#god i love my tchotchkes so much

[stars-inthe-sky]

People in 30s ask: 17, 18, 30

17. What's a movie you saw recently that you liked?

Furiosa was definitely worth seeing in a theater, even if it wasn't quite the revelation that Fury Road was.

18. Pro or anti tchotchkes?

Extremely pro. There are tchotchkes on my desk I've had since elementary school! Boyfriend recently started asking about some of their origins, there are so many—although there's not really any lore so much as details on where each came from. But I love them.

30. How many pairs of scissors do you own?

I think four, including a trio of regular ones and my tiny-but-sharp knitting ones.

[dreamlogic]

...

[strang3lov3]

Boundaries

Roman reads your diary when you're out of the house and learns all of your dirty fantasies about him. (3.5k)

Tags - stepdad!roman because I was in that kind of mood, stepcest, smut, daddy kink, age gap, (i aged roman for this so just picture him as dilfy as you'd like - perhaps pedro pascal aged. or joel miller aged if you're nasty), dubcon, some hitting, unprotected piv, blowjobs, vibrators, overstim, creampie, come eating, dom!roman - yes I know. I know I know I know. Let me have this let me pretend he’d fuck my brains out until they’re dripping out of my ears. He’s also a huuuuuge creep in this but I’m into that. I love this little dirt boy slime puppy. Fic help @beefrobeefcal for your beautiful eyes and @noxturnalpascal for your generous editing 🩷 A/N - ROMAN GIRLIES I am sorry for taking my sweet fucking time on getting him out to you in a timely manner but he can be difficult to nail down. I hope you like this icky stepdaddy version of him 🩷

Roman’s bored today. You’re not home right now, you’re out and about spending his money on god only knows what. He shouldn’t complain, though. You’re not as bad as his wife - your mother - who buys bags and bags of clothes and those single-function kitchen gadgets. He knows he’s one to talk, that really, he doesn’t need all of the square footage of his massive apartment or the fancy light fixtures or closets full of clothes he doesn’t wear. But he still doesn’t get it. Your mom doesn’t even cook.

Roman’s lonely, despite his marriage. He married your mom when you were still a teenager. He didn’t see much in her and he doesn’t think she really saw anything in him either, but neither of them seemed to really mind those facts. It was for appearances, mostly, there was never any love in it. Never any sex, either. Your mom could impress her family and friends by marrying rich, and Roman could appear to live a normal life. It makes him feel like Dexter a little bit, and that she’s Rita. Although, he feels like Rita too on some days. 

Roman checks his phone. 9:17pm. Your mom is gone too, she’s out getting drinks with her old friend from college. At least they’re out of the house. They get rowdy and obnoxious when they drink. Roman figures he might as well go to bed, so he gets up off of the couch and heads up the stairs. He’s just about to go to his bedroom when he catches a whiff of something strong and fruity coming from your room. 

A lit candle. You and your stupid fucking candles. Your room is covered in them, all different sizes and colors and scents and brands. You leave them lit all the time, and Roman’s constantly having to remind you to blow them out. But you’re not here right now, and who knows when you’ll be back. He goes around your room, blowing the candles out for you.

 Roman doesn’t go into your bedroom often, the door is always closed and locked. But he catches glimpses now and then, he sees that you leave your bed unmade with your sheets and blankets crumpled up together and he wonders how strongly it smells of you. Not just your shampoo and body wash, but your sweat too. You. And he sees clothes on the floor, a bra hung on the closet door. Bottles of nail polish and acetone and used cotton pads on the vanity where you apply and remove your makeup. Lotion on the nightstand, a jewelry dish filled with sparkling gold trinkets. All of the things that make you up. He gets to look at it up close now, messing with the tchotchkes on your dresser and bookshelf as he strolls through your room. And he snoops through your bathroom too, opening your medicine cabinet and finding razors, and Midol, and mismatched earrings. 

Roman lies down in your bed sheets to smell you like he’s always wanted to do, bunching them under his nose only to be disappointed when he finds that they’re freshly laundered. Only then does he feel like a creep, but not enough to stop what he’s doing. He’s learning so much about you. Roman opens the drawer of your nightstand and finds a THC cartridge and chuckles. You little pothead. He finds a little satin bag and pulls your Satisfyer from within it and smirks as he brings it to his nose and sniffs it, hoping for even the briefest of whiffs of your scent. Not much. He puts it back in its bag and stuffs the bag in your drawer, his fingers grazing over something else deep in the back. He pulls it out - a journal. You’re so difficult for Roman to understand at times, this is the fucking jackpot. 

He situates himself against your thick Tempurpedic pillows, ones that he purchased for you, and he opens your journal. Your handwriting is loopy and a mix of cursive and print, but he manages to make out the words anyway. There’s some entries that are just nonsense - “Bugs flew into my hair”, and “Lost in a maze, following orange tabby cat”. He assumes these are dreams you’ve written down. He flips through the pages some more, hoping that maybe he’ll come across one of your sex dreams. He wonders which celebrity it’ll feature. Probably Pedro Pascal, but he hopes it’s about someone weird like Conan O’Brien or Liam Neeson. 

Roman. Roman is the first name he finds, and it’s within an especially long entry. Not a dream, no - you were most definitely lucid for this one. There’s details, adjectives and adverbs, words like ‘desperate’ and ‘sexy’. You’ve written in detail the way you believe he would fuck you. The things you’d want him to do to you, the things you want to do to him. 

He should feel sick to his stomach right now. You’re decades younger than him, he used to help you with your algebra homework at the dinner table. So fucking gross, so wrong. Roman likes it wrong. He likes it when there’s something off about it, something that would ruffle feathers if people knew. He wonders, do you like that too? Or do you feel ashamed of yourself, do you feel sort of icky inside? God, he hopes you feel humiliated by yourself. 

But he doesn’t feel sick, he feels excited. Thrilled, even. Thrilled that it’s now 9:44, and you don’t like to be out late. Minutes feel like hours as he waits for the sound of your careful steps up the stairs, down the hall. He can barely contain his smirk when he sees the shadow of your body on the floor right before you walk through your bedroom door, face dropping as you see him laid in your bed, your diary in his hands. “Hey, kiddo!”

“Roman–” 

“You’re out past curfew,” he teases. “Isn’t very becoming of a young lady, you know.”

Your cheeks heat up and your bottom lip begins to wobble. “Roman,” your voice shakes, “P-please, don’t read that.” 

“Oh, you’re too late for that. You should have gotten one of those diaries with a lock. Like, maybe one of those ones where you use your voice to unlock it. Or is that before your time?” Roman pauses, waits for your response. He’s not met with one. “Yeah, I read it all. You’ve got a lot of insect nightmares.”

“Did you - did you read anything else?”

 His smile tells you everything. “Mhm. I think it’s cute that you think I’d make love to you. That’s how you put it. Very romantic, very The Notebook-esque. No pun intended, of course.” Roman wiggles your diary in the air. 

 You’re gonna be sick. “Oh my god,” you whimper. “Oh my god, Roman. I’m sorry - you–” you seethe, “That was private.” 

“Ooh, defensive! No, I get it. I really do. You’re embarrassed. You’ve been fantasizing about fucking your stepfather and you’re embarrassed. What would your mommy think?”

Tears begin to blur your vision and you stomp over to where Roman lies on your bed and attempt to rip the journal from his hands, but he’s stronger than he looks. He yanks it back towards him, pulling you on the bed as he does. “C’mere,” he says. “Let’s read your bedtime stories. Is this what you think about before you sleep? While you play with your pussy using that little toy in there?”

“Please, Roman. Don’t do this.” 

“Yeah, I guess that’d be rather redundant, wouldn’t it? Because you’ve written everything in here, and I’ve read it all. I don’t know,” Roman sucks his teeth as he scoots closer to you, too close for comfort. His body touches yours, he brings his face too close to yours as he speaks. You feel claustrophobic, surrounded by him. Like there’s nowhere to run. “It occurred to me, sitting here, reading your dirty little fucked up fantasies about me, that you’ve got me all wrong in your head. And that just kinda bugs me, I guess?” he says. “I don’t know. If you’re gonna fantasize about your stepdad you should do it right. Like look - ‘long, thick, and veiny’,” Roman repeats your own words back to you. “I’m flattered, sweetheart, really. You’ve described a pornstar’s dick, and that’s sweet. But–” Roman unzips his pants and pulls out his cock, already rock-hard and leaking, a pearly bead of precum sitting pretty at his slit. “See? Painfully average.” He strokes himself slowly, squeezing his cock as he does. You’re almost in disbelief, and you should feel disgusted by this. Disgusted by Roman, by his actions. Disturbed by him for putting you in such a vulnerable position, making you feel so small. But goddamn if this isn’t what you’ve wanted. You can read between the lines, see that Roman’s casualness means that on some level, he must want this too. It appears as though your feelings are reciprocated by him, and that’s humiliating in an entirely different way than being caught for having them in the first place. It shouldn’t feel good like this. 

“Look at you,” Roman says. “You don’t give a shit. You’re fucking- fucking salivating over there. Why don’t you get on your knees?”

The door’s wide open. Your mom could come home at any point, walk up those stairs and see her husband on your bed with his cock out, and you sitting right next to him, your eager eyes devouring him. Enabling him. 

“On your knees,” Roman demands. It’s not a suggestion this time. 

The memory foam mattress slowly springs up as you slink off of it and onto your knees, just like Roman asks. He moves with you, lifting his hips to push his pants and boxers down his thighs, and then unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, revealing his soft, lightly toned body to you. His cock stands at full mast and looks imposing above you despite the way he described it as average, painfully average at that. Maybe it’s the context of the situation. The way that if you take him down your throat, that a line will be crossed and that there would be no way to go back. 

Roman sees you weighing it in your mind as he holds his cock between his thumb and forefingers. He doesn’t want you to think, or second guess this, rather. You’ve done enough thinking to know that this is what you want. It’s why you wrote it all down, right? You want this. You fucking want this. 

With his free hand, he reaches for the back of your head and pulls you close, tangling his fingers in your hair and looping the strands around his fingers as he pushes you down on his cock. He’s met with resistance as you push back, opting to swirl your tongue around the head and tasting that headiness of him, savoring him the way you wanted to. Roman swats your cheek, “Hey - quit that. Don’t fucking tease.” You wish he’d rub the skin he hit, show you a little kindness and make it hurt less. 

 “Wider, open wider,” he grunts. You open your jaw to allow him to push himself into your mouth inch by inch. He smells musky, heady, stronger than you would expect despite his pubic hair being so neatly trimmed. He tastes salty, the bead of precum that meets your tongue tastes so bitter and rather unpleasant, just like Roman is. But you love it anyway. 

Roman takes your hand in his own and wraps it around the part of his cock that you can’t reach with your mouth, squeezing your fingers tight so that your knuckles grind against each other as he twists your hand up and down. His other hand is still tangled in your hair as he fucks himself into your mouth, making lewd grunts and moans. None of it feels pleasant, it’s just his cock in your throat, sliding in and out. It’s mechanical, emotionless. You feel like a fuckdoll. 

Roman decides then that he wants to push you to your limit, so he pulls your hand off of his cock and forces himself down your throat entirely, his hand pushing on the back of your neck, causing you to gag and choke. He displays his strength again as you try to pull yourself up, but he holds you right where he wants you with his hand firmly on your head. “Nuh-uh, you're not quite done,” Roman says, “Choking builds character. Breathe through your nose. You’re fine. Hey–” he taps your cheek, “You’re fine. Relax.”

You know he’s right. It’s like the way they say to try to relax if you know you’re going to be in a car wreck, tensing up makes it hit harder. You try to relax your jaw and open your mouth wider as Roman fucks your mouth, but you still choke on him, drooling all over and making a mess of his lap. Zero gentleness as he bounces your mouth on his cock to an increasingly faster rhythm for his pleasure alone. Tears are spilling down your cheeks as you take Roman’s cock as far down your warm, wet mouth as he wants you to. 

“Mmph–” you groan in discomfort. 

“Oh, shut up,” Roman pants. “Fuck - just - just shut up. You’re fucking fine.” 

Your nose brushes against that coarse patch of trimmed hair at the base of his cock as he forces your head up and down on his member over and over, gripping his muscular thighs for stability. You whine in discomfort as Roman really forces himself into you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. He giggles at the way you gurgle and sputter on him. “Listen to you,” he taunts. “God, you’re making this so fun for me.”

Roman moans and grunts, his head tilted back as he uses your mouth. Your jaw aches and you don’t think you can take much more. With a deep groan, Roman pulls you off of his cock. “Fuck,” he says. “Get- stand up. Up. Take your clothes off.” He lays on the bed, arms folded behind his head and his hard cock standing up tall, shiny and wet with your saliva as he watches you take off your clothes. You don’t actually consider if you want this or not, you just do as Roman tells you until you’re completely bare in front of him. He looks predatory, threatening even, as he lays there on your bed. “You have your mother’s hips,” he tells you, smiling sickly when your face falls at his comment. He knew that’d ruffle your feathers. 

Roman sits up and leans toward you, reaching for your arm and pulling you onto the bed with him so that you’re straddling his hips. He brings a hand between your thighs, humming when he feels just how slick you are. He ignores your clit entirely, skipping past it to push two of his fingers into your pussy, curling them rhythmically as he brushes against that sweet spot inside of you. “Fuck, Roman,” you moan. And as quickly as it begins, it’s over. He’s impatient and needs to be inside of you. 

Roman sucks on his slick fingers and then puts both hands on your hips, pulling you down a bit, lining his cock up with your entrance. He rubs the thick head up and down your dripping seam, coating himself in your arousal. “Come on,” he says. “Like you wrote about. Let daddy make sweet, sweet love to you.” 

Oh, you like that. Daddy. It adds another layer of fucked-up to all of this that affects you right where you need. Roman watches how your eyes go wide and your lips part. “My, oh my. Is that how we’re doing things? I don’t recall reading about your daddy kink but color me surprised, I guess. Dirty, dirty birdy,” he hums, still teasing your cunt. “Very cliche, you know, but I’m not here to yuck your yum. I will happily be your daddy.”

With that, Roman pushes his cock into you. That slow, gradual slide inside your body stretches and aches and hurts, causing you to bite back a moan. His warm, hard cock fills you just how you need, just how he needs too. Roman sort of whimpers once buried inside of you completely, but he doesn’t allow you a moment to get used to him before he’s thrusting his hips, guiding your own as he does. 

You feel unsteady and grip Roman’s shoulders for balance, he’s surprisingly broad. As he moves his hips he insists on looking at you, not with any love or adoration but intimidation, perhaps. At least that’s how you interpret it. He’s so fucking handsome - his once sleek strands of hair, all different shades of brown and gray are becoming mussed. His brows knit together as he focuses on his pleasure, his dark, hazel eyes scanning up and down your body. You fall forward and bury your head in his neck, the rough scruff on his face brushes against your skin, scratching you. 

You like the way Roman fucks you. Even beneath you, he holds all of the power. His thrusts are sloppy and harsh enough to make you forget about how disgusted you feel by yourself, by him. With Roman inside you, all thoughts are gone. All there is is the in and out, his warm hands holding you down with his nails digging into your skin as he pushes himself inside you over and over again. 

“Oh- hey. Sit up.” Roman’s thrusts still and he leans to his side to open your nightstand and rifle through your belongings for the second time. He pulls out that little satin bag and removes your vibrator from it. “You come on this thing when you’re thinking of me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you answer. 

“Mm-mm,” he tuts. “We went over this. Yes, who?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Roman holds down the power button and the toy buzzes to life, then clicks it a couple more times to increase the power. He wriggles it between your bodies, “I wanna watch you come on it,” he says. 

It’s less than a moment before he’s back to fucking you, everything now intensified with the toy vibrating on your clit. It never takes long for it to get you off but with Roman inside of you, you’re done for. Your orgasm approaches quickly, thighs twitching, moans becoming stuttered and broken with your release. 

“Do you always come this easily?” Roman pants, “Or just for me?”

“Just - just for you, daddy.”

You wait for Roman to come too, but it never happens. He keeps going, fucking you til you’re an overstimulated mess, adding insult by using his free hand to tease your nipples, flicking and twisting the sensitive buds. He likes the way you moan louder when he does that. 

“Too much,” you beg. “Please - I can’t.”

“You’re such - fuck - don’t be a pussy. You can take it ‘til I’m done.”

Another orgasm is beginning to approach, threatening to send you over the edge a second time. Those tears from earlier when you were on your knees for Roman are falling freely now. 

“Oh please, the fucking tears. Why are you crying?” Roman goads, still fucking you relentlessly. “You like it this way. I know you like it this way.”

You do like it this way. You like the way Roman fucks you like he’s an animal, how he makes you feel like you’re one too. But you need that come down, that final descent from pleasure, because it’s painful at this point. Your quiet sobs of exhaustion and ecstasy do nothing to slow Roman down yet. “I want one more,” he demands. 

“Roman–”

“Yeah, one more. Do it for your daddy.”

Roman grunts as he fucks you hard, you’ve only now noticed how damp he is with sweat, and how damp you are too. That particular thought makes you feel queasy, the idea of your sweat mixing with his. It feels more intimate than coming on his cock, somehow. This is so fucked up.

You don’t know where release begins and ends, it all feels so intense. But you must’ve moved the right way, made the right sounds, because Roman seems satisfied enough to finally spill into you. You welcome the warmth of him coming inside you, as well as the pain in your shoulder as he bites you there to muffle himself. 

When he’s satisfied, he gently flips you over and pulls out of you, his cock already soft. His spend drips from your core and he uses two fingers to push it back inside, then licks the remnants off his fingertips, humming with satisfaction. You’re all fucked out, an exhausted look on your face. Roman pulls a blanket over your naked body and pushes some hair out of your eyes. “This is on you,” he warns. “Whatever happens, whatever you’re feeling right now…this is on you. You know that, right?”

You nod. “Yes, Roman.”

Roman likes you like this. So pliant, unquestioning, willing to accept a responsibility that’s really not yours to accept. You’re more desperate for him than he thought. He presses a long, gentle kiss to your forehead just to get under your skin and fuck with you. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

Next

I'm really sorry about the "you have your mother's hips" comment. I know that was out of line. But I don't have self control and the ickier it is the harder I nut. (also if you enjoyed,,,,please tell reblog/send me asks/comment <3 )

tagging some friends i think might be interested based on if you've rb'd or commented or talked about my Roman stuff before <3 @dorims @atinylittlepain @joelsdagger @goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout @galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @bookmarkingfics @moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

[pwnyta]

Now that im done with my GI dailies...

ROUND 2 of the BNHA award show starts!

The award for QUICKEST YET BADDEST ENTRANCE AND EXIT goes to...

Star!

Damn she was a bad bitch....

------

Award for I DONT BELIEVE THAT MAN HAS EVER BEEN TO MEDICAL SCHOOL goes to....

ITS A TIE!!!

JEANIST AND WHATS-HIS-FACE!

Ok they can preform open heart surgery? Sure...

-----

Award for BIGGEST ASSPULL goes to...

ANOTHER TIE AND WELCOME BACK

BEST JEANIST & SERIOUSLY I CANT REMEMBER HIS NAME FOR THE LIFE OF ME

AND!!! ERI!!!

Damn this was dumb as hell....

----

Award for MOST DISAPPOINTING COME BACK goes to...

MIRIO!

...off-screen.... girl... Mirio I love you so much theres no way you should be this lame...

------

Award for SERIOUSLY WHY THE FUCK WAS THIS GUY ADDED? IT HAD LIKE NO SATISFYING PART IN THE STORY.... goes to....

KUROGIRI!

Kurogiri you were so intriguing before Hori made you a zombie of Aizawas friend he just randomly added...

-----

The award for MAKING ME THINK OF THE WEATHER EPISODE FROM UNHHHHH goes to....

...??? HER!!!!

HELLLOOOO WERE HAVING WEATHER~~~~

-----

Award for MOST WASTED STORY POTENTIAL IN MAYBE ALL OF MANGA HISTORY goes to....

Mutant bigotry!!!

Really Hori your bringing this up now? To try and make Spinners random character turn understandable? Weve had mutant characters the ENTIRE GOD DAMN TIME HORI!!! PRO HEROES! STUDENTS! RANDOM BG CHARACTERS! YOURE BRINGING THIS UP NOW!? TOKOYAMI ALMOST KILLED SOME OF HIS CLASSMATES!!!! YOU THINK BIGOTS WOULDNT HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT IT!? WHAT A TOOTHLESS TONE-DEAF RACISM ALLEGORY!! HOLY SHIT HORI IM SO PISSED ABOUT THIS YOU CANT EVEN IMAGINE.

------

Award for MOST DRAWN OUT NOT-DEAD REVEAL goes to...

BAKUGO

I mean obviously.... You know letting him actually have some smooth character development woulda been too hard for Hori...

----

Award for HOLY SHIT THE 'CEST SHIPPERS ARE GONNA LOVE THIS SHIT goes to....

ITS A TIE!!!! TWINSIES!!!

Endeavor/Dabi

AND!!!

THE SHIGARAKIS!

...Yall can get mad at me for this one... You know I aint wrong...

-----

Award for MOST UNHINGED YET SELFLESS ROMANTIC SACRIFICE goes to....

STAIN!!!!

Seriously Im in tears... how did this happen...

----

Award for THE MOST POINTLESS FACE HEAL FACE TURN IN HISTORY goes to....

....HER!

??? Seriously you got pissed about killing villains so you started killing heroes even a teenage boy? Thats so fucking stupid girl....fuckin WHAT?

-----

Award for I DONT CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS YOURE AN UNDERRATED TOP TIER G AND YOU DESERVE AN AWARD goes to...

MT LADY!!!

DAMN SHES FUCKING COOL! NEVER DISAPPOINTS IN A FIGHT!

-------

Award for SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! SHUT UP!!! THIS ISNT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE Y- goes to...

ENDEAVOR!!

SHUT YOUR BITCH ASS UP ENDEAVOR!!!

------

Award for THEY NEEDED TO TAKE YOU OUT EARLIER ON SO YOU COULDNT CLAP THE BADDIES CHEEKS AND ITS SO OBVIOUS WHY DID HORI MAKE YOU SO STRONG FOR NO REASON TOKOYAMI???? goes to....

TOKOYAMI!!!

HOLY SHIT TOKOYAMI!

--------

Award for I HATE THAT THEYRE MAKING ME DEFEND YOU... goes to...

HAWKS!!!

Hawks gave Twice plenty of chances to stop fucking killing people so he could be taken in alive! WHY DO I HAVE TO DEFEND THIS BLACKHOLE OF WASTED FUCKIN TIME HORI WTF....???

-----

Award for MOST WEIRDLY TOUCHING DEDICATION goes to...

All Mights CANT STOP TWINKLING attack!

The way I cried a little... my little tchotchke.... Him changing his attacks from states to his students was already so good but damn... :') Aoyama deserved this.

-----

Award for MOST TRAGICALLY SUBMISSIVE BABYGIRL goes to...

ALL MIGHT!!!

I mean we knew from the jump but.... DAMN Toshi.

------

Award for MOST HATED GOOD SHIP goes to...

KIRISHIDO!!!

Seriously FUCK those KRBK fans! Im so glad you got bested by the BKDKs you rancid fucks.... This ship was always superior!!!

------

Award for LOVING SHOTO THE MOST goes to....

Certainly not his fucking family....

IIDA!!!!

So this is love... mmm mmm mmm mmm~ So this is... love?

----

Award for SICKEST VILLAIN DESIGN goes to...

Kunieda(I guess?)

Seriously this guy is so fucking cool looking. Clears literally every single villain design. Its not even close.

------

The award for MOST HORNGRY goes too....

AFO

Seriously AFO... if you werent so obsessed with Toshi you probably woulda won its literally so fucking funny.... Elevated the nosebleed trope to literally spurting blood from the forehead veins from how aggressively horknee you are. LMAO. AND YET somehow this is not the weirdest boner you have for another man.

---

Award for THE MOST CONSISTENTLY GOOD CHARACTER IN BNHA goes to...

ALL MIGHT. Obviously.

IDK if Hori loves you or hates you by how he writes you Toshi but damn you wear this consistency so fuckin well not even Hori could fuck you up!

-----

Award for MOST REALISTICALLY AGED BY THE STRESS OF THIS BATTLE goes to...

Naomasa!!

.... LMAO... Damn. Stress so intense it made you turn into a distinctly designed character.. The magic of facial hair and eyebags...

---

The award for REALLY BITCH!? YOU HAVE A PERFECT COUNTER FOR STAINS QUIRK BUT NOT ONE TO AGE YOURSELF TO COUNTER YOUR DEAGING?! THATS FUCKIN CONVENIENT HORIKOSHI goes to...

AFO!!! For BLOODLET!

The only blemish on the otherwise sickest side battle in this whole arc TBH..

-----

Thats the end of part 2 of BNHA AWARDS!!! Some serious upsets this round! Damn!

[youngestdaughtersyndrome]

Is there any chance you can give us a tag directory?

I can certainly try!!! Its not a complete directory because i have over a hundred and even i lose track of all of them. Anyways im putting the list under the cut ... i tried to organize it to the best of my ability so GENERAL is for housekeeping, TANGIBLE CONCEPTS are for physical things, FLEXIBLE CONCEPTS are things that hover between physical and conceptual, INTANGIBLE CONCEPTS are things that fully conceptual, and SPECIFIC MEDIA is for specific bands/shows/etc. I highly recommend if youre on mobile you DO NOT hit keep reading because its absurdly long and will take over ur dash. Anyways have fun knock urself out

GENERAL:

hollyws: original posts..... went by holly for a while on here, first url was honeyhollows, hollows has similar spelling to holly, you get the gist

a: a is for assorted, so anything that doesnt have an actual organizational tag goes in there-- memes, textposts, current events, etc

srb: self reblog, but not for every one of my og posts that i rb, just the ones that surpass a thousand notes and therefore get deleted. Its my greatest hits pretty much

for later: links, resources, things i want to return to, you get the gist

tag game: those like questionnaire-type games one gets tagged in

asks: asks that ive answered

vdo: in-app videos

the world flows past on both sides distant and mute: audio tag. From nazim hikmet's poem "things i didnt know i loved"

mb: moodboards

our hands empty except for our hands: webweaving and parallel posting. From ocean vuong's "on earth we're briefly gorgeous"

fave: favorites, obvs

blog thesis: the tag equivalent of me calling something real as hell, containing things that qualify as my belief system

my face: selfie tag, but most (all of them actually) get deleted approx 24 hours from original posting time so there's not really anything in there

maeve tag: pictures of my dog reside here

foster tag: my family fosters dogs sometimes, so if we've got a foster and i post a picture, it goes here

matryoshka dog, blue is your color, gi posting, betsy's ordination song, evan's dream journal: personalized tags for friends of mine

TANGIBLE CONCEPTS:

born to blow your mind or something along those lines: art! From the last shadow puppets' "miracle aligner"-- pretty much everything but photography...

the human eye is the loneliest creation: ...because this is the photography tag. I typically only use it when an image doesnt fit into any other tag, so its basically my "a" tag but for like formal images only. Kind of an ocean vuong quote but i changed it from "the human eye is god's loneliest creation" to that bc i go back and forth on god and whatnot

there's a brand new talk but it's not very clear: fashion, both in the conceptual runway sense and the "this is cute, i would wear this" sense. Aptly from david bowie's "fashion"

play pause rewind: anything having to with film or tv (that i dont have a specific tag for)-- gifsets, interviews, editorial style guides, etc.

people!: pictures where you can put a name to the face, so either celebrities or pictures that have their name in the caption

let it go free: items-- jewelry, knick knacks, tchotchkes, etc. A combination of things i would want and things i find beautiful, which are not necessarily mutually exclusive

cabinet of curiosities: a multitude of objects at once-- dollhouses, boxes full of stuff, dishes of jewelry. Its different from "let it go free" because i said so

interiors: decor, interior design, etc.

dishes: plates and platters and whatnot that i like

they really want you: dolls. From hole's "doll parts"

the light on your door: mirrors. From the velvet underground and nico's "i'll be your mirror"

releases: cars, usually crashed or rotting or in some other form of disuse, but also just normal, completely fine cars. Go watch crash 1996 dir. david cronenberg and then we'll talk

hundred voices: spirals. Also concentric circles.

nacreous: pearls, things with a mother-of-pearl inlay, etc

it's coming coming down: eyes. From sonic youth's "beauty lies in the eye"

bad girl meat: teeth. From lady gaga's "teeth"

divine and sharp: weapons, or at least some very pointy things one shouldnt run with

happiness is: a warm gun. Guns in general actually-- this is my tag for guns. From the beatles' "happiness is a warm gun". Duh

prisms: food. Lots of cake in this tag but its all foods not just cake.... i just like cake

o sailor: sailing, nautical stuff, ships, etc. From fiona apple's eponymous song

it's buzzcut season anyways: cutting hair, from lorde's "buzzcut season".

tattoos: well, its tattoos. Not necessarily ones i would want or even inspiration for future tattoos, its just that if a tattoo is the main focus of an image, it goes in here

invitation to peace: deer tag, from system of a down's "deer dance".

draw blood just to taste it hold bones just to break them: canine tag as in dogs, not the teeth, and also one that i wish wasnt so long because man this is a pain to type out. From nicole dollanganger's "dog teeth"

weird fishes: fish. From radiohead's "weird fishes"

lo voy a tener que matar: cats! From los saicos' "el entierro de los gatos". Also yeah i know it means "i'm going to have to kill him" i just think its real funny

in silence i have pulled myself free: tag for horses and all things horse related. From pj harvey's "horses in my dreams"

cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other: cowboys. From willie nelson's eponymous song

they don't love you like i love you: places i grew up in/nearby-- it's pretty much everything west of colorado with a bit of mexico in there. From yeah yeah yeahs' "maps"

like the blue blonde hollyhocks of the dead: flower tag (all sorts, not just hollyhocks). Another bastardized quote, this time from sandra cisneros' a house on mango street-- the original is "dusty hollyhocks thick and perfumy blue-blond hair of the dead". Very good book you should read it

we return to each other in waves: things relating to the water-- the ocean, lakes, rivers, etc. It's definitely a quote from something but i cant find the og source and i dont trust pinterest

consumed and refined: fire, things on fire, burning, yada yada yada

tamer: ice, snow, frozen things, etc

01010000: all things mold and rot. Referring, of course, to the date the world began to decay, which was the day it was created

FLEXIBLE CONCEPTS:

lamentations! lamentations!: art or quotes or whatever that make me scream cry throw up wail howl prostrate myself etc.

the everything the patterns: my humanity tag! Doubles as both an "awww, arent humans cute?" tag and a catchall for people who aren't celebrities and don't have their names in the caption

god and other highways: religion and god, but mostly god. If you see something in there and you think "how could this possibly be related to god OR religion?" mind your own damn business <3

i believe in angels: things i consider to be angelic, which is a classification system even more lengthy and unnecessary than this tagging system. From abba's "i have a dream"

bolts in the head: monsters and generally spooky things. And yeah ik frankenstein doesnt actually have bolts in his head and that was a lie the movie made up but also the nature and definition of a monster is just as illusory and invented as the bolts are

whispers in the air: ghosts, or the fleeting nature of things, or the imagined, or the abstraction of the memory. So yeah its ghosts

when i love you it's forever: the dead, but focusing on the flesh left behind instead of the ghost that proceeds ahead. From "confessions of a skull mask", in the anthology "necrophilia variations"

we have put her living in the tomb: houses or general structures, officially haunted or otherwise (because all buildings are haunted in some way tbh). From my favorite edgar allen poe story "the fall of the house of usher" :)

the roots of the tree: things relating to childhood, development, or family

the lovers: art, photos, etc typically with two things interacting in some familiar way. Not necessarily nsfw, but theres definitely some lesbian erotica in there so beware

cut open my sternum and pull my little ribs around you: gore and blood and all that fun stuff. Not all images of blood go in here so if youre sensitive about pictures of blood beware. You probably shouldnt follow me if you are tbh. Anways it's from purity ring's "fineshrine"

is it a love song?: hunger, desire, violence, and the place where they intersect. Gore is in here also <3 and it's a quote from the 1983 film the hunger

race my heart race my soul: images i really really love. I would say its my aesthetic but aesthetics are a lie propagated by Big Capitalism to get you to buy more shit you dont need so no its not and dont get it twisted..... from "i'll never learn" by the shangri-las, which is possibly my favorite song. I go back and forth on what my favorite song is, but this one's up there for sure

put on your red shoes and dance the blues: all things red. From david bowie's "let's dance", but the original or 2002 remaster and not the 2018 remaster because as much as i love saxophone its totally out of the blue in the intro of the 2018 remaster and i dont like it

love me blue: all things blue, from zayn's "blue". And i have no qualms with any version of this song because i love you zayn

twilight sun: all things pink, from something that someone said to me in passing once and i thought it was nice.

the dead image of life: all things green

capable of charming god: all things yellow

tête à tête: ballet, and things relating to ballet. Even pictures of models with their ribbons tied all messed up go in here, im sorry to say

do you think you've made the right decision this time?: departure, transit, etc. Coming from, though, not going to-- the emphasis is on the leaving. From the smiths' "london" (underrated track tbh)

disappearance in transformation: bugs that can fly-- mainly moths and butterflies, but some beetles and other grubs appear here too

kill this chorus: people in relation to water-- in puddles, swimming, drowning, etc. Im not saying what this is from... if you know you know and also you know why that phrase pertains to that imagery

the luckiest by far: celestial bodies, clouds, the sky, etc. From madonna's lucky star

heaven waits on the other side: weddings, mostly brides and wedding dress-type stuff. From nicole dollanganger's "heart shaped bed"

godspeed your love: all things relating to love (and occasionally heartbreak). From possibly the greatest love song ever, the righteous brothers' "unchained melody"

lily left alone: playing cards and things having to do with suites of cards. Kind of from bob dylan's "lily, rosemary, and the jack of hearts" but not really

bloodied black: martyrs, warriors, knights. Lots of pictures of armor and joan of arc imagery here

mourning lamb: farm animals, mainly sheep but also cows and pigs and whatnot. From ethel cain's "ptolemaea"

all down: typography, handwritten things, etc-- everything from journal entries to song lyrics to letters to typed notes

time is a river: myths, folklore, classics, historical art, etc. Technically a quote from heraclitus but every knows it bc of marcus aurelius

INTANGIBLE CONCEPTS:

from the fire roads: get ready for this because this and the following five tags are all connected. This is the tag equivalent of exposition on the hero's journey-- the scene is a small town, a childhood bedroom, a parking lot, etc. From bruce springsteen's "racing in the streets"

and i see big things for you: this is the first threshold (transformation) in the hero's journey. In this particular case, the protagonist becomes a groupie for a band that passed through the town, and this world of travel and casual excess is very different from the world theyre from. The scene is a basement shows, cigarettes in a hotel bed, underfunded recording studios, etc. From wolf alice's "white leather"

somewhere there's a party: the "challenges and temptations" part of the hero's journey-- our protagonist gets tired of the constant moving and, craving something more, ends up in a big city working as a model/socialite. The scene is a closet filled with frills and designer clothes, a gala, the backstage of a fashion show, etc. From the replacements' "swingin' party"

don't cry about it: now at the second threshold (abyss) of the hero's journey, things start going downhill. The protagonist loses themself in a wave of drugs, sex, and excess; the scene is now a large bathroom with a shattered mirror, a smoke-filled bdsm club, a nosebleed, etc. From lana del rey's "this is what makes us girls"

careful fear / dead devotion: with the third threshold (atonement) in the hero's journey comes the protagonist's realization of their own rock bottom and the desire to get better. The scene is a dark bedroom with light coming through the door, a park at night, an open window, etc. From the nationals' "don't swallow the cap"

born with a weak heart: the end of the hero's journey-- the protagonist takes what money they have left and splits, getting a place in the middle of nowhere and working as an attendant somewhere they won't be recognized. The scene is a clearing in the woods, a warm kitchen, a grocery store, etc. From talking heads' "this must be the place"

there was to be no death in eden: Mostly i use it for animals that i dont have a specific tag for, large groups of animals, animals in little people clothes, fantasy art, folk tales, children's books, or anything else i consider to be edenic. Im gonna be honest with you i have a weird idea of eden because i saw it in a dream ... more on that here if u scroll down to where it says september 22 2023. Its an ellen g. white quote im pretty sure, and while i personally hate the seventh-day adventists and everything that entails, i do respect a woman who gets visions

you got your good thing: things pertaining to heaven, which is a vibe i cannot possibly explain bc i saw it in a dream as well but i will link you here nonetheless and just hope you get it. In short basically heaven is an archive and the angels never build it right because they're working off pure image untainted by emotion and human perspective so everything looks a little wonky and clinical (they mean well though). From david lynch's "in heaven (lady in the radiator song", off the eraserhead 1977 soundtrack

pelican island: birds. Also any sort of ghostly island or mysterious shore. Ghosts, too. From deena metzger's eponymous poem

ST PAUL MOMENT ST PAUL MOMENT: the nature version of my humanity tag. Refers to the biblical tale of st. paul, who was blinded then healed by jesus as a way of converting him to christianity (which is fucking crazy and sooo dramatic but we're not here to talk abt that). The point is that its the sensation of being awakened to a natural power higher than yourself, like how flowers always have a number of petals that complies with the fibonacci sequence

thou mayest: being good, being bad, the feeling of being torn between your capacities for good and evil, the shame of feeling evil, etc. Go read john steinbeck's east of eden and then we'll talk

soul opium: solitude, isolation, loneliness

thorn without a rose: hole theory. From aerosmith's "hole in my soul" #sorrywomen

shadows: poems that come off as gray to me. Yeah i dont know either man they just do its a very specific vibe and there is no other way to describe it than gray

ritualism: the color white being used in a holy, ritualistic context (or at least a context i perceive as holy)

74: my yamaha tx750 was created in 1974, which is a year that is important to me for no other reason than that (if u go into the tag its pretty obvious and if its not.... well im not telling)

p: im not sayinggggg. But here you will find white horses and things about grief

are your ears on?: writing, particularly having to do with the idea of a grand overarching narrative that tropes are forcefully enacted within

SPECIFIC MEDIA:

it's impossible to compete with the dead: my tag for all things sharp objects-related. Tag is a quote from the book

spn: that would be the 2005 cw show supernatural. #Sorry

mcr: that would be the post-hardcore band my chemical romance. #Sorryyyyyyy

shattered teacup: tag for the 2013 tv show hannibal and no other version of thomas harris's work-- silence of the lambs and whatnot can be found in the "play pause rewind" tag

little nudie turtles: tag for the 2018-2023 hbo show succession. Quote by tom (it's literally tom).

and the angels wouldn't help you: tag for david lynch's twin peaks, both the show(s) and the film

time is a flat circle: tag for season one of true detective... haven't watched the other seasons of this show because honestly nothing can beat that. So its only for season one

[keyofjetwolf]

Yellowjackets S01E06 spoilers under the cut NOT FOR PRYING HOLLIGAY EYES

"Jackie just adored rabbits."

OH MY FUCKING GOD AND AN AVALANCHE OF THOUGHTS JUST CRASHED DOWN ON ME AND I'M TAKING YOU ALL WITH ME

I'd filed away that Shauna has A THING about rabbits. We've seen her kill two, going so far as to expertly skin, disembowel, butcher, and then make a chili out of the thing to serve to her family. (Who loved it when they had no idea what was in it, hello I see you clear parallel.)

Yet we've ALSO seen that Shauna has bunny shit absolutely everywhere, all these tchotchkes that didn't seem to fit. Not only in what we're gathering about her general lifestyle, but in her apparent relationship to rabbits. She hates them! Murderously! But she also cherishes them? Or at least the still, silent representations of them that can't eat her garden.

Couldn't make sense of it, but it was too obviously placed as a contradiction to not make note of it, so note it I did and moved on.

UNTIL NOW AND HOLY SHIT

JACKIE IS THE RABBIT. I've been wondering what happened to her (as I have everyone we haven't also seen in the 2021 timeline), but I feel SUPER confident now saying she's dead dead so fucking dead.

Shauna loves her. They've been best friends for how long?

Shauna is IN love with her. That much was obvious immediately, and is I believe 10000% the reason she hooked up with and later married Jeff. (Can't have the girl? Have the guy who can.)

Shauna hates her. This part I'm shakiest on right now, but if Jackie is the rabbit (JACKIE IS ABSOLUTELY THE RABBIT), then I know it's true. Maybe Shauna hates her because Jackie can't/won't/doesn't return her feelings. Maybe Jackie's kind of selfish and terrible sometimes. Shauna was going to (or was at least wrestling with) passing up Brown to go to whatever shitbag local university Jackie was going to, and was that because Shauna wanted to, or was pressured to, or felt obligated to, or...?

I don't know that piece yet, but I DO know people are complex and can be many things at once, and so even without filling in the details, I have zero problem accepting that Shauna loved and hated Jackie all at the same time.

Bringing us to today. Shauna cherishes the idea of the rabbit, enshrines it almost, while Shauna also kills and eats the rabbit.

So if Jackie is the rabbit (AND JACKIE IS WITHOUT A DOUBT THE FUCKING RABBIT), oh that bitch became dinner and I'd lay two shiny quarters that Shauna is the one who took the first bite.

Because how else to love Jackie, to take her in so completely, than literally consume her?

THAT IS FUCKED MY FRIENDS

THAT IS FUCKED UP AND I'M INTO IT

#oh shit oh shit #and a couple episodes ago where jackie DIRECTLY SAYS she's not cut out for all this #this isn't her world #the others can adapt and do what it takes to survive #jackie can't #the poison ivy #that means something too #not getting it right now but that's also symbolic of something filing that away too #anyway yes jackie basically ANNOUNCES IT THERE that she's doomed #oh man and what did the head coach say about her being team leader aahhh #gotta rewatch brb #'when things get tough out there those girls are gonna need someone to guide them' #GUIDE #not lead #because jackie isn't a natural leader it's painful whenever she tries #the leader is clearly taissa #guide though #influencer as he also says #fuck me yeah it's all right there #a guide shows the way #girl you were dinner before you ever set foot on that plane #ANYWAY SORRY I'M HAVING A LOT OF THOUGHTS IN THIS CHILIS TONIGHT

Edited to add: "JACK RABBIT" IT'S ALL JUST SITTING RIGHT THERE FUCK YOU GOODBYE

[janice-christ]

Some Answers To Your Questions (Transcribed by Janice's Daughter Naomi)

Hi all,

This is Janice's daughter Naomi again. We've been getting a lot of questions from some curious new followers (43 now, wow!) and thought we'd just compile them all here in one post. My mother tends to veer off topic when she gets going so I'm here to transcribe the important bits and leave out the rest.

Once again, I do need to mention up top that my father, Janice's Husband, is still missing. Last seen wearing a tweed suit in Atlanta, Georgia six months ago, black toupee, 5'3", ~230lbs, walks with a slight limp, favoring his left side. His full name is Matthew Mark Luke John Christ.

Please, PLEASE reach out if you have any information whatsoever on his whereabouts. As stated in a previous reply from Mom, there are no known photographs of him as he is staunchly against photography as an industry and concept.

Q&A

Q: Can you tell us more about your alien abduction?

A: Absolutely. It was 1997 - October 14th. Matthew Mark Luke John and I were in a brief period of separation and I was home alone with 5 year old Naomi. I'd just put her to bed, around 7 o'clock, and walked outside to have a cigarette (Camel blues - and while we're on the subject, why don't they allow smoking indoors anymore? We used to be able to light up an honest to god Pall Mall in the middle of Catholic Mass back in the 70s) [note from Naomi: this rant went on for 13 solid minutes before I got her back on track].

Anyway, I walked out to stand on the front porch and as I clicked my lighter I was suddenly transported, as if I'd been sucked into the damn Bic! The next thing I know, I'm getting strapped up and suspended from the ceiling, belly down, fanny out. I look down at the hands of my captors and discover they are not hands, but claws.

Long, grey claws.

Unable to make a sound or see anything but the floor several feet below me, I lay suspended in this alien contraption, panicking. The creature restraining me then began what I understood to be an alien roll-call ritual, confirming with his peers that three other humans in the room with me were also prepped for what was about to happen - surgery.

Suddenly, everything went very dark and I was transported to what seemed to be some sort of void. Then, a small light - the size of a pin prick - appeared right in front of me, and expanded until it was a large screen. For the next 3 hours and 15 minutes, the screen played James Cameron's "Titanic", which I found quite novel as the movie wasn't due to release on Earth until December. I had a good deal of fun spoiling the film for a few of my least favorite friends.

Directly following the start of the credits, I awoke in my bed, morning light streaming through the windows. From that day on, anything I orally consume leaves a strong taste of sulfur in my mouth. I now get my nutrients through a DIY feeding tube. Everything else in my body was left normal, though.

Q: You don't seem too worried about your missing husband, but your daughter Naomi does. Why is this?

A: I don't know - you'll have to ask Naomi why she cares so goddamned much. [note from Naomi: he's my dad.]

Q: Your bit isn't funny

A: Is this some type of slang?

Q: Why do you hate your 4 year old grandson so much? Do you hate kids?

A: I love kids. This one, however, is rotten liver. [note from Naomi: We're working on this relationship - Zachary is a good kid and Nana just doesn't like sticky hands on her tchotchkes]

[Additional note from Janice: He's rotten liver, full stop.]

Q: If you could find the other victims from the night of your abduction, what would you ask them?

A: Oh, too many questions to name one by one. But to start I'd ask if they also watched Titanic or if they got a different film like Boogie Nights or Good Will Hunting.

Q: You say you're single and looking - what kind of partner are you looking for?

A: One who believes me.

---

Maybe we'll do another one of these if we get some more questions in bulk - Zachary and I are currently in the process of moving in with Mom to help her out until Dad comes back so things are a little chaotic here, as you can imagine. Until then, please spread the word about my father if you can.

-Naomi

and janice xx

[breakerwhiskey]

057 - FIFTY-SEVEN

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Another gas station today, right over the border in Wyoming and they had this tiny little buffalo toy at the counter. He’s sitting on my dashboard now, watching over the road as I drive.

Maybe there’s something perversely ironic about that. The image of a buffalo being forced to watch a paved road pass underneath him when the road’s very existence is part of the reason that he and all of his brethren got decimated in the first place.

Maybe I’m overthinking it. [click, static]

My dad used to get me all these things like this from truck stops along his route, stuff like this little buffalo. Some kind of tchotchke—a keychain, a pen, a magnet. Anything that had the name of a city or the image of a monument on it. I loved all of those souvenirs, would keep them in a row on top of my dresser like some kind of shrine to the great American road trip.

[click, static]

Every trip he always made he brought one of those things back for me. And when he could—when the season was right—he would bring back a jar of homemade jam for my mom. He would never buy it at a store or anything like that—only ever from a roadside stand. So it had to be summer, usually, and he had to happen to pass one. And then...well, I think he’d probably spend twenty minutes picking out exactly which jar he wanted to get her, because he’d only ever bring one back, but he’d tell us all about the farmer who sold it to him and the other types they had.

You know, he’d talk to the farmer for a while, ask them what their speciality was, if there was a jam they liked best, or if they had any fruit

varieties that they’d come up with themselves. The weirder, the better. The more regional, the better. Any time dad came home with a jar of jam it was like a little holiday—we’d spread it over toast for dessert or sometimes we’d just eat it straight from the jar.

[click, static]

God, it all sounds so provincial. Not that that’s...bad, but you’d think I’d grown up at the turn of the century, not the forties. But that was the thing about rural living, I guess. And I think—well, during the war, my parents got used to austerity. So even when it was all over and my dad went back to driving his usual route and not delivering supplies for the military, there was still the sense that every bit of sugar or fresh fruit was a luxury.

Maybe that’s why I’ve never really needed very much to be content. [click, static]

My mom loved jam—would make it herself every late spring from the big blackberry bushes we had behind our house. She’d experiment with different kinds too—the classic sweet blackberry jam, savory, spicy blackberry jams that we’d put on toast with cheese, blackberry jam mixed with vinegar in one of her few completely failed attempts. From late May through all of June, our house would smell like blackberries.

I don’t really like blackberries anymore. Just the smell of them makes something inside me ache. Harry...

[click, static]

Harry stopped growing them in our garden after the first year. I think, somehow, she knew.

[click, static]

[glitterdustcyclops]

tagged by @lookingforsomematches

Alias/name : choco

Birthday : july 8th

Zodiac : cancer sun, pisces moon, leo rising

Height : 5'7"ish

Hobbies : i have adhd literally everything is my hobby but anyway writing, doodlin frogs, various crafts, occasionally painting, sometimes graphic design, legos, playing video games, journaling/calligraphy, collecting tiny plastic nonsense and other various trinkets and tchotchkes, oh god there's so many more help

Favorite color : iridescent, but the actual-color answer is mint green + pink

Favorite book : ohhhhh god. usually i say it's the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy which did a lot to inform my sense of humor and really inspired me as a writer, but i also can't remember half of it now and never got further than i think part of the restaurant at the end of the universe. one day i'll go back and re-read the whole series. probably. maybe.

Last song : home - kimbra (kimbra is so goooood guys if you've never listened to her stuff outside of somebody that i used to know check her out!!!)

Last Movie / Show : my dad just finished watching the charmed reboot and i kinda got into it right at the last season, and now it's over, and i'm a lil sad about it

Recent read : some random kindle unlimited gay romance novel about a pretty albino boy who gets saved by evil human traffickers by a bunch of hot mercenary-type dudes. it wasn't great but the sex scenes were hot and i love any kind of polyamory rep, even in trashy tropey romance novels.

Inspiration : right now i have my coffee-scented candle burning and that is sparking some serious cozy-fall-vibes inspo, so imagine that and enjoy

Fun fact : i can't whistle! i can play the flute and i can actually blow across pretty much any bottle and make a tone but i just can't get my mouth to whistle. nor can i blow bubblegum bubbles, and i suspect the two are related.

Story behind URL : one of my friends in college suggested it as a pesterchum handle that seemed to fit my vibe and i took it and ran with it. i can't remember if the cyclops OC i designed came first or after, but basically it seemed like fate.

What’s the colour palette of your name?

did both choco & my real name and gonna be honest i'm never much a fan of muted earthy tones like this but some of the ones in my real name palette are speaking to me, esp. that dark navy + orange + pale sagey green combo happening over in the right corner there

anyway i guess i'll tag @teddytoroa @solobagginses @musicismymoirail and anyone else who wants to do it, as always tag me so i can see your answers!!!!!

[wellnesscard]

i love thrift stores so much thank god for them i truly would have nothing to wear if not for these, and as addition so many of thousands of random vinyl and tchotchkes to adorn my place meaninglessly and with love. like an animal - i live and i die. i collect and cherish certain roots not for their properties but the shape they fit into my hand with. utterly meaningless junk unless you jive with the fengshui emanating from such. you cannot find such gravity from something not recycled.

[rdng1230]

Thanks for the tag @just-kalina these are fun questions!

favorite color: green, I just found these super luxurious looking velvet green curtains in the bargain bin at ikea. It’s giving slytherin common room meets cottage core. I also spent a lot of my childhood in the Pacific Northwest so your girl loves an evergreen forest.

Favorite song: oh hell, that’s hard to pick. My music taste is all over the map but Here are a few that I’ve always loved but have gotten back into lately: emperors new clothes - Sinead O’Connor , our lady of the underground - Amber Gray , they can’t take that away from me - Billie holiday, murder she wrote - Chaka Demus & pliers (which funny enough went viral on tiktok recently) lonely in your nightmare - Duran Duran, Americans - janelle Monae, someone great - LCD sound system

Favorite book: I always liked every day by David levithan although I haven’t read it in years and I refuse to watch the movie. I have a special place in my heart for a wrinkle in time even though I know large portions of it are just Cold War era anti communist propaganda. I also really like their eyes were watching god by Zora Neale Hurston. Also I freaking love the Percy jackson books, I don’t care that I’m in my 20’s. Also also Hell or High Water the OFMD fanfic deserves a shoutout for being 75% of my serotonin for the last month.

last sentence I wrote: hmmm Econ notes unfortunately, but creatively I started a Lucius POV fic and the last sentence was something like: “He smirked, imagining the hysterics Izzy would unleash for such an oversight”

Something odd in your house: I have this travel tchotchke from chichen itza Mexico, it’s like a porcelain jaguar head swallowing a human head and it also is a whistle where if you blow into it it sounds like a jaguar roar. It’s ridiculous and I love it. I’ve always loved history and exploring historical sites and it reminds me of one of the first times I got to explore something more than 2 or 300 years old. I’d like to think young Riley would be really proud of me for moving to a place where I could see stuff like that all the time.

Tattoo you want to get: three asterisks on my wrist representing the M*A*S*H logo. A lot of the show hasn’t aged well but for airing in the seventies it was surprisingly progressive (sticking up for a gay soldier, calling out racism and American imperialism, etc.) It’s gonna be a matching tattoo with my mom. 3 generations of my family have watched the show in good times and bad times and it’s gotten us through so much. The episode Dear Sigmund is a balm for the soul.

Place you want to travel too: Turkey and Egypt. Also England simply because I’ve lived so close to it for three years now it seems weird I haven’t been?

Last time you were hugged: about an hour ago by my girlfriend before she fell asleep. She had a really rough day today and we both needed extra hugs.

@mottlemoth @hereticalpride @mangle-my-mind go for it if you feel like it!

[stickysad]

It’s April 8th, you would have turned twenty nine. I started a new job and I find myself talking about you. I haven't figured out how to navigate saying the words "she died" to strangers, so at the office building on Drummond Road you're still alive. I choose this weird lie over the inevitable feeling that I've said too much once it’s spoken aloud, like I've imposed a reminder that humanity can be bleak under the lunch room’s shitty fluorescent lighting. People don't like confronting life's devastations while wearing business casual. I know the societal rules of polite conversation enough to keep topics low stakes, like how expensive yogurt is these days or the morning traffic on the boulevard. Somehow, the I.T. guy’s shockingly bad political takes are fair play, but we steer clear of death and how it changes us. Despite knowing the etiquette of unfeeling small talk I can’t stop myself from bringing you up so…you're alive and well in this unsuspecting corner of Northeast Philly. America's purgatory of strip malls and industrial complexes if you’re unfamiliar. Look, it was the best I could do. Handle your own resurrection next time, kid. I'm moving soon and it will be yet another apartment you haven't stepped foot in. I’m running out of where to feel you, of people who knew you. The only place left is the house on Allentown and god knows you wouldn't go back there in the flesh let alone in spirit. God knows I don't. I still go into the restaurant to try to catch even a glimmer of you, but the employees have changed and the chairs are different and I heard they painted over our scribbles on the walls in the back. Instead, I stick to my cliches and pretend you're nature and lightning and every tchotchke of a carousel at the thrift store. I visit you through every phase of the moon. I stare up at the sky, slow blinks like I give to the cat, praying you get the message. Or I’ll whisper to you alone in my room and trick myself into believing any sensation in my body must be confirmation you can hear me. As if you respond as a tickle in my fingertips. I'm starting to grasp that missing you is endless, but in that way so is loving you. I'll forever love you, talk about you, think of you. Every day that I miss you makes you infinite. I’ll keep writing about you; heartbroken in run-on sentences. I won’t stop counting the carousels. I’ll take small comfort in that, that through me you still are. I guess that's all I can do, unless you change your mind on the resurrection thing - let me know.

Happy Birthday, little sister. 

[skelavender]

“I couldn’t explain it. When I saw them, I could barely pay attention to the woman we were interviewing. I just… knew I needed them.”

Mulder’s eyes snap to her, “Oh my god, Scully, did you steal these?”

read/listen to kind of perfect chapter two on ao3, or below the cut!

Nothing changes really, not yet. 

They make an appointment at the courthouse for a Wednesday afternoon, with plans to make it a late lunch break. Mulder gets the marriage license while Scully is elbow deep in an autopsy (literally) and he's bored of staring at the walls of the basement office. 

They still go on cases. Scully still shows up to the office some mornings to find a plane ticket on Mulder’s desk, and him behind it. They still say goodnight five feet apart, at the doors of adjacent motel rooms. It’s normal. Except for the fact that they’re planning an illicit wedding in the background. 

There’s a case in Pittsburgh where people feel urged to do things they only let themselves dream of. For every violent murder with a clear motive and confessed killer, there’s a happy couple walking down the street who found themselves pushed together after years of pining. 

Mulder calls it witchcraft. Scully calls it a water contaminant. It’s all very routine. 

Their investigation takes them to an antique mall outside the city, as labyrinthine as any. They wander through the precariously stacked furniture and tchotchkes, Scully running her hand over books, dishware, and photos passed down through many owners and wondering about where they’ve all been, what they’ve seen. 

Scully adores antique stores. She’s always felt a kind of love in them. The energy of so many cherished possessions in one place is the only kind of magic she’s come close to believing in. 

They’re interviewing the owner of a jewelry booth when she sees it. A tiny wood box in the glass case separating them from the witness that Scully isn’t paying nearly enough attention to. What lays in the velvet lining enraptures her, she can’t take her eyes off of it. Mulder’s touch on her lower back rouses her from her trance.

“Whaddya think, Scully?”

“Hmm?” She breaks her eyes away from the case and looks back up at him. He’s waiting for her opinion. She realizes she zoned out for most of the interview, and turns back to the woman across the glass case. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I must’ve been distracted. You have some beautiful pieces here, ma’am.”

“Ohh, shiny.” Mulder teases. Scully rolls her eyes.

“Oh, shut up Mulder.”

“Mrs. Landingham was just telling us about the vendor upstairs, who gives her the heebie geebies. He sells a bunch of dolls.”

“Well that’s not hard. Antique dolls even give me the… heebie geebies sometimes.”

Mulder laughs, and they go on with the interview. When they continue on through the antique mall, they split up, and Scully finds herself looping back around to the glass case from before. 

“How much for that?” She asks, pointing to the little box. She doesn’t even hear the price, just grabs her checkbook from her coat pocket. The woman smiles at her.

“You have someone special, dear?”

“I… it’s complicated.”

“Hmm. If you’re buying them that, it’s probably not as complicated as you think.”

Scully just hands her the check and slips the box into the inside pocket of her jacket. Mulder catches up with her a couple rows away. 

“Hey, where have you been? I thought we were looking at the third floor?”

“I was… looking for the bathroom,” She lies, “Did you find something?”

“Yeah, the booth Mrs. Landingham mentioned is, in fact, creepy as hell. I’ve never seen so many dolls in one place, Scully. And it had a vibe.”

“A vibe?”

“Yeah, a weird one.”

“Let's go check it out together.”

His hand brushes her lower back and he guides her to the stairs. 

***

They solve the case, burn the dolls. Apparently every victim of their own impulsivity had purchased one a couple days before they started acting differently. She stows the box in the glovebox of her car, and forgets about it until they’re on their way back to DC.

Mulder is, naturally, babbling. 

“Honestly, I’m surprised neither of us were affected.”

Scully tenses behind the wheel.

“Right, Scully?”

She bites her lip.

“Scully? Were you –”

“Check the glovebox.” She blurts before she can think twice about it. 

He leans forward, and pulls out the tiny box. When he glances at her, she nods, and he opens it. When he sees the contents, he lets out a little “Oh.” 

In the box, in a sea of maroon velvet, lay two nearly identical gold rings. The only difference between them is a swell and a small diamond in the center of one of the eight-pointed star engravings adorning both bands. 

She watches out of the corner of her eye as he runs a finger delicately along the engravings of the larger ring. 

“I couldn’t explain it. When I saw them, I could barely pay attention to the woman we were interviewing. I just… knew I needed them.”

Mulder’s eyes snap to her, “Oh my god, Scully, did you steal these?”

“What? No!” She looks away from the road to give him an incredulous look. “I paid for them, I just bought them impulsively. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked you first. We haven’t talked about rings, and it’s probably a bad idea to wear them to work so there isn’t much of a point–”

“No they’re… they’re kind of perfect, Scully. Thank you.” He sounds almost breathless. 

“Of course. I’m… I’m glad you like them.”

Mulder manages to shut up for a good chunk of their drive. 

***

Mulder slaps his pen on the desk in frustration. Damn expense reports. He pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to make his growing headache subside. 

Scully looks up at him over her glasses. Takes him in. She closes the file open in front of her and stands. “C’mon, Mulder. Let’s take a long lunch, I think we both need a break.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” They both don their jackets, Scully grabs her purse, and they whisk out of the building. 

Mulder really, really should have asked where they were going before agreeing. 

He finds himself in the boyfriend chair of a nearby Macy’s, watching Scully try on a series of dresses and suits. They aren't things he’s used to seeing her in. It’s not much more exciting to him than the expense reports, though it is less headache-inducing. So he sits and watches, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers fiddling with the hair tie still wrapped around his left ring finger. 

People have asked about the hair tie, of course. Sometimes it’s on his finger, sometimes just on his wrist. He tells them that Scully’s break sometimes, and it’s best to have a backup. Like he’s just that good of a partner, and the hair tie isn’t one of his most cherished possessions.

Breaking his train of thought, Scully steps out of the stall in what she would describe as an ivory cocktail dress with an eggshell lace overlay, and what Mulder would call a white dress. 

“It’s not very you.” He says. She agrees, and steps back into the stall to try on the next one.

“What are we even doing here, Scully?”

“I need to find something for the wedding, and I don't have time to go to a traditional bridal salon.”

She steps out in a white pantsuit, shoulder pads and all. 

Mulder slaps a hand over his eyes. “What the hell, Scully! Are you crazy? I can’t see you in your wedding dress before the wedding, that’s bad luck.”

“In our sham marriage?” She laughs, “C’mon Mulder, you don’t actually believe that, do you?”

“Do I believe in a superstition? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“That’s a good point.” She approaches him and peels his hand off his eyes anyway. “Please, Mulder. I don’t want to do this by myself, and I just can’t ask Skinner.” His eyes go directly to hers, crinkled at the corners from her humored smile, then drift downwards to take in her outfit.

“Not that one,” he says, “It looks too much like something you’d wear to work.”

She huffs a laugh and retreats to change again. When she steps out, she’s in a slip dress with silver embroidered flowers. 

“No.” He says immediately.

“No? So now you’re a stylist?”

“The rings are gold and that one has silver. I might know nothing about fashion, but I know that that’s against the rules.”

“Good eye, Mulder.” She retreats again.

“So why're you taking me wedding dress shopping, anyway? Why not your girlfriends, or your mom?”

“No one knows we're getting married. I haven’t even told my mom, she’d insist we make it into a whole event, and wouldn't keep it quiet. And even if people did know, I spend all my time on cases with you, so I'm somewhat lacking in the girlfriends department, or at least ones I’m close enough with to invite wedding shopping.” she pauses. “I always thought I'd do it with Melissa, but that’s… not an option”

“I'm so sorry, Scully. She should be here.”

“I know. “

She steps out in another dress. They agree that it’s too lacy. Back to the stall.

“I'd probably ask you to come shopping even if I was marrying someone else.” Something like distaste blooms in his chest at the thought. He ignores it.

“Really? I mean, you said it yourself, I'm not exactly fashion forward.”

“Of course. You're my best friend. I value your opinion.”

She steps out in another dress, this one simple, tight, and silky, with thin straps and a deep back. She does a little twirl. She does not giggle. 

She sees Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up as his mouth opens. If he were in a cartoon, Scully is sure there would be a bubble with AWOOGA just above his face. 

“Holy shit, Scully.” He stands and approaches her. Her face is so bright, so open. 

“Yeah?”

“You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” She goes in for a hug, which Mulder accepts. He buries his face in her hair.

“You’re my best friend too, Scully.” She just hugs him tighter. “But if this turns out to be a disaster, I’m totally blaming you for making me see the dress before the big day.”

She laughs and they separate, but only by a few inches. His hands move to her neck, his thumbs framing her face.

“So, that’s the one?”

She smiles up at him and nods. “Yeah. It is.”

The smile they share is softer than any other.

She goes to change back into her work clothes, and he offers to bring the car around. Before leaving the store, he manages to hunt down the dress on the rack and stop at the cashier to leave a check with them, telling the girl behind the counter that it was for the suit-clad redhead about to exit the dressing rooms. 

“You didn’t have to pay for the dress, Mulder.” She says as she climbs into the car, “But thank you.”

“You paid for the rings,” He reasons, “it’s only fair.”

“Still. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

The outing takes longer than their lunch hour, but no one seems to notice. 

<- previous chapter next chapter ->

[walkingshcdow]

"You didn't think I forgot did you?" Luka says as teasing warmth resounds in his voice before presenting the bouquet of flowers to the only real maternal figure he wanted to claim as his. His height had taken a rise once more and so as he pulled Masha into a hug did he lean down slightly to press a kiss to her cheek. "Happy mother's day. And shh, don't tell Gleb I said you're my favorite parent."

Luka was so strong and tall now. She remembered when he'd come to the Volya, scrappy and skinny and full of fire. She'd told Gleb to give him time. How much? Well, how long had it been? He was the kind of young man any mother would be proud of, even one really just barely old enough to be his mother, who should have been a sister figure instead. Especially that kind. Especially Masha. God, she was proud of her boy. She kissed him back, laughing and caressing his face.

"Oh, sunshine, you know I would never tell him," she said. "He has to know by now that there's something special about the love between a mother and her son."

She studied the flowers, grinning. They were beautiful and she wondered if he had snagged them in a market at their last planetary visit or if the greenhouses had produced such wonderful blooms. They would brighten her office - the little corner of the laboratory and hospital, which was already filled with paper photographs of her loved ones and other outdated tchotchkes from her travels. She had a vase somewhere. As she looked for it, she effused about the flowers, how pretty they were, and how thoughtful the gift was. At last, she found a place to put them in some water.

"I can take some time off to make us brunch," she said. "My boy needs a good breakfast and I need some quality time with you."

[mykashg]

HACKS APPRECIATION WEEK — Day 5: Favourite Object or Location The Salt & Pepper Shakers aka the Jean Valjean tchotchke or whatever. 

I can’t say it much better then Hannah herself did in this interview:

I'm having moments like I'm waking up in the middle of the night and being like, "Are the pepper shakers Ava and Deborah?!" And they're like, "Yes." I texted Paul, Lucia and Jen they're like, yeah. There are so many things that I'm looking back on and just being like "Oh my God, the dynamics, the layers." It totally, I was like, "Oh, this is a literal rom-com."

We are absolutely spoiled for impeccable set design and props and colours and lighting and like the one percenters that go into making a good piece of media great. Into making it art and in all of that I think that the pepper shakers are somehow overlooked. But right there, in episode two, when we’ve only really gotten so see Deborah bristle at the idea of having anyone help her with her comedy, they make it crystal clear that this is a woman who is longing for partnership, companionship, a relationship of equals. Of mutual respect and tenderness and laughter and love. For someone that makes her better. 

She collects pairs, for fucks sake! 

And Ava gets her the pepper shaker, and earns some respect for not quitting when the going got tough, and presents herself as a worthy contender for Deborah’s time and her generosity and her love. 

[school-of-roses]

Discrete Spirit Work!

╔✩❖✩❉══❉❖❉══❉❉══❉❖❉══❉✩❖✩╗ Part of our series "In the [Broom] Closet" Month! ╚✩❖✩❉══❉❖❉══❉❉══❉❖❉══❉✩❖✩╝

Want to work with something and still be in the “Broom Closet”?  Live with parents who are less than accepting of your practice for any number of reasons under the sun?  Otherwise don’t want people to know that you practice?  Want to hide spiritwork in plain sight?  This might be useful for you!

Discrete Altars

One of the most intimate parts of a person’s practice, especially one’s spiritual practice, can be having their own altar. There are a few ways I’m aware of to make ones that don’t draw too much attention. One way to make a discrete altar can be to have it made out to be a tchotchkes/knick-knacks shelf or place to keep decorations.  Lots of people do this without thinking about it, they’ll have photos of loved ones, objects they enjoy, and any number of objects they think are important in one place in their home.  The difference between this and an altar is close to none.  Another way to go about it is to have it inside of a cabinet or drawer.  I did this one myself for a long time.  One of the cabinets in my room had a shelf reserved for tools and witchcraft related objects.  When someone was coming over I would simply shut the door and they would be none the wiser.

Money Bowls, Candy Bowls

Growing up my family always had a little bowl that they would drop loose change, found keys, or other small things from around the house into.  If you want to leave offerings to a spirit or god in this manner you can pretty openly leave coins in a bowl for them.  Food and otherwise left in the same spot can have a similar effect, but it is still a good idea to watch out for ants and change it out often.  Hard candies can be a really good one for this because they last and are pretty common to be left on your desk or out in the open, just make sure the spirit you’re working with is okay with the occasional person partaking of them.

Candles

Never doubt the power of color magic or a good candle.  If you want to work with spirits, bringing out a candle and envolking them can be a powerful way to connect.  When you want to connect you can light the designated candle and when you want to stop communing you can politely say goodbye, snuff the candle (some say blowing a candle out is an insult), and put it either away or in a place where it looks completely innocuous.

Sigils and Stitchwork

From things like embroidering the names or sigils of spirits into the lining of clothing to keeping something that reminds you of them in your pocket there are a number of ways to keep them close to you in your day to day life without catching flack in the streets. Other times designs can be hidden in wider, more artistic applications.  Hiding sigils in line work or even making sigils look more like abstract designs can be easy ways to have a being you want to work with on “speed dial” so to speak when you want to call to them for protection, channel them, or just simply have a conversation while you’re working on building a stronger connection between yourself and the being.

Spirit Journals

Journals are a good way to record communications with spirits.  Most writings will not be investigated beyond a cursory glance, and anyone who would inquire as to the content will hardly not buy that it’s some work of fiction.  If you live somewhere where magical fiction would cause you to be in danger or otherwise have someone take issue with your work, journals can be easily stashed, hidden among school supplies, or with a little more challenge, written in ways that don’t make the contents obvious.

Disguising as Other Practices, Nodding to History

Taking a page out of the book of other practices, over the centuries there were numerous examples of practices being disguised as Christian practices to the point where certain gods or goddesses were turned into saints and worshiped in that form in order to hide that pagan practices were involved.  In this way those that are in Christian or similar households might find it an easy path to hiding their practice.  Those that are in more secular environments might find it easier to disguise their practices as expressions of creativity in fiction, art, or fashion.

Boundaries and Being Quiet With talking to and working with various types of spirits, from the smallest to the grandest deity, there will probably come a time when you can feel what they are intending to convey to you without any tools, spaces, or otherwise.  Whether you’re skilled or not, you most likely can send out messages to spirits without speaking out loud.  Though it can be much harder to know what they are saying back if the connection is not established.  Establishing the connection can be harder without items, something to latch onto, or something that reminds you of them.  However, if you can get to the point where connections are easily established, you won’t need any of the tools or theatrics.

If you are at this point where the tools are not there to be a help to you, but are still something the spirit you’re working with wants, do what makes you feel safe.  If you feel safer not having things out in the open or on you, make that decision.  If the spirit doesn’t put your safety and comfort above decorations and dedications; it might be best to not work with them.  Establish that boundary.