#monday thing april 20

[diazdnconfused]

extra sleepy

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

perm taglist: @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @littlegingerperson5 @seraphicsentences series taglist: @tearouthearts @planetloverr @elliesexual @isitadinosaur @eveshyper @3lli3l0v3r @yourmothersfavgirl @emst4rr @theloserqueen @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @whenlostinthedarkness @diddiqueen @deliriousrn

[feyarcher]

Toronto people! Need furniture for cheap and can pick it up literally today (Monday April 29th)? I'm in the Annex, moving, and need to offload a bunch of stuff asap as in either before 5pm today or at like 9am on Tuesday. You have to come get it though and if able, ideally pay me like $20-50 cash for most things but if you are in a bind, I'm fine giving them for free.

Items that must gtfo:

-Blackbrown Ikea Malm double bedframe that lifts up for underbed storage*

-Small blackbrown Ikea table with 2 chairs (danderyd/ingolf I think)

-32" tv

-tiny blackbrown ikea tv stand, whatever their cheapest smallest one was. Free with tv if you want it.

-Small grey couch with double pull out bed*

-Brown faux leather armchair (sears rip)

-Black desk with one large drawer across the whole width. Has scuffs but 🤷‍♀️ (sears rip)

- Black 5 drawer dresser (sears rip)

- Portable AC unit. There is a tear in the hose that can probably be fixed with duct tape, but I leave that to the new owner.

- 2×4 Ikea Kallax in grey

- Half sized grey bookcase (wayfair)

Message me if you want something and can come get it. I can take pics in the morning if you ask for them too.

*bring 2 people. My back sucks and I cannot help you carry them. Also bed disassembly is up to you if desired but I do have tools you can use on this end.

[sen-ya]

Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

[deancaspinefest]

The 2024 Pinefest Posting Schedule is here!

Under the cut, you’ll find the full posting schedule for this eighth round of the Dean/Cas Pinefest, along with links to each preview. Posting season begins on pie day -- March 14th -- and will run for 34 days, with one team posting every day.

Enjoy the previews, and make sure to check out the links to everyone's other work while you're waiting for their pine-scented posting day!

Happy pining, everyone!

Thursday March 14 | following the light Friday March 15 | One Drop, when What You Need is the Ocean Saturday March 16 | Of Dust, Gunpowder and Holy Water Sunday March 17 | Books, Pies, and Roommates Monday March 18 | A Fairy Tale Cliche! Tuesday March 19 | All in Honesty Wednesday March 20 | Another Kind of Memory Thursday March 21 | Not our kind of thing Friday March 22 | Different Currencies Saturday March 23 | In The Dog Days Sunday March 24 | Whatever Makes You Happy Monday March 25 | Significant severe Tuesday March 26 | all that we intend Wednesday March 27 | Something Happening Somewhen Thursday March 28 | Two Princes Friday March 29 | Broken (The Worst Is Over Now) Saturday March 30 | Well, I Never Been To Heaven Sunday March 31 | The Reel Deal Monday April 1 | A Fabulous Evening's Apocalypse Tuesday April 2 | Foxfire Wednesday April 3 | Super Double Bus Thursday April 4 | Suddenly I See Friday April 5 | Lavender Fireflies Saturday April 6 | Heartland Flyer Sunday April 7 | Something Blue Monday April 8 | Wouldn't It Be Nice Tuesday April 9 | If Only You Return to Me Wednesday April 10 | all out to sea Thursday April 11 | Dear Father Friday April 12 | Opposites Distract Saturday April 13 | Faking It? Sunday April 14 | Given to Fly Monday April 15 | Take The Long Way Home Tuesday April 16 | A Glacial Pace

[ncisfranchise-source]

When Mark Harmon first read the guest role of Naval Criminal Investigative Service special agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs on JAG in 2003, one thing stood out immediately.

"The name caught me," Harmon, who couldn't have known then what a TV mainstay Gibbs would become, tells PEOPLE. 

NCIS, on which Harmon starred for 19 seasons until 2021, remains one of TV's most popular crime franchises. It also hit its 1,000th episode this April and has spawned four spinoffs.

Now, a fifth, NCIS: Origins, set in 1991, follows young Gibbs. 

"It's an NCIS-verse you haven't seen before," says Austin Stowell, 39, who inherits the character. Harmon, executive producing and narrating the new series — and appearing in its debut episode on Oct. 14 on CBS — agrees. “We're not trying to do something over again.”

For Stowell, leading a highly anticipated network prequel is “the opportunity of a lifetime.” Watching the two-part premiere, he tells PEOPLE, proved emotional. “I was a mess at the end of it.”

To breathe new life into an iconic character, Stowell “had to become Gibbs’ biggest fan,” he adds. Luckily, in Harmon, he had a mentor with a lot of experience. Ahead of the Monday, Oct. 14 premiere, PEOPLE caught up with the duo for a sneak peek at NCIS: Origins.

PEOPLE: Mark, what do you remember about casting Austin as a 1991-era Leroy Jethro Gibbs? HARMON: I felt the room jump a little when Austin came in, before he said anything. He walked out and someone said, “I'll just say it, that's a movie star.” And there was heavy competition there. There were a lot of good [actors in contention]. 

Austin, what about your introduction to your character?  STOWELL: If I can start imagining myself as [a character], in their shoes, then I know it's working. I read the first episode, and right away there were lots of parallels to my life. I knew the show, I knew the character — not as intimately as I do now — but just as I started to turn the pages, I had these moments over and over again, saying, “Oh, I know this guy.”

So how did you go about approaching playing a younger version of Gibbs, this icon Mark brought to life? STOWELL: I knew I had something that I could bring to the character that was very real, that was palpable. But I also knew that I was stepping into a character that was creative, created and filled out and beloved by this guy for 20 years. And I wanted to pay homage to his acting talent. So I wasn't doing an impression, but I was trying to encapsulate who I thought Mark was. And I do that every day now. He leads by example. We're all here because of him. I think about him constantly. [To Harmon] I dream about you. Which is — HARMON: A little frightening! STOWELL: I dream about the show, almost every night. He's given me the greatest gift that I could ask for… This is the Gibbs who's making mistakes, who's living with ghosts and trying to put his life back together. And that's a lot of fun for me to play. HARMON: Austin has to birth this guy. He's got the challenge and also the gift to be able to play this guy younger and to be able to let him be the newbie.

Talk about balancing making a different show with inheriting such a beloved TV franchise. How are you thinking about its legacy? STOWELL: What the mothership [NCIS] did so well was create this feeling of family. Like you knew the characters that you were inviting into your home. And I think that's a big difference between films and television, especially episodic television like this. You choose to turn on the TV when you have your intimate moments with your family. It's time when you're cooking dinner, it's time when you're relaxing after a day of work, sitting on the sofa with your loved ones. That is a big responsibility for a show like this.

Does that ever feel daunting?  STOWELL: No, it's not. It only means I have to come to that level. And that's okay with me. I like reaching for a bar that's higher, that fuels me when I get out of bed in the morning. The fact that I know that there's 300 million people out there who are waiting to see what this is only makes me fight harder and make me want to fulfill their expectations. HARMON: He's got his eye on the ball. In some ways, it gets bigger every day, the responsibility of it. But right now he's just trying to make the work be the best it can be every day. That's got really nothing to do with what you do in acting class. It's got more to do with who you are as a human being. STOWELL: I got to be writing all this down! This is another part of the value that Mark brings to the table is that he comes and talks to all of us… Immediately, I store all that in my head. I've never been on a show like this. I've never been a [number one on the call sheet] before. This is all brand new to me. So he comes to offer that kind of advice and that immediately, I store all that in my head. 

What is the Origins shooting schedule like?  HARMON: They're working long hours right now. They're working night hours. It's all part of it. STOWELL: You're going to work every day. I wake up, I train, learn my lines, go to set. Wash, rinse, repeat, Monday through Friday. HARMON: And you get questions like, "Well, how do you handle that?" STOWELL: You just do.

What is your favorite thing about creating this new show? STOWELL: We've all worked really hard at this and we're trying to get it right. It looks beautiful. I [am] just really happy for all of our crew, that it's going to be something that we're all going to be proud of... I've gotten to know them, so many, really intimately, I know about their kids and their plans for the weekends. It's not lost on me that a big part of that responsibility is to keep everybody at work. I like that responsibility. It gives me great purpose. I don't just go to work for me, I go to work with everyone… I've been able to concentrate on what I need to concentrate on because I do feel like I have a safety net. HARMON: When I was selling shoes, I used to always look at my watch and I'd go, "Lost four hours today. Where are we going to make that up?" Guess what? At a certain point you stop looking at your watch. Maybe sleep is a little overrated. You care about your crew… You walk on the set, you can feel it. STOWELL: We're a family already. HARMON: And if you can bring that to it too, what Austin's talking about, then you venture into the territory of something special and it becoming a little more than a job. This is a place where everybody's busting their tail because they want it to be good. It’s not about a paycheck.

[witchthewriter]

𝑨𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒔!

So, I’ve decided to create indepth posts about astrology; the signs/placements, planets, and houses. I have a short overview here. Everyone has a whole birth chart, here's a free site that I use and trust (don't go on co-astrology it's full of stereotypes and misinformation.) 

First lesson: 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐒 🌞

The sun sign is what the media and the general population know as your ‘star’ and/or zodiac sign. But it doesn’t represent you as a whole. In fact, your Sun sign is your ego, how you see yourself, self-expression, what motivates you etc. Yes, it’s your personality, but it’s your basic personality. There’s a lot more to a person, especially according to astrology.

Sun in Fire signs: bold, upfront, outgoing, loyal

Sun in Earth signs: reliable, responsible, down-to-earth, dependable

Sun in Air signs: friendly, desire to learn, witty, intellectual

Sun in Water signs: intuitive, nurturing, introverted, understanding

𝐀𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑅𝑎𝑚

March 21 - April 19

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

Colours: Red

Planet: Mars (Motivation & Action)

Ruling House: 1st (self, beginnings, first impressions, attitude, identity) “All Your Firsts”

Traits: ambitious, independent, impatient, assertive, impulsive. Natural confidence and an energetic pull. However, they can be quick to anger. Natural leaders.  ▪️  Always fight for their goals  ▪️  Rules the head & leads with the head ▪️  One of the most active zodiac signs; not just physically but can be mentally as well

Day: Tuesday

Tarot Card: The Emperor

Gemstone: Diamond

Flower: Thistle & Honeysuckle 

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐵𝑢𝑙𝑙

April 20 - May 20

𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡

Colours: Green & Pink

Planet: Venus (Desire & Relationships)

Ruling House: 2nd (money, work, income, values, routines) 

Traits: practical, grounded, dependable, devoted, uncompromising. Those with a Taurus Sun means you have a love for luxury but are also heartfelt and soothing to be around.  ▪️  Have a need to always be surrounded by love and beauty  ▪️  One of the most reliable signs of the zodiac  ▪️  Their committment is often misinterpreted as stubbornness 

Day: Friday, Monday

Tarot Card: The Hierophant

Gemstone: Emerald 

Flower: Rose, Poppy & Foxglove

𝐆𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑇𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑠

May 21 - June 20

𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐢𝐫

Colours: Light Green & Yellow

Planet: Mercury (Intellect & Communication)

Ruling House: 3rd (the mind, communication, social activity)

Traits: Characterized by the Twins, Castor and Pollux, who the constellation is based on, Gemini’s are stereotyped as having two different sides to themselves; twofaced. This isn’t true, anyone can be two faced. What has been misconstrued is that Gemini’s have the ability to see the multifaceted aspect of all things. They’re an air sign, meaning they’re highly intellectual, witty and forward thinking. They’re one of the most social signs.  ▪️  Have a constant feeling that there isn’t enough time to experience everything ▪️  Open-mind makes them great writers, journalists and artists ▪️  Find romantic love through banter/communication rather than looks

Day: Wednesday

Tarot Card: The Lovers

Gemstone: Tiger’s Eye

Flower: Lavender, Lily of the Valley

𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐶𝑟𝑎𝑏

June 21 - July 22

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Colours: Violet & White

Planet: Moon (Emotion & Security)

Ruling House: 4th (home, self-care, family, emotions, nurturing, women, mother) “The Foundation”

Traits: incredibly nurturing, caring, reliable, alluring to others - draw them in, intuitive, loving and deeply emotional. Have a lot of sympathy for others and very family orientated.  ▪️  Always the glue of a group ▪️  Have an intate need to be needed ▪️  Most likely have an odd sense of humour 

Day: Monday, Thursday

Tarot Card: The Chariot

Gemstone: Ruby & Pearl

Flower: Orchid & White Rose

𝐋𝐞𝐨 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐿𝑖𝑜𝑛

July 23 - August 22

𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

Colours: Gold, Orange

Planet: Sun (Life & Identity)

Ruling House: 5th (romance, play, creativity, fertility, self-expression, drama)

Traits: As Leo is ruled by the Sun, those with a Leo Sun are quite stable, regal and lucky. Incredibly joyful, lively and outgoing. Main character energy.  ▪️  Want to make the world a better place ▪️  Confident, or are at least amazing at pretending to be confident  ▪️  Love the spotlight

Day: Sunday

Tarot Card: Strength

Gemstone: Carnelian 

Flower: Sunflower 

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛

August 23 - September 22

𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡

Colours: Silver & Pale Yellow

Planet: Mercury (Intellect & Communication)

Ruling House: 6th (health, habits, pets, sense of usefulness, analytical nature)

Traits: One of the most hardest working signs of the zodiac, have an observant and meticulous nature. Adaptable, analytical, pragmatic.  ▪️  Strong sense of duty toward others ▪️  Natural inclination to improve the world around them; people, places, things etc.  ▪️  Typically show their love through Acts of Service

Day: Wednesday

Tarot Card: The Hermit

Gemstone: Peridot

Flower: Marigold 

𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑆𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠

September 23 - October 22

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐢𝐫

Colours: Blue, Green, Pink

Planet: Venus (Desire & Relationships)

Ruling House: 7th (relationships, marriage, contracts, equality, sharing, business deals)

Traits: known for their elegance, good-taste and charm. Cooperative, diplomatic, gracious, fair-minded. The most aesthetic of the zodiacs. Natural peacemakers amd great secret-keepers.  ▪️  Value harmony in all forms  ▪️  Love people and social interactions. They’re fiercely attracted to intelligence.  ▪️  Intolerance for chaos and mess

Day: Friday

Tarot Card: Justice

Gemstone: Sapphire

Flower: Rose

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑆𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑝𝑖𝑜𝑛

October 23 - November 21

𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Colours: Red, Black

Planet: Pluto (Power & Transformation), Mars (Motivation & Action)  

Ruling House: 8th (birth, death, intimacy, transformation, property & loans of other people than yourself) “The Mysteries”

Traits: passionate and assertive, they have an air of mystery about them. Resourceful, powerful, brave, and independent. Perceptive, psychological, love seeing the dark side of humans.  ▪️  Can be very secretive and keep their emotions to themselves ▪️  Known for being intense ▪️  Immense willpower

Day: Tuesday

Tarot Card: Death

Gemstone: Topaz, Opal

Flower: Hibiscus, Geraniums

𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐴𝑟𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑟

November 22 - December 21

𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

Colours: Light Blue & Navy Blue

Planet: Jupiter (Luck & Abundance)

Ruling House: 9th (religion, philosophy, expansion, higher mind, international and long-distance travel, publishing, broadcasting) 

Traits: restless, friendly, adventurous and curious. They’re the natural travellers of the zodiac. Mainly outgoing, they are always ready for change. Clear about their intentions and have a strong moral compass.  ▪️  Generally on the go and have an innate need to be doing something ▪️  Curious with a love to learn ▪️  Strong sense for escape

Day: Thursday

Tarot Card: Temperance

Gemstone: Topaz

Flower: Carnation

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑎𝑡 

December 22 - January 19

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡

Colours: Brown, Black, Dark Blue

Planet: Saturn (Lessons & Limitations)

Ruling House: 10th (tradition, structures, public image, fame, goals, men, fathers, masculinity)

Traits: The responsible & upstanding citizens of the zodiac. Deal with problems through action. Disciplined, a lot of self-control, make great managers. Traditional, independent, self-motivators.  ▪️  Big ambitions but have a lot of integrity ▪️  Hard-working and patient  ▪️  Enjoy doing things the ‘old-fashioned way’

Day: Saturday

Tarot Card: The Devil

Gemstone: Garnet

Flower: Pansy

𝐀𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟-𝐵𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑟

January 20 - Febuary 18

𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐢𝐫

Colours: Light Blue, Silver

Planet: Uranus (Change & Rebellion), Saturn (Lessons & Limitations)

Ruling House: 11th (humanitarianism, society, social justice, harmony, rebellion, originality, eccentricity, invention)

Traits: desire for equality, socially aware, unconventional, rather dislike tradition and the old way of thinking. Imaginative, idealistic and haters of limitations. Mature, eccentric and unique.  ▪️  Don’t like labels  ▪️  Believe in change and the progression of the world ▪️  The wise, old grandparent of the zodiac

Day: Saturday

Tarot Card: The Star

Gemstone: Amethyst

Flower: Orchid

𝐏𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐬 | 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐹𝑖𝑠𝘩

Febuary 19 - March 20

𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Colours: Sea Green & Violet

Planet: Neptune (Hope & Fantasy)

Ruling House: 12th (spirituality, the ending of things, hidden agendas, imagination, poetry, the subconscious mind) 

Traits: one of the most psychic and intune to the spiritual of the zodiac. Pisces are sensitive, creative and artistic. Great with advice, and have a “live and let live” approach to others.  ▪️  Strong gut reactions ▪️  Get along well in small groups rather than large ones ▪️  May seem quiet (and meek) but actually have a huge sense of right and wrong

Day: Thursday

Tarot Card: The Moon

Gemstone: Aquamarine / Moonstone

Flower: Water Lily

[china-shop]

Coming soon: 520 Day Reverse Exchange 2024!!

The Annual Interdimensional Haixing-Dixing 520 Day Reverse Exchange is coming back for 2024!

520 sounds like "I love you" in Mandarin, so May 20th is a bit like Valentine's Day. To celebrate, we're back with the sixth annual 520 Day Reverse Exchange. As the name says, this is a reverse exchange: instead of making your request and that request being assigned to a writer/artist/fanwork creator, here:

You sign up with the kinds of things you enjoy creating.

You choose three writers/artists/fanwork creators based on anonymised ads.

You make a request of each of them based on what they enjoy creating.

You are assigned one request to create for, based on your offer.

You receive a gift from one of the creators you chose.

(An updated rules/info post will go up before sign-ups open, but here is last year's for reference.)

This year's schedule

Sign-ups part 1 - offers: Saturday 16 March - Friday 22 March Sign-ups part 2 - requests: Saturday 23 March - Friday 29 March Matching: Saturday 30 March - Tuesday 2 April Assignments out: Wednesday 3 April at the latest Deadline: Monday 13 May Work reveals: Monday 20 May (there is no anon period)

This exchange is run on Dreamwidth and AO3, but you don't need a Dreamwidth account to participate. We'd love it if you filled out or anon-commented on the interest poll on Dreamwidth, but that's also not required. :-)

[ms-m-astrologer]

Transiting Mars stations retrograde

Timeline (current events in bold)

Friday, October 4, 2024, 04:40 UT - transiting Mars enters pre-retrograde shadow, 17°01’ Cancer

Monday, November 4, 04:10 UT - transiting Mars enters Leo

Friday, December 6, 23:33 UT - transiting Mars stations retrograde, 6°10’ Leo

Monday, January 6, 2025, 20:45 UT - transiting Mars retrogrades back into Cancer

Monday, February 24, 02:00 UT - transiting Mars stations direct, 17°01’ Cancer

Friday, April 18, 04:22 UT - transiting Mars re-enters Leo

Friday, May 2, 2025, 06:06 UT - transiting Mars exits post-retrograde shadow, 6°10’ Leo

***+++===+++***

JFC, sometimes these blog posts write themselves. On November 4, Mars entered Leo; on November 5, the majority of US voters elected the DonVict to the presidency; and on November 6, women began to read/hear the charming phase “Your body, my choice.” Ladies and gentlemen, behold an amok Mars in Leo. (Also, let me point out that the DonVict’s natal Mars is in Leo.)

About the only comfort I’m getting out of the situation is that, once Mars stations retrograde, all the aspects are difficult. Dare we hope, consequences? Some of those aspects indicate a sexual turning-off…. For those of us who aren’t incels, let’s look at Mars’ areas for hints about what to work on:

Physical fitness and strength - the wrong reasons for being a gym rat might include “vanity.” Or, we’re being lazy about exercise. We could be fooling ourselves about how strong and fit we actually are - being flattered into smugness.

Energy levels - Leo tends to be “on” all the time. Everyone needs a little time to relax and be “off.” Running ourselves into exhaustion is unhealthy.

Sexuality - can get a little competitive. Can be selfish - “my passion, my needs; you’re just in the supporting cast.” Sex as dominance and “winning.”

How we go after what we want - Mars in Leo sees itself as a knight in shining armor, galloping off on some noble quest. It’s very direct and doesn’t “do” strategies or subtleties. There’s potential for self-delusion, for believing our own hype.

The following aspects aren’t the “nicest” - remember that with Mars it’s always helpful to have a good physical outlet. We should also be extra careful about our personal safety during the next month. Don’t let cockiness or laziness influence you into making bad decisions.

Thursday, December 12 - Sunday, December 15:

Mars Rx/Leo opposite Venus/Aquarius, 5°58’

Mars Rx/Leo (5°58’) sesquiquad Sun/Sagittarius (20°58’)

Mars Rx/Leo inconjunct Pallas/Capricorn, 5°42’

This is about as obvious as it could be: Mars is passionately hot; Venus is ice cold. The Sun (moralistic ego?) is trying to mediate but only makes things worse with bad timing. Pallas sometimes shows gender neutrality or complexity. Could be some rationalizations going on when people aren’t responsive.

Friday, December 20 - Tuesday, December 24:

Mars Rx/Leo opposite Ceres/Aquarius, 4°51’

Mars Rx/Leo inconjunct Sun/Capricorn, 3°53’

Pre-holiday family drama. In the wake of the wretched US election, we’ve read all kinds of “feature stories” about fractured families canceling Thanksgiving plans. Looks like the fractures remain unhealed for Christmas. Have a good “Plan B.”

Saturday, December 29 - Mars Rx/Leo (2°31’) sesquiquad Mercury/Sagittarius (17°31’). Mouthy, lippy (as my parents would call it), deliberately blurting out the most hateful and hurtful things we can. Sour grapes. Someone’s “truth” outrages us.

Thursday, January 2 - Saturday, January 4:

Mars Rx/Leo opposite Pluto/Aquarius, 1°08’

Mars Rx/Leo square Vesta/Scorpio, 0°40’

The second of three Mars-Pluto oppositions; the first one was back on November 3, with Mars at 29°+ Cancer and Pluto at 29°+ Capricorn. This is essentially a Fixed sign t-square, with Vesta squaring both ends of the Mars-Pluto opposition, indicative of a problem of long standing (Fixed signs) which we have failed to address. Weaponizing sex is one possibility here. There’s a Tumblr post about N!¢k Fuen+es going around, discussing “men who fixate on power and fear because it’s quite literally all they have.” Why is that all they have? Another way this could play out is, we’re so intently focused on one thing that we completely ignore something important.

(The NF link, from my main blog. Focus on the part ending with “a villain was born.” As a commenter said, meanness breeds meanness.)

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 22

And here's the final chapter of Part 2! Thank you to all who have taken the journey with me so far, I'm trying to make the slow pace as worth it as possible (even though it's taken me over a year to start the actual plotline *sweats*) Chances are I'll disappear for a while again, but that'll be because I'll be putting my all into Part 3. Enjoy! <3

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls end up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kili x oc/reader - Fili x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 5622

Warnings: Swearing.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 21 // Chapter 22 // Part 3

Part 2: Chapter 22 -

Rearranging furniture.

Psithurism (Definition): The sound of wind in the trees and rustling of leaves. (Noun / Origin: Ancient Greek /sith-yuh-riz-uhm)

Bag End, Hobbiton, The Shire – T.A. Saturday, 23rd April 2941 of the Third Age (Monday, 3rd Thrimidge, 1341 in Shire-reckoning)

11 MONTHS LATER

“WOAH, Griffo! I told you not to go for the head!” I yelled, watching the small hobbit child scamper into the bushes with his wooden sword, giggling to himself. Letting out a harsh sigh, I marched off after the troublemaker.

Almost a whole year had passed since Bertie had found those horses in the field, and eight months when he had officially declared them ours, shoving the oversized reigns he had found into our hands the second he had found them. We rode them whenever we had the time, learning the reigns – literally – though it took a lot of getting used to. It was difficult in the beginning, trying to understand how the two animals ticked, and how we were to balance on them; I had only ever ridden a horse two or three times during my life on Earth, and I didn’t even know about Kay, so this was a whole new experience for the both of us. But we learnt, and now Hecate and Calhourn were a perfect addition to our growing group.

It wasn’t just that, there were also physical changes. We hadn’t grown, no, but our bodies were changing.

Despite my chronic habit to sleep in for as long as possible, we had kept up with the exercises and training Seathan had drilled into our minds. Our muscles had developed, not extremely, but enough to be seen by the weight we had lost. Not only were we thinner, leaner, but also fitter. I personally was no longer losing my breath after about 20 minutes of hardcore exercise. Our hair had grown longer; we trimmed it a few times to rid of any split ends, and I had Gladiola cut my fringe and curtain bangs back in a few times, but the rest of my straight brown tresses were now reaching my lower back, and Kay’s copper waves reached her elbows. With our earnings from work, we had also paid Gladiola for some new outfits, and our wardrobes were getting fuller by the month.

On the topic of magic. After almost a year and a half, from getting our wands to practicing it in ‘our’ clearing, we had a several spells memorised between us, and a larger amount written down in my growing grimoire and spell books. The shelves in my room had filled, jars of herbs and other random ingredients that could be used in the cauldron Kay had gifted me for my birthday.

Despite the short amount of time, we had also increased our skills in sword-fighting, having upgraded from the wooden swords to the blunt steel ones, becoming familiar with wielding the heavier versions, and hopefully to the real thing once we paid Seathan another visit.

Right now, we were in the clearing, accompanied by Mrs Greenfoot’s kids. Menegilda was shyly letting Kay show her how to upper-swing with the wooden sword in her hand, along with her much more excitable younger sister, Berylla, who was currently spinning in circles as she flailed her own sword around. I was managing the other five as they pretended to battle each other, the boys – Rothad, Griffo and Madoc – against me and the other two girls – Melba and Lalia.

Us girls were winning. Until Griffo decided to adopt guerilla warfare tactics.

“Griffo I need you to stay in my sight. It’s your mum’s rules after all!” I called out, trying to peer through the leaves and branches of the bushes.

“He just wants you to follow him so he can scare you.” Said a young voice, and I looked down when I registered the feeling of a tiny hand gripping my knee, to see Lalia peering up at me with an exasperated look. Turning to the bushes, she raised her voice. “Griffo! We’re leaving without you and I’m telling mummy you ran off by yourself and broke a rule!” When she was met with silence, she called out again. “AND I’LL TELL TURPIN TO NOT INVITE YOU TO HIS BIRTHDAY PARTY!”

A moment of silence passed. But nothing could be heard apart from the chirping birds and the light wind rustling the leaves on the trees.

With a sigh, I patted Lalia on the shoulder. “Stay here, I’ll go find him.” And I reluctantly pushed my way through the branches, trying to ignore the way they snagged and scratched at my skin and clothes. Finding a small parting, I carefully knelt down, giving the ground a quick scan as I searched for any thistles or nettles before placing my hands down and began crawling my way through the undergrowth.

Hearing a giggle in the distance ahead, I sighed once again in exasperation and pushed forward. I tried not to hiss whenever I accidentally pressed my hand down on a gnarly fallen branch or thistle, ignoring the tiny beads of blood that grew in number on my palm. Eventually, the bushes began to thin, and it wasn’t long until I was in another clearing. Pushing myself up, I brushed any loose dirt that wasn’t already stuck to my now-stained dungarees, and scanned the area for the small hobbit boy.

“Griffo!” I called. “C’mon this isn’t funny! Your mum’s going to be really upset when she finds out what you did.”

Worry began to settle in my stomach when I was answered once again with silence, and I scanned my eyes over every bush to try and find where he was hidden. There was a tree up ahead, its branches low enough for someone 2-3 feet tall to climb onto, I marched over to it, but was stopped halfway there, frozen in my tracks, when my eyes met some very familiar green ones.

Up on one of the twisting branches, about level with my head, was the black cat, and my mind raced with flashbacks of that night I was chased through the woods, adrenaline beginning to rise as the memories returned.

Taking a cautious step forward, I eyed the cat wearily as it flicked its tail.

“You haven’t taken Griffo this time, have you?” I asked, half-jokingly, my hand unconsciously coming to grasp the wrist where my Grandad’s bracelet was clasped around.

All it did was continue to stare, slitted eyes shifting minutely as they darted slightly over my face, and I went to inch myself closer, arm raising slightly.

 But just my luck, the still air was suddenly broken by the sound of a war-cry, the bushes to the side of me shaking violently until Griffo burst out, his sword raised as he charged at my leg, whacking and hacking at whatever he could reach.

“Oh for – Griffo!” I cried, kneeling down to grasp at his small shoulders in attempt to calm him down. “What on Earth were you doing disappearing off like that?!”

The boy soon calmed down, attempting one last slap as he looked up at me through his brown curls with wide eyes.

I sighed. “Look, I’m all for you playing however you want, but you need to do it where I can see you ok?” All he did was stare, so I added on. “If you try something like this again, it’ll be Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that’ll be looking after you from now on.” I stated firmly, giving him a stern look.

This seemed to do the trick, as the boy let out a string of panicked ‘no, no, no!’s as he scurried off back in the direction of the clearing. I went to follow, but paused, turning my head to look back at the cat. Only to be met with an empty branch.

Gone. I was alone once again, the cat had vanished – leaving me with the wind rustling the leaves in the small clearing and the sound of the hobbit boy’s retreating footsteps.

Shaking my head, I jogged to catch up with Griffo, the hobbit thankfully taking a path that allowed me to stand up as we both returned.

When we did, he returned to normal, letting out another battle cry as he charged at Lalia, who was patiently waiting for the two of us. Letting out a squeal, she sprinted away as fast as her little legs would carry her, and the battle between the five rallied up again tenfold.

A quarter of an hour had passed when I found myself on the brink of exhaustion, and Kay had graciously offered to take over the battle, to which I gasped out a thank you, swapping places before I was overrun again by tiny, hyper children, and asking the slightly calmer, elder siblings if they wanted to learn archery.

--

Crouching behind Menegilda, I watched as she nocked the arrow and pulled it back as much as her strength would allow. It had been about half an hour, and she was yet to hit the target hung on the low branch, the arrows of her previous attempts littering the grass in front of us.

“Ok, just make sure your left arm is straight, and you’ve pulled it so your three fingers are brushing against your right cheek.” I urged gently, watching as she pulled the string back a little further, her arm trembling slightly with the tension. “Your feet are alright, so just make sure you release it as quickly as you can, so your grip doesn’t slow it down.”

With a shaky breath, she gave a slight nod, her large blue eyes remaining focused on the target directly ahead, trying to ignore the curl of hair that the wind brushed over her face. A sharp thwip whipped through the air, the arrow a blur as it crossed the distance. A second passed, and hit the target with a thunk.

Despite the arrow only hitting the outer ring, it was enough for Berylla to let out a whoop of victory from where she stood next to the girl, throwing her arms in the air before embracing her older sister, who returned her enthusiasm with her own shy smile.

“Well done Gilda!” Kay called from across the green as she headed over, the pretend-fight having ended just a minute ago. Leaving the other kids to catch their breath, she approached the three of us, though Menegilda and Berylla soon pattered off, joining their siblings to celebrate Menegilda’s progress. Stood at the edge, we both watched the seven of them chatter away.

“They’re learning well.” Kay commented, huffing in satisfaction.

I hummed in response, prodding at the tiny stab wounds on my palms that had now scabbed over. “As well as we can teach them. But we’ll all get better over time.”

Kay paused in thought, staring at the ground as she leant on the tree behind her, twisting her upper body slightly to face me. “Speaking of time, do you know what day it is?”

My brows twitched into a light frown. “You know what, I really don’t.” I looked over at her. “I forgot to write the date down once around late February and ended up losing track since. Why do you ask?”

She went to open her mouth, but snapped it shut as she regarded me with a look of confusion. “Have you seriously spent over two months not knowing what day it is?”

“I know what day of the week it is!” I shot back, slightly offended. “I just haven’t had the need to know the specifics.”

She sighed. “Maybe you needed to know because of what’s coming?”

I smacked my lips as I realised. “Yeaaa I should’ve kept that in mind.” I muttered regrettably. “The only thing that reminded me to check was the fact that Gandalf and Thorin should’ve already met in the Prancing Pony on the 15th March. To be honest they could all be on their way right now.”

“It could even be today and we’re completely unprepared for it!” hissed Kay quietly, as to not draw the attention of the children metres away.

“You’re not the only one who’s beginning to shit themselves, cause I don’t know when Gandalf is going to show up and if he shows up at all.” I uttered with wide eyes, not hearing the light patter of small feet approach me.

“Shit.” It parroted.

“Huh?” My eyes darted around in confusion, briefly meeting Kay’s as she also scanned the area, though hers quickly landed on something on the other side of me, and I twisted my head, looking down to meet the bright blue and very round eyes of Melba blinking up at me.

“Shit.” She chirped with a toothy grin, her dark curls flopping round her face as she bounced on her feet. Kay snorted from beside me as I immediately began to panic.

“Oh – crap. Mel-Melba! Melba.” I stuttered, dropping to my knees to become eye level with the tiny girl. “That’s a bad word – you can’t say it unless you’re a grown-up.”

She pouted. “But you aren’t a grown up. You only turned nineteen in August!” she protested with a whine.

“That’s because I’m not a Hobbit, darling. We grow up quicker because we’re humans. Promise me you won’t say it?” I pleaded, holding out my pinkie finger as an offering.

A couple seconds passed as the girl glanced between my face and outstretched finger, clearly debating whether or not she was willing to listen. But to my relief, she grinned, hooking her finger with mine, just as we had taught her and her siblings months ago.

“Okay! I won’t say it ever again!” she stated proudly, and she swiftly dashed off to join her siblings, though I highly doubted she would remember her promise for long.

“Wow.” Was all Kay could vocalise from behind me.

“Hush.” I retorted, pushing myself up from the ground. “Let’s head back – it’s still mid-morning so we can ask Bilbo what day it is just in case.” I suggested, trying to change the subject.

Nodding, Kay pushed herself away from the tree, marching across the clearing to where Calhourn and Hecate were roped up munching on the grass by the outskirts. Following suit, I called out for the kids whilst scooping up our weapons, who despite their whining about the session being cut short, they reluctantly trudged over, putting any belongings back in their packs and slinging them over their shoulders.

After much squabbling, the kids worked out who’s turn it was to ride on the horses with us. Madoc and Berylla were victorious, after much debate (and protests from Griffo). The rest ran ahead down the path, screaming battle cries as they brandished their swords, apart from Menegilda who was calmly leading the way as eldest sister as usual.

Keeping to the left of the path, we politely kept our horses out of the way of the locals walking past, who still craned their necks up to glance at the towering animals, then at the wave of loud, lively kids with a nervous or distrustful edge, despite us having taken them around town on numerous occasions – if not all the time.

Whilst trying to keep Berylla from squirming from where she sat in front of me as we rode over one of the bridges, my ears perked up at the sound of my name being called. Turning my head, I watched Kay nudge Calhourn into a brisk trot, hooves clacking against the stone then grass as she lined herself up with me, until we were riding side by side.

“We should probably think about packing as soon as we get back.” She suggested.

“Oh, definitely.” I agreed, failing to realise that we were being listened to by two intrigued children. “I’ll try and see if that undetectable extension charm will work on our bags.”

“Why are you packing??” “Are you leaving us?!” exclaimed Rothad and Berylla, the two of them trying to twist in their spots to face us with wide glossy eyes.

“Nononono, guys it’s fine.” Blurted Kay in an attempt to calm the two before their siblings overheard. “Nothing’s happening, we’re just talking about packing some furniture away, aren’t we Kate?” She eyed me expectantly, and I quickly nodded along.

“Ye-Yea! It’s nothing for you lot to worry about.” I agreed with a shaky laugh.

In the next twenty minutes it took to reach Gladiola’s house, we had spent it trying to convince the two that everything was alright before they fell off the horses in a panic. Eventually the squealing kids we’re received by their father, who ushered them inside, giving us his thanks. Though we could only give a short reply, when Melba had proudly stated to her dad that she had learnt a new word, and we immediately took that as our cue to flick the reigns and canter away as fast as politely possible.

Returning Calhourn and Hecate to the stables, we tossed a quick hello to Bertie, before trudging on foot back up the hill to Bag End.

Reaching the gate, Kay briefly checked the letterbox for mail, and we tiredly hauled ourselves up the stone steps, dropping our bags on the floor and dragging them behind us as I pushed open the large green door.

Wandering further into the house, I waited in the hallway as Kay ran to her room, snatching up her leather backpack, before rejoining me, and the two of us ducked through the hallways, crossing the house until we reached my bedroom.

Sitting cross-legged on my bed, the two of us laid our bags out between us, and took our wands out. Reaching over to my bedside table, I grabbed my soon-to-be-full spellbook, the pages now slightly crinkled and unable to lay flat after months of use.

“Ok,” I breathed. “So I’m pretty sure the charm is Capacious Extremis, and we just need to visualise how big we want the space to be.” I explained, Kay nodding along with me. “Now, this is a stupidly complex spell, so the chance of it working first try is low, so we’ll keep doing it until it works.”

With a snort, Kay rolled her eyes. “Or until it backfires and we blow the house up.” She remarked, shifting into a more comfortable position as she picked her wand up and pointed it at her bag.

“Probably.” I shrugged. “What size are you going for?”

“Umm, like probably about the equivalent of three of four large suitcases?” She answered. “And let me guess, you’re expanding yours to the size of a house?” She stated expectantly as she looked down at my briefcase.

I side-eyed her. “No.” I guffawed. “I’m only putting in a few rooms.”

She held back a laugh. “Of course you are.”

The attempts we made to successfully complete the spell were… entertaining, to say the least. At one point, instead of expanding the inside, Kay accidentally expanded the whole bag, the object growing in size so fast it ended up whacking me in the nose, and I spent the next five minutes bent over the bathroom sink as I waited for the blood to clot up as Kay desperately tried not to laugh. I was no better, when sparks ended up flying out the end of my wand during my third attempt, and we both had to quickly flap our arms about to stop them before they landed on the quilt and set it ablaze.

The both of us sighed in relief when nothing extreme happened on Kay’s fifth attempt, unclipping her bag to see that the spell had finally worked, peering down inside to see a space much too big to be physically able to fit in.

Mine worked on the sixth attempt, seeing as I was aiming for a much larger result. Laying the large rucksack on the rug, I unclasped the buttons and zips and swung open the flap, pulling the opening wide to reveal a steep set of wooden steps, leading down to what looked like the inside of a small wooden hut.

“I take it that Newt Scamander’s briefcase was the inspiration for this?” Kay remarked.

I grinned as I gave her a nod, before twisting myself around to reach my foot over the threshold, testing the planks as I cautiously made my way down. As my feet touched the floor, Kay poked her head over, leaning her torso in slightly to have a peek around.

Shuffling about, I inspected the rows of shelves and drawers that lined the walls, pulling my finger at the odd handle to check the space given. Creaks came from behind, as Kay made her own way down, coming to join me as she revered at the results I had luckily achieved. Her eyes landed on a door opposite the ladder, and she stepped towards it. The brass handle was shaped like an outstretched bird’s claw, waiting patiently for someone to grasp it. Turning her head, she silently asked to open it, and I nodded in response, watching as she curled her left hand around the shape, twisting it until the latch gave way and swung the door open.

Inside revealed a short hallway, barely a couple of metres, which led to two further doors with matching handles; one opened to a small room, that looked a bit more like a pantry, with shelves and cupboards lining the walls, along with some brass hooks on the ceiling to hang the odd thing, then a long table in the middle. The other room was quite bare, but had a small wardrobe and chest of drawers attached on one side, and a spindly three-quarter size wooden bedframe on the other with a matching bedside table.

“You’re not planning on sleeping in here?” Kay asked, a little concerned. “Because I think some people might be a bit jealous.”

“Oh, no.” I replied with a shake of my head. “That wouldn’t be fair. I was planning out this layout with the long term future in mind, not just what could potentially happen soon. This is only a backup for some other time.”

She nodded slowly. She spoke, and I hummed in question. “We’re doing some pretty advanced magic right now. We’ve learnt in a year what others would in almost a decade.”

I whirled round to face her. “It’s called being insane at everything.” I grinned.

She scoffed with a matching grin, lifting her hand up, to which I high-fived with my own. “Clearly.”

“Of course.” I answered obviously. “Now, we need to pack asap. Do you know what you’re bringing?” I pointed at her, waiting for an answer.

Kay put her hands on her hips. “Yep. I’m taking the essentials along with some precious keepsakes. And you’re bringing everything but the kitchen sink.”

I glanced around sheepishly. “Pretty much.”

She shook her head, stepping out the room. “I mean, you did prepare for it.” She said, gesturing to what was around her. “Now get cracking, I know how long you take.”

I gave a small salute. “I’ll get on it.”

--

The call of the early morning birds filtered through the crack of the paned windows as per usual, and as routine, I blinked in an attempt to clear my bleary eyes against the sun rays that glowed against my face as I tried to make out my brown hair in the mirror, running a soft bristled brush through it.

Gently placing it back on the dressing table, I stared emptily into my reflection, fixing the lace collar on my nightgown before pressing my eyes shut, as sleep had yet to lift its hands from my head.

My ears perked up at the sound of my bedroom door being opened, and I slowly turned my head to squint tiredly at whoever was stepping though the doorway.

I watched as Kay made her way over to my bed, already fully washed and dressed as she hauled a pile of random objects onto my bed.

“You’re never up this early.” I groaned, resting my head on my hand as I turned slightly in my seat to face her. “The only time I’ve seen you up before me was to get ready for that 7am flight to France.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” She answered as she turned to face me. “Bilbo was up before me to visit the early market, so I took the liberty of nicking some of his stuff.”

Now my eyes were fully open. “You what. Why didn’t you invite me?”

She sat herself down on the quilted duvet. “I did earlier, but all I got was snoring in reply.”

Too tired to retaliate, all I gave was a pouty frown, turning back to the mirror to reach for my mascara that I had remembered – by some miracle – to use the duplication spell on (Geminio – a lifesaver when you realise eyeliner isn’t popular in Middle Earth), otherwise I would have ran out six copies ago.

Brushing the black paste onto my lashes, I look over at Kay through the mirror. “What did you get?” I asked.

“Just some things he would consider ‘essentials’ that he would forget.” She replied, rummaging through the small pile next to her. “A hat, some money, couple of books and random keepsakes he could look at.”

“Did you add the handkerchief?” I added.

“Of course I got the handkerchief, plus six more.” Kay remarked, and I felt the impact of something soft and light on the back of my head. “Saves us that awkward moment and his first impression with them.”

Slotting the mascara wand back in its bottle, I twisted in my seat to lean down and retrieve what had been thrown against my head, the object revealing itself as a finely-made handkerchief. Picking it up, I ran the soft material between my fingers. “Do you think he’ll notice these things gone?” I questioned, chucking the cloth back at her.

Raising her hands, Kay caught it. “My best guess is that Gandalf is gonna show up over the next few days, and Bilbo owns at least twenty of these. But knowing our luck so far? Yes.” She answered with a tired look as she placed the handkerchief back on the pile.

Standing up, I stretched my arms above my head until I felt my spine let out a series of pops. “ ‘Course.” I groaned, flopping my arms back down. “So why’d you bring them here?”

Standing up, Kay lifted the pile of stuff and hauled it into my unsuspecting arms. “You have the bigger bag, so I need you to hide them in one of your millions of drawers.”

Attempting to balance the load in my arms, I nodded, before padding over to one of the corners of my room, where the accursed wardrobe stood, and where my bag now sat slotted between the wall and that tall piece of furniture.

Placing the pile on the floor, I lowered myself on my knees as I dragged the bag out, trying my best not to jostle it too much and being mindful of the contents that were now sat within. Calling over my shoulder, I told Kay I would join her for breakfast soon, she agreed, and I listened as the door was swung shut with a click, the muffled sound of her bare feet against the wooden floor fading away as she ventured to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, after organising Bilbo’s belongings into one of the drawers, I found myself reorganising some of the herb jars. Sliding the last bottle in place, I stepped back, admiring my handy work. Almost everything I owned now lined the shelves of my bag, the remaining objects back up in my now bare-looking room being my everyday essentials that would be packed the morning we would leave.

Leaving. The thought of it made my stomach churn. Not in a bad way, but not quite in a good way either. Like the feeling you get when you’re at the front of a queue, about to step onto a ride you had never tried before at a theme park. Excited, but knowing that what is to happen might not quite be what you expect.

Swallowing the feeling down, I grasped the side of the step ladder and climbed my way up and out. I finished my morning routine, quickly washing in the bath and threw my shift, kirtle and skirt on as I braided my hair into two low space buns, finishing it off with a wide white ribbon over my head and tying it off with a bow underneath. Pulling my fringe and curtains bangs out from behind my ears, I twirled them into shape before heading over to the door, closing it behind me as I went to meet Kay in the kitchen.

Barely a few steps in, however, I was met by a spritely Bilbo.

“Ah! There you are!” He grinned as he marched over from where he came through the back door hallway (though it was more of a door that was round the bend further along the path), still in his blue overcoat as he handed me a straw-cloth sack full of something unknown.“ I thought about some furniture rearrangements for the parlour whilst I was out and could really use both of your opinions. But breakfast first! I heard Kay was making those pan-cakes.”

Slightly bewildered at the sudden onslaught of conversation, I blinked, nodding silently. Shifting the bag of itchy material in my arms, I followed him through to the kitchen.

After demolishing the stack of pancakes Kay had prepared, we wandered after the hobbit as he beckoned us into the parlour, now only in his green trousers, white shirt and golden waistcoat. “I’m not quite happy with the way it looks by the window.” He called out behind him. “I figured we could do some moving about to see if anything suits our fancy?”

--

“Right, Kay, could you just push the table this way.” Bilbo asked, pointing over to where he wanted to try it out next. “Try keeping the dishrags underneath the legs so you don’t scrape it –” The hobbit was abruptly cut off as he ducked, narrowly missing a wooden leg as he tried to not get hit by the floating chair that was flying towards him. “KATE! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT USING YOUR WAND INSIDE?!?!?”

I gaped slightly as I lowered my wand, the chair slowing down as it slowly approached the ground. “I was trying to help?!” I protested, trying to ignore Kay who was trying not to make a sound from where she was leaning over the table, shaking violently with laughter.

“You’re trying to incapacitate me, that’s what you’re doing!!” cried Bilbo, grabbing the chair as soon as it touched the floorboards beside him.

“Not on purpose.” I sulked with a frown.

“Clearly.” He remarked as he eyed me with a weary glare. Pausing for a moment he looked around. “Come to think of it, this arrangement looks nice.” He pondered, shoving the chair back under the table where it belonged. “Whelp! I’m off outside for a smoke.” He huffed, patting his trousers for the pipe weed hidden in one of the pockets. “You two can join if you’d like, it’s a lovely morning outside!” He offered, voice echoing through the hallways as he vanished off to fetch his pipe.

--

The sound of Hobbiton coming alive in the morning echoes over the hills, wagons being pushed and the chattering of neighbours as they hung out their washing mixed themselves with the chirping birds and rushing water. Kay and I were sat partially hidden behind some bushed in Bilbo’s front garden, and I tilted my head back to try and get the rays onto my pale skin.

 “I know we’ve been preparing for this trip for a while now, but is it bad that it makes me so nervous that I feel sick to my stomach sometimes?” I pondered as I leant back on my hands, feeling the blades of grass poke between my fingers.

“Not at all.” Kay replied from where she was laid next to me, an arm tossed over her eyes as she soaked up the early morning sun. “I don’t know how we keep forgetting to ask the date, but it’s causing me to wake up every morning worried that it’ll be our last day here.”

I hummed worriedly in agreement as I watched Bilbo’s smoke rings float above the bushes we were sat behind, the wisps fading into the air. Picking some dirt from under my nails, another thought came to mind.

“What if he doesn’t let us?” I muttered, aware of the hobbit sat on the bench out of sight a few metres away.

Kay made a confused noise. “Who?”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Thorin. We’ve seen how he is, and there’s a strong chance he’ll say no. Hell, even Gandalf might!”

At this Kay pushed herself onto her elbows, squinting in the sun as she looked at me. “I highly doubt Gandalf will say no.” she whispered back. “Plus, Thorin wants an army to join him – he asked Dain after all – so chances are either us, or Gandalf – hopefully – will use that as the counter argument.”

My eyes flitted over the rose bush in front of me, listening to the sound of footsteps pass by as I thought it over. “You’re right, we’ll leave it to think about later.”

Kay nodded, and began lowering herself back down, when the sound of someone sputtering filled the air, followed by some throaty coughs. The two of us went silent, listening to see who was the culprit of the sound.

A few moments of silence passed, until it was finally broken by Bilbo’s wary voice.

“Good Morning.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[hockeylovee12]

SOMETHING MINE-Luke Hughes

Part One

It all started on April 11th after the New Jersey Devils won 5-3 over the Buffalo Sabres. It was their last home game of the regular season and also the night 19 year old Luke Hughes made his NHL debut.

He did pretty well but was unable to wrangle up his first point, his brother Jack on the other hand had a fantastic night and managed to get one goal and two assists putting him one point away from reaching 100.

Jack was named the first star of the game and after he was finished with media he met up with Luke in the locker room.

“Hey so Nico, Dawson and Timo are going to Charlie’s it’s a sports bar down the street you coming?” Jack asked his younger brother.

Luke reluctantly agreed realizing the possibility of him being the only sober person the rest of the night. It sucks being the youngest.

The boys finished showering and changed into some more casual clothes and then they all left the rink and headed towards Charlie’s.

——————————————————————

You had been working part time at Charlie’s for the past six months after one of your roommates who was the niece of the owner helped you get the job. The pay was good and you made great tips. Surprisingly drunk people tend to over tip. The only thing that sucked is your coworkers who seemed to have an strong dislike for you.

You were only 19 and working part time because you were a student at a local college nearby. You were the oldest of four kids and came from a single income home so you were use to balancing jobs and school.

You had worked out your school schedule so you had all your classes on Monday and Wednesday and on Tuesday, Thursday and Fridays and sometimes Saturdays you would work.

On this Tuesday the restaurant was already pretty busy and you already had five tables in your section. Usually you only get regulars and a few others but tonight there were a bunch you didn’t recognize and unsurprisingly your coworkers were putting the largest parties in your section.

You were taking the order of a group of three when you spotted five men walk in. They waited by the hostess stand while you continued writing down your tables order.

As you took the menus from your current table and walked to put them back you noticed as your coworker Clarissa guided the group of five to a booth in your section. 

You rolled your eyes knowing know you had over 20 people in your section while the others had less than 10 but shook your head knowing there’s no use in complaining this is how it usually goes.

You walk over to the group of boys and introduce yourself.

“Hi my name is Y/N and I’ll be your server today can I get you all started with some drinks?”

“Could I get a bud light” the captain Nico Hiescher requests

“Make that two” Jack Hughes says

“Ya I’ll take a bud light as well” Dawson Mercer says with a smile

“I guess if everyone is drinking a bud light make it a fourth” Timo Meier says You turn to the youngest Hughes

“Bud light for you too?” You ask

“Just water for me please” He says

“Oh ya he’s not old enough” Nico comments making Luke blush a little embarrassed

You nod your head then finish writing down the order and walk to the bar.

“Hey I need four bud lights and a water” you tell the bartender

He places the beers and the glass of water on the table and you bring them over to the group before giving them a few minutes with the menu and checking on your other tables.

After a few more minutes you walk back to the group of hockey players and ask if they’re ready to order.

“Ya I think so” Dawson says looking around the table and receiving nods in agreement.

You write down the order for three all american burgers an order of wings and chicken tenders.

The boys order a second round of beers and you take away the empty bottles on the table and replace them with new ones.

You give the order to the kitchen then head back on to the main floor.

After closing up two more tables you ask a coworker to cover for you while you ran to the restroom.

Reluctantly she agrees and you dash towards the bathroom down the hall from the bar.

As you quickly walk down the hall towards the woman’s room a loud crash sounds and you lose your train of thought and walk right into the men’s bathroom door that had just swung open.

“Ow” you say holding your head you

“Shit I’m sorry are you ok?” A man asks

You look up at the much taller man and realize it was one of your customers the one who wasn’t drinking.

“Shit ya no I’m fine sorry I wasn’t paying attention I’m fine” you say feeling slightly embarrassed at the awkward scene that just occurred.

“Alright uh sorry again and uh you should watch where you’re going” The guy says before walking off

You scoff at the words said. Maybe you should watch where you’re going. You roll your eyes then shake off the thought and continue with your previous task. After you finish you check on your tables then deliver the food that was ready. Feeling still slightly embarrassed as you set down the chicken tenders in front of the boy who just smacked you in the face with a door.

———————————————————————

It was close to midnight when the restaurant was starting to slow down the only customers left were the hockey players who were a little drunk with the exception of Luke Hughes who was not drinking and a few regulars sitting at the bar.

You walk over to them and ask if they need any boxes.

“No I think we’re ok thank you” Luke says

“One check?” You ask

“Ya please”

You walk to the hostess stand and sort out the bill then leave it on their table.

A few minutes later you return and run the card given. The boys said thank you and then began heading out. You notice one of the guys was clearly drunker then the rest (not that the rest weren’t drunk as well) and you walked to the door to hold it open while two of his friends helped him out.

“Thank you and uh sorry again about before about your head” Luke says

“No worries you guys have a good night” You say before walking back inside the restaurant

———————————————————————

That was the first time you met him. The following Saturday you were working a three hour shift from 4-8 and a few minutes before it was time for you to clock out he came in again to pick up take out.

“Name?” You ask

“Luke Hughes”

“One second” You say then walk to the back you find his order and bring it back to the front and hand it to him.

“Thanks” he says with a smile

You return the smile and watch as he leaves out the door.

A few minutes later your manager tells you you’re good to clock out. You sigh relieved and head to the back to grab your things.

You begin walking towards the parking lot which is on the way towards your apartment. Usually you drive but your car had to go in for maintenance yesterday and you couldn’t get it back until Monday. It wasn’t that far a walk only about 20 minutes so you were fine.

Once you get to the parking lot you notice Luke standing by his car checking out the tire.

“Hey is everything ok?” You ask

“Ya I just got a flat” He says you walk closer to him and check out the damage.

“This is why you don’t park on a curb” you joke

“Ok I’m not exactly good at parking” he claims

“Ya I can see that” You joke

“Do you have a spare?” You ask

“Ya but I don’t know how to change a tire” he says slightly embarrassed

You laugh

“Relax I can help you” You tell him

He pops his trunk open and lifts the tire out and grabs the tool next to it.

You loosen the flat tire and replace the other one.

“Thank you” Luke says

“My pleasure” You say grabbing your bag from the ground and handing the tool back to Luke

“It’s Y/N right?” He asks

“Yes”

“How’d you know how to do that?” Luke asks

“My dads a mechanic I’ve been changing tires since I was a kid he didn’t want me to get stuck then have to ask someone for help” You explain

“Nice clearly my dad did not have the same mindset” He jokes

“Well there’s always time to learn” you tell him he smiles as you turn around looking towards the sidewalk

“Where you headed?” Luke asks

“I just finished my shift so I’m headed back to my apartment” You explain turning back around.

“Are you walking?” He asks

“Ya I don’t live too far from here” You explain

“Let me give you a ride” he says you consider it but your not sure

“Come on it’s getting dark out it could be dangerous” He reasons

“And letting a stranger drive me home isn’t?” You say

“Well no but I’m not gonna kidnap you or something come on you just fixed my tire it’s the least I can do” he says

“That’s exactly what a kidnapper would say” You joke

He rolls his eyes and you smile

He walks around to the passenger side of his car and opens the door

You smile at him and get in the car.

He closes it and walks around to the drivers side.

“Here do you wanna put your address in so I know where I’m going” Luke says handing you his phone with google maps opened.

You take the phone and type in your apartment building name.

The GPS starts up and he begins backing out of his messed up parking job.

———————————————————————

“So where are you from?” Luke asks

“I’m from a small town in Northern Virginia” You answer

“That’s cool so what brings you to Jersey?” He asks

“I go to school out here”

“Cool”

The two of you continue talking about different subjects until Luke pulls up in front of your building.

“Thank you for the ride” You say

“Your welcome see I told you I wasn’t a kidnapper” he jokes

You smile and gather your things

“Hey before you go how about you put your number in my phone you know in case I wanna learn how to change a tire or something” Luke offers

You smile and take his phone again and put your number in.

“I’ll see you around Y/N” Luke says as you walk into your apartment building you flash him one last smile and he drives off.

———————————————————————

The next couple of weeks you and Luke kept talking the two of you hung out a few times and you started learning more about each other. You guys talked about your families and you found he was in the NHL and you were a little taken back by that but still thought it was cool.

Eventually the two of you started dating but you decided to keep it a secret from your friends and family at least for the time being mostly because of his job but also because you both agreed that it was nice having something that you didn’t have to share with the world something that was just yours.

A/N this is so random but I thought it was kinda funny I hope someone enjoys it lmk if you want a part 2 and what you would like to see. Also I’m still taking requests

All images are from Pinterest

[singitforthegirls]

Okay, so as soon as that rookie last night on 911 said tazer but accidentally shot the woman I remembered this real life tradgedy from like a few years ago. (Tho in this real life thing there was def racism involved too)

"Kim Potter, the former Minnesota police officer who mistakenly drew her handgun instead of her Taser during a traffic stop in April in which she fatally shot Daunte Wright, has been found guilty.

Jurors had been deliberating since Monday before finding Potter, who had served as an officer in Brooklyn Center, Minn., for 26 years, guilty of first- and second-degree manslaughter charges in the death of Wright."

(And she was training a 20 year old rookie too so they totally went all Law & Order 'ripped from the headlines' & just changed a few things around)

Also obviously it was tragic the lady was shot and they totally should have listened to Athena and removed that guy, etc.

But omg, I've seen so many tv shows use the whole "oh, i'm a sovreign citizen and I don't have to follow your rules etc etc" and it's always so 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 at that person.

People like that sound like the people who think it'll work on facebook to copy/paste text about not allowing fb to use their photos or something when they already agreed to the ToS. Lol

"I do not give you permission to...." 🤣🙈

Off course I'm Icelandic and live in Iceland so my pov is like an outsiders pov, but yeeeeah. I just find that shit stupid.

This is just the two things I noticed about that whole thing in last nights ep re Athena's storyline.

[tellurian-in-aristasia]

Aristasia (and their earlier incarnations) in the news, a timeline.

I've been accumulating a rather large collection of digital newspaper clippings about Aristasia and their various early incarnations and a little project I've been working on is organizing them into a timeline. This is still a work in progress, so as I add more newspaper clippings to the list, I'll be updating this post. The Aristasians, particularly their earlier incarnations, have a rather large analog footprint, and some things I've left off the list, particularly the majority of their many advertisements or anything they would have published themselves, and instead tried to stick to mentions of them in more mainstream publications. Please excuse my inconsistent formatting! Sister Angelina with Lux Madriana Gnostica October/November 1977

Heil Lux Madriana Peace News March 21st 1980

Machpelah cult goes back to the Celts Hebden Bridge Times Friday 06 November 1981

Older Than Christ Hebden Bridge Times Friday 13 November 1981

Rhennish community missionary activity Hebden Bridge Times - Friday 20 November 1981

The Rhennes Invite You To A Public Meeting Hebden Bridge Times - Friday 27 November 1981

World's last hope Hebden Bridge Times - Friday 04 December 1981

'Most ancient religion' claim Hebden Bridge Times - Friday 11 December 1981

TV Series Examines God as the Mother Todmorden & District News - Friday 12 March 1982

The Rhennes Farewell to Hebden Bridge Todmorden & District News - Friday 17 September 1982

A mention at last Derry Journal - Friday 17 December 1982

The Light of the Mother Womanspirit 1983

Women's rule sect settle in Donegal Derry Journal - Tuesday 13 September 1983

Women get gym slip holidays Aberdeen Evening Express - Friday 20 January 1984

Classroom capers for adults Liverpool Daily Post - Friday 20 January 1984

Gymslip gals relive the past Evening Telegraph - Friday Jan 20 1984

The belles of Saint O'Trinians The Daily Telegraph Mon Apr 2 1984

Hidden lessons at St Bride's… Evening Standard April 02 1984

Shocking hidden lessons at St Bride's school… Liverpool Daily Post - Tuesday 03 April 1984

The secret of St. Bride's Sinclair User December 1985

Playing games with censorship The Guardian 1987 11/26

Ding Dong Belles Your Computer Magazine December 1987

Aspic and old lace The Telegraph March 6 1988

Champions of Victorian values condemn lack of grace Sunday Tribune - Sunday 03 July 1988

Is this your cup of tea? Evening Herald (Dublin) - Monday 04 July 1988

A Romantic Manifesto The Spectator December 1988

A journey back in time… Sunday Life, November 5, 1989

The 1980s: A Retrospect Spearhead Feb 1990

I was a slave in the house of Scarlett Sunday Mirror, Sunday 11 March 1990

Gardai probe 'cane' school Sunday World (Dublin) March 18 1990

Vulgarity of coping with life in the dreary old 1990s Cambridge Daily News - Wednesday 31 October 1990

Victorian caners move out Sunday World (Dublin) 4th Nov 1990

Victorian re-enactments ad

Cambridge Daily News, December 7th 1990

Spanking schoolma'am gets back in full swing Sunday Mirror, Feb 3, 1991

Silver Sisters pupil stripped and birched Irish Independent, February 13 1991

"Cult leader" fined for assault Derry Journal - Friday 15 February 1991

Ma'am lashed bare servant Sunday World - February 17 1991

A caning for Miss Scarlett SUNDAY MIRROR Feb 17 1991

Screamers what to give spanking misstress boot! Sunday World, December 15 1991

Spanking lady linked to Nazi and kinky sex contacts Sunday World (Dublin), 12th Jan 1992

We'll Cane You for £75 offer by spankers Sunday World (Dublin) - Sunday 19 January 1992

Lifting the lid on reaction The Scotsman, 11th Jul 1992

Inside the secret world of the sisters of St. Bride's The Sunday Telegraph, January 3rd 1993

Spankers run kinky calls Sunday World, January 10 1993

Sisters: no sex, no Nazis Sunday Telegraph Jan 10, 1993

Swish society of Oxford's hits and misses Sunday Telegraph Sun Feb 7 1993

Glad to be bad? The Guardian Feb 6, 1995

What does Miss Martindale serve with coffee? Cream and punishment The Observer Feb 26 1995

The tortured past of Miss Marindale The Guardian March 1 1995

Whips? Canes? Silly Monkeys! The Independent 1995 03/03

The Rise of Miss Martindale The Guardian March 8 1995

Noble Response, from Miss Martindale The Guardian March 10 1995

Harrowing book- The Corporal Punishment of Schoolgirls Evening Standard Fri Nov 17 1995

Aristasia, The Feminine Nation The Independent Tue, Feb 3, 1998

A firm hand behind Sweethearts The Guardian March 18th 1998

Of sweethearts and villains The Guardian London - Fri, Mar 20, 1998

Miss Marianne Martindale and Miss Camellia Cadogan at the Goodwood Revival Races Country Life - Thursday 23 September 2004

[peeptheaesthetic]

Aesthetic April!

I wanted to try and inktober type thing but with aesthetics! I'm tagging some of my moots/fav creators I think should participate!! Anyone can participate as long as you follow the prompts and use the hashtag "Aesthetic April"!

1. An aesthetic that got you into making moodboards.

2. Cybercore.

3. Your dream fashion aesthetic.

4. Academia of your choosing!

5. Favorite character from a show your watching.

6. Opposite aesthetic day!

7. Shuffle your liked songs, make a moodboard of the first one.

8. Throwback!!

8. Your favorite book.

10. Spring aesthetic!! (must include baby animals).

11. Best friend aesthetic!

12. Your fav ship.

4/13. Honorary homestuck day (childhood fandom).

14. Lovecore vs Lovegore.

15. Favorite mythical creature.

16. What you wanted to look like when you were little.

17. Vampires!

18. Make a moodboard for your mutual and tag them!!

19. Favorite time of the day.

20. Favorite band.

21. Flower day!

22. Man crush monday!!

23. Favorite cat or dog breed!

24. Women crush Wednesday.

25. Superwholock.

26. Clowncore.

27. Liminal space/backroom vibes.

28. Southern Gothic.

29. Favorite video game!!

30. Make a moodboard for an OC of yours!(from any fandom and self inserts included)

I would like to tag my mutuals @aestheticsoftheinternet, @ellie-makes-mbs, and @stran-dedforyou. And for honorable mentions, I would love to mention: @aesthetic-otd, @jdubrehil, @snailspng!

[eponymous-rose]

A full day today, so I figured it might be fun to write up what a professor's day might look like when not lecturing!

6:30AM: Got up early to virtually attend a friend's wedding on the East Coast! <333

8:00AM: I have been very careful this quarter to shuffle lectures/meetings around so that I have a little time to myself in the mornings to sit at home and drink coffee and eat breakfast and pet a cat while I get the day's work started. No exception today! I pull up an application my PhD student has been putting together for a tech grant and use the proverbial red pen to make some (a lot of) comments. It looks good overall, though! I send him a note to encourage him to send it to our collaborator in the computer science department when he's done with edits. Monday's the deadline, we gotta get moving on this.

9:00AM: I load up a bag with books I keep putting off taking to my office, plus some extra Halloween candy I found to add to my office candy bowl, and head out to take the bus in to campus. Also, pet the cat goodbye (she is unconcerned).

9:45AM: At the office, books and candy put away! Time to prep for my first meeting, which is a committee meeting with someone else's PhD student. He struggled a bit with a recent exam (entirely his advisor's fault, but that's a different story), so we're reconvening as a group to see his progress and cheer him on. He sent an update document, so I run through that and take a few notes. Then it's responding to e-mails (setting up my participation in a federal review panel next year, responding to two prospective graduate students interested in working with me - the combo of a fun research topic and a beautiful campus means I'm now up to 20 inquiries so far this quarter, eep - and sending out an update to the department about the charitable giving opportunities I'm coordinating).

10:30AM: Great presentation by the PhD student about all the things he's done since our last meeting back in April-ish. He's made huge changes to his work, and we applaud (literally and figuratively) how much he's accomplished in such a short time. Also, amazing data visualization! Great work all around. He's set to defend his PhD by 2025 at this rate, definitely back on track.

11:30AM: Time to rush back to my office to meet with my own PhD student! We usually meet on Fridays, but we get tomorrow off for the holiday so we jumped the meeting back. He's a few minutes late due to a missed bus, so my next-door colleague and I talk about cats for a few minutes. As you do. When he does arrive, he's got some cool stuff to show me - we talk about the notes I made on his grant application, and I remind him (and myself) to book flights to a conference in December that is rapidly approaching somehow. (I guess this means I have to do some cool and innovative research before then that I can talk about. Go figure.) He also shows me some cool preliminary results from a project he's been doing with a friend out in Pennsylvania. He's late enough in his PhD that my role as advisor is primarily to get out of his way and make sure he has enough supercomputer core-hours to get his work done!

12:30PM: A break for me! I start in on e-mail again, sending a coordinator my bio and abstract for a talk I've been invited to give (virtually, thankfully) at a student conference in January. I also realize that, because of the break tomorrow, I should really put together a homework assignment and next week's lectures for the class I teach Monday-Wednesday-Friday. Hmmm. I dig through last year's lectures and assignments and realize they've gotten a little out of sync this year. The solution? I may just offer 5 instead of 6 assignments over these ten weeks and give them this one a week later. Class average has been extremely high on them, and I think the students will appreciate a bit of a break. Also means today's job is just to prepare a few lectures based on last year's material. I've got a big chunk of open time later this afternoon to deal with course stuff, so back to e-mail. Going to be joining a friend (who I can't help but think of as the undergrad who sat in during all my grad classes, but is now somehow a full research scientist) on a very cool project putting together a new thunderstorm dataset. Also reached out to another friend about setting up biweekly meetings to hopefully start a new research collaboration and... possibly some fieldwork! I also almost forgot to put a forecast together for our forecasting competition, but I got there in time. Phew.

1:30PM: Meeting with a colleague and the undergrad research intern we co-supervise who is sadly having to leave to go attend school closer to home. This meeting is mostly just us reinforcing to her that we're still here if she needs advice/reference letters or ever wants to work on a similar project with us remotely in the future, but we are going to continue with the research until the end of the quarter, at her request. After the meeting, I get an e-mail about another undergraduate looking for a research project! I present her with the options of a cool lightning project with my colleague next door (waiting to hear back about federal funding for that project, fingers crossed) and that other cool thunderstorm project led by my friend in Oklahoma.

2:30PM: Seminar time! A very cool freshly-minted PhD from California tells us all about her research, a complicated topic about which I knew very little going in and now know... slightly more. There was a very geeky moment in which she showed what happened to a particular part of the climate system when CO2 was added, then showed what happened when CO2 was removed, and the asymmetry of it made everyone in the room gasp and then self-consciously giggle.

4:00PM: Post-seminar snacks acquired (a big cookie and coffee are definitely a good late lunch, right? I kid, I kid, I had a big breakfast and have a big dinner waiting at home) and small-talk survived, I scramble back up to my office. Time to get those lectures ready for next week (pretty quick to do - rather than last year, where I'd show the code on the screen and we'd talk about it, I'm having us write the code together live and debug as we go; harder in the moment for me, but the students are learning so much better!). Get an e-mail back from the new undergrad research intern expressing interest in the lightning project, amazing! Time to get her registered so she gets credit for this starting in January. Also finally get a teensy bit more editing done on a draft of a review article that one of the top scientific journals in the world tapped me to write (???? still surreal beyond measure).

5:30PM: BAND PRACTICE. Our department is so nerdy that the faculty/staff/postdocs/grad students put together a giant band to perform popular songs but as covers so we can make the lyrics about our nerdy research. This tradition has been going on for 30+ years, and the big performance is for an hour at our holiday party every year. It's a riot, and this is my first year joining in the chaos (I'm on keys on three songs!). There are like 25 of us, we have a horn section, a professor plays the mandolin, the students create elaborate musical roasts of their professors, it's great. My parts go great, to the point where when there's some trouble with key drift during an a capella part they call me in to play chords under it and keep them grounded. I love playing music with other people!

7:00PM: Time to pack up and head home for dinner. Phew.

Long day, but also LONG WEEKEND BAYBEE. I don't actually have to do any substantial work this weekend, so that means BALDUR'S GATE WEEKEND BAYBEE.

[china-shop]

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