand knew that it was a trap. 

"Y/N, I…"

He couldn't say the words, but you didn't need to hear them. Instead you gave them both a rough nod and pointed down the street. 

"On to the Shelby house boys. I will be having a word with Polly about your behaviors. Let's go."

Daniel might be out of the woods with his family, but everyone knew that Polly could be worse. And if Polly knew, Tommy would know. The thought of disappointing not only Polly but the head of the Shelby family? Not to mention they were both dressed in their Peaky Blinders getup so there was that too. 

Both of the boys looked downright defeated. 

They started to pluck the spoils of their thievery from their pockets but you slapped their hands and gave them each a push forward. 

"Don't get rid of the evidence of your crimes," you chided.

To the outsiders that saw the three of you, you must have looked a funny sight. A well dressed young lady marching two rookie Peaky Blinders, one a Shelby to boot, as if they were headed to the gallows. The humor wasn't lost on you. 

As you approached the door of the Shelby household, you had stopped seeing the humor in the situation. Would Tommy be there? Would he be the one that answered the door? Would you have to face him?

The first time in almost three months you would see the man that broke your heart, and it was because of his brother was a petty criminal. 

Finn turned his head and gave you a look as if he had read your mind. You shook your head and reached between the two of them to knock on the door.

When it opened, you nearly buckled in relief at the sight of Ada. She smiled at you but the smile wavered as she saw the looks of guilt on her brother and Daniel's faces. 

"What happened?"

The boys both looked over their shoulders at you and you sighed. You could do this part at least. 

"I was down at the bakery just now and what do I see besides these two stealing taffy and sweets."

Ada went from disbelief to quiet fury in moments.

"Alright, in, both of you. Y/N, you too if you would." At your hesitation, her look softened. "He's not here, but Polly will want to have you here. It'll only take a few moments."

With the assurance that Tommy was out, you stepped over the threshold and followed the boys to the sitting room. They immediately sat on the couch together and you hovered near the door. Ada frowned and shook her head at her brother before she headed into the rest of the house.

As you looked around at the photos on the shelves, you tried not to remember the last time you were in there. You and Tommy had planned to go to the pictures but instead he told you that it wasn't working out, that he was dangerous, and that you wouldn't be right for his life and the plans he had for the future. 

You tried not to remember months before that when Tommy had held you under the covers, his mouth pressed against your neck as he told you that he only had a future if he was with you. 

One of those was a lie, but for the life of you, you weren't sure which it was. 

"I thought she was engaged to your brother," Daniel tried to whisper to Finn, earning an elbow for his troubles. 

You allowed yourself a small smile at that before you turned around to face them. 

"I wasn't engaged to him. And that was a while ago. Not that my relationship with Tommy Shelby would change the course of your day, Daniel Black."

He cowered a bit into the couch. Finn had met your eyes with a spark of curiosity. 

He looked more like John or Arthur, but there was something in his eyes just then that reminded you of Tommy. It was a calculating look, one that said he wouldn't stop until he got his answers.

You didn't have to wait long to know what answers he wanted. 

"Why did you and Tommy end things? Arthur said that you realized you were too good for Tommy, but I don't think that's it."

You placed your basket on a side table and perched on the edge of the chair. 

"And why do you think that?"

Finn shrugged, his mouth turning up in a way that made you think he had been watching Arthur way too closely.

"Because you look so sad when I see you now. If you were the one that ended things, you wouldn't look sad, right? But Tommy looks sad too."

There was a pain in your chest at those words. You didn't want to care about why he was looking sad.

"So what is your theory Finn?"

He leaned forward a bit and once more reminded you of Tommy. He was observant for someone so young, but you guessed he had to be observant in this life.

"I think Tommy ended it, but I don't know why. We all know that he was happiest when he was with you so him ending it doesn't make sense unless he thought it was what you wanted. Did you? Did you want him to end things?"

You hadn't expected him to ask that and there was no way you were going to answer that question. But in the end, you didn't have to.

The floorboard behind you squeaked and when you turned around, expecting a disapproving Polly, you found yourself staring at a neutral looking Tommy instead. 

He wasn't looking at you, but you had no illusions that he didn't know you were there. Instead he was focused quite hard on Finn and Daniel. 

"What's this I hear about the two of you stealing from Mr Hansford?"

They looked to you as if you would offer some safety and protection, but you merely stayed impassive. It wasn't your place to discipline the Peaky boys.

"We just took some sweets," Finn explained in a petulant voice that you knew wouldn't gain him any favors. 

"You took some sweets," Tommy repeated and uh oh, if he was repeating things, he was definitely pissed. "Well stand up and let me see. Show me these sweets."

It took a few moments before the boys did what they were told. You watched them pull out everything they had snuck from the bakery, grateful that you kept them from getting rid of it on the walk there. 

Once there were two fairly even piles on the table, Tommy walked up to inspect them. You could see the whiteness around his knuckles that told you how furious he really was. And sure enough, he reached up and slapped both of the boys.

You winced at the impacts, but you kept your mouth shut.

"Peaky Blinders do not steal, especially not from a local business. When you are out there, you represent something bigger. People here look to us for protection and with respect. You do not tarnish that just for a lark, do you understand me?"

His voice wasn't raised but that was part of what was so terrifying about it. Once both boys had agreed that they understood and that it wouldn't happen again, Tommy stepped back and started to pull out his pack of cigarettes. 

"To pay off this debt, you will offer your services to Mr Hansford for whatever he needs. Do I make myself clear?"

Both boys nodded once more, contrite and eager to get this over with. With a flick of his wrist, Tommy excused the boys, but he didn't let them get far before he called them back. 

"Both of you need to apologize to Y/N as well."

Your breath was caught in your throat as you watched him light a cigarette, his eyes on the two boys rather than on you. 

"Tommy," you began softly, but he shook his head and pointed at the boys with the hand that held the cigarette. 

"You wasted her time and made her have to drag your asses here to be punished. Apologize."

You were pretty sure the boys would offer to shine your shoes if it meant they could leave. 

"Sorry Y/N," Finn said with a tilt of his head, avoiding your eyes for the first time that morning.

"Yeah, I'm real sorry Miss Y/N," Daniel repeated with a bow of his own head.

You gave a nod to them both, not trusting your voice at that moment. After a nod from Tommy, they took off out of the house undoubtedly to apologize to Mr Hansford before Tommy did it for them. 

Hearing Tommy say your name brought back all those feelings once more, but you swallowed them down. And then you shifted to stand before you swallowed your pride and asked him a question you weren't sure you were ready for an answer to.

You had barely taken a step before his voice stalled you.

"Finn was right you know. I was happiest when I was with you."

He still wasn't looking at you but you knew he wasn't addressing someone else in the room. 

"You had a funny way of showing it," you remarked as you stepped back towards the chair you had settled into. "You won't even look at me."

His back became rigid at that. He was smoking silently and you thought that he wouldn't say anything else, but then you heard his voice. It was so low that you could barely hear it over the fire.

"Because if I look at you, I'm going to want to kiss you, and I think we both know that's a bad idea."

A bad idea. He was right about that. But as bad as the idea was, you couldn't shake how much you wanted it. Damn him for making you love him this much. 

"Tommy," you whispered, chest tight and skin tingling in anticipation, "look at me."

You were giving him permission. You were practically begging for him to kiss you. Regardless of how your heart was broken and how this might not mean a thing, you wanted it.

"You should go," he offered instead, turning to face the fire and brace his forearms on the mantle. "Go, Y/N."

Tears welling up in your eyes, you turned and nearly ran from the room. Ada and Polly were in the other room, both of them shamelessly trying to pretend they hadn't been eavesdropping. Their faces were a mixture of irritation and concern but you didn't wait to feel their pity. With a quiet sob, you threw open the door and rushed off into the street.

It was a familiar scene. Only a few months ago you did this for the first time after he broke your heart. How could you keep letting Thomas Shelby have this much power over you?

As you reached your own house a few streets away, you realized that you had left your basket on the table in their house. 

------

The book on your lap wasn't doing much to capture your attention, but you were pretending. Your cousin was flitting around from room to room in a bored huff, but you were ignoring her. Every time she came to visit, she always acted like Birmingham was something like torture. She had grown up in a variety of exotic places and now owned a flat in London, so maybe she was bored. 

But it was home. Even if you felt out of place without Tommy.

There was a knock at the door and your cousin nearly broke her ankle to rush out of the room to answer it, begging for it to be someone interesting. You didn't have the heart to tell her it was probably just the boy from the grocer's with the supplies you had ordered. 

As you flipped through the book, you zoned out for a short time. It had been days since your errand to the bakery had brought you back to Tommy's presence. Days since he reminded you that he was through with you. 

He had said he was happiest with you, but apparently that wasn't happy enough. 

"Y/N?" Your cousin sounded uncertain but you didn't do more than make an inquiring noise before she continued. "Tommy Shelby is here."

You closed your eyes and counted to three. Of course he was. As if you had conjured him by your very thoughts. 

"Tell him I'm not in or that I'm not feeling well. Or just tell him that I received his message loud and clear and that I don't need to be rejected a third time."

The silence that followed was unlike your cousin. You turned to face her and right as you did, a new voice came through the room.

"I'm afraid I insisted on coming in," Tommy explained as you saw him standing just slightly behind your cousin.

"I'll be in my room," your cousin lied before she went in the opposite direction of her bedroom. 

Eavesdropping was something to help her pass the time at least.

"What are you doing here Tommy?"

He held up a basket that was covered in a plain white cloth.

"You left your bread at the house. It had been picked on by some of John's kids by time I noticed so I went and got you some more."

With a sigh, you placed the book down and made your way to him. His eyes moved over you at a hurried pace, as if he was afraid you'd disappear before he could catalog every wrinkle of your dress.

"Thank you, but you could have left it with Caroline."

You gripped one side of the basket but he didn't release the other. It left the two of you attached, the basket suspended between the two of you. 

"I wanted to see you."

And he was seeing you. He could see your messy hair and the lack of makeup on your face. Surely he could see the lack of sleep you'd had recently. Hopefully he couldn't see how much crying you had done lately. 

Hadn't he said he couldn't look at you without wanting to kiss you? Perhaps that had been a lie too.

"Well you've seen me. You remember where the door is, don't you?"

You gave a sharp tug and freed the basket from his hands. When you went around him, you were careful not to brush against him. Instead you made your way to the kitchen, making just enough noise to alert Caroline so she would know to sneak up the stairs before you caught her.

You didn't expect Tommy to follow you, but there he was, right behind you as you made it to the kitchen.

"I know I owe you an explanation," he began, clearing his throat when you scoffed, "and I didn't want to do it in a letter. I have to do this in person."

"You don't owe me anything Tommy. You explained it quite well that day."

And hearing it again might break you. 

He spun you around, tugging your hands into his to keep you from fidgeting or pulling away.

"I owe you this, because I lied. When I said we weren't working. I've never been happier than when I'm with you. And I am dangerous, but I don't think you ever cared about that. And when I said you didn't fit with my life and my future plans? I haven't any plans for the future that don't include you."

You struggled to pull your hands away, but it was mostly for show. How many times had you imagined him coming to you and telling you it was all wrong and that he didn't mean it? But all of those were just fantasies. 

This couldn't be real. 

"If you meant that, if you really meant that, you wouldn't have broken my heart that day Tommy. You wouldn't have said those things and made me doubt the years we spent together. Made me doubt myself and my love for you."

He moved as if you had slapped him. His chest was expanding rapidly, trying to catch his breath. You shook your head and looked away, cursing yourself for crying again. 

"Y/N, I wanted… I wanted you to have a chance. We've been together since before the war and that was hard enough. But this? There's blood on my hands Y/N, blood that doesn't wash off. I didn't want to drag you down. It's going to get bloody before it goes the way as planned and I didn't want you involved in that."

You still tried to pull your hand away, but Tommy simply pulled you closer. He released your wrists in order to wrap his arms around your shoulders and hold on tight. You hesitated before you dropped your face into the crook of his neck. 

"I never stopped loving you. I just thought if I pushed you away, it would be better for you."

You wanted to laugh. You wanted to cry. 

Carefully you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

"So why now? Why come and tell me this now?"

"Because seeing you that day in the parlor made me realize that neither one of us is happy when we aren't together. And we owe it to ourselves to be happy. And because I'm a selfish bastard and the idea of you moving on and not loving me anymore scares the shit out of me."

You let out a weak laugh against his neck. When you pulled back, to ask him what this meant, he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and tugged you into a kiss. It was a kiss that made you almost forget the months of heart ache and pain. 

It was a kiss that said he wasn't going to let go of you again. 

"I'm gonna get you a ring," he mumbled against your mouth some time later, your hands at home on his hips as he held you. "I'll make you Mrs Tommy Shelby and I'll never lose you again."

You smiled at that, feeling the invisible weight of a ring on your finger already. Your smile turned a little devilish and you laughed as you pressed your forehead to his. 

"We might owe Finn and Daniel a thank you for this. If it hadn't been for them, I wouldn't have been at the house that day."

Tommy laughed with you, pressing a kiss to your nose before he leaned back a bit.

"We'll make sure there are plenty of sweets and taffy at the reception."

X

Thanks for reading.

[olivenight17]

Fluffvember Day 4

Hey everyone, ya girl is back in action with a piece I actually like this time! Who knew the tired, sarcastic Shinso could actually bring out a good side to my writing? Also, I kinda just had a blast with the prompt, it got a few laughs out of me, I’m not gonna lie.

And hey, my list for fluffvember still isn’t filled so you know the drill: if y’all still wanna see something it’s not too late, take a look at what you want here and then go and request!

Alrighty, I’ve held this off long enough, here you go!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shinso x Reader “Truth or Dare”

Poke.

“Toshi.”

Poke.

“Toshi.”

Poke.

“Toshi!” You whined at your boyfriend, who was currently hunched on his side and attempting to ignore your insistent poking.

He groaned as he shifted away from you. “Kitten, I’m trying to nap here. What do you want?” He asked, casting a tired gaze in your direction.

“I wanna do something.” Your vague explanation caused Hitoshi to huff.

“Napping is doing something, so is cuddling, come join me.” He opened his arms up, waiting for you to lay down with him.

Instead of joining him, you shook your head, choosing to stay in your upright position. “No, something fun!” You stated, racking your brain for ideas on what you wanted to do.

“Napping is plenty of fun, kitten. I could always make it worth your while afterwards.” He offered, a lazy smirk painting his face.

Ignoring the heat creeping into your face, you rolled your eyes with a playful smile. “That sounds nice, but maybe another time. I meant more like a game! Like… uh,” Your face scrunched up as you thought what exactly you wanted. Suddenly, your face brightened. “Like truth or dare!”

Hitoshi let out a raspy chuckle at your revelation. Slowly, he sat up to face you. “Alright, I’m game.” He responded and your eyes widened.

“Wait, really? That… took a lot less convincing than I thought it would.” Your eyebrows furrowed before fixing him with a narrow stare. “What’s the catch?” He gave you a look of mock offense at the question.

“There’s no catch, can’t I just spend time with the one I love?” He asked, holding his hands up in defense of himself.

You weren’t buying his innocent tone. Staying silent, you waited for him to give up his act.

He sighed. “Alright, you got me. There is just a tiny catch. If I can ask you a question that you don’t want to answer or give you a dare that you don’t want to do, we end the game and you cuddle me. Does that sound fair?” He held out his hand to shake as you looked down at it.

Eventually, you decided to take the bait and shake his hand. “Alright, I guess it’s a win-win either way. But, you can’t dare me to end the game and cuddle you either.” You told him, continuing when he nodded his head at the rule. “I’ll start! Truth or dare?” You asked, a grin making its way onto your face as your boyfriend pondered his answer.

“Truth.”

“How do you feel about end pieces of a loaf of bread?”

Hitoshi snorted at the question. “Really, all of this trouble to ask me how I feel about bread?”

You shrugged, a playful glimmer in your eyes. “It’s the little things that count in the relationship, Toshi. It’s a very calculated question, I assure you.” He shook his head with a smile which only made you giggle.

“Hm… I’d say it’s the best part of the bread. Honestly, if I could, I would eat nothing but the end pieces for the rest of my life.” The answer surprised you and you cringed just thinking about only eating the ends.

“You’re so weird, Hitoshi.”

“Hey, you asked my honest opinion! And that’s nothing compared to the time you-” Your hands immediately flew to his mouth, face feeling like it was on fire.

The kisses he pressed to your palms only served to fluster you more as you stuttered. “I told you to let it go! Are you really going to hold that over my head?” You pouted at his muffled ‘yes.’ Letting go of his face, you crossed your arms. “You’re so mean… just ask me truth or dare already.” The frown on your face only lessened slightly as Hitoshi pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Alright kitten, truth or dare.”

“Dare me!”

“Woah, ready to go with that one,” He chuckled. “Let’s see… I dare you to crack an egg over your head.”

You felt your jaw drop as you struggled to get words out. None came to mind and you glued your jaw shut as he started laughing. “What a face! Now that’s the face of someone who doesn’t want to do their dare. Do I get to win this easily, kitten?” He teased you before being pushed back as you stood up, marching your way over to the kitchen. Surprised, he followed after you.

Sure enough, there you were standing, egg poised over your head as you glared at him. “I’m so getting back at you for this.” You threatened, growling as he only smirked. Taking a deep breath, you smashed the egg onto your head. Every muscle in your body froze as the yolk seeped into your scalp and the whites dripped down your hair. You looked to your boyfriend, who was currently on the floor, head down as his body was shaking in laughter. Your eyes narrowed.

This meant war.

The two of you went back and forth, volleying truths at each other and letting your minds wander to their darkest corner for dares. That was how you learned of Hitoshi’s secret obsession in collecting cat onesies - which you later dared him to wear for the rest of the game - and how your door had blast marks on it from pranking Bakugou. Your chest was heaving as you fell on the floor next to Hitoshi, who was wheezing just as badly as you were.

“My god, his face when he realized what was going on, did you see it? I’ve never seen him look so angry in his life! I thought he was gonna pop a blood vessel!” You chortled, clutching onto your stomach.

“I’m pretty sure he popped several chasing us to your dorm room. Good luck facing him on Monday.” He grinned as he poked you in the ribs, only causing you to laugh more.

Sitting up, you took some deep breaths, shaking your head to clear out all of your giggles. “Okay, okay. It’s my turn, truth or dare?” You asked the famous question as he looked up at you.

“Truth.”

You groaned. “You’ve almost always picked truth, you’re no fun.” You tucked your knees into your chest as you thought about what to ask. “What’re you thinking right now?” He paused at the question before sitting up, wrapping an arm around you.

“About how much I love you.” He answered simply, pulling you in tight against him.

You rested your head against his shoulder. “Hey, this isn’t for brownie points, you’re supposed to answer honestly.” You chuckled, looking up to see a very serious expression on his face.

“That’s my honest answer. There have been so many times where I would rather just have a nap and do nothing, but then you rope me into something, and even when it starts off as annoying, you come in and make it fun. You really know how to show a guy a good time, kitten,” He laughed lightly. “Even this, I thought I was going to hate this, but then you swoop in, hair covered in egg yolk and make it fun. I’m not sure what I’d do without you, (Y/N).” He finished and the room turned quiet.

You snuggled deeper into his side as you hugged him tightly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you either, Hitoshi. I love you.” Tilting your head up, you kissed him gently, feeling his lips curve into a smile as he kissed back. He tasted sweet, like the cake you had dared him to steal from Sato. Pulling away, you moved to stand up, tugging him along with you as you made your way to the bed. “Come on, I wouldn’t mind having some cuddles.” You beamed at him and sighed happily when your back met his chest.

“I love you so much, kitten.” Hitoshi murmured, keeping you close as his head rested in the crook of your neck.

There was nothing better than a game of Truth or Dare and cuddles.

[surrounded-by-superheroes]

Nurses and Wounds (Loki Oneshot)

Summary; You get injured after going on a secret mission with Thor. When Loki finds out he is, of course, dramatically furious. But, afterwards he turns quite sweet as he becomes your own personal nurse.

A/N; Fluff, pure fluff and I am not remotely sorry.

Warnings; SO MUCH FLUFF. Some blood.

Words; 2,060

“It is only a minor wound.” I assure Thor once again. He screws up his mouth at me as blood continues to stain the white bandages.

“Even if that were so, I do not look forward to Loki’s wrath. He is angered by the mere thought of you in pain. I cannot imagine his rage when he sees the blood leaking from your body.” Thor grins over at me as he continues to help me limp towards the gate. I think on it for a moment.

“Perhaps to the infirmary first then?” I suggest and Thor laughs heartily as we finally come to the bridge.

“Heimdall!” Thor yells and after a second, the bridge opens and we’re shooting back home. As we land my knees buckle and I fall to my knees. Thor falls with me and looks worriedly at the blood dripping from my side.

“I concede it. I may be more injured than previously thought.”  I grunt and find my feet once again with Thor’s help.

“You are in dire need of healing, my lady.” Heimdall declares and I glance at him in disdain.

“Dearest Heimdall, you state what is already known. Not helpful.” I ground out and glance up when I hear the clacking of horse hooves.

“My eye was on you both in battle, so I already sent for the healers for you. Is that not helpful?” Heimdall sasses and I send him a grateful look.

“I should have known the gatekeeper of Asgard had something up his sleeve. My apologies.” Thor steps forward and helps me into the arms of the guard nearest us.

“Enough talk. You must go now.” Thor directs the last sentence to the guard with a sincere firmness, but I grab Thor’s arm before we leave.

“You mustn’t tell Loki of this.” I tell him and squeeze his arm hard. Thor smirks.

“You think I would willingly reveal such an event happened within my vicinity and I did not stop it? You must think me mad.” I smile at his jesting before being whisked off to the infirmary. The healers have only just given me a potion for the pain when Loki arrives with all the bluster and blunder of an angry god.

“WHY WAS I NOT TOLD IMMEDIATELY OF THIS?” He thunders and rushes to my side. “My love?” He calls and his tender tone captures all of my attention.

“I am well, beloved. Your concern is dear to me, but unwarranted.” My words have no effect on him, however, when he sees a healer peel back the blood-soaked cloth from my wound. His cobalt blue eyes meet mine and provide an anchor for me to focus upon.

“Unwarranted? Blood is pumping out of your body like the falls of old!” I wince as the healers’ hands lie upon the wound and Loki automatically takes my hand in his.

“The healers know their craft well. I shall be put right before the sun sets.” I assure his frantic eyes and pull our clasped hands to my chest; over my heart. “See? My heart beats strong and steady for you, love.” A shaky smile appears on his face hovering above me and distracts me from my pain.

“It may as well be my heart for how much I need it to continue beating. It is as essential to my life continuing as my own.” Loki leans over and kisses our intertwined hands. “Why did you not tell me of you and Thor’s plans? I would have protected you.” Gasping at the pain, I shake my head.

“No. That…that is exactly why I did not tell you.” Loki’s brows furrow at this new revelation as I struggle to speak. “To see you risk your life for mine is a pain greater than any wound.” I tell him and watch confusion cross his face.

“Does Thor not do the same? Yet you run off, without my knowledge of the danger you pursue, with him to do battle?” He asks softly and wipes a tear of pain from my cheek. I smile, or grimace, I suspect.

“You are reckless for me, beloved.” I reach over and caress his cheek, staining it with my blood. “You risk your life for mine as if they are not one and the same.” The words I speak are honest and he knows it, that is why I am spared from his scolding for a moment.

“That is precisely why we should not be parted.” He tells me fiercely, his hand tightening inexplicably around mine. “We are two halves of a whole, my love. We should always be near one another.” Slight drowsiness now bites at my bones from the potion, but I have enough decorum to answer him.

“You will have no objection from me. Only I must sleep now. Please behave?” I request as my eyes drift shut.

“For you, I will try.” He brushes his lips across mine and I fall asleep with a smile on my face and the taste of him on my lips.

*          *          *          *          *          *         *          *          *          *

When I wake I find myself draped in shining gold blankets and one green, fluffy one over my feet. “Loki.” I call and instantly feel a hand grab mine. My head turns and my eyes find him kneeling beside me.

“How do you feel?” He asks urgently and his concern brings a smile to my face.

“Ah, the love I feel for you is just too overwhelming to see past!” I tease him dramatically. “Alas, all I feel is you.” My answer is vindicated when he gifts me with a handsome smile.

“You are teasing me.” Loki accuses and I laugh, wincing slightly and pressing my hand to my side. Loki is quick to add his hand as well, the coolness soothing me instantly. My hand slips out from under his and lays on top instead.

“And teasing means I feel fine. Drowsy and hungry, but fine. You’ve looked after me well, love.” I assure him while my fingers absentmindedly dance over his. Long and cold and filled with scars and bends, the feeling is pleasantly distracting. His eyes watch the movements with a happy look inside them before my words seem to sink in.

“Hunger? Allow me to satiate that need.” His other hand reaches to a table on the side and picks up a crystal bell. It rings out shrilly and a servant rushes in a moment later. “I require a meal of the finest delicacies this palace has to offer.” He requests and the servant bows, then exits.

I shake my head at his spoiling. “That is not necessary, my love.” Loki’s eyebrows pop up as he sits softly next to me on the bed.

“Perhaps not, but you wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of pampering you?” He questions, sure in the fact I wouldn’t deny him anything he wished. Which is correct. Reaching up, I catch an onyx wave and curl it affectionately around my finger.

“Of course not. In fact, I must admit I don’t mind your hovering while I convalesce.” I reveal and perk up when he smiles.

“Am I not usually as attentive as you wish, my dear?” He questions and I let out a breathy laugh to prevent further injury to my side.

“As much as I enjoy hearing of your theatricality and dramas, I believe you do sometimes forget you have a wife that has a life of her own.” I tease him a little, but my sentiment is true. Loki parts his lips as I let my hand graze the bloodstain still on his cheek. A soft knock calls our eyes to the door and two servants slip through the double doors with golden trays littered with salted meats, various breads and jellies, along with two cups of what looks like red wine. Half of one of the trays is covered with different cakes and candies, usually only used for special occasions. Loki stands and I quickly take this lapse in his attentions to sit up properly against the headboard. When Loki turns back to me he frowns in disapproval. “I refuse to be fed like a child.” A smile teases the edges of his lips as he sighs at me.

“So be it, my love.” He relents and allows the servants to place the trays on the bed. I nod at them in thanks before they slip out. My eyes return to the pleasing sight of my beloved’s face.

“Lay beside me?” I request and he instantly obeys, slipping smoothly over the blankets until he’s pressed close to my side. A contented sigh falls from my lips at feeling him close and instantly calls a smile to his face.

“What do you wish for first, darling?” Loki whispers sweetly in my ear and I revel in it. His forehead rests against my head as he continues, “Bread, fresh from the oven?” A long-fingered hand waves over the slightly steaming loaves, “Meat, harvested just this morning and cooked in brown butter?” His lips brush the shell of my ear and I bite my lip. “Or perhaps you’d like to start with a sweet covered in just made frosting?” Loki continues and I turn towards him, our eyes meeting and noses brushing.

��Actually, I think I’d like a kiss first.” His eyes widen and a surprised laugh tumbles from his lips.

“Anything you like, my love.” He agrees and presses his lips gently to mine. I smile against his cool lips and reach up, letting the tips of my nails scratch against the baby hairs on the back of his neck. He groans softly and pulls away, looking to the side away from me for a second before looking back. “Mischevious vixen. You know what that does to me.” I smirk and shrug innocently. He pecks my lips before moving his lips out of kissing range. “That is one request I will not fulfill until you heal. Now, what do you desire to start with?” Sighing in defeat, I point to the breads and Loki complies with a small smile. The doors suddenly open and I grin at the sight of Thor. Seems my enthusiasm is not shared. “Brother.” Loki greets him with a little distaste. Thor grins and marches in.

“Don’t worry, brother, I do not wish to detain either of you.” He walks to my side and I lean towards him for a chaste kiss on my cheek. “I only wanted to be sure my favorite sibling was well taken care of.” He teases and Loki smiles lopsidedly, when I grin.

“As you can see I’m being horribly spoiled, brother.” I gesture to the small feast and offer him a loaf which he gladly takes.

“As you should always be.” Thor winks at me and Loki sighs.

“As she always is.” He corrects and kisses my hair softly. I smile and take his hand, then reach out and take Thor’s as well.

“You’ll join us?” I request and hear Loki groan ever so quietly in my ear. Humor twinkles in Thor’s eyes as he thinks on my offer a few moments.

“Anything to annoy my most beloved brother and please my sweet sister.” Thor answers and I’m quick to shove Loki over. He sighs irately and slides me gently with him so Thor can sit beside me. “Does your wound ail you?” Thor questions and I shake my head.

“I’m quite content.” I sigh and settle deeper between the two extremes; hot and cold. “I’ll admit I like it best when you both are here. Despite some protestations.” Loki rolls his eyes at me and downs his glass of wine in one gulp. Thor’s chest rumbles appropriately like thunder and he lets his arm lay over my shoulders while Loki’s remains loose around my waist.

“I agree. Family must stick together, yes?” Thor asks and we both look to Loki for his approval. Blue eyes meet mine and I see him fighting a smile. I know he likes it very much when Thor and I are here. Although we tease him quite a bit. With a defeated sigh, he picks up the other wine glass, which I promptly take, and raises his empty glass.

“To family.” He toasts and I gift him a fond smile.

“Family.”

[cocoa-dragon]

BREADCRUMBS

Hello, thank you for tasting all that I’ve made here. I hope you will follow along as I begin a new flavor of stories, called Breadcrumbs. Follow Breadcrumbs for the bites of fiction, that will lead to be immersed in worlds, you may or may not recognize. Here’s the first nibble.

Gala didn’t want to shatter the still, crisp morning. Above her, plump chickadees weaved in and out of the bare branches, the only birds left this time of year. She squinted at them, through the pale sunlight and wondered how they never seemed to hit the bells her mother had strung through the trees. Gala hadn’t yet mastered the finer points of harmony and grace when flying, and the bells clanked wildly each time brushed against the branches, or more frequently, crashed. With a sigh, Gala hefted her broomstick over her shoulder and began making her way over to the clearing, where she attempted to fly each morning.

Her broomstick was already nearly indistinguishable from her mother’s. Within three months, it’s battered straw and worn handles seemed tired¹. But the problem of flight didn’t lie with the broomstick, no matter how much Gala wanted it to be. Theoretically, any witch could fly with anything that resembled a broom, even a vacuum cleaner would do in a pinch. Walking down the path to the river, the wood chips crunching damply underfoot, she wondered how this day would be different from the last and how it would be different from the next. Maybe today she would finally find out what it was like to touch a cloud. Her mother would never tell her (and Gala was secretly glad she didn’t). She closed her eyes and listened. A faint chiming of bells, the dry rustling of dead leaves, whispers of the birds kissing the sky. Maybe today.

“Gala, dear, come here. You’re back just in time.” Gala’s mother called from the kitchen. The air was filled with the warm, floral scent of her mother whirling dough and butter into a waltz. Gala inhaled deeply and smiled. She loved it when her mother baked, if only to see the look of pride on her face. Gala sometimes wished she could be wrapped in dough and be made into something sweet just so her mother could look at her that way. She had always imagined herself as a pavlova heaped with wild berries or maybe a cake bursting with passion fruit curd. Wild, tart, unruly, a touch of sweetness.

“Back in time for what?”

“Can you please let out the chickens? Make sure they stay in the yard,” her mother continued as if she hadn’t heard Gala. “I don’t know how Helga flew over the fence last night so make sure you give them a stern warning today.” The chickens occasionally gained powers of flight and went off clucking into the woods. After a night or two, the taste of freedom would get old and they would come back to the coop, jaded and with a balding plumage to show for it. But these days, Gala and her mother couldn’t afford to lose even a day’s worth of eggs especially with the first frost coming.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my morning was?” Gala pouted.

“Oh I already know,” her mother said. “And by the racket you made, the whole of St. Clair Shores knows how your morning was.”

“You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Oh, but I’m not.” She doesn’t look up as she dusts off her hands, the flour silently clouding the sunlight streaming into the kitchen, and Gala was glad she doesn’t have to see the disappointment in her eyes. “It’s just the truth, dear. Did you remember to straighten your back? Loosen your grip? Perhaps, not have your head in the clouds?” She picked up a knife and began deftly reducing an apple into juicy, fragrant slices. “It’s like— ”

“I know, it’s just like riding a bike,” Gala interrupted, frustrated by her mother’s lack of pleasure in flight. People took for granted what came easily. Gala always wondered if she would have valued flying as much as she did if she was actually good at it.

“Exactly, they’re practically the same thing. You need to stop romanticizing it. Now, hurry along. I want to get this in the oven before noon so we can start cleaning the house.”

“Why?” Gala asked. “What are you baking?” She could usually tell who was coming to visit by what her mother was making. Gala knew that a loaf of lemon poppyseed bread meant Aunt Shirley and her sailboat were in town. She would bring Gala racing through the freezing waves of Lake Michigan, calling swarms of glittering fish to the surface and once, a whale who asked them what water was. Gala knew that a bittersweet chocolate tart brought Aunt Simone and her marvelous top hat to town. She would always let Gala press a carrot into her hat, the black material shimmering as it transported the vegetable into the rabbit realm. She loved nothing more than pressing her cheek to the felt, and listening for the rabbit council’s deliberation on what to do with such a gift. But Gala couldn’t remember the last time her mother had made something with apples, let alone who it brought to the ivy-draped gate of their house.

“A galette,” her mother replies as she massages the slices of glistening fruit with flour, sugar, and spices. “Your grandmother is coming.”

“Amara, this is absolutely exquisite,” Gala’s grandmother said while bringing another forkful of tender apples and buttery pastry to her lips. “You must send me the recipe. It’s just the thing to cure Mrs. Compton’s broken heart.” Gala stole a glance at her mother, who was trying hard not to grin but it just made her look more worried than serious. Maybe she was more concerned than she was letting on. Gala’s grandmother was impossible to read, changing from doting to bitter to indifferent so quickly, that Gala glances at her mother every few seconds, trying to gauge a reaction.

“I will,” her mother said, dipping her head graciously. “Baking is so cathartic,” she went on quietly. “I’ve made this so many times, that each time I pull it from the oven, I feel like I’m ten years old again, picking apples at that cider mill in Charlevoix.” Gala stared hard at her mother. It’s a strange feeling to catch your mother in a lie. Her mother hadn’t baked an apple galette in the seventeen years Gala had been alive.

“Ah, I know what that’s like,” her grandmother said. “Like a memory that gets better each time you remember.” Gala had a feeling they weren’t talking about baking anymore.

“You do?” her mother asked, the surprise in her voice cracking her veneer of indifference. Then, catching herself, “I mean, you never— ”

“Don’t sound surprised, darling. Making the elixirs draws from much of the same energy as cooking. Both are creation, giving nature the substance to sustain life. But of course, you wouldn’t really know the sensation.” Her grandmother doesn’t even need to smirk to make her point. Just as Gala struggles with flight, her mother can only make the most basic of elixirs, curing only common colds. Each family of witches held a gift, which were fickle things, sometimes skipping generations or becoming something entirely novel. Gala’s family had a way with medicines, mostly dealing with the likes of heartaches and heartburns, but before marrying among humans, they were able to cure death and heal the soul. However, there were a few things every witch was supposed to be capable of, like flight. Gala had always thought that seeing her mother taste some small fraction of not being enough would make her feel more whole. Instead, she wanted to wrap her arms around her mother and, for once, be the one to tell her it was going to be okay.

“Now, Gala from what I hear, barely has any gifts. Let alone the old ones.” Something in Gala pulled taut, but she still couldn’t bring herself to meet her grandmother’s eyes. All her anger that had been so palpable a moment before now left her limbs filled with nothing. She couldn’t bring herself to fork another bite of crumble.

“Mrs. Compton’s grand-daughter can grow apple trees. The fruit isn’t golden or give you everlasting life or anything cute like that. But still, I can’t remember a witch within the last century who could bring a twenty-foot tree from the ground within the hour.” Gala wondered how her grandmother knew the properties of those apples unless she had tasted them herself. She probably had.

“There’s another one from South Manitou as well. You two got along well as children until—if my memory serves me correctly—you pushed her out of a tree.”

“Kara didn’t break anything,” Gala replied shortly.

“Well, maybe it fixed something. Although you fall out of enough trees these days so everything should be fixed by now.” Her grandmother raised her eyebrows pointedly. Gala kept her face straight, not wanting to give her grandmother an ounce of satisfaction. “Anyways, Kara sleeps in the fireplace these days. Not a single piece of her gets crispy. Though that girl would have been in a pickle back in the sixteenth century.”

“Mother,” Gala’s mother said quietly. “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“Not at all.” She patted a napkin to her mouth, refolding it neatly. “Gala needs to know what she’s up against. People still have the old gifts, and we know she probably won’t get New York or San Francisco, but there’s still a chance for Monterey or maybe even Portland if she can manage a few elixirs. Though at the rate she is right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up in the middle of the Virginian woods.”

“It’s still far away. Maybe this is not the right time—” Gala’s mother said gently.

“I do know how to fly,” Gala said with a smile spreading across her face. The apples in her stomach simmered into something hungry. “Let me show you what I can do.”

[assenavlp]

V’s Hot Takes - 5

Another Sunday. Another week in lockdown as the third wave commences because impatient f*cking people keep trying to rush through this process. So another day for me to piss and moan about things that don't really matter, in the grand scheme of things. ;) It's a tough, thankless job, but someone's gotta do it. I guess.

That's right, A$$holes, it's time for another installment of 🔥V's Hot Takes🔥™!

#5 Holy Sourdough, Batman!

Okay, I don't want to waste anyone's time, so I'm just gonna come right out and say it. No prevaricating about the bush, as Wallace would say before tucking into some fine Wensleydale cheese. No stalling for time, drawing people further and further in...Where was I? Oh, yeah...okay. Here it is:

The current trend for grossly exaggerated holes in sourdough bread is simply bad bread-making bullsh*t, popularized only through privilege. Boom.

  Bread. Since the dawn of civilization, the milling of grains and the baking of bread has provided the basic sustenance of life. 

What do corrupt leaders provide their deprived masses when they want to keep them happy/distracted/apathetic? Bread and circuses! 

What is classically the least prisoners are fed? Bread and water. 

Bread is hearty and filling. Bread is "the staff of life". 

When we peasants can't afford to eat anything, at least there's bread. 

Such an important thing is bread, that being able to buy it pre-sliced is still synonymous with being the best one can be. 

But with that automation came, too, the decline of bread. In North America, in particular, we lost our taste for good, hearty foodstuffs, favouring instead highly-processed, bleached, light and squishy, air-filled breads (and cakes, for that matter). Cheaper, and quicker to produce, and less nutritious (despite so-called enrichment), but all the better to feed the working classes.

Now don't get me wrong...I love that stuff, too. A classic grilled cheese made with Wonder Bread and Kraft Singles; there are few finer nostalgic comfort foods. I'm no damned food snob as far as that and a lot of other things go. But it's not snobbery to acknowledge that no matter how tasty, mass-produced bread that is readily squished into a compact, heavy ball is not quality foodstuffs. 

Despite its ubiquity, though, smaller baking companies continued to bake traditional breads; hearty, dense sourdoughs; rye breads, pumpernickels, and so on. Eventually, smaller-still bakeries started producing niche items, and that horrible word "artisanal" was introduced, and a whole world of bready elitism was born. 

And then the pandemic came. And people who had never baked bread before decided now was the time. (Which is awesome! Seriously. I'm not being facetious, for once. Ha!)

And then the yeast disappeared, along with the toilet paper.

So then there was sourdough. Everywhere. 

And yeah...I was a sourdough newbie, too. Getting the starter down was a bit of a process. I won't lie. But my previous experience with commercial-yeast bread-making held me in good stead, so once I got that down, I was pumping out quality loaves in no time. I prefer to knead by hand, and I was achieving a delicious, tightly crumbed loaf with little to no big air holes...one of the cardinal sins, from over-proofing and/or not punching the dough down enough, in between stages. Some breads have a more open crumb, which I have absolutely nothing against, but that's not what I was after. If I was making a nice French baguette, I'd want an open crumb.

After some time I thought it might be fun to seek out other sourdough bakers, newbies and otherwise, and see what they were up to, and to share and show off my own loaves. In fairly short order I realised there were two sharply-divided camps. A small, quiet, tight-crumb camp; people I can only assume, who are familiar with old skool bread. And then, not just an open-crumb camp, but this odd sort of very enthusiastic, extreme-lacy-crumb-plus-giant-"ears" camp. I found it baffling. So eager to avoid any sort of density in their bakes. And I don't  mean gumminess or other signs of poor proofing or uneven baking. Simply, bready size queens trying to out-do one another. And when they want something "for sandwiches", they revert to some sort of fluffy milk bread. 

I grew up eating sourdoughs and ryes and not one of them ever had a giant phallic ridge extending off the top of it. In fact, one of my first loaves had had a corner sticking up, and I was quick to think back at how I might have scored it so that I might prevent such an error the next time! Ha! Little did I know.

Nor were there any holes. Well, maybe the odd little one here and there. But no giant holes. Let alone a series of holes comprising the entire f*cking loaf. But now there were people oohing and ahhing these giant holes. These things I had always known to be signs of poor preparation. And yes, I know these holes are different than the tunnels in otherwise even bread, that even they seem to know are bad form.

Awhile back, I made the cartoon, below, as a commentary on this phenomenon. Of course it was an exaggeration. Or so I thought. A satirical response. But it wasn't long before I realised, like most satire these days, it seems; I didn't take it far enough. My drawing was even closer to the absurd reality than I might have dared imagine. 

I'm sorry, but the staff of life is not built on long, glutinous strands of f*cking air.

 Mmmm, let's dine on connective tissue. 

They may look cool and all on your Instagram, but holes do not feed the masses. It seems that may be the point.

March 28, 2021 

Somehow I didn’t go far enough:

Exactly! Though they're still a little too conciliatory, IMHO. ;-) :

Mmmmmm, strandy air:

At least they can tell this ain't right:

[paharvey99]

No Waitrose October 7 - Days 10-11

Day 10

Didn’t even leave the house today, a lovely lazy Saturday. Except it could have been lovelier and lazier really, as we still have plumbing nonsense going on. Today we noticed that as well as there being a tiny dribble of a leak in one of the new pipes, the shower isn’t working. Someone is coming round on Monday morning to sort it all out, hopefully, although I imagine they’ll just make it all worse.

The dribble of a leak meant that I woke up at 6am and got up to check that the dribble of a leak hadn’t turned into a bigger leak overnight. It hadn’t.

We’ve got a load of cooking apples in at the moment that we acquired via a family member. I’d been meaning to make a start on using them for about two weeks, and decided that a lazy Saturday was the best time to get stuck in.

First I made some apple chutney from Nigella’s How To Be A Domestic Goddess, while that was cooking I checked that the leak hadn’t got any bigger. It hadn’t.

Then I made the double apple pie from Nigella’s How To Be A Domestic Goddess, while that was cooking I checked that the leak hadn’t got any bigger. It hadn’t.

Then I was sick of peeling apples, so I made the maple and pecan loaf from Nigella’s How To Be A Domestic Goddess. Except it turned into a honey and walnut loaf as that’s what I had in. While that was cooking I checked that the leak hadn’t got any bigger. It hadn’t.

When the chutney had cooled I put it into jars, and while I was doing that it occurred to me that there is a gap in the market for hipster chutney. You know, like the stupid beer they have these days, with trendy artwork and obscure names. Chutney and beer aren’t a million miles apart, they’re both slightly unpleasant brown foodstuffs. Beer is allowed to be trendy nowadays, but chutney isn’t? Screw that, I’m starting a hipster chutney firm.

Obviously I’m not going to start a hipster chutney firm, but I was so amused by my own idea I actually made a prototype, I actually did. I used some of the four year-old I live with’s paints and made an abstract painting for the label. Then I came up with a name, which was a bit harder. It had to be something that didn’t remotely suggest chutney; in the end I called it Rest Assured Solutions, after a phrase I found written on the t-shirt of a corporate toy sheep that I acquired through work back in January. I sellotaped the label to the jar; it looks ridiculous. I am very pleased with myself.

More updates on the hipster chutney business as and when they happen. (Expect me to never mention it again.)

Didn’t go to Waitrose.

Day 11

Slept in until 9.30am today, which was surprising and nice. I usually wake up at 6am and get up, I haven’t overslept in years. Everyone else overslept as well, it’s Sunday, that’s ok.

We actually had a plan for the day today, we were going to go to the Sussex Prairie Garden. It’s about 10 miles north of Brighton, on the other side of the South Downs, near somewhere called Henfield. We went last month and we liked it so much that we wanted to go again, and today was the last day it was open this year.

Before that we had a pleasant lazy morning not doing very much, then had an indoor picnic for lunch. Over the summer we went out for a lot of picnics and the four year-old I live with got into them. I think she likes the wide spread of food that inevitably turns up at a picnic. However, she’s not always keen on the outside aspect of a picnic, so she has started demanding indoor picnics quite often. We had yesterday’s honey and walnut bread, chicken, cheese, cucumber, hipster chutney and carrots.

After that we pottered about a bit more until it was time to go to the garden. I’ve been getting into gardens over the last few years but I can never really hang onto the names of all the plants, so I never have much more to say about gardens other than whether they’re nice or not. The Sussex Prairie Garden is nice. It’s got some big grasses in it, and some other flowers too. It’s worth visiting. Google it if you want to know what it looks like.

There’s a café at the garden, which we ended up going to for a slice of cake at about 4pm. We sat outside at a table and ate a slice of cake and drank tea that we’d brought from home from a Thermos. This is literally the nearest we’ve come to going out for a meal since February. We weren’t very happy about it really, felt a bit too close to other people.

After that we went home, the four year-old I live with took forever going to sleep as she’d had a lie in, during which time I managed do a Zoom quiz with my family and cook tea. I was going to make smoked mackerel and potatoes and broccoli and green beans, but the smoked mackerel turned out to be weird and squishy, so I chucked it out and we had some pork I had lying about in the fridge and potatoes and broccoli and green beans instead.

Watched two more episodes of Emily in Paris, it is transfixingly bad.

Didn’t go to Waitrose.

[dfroza]

the One who fashioned Heaven and earth and created the seas and the springs

this is our Creator who is seen written of in the Scriptures, just as John wrote down the words of the Revelation given to him nearly 2,000 years ago.

Today’s chapter of the New Testament of the Bible is Revelation 14:

The scene changed. I looked and saw the Lamb standing on top of Mount Zion, and with Him were the 144,000 who had His name and His Father’s name inscribed on their foreheads. And I heard a voice from heaven roaring like a waterfall and clapping like thunder. The voice I heard was like a symphony of harpists playing their instruments. As I watched, they began to sing a new song before the throne, the four living creatures, and the twenty-four elders. The only ones with the ability to learn this song were the 144,000 who had been rescued from the earth, virgins who had not given themselves to sexual relations. They follow the Lamb wherever He goes. They have been purchased from among humanity as the firstfruits, set apart for God and the Lamb. In their mouths, no lie was found; no blemish marred them.

I saw another messenger flying through midheaven. He carried an eternal gospel, bringing good news to all the citizens of the earth—every ethnicity, nation, language, and people.

Heavenly Messenger (with a loud voice): Fear God. Give Him glory, for the time of judgment has arrived. Worship the One who fashioned heaven and earth and created the seas and the springs.

Another messenger, a second, came along.

Second Messenger: Fallen, fallen is Babylon, the great city! She has intoxicated all the nations with the wine of the wrath of her sexual perversion.

Another messenger, a third, followed.

Third Messenger (with a loud voice): Those who worship the beast and its image, and all who receive its mark on their foreheads or on their hands, will be forced to drink the wine of God’s wrath, poured out undiluted into the cup of God’s anger. And they will face the torment of fire and the agony of sulfurous flames before the holy messengers and the Lamb. The smoke of their torment will rise throughout the ages for eternity. Day and night will come and go without pause or cessation. There will be no end to the torture experienced by those who worship the beast and its image and by those who receive the mark of its name.

Here is the patient endurance of the saints, those who keep the commandments of God and remain faithful to Jesus.

Then I heard a voice call out from heaven.

A Voice: Record this: “Blessed are the dead who have died in the Lord from now until the end.”

Spirit: Yes, they will rest from their labors because their deeds remain with them.

Then I saw a white cloud, and seated on the cloud was one like the Son of Man, a golden wreath atop His head and a sharp sickle in His hand. Another messenger proceeded from the temple and called with a loud voice to the One who sat on the cloud.

Heavenly Messenger: Take Your sickle and reap the harvest, because the harvest of the earth is full and ripe and because the time to harvest has come.

Then the One seated on the cloud swung His sickle over the earth, and the earth gave up its harvest.

Just then another messenger proceeded out of the heavenly temple. He also had a sharp sickle. Then another messenger (the one with authority over fire) came out from the altar, and he called with a loud voice to the one who had the sharp sickle.

Messenger of Fire: Take your sharp sickle and gather together the clusters of grapes from the vines of the earth, for the grapes are ripe and ready for harvest.

So the heavenly messenger swung his sickle over the earth, gathered the fruit of the vine from the earth, and threw it into the great winepress, which is the wrath of God. And the winepress was trampled outside of the city, and blood flowed from the winepress. The blood ran deep. It reached as high as the bridle on a horse and ran for the distance of about 185 miles.

The Book of Revelation, Chapter 14 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter from the Old Testament is Numbers 15 that contains specific instructions given to Moses under the terms of the old covenant that culminated in the revelation of grace in the new covenant revealed by the True illumination of the Son:

[Numbers 15]

The Eternal One spoke to Moses about sacrifices.

Eternal One: Give the Israelites these instructions: “When you enter the land I determined would be yours, where you’ll settle and make your homes, and when you burn a food offering, burnt offering, or sacrifice of meat from the herd or flock to make a pleasing aroma for Me; you should always accompany it with a grain offering—about two quarts of really good flour mixed with about one quart of oil. Do this whether your offering is a sworn vow or something you’re freely offering during the appointed festival. Oh, and give a drink offering of some wine: about one quart for each lamb whenever you make a sacrifice or offering. For bigger animals like a ram offer about four quarts of flour and about one and one-quarter quarts of oil, and make about one and one-quarter quarts for the drink offering of wine. All of this will be a soothing aroma to Me. For a bull (whether burnt or simply as a sacrifice to satisfy a promise or as an offering of well-being), about six quarts of flour mixed with about two quarts of oil, and make the drink offering two quarts of wine. Offer it by fire to make a soothing smell to Me. This is how you should offer oxen or rams, male lambs, or young goats. The specified accompaniments are for a single animal, so increase it based on the number of offerings you make. Every Israelite should follow these instructions for an offering by fire to make a soothing smell for Me. Others who happen to be living among you temporarily or permanently should offer sacrifices in the same way. There should be no difference throughout the community in this matter—Israelite or not—forever. You and the foreigner dwelling with you are the same, as I see it, so you all should follow the same rules and regulations.”

(to Moses) Tell the Israelites this as well: “After you’ve entered the land that I’m taking you to, whenever you enjoy the land’s bread, give a contribution to Me by raising up your offering to Me. Just as you set aside a little grain on the threshing floor, so you and your descendants should set aside a little cake loaf from the first batch, as an offering to Me.

“If, somehow, someone overlooked or otherwise accidentally failed to do what I spelled out through Moses for the congregation (all those commandments from the first day I gave them to you and throughout coming generations), and it only came to the attention of the community after the fact, then the whole congregation should offer a bull together. Offer all of it by fire so that it smells good to Me along with the requisite grain and drink offerings, and sacrifice a male goat since it was a sin of sorts. In the process, the priest will cover all the Israelites, and they’ll be forgiven, for it was an unintentional offense. So, if they do all the right things to rectify the situation, then everyone (and not just native Israelites but even all the other people who happen to be living with them at the time) will be forgiven.

“If an individual sins by accident (and the congregation catches it in time), he should offer a female yearling goat as the sin offering. Thereby the priest shall cover that individual who sins accidentally in front of Me. Now that the mistake is covered, that person shall be forgiven. This is the way it should be for Israelites and outsiders alike—for anyone who accidentally errs. If it’s not an accident—the guilty person simply didn’t care about abiding by the instructions I gave to the Israelites through Moses and knowingly disregarded them—that’s different. Such a person, whether an Israelite or a stranger, has essentially rejected God. The community will ostracize him, and he’ll have to bear the burden of his guilt.”

One time, when the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness, it was discovered that somebody had broken the Sabbath rest commandment by gathering firewood. The people who saw the man brought him to Moses and Aaron and the gathered congregation. They weren’t sure what to do with him because nothing had been declared yet, so they kept him confined. The Eternal One told Moses the man should be killed, that the whole congregation should take him outside the camp and stone him to death. So they did just as the Eternal told them to do and executed him.

Once again the Eternal One spoke to Moses.

Eternal One: Tell the Israelites to make fringes on each corner of their clothes and include a blue thread in each fringe. They should do this forever, as it will bring to mind all My commandments and remind them not to wander off to do whatever their eyes see or hearts desire, and pursue them without restraint. Instead, they will remember and do all of My commandments and be holy to your God.

I, the Eternal One, am your True God, the One who brought you out of Egypt to be your God. I am the Eternal One, your True God.

The Book of Numbers, Chapter 15 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, june 7 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

[roane72]

I really love cooking, okay?

You guys seriously have no idea how excited I am about having a real kitchen right now. I have always loved to cook, but it’s so easy for me to forget that, especially when I had a TINY kitchen with no real room to play.

So lately I really have been cooking and baking and playing around like mad. It’s to the point that I want a bigger freezer just so I can make and store more stuff for later. In my freezer right now, which is about to burst, are things like pie crust, a cake layer, a bunch of meat bought when it was cheap, homemade popsicles, cooked chickpeas, and so many little baggies of ice cube-shaped liquids: pizza sauce, leftover coffee (for smoothies or using a little bit in a cake), chickpea cooking liquid (no lie, use that in hummus instead of water--SO GOOD), broth. And then there’s a loaf of homemade bread and the usual assortment of frozen veggies and fruit.

Cooking is such a huge huge element of self care for me, on multiple levels. I enjoy the hell out of it, especially baking. So it’s fun and relaxing. For me to take charge of what I’m eating and feed myself yummy things that *I* made from the ground up is also a big deal. It means that I’m prioritizing taking care of my body, which is always something I struggle with. There’s the sense of accomplishment that comes with making something new and having it turn out well, like the first time I made real fried chicken:

And cooking for other people? BEST THING EVER. Ask @starfightercommand. The last time she was here I wanted to cook her ALL THE THINGS. And I keep threatening (heh, “threatening”) to take a bunch of baked goods over to @carpdirector‘s house. 

Plus, dealing with ADHD, keeping the house clean has always been an enormous problem for me. Wanting to cook constantly means keeping the kitchen clean and ready to go, so that gives me extra motivation.

ANYWAY, all of this is to say there might be more food and cooking posts coming up, just because I’m having such a great time with it. (I am one of those people who posts a LOT of food pics to Instagram, if you like that sort of thing.) If anybody wants to talk to me about cooking or ask me stuff, OMG PLEASE DO.

If you’re wondering why I haven’t been quite as active lately, chances are good I’ve either been cooking, cleaning, or working on this godforsaken book revision. ;)

[mbtizone]

Aladdin (ESTP): Aladdin

Dominant Extroverted Sensing [Se]: Navigating his physical environment is a piece of cake for Aladdin. He’s aware of his surroundings and uses them to escape the guards who are after him. Aladdin is able to jump out of buildings and land on two pieces of rope, which he skis down. He uses a sheet he finds to disguise himself. He even catches his fallen loaf of bread without looking. When guards are coming at him from both sides, he jumps up, causing them to all crash into each other. He manages to use a carpet he finds as a parachute to jump out of a window and escape once and for all. Aladdin always remains ahead of his adversaries and is great at improvising in the moment. He successfully dodges every obstacle in his environment and uses what’s available to him to sabotage the guards who pursue him. Aladdin readily takes risks, whether it’s jumping off buildings, pole vaulting across them, or facing Jafar with no plan whatsoever. He appreciates the beauty and wonder in the world and seeing what it has to offer. He enjoys experiencing all that’s out there, and wants to show it all to Jasmine.

Auxiliary Introverted Thinking [Ti]: Aladdin is skilled when it comes to hatching plans on the fly. If one scheme doesn’t work, he simply tries something else. He’s a fast thinker and can usually spot the best solution to a problem with ease. Aladdin often utilizes his quick mind in his sense of humor. He’s able to trick the Genie into helping him without actually using a wish. When he notices that Jasmine has been caught stealing, he immediately jumps in to help by making up a story about her being his “crazy” sister to keep her from getting in trouble. Aladdin is able to deduce that Jafar is hypnotizing the sultan with his cobra staff, and he leaps into action (Se) by breaking it, thereby putting an end to Jafar’s control over him. Aladdin’s logic is internal and he has his own ideas about what’s rational. Aladdin also has a knack for finding loopholes and ways around the rules. He can’t wish for love, but he can wish to become a prince so he can marry the princess!

Tertiary Extroverted Feeling [Fe]: Although he survives by stealing food, he only does it because he needs to eat to live. Aladdin cares very much about other people, and makes sacrifices for others – even perfect strangers. After everything he went through to steal it and to evade the guards afterwards, Aladdin notices two children digging through the trash for food, and decides to give his half of the loaf to them. When he notices one of Princess Jasmine’s potential suitors getting ready to whip the same kids, Aladdin steps in and stands up for them. He’s good at understanding other people and uses his insights to get what he wants (manipulating Jafar into using his final wish to become a genie). Aladdin cares about what other people think of him and it bothers him that other people only view him as a “street rat.” When trying to make a decision, Aladdin wants to hear other people’s opinions. Genie, what would you wish for? Aladdin often struggles with morality. He thinks he needs to be someone else to win the heart of the princess, and often chooses to lie instead of just being himself. He nearly goes back on his promise to free the Genie because without the Genie, he’s just Aladdin.

Inferior Introverted Intuition [Ni]: Considering the consequences of his actions isn’t Aladdin’s strong suit. Aladdin continues to lie, even though doing so gets him into trouble. He also steals, knowing that the guards will chase and try to capture him. Aladdin believes that one day, things will change for him. He visualizes himself becoming rich, living in the palace, and never having any problems in his life – though he doesn’t actually have a plan to make that happen. He just believes it will become a reality.

Enneagram: 7w6 3w2 8w9 Sx/Sp

Quotes:

Aladdin: Gotta keep…one jump ahead of the breadline One swing ahead of the sword I steal only what I can’t afford That’s everything!

Aladdin: Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat Tell you all about it when I got the time!

Aladdin: One jump ahead of the slowpokes One skip ahead of my doom Next time gonna use a nom de plume. One jump ahead of the hitmen One hit ahead of the flock I think I’ll take a stroll around the block.

Aladdin: One jump ahead of the hoofbeats! One hop ahead of the hump! One trick ahead of disaster They’re quick, but I’m much faster

Aladdin: Here goes, better throw my hand in Wish me happy landin’ All I gotta do is jump!

Aladdin: Riffraff, street rat. I don’t buy that. If only they’d look closer Would they see a poor boy? No siree. They’d find out, there’s so much more to me.

Aladdin: Someday, Abu, things are gonna change. We’ll be rich, live in a palace, and never have any problems at all.

Proprietor: You’d better be able to pay for that. Jasmine: Pay? Proprietor: No one steals from my cart! Jasmine: Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have any money. Proprietor: Thief! Jasmine: Please, if you let me go to the palace, I can get some from the Sultan. Proprietor: Do you know what the penalty is for stealing? [He takes her hand and pins it down on the table, intending to chop it off] Jasmine: No, no, please! [The sword drops, but his hand is stopped by Aladdin] Aladdin: Thank you, kind sir. I’m so glad you’ve found her. I’ve been looking all over for you. Jasmine: [whispering] What are you doing? Aladdin: Just play along. Proprietor: You know this girl? Aladdin: Sadly, yes. She is my sister. She’s a little crazy. Proprietor: She said she knows the Sultan! Aladdin: She thinks the monkey is the Sultan. [Abu is picking a pocket. He hears this and straightens up. Jasmine, playing along, kneels down and bows to Abu] Jasmine: Oh, wise Sultan. How may I serve you? Abu: Well, blah blah blah blah. Aladdin: Tragic, isn’t it? [He leans forward, picking up another apple from the cart with his foot] But, no harm done. [He walks over to Jasmine] Now come along, sis. Time to see the doctor. Jasmine: [to a camel standing nearby] Oh, hello, Doctor. How are you? Aladdin: No, no, no. Not that one.

Jasmine: I want to thank you for stopping that man. Aladdin: Uh, forget it. [He grabs a pole] So, uh, this is your first time in the marketplace, huh? [He pole vaults to the next building, leaving Jasmine behind] Jasmine: Is it that obvious? Aladdin: Well, you do kinda stand out. I mean, uh, you don’t seem to know how dangerous Agrabah can be. [He lays a plank between the buildings for her to walk over, but as he is leaned down, she vaults over his head. He looks back in surprise. She tosses the pole to him.] Jasmine: I’m a fast learner. Aladdin: Right. C’mon, this way.

Aladdin: Ah, provisos? You mean limitations? On wishes? Some all powerful genie – can’t even bring people back from the dead. I don’t know, Abu – he probably can’t even get us out of this cave. Looks like we’re gonna have to find a way out of here- [They start to leave, but a big blue foot stomps down in front of them] Genie: Excuse me? Are you lookin’ at me? Did you rub my lamp? Did you wake me up, did you bring me here? And all of a sudden, you’re walkin’ out on me? I don’t think so, not right now. You’re gettin’ your wishes, so siddown!

Genie: Thank you for choosing Magic Carpent for all your travel needs. Don’t stand until the rug has come to a complete stop. Thank you. Good bye, good bye! Thank you! Good bye! Well, now. How about that, Mr. doubting Mustafa? Aladdin: Oh, you sure showed me. Now about my three wishes- Genie: Dost mine ears deceive me? Three? You are down by ONE, boy! Aladdin: Ah, no – I never actually wished to get out of the cave. You did that on your own. Genie: Well don’t I just feel sheepish? All right, you baaaad boy, but no more freebies. Aladdin: Fair deal. So, three wishes. I want them to be good. What would you wish for? Genie: Me? No one’s ever asked me that before. Well, in my case, ah forget it. Aladdin: What? No, tell me. Genie: Freedom. Aladdin: You’re a prisoner? Genie: It’s all part-and-parcel, the whole genie gig. Phenomenal cosmic powers! Itty bitty living space. Aladdin: Genie, that’s terrible. Genie: But, oh – to be free. Not have to go “Poof! What do you need? Poof! What do you need? Poof! What do you need? To be my own master, such a thing would be greater than all the magic and all the treasures in all the world! But what am I talking about, here? Let’s get real here. It’s not gonna happen. Genie, wake up and smell the hummus. Aladdin: Why not? Genie: Theo only way I get outta this is if my master wishes me out. So you can guess how often that’s happened. Aladdin: I’ll do it. I’ll set you free. Genie: [Head turns into Pinocchio’s with a long nose] Uh-huh, right. Whoop! Aladdin: No, really. I promise. [He pushes the nose back in and Genie’s head returns to normal] After I make my first two wishes, I’ll use my third wish to set you free. [He holds out his hand] Genie: Well, here’s hopin’. [Shakes Aladdin’s hand] Okay! Let’s make some magic! [Turns into a magician.] So how ’bout it. What is it you want most? Aladdin: Well, there’s this girl– Genie: Eehhh! [Like a buzzer, and Genie’s chest shows a heart with a cross through it.] Wrong! I can’t make anybody fall in love, remember? Aladdin: Oh, but Genie. She’s smart and fun and… Genie: Pretty? Aladdin: Beautiful. She’s got these eyes that just… and this hair, wow… and her smile. Genie: [Sitting in a Parisian cafe with Abu and Carpet.] Ami. C’est l’amour. Aladdin: But she’s the princess. To even have a chance, I’d have to be a – hey, can you make me a prince?

Genie: Tell her the… TRUTH!!! Aladdin: No way! If Jasmine found out I was really some crummy street rat… she’d laugh at me. Genie: A woman appreciates a man who can make her laugh! Al, all joking aside, you really oughtta be yourself. Aladdin: Hey, that’s the last thing I want to be. Okay, I’m gonna go see her. I gotta be smooth, cool, confident. How do I look? Genie: Like a prince.

Aladdin: I can show you the world Shining, shimmering splendid Tell me, princess, now when did You last let your heart decide!

I can open your eyes Take you wonder by wonder Over sideways and under On a magic carpet ride

A whole new world A new fantastic point of view No one to tell us no Or where to go Or say we’re only dreaming

Jasmine: A whole new world! Aladdin: Don’t you dare close your eyes Jasmine: An hundred thousand things to see Aladdin: Hold your breath–it gets better! Jasmine: I’m like a shooting star, I’ve come so far I can’t go back to where I used to be! Aladdin: A whole new world! Jasmine: Every turn a surprise Aladdin: With new horizons to pursue Jasmine: Every moment, red-letter

Aladdin: A thrilling chase Jasmine: A wondrous place Both: For you and me!

Jasmine: You are the boy from the market! I knew it. Why did you lie to me? Aladdin: Jasmine, I’m sorry. Jasmine: Did you think I was stupid? Aladdin: No! Jasmine: That I wouldn’t figure it out? Aladdin: No. I mean, I hoped you wouldn’t. No, that’s not what I meant. Jasmine: Who are you? Tell me the truth! Aladdin: The truth? The truth… the truth is… I sometimes dress as a commoner to escape the pressures of palace life. But I really am a prince! Jasmine: Why didn’t you just tell me? Aladdin: Well, you know, um… royalty going out into the city in disguise, it sounds a little strange, don’t you think? Jasmine: Not that strange.

Aladdin: Tell them the truth, Jafar! You tried to have me killed. Jafar: What? Ridiculous nonsense, your highness. He is obviously lying. [He brings the staff close to the Sultan’s face.] Sultan: Obviously… lying. [Aladdin sees the staff with its glowing eyes.] Jasmine: Father, what’s wrong with you? Aladdin: I know what’s wrong! [Aladdin grabs the staff and smashes it on the floor. Jafar flinches and the spell is broken for good.] Sultan: Oh, oh, oh my! Aladdin: Your highness, Jafar’s been controlling you with this!

Genie: Huzzah! Hail the conquering hero! [Turns into a one-man band. He sees Aladdin walk away with his head hung. He stops, scratches his head, comes up with an idea, then zooms over to Aladdin. He holds up his hands like a director scoping a picture and we look through them.] Aladdin, you’ve just won the heart of the princess. What are you gonna do next? [Aladdin looks at him, then walks away in sadness to the bed, where he falls on it and sighs. Genie again is confused, then goes to him and pulls out a script labeled “Aladdin.”] Psst, your line is “I’m going to free the genie.” Anytime. Aladdin: Genie… I can’t. Genie: Sure you can. You just go “Genie, I wish you free.” [He grabs Aladdin’s head and uses him as a mock ventriloquist’s dummy. Aladdin pulls away.] Aladdin: I’m serious. Look, I’m sorry – I really am. But they want to make me sultan – no! They want to make Prince Ali sultan. Without you, I’m just Aladdin. Genie: Al, you won! Aladdin: Because of you! The only reason anyone thinks I’m anything is because of you. What if they find out I’m not really a prince? What if Jasmine finds out? I’ll lose her. Genie, I can’t keep this up on my own. I can’t wish you free. Genie: Hey, I understand. After all, you’ve lied to everyone else. Hey, I was beginning to feel left out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, master.

Genie: Al, I can’t help you – I work for senor psychopath now. Aladdin: Hey, I’m a street rat, remember? I’ll improvise.

Jafar: Without the genie, boy, you’re nothing! Aladdin: The genie! The genie! The genie has more power than you’ll ever have! Jafar: What! Aladdin: He gave you your power, he can take it away! Genie: Al, what are you doing? Why are you bringing me into this? Aladdin: Face it, Jafar – you’re still just second best! Jafar: You’re right! His power does exceed my own! But not for long! Genie: The boy is crazy. He’s a little punch drunk. One too many hits with the snake. Jafar: Slave, I make my third wish! I wish to be an all powerful genie! Genie: [reluctantly] All right, your wish is my command. Way to go, Al.

Jafar: Yes! Yes! The power! The absolute power! Jasmine: What have you done? Aladdin: Trust me! [A black lamp appears at Jafar’s base. Jafar is busy conjuring.] Jafar: The universe is mine to command, to control! Aladdin: Not so fast, Jafar! Aren’t you forgetting something? [Jafar looks down questioningly] You wanted to be a genie, you got it! And everything that goes with it! [Shackles appear on Jafar’s wrists.] Jafar: No! No! Iago: I’m gettin’ out of here! Come on, you’re the genie, I don’t want- [Iago tries to fly away, but is sucked in with Jafar.] Aladdin: Phenomenal cosmic powers! Itty bitty living space. Genie: Al, you little genius, you!

Aladdin (ESTP): Aladdin was originally published on MBTI Zone