#colanders and strainers

[microbes-in-hats]

Cyanidium sp.

Photo credit: Wikipedia user NEON

[coolsomejet]

The main cast of Ready Jet Go! at the beginning (Tour of the Solar System) and end (Space Camp) of the show

[mey-rin-is-fabulous]

DO NOT USE GLASSES FROM AMAZON EBAY TEMU OR ANY OTHER CHEAP SITE

Important safety information about the eclipse on Monday

You *can* remove the eclipse glasses during totality; not before or after.

If you find yourself falling apart instead of falling in love, turn around, bright eyes.

It is no longer considered best practice to cut the beating heart out of a human chest at the top of a pyramid to bring the sun back; nowadays, they just short out a LUCAS device.

If you are imprisoned by an evil bishop, break out, and look for a hawk and a wolf who are in love.

Most critically - No matter what, do not buy any strange and exotic plants which mysteriously appear during the eclipse.

[retops]

🧐 Cream or lemon for your tea?

[yueyimold]

multi shot plastic colanders sieves mold

China 2k mold maker, offer 2 component folding mesh strainer mold, two color flour sifter mold, multi shot plastic colanders sieves mold, double plastic drain colander mold.

Web: www.yueyimold.com WhatsApp& WeChat: +86 183 5761 6586 Mail: lucia@yueyimold.com

[natesbuys]

Snap N' Strain: The Space-Saving Silicone Kitchen Essential (2024 Review)

Introducing the Kitchen Gizmo Snap N' Strain - a silicone clip-on colander designed for efficient and convenient straining of vegetables and pasta noodles. This essential kitchen tool is a must-have for any culinary enthusiast.

[megadealsforyou]

Heat Resistant Drainer

The specially designed clips easily snap on to round pots, pans, and bowls of all sizes (including lipped bowls). Save time by straining while the food stays in the pot!

[mischievousmoony]

𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

⟢ pairing: james potter x reader ⟢ summary: your boyfriend doesn't mind getting his hands a little messy for you ⊹ 794 ⟢ warnings: intoxication, james is taller than reader, knife (used to cut fruit)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Cherries, Jamie!” you cheer, your head popping up from its place in the refrigerator.

James stands behind you, holding the fridge door open as he endearingly watches you stick your head deeper than necessary into the fridge, fitting your face between the shelves, in search of a midnight snack. 

His amused expression falters as you pull out the basket of cherries you bought at the market yesterday. 

James closes his hand over the side of the basket, intent on taking it from you, “Ah, how about we do the raspberries instead, yeah?” 

Your grip tightens on your snack, giving it a futile tug that causes you to stumble back.

After a night out with your friends, you’ve returned to your shared flat, fairly drunk and quite famished, your tastebuds craving something sweet. 

James frowns as images of this drunken version of you clumsily cracking your tooth or choking on a cherry pit swirl around in his mind.

A pout overtakes your lips as you complain, “Don’t want ‘berries, want cherries.” Your downturned lips don’t last long when you suddenly snort at your accidental rhyme, “Berry, cherry,” you repeat, giggling. 

James tries to pry the fruit from you while your distracted, but your grip remains strong as the papery basket bends from your collective tugs in opposite directions.

“Baby, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” he tries to reason.

“On fruit?” you ask incredulously. 

Maybe it was a little silly, but James’ protective nature knows no bounds. 

“I just want cherrieeees,” you whine and James has never been good at saying no to you.

“Okay," he gives in, "but give them here first.”

“You’re gonna put ‘em where I can’t reach ‘em!" you accuse.

“I'm just gonna wash them for you," James says in a soft, reassuring voice, "Can you let me do that please?”

You squint at him skeptically, but you release your hold. 

James holds the basket in one hand, the other finding its way around you to press against your lower back, guiding you away from the fridge to let it close behind you. 

He sets the cherries on the edge of the sink and you in front of them as he moves to rummage through the cupboards for a colander to rinse the cherries in.

James has to suddenly return to your side, steadying you by your waist when you fail to hoist yourself up onto the counter.

A stressed sigh leaves his lips as he dips his head down so that his eyes are level with yours. "You wanna sit?" he asks, giving your waist a squeeze.

"Mhm."

James lets his forehead tap against yours briefly, a sign of his affection, "Okay, hop up for me."

You jump again and with James' help you land on top of the counter this time. He kisses your temple before resuming his mission to recover the colander.

He's quick to dump the berries from the green fiber basket into the strainer and rinse them in the sink. Once the water is off, you're already reaching for a cherry and he lifts the dripping bowl out of your reach.

You look at him with an expression of utmost betrayal.

"I'm gonna give them to you, baby, just give me a minute. Trust me?"

"Trust you," you grumble a confirmation.

James places the wet colander atop a dishcloth. He keeps a close eye that you don't sneak any bites as he takes out a plastic cutting board and a paring knife.

Soon, James falls into steady a rhythm of plucking stems, depitting little stone fruits, and popping the halves into your mouth as he goes.

It's tedious— slicing the cherries around their pits, twisting the halves apart, and driving out the pits with his thumb. Not to mention, it's messy, and even while applying his most delicate touch, fruit juices are spraying everywhere. On top of that, the stones keep trying to roll onto the floor.

The ordeal has the whites of his nails pink and his fingertips stained red, but the way you giggle happily each time he feeds you another piece makes it all worth it.

Once your sweet tooth is been satisfied, he pecks your crimson stained lips, and rinses excess fruit juice from his hands.

He returns to you, placing his now dry hands atop your knees and he traces little shapes on your skin with the scarlet pads of his thumbs.

You beam up at him, and his chest swells with a profound, all-encompassing love.

"Happy now?" he asks, his eyes lovingly studying the crinkle of your eyes and curl of your lips.

In response, and as a thank you, you scoot closer and press another sweet kiss to his mouth.

He smiles against you and he tastes cherries.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Where can a man get a beer around here?” Bucky’s voice distracts you from watching the starchy boil of potatoes.  

You step back look at him as he fills the doorway. The house was built in another time. People were smaller. Or maybe he’s just big. 

“Oh, the beer stores about fifteen minutes away.” 

“Great,” he says. “Phone can’t find it. Map’s blank.” 

“Ah, yeah, up here, that happens,” you say. “Fifteen minutes driving. It’ll be at least an hour on foot.” 

“Right,” the disappointment is crisp in his voice. 

“I got a case of Molson in the fridge. Neighbour’s wife was sick and I helped out. Gesture of kindness... for anyone that drinks. You’re welcome to it.” You take a fork and poke at the potatoes. “It’ll end up in the sink anyway.” 

He inhales audibly, “you don’t mind?” 

“As long as you don’t. I don’t know if it’s any good. I’m not a beer person. Unfortunately, everyone else around here is,” you turn off the burner and lift the large pot. 

You carry it to the sink and dump the potatoes into the strainer. A cloud of steam puffs up and sets a sheen over your face. You grunt and put the hot pot aside. You lift the colander and shake out the excess water. 

You look over your shoulder and set it back down. He’s still in the doorway, watching. It must be strange. To be fair, you feel the same. You’re not used to company and he’s a far way from home. 

You go to the fridge and break off a tall can from the six-pack. You bring it to him and his lips clamp sheepishly, “thanks. Coulda waited til dinner... you need help?” 

“I got it,” you assure as you hold out the can.  

He takes it an examines the label. “More of a Heineken man.” 

“Like I said, I wouldn’t know the difference,” you shrug. 

You return to the sink and dump the potatoes back into the pot. He lingers at the door as he cracks the can. You cross to the fridge again as tension pinches the nape of your neck. You take out the butter and milk. The door sucks shut and you sniff as you back up. 

“I... never been to New York,” you say to fill the void. “I hear it smells.” 

“Stinks,” he agrees. “Born in Indiana but I ended up in New York. Home to me. Or... was.” 

“Right,” you nod as you add some milk and butter to the potatoes and grab the masher. “I grew up south of here. Small town but closer to the city. Compared to this it was a metropolis.” 

“It’s quiet up here.” 

“Sure it,” you agree. “It’s nice. Most of the time.” 

You put a lid on the pot to keep it warm and go to the stove. You turn off the steamer as the lid begins to tremble. The timer on the stove counts down. 

“I can take you to the beer store tomorrow. Sorry but I hate driving after dark. The moose don’t exactly abide by the rules of the road.” You explain. 

“It’s fine,” he takes a loud slurp. “It’s beer. It’s not...” he sucks his teeth loudly. “You know, I can’t even get drunk. The taste is just familiar.” 

“Fair enough,” you hit the cancel button before the time can yell at you. “Dinner’s ready.” 

You open the cupboard and take down two plates. You lay them out side by side and work at doling out the portions. His shadow hovers on the other side of the stove. 

“Thanks, you know,” he dares to inch closer. “You already put a roof over me, now you’re feeding me.” 

“No biggie. Just the way up here.” 

He sniffs and gets closer, peeking at the pan as you carve out a hunk of meatloaf, “hadn’t had good home cooking since... well, I been living off the microwave crap or take out.” 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn him. “It’s nothing special, I manage. As long as the meat’s cooked, I’m not complaining.” 

“Me either,” he agrees. You lift the plates but before you can bring them to the table, he stops you. He puts the beer on the counter and brings his hands to the edges of the plates. “I got it.” 

You let him take the food and he brings it to the table. You watch him then scoop up the can and follow him. It’s going to be an adjustment. For both of you. 

You put the Molson next to his plate as he’s reluctant to claim his seat, “dig in. It’ll get cold.” 

You go back to grab cutlery and come back. You sit and hand him a knife and fork. He reaches with his left hand and hesitates as you look at his metal digits.  

He clutches the cutlery and quickly retracts. You don’t mention it though you do wonder if he’s embarrassed. Why? Isn’t that what makes him special? A hero? Or whatever he is. 

“This place is old. My ma had the same lintels on her doors in 1934.” He points with his fork to the door frame. 

“Old on top of old. Those are actually from the twenties. No one was doing renos in the thirties, I’m sure you know that. Somewhere back there, one of my great great whatever’s put in a stove and fridge and wired the place up. Kept the fire stove though. Antique now.” 

“Antique, like me,” he scoffs. 

You nod, unsure how to respond. You hope you don’t think you were implying anything. You get a bit carried away. Your mother and grandmother were always into genealogy and you caught a bit of the bug. 

Or maybe he thinks you’re over explaining. He was alive. He would know all these things and could guess the rest. You bite into the meatloaf and stare at the painted trim on the plate. 

“Ma’s place was taken down. Lived near the base since dad was there and they flattened it for a firing range. Now the place in New York... drug den now. New York, glamourous, really. You’re missing out,” he tuts dryly. 

You look up at him and give a tight-lipped expression, “sorry to hear that.” 

“It is what it is. The world changes. With or without you,” he reaches for the beer and swigs. His blue eyes dart to the wall and sharpen. He put the can down with a bit of force and pats his chest. He feels around and grimaces. “I’m gonna have a--” there’s a crinkle and he slides out another sucker. “Well...” 

He waves the candy at you and stands. You watch him silently and scrape your fork through the mashed potato. He twirls the stick between his fingers. 

“It’s good,” he points to his plate, “really.” He clears his throat and shifts on his feet, “back soon.” 

He turns and marches out. You look down at your food and slice into the loaf. The grainy scent of the beer wafts over. You take another bite as your forehead creases in thought. Sam’s a funny guy and this feels a bit like a joke. 

[najia-cooks]

Fig buttercup soup

This earthy, complex, savory soup is a play on Italian wedding soup, using a common invasive garden weed as its bitter green.

Fig buttercup, or lesser celandine (Ficaria verna), is a low-growing, flowering perennial that can be damaging to ecosystems in many parts of the United States and Canada, where it has been widely introduced. It forms dense mats early on in the spring, and out-competes other wildflowers; the resulting lack of variety can be harmful to pollinators.

If you have a small infestation, it can be cleared by digging it up manually, though you will need to take care to gather all the tubers, and the small bulbils on the stems, from which the plant can regrow. It's best to eradicate lesser celandine before it has a chance to flower. There is a recompense for your trouble: all parts of this plant, including its roots and tubers, are edible if cooked or dried.

Recipe below the cut!

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Raw lesser celandine contains protoanemonin, a toxin that can cause nausea, vomiting, or paralysis if ingested in large quantities. The plant must be cooked or dried to eliminate the toxin. Keep all parts of the plant that you're going to eat at or above boiling point for at least 15 minutes.

Younger plants have less of the toxin, and some people report consuming young leaves raw, but I haven't tried this myself. If you want to eat lesser celandine leaves raw, I would suggest pulling the leaves, but leaving the tubers, then harvesting the leaves in another couple of days, when they have had a chance to sprout again. That way you will know for sure that the leaves are young. It is probably easier to just find some bittercress or violet, though!

Ingredients

500g lesser celandine (leaves, roots, and tubers)

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 tsp cumin (jeera)

1 tsp kala jeera

1 tsp black mustard seeds (rai)

2 pods green cardamom (elaichi), lightly crushed

1 Mediterranean (laurel) bay leaf

1 large white or yellow onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, chopped

1 green Thai bird's eye chili pepper (optional)

1 large tomato, diced

1 carrot, sliced (optional)

1 vegetarian chicken bouillon cube, or paste

Water or vegetable stock, to cover

1/4 cup acini di pepe

Salt and black pepper, to taste

Drizzling olive oil and lemon wedges, to serve

Lesser celandine leaves are a little bitter: like kale, or spinach, but more mildly flavored. The tubers are mildly earthy, like potatoes. My choice of spices plays up the earthy qualities of the leaves and tubers, but you can spice this soup any way you'd like.

Instructions

1. Place plants in a large bowl filled with water and agitate. Lift plants out of the water into a colander to allow dirt to sink to the bottom. Pour the dirty water through a strainer to capture any stray tubers, and set the tubers aside. Repeat this washing and straining process until the water runs completely clear. You may need to rub the tubers and roots between your hands to loosen dirt.

2. Roughly chop the leaves, being sure to separate large clusters at the base. Optionally remove some of the larger roots (the roots are edible and I found that they softened into the soup, rather than remaining chewy or stringy, so it's up to you).

3. If you have any particularly long tubers, cut them into bite-sized pieces.

4. Heat olive oil on medium in a large, heavy-bottomed pot. Add whole spices (cumin seeds, kala jeera, mustard seeds, cardamom, bay leaf) and fry for 30 seconds to a minute, until cumin seeds are popping into the air.

5. Add tubers and onion and fry 3-5 minutes, until onion is translucent. Add garlic and chili and fry until onion is browned and garlic is golden.

6. Add tomato and salt and fry until tomato is softened.

7. Add the rest of the plants and heat, stirring occasionally, until leaves are wilted.

8. Add water or vegetable stock to cover, and stir. Add carrots if using. Cover the pot and simmer for 15 minutes.

9. Remove some broth into a separate bowl and whisk in bouillon. Pour back into the pot.

10. Add pasta and cook for 9-11 minutes, until tender. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.

Identifying lesser celandine

Do not eat any plant unless you have a conclusive identification. The information here is intended as a general guide and is not necessarily sufficient to conclusively identify this plant.

Large bed of lesser celandine showing flowers, leaves, and buds

Lesser celandine grows from a cluster of underground tubers in a dense rosette. Tubers are oblate; on larger plants, they grow in clusters.

Unearthed clump of lesser celandine, with roots; clean tuber at right

Leaves are hairless, fleshy, and cordate (heart-shaped), with wavy margins (edges); they are dark green on top, and pale green or silverish on the bottom. They can sometimes show variegation (lighter patterning). Petioles (leaf stalks) have deep grooves down the center.

Leaf top (left) and underside (right). Petiole is visibly grooved from the front

Flowers are yellow or purple and bractless, with 7-9 petals, and many stamens and carpels.

Lesser celandine flower; leaf at bottom left shows some variegation

Lookalikes

Violet

Before it flowers, lesser celandine may resemble violet. Violet leaves have a greater tendency to curl inward at the petiole to form cups. They are more heavily serrated, rather than gently scalloped, as lesser celandine leaves are. Violets grow from rhizomes, rather than tubers. The flowers and leaves of the violet plant are edible raw or cooked; the rhizomes are not.

Violet (left); lesser celandine (right)

Violet (left); lesser celandine (right)

Littleleaf buttercup

Lesser celandine leaves may resemble the lower leaves of the littleleaf, or kidney leaf, buttercup; but littleleaf buttercup is an upright plant, with stems several inches in height. Little buttercup is toxic cooked or raw.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Cooking Basics

Baking and Roasting: Involve applying dry, radiant heat uniformly to food from all sides, using an oven or other indirect heat source

Boil: To heat liquid until bubbles break to the surface; to cook food in hot liquid, like water or stock, at a temperature of at least 212°F (100°C)

Broil: To use direct heat to cook

Coat: To cover entire surface with a mixture, such as flour or bread crumbs

Core: Using a sharp knife, remove the core/seeds of a fruit

Cream: To stir one or more foods until they are soft

Crisp-tender: Describes the “doneness” of vegetables when they are cooked only until tender and remain slightly crisp in texture

Cut in: To mix fat into dry ingredients using a pastry blender, fork or two knives, with as little blending as possible until fat is in small pieces

Dice: To cut into small, square-shaped pieces

Drain: To put food and liquid into a strainer (or colander), or to pour liquid out of a pot by keeping the lid slightly away from the edge of the pan and pouring away from you

Flute: To pinch the edge of dough, such as on a pie crust

Fold: To mix by turning over and over

Fork-tender: Describes the “doneness” of a food when a fork can easily penetrate the food

Frying: Cooks food fully submerged in hot oil

Grilling: Similar to roasting in that it uses radiant heat, but directly and at much higher temperatures, often reaching up to 500°F (260°C)

Knead: To mix by “pushing” and by folding

Marinate: To soak in a seasoned liquid to increase flavor and tenderness

Mince: To cut or chop food into small pieces

Mix: To combine ingredients using a fork or spoon

Oil: To apply a thin layer of vegetable oil on a dish or pan; vegetable spray may be used instead

Poaching: A method similar to boiling, in that it is a moist-heat method achieved in hot liquid, however it is executed at lower temperatures; poaching is done at a temperature between 160°F and 180°F (71-82°C)

Sauté: To cook in a small amount of fat or water, usually on the stove top

Scald: To heat milk until bubbles appear (bubbles should not be “breaking” on the surface)

Shred: To rub foods against a grater to divide into small pieces

Simmer: To cook at a temperature that is just below the boiling point; bubbles form slowly but do not reach the surface; it is achieved at a temperature of around 180°F-200°F (82-93°C)

Steam: To cook over boiling water; a moist-heat method that is achieved by allowing hot vapor generated from liquid to cook the food, and it’s considered one of the gentlest cooking methods

Stir fry: A method of cooking in which vegetables are fried quickly to a crisp-tender state while stirring constantly

Stock: Water in which vegetable(s) or meat has been cooked; stock liquid should be stored in the refrigerator

Sources: 1 2

If these writing notes help with your poem/story, do tag me. Or send me a link. I'd love to read them!

More: On Food ⚜ Word Lists

[tuliptired]

anything w egon and ta!reader 🙏🙏🙏

Southern Skies

Pairing: Egon Spengler/TA!Reader

no more fics abt kids for 10 years cuz I'm scared yall can tell when I'm ovulating

Better formatting on Ao3!!

The newspaper was spread out over the table, frankly ignored as all four men were scrambling to get breakfast in themselves before they headed out to a call scheduled painfully early. Egon paused, hoping to get a sip of coffee without it spilling over onto his underclothes, when he spotted it- an editorial that had consulted you for a professional opinion. Mug barely to his lips as he skimmed it, Ray appeared in front of him, ready to go.

“Something interesting?” he inquired, attempting to read upside down. Ray opened his suit a tad in hopes to get some air. “Jeez, it’s hot today.”

“It’s that time.” Egon’s own words making him start to wonder something, forgetting about the mug, guessing that it’d just have to go cold if they wanted to get there in a timely manner. “Do you recognize the name?” 

Ray got a proper look, squinting and fishing for an answer in his head, shaking it twice. “Not really. You know my memories’ shot,” he patted Egon on the shoulder, all the men filing out and down the steps.

Ray’s memory must’ve been crushed, ran over, and spat upon- Egon could remember like it was yesterday. He wasn’t complaining, really, content with the recollection being something he could keep just for himself as he broke into a small and selfish smile behind his friends’ backs.

Christine brought eyes to the clouds in exasperation “You don’t know how awkward it is to see a clone of your boyfriend everywhere,” she complained as you headed back to your dormitory. 

“Side-effects of dating a twin.” You let out a small laugh at her long-distance plight with your books stacked in your arms. It was nice and bright out, the perfect afternoon for a good, long book, or an equally as lengthy nap. “Are you at least, like, friends?”

She sighed, pushing open the complex’s doors. “A bit. We’re gonna have to be, anyway.”

“It’s not all bad. No need for those pictures he sends-”

“I’m not listening !” Christine whined, squeezing her eyes shut and pushing manicured nails into her ears while you snickered devilishly. “I can’t believe you saw those.”

You put the key to your space into the door. “Relax, I’m not reading your mail. Just stop leaving nasty letters on the coffee table.” Christine groaned in embarrassment, sinking into the armchair you got in a yard sale all the way back in winter.

“Speaking of,” she toyed with a fraying edge of the lime green fabric, “He called this morning. He’s still coming- just thought we should bring a few friends.”

You made a skeptic noise as you started on lunch for you and your roommate. “Ouf. During your big reunion trip that you can’t stop talking about?” you asked over your shoulder, washing some fruit.

“That’s the one.” Christine sat up, accidently pulling some of the thread with her. “I suggested it. I just thought he deserved to see them, after being away so long.” You traded your skepticism for understanding, placing grapes in a strainer. “What I’m trying to say…”

“I would love to take a road trip with strangers while you make out in the front seat. It’d be an honor, actually.” 

 Christine snuck a few grapes and popped them in her mouth. “You’re not as distant as you think. It can’t be that bad- I’ll be there!” she punctuated herself by stealing another handful. “What happened to our summer plans?”

“If I’m only being half sarcastic,” you ended up giving her the entire colander, “wouldn’t I be intruding?” She sat on the counter, legs of her jeans swinging back and forth.

“Not at all. I’d like you to meet him before the wedding,” Christine teased you. When you weren’t entirely receptive, she poked you in the side. “If you end up with the brother, our kids’ll pretty much be siblings.”

“Not how genetics works. We’d have to be twins, too.”

“We practically are.”

“Oh, of course.” you joked as she turned you both towards the mirror on the wall. You watched her hopeful face in the mirror. Why was she always the one encouraging you to try new things, anyway? These next few months won’t last forever, admittedly, and soon you’ll be put into the real world where you can’t just drop everything for a trip out with other young people. Plus, you needed to know if her boyfriend was as cute as she said. “When do we leave?” you finally caved.

Christine jumped up, full of excitement as she dragged you to the closet. “Oh, I have to help you pack!”

“Why would I wanna do that?” Egon said into the phone, slipping into casual speech with his brother on the other end when Peter and Ray walked in, back from their lunch. “I don’t like being in a car with you on a regular day.”

“Because I’m coming home and you wanna see me,” Elon answered, unaffected by his twin. Egon sighed into the receiver at his happy tone. Out of all the things he’s had nightmares about, being stuck in a hot car with his brother and his girlfriend was the most hellish. 

“Do they know you’re coming?” 

“The last time I surprised Mom she told everyone I died. I attended my own funeral. Hey, you could bring Pete and Ray along. It’s a whole thing- Chris offered.”

“What about us?” Peter said over Egon’s shoulders, making him flinch away from his friend.

“Wanna take a trip to the shore?” Elon raised his voice so Peter could hear him, Egon flinching in the opposite direction as his ears were assaulted on either side.

Ray dropped what he was doing, now intrigued. “A road trip?” he smiled. “We’re going!”

Egon handed his roommates the phone, since they were so interested in a little excursion with his brother. What was it about the concept that sounded so fun to those three? He could drive anywhere at any time without it having to be a “thing”.

“Oh man,” Ray covered the receiver, “apparently there’s a campsite with the clearest sky for stargazing,” he beamed.

“Get pictures for me,” Egon said plainly, turning his chair back to his desk. Peter didn’t like that, apparently, spinning his friend back around with his hands on his hips.

“You’re not staying here to rot while we’re off kissing girls and looking at space.”

He ignored the pseudo-vulgarity. “I’ll manage. Besides, I have work to get ready for.” Not entirely untrue, he did have an internship coming up- they all did, just not until much later in the season. Ray frowned, seemingly catching the man in his half-lie.

“That’s so far away, Spengs. If you do this, we’ll never ask for anything ever again.” Ray reasoned, grinning hopefully. Egon sat back in thought, under a spotlight shined on him by his two friends. His legs would get tired. He probably couldn’t wear a sweater in the heat. He’d have to sleep in a dingy motel at some point. But- he’d get a rare chance to actually see the night sky without light pollution. If it rained, he’d get a moment for fungus hunting. And maybe he did miss his brother. Maybe.

“When do we leave?”

You barely had time to catch the bag your friend nearly dropped before she was sprinting towards a parked light blue car by the curb with its trunk popped open. As you got closer to the little congregation, your mouth fell open as you got a real look at the man she was clinging to.

Holy shit . This was gonna be so much more fun than you thought.

“Lonnie!” She hugged him tightly, peppering lipstick covered kisses all over his face. The face you’d come to know quite well, actually. 

“Hey, Chris,” he smiled dopily. It was jarring, seeing that face smile so earnestly. They were the exact same person, down to the length and style of their hair, height- if you were crazy enough, you’d ask if they wore the same frames. And one of them was smiling? You had assumed that everyone in the Spengler family was a sea anemone. He, Elon, held onto her waist, before catching sight of you standing on the sidewalk. “Hi,” he grinned warmly, “have you met everyone?”

You couldn’t answer before he took the reins, introducing the unfamiliar men who you had only just noticed. Elon exuded being a natural conversationalist. How ironic? “That’s Peter. Psychology.”

You wondered why he was so familiar until it finally clicked. “I know you. There’s a girl in psych who said you slept over and stole her silk robe.”

“I can’t help it if I look better in it.”

Elon stifled a laugh- that girl was good friends with Christine. “Ray’s in engineering,” he managed to get out.

“I like your jacket,” you complimented, amused at the fashion choice in such unrelenting heat.  

“Thanks,” Ray cuffed his sleeves happily, “I like your lack of a jacket.”

You laughed at that, adjusting the bag on your back getting heavier and heavier by the second. “It’s 80 degrees!”

“Car ACs are no joke.”

Elon tried peeking around the back of the car. “I’m sure you’ve met my brother. He’s just a ray of sunshine.” 

“Sure.” You smiled inwardly, watching Egon arrange luggage like there was a science to it- which, there probably was. You headed back there, slinging a backpack off your shoulder. “Isn’t this fun?” you spoke lowly. He looked miserable, but in a humorous way. At least, humorous for you.

He didn’t answer, placing it in the trunk silently. You placed Christine’s on the roomy felt flooring next to a bit of camping gear before you spoke again, unbothered by his petulance. “I didn’t know you had a twin.”

Egon moved her bag, the spot you chose apparently not optimal enough for him. “I’d consider him more of a parasite.” That made you laugh as he shut the hatch, but didn’t lock it, the latching mechanism seemingly unfamiliar to him. You reached down, doing it for him before leaving him behind to join the rest of your new friends.

“At least he’s a cute parasite.”

Elon held the door open for his girlfriend. “You wanna sit upfront?” Elon asked before she shook her head, climbing into the window seat in the back.

Christine pulled her seatbelt across her chest. “I’ll get sick. Y/N, sit back here with me.” she patted the spot next to her. Elon nodded, getting into the driver’s seat while you slid in beside your friend, cherishing the space you probably won’t get again for the next couple of hours.

“Ray? Will you be my co-captain?” Elon starts the ignition, cranking his window down a crack. Ray got in the passenger’s seat enthusiastically, almost hitting his head on the roof.

“Do I!” he was virtually buzzing as he took in all the bells and whistles in front of him. You weren’t exactly a car person, but you could say this one was objectively pretty hip- even the leather felt nice underneath you. Peter and Egon filed in next, Elon pulling off from the sidewalk as Ray couldn’t contain himself, starting again.

He ran a careful finger across the dash. “Where’d you get this from, anyway?”

“I cashed in a couple favors, traded in the beetle,” Elon paused at a crosswalk.

Peter hummed. “Didn’t know they drove like this in yodieland.”

Elon put a finger up in defense. “I got this ‘cause of my exceptional business skills.”

“Just say you’re a bad dealer.”

Eventually, your little group made it out onto the highway, surrounded by high heels and even higher trees. You had the little book you had snuck in cracked open, but there really was no need. The car was full of excellent talkers, dissolving any previous fears about if it would ever get too quiet or awkward. Excellent talkers, excluding Egon. A silent part of yourself cursed Christine for picking the window, placing you in between herself and the psychologist, away from the victim of your tortures. But, your read and your position were forgotten about, book spread open and face down on your lap as Elon shared a riveting story about roller skating.

“Now that you mention skating,” Peter turned to you and Christine, her legs thrown over your own, “you’d never believe me if I told you how good Egon is.”

You sat up, somehow even more interested. “No way.” you flashed the man over Peter’s shoulder a wicked smile as he offishly avoided your gaze.

Peter nodded. If there was trickery in his eyes, you’d have missed it. “Yes way. Absolute god, too.” Elon and Ray made a few noises of agreement up front. 

“I’ll have to see it sometime,” you say as innocently as possible, enjoying the sight of Egon’s cheeks turning pink under the attention. “No need to be embarrassed- I think it’s cool.” you sounded genuine to everyone who wasn’t either of you, leaning forward to catch his eye.

It twitched as he searched you, just like it did in your lecture hall. Who said a classroom could only have four walls? 

“Not embarrassed for me,” he kept eye-contact, “embarrassed for you when you fall.”

There was a chorus of ooo-ing as you slumped back in your seat- not embarrassed yourself, but satisfied with his ability to get you back, even when it wasn’t over a work of fiction. “Very funny,” you started, needing an iron will to refer to him with his first name as to not make things look weird, “Egon.”

At some point, Christine had her face pressed to the glass while you were stuck in midday traffic- bumper to bumper. “Check out the moose!” she gasped, shaking your shoulder.

“Moose don’t live down here,” Elon spared a look while the car inched forward. You put your play down, squinting outside with her.

“Those are two bucks.”

“And they’re-” 

The car suddenly gained speed as traffic lessened, giving the two not-moose their privacy.

At some point, as the sun was getting ready to set, the car found itself on another long stretch of highway, no other vehicle in sight as you made your way around winding roads lined with yellow-green. Elon must’ve noticed something, or someone, with their thumb out when he decided to slow down, easing on the brakes as he pulled onto the shoulder.

The hitchhiker spoke into his half closed driver side window, “Hey, man. I just need a ride to somewhere with a bus stop.” Elon nodded understandably, saying something about checking the tires before you’d go.

“Try to make a decision before I get back,” Elon spoke softly as to not be overheard by your prospective guest. 

Egon definitely would’ve rather kept going, but Ray was the first to speak. “Probably won’t see anyone again for miles,” he presumed, turning in the passenger’s seat. 

“He can’t have any ill will. Hard to kill all six of us.” you offered, not to Egon’s surprise. He watched as you turned to your friend, tapping her boot against the floor. “Christine? What d’you think?”

She kept her eyes straight ahead, arms crossed. “Whatever gets us to the rest stop the fastest.”

“Don’t worry. Just don’t think about the beach. Or the river down there. Or drinking wate-”

“Be quiet , Peter!” she fussed. He apologized when she shifted around where she was sitting, checking how much progress her boyfriend had made on whatever he was doing.

Ray unbuckled his seatbelt. “He should sit up front,” he started, before Peter put a hand out.

“And where will you go?”

He gave his friend a bemused look, cocking an eyebrow. “I’ll get back there with you guys,” he said as if he was doubting his answer.

“With that butt? There’s no space.” Egon could tell you were holding in your own amusement before your own friend spoke up, foot tapping evolving into knee bouncing.

Christine squeezed your shoulder like it was a stressball. “I’d let you sit on me, but I think I’d piss my pants if you did.”

“Glad I’m being thought of,” you kept your eyes ahead as she once did to avoid being the next puzzle piece for this little dilemma. When you heard Elon approach the car again, with no verdict reached, you sighed heavily, unbuckling yourself and scooting forward. “You don’t mind?” his wide eyes caught sight of your hand on the frame of the door. He’d say no, make you sit on the roof; that’d keep you from bothering him. So why’d he say yes?

He thought he was done with this. The things you’d do, the things you’d say- he thought all of that was done, at least until school started again and he was locked into the same routine. But now, you were on him, and it wasn’t explicit but it felt that way and he couldn’t miss the look his twin gave him before he finally decided to drive and the car was moving . He got insanely self aware insanely quickly, cursing whoever it was that convinced him to wear a dingier pair of pants.

Elon couldn’t have been more careless a driver, bumping into potholes and sticks and whatever other debris littered the road ahead as he approached a town. He only had a second to burn a stare into the rearview mirror, before his brother stopped a little too hard, sending you sliding down the length of his bent thighs and into his torso.

Egon was absolutely burning up, hands not knowing where to stay as he unconsciously encompassed the middle of your back with both of his palms, sitting up uncomfortably. “Sorry” was all she could mutter as his heart clamored to the front of his chest.

Except, you looked back at him. Smiling . “What’re you sorry for?” you asked sweetly, quiet enough so only he could hear. This was his affliction acting up again, head swimming without coherent thought. He knew that this was nothing but your poison, giving him a perfectly reasonable reaction to the toxin. Like Claudius and Hamlet. God, he was thinking like you.

So Egon didn’t say anything, planting two hands on your waist like he’d seen his brother do to Christine. He could be poisonous, too.

The car sputtered to a stop at a larger gas station outside a little town, forever tainted by the sight of Christine running inside before she could have an accident. Peter offered to fill up the tank as the hitchhiker made his way to the bus shelter, and everyone emptying out the car left only you and Egon. 

“Thanks,” you grinned, pinching the apple of his blank face before you climbed off, following them all. He knew he’d rather stay alone in the car, but Peter had yet to bring the last 8 minutes up, and he was most likely close to breaking.

Egon gave Ray a half-hearted thanks as the interior gave him much needed relief from the sun, even if it was in the form of a handful of desktop fans. He wandered off from you and Ray as you stocked up on campfire-food, his eyes drawn to the knick-knacks for sale that lined the walls of pure dark wood, wherever there wasn’t an ancient looking antique mounted. A charming kind of hospitality, Egon thought as he passed another shelf full of anything anyone would stock up on. 

There was a lunch counter facing a large window that gave patrons a wide view of the orange sunset. But, he wasn’t so much drawn to it as he was to the glass classes full of confections and pastry that garnished the benchtop, marked with differing prices. Egon’s stomach sang at the idea of a slice of cake. When was the last time he had a good dessert?

“Huh. Pegged you more of a vanilla-guy.” Egon jumped. You had to stop popping up everywhere. “Let me buy it for you.” you kept your eyes on the crystalware. 

“Buy an entire chocolate cake?”

You shrugged, arms full of packets of graham crackers. “Sure, if you promise to go halfsies.”

Egon couldn’t think of much as you started towards the cashier, simply following you. “Why?” was the only word that came to mind. You stilled, sighing before keeping on.

“Because I find you so agreeable. Now, get my wallet for me.” And, naturally, it had to be in your back pocket.

You held the wax-paper wrapped one-tier in awe, both of you fairly hypnotized at opaque swirls of brown icing pressed against foggy parchment. You handed it off, telling him to hide it while you used the restroom. Egon hardly had a moment to take anything else in before you scuttled out the family bathroom, door shut harshly with your back.

“What?” He noted the quick rise and fall of your chest as you took a few steps away.

“They really missed each other.”

You all met Peter with bags full of marshmallow and chocolate when the stranger’s greyhound pulled up, coughing out exhaust. Elon quickly ducked into the glove compartment, springing out with a small baggie that his brother missed when he bounded over to the man. From this distance, the backpacker seemed elated as Elon returned, looking pleased with himself.

“What was that?” Ray placed the last paper sack into the trunk, away from the windows. 

“Expanding my business to the east coast,” he answered confidently. His eyes went round at the sight of a police trooper against the tangerine horizon, ushering everyone back inside so they could get back on their way.

It was past dark when they pulled into the parking lot of a state campsite, virtually all for themselves. Egon felt out of place when he gandered at his reflection in the mirror of the visitor’s bathroom, t-shirt and Peter’s lounge pants replacing his normal pajamas. He was starting to miss his cap and gown- it certainly would’ve protected against prospective ticks better than the short man’s bottoms leaving his ankles bare.

Elon drove out to the lake, where Ray was put in charge of starting a fire and assembling smores. At some point during the little mass, you had stopped him passing one to Egon insisting that you see the inside. You crinkle your nose, before grabbing the bag of marshmallows and handing him one on a stick. 

“How do you eat yours?” Your tone was professorial, as if you weren’t trying to interrogate him on how he toasted a mini cube of gelatin and sugar. Egon plucked it from you, holding it over the flame for all of three seconds. You made a face, taking it back. “There’s a right way to do it wrong.”

He watched as you let it burn completely charcoal black. Before he could refuse, you put a hand up, deep in concentration. Your fingers pinched the burnt outside, meticulously sliding it off to reveal a gooey, white center which you haphazardly rolled onto your palm after sampling the caramelized shell. “Try,” you held it out to him. Egon made a face in turn, silently refusing. He cowered, attempting to nix you when you climbed over your stump and onto his, eventually forcing the treat into his mouth. Reluctantly, he chewed, and found it wasn’t all that bad- if not a bit hot. He caught his brother’s eye as you sat back, licking the residue off your fingers, and the warmth and smoke of the fire caught up with him as he frowned. This was not enjoyable. This was the poisoned goblet

When the fire was out, they could really enjoy the night sky above them. It was an inky oil spill, dappled with the light of soft stars in an uncorrupted plane, vast and never ending as it rolled on in every possible direction. “It’s beautiful,” Christine marveled, curled up into her boyfriend while they sat on the grass.

Egon kept his eyes upward to avoid the sight of Elon’s fingers dancing along the hem of her pajamas. He muttered something about a better place to see it all, and they were off somewhere in the sloping hillside. Your knees were tucked into your chest when Ray leaned over, smiling.

“Have you ever seen stars like this?” You broke out into your own smile, shaking your head.

“Never,” you clenched and unclenched your hands, appealing smaller. Egon could feel that pull in between his eyes, that involuntary darkness in his face. But it wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at his friend. Where was this coming from?

Peter stood then, shaking refuse from himself. “C’mon, Ray. I’ll grab the camera and we can go up there for some good pictures.”

Ray stayed sitting with his legs crossed. “Oh, it’s okay. You can see it great down here.” 

“Oh, you’re so much better with the camera than me,” Peter persisted.

“I wouldn’t say that-” Ray started to wave his friend off, before he was hoisted to his feet and led off into the darkness somewhere. That left only you and him.

You rose when they disappeared over the trees, unlocking the trunk and propping it open as far as it could go. After clearing the way from stray bags and luggage, you procured a blanket that hung over the backseat, draping in across the bed and settling in. Egon looked on stiffly, before you touched the space next to yourself. “Because you don’t like the grass,” you said simply.

He sat, legs dangling over the edge of the car ungracefully. You didn’t seem to mind. “Isn’t it perfect?” you venerated heavenward. Egon took in the celestial body, marbling in a color he had only seen on your sweaters. Other hues swirled and mixed with each other, creating a depth that he was sure would match your corneas. Airglow flowed out from within Andromeda, streaks of energy peeking and hiding within a dark backdrop that mirrored the flow of your hair. The stars speckled everything in sight, being everything and nothing at the same time, content with vacuity and shining in abundance. He nodded, transfixed.

“I never realized that stars weren’t just…dots. Now they’re in front of me, and they’re things .” you expressed, attempting to trace them into vaster shapes. “It’s a shame the moon isn’t out.”

Egon did the same, scanning for a constellation. “Burning groups of hydrogen turning into helium, letting out electromagnetic radiation.”

You twinkled. “Show-off.” You leaned back on your hands, before sitting back up, digging around and emerging with the cake from earlier. “You hid it back here?” you judged him playfully, stealing two forks from the glove compartment.

“One for you,” you pressed a fork down the middle of the, surprisingly undamaged, dessert, “and one for me.” Egon was wary as you took a piece from his half, bringing it to his lips. His pupils crossed as you held it between his eyes, and he held back as if it was venom. He took the fork from you instead, whatever fluttery feeling that was happening in his abdomen flying away. 

You took your own bite, and nearly melted. “What’s in this?” you said around a mouthful of cake. Egon savored some of the pleasant, treacly chocolate flavor.

“Cherries,” Egon deduced, the both of you going back for more. At some point, you had clutched his arm, eyes wide and glowing.

“A shooting star!” you pointed, the streak of light soaring through space for a mere few more seconds before it faded as quick as it appeared. “Did you make a wish?”

He sat unaffectedly, arm tingling where you had touched him. “An archaic superstition.”

You raised a brow, sitting back again. “You believe in ghosts and possession, but not wishing on stars?”

Egon didn’t have an answer, and a silence fell when you brought yourself back to the cosmos. “If I had the time, I’d look more into astronomy.” He didn’t know what forced that out, perhaps it was the vulnerability of megacosm enveloping him.

“If you had time?”

“Astrology, if I had an eternity.” Egon paused, when you let out a noise of acknowledgment. “Its connections with the paranormal are worth researching, however frivolous.” In the corner of his vision, you were sitting and staring. Eyelids low, gaze burning and expression unguarded. Poison.

“You’re not just a robotic physicist.”

He was lost for words. “To who?”

“To me, at least.” Egon’s eyes studied every bit of your face, like a robotic physicist. Eyes with a depth that matched the hues of the night sky. Hair flowing like the airglow of space. There was a beating in his ears, drowning out sounds of rustling grasses and a rippling lake in the wind. If the universe had a tangible sound, it’d be this. And it sounded like your breathing. It all created a new layer of confusion for him. This reverie was voluntary. So why could he see ether within you? The medley of matter and the atemporal shine of stars?

An indecent noise pulled him from his rumination, though it did nothing to raise his temperature even higher than it already was. “They must’ve really missed each other,” you remarked, climbing over the backseat to grab your toiletries. Egon frowned, watching your figure retreat in the direction of the visitor’s bathroom. He only followed in case you’d get lost. But his insides still felt stark.

Egon woke when your head hit the trunk door, and you winced in pain. He sat up, not quite remembering electing to sleep in the commodious back seat, but recognizing that he was no longer in the middle of a park. He clutched the blanket pooled around his middle closer to himself, feeling like an indecent woman as you got the door open. This was a parking lot. To a diner.

“Well, don’t you two look nice.”

“You left us,” you stood at your friend’s table, not nearly as chastened at being in the middle of a busy restaurant in your sleep clothes as Egon was.

Christine smiled apologetically, putting her mug down, “Sorry, you just looked so peaceful.”

You both returned to the table after freshening up in the bathroom equally as eager to eat the breakfast that was ordered in your absence. Before having anything of your own, you split off a piece of the pie Christine saved and wordlessly slid it over to Egon. He ate it just as wordlessly.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Ray started from across the table, “The book you were reading earlier- it was Liliom, right? Are you a fan of Rodgers and Hammerstein?”

You brightened. Egon didn’t much enjoy the taste of pie anymore. “Oh, yeah! I love Carousel,” you clenched and unclenched your hands again.

“That’s great! My graduating class did Carousel!” Ray leaned forward. You parroted him.

“In highschool?” You asked, awestruck. “I’m jealous.”

“What’s Carousel?” Peter wondered indolently, buttering a piece of toast.

“It’s this opera-musical about a mill worker-”

“Who falls in love with a carnival barker-”

“But he dies trying to provide for her! And he has to redeem himself for their future daughter.” you say simultaneously, breaking out into a fit of laughter. Egon felt  ill.

“You were going to see Midsummer Night's Dream, right?” The question slipped out without much thought from him, though without any resistance or regret.

He added sugar to his coffee while you wiped your eye. “Yeah, there’s a revival in this theater with the best costume design.” 

“I’m surprised you enjoy it so much. I mean, it is a parody of its audience.”

You narrowed your eyes in the same owlish way you did at the chalkboard. “A parody of the audience?”

“Lysander, Hermia, Helena, Demetrius?” he offered. “Do they not mock the audience’s romantics?”

“They’re young and in love . They’re more of an ode to the audience, if anything- look at Hermia.”

Egon clicked his tongue, watching on as your passion sparked. “Her argument in the woods speaks otherwise. It mimics the efforts of the showgoers.”

“It mimics their situation!” There was the flame. He smiled to himself. This was familiar. This wasn’t confusing.

The back and forth continued, both developing a thesis: you asserted that love was arbitrary and that’s what makes it special, and he argued that love was arbitrary and that’s what makes it fleeting. You were brought to a standstill when Elon charmed a local motel owner into letting everyone use the showers- only being let in after vowing that no one in your party was a “hippie-lunatic-drug-dealer.”

What would’ve been an afternoon to get to the beach turned into an evening, when unexpected downpour managed to back up the highways. It didn’t seem to bother Elon or Ray, as they found an indoor flea market to explore while they waited for the storm to pass. It wasn’t all bad- there were endless tchotchkes to look at and Christine had managed to haggle for some unexpectedly good donuts.

The car eventually pulled into the beach town at night, joining dozens of others in the parking lot of an ocean themed motel. It was close enough to the boardwalk that the neon signs reflected off the windows, shining in Egon’s blinking eyes. Ray looked on eagerly as you popped the trunk.

“You saw the size of that coaster, right?” he asked Peter.

“Sure did.”

“We’re going on it, right?”

“Sure are.”

“You guys coming?” He asked you and Egon, making sure he still had his wallet.

You looked around, noticing that your friend and her boyfriend disappeared, probably at the front desk. Then you noticed all the stuff left to bring in. “Don’t wait up,” you breathed out, letting the men race each other to the attractions.

Egon started to help you pull bags out, before you gasped, looking up at something over your shoulder and stopping him. “What?” he followed your gaze to the yellow-lit windows of the kitsch inn.

“They’re catching up on lost time,” you dismissed him, “let’s just-” you put everything down, shutting the door. There was a beat of quiet filled with the sounds of fun from the oceanside, before you turned to him, grinning at the absurdity of the situation. “We’re stuck out here.” 

You lead him towards the boardwalk, hands in your pockets. “I don’t suppose you’re a fan of rides,” you assumed.

“I’m not. You can go ahead. I’ll just,” he pushed up his glasses, “wait.”

“No way.” Egon was confused as you threw a few glances around, before stealing over to the edge of the wooden boulevard. “Come on,” you clutched a woven rope.

There wasn’t much for him to do but follow, cringing at the feeling of sand under his shoes. You led him rather quickly, only stopping to get a better sense of direction. “Don’t you need a license to be on the beach?” Egon put out.

You halted at the bottom of a formation of large rocks. “It’s the beach,” you made your way up them like a staircase, “I shouldn’t need one.”

Egon sighed, prudently doing as you did when you waited for him at the top. They weren’t that high, just slippery from the tide as they formed what was natural and short pier. “This isn’t safe,” he warned, anxiously watching as you teetered to the end. “There are rules against this.”

“Just look,” you pointed upwards once he cagily caught up to you. The moon was finally visible, white beams bathing everything in a dim, pale light. It seemed so close from here. “Turn around,” you patted him on the shoulder. 

Egon hesitantly agreed, only turning around when he felt your clothes hit his back and heard your footsteps running down the makeshift wharf. There was a hearty splash when he raced to the ledge, pupils dilated when you didn’t come back up. He chucked off his shirt, diving in after you.

Your head popped out above the foaming surface of the ocean, laughing madly as you wiped the water from his face. “I remembered I can’t swim,” you gasped, gleefully holding onto Egon’s shoulders in an attempt to stay afloat. He blinked away salt from his eyes when there was the sound of a whistle from down the beach, making him hold you closer to himself.

Egon regarded the way moonlight bounced off your smiling face, seawater lapping around where you held him. Poisonous.

[sitting-1n-silence]

Ways of protecting the home:

Counting fetishes/traps

Spreading powders or local grains at the doorway is an old way of keeping spirits, witches, and fairies out of the home. The idea behind it is that the spirit gets caught counting every grain before they can enter, trapping them there until daylight breaks and makes them return home.

A colander over a keyhole works in this manner too. Compelling any spirit trying to enter to count the holes in the strainer.

Water traps

Water traps are simple to make and are good to stopping unwanted chthonic entities. The dead are often thirsty and looking for something to drink, so this trap keeps them stuck so they don't drain your workings/offerings.

This can be done by finding a wide bowl and filling it with water. Inside the bowl place 3 smaller cups of water. Wash the whole set up in smoke, as you do tell the water it's purpose in this trap. Then place this trap by a doorway or window. Curious spirits will see the cups of water and go right for them, ignoring the bowl around them. Once they are inside the bowl with the cups they are trapped until set free. To release these spirits pour the water down a drain or into a natural water source.

Charms around the door

Placing protective charms at windows and doorways is a tried and true method of protection. Here is a charm from The Long Lost Friend for preventing witches from entering a space,

"Trotter Head, I forbid thee my house and premises, I forbid thee my horse and cow stable, I forbid thee my bedstead, that thou mayest not breathe upon me: breath into some other house, until thou hast ascended every hill, until thou hast counted every fence post, and until thou has crossed every water - And thus dear day may come again into my house, in the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Write this on paper and hide it by a door or entry way.

Abracadabra charms are also excellent for stopping witchcraft or illness. To ward the home from these unwanted influences write "Abracadabra" on a piece of paper. on each line below it take away the last letter until nothing is left. Put this charm by the doorway.

"Abracadabra Abracadabr Abracadab Abracada Abracad Abraca Abrac Abra Abr Ab A"

Other charms can also be placed above a doorway like scissors, which can cut off people's influence on you. Putting a knife or sword over a door will do the same.

Bells by the door can also be used to deter spirits. As the ringing can scare them off, or be utilized like an alarm should spirits attempt to move through your space.

Prayers for protection

Prayers make for an excellent means or protection. They can be utilized on their own, or in conjunction with other more active magical workings.

To protect the home and hearth say the following from the Long Lost Friend,

Beneath thy gurdianship, I am safe against all tempests and enemies, J. J. J. (the 3 Js signifying Jesus 3 times)

A prayer for blessing from The Charmers' Psalter by Gemma Gary,

The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree: he shall grow like a cedar in Lebanon. Those that be planted in the house of the LORD shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing; To shew that the LORD is upright: he is my rock, and there is no unrighteousness in him.

Prayers like this can be spoken when needed, or written and placed around the home similarly to other charms.

[password-door-lock]

Saeran comes in from the garden just as you’re adding the pasta to the water you’ve set to boil. “Is there anything I can do to help you, my love?” His gentle voice carries across the kitchen as he takes care to shut the door behind him. 

You turn to face your husband. You’re delighted— though not at all surprised— to see the flower in his hand. “You can chop the parsley for me, if you want.” You step away from your cooking to rummage through the dish cupboard for a vase to hold the flower. “What did you bring me?” Though you’re getting better at identifying the flowers Saeran grows in his garden, you still haven’t mastered the art. You certainly don’t know half as much as he does about the flower language and lore surrounding the blooms he cares for. 

“It’s a Dahlia,” Saeran explains, placing the pink flower into the strangely-shaped vase. “It’s got several meanings in the language of flowers, like beauty and confidence. But it also means ‘forever thine,’ and it symbolizes elegance.” 

“It’s lovely,” you beam at him. You don’t need Saeran to explain why he chose this flower in particular for your candlelit dinner. Obviously, it’s going to be a very elegant affair, even if it’s taking place in the same dining room where you and Saeran share all of your meals. “Did you pick out a candle?” 

“Mhm.” Per the tradition that you and Saeran established when you first moved in together, it’s his turn to choose the candle and your turn to cook. 

As Saeran busies himself with searching for the candle, you turn around to add the garlic and oil to your saucepan on the stove. Saeran doesn’t tend to like too much garlic in his food, so you use a bit less than the recipe calls for. It goes without saying that you hold the red pepper flakes. You can add those to your own plate after you’re finished cooking. 

After a few moments, you feel your husband’s arms around you as he envelops you in a soft hug. He sets the candle on the counter beside the stove. “Vanilla cashmere,” he reads the name of the scent. 

“It… smells like a sweater?” You don’t know how that could be possible. 

Saeran chuckles. “It smells like a candle.” 

“Well, I would hope so,” you stir the garlic gently. The kitchen fills with the aroma of the sauce on the stove. “But I trust your judgment. I’m sure it’ll smell great.” 

Saeran releases you from the hug and makes his way to the empty counter on the other side of the stove. “I’ll chop the parsley like you said.” He finds a knife and a cutting board. “Did you wash it already?” 

“No,” you admit, “I was too busy setting the table. Did you see the placemats?” 

“They’re very nice,” Saeran nods, appraising your table setting-skills as he brings the parsley to the sink. “But my love… I got the same ones from the home goods store when I was choosing our candle.” 

“Oh no.” Your hand flies to your mouth to stifle your laughter. “Not again. Maybe we should just go shopping together so we don’t buy any more duplicates.” 

Saeran shrugs, setting to work chopping the parsley. “We think the same even when we’re not together— that means we’re connected.” 

“Okay, sure,” you concede with a laugh, “And I’ll admit, that’s very romantic. But it also means we have two sets of the same placemats, two of the same area rug, and three of the same wall hanging.” Granted, the third identical wall hanging was a gift from Saeyoung, who thought the story behind the first two was hilarious and evidently wanted to join in the fun. 

“I see your point, my darling.” Saeran finds you again, wrapping his arms around you and swaying slightly as you stir the pasta in the pot. It’s just about ready to mix with the sauce. You turn the heat down, reserving some of the water and setting it aside as you maneuver over to the sink. Saeran continues to cling to you, planting gentle kisses on your neck and making you giggle as you locate the strainer. “What flavor ice cream did you get?” 

“Pumpkin spice,” you admit. 

“Already?” Saeran asks, holding the colander for you as you dump out the pasta. 

“The store had it, so I bought it.” You and Saeran shuffle strangely back over to the stove so you can add the pasta and reserved water to the sauce. “What’s so funny?” But you’re laughing too, just because Saeran is laughing. 

“It's just that I had the same idea.” You can hear his grin in his voice. “I got the pumpkin spice ice cream as soon as the store started selling it, but I wanted to surprise you, so I hid it in the downstairs freezer.” 

You howl with laughter. God, the two of you really are the perfect couple. “Next time, let’s just go to the store together.” 

“Of course,” says Saeran, “I love spending time with you.” 

[yueyimold]

2k scoop bowl mold

China double mold maker, offer 2 component food strainers mold, multi shot colander bowls, bi injection drain basket bowl, double colour washing colander mold

[britishchick09]

rock-afire road trip chapter 1 (or part of it!)

 The moon shone over empty stores in Regency Plaza. Most Jacksonvillians were heading to bed, but Showbiz Pizza Place was still buzzing with activity. Within its walls, an organ played a bouncy tune.

Oh Mickey, you're so fine You're so fine, you blow my mind Hey Mickey! Hey Mickey!

A cluster of hands, padded and furry, broke out into applause.

"Thank you, thank you!" Mitzi Mozzarella exclaimed, giving a dramatic bow. "I think that was my best take yet!"

"You really nailed that song, Mitzi." Billy Bob said kindly.

Beach Bear sang,

Oh Mitzi, you're so fine You're so fine, you blow my mind! Hey Mitzi! Hey Mitzi!

The Rock-afire Explosion laughed.

Fatz Geronimo set a colander with bananas and fake human ears on his head. "As the Grand Poohbah of Crazy Colander Night, I'd say this is the finest colander anyone has ever seen!"

"Very stylish, Fatz." Mitzi said.

"You know, Fatz, I think Colander Night is such a great idea," Billy Bob told the gorilla, who smiled proudly. "It gets our guests thinkin' creatively, and it's a whole lotta fun!"

"It gets us thinkin' creatively, too." Dook LaRue added. The brown mongrel was doodling tiny red stars on his rim of his colander, which was also fitted with a striped rocket smashing into puffy cotton balls that resembled smoke.

"And it helps us get back the money we spent on stuff for our colanders." Beach Bear added.

"I think it's beyond stupid to put a spaghetti strainer on your head!" the ever pompous Rolfe DeWolfe said with a tight cross of his arms. "I won't have my fan club seeing me with one of those ridiculous things!"

Earl Schmerle the puppet said something, his voice muffled by his friend's arm. When Rolfe raised him he quipped, "You're beyond stupid, yet the 'fans' see you every day!"

Fatz turned to the others. "Well, what do y'all think we should do?"

"We've already decorated the colanders." Dook pointed out, setting his marker down.

"And I seriously doubt any spaghetti's slipping out of this thing!" Beach Bear added.

His colander was piled high with black and colorful feathers.

"I think water is supposed to come out, not pasta." Mitzi corrected him with a chuckle.

"I love my colander!" Looney Bird said while energetically moving up and down in his blue barrel. "I wanna wear it every single night forever!!"

"I think the event's just in March, Looney Bird." Billy Bob reminded his feathered friend.

"Ohhh! Forever in March, then!"

"It's settled," Fatz declared. "Crazy Colander Night is a-go!"

Rolfe rolled his eyes. "You're all crazy for even thinking about participating! The only good thing about this whole thing is that free vacation."

"I wish I could be the winning family," Dook said. "I'd take a trip to the moon!"

"I'd see my family up in Tennessee," Billy Bob added. "But it's silly when there are so many other fun places to go."

"Naw, I don't think it's silly. If the moon's not available, maybe I'd go see my mama in Louisiana."

"I'd see my mama, too," Fatz (a fellow Louisianan) agreed. "Mmm, I know she'd have the finest feast in the world all done up for me!"

"I'd hang ten in California," Beach Bear said. "The Atlantic's cool and all, but the waves hit different in the Pacific!"

"I'd go to Las Vegas and win lots and lots of money," Rolfe said with a smirk. "I'd go to all the hotels and win even more money!"

Beach Bear scoffed. "Figures."

"Yes, I'd have six figures of cold, hard cash. Buckets full!"

That made Beach Bear laugh. He said, "Yeah… six pennies!"

Rolfe glared at him. "Where would you go, little Earl?"

"Anywhere but here!" Earl replied.

Mitzi gave a dreamy sigh. "I'd take that vacation to see Michael Jackson perform his new songs! Ooh, you think he'd give me the scoop on the rest of his album?"

She broke out into an enthusiastic performance of the King of Pop's latest single, Billie Jean.

"That's marvelous singin', Mitzi, but I think we'd better focus on our next song." Fatz reminded her.

"Oh, right!" Mitzi exclaimed before straightening her sweater and giving her green and white pom poms a shake.

"Here we go with Strain Your Brain. Get ready, everyone!" Fatz told the Rock-afire. "One, two, three!"

Beach Bear played an electrical chord on his guitar and Dook quickly followed with the drums. After a while of them jamming together, Fatz's smooth bass voice joined in.

Nooo brakes, nooo brakes, nooo brakes!

Then everyone sang,

Don't sit back Here comes an attack Get ready, friend Better keep it on your head!

Fatz sang next. Beach Bear and Dook chimed in with some exclamations.

Use your protector Yowza bowza! It's a fallout reflector Yeah, yeah!

As the Rock-afire sang of becoming an atom bomb, Rolfe trudged backstage, the metallic rainbow steamers of his stage fluttering.

"What ridiculous lyrics! We're not literally an explosion!" he muttered. "Or they're not. I, the superior Rolfe de Wolfe, will have no part in this!"

"I have an advertisement on the showtape, stupid!" Earl reminded him. "And if you can't get on the stage, neither can I!"

Rolfe groaned. "How can you even think of being in this cheap propaganda? I thought you knew better than this!"

"I do… but you don't! Besides, it ain't cheap, it's free! The Colander Gazette's gonna have a picture of you in it, you know."

A wave of haughtiness passed through Rolfe. He asked, "…It does? Me? Earl, tell me… did they get my good side?"

"Nah, they got your face!"

(gif by @amazing-animatronics!)

read the rest (and the next two chapters) on ao3 and stay tuned for chapters 4-10 throughout the next couple months! it'll all be up by the end of billy con, july 13th! ;D

a special thanks to @rolfe-dewolfe-fan-page, who inspired me to post what i have instead of just sharing it all in july! ;)