#my favorite badass women 💗

[crapet-illu]

« Before, I was archidruid, now I’m just a dumbbell for the strongest faerûn women. »

[felysline]

📩 Simblr question of the day: Who's your biggest inspiration/s on Simblr? Mention them! Tell us why you like them!

thanks for the question, love! my inspirations on simblr are soooo many. but my biggest inspirations areee:

i) @farfallasims ⋆ madi creates one of the most amazing soft-glam simming styles that exudes the perfect elegance, and the quality of the aesthetic + screenies are chef's kiiisss! even before becoming an active simblr, i've always adored madi and her gameplay. ii) @aashwarr ⋆ MY BIGGEST GAMEPLAY INSPIRATIONNNN. ashley has me wrapped around her finger the time she starts the discover university lp. i love chasity, i love cameron, i loooove how the gameplay and the simblr updates are done, and they're sooo realistic. my first posts of cam and ado, esp the one at the pool are heavily inspired by chasity and cameron's posts during chasity's b'day. moreoveeerr, queen ashley creates such gorggg builds and sims. like seriously, what can i ask more? iii) @rimings ⋆ miss rimings is my most favorite clothing cc maker eveeeerrrr 🥺💗 she creates the prettiest chic slash preppy cc women clothes with high-end brands and beautiful colors. special shoutout to how her ccs are organized cuz nothing stands out on my cas more than her ccs. and they're not like the clothes that will just sit on your mods folder for nothing! believe it or not, you'll find yourself using at least 80% of her contents soon or later. they're very functional slash useful and pretty. iv) @largetaytertots ⋆ miss tayyyy, ahhh! i've been helped to such an extent during my early sim-four-ing days (which is last year) because she creates the most helpful videos regarding aesthetic gameplays, useful mods, realistic cc finds, and soo many more. like if i didn't see her contents, i might've not gotten to this point. so much love to miss taytay. v) @babyetears ⋆ another favorite women clothing cc makeeer! babyetears create the most badass slash quirky women clothing ccs that are suitable for y2k aesthetics and i looove that so much. i mostly use their ccs for my sims who are like,, #.asian_babygirls, gamers, twitch-streamers, baddie babies, youtubers, and the list goes on. what i love more about them is the fact that they also create the cutest and hottest nsfw fits! so adorable, really. vi) @rhdweauni0 ⋆ my favorite sims makerr! i wouldn't be dwelling in sims four this deep if it wasn't for any sims they created. the women sims? slayed. the men sims? slapped. literally the hottest sims maker i've ever seen (not exaggerated).

y'all should check them all out! special mentions to my favorite simblrs since i've been here tooo @changingplumbob @miralure @mikachusblog @aurorangen @youredreamingofroo @swallowprettybird @cordeliaspromenade @bumblebeessims @cherryberry-nb

[toshio]

Hey, love your blog 💗Random q: if you’re into tv shows what’s your top 3?

LOOOL omg okay this is vague question. because you could either mean like REAL hollywood production stuff or like anime. i'll give you both haha. EXTREMELY LONG list of my favorite american shows (reality TV included) and some of my all time favorite anime. read below if you're interested. it's a lot. buckle up.

well for actual TV shows (like american produced i guess) i really enjoyed American Horror Story, my favorite seasons were season 2 (asylum) it's about a spooky asylum with nuns possessed by satan/demons and a bunch of other messed up villains. Jessica Lange CARRIES this season with her incredible acting.

another actress who i LOVED in season 2 was Lily Rabe, she plays the possessed nun (her character is supposed to be an innocent nun but she gets corrupted) and she's super badass while she's under control by the devil LOL. like amazing acting, she's just pure femme fatale and is a perfect villain that you actually WANT to lowkey root for because she's so cunty. UGH. i remember getting my life from her. this entire season is carried by these two characters.

and you didn't specify if you wanted regular TV shows or reality TV shows, but i am a huge reality TV fan! i'm gay/bi so i absolutely LOVE watching rupaul's drag race LMAO. season 16 is the most recent one that just finished airing, i absolutely loved every minute of it, the show is just endlessly entertaining and showcases queer people in such a vibrant and fun life that would make straight people jealous HAHA. but it's a show for everyone obviously, as long as you enjoy drag queens and expressing yourself and stuff.

and another reality TV show that i enjoyed was "flavor of love" it's a reality TV competition show where a bunch of women from the 2000s were competing to win the love of "Flavor Flav" who's this rapper who's like 65 years old now. LOL. it sounds crazy but this show was HUGE back then, and the breakout star was a contestant named "New York" but her real name is Tiffany Pollard and i LIVE for this woman, lmao. she's so iconic and has the best quotes ever, she's regarded as a gay icon within the queer community. VH1 loved her so much that they made a bunch of other spin off shows featuring her in it, just look her up on youtube haha.

i wouldn't say these 3 shows above are my absolute favorites of ALL time but they're definitely up there! just can't think of anything else, and they're my recent hyper fixations.

and i'm not sure if you're an anime watcher/fan but my favorite anime of all time is probably an anime called Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. it's literally regarded as one of the best animes of all time, you should watch it if you haven't already. i got a tattoo of it because i want to remember it for the rest of my life LOL. IT'S SO GOOD. without spoiling it, it's like action/adventure/brotherhood with some philosophy thrown in it. i think people often belittle anime/2D animated stuff but this show is a masterpiece. 11/10.

second anime TV show i recommend is Death Note, it's another iconic anime you should watch. to summarize the plot, a death god (shinigami) gets bored one day and drops his "death note" (a book that allows you to kill ANYONE in the world if you write their name in the book) and a really smart student named Light Yagami (main character) picks it up after his class in school. and he decides to use it for his own good, trying to make the world a better place, but really smart detectives eventually figure out that something is happening, and he tries to stay incognito. if that doesn't sound interesting, then hell. i really enjoyed this one, it's a classic anime that you should see.

i'm gonna give you two more anime shows because my taste level is all over the place LOL but the third one i recommend is "Akame ga Kill!". it's about a guy who joins a group of assassins who he ORIGINALLY thinks are evil people who kill innocent people, but it turns out the capital city is secretly corrupt and it's all a facade, the assassins he joins are actually the good guys (at least in their eyes).

if you enjoy fast paced anime where lots of people die, action, fighting, cute anime girls, and there's even a buff gay guy in the show (YAY) then this show is for you. the main character is really badass too, her name is "Akame". now i will say a lot of people criticize this show but since you asked for my opinion, i think this show is a 9/10. it's not perfect but i enjoy the world, the animation, the characters, music, etc. this show just really made me happy. the dub and sub are good, if you hate reading subtitles. i watched both.

the last recommendation i have is Blood-C, i know it looks similar to Akame ga Kill but i promise you it's a different show LOL. it just has two black haired anime heroine characters who use a katana/sword to kill. and they're both bloody/action packed.

this show is EXTREMELY bloody, extremely violent and bloody, there's gore guts and action. if that isn't for you, do not watch it. i however, enjoy such morbid things, and since it's not real gore/violence, i can stomach it much better.

Blood-C (first episode air date was early July 2011) is about a sweet girl named Saya Kisaragi who goes to school as a normal girl. at night, she protects her village and friends from strange human eating monsters. i'm not going to spoil much else, but if that kind of stuff interests you, please watch this one! i really enjoyed it. again, people have criticisms about this show, but i fucking loved every minute of it. it's only about 12 episodes. i have a strange love for female protagonists in anime because they're so badass and i just love strong independent women in animated things, i've always had an affinity for it. i was always that nerdy kid in school who drew anime girls and stuff in class, LOL.

alright LAST anime recommendation i have for you if you enjoy my taste, is "Claymore". again, it's about female heroes with swords who slay creatures, you seeing the pattern here? LOL. i just like badass women who can fight. DON'T JUDGE ME OKAY?

one of my favorite anime shows, i watched it in early 2018 when i was taking college classes, so this anime holds a special place in my heart. it's about female swordsmen who slay human eating monsters with their giant swords. these terrifying monsters can disguise themselves as humans, and it gets worse than that. it's set in a dark fantasy medieval type of alternate universe. again, if you enjoy badass anime women, this show is for you! who doesn't enjoy that?

if you read absolutely everything, thank you. and let me know if you watched any of these. i'd love a follow up message from you. enjoy!

[zepskies]

I'm so glad you loved this one, friend! 🥹 As you can tell, this chapter in particular was very personal to me. I was actually a bit scared that it was "too much." (Hence my too-long note at the end.)

Yeah, I already miss George. 😭 I truly loved crafting his personality, his wily wit. But I know you get why I had to take it in this direction narratively.

This exchange. This one right here. I'm not gonna trauma dump, but between these words and Dean being there for her at the hospital and beyond--man.

This goes back to my comment on one of your fics, I believe! In this instance it's Dean being the one who helps her lean, and refuses to leave her. 💗

...That may be the best in the series for me. Something about it is magic. Got my tear ducts goin'.

Wow, thank you!! I'm actually really glad that's your favorite line so far. George really shows the depths of him here (and in the rest of this chapter). 💕

Seeing Andréa putting the reader on the back burner--especially compared to Dean busting his ass--was tough. I'm glad those issues finally came to a head, even if I absolutely fear confrontation in real life. xD

This is kind of taken from my own thoughts with that "friend" I was telling you guys about lol. This is kind of what I'd wished I'd said but could never, because I also avoid conflict like the plague lol.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.” Seriously, ma'am? Seriously? You are just so friggin' good. Holy crap. <3

This was probably my favorite line to write for this chapter. 🥲 It's what I based the title of the chapter off of, so I'm so glad you liked that line. ❤️

George and Dean's agreement essentially being the last thing George did held a lotta weight, and it reactivated those tear ducts.

Yeah, and not only does the weight of that impact Dean in this chapter, but in chapters to come as well.

The kitchen scene. Both of them exhausted and hurting--my hearrrrt. But Dean really stepped up to the friggin' plate, and I loved that so much. Also appreciated him mentioning all the badass women in his life. That was a nice bonus.

He really is, isn't he?? He struggles with the emotional aspects of helping her, but overall he's a man of action. He can't leave someone who needs him. ❤️

Lastly, I wanted to say that I'm sorry for your personal losses. </3

Thank you, friend! I truly appreciate that. 🥹

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[meowzfordayz]

Tell me your favorite thing about each of the kny characters and one HC you have about how the two of you might interact with oneanother. Please and thank you.

M’sleepy so m’just gonna do this for KNY characters I can recall from memory… 👀 Also !! These aren’t necessarily my ~favorite things — just things that standout to me. 🤗

Agatsuma Zenitsu: I might’ve fallen in love when he protected Nezuko’s box from Inosuke ?? 🥺 Irl he’d get on my nerves real quick 😐, and m’sure I’d fascinate him. 💁🏻‍♀️

Akaza: I appreciate how he shows honor and respect in his own twisted fashion by asking powerful slayers to join him also how he drinks #respect women juice. Irl I’d be itching to smack his smug grin 🙄, and he’d reluctantly acknowledge my badass-ery. 💪🏽

Daki: her loyalty to Gyutaro mADE ME SOB. Not joking. Irl I’d despise her (Ik it isn’t her fault she’s valued solely for her appearance, but I can’t tolerate snobby bitches) altho lowkey still ogle her 🤭, and she’d likely return my meh opinion of her.

Gyutaro: his loyalty to Daki aLSO MADE ME SOB. Irl I could see us getting along if I also got along w/ Daki, sooo… we wouldn’t get along. 😂

Hashibira Inosuke: he’s a 🍄wild child🌱 (I adore him). Irl I’d be thoroughly amused by him, and he’d be impressed by how I can keep up w/ his antics.

Himejima Gyomei: am I allowed to mention his height? 😶 Lmao. Otherwise, def his nurturing demeanor. ☺️ Irl I’d be in awe of him, and he’d prob barely even notice me at 5’ tall. 😒

Hotaru Haganezuka: Bruh his comic relief is 👌🏽. LIKE chill DUDE. But also I 💗 you. Irl I’d dread his company bc he’s so high maintenance, and he’d get riled up by how I mistreat my backpack(s) lololol (my current backpack’s barely hanging in there).

Iguro Obanai: we both enjoy hanging out in trees… 😅 Irl I’d be intrigued and careful around him, and he’d give 0 fucks about me (not hatred, just indifference). 🤷🏻‍♀️

Kamado Nezuko: SHE’S SO FRICKING ADORABLE AHHHHH. 😭 As baby demon AND normal human lololol. Irl I’d be shy about greeting her, but she’d just smile and wave me over, and voila! #now we’re friends. 💞

Kamado Tanjirou: I literally had to pause and just smile to myself bc I’m simply 🥰 for Tanjirou (his smile, his idiocy 😇, his determination, his, his…). Irl I’d compliment his earrings, and he’d compliment mine (and after learning that I made my earrings, he’d ask if he could buy a pair of his own).

Kanroji Mitsuri: her personality and her outfit is #goalz. 💝 Irl she’d kinda annoy me, but not in a ~bad way (she’s just so cheerful dammit 😆), and she’d constantly poke and prod at my occasionally sullen demeanor.

Kanzaki Aoi: I’m a sucker for her attitude like uGH YAS AOI PUT EVERYONE IN THEIR PLACE. 👸🏻 Irl we’d be frenemies — very competitive and very understanding of each other.

Kibutsuji Muzan: he’s pretty ?? I lowkey hate him. 🥲 Irl I CAN’T EVEN I HIGHKEY HATE HIM.

Kocho Shinobu: her Breathing Style is 😍. And her brain ?? Unmatched. 🤓 Irl I’d be nervous around her, and she’d tease me incessantly about it.

Rengoku Kyojuro: I JUST WANNA EAT W/ HIM TO HEAR HIM EXCLAIM “Umai!” A BAJILLION TIMES. 😋 Irl I’d stare relentlessly at him, and he’d raise a curious eyebrow (he’d be pleasantly surprised when I finally meander over to introduce myself).

Rui: he’s very creative, albeit poor sadistic bby. Irl I’d keep my distance — neutral acquaintances.

Tamayo: her presence. I’d like to bottle it pls and ty. 😌 I SQUEAL WHENEVER HER BLOOD SAMPLE COLLECTING KITTY APPEARS. 😻 Irl I’d accidentally call her “mom” or something, and she’d laugh it off politely.

Tokito Muichiro: his hair is so long and so stunning. Irl I’d ask how he grew his hair out so nicely, and he’d just shrug, “It just happened?”

Tsuyuri Kanao: she’s strong. Like. 11/10 would be her bff and let her nap w/ her head in my lap. 🦋 Irl she’d fascinate me, but we’d both be too hesitant to ever actually offer our names.

Shinazugawa Sanemi: he’s fierce and I’d let him step on me. 🙃 Preferably cuddle me, but Idk the likelihood of that *sigh*. Irl I’d be determined to crack him aka befriend him, and he’d be utterly frustrated by my persistence.

Tomioka Giyuu: MY AWKWARD BOI !! 💙 I admire his resilience. Similar to Sanemi, irl I’d barrage him w/ creative questions, and he’d be confused but willing to entertain me w/ extremely curt answers.

Ubuyashiki Kagaya: how he carries, manages, the weight of his world. Irl he’d catch me glancing at his markings, and chuckle softly as my eyes widen guiltily.

Uzui Tengen: how he priorities those closest to him. Irl I’d scoff at his extra-ness, and he’d show off, futilely attempting to convert me, only prompting me to scowl further. 🥴

[babbushka]

I’m absolutely in love with Spellbound! I love your OCs and the characterization you’ve given them! What a fun crew of girls from each house!

You know how much I love the relationship you’ve established between Kylo and Jacques! It’s already hilarious and a blast to follow! Those poor clueless bastards, I love them!

All the Hogwarts shenanigans are already a blast! I’m endlessly excited you decided to pursue this AU!

Please enjoy my new favorite gif of Jacques nodding his approval! 💗

Shannon my absolute queen I can't thank you enough for encouraging me to go forward with this AU! I was so worried people would think it's the weirdest thing lol, but from all the kind comments on the fic, and messages here in the inbox, I'm so happy to know that folks seem to like it!!

You know me, I love strong badass women and I thought how fun would it be to see how they all get along in this crazy cool setting -- I don't need to tell you all the exciting things I've got planned, you helped me plan them lol!!

And you know that, that really is a very good gif of a very handsome runes professor ;)

[safarigirlsp]

I really love this story! Practical Magic is always a favorite and you do such an incredible job of writing in that universe. Much better than Hoffman, I might add! 💗💗💗

I love the dream beginning! It's so beautifully done! And the Poe reference of course! This whole bit is great!

Working to give them away, like a beating heart under the floorboards announcing their culpability, bleeding and thumping to the rhythm of their guilt until it drives them mad.

But it’s love. Red and dangerous as blood.

This is such a Flip thought! "Because of these stupid hippie types with more body odor than sense, there was a resurgence in witchcraft, and he can’t put enough sarcastic air quotes around that word." 🤣

This is a great description! "Rumors rustling and weaving underfoot as he walked the cobbled street to the Hallewell store."

The scene between Flip and the old woman is really well done and I can picture it. It's really a fun to have a nasty crone thrown in there for fun warning Flip to stay away! And him having to brave the mob of women inside the store and use his size rudely is great! The idea that only someone bewitched would be frothing over the little soaps is hilarious and so Flip! 🤣

I absolutely love this!

she pulls out the paper with the recipe for Fever Tea, just to make sure she’s remembered it correctly, and it goes up in flames in her hands. This has never happened to her before. She feels like she’s capable of burning up the whole town for him, and she just might unless she gets this fire under control. It makes sense to her then, all the old frescoes of fire and blood, depicting a heart aflame clutched in a bloodied hand. The kind of love that burns so hot and bloody it martyrizes you.

I cracked up at the line about placenta bars. Poor Flip haha! And this!

Some avert their eyes – to them, gawking at the store is merely a pastime. Others shuffle uncomfortably. They suffer from a similar thirst for blood, but there is a tacit understanding that one doesn’t come right out and announce their homicidal intent.

Flip wants to laugh. As regaling as it occasionally is to play along with these people and their harmless delusions, talking about crystals and solstices and placentas, dressing like storybook characters,

I love the note you end this section on! the exchange between the witch and Flip is wonderful and the ending leaves me wanting more! As always!

She stops and fully turns to face the direction in which he’s going, as if a thread – a rope – is pulling at her. He resists doing the same, only casting a rakish glance over his hunched shoulder, shielding him from the cold, and she spies a satisfied, fox-like grin when he catches a glimpse of her figure in the distance.

I am in love with this AU and you do such a great job with Flip! You know he's one of my favorites, so it's so nice for me to get to read all these amazing AUs about him from someone who writes him so well, and is generally an amazingly talented badass writer!

Flip Zimmerman Practical Magic AU - part 2

Summary: more whimsigoth nonsense from your local idiot <3

WC: ~5.5k

*       

The night before, Prescilla had dreamed of red mountains and a crystal blue sky. She dreamed the apple tree in their yard bloomed without water, and the flowers melted into red pearls on the branches, perfectly shiny and red. And in her dream the horses that ate apples from that tree ran faster than all the others, and any man who took a bite from a pie Prescilla fixed with those apples was bound to be hers, for life.

She had the dream again.

Prescilla wakes drenched even though the morning is cool. The sky is only beginning to warm up with the approaching dawn and she feels like she has a fever. Without another moment’s consideration of her dream, she hops in the shower to wash the stickiness off. As she looks for something summery to wear all the way back in her closet, behind the warmer clothes she’s recently rearranged to sit forward, she realizes her hair has dried from sheer body heat before she had thought to grab a blow dryer.

She looks in the mirror and her expression is puzzled. The red only began to bother her after the first dream. She was aghast by the roses in the garden and massacred them mercilessly.

They were offensively, scandalously red, and on the cusp of winter. Now she’s looking at her hair and she can’t figure it out. It had looked to her a muted auburn for years, and now it looks aflame. Her lips, too, throb obscenely in red pulses. She needs to get it under control.

She busies herself before she needs to go to work by picking some of those wretched apples. It’s a futile attempt to make sure Flip doesn’t see them when he arrives that afternoon. They are red, shiny and plump, way out of season. She is paranoid it’s all the blood in the ground coloring everything in the house. Working to give them away, like a beating heart under the floorboards announcing their culpability, bleeding and thumping to the rhythm of their guilt until it drives them mad.

But it’s love. Red and dangerous as blood.

She knows it, even as she dumps the delicious looking apples into a burlap sack in the basement and curses Jimmy for trying to return somehow.

In the kitchen, she mops her brow and picks leaves out of her hair, downing two tall glasses of crisp, cool water. She can’t seem to quench her thirst. Before she really needs to get going – she’s late already – she runs back up to the attic and retrieves the old book the Hallewell women have kept in their possession for generations. She hasn’t touched it in years, but she knows exactly where it is at all times.

As she flips through the pages, looking for a decisive cure to a fever, she finds an entry that describes her predicament to the letter. Fever, madness, recurring dreams, dying of thirst. There is no cure prescribed. Only a willowy script quoting a centuries old sonnet.

Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.

She almost slams the useless thing shut, but she remembers there is such a remedy as Fever Tea. It’s made of cinnamon, bayberry, ginger, thyme, and marjoram. Prescilla also scribbles the ingredients for Frustration Tea – can’t hurt - a combination of chamomile, hyssop, raspberry leaf, and rosemary. She has all the ingredients at the cosmetics store. Besides, Carla simply lives for the times Prescilla brews something on site, even if it’s just coffee.

Her tea never grows cold the entire day. All she needs to do is pick the cup back up and within moments, the liquid is steaming in her hands, drawing from her preternatural body heat.

*

Flip intends to kills some time by meandering and loitering around town, asking around about the Hallewells. He soon discovers it’s more than a way to pass the time before he can see Prescilla again and there is a fair bit to uncover.

Because of these stupid hippie types with more body odor than sense, there was a resurgence in witchcraft, and he can’t put enough sarcastic air quotes around that word. Accompanying it was a very real satanic panic among the boring, docile population. For the record, those simple folk were Flip’s favorite. The kind that stayed out of trouble and tattled on anyone at the drop of a hat. They were easily managed and got to live in the illusion of order.

So now his road has taken him to New England, to a commune of smelly, skinny, painted hippies who think they are very special and powerful because they get in their birthday suit and shake their unmentionables at the Moon or some such nonsense, making the decent folks draw their curtains and make spooked calls to their local police departments imagining they’re witnessing sinister rituals when in reality it’s nothing more serious than drunken teens making fools of themselves.

The only difference this time around is that some of these clowns bought way too far into their bullshit and went that extra step of doing away with Hawkins. At least, that’s what he would like to believe. It would mean Maddy’s obvious lies weren’t lies and he could enter Prescilla’s home in a different capacity.

If he’s honest, he’s glad. No matter who did what to Jimmy, Flip is pretty sure he’s gone and good riddance. There’s a certain kind of person – a rabid dog in human skin - that can only be put down before the community around it is safe again. You can kick it, you can try fixing it, you can feed it and love it all you want; in the end, it will still tear you to pieces. Flip is quietly relieved whenever a rabid dog like Jimmy is put down. He’s good enough about it not to openly gloat. But if it were up to him, cases like those wouldn’t even appear on his roster and take up valuable time to investigate. Still, he swore to uphold the law and the law still applies, even to scum like Hawkins.

So he followed Hawkins’ path of destruction across several states, mapping his development from a petty criminal, graduating from a procession of increasingly violent misdemeanors to felonies, and a decades’ long crime spree that spanned four states and left dozens of people injured and maimed, and at least one dead.

The Hallewells were dedicated to their shtick, Flip had to give them that. Salem, Mass. An imposing house shrouded in a sprawling mysterious garden. Rumors rustling and weaving underfoot as he walked the cobbled street to the Hallewell store.

He understood Maddy. She had little character of her own, molding herself around whatever man she was with. She could easily buy into witchcraft, or new fangled religions, or even a life of crime with Hawkins. But Prescilla was another story. She was quietly self-possessed and looked all the way inside and through you. She had her store on a long street, nestled between a grocer and a millinery store. Flip didn’t know women even wore hats anymore, but there you go.

An old lady with wispy white hair and huge eyeglasses spots him standing in front of Prescilla’s store before it opens, peering casually inside. There are rows of bottles and tubs of creams, and even with the door shut, he can smell a faint scent of herbs and flowers.

“You’re not from around here,” she states, inclining her head to give him a more thorough once over. She’s territorial and slightly wary, in that way old people tend to become. But there is a glint of curiosity in her cloudy eyes – not too many strangers come to their isolated neck of the woods.

“No, ma’am,” he gives her a half-smile and turns away from the store window.

“You involved with one of those Hallewell girls?” she demands and it’s clear she does not like the idea.

“No, ma’am,” he echoes and she narrows her eyes. “I’m actually looking to find out more about them.”

“Are they in trouble?” the old lady is calculating. She doesn’t like the two odd sisters; not the troublemaker one who, she is still convinced all these years later, sicced a crow to peck at her son until he ran off from their house. Maddy claimed he had been throwing rocks at her, but that mattered little to the woman. Nor does she like the red headed one, tall and quiet and stern as she walks down the street in her red leather boots. The old woman routinely averts her eyes from Prescilla when they cross paths, fretful of what she might see if she looks into those deep pools of obsidian. She knows Prescilla works at the store, checks out her books from the library, and keeps to herself. She even resents that, that the young woman tries to live as if she’s totally normal. And yet, she doesn’t like the idea of this big tall stranger ambling into town and sniffing around them. The Hallewells are considered an odd calamity, to be treated with care and avoided unless it was impossible to do so. But they are the devil the people of the small enclave in Salem know, like a ditch they warn their kids about, wagging fingers and forbidding them to ride their bikes near it, but one that is as much a part of the town as any road, house, or citizen.

“I’m actually trying to locate a former acquaintance of one of the sisters,” Flip feels the shrewd old lady weigh his every word and motion, deciding if he is worthy of being let into her confidence. “But I’m wondering if there’s more to the story than they’ve let on so far.”

“If by acquaintance you mean to infer a lover,” she starts, cutting through his bullshit, “and one that’s gone sour on her, since we must be talking about that Madeleine girl,” she cocks an arrogant eyebrow as her confidence builds, “I bet you anything that boy is dead,” she almost barks a laugh as she concludes. Flip’s face is impassive as he takes in her callous reaction and he wonders if the whole town is permanently high on that wacky tobacky he keeps smelling as he walks around.

“Dead?” Flip chums the water with just the littlest sprinkling of interest. The old lady has been waiting for a long time to air out her grievances about the Hallewells to any fresh pair of ears that would listen – he feels the need for it vibrating in her - so he’s sure he’ll get plenty out of her.

“Oh, yes. Wouldn’t be the first, won’t be the last,” she purses her thin, wrinkled lips and wraps her coat more tightly around herself. “Around here, it’s well known that if any man dare take on a Hallewell woman, oh, he’d live briefly in the euphoria of her love, until meeting his untimely demise.”

Flip wonders for a moment if, long ago, she had been jilted by some lover in favor of a Hallewell woman, and nursed the resentment like a sickly child all these years. If Prescilla’s mother or grandmother were one bit as spell-binding as she was, it made perfect sense. “Is that so?” he smirks, unable to take the woman’s claim very seriously anymore.

“Yes, it is so,” she chides him for his easy tone and leans in closer. “Take it under advisement, young man, before you’re in too deep.” The look she gives him is knowing and he can’t help it when his face arranges itself into a serious, wary expression. As old people accumulate experience, they become more than detectives. They don’t fall for denials or tears or red herrings – there is no fooling them. They can read the truth all too plainly and right now, Flip feels like he’s wearing a sandwich board that is announcing his feelings to the world. The woman huffs a condescending laugh, having caught him red handed.  Another sucker, falling for one of those Hallewell witches.

*

Well before the store flips its sign to open, there is an undulating, feverish throng gathered outside. Clara, a peroxide blonde with her bleached hair burned to a straw-like consistency and fanning out around her round face, opens the door and announces Prescilla is not in yet. She is wearing an outfit reminiscent of Stevie Nicks, with flared sleeves and several jagged crystals hanging on long chains stacked on her chest. She eyes Flip as he in turn checks out the crowd with interest.

Prescilla is late, but she appears inside, rushing to serve the multitudes crammed inside the too small space.  When he spots her, Flip pushes his way inside, elbowing past the dense mass of bodies crowding around him. He uses his size somewhat rudely as he forces his body inside, flashing a badge once or twice when the ladies grow especially ferocious in defending their spot in line. Clara and Prescilla are too busy packing orders and ringing the register to pay much attention to him. He moves along the shelves lining the walls as the focus of this fevered attention is a large woven basket on the counter. What he finds on the shelves is innocent enough – oils, shampoos, creams. Standing head and shoulders above the other patrons, Flip is able to cast a look towards this coveted basket.

Inside, he sees what looks at first glance like candy. Tiny black bricks wrapped in crinkly cellophane and tied with twine. When he takes a closer look and picks up some of the tittering in the gaggle of women, he realizes it’s soap. It looks to him like those little things of butter you get in restaurants or hotels, just enough to spread on a single piece of toast. It smells divine, he has to admit. However, that tiny, doll-sized bar probably wouldn’t serve him even as a single use. He shakes his head at all the desperate customers digging their hands into the basket and having to be reminded they can only have one, thinking that the soap would likely get stuck and dissolve in one of his crevices if he ever tried to use it. Then he balks at the price as he observes obscene amounts of money change hands. He knows women will buy all sorts of crap that costs an arm and a leg, but he’s pretty sure, pound for pound, this soap is the same price as gold, if not more. And yet, the line is out the door, and people need to be reminded they can only take one. They clutch the tiny packets to their chest and almost cry as they thank Prescilla for the privilege of showering her with money for these bubblegum-sized liniments. It’s the first time he’s inclined to lend credence to this whole witchcraft business because who would do that unless they were under some spell?

*

Prescilla feels a headache coming on as she’s trying to keep track of numbers, bills and change as she’s handing out the black soap packets like hotcakes. All the while, she keeps her peripherals firmly focused on Flip as he looms above the tidal wave of people in her humble store. He is watching her just as closely, when he isn’t inspecting the tiny soaps she lovingly molded and wrapped in the previous several days, or balking at how much the customers are paying for it. It’s unfortunate timing and she isn’t thrilled that he is witnessing this happen as it’s sure to draw his attention, but there isn’t too much time before the winter solstice and she wants to make sure all the women have had the chance to acquire and use the black soap by then. Aside from its astounding cosmetic effects, the soap works as protection, for the body and the soul, and the Hallewell women have made sure for centuries that their neighbors had the benefit of black soap before the two solstices, as the biggest changes occur around those times. As inconvenient as it is that this utterly disarming man is standing there, making her feet burn with anxiety, Prescilla is not about to break this centuries’ long chain because of him.

She notices that he’s looking at her hands as she reaches out and takes a stack of bills. Before she realizes, the money starts to feel hotter in her hands and tendrils of grey smoke begin to rise between her skin and the paper of the bills. She frowns, watching the smoke for a confused moment, before instinct takes over and she yanks the money down, stuffing it behind the register.

Prescilla looks up and Flip is looking right back at her. She’s not sure if he’s managed to see whatever just occurred, but something tells her there is no hiding anything from him. Clara calls for a single file line to assemble and for the people who are done to leave the store in a safe, orderly fashion. She makes sure to give Flip a look that categorizes him unmistakably in the group that is to leave. Prescilla is relieved when he does.

When he’s gone and she gets to step away for a moment from the register, she pulls out the paper with the recipe for Fever Tea, just to make sure she’s remembered it correctly, and it goes up in flames in her hands. This has never happened to her before. She feels like she’s capable of burning up the whole town for him, and she just might unless she gets this fire under control. It makes sense to her then, all the old frescoes of fire and blood, depicting a heart aflame clutched in a bloodied hand. The kind of love that burns so hot and bloody it martyrizes you. She immediately sets about brewing the tea.

*

As Flip leaves, Prescilla’s eyes follow him. He’s relieved and saddened when the door closes with the soft tinkle of a chime behind him, placing a barrier between them. As he observes the gathered throng of people, he begins to demarcate those desperate to get in and get their hands on that apparently magical soap, and others who stand off to the side, close enough to observe with indignity and tsk and glare, furious that this witchery is taking place in broad daylight. Those are his people, he quickly decides, and lets them talk their nonsense, leaving it to his well-honed instinct to pick out anything relevant out of the large pile of detritus they heave out of their mouths.

“If they don’t like you, they hex you!” announces a pockmark-faced boy, too old to still be holding his mother’s hand. She clutches it, folded under her chest, as if she fears the witches will snatch him.

“Go arrest her!” screeches another woman who could easily pass for the first one’s sister. “Both of them! You see what they’re doing?” she sits in her wheelchair with a green blanket tucked over her bony legs and claws at Flip, demanding his attention. He humors her and leans in closer, but she screeches into his ear at the same volume as before. “They steal babies and cook the placenta into bars. That’s why they’re so beautiful and never age! It’s sick! You should string ‘em up high, make them dance at the end of a rope!” she nods to herself and searches the crowd with her beady eyes, looking for agreement. Some avert their eyes – to them, gawking at the store is merely a pastime. Others shuffle uncomfortably. They suffer from a similar thirst for blood, but there is a tacit understanding that one doesn’t come right out and announce their homicidal intent.

Flip isn’t an expert in issues of womanhood and maternity, but he is pretty sure babies don’t come out wrapped in placentas and remain so bundled, ready to be snatched, so he feels unperturbed about dismissing the screeching woman’s claims.

“Write that down!” she insists in the same shrill tones.

Flip pulls out his pad. “That she’s selling placentas?” he asks vaguely as he writes Prescilla’s name, carving each letter out lovingly.

“A placenta bar! Everyone knows it,” she is exasperated at his perceived lack of intelligence.

“Right,” he nods as he finishes going over the letters one more time and making them stand out bolder against the white of the paper.

“On Halloween they all jump off the roof and fly,” confides a woman who looks to be a similar age to the sisters, with her long hair in a demure braid, face ashen as she endeavors to speak. Flip suspects, with an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, that she doesn’t get to speak her mind often.

“Who is all?” he talks back in a similarly coy tone, reassuring her with his protective body language.

“All of them,” she says as if there are hundreds of Hallewell witches crammed into the old Victorian house like a clown car. Her eyes are wide in fear and Flip hums some non-committal agreement.  She probably sits in her kitchen on eerie nights, imagining some cartoonish coven of black-clad women with brooms in hand and pointy black hats flopping over to the side, twirling in the air like bats performing a ballet.

Carla appears outside the store and asks the ladies clawing at the windows like hungry cats and yowling to please form an orderly line. Clamors rise to make sure to save them the soap, or to beg Prescilla to let them talk to her about some unrelated, but urgent issue.

Carla agrees and turns sharply to stare daggers at the sour-faced people standing off to the side. They glare back, but their faces betray worry. Nobody suspects Carla of being able to call down a hex or wield the kind of witchery the Hallewells are notorious for, but she has an electric presence despite her diminutive stature. When she takes a step forward, none are prepared to test the hypothesis and they scatter like a school of spooked fish. Carla lets out a delighted cackle and sticks a cigarette into her mouth as she watches the protesters scatter down the street like bowling pins. She looks at Flip expectantly and he is happy to exchange a lighted cigarette for a conversation that lasts as long as it takes her to smoke it.

She blows out the first puff of smoke and grins at him like she knows something that he doesn’t. She does, Flip is aware, and he sighs. It appears as though she won’t make it too easy for him.

“Busy day,” he nods at the teeming store and joins her in lighting a cigarette of his own.

“Oh, yeah, it’s always like this before the two solstices,” she shrugs.

Flip wants to laugh. As regaling as it occasionally is to play along with these people and their harmless delusions, talking about crystals and solstices and placentas, dressing like storybook characters, he has a serious and sinister case on his hands and he can’t really afford to waste time. He leaves tomorrow and the day is half spent already.

“So I’m to conclude she’s casting some sort of a spell over the town?’

“No,” Carla pulls an exaggerated, comical face. She is trying to retain a sunny demeanor, but Flip can tell she’s fiercely protective of her boss. That makes him pleased. He can certainly relate to the feeling. “It’s when she makes the black soap, ugh, Goddess!” she shudders with pleasure, eyes rolling back. “It’s amazing. It makes your skin glow, it takes away a whole decade off your face - more if you get to use it regularly.”

“That’s impressive,” he sounds unconvinced. “And why aren’t you marketing it around the country if it’s so good?”

She looks at him with distaste for the first time and he knows he has crossed some invisible line. “It’s not about the marketing or money for Prescilla.” There is adoration in the way she says her name. Flip feels his back stiffen with jealousy.

“I’ve seen a whole cartload of money thrown at her since this morning,” he challenges. Carla loves Prescilla. She’ll go to war for her; against the protesters, and certainly against him. He settles on drawing her out that way.

“Sure,” she shrugs. There is no dissonance between the two statements to Carla. “All the women around here know about it. She’s gotta deter them from asking for it all the time. But what they don’t get,” she speaks more confidentially now, her whole body language and face changing and Flip mirrors her, “is that the black soap is so much more than some wrinkle-eraser. It’s incredibly beneficial and it keeps them balanced. It brings harmony into their home, it makes the whole town that much more decent. You know, I bet you can chart the birth rates in the area and see that the majority of babies born around here are conceived precisely around the time of the two solstices and when the black soap slips into all these peoples’ homes.”

Carla is still glowing in her contemplation, the cigarette in her hand forgotten as a long ash dangles precariously off its end.

“So you’re telling me the Hallewells are good witches?” Flip can’t keep a slightly mocking smile off his face as he utters the words.

Again, he can see himself drop in Carla’s estimation. The odd thing is that it bothers him. “There are no evil witches, so I don’t know what you’re differentiating against there,” she rolls her eyes. “It’s the basic rule of magic, every wannabe knows it. Do as you will, but harm no one. Ring a bell, officer?”

Flip shakes his head.

“Well, there you go. You’re badly in need of a crash course in this stuff.”

“Why are these people so afraid then, if there is no such thing as evil witches?” Flip prods her again, looking at her down the length of the cigarette he’s taking a drag off.

“Because there is such a thing as evil people. You of all people should know that.” She gives up on what remains of her cigarette and stomps it out under her platformed heel.

He looks unconvinced and Carla keeps going on her crusade for Prescilla. “You have your bloodliners,  like Prescilla,” she starts with a sigh, choosing what path to take up the mountain of her own knowledge and how best to bring him along. “What she can do… she’s amazing.” There is an almost Sapphic kind of appreciation in Carla’s hazy eyes. They take on the blue hues of a clear lake enveloped in mist and Flip can hardly blame her. “Then you have the aspirational bunch,” she points at herself. “I try to study, observe, do some basic stuff, but it’s never as easy as the books make it out to be. And then you have your wackos. Chanting, trying to creep everyone out. I’ve heard of them reading entrails – freshly disemboweled ones, I mean – or doing ritual human sacrifice. If anyone around here killed that guy you’re after, it’ll be one of them.”

Before Flip can ask more, she excuses herself, saying Prescilla needs her and hops off across the street in an unusually chirp, child-like manner, as if she wasn’t discussing maiming and murder moments ago.

*

The trail eventually leads Flip to some crunchy bookstore. It’s populated by cultish people, trying their best to look menacing which, naturally, renders them completely unthreatening and looking ridiculous. They peer at him from under their brows as he peruses the silly books on their shelves. Even to his untrained eye, it’s clear the place is a mishmash of vaguely spiritual and occult paraphernalia from different cultures. The walls and shelves are festooned with dream catchers, chicken bones, red twine, pentagrams, the odd hamsa and nazar here and there. Something nasty and cloying is stinking up the place and he retreats from the source when he stumbles upon an incense stick emanating plumes of white smoke and a smell that hits him right in the back of the throat and makes him want to retch.

He comes out of the bookstore after a brief and fruitless exchange with the insipid, posturing workers and stops dead when he sees Prescilla waiting for him there. She’s dressed only in a thin black dress and eye-catching red boots. She has her arms folded, but she doesn’t look nearly as cold as she should.

*

Prescilla eyes the book tucked under Flip’s arm. It’s a large tome, with thick binding and a deliberately ominous design. It promises to teach the reader about the scary cunning folk that walk amongst them and wreak havoc. She can make out an eye of Horus, a depiction of a horned devil in a decidedly Judeo-Christian style, some zodiac symbols, a maze-like splotch that appears confused as to whether it wants to be a shou or lean towards sacred geometry and a labyrinthine rendering. It’s nonsense of the highest order, but more so than the fact the book will teach Flip nothing, Prescilla is wary of the fact he cares enough to even have it with him in the first place.

As she waits for him outside, her fever dries out her throat and she becomes worried that her clothes will burst into flames and burn right off her body as soon as they lock eyes again. She’s almost grateful for the distraction of that ridiculous book he’s purchased. “Are you taking up witchcraft, officer? Or is my family under some suspicion here?”

“Should you be?” he asks the question she all too readily set him up for and she mentally slaps herself.

There is no sidestepping what he asked and she can’t outright lie – her tongue prickles and tingles in mere anticipation of it. “I suppose our friendly neighbors have been telling you charming stories about us?”

“There would be no point in my denying that,” he shifts his weight and hikes the book up higher under his arm. She can tell he’s eyeing her in her knit black dress, the thin material clinging to her skin, and measuring it against his thick sheepskin coat.

When he looks her in the eyes again, she is sure to show him himself, as protection. A gesture often misinterpreted as an attack, it was really just a desperate bid for self-preservation. If a man sees himself in a witch’s eyes, he won’t want to hurt her – at least that’s the rationale behind it. The men inclined to hurt others love nothing but themselves.

“Illuminating, benevolent stuff?” Prescilla looks to the side, as if that will hide her grimace, a cocktail of hurt and angry, from his canny eyes.

“I’m getting conflicting reports,” he shrugs placidly. If she takes his tone and body language at face value, then nothing he’s heard of her so far has rattled him. It surprises her how much she wants that to be true.

“You should ask us, then. I guarantee you that paranoid witch-burning companion won’t be any help,” she motions with her chin at the book and catches him smile at her disdain. She feels so hot under it she’s worried she’ll start to steam up in the damp, cold weather.

“When do you knock off work?” he asks breezily. The precipitous change of topic is welcome, but she catches herself get tripped up. He knows all too well the effect he has on her and her fist balls up at the knowledge.

“Er, I couldn’t say; it’s an unusually busy day….”

“How’s about seven-ish?” he gets too close and his tone is far too familiar as he makes the suggestion. “It’ll give you some time to close up and get home. And to get yours and Maddy’s stories straight,” he teases, but all she hears is confirmation of what she already knows – that he doesn’t believe a word of Maddy’s fabricated story.

“I couldn’t lie to you if I tried,” she admits and sounds miserable about it. Flip is blithely unaware of how much she means what she says.

“Okay then,” he takes it as poorly rendered flirtation and gives her one last once-over before he turns on his heels and starts walking down the street, away from her.

She does the same, crossing the street and heading back towards her store. She stops and fully turns to face the direction in which he’s going, as if a thread – a rope – is pulling at her. He resists doing the same, only casting a rakish glance over his hunched shoulder, shielding him from the cold, and she spies a satisfied, fox-like grin when he catches a glimpse of her figure in the distance

*

@in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @safarigirlsp @queeniebee @lumberjack00fantasies @house-of-cadwyn

[garfieldsladybird]

why just why..? I made so many playlists 😭 omg-

okay. One while I’m going through this let’s just say I have a weird obsession with this symbol <3. I use it for anything and everything.

33 playlists in total 🟰  i’m going to name every single one of them with the link and explain what it consists of and why I have it. i’m going from recent to oldest.

Bones 🦴 — A playlist for one of my best friends!!

description; I love you so fucking much!! you are the realist from day one! (when we met when we were babies!!) 💗💪✨

wassup fucker ;) -> gangster / rap songs. why; because they’re really good songs and i vibe to em cause they rap. yk.

description; lets get fucked up!!!

one more hit — 🌬 -> not a lot of songs yet but dark songs ig. kinda the dark but still chill vibe when smoking but its also ‘smoking is getting to much vibe but we like smoking so we will continue to smoke.’

description; too many hits.

2nd p. person — Q. -> rock vibes. this is for someone i am acquaintances with. i dont think they like me and that might be bc i am dating their ex but i didn’t know that when i got with my partner. and i do like 2nd p. person, they seem cool but i also don’t because they were talking abt a friend behind friends back and i dont like that. 

description; I bet we would’ve been great friends :) *happy/say smile*

melanie martinez!! — just a playlist of her songs. love her!! <3

description; she is a queen and her songs have some very powerful messages! <3

calm down corner — calm songs that i think are calm. this is to just to help me stop. in the

description; to much thinking.. so just take a breath. please. innnn- hold, andddd outttt. all good? if not take another one.

Olivia r. -> olivia rodrigo’s album sour and some other songs by here.

description; fuck boys. ew.

my friends <3 -> theater songs.. ig. but it’s reminds me of my friends :D

description; i have friends? yes, yes you do!!! theatre kids <3 :D

raven & beast boy -> just a lot of songs. it’s a playlist for my favorite love story, ngl. i love the relationship the two of them have! and yeah, it’s a lovely playlist.

description; i love you <3 😽💗

billie. <3 -> her songs! all albums, not all songs, but the best so yay!

description; my love!!! <333 💗💗💗

lana del ray <3 — the songs that ik by her. ik there are a lot but i only know 33 of em.

description; goddess voice man <333

t.s <3 — Taylor Swift songs. i only know 40.

description; my bsf got me into taylor s. so yeah i made a list of my favorite songs <33

𖨆𖨆 = ♡︎ — A playlist I made for my partner though I do not know if they know it’s for them. but songs that I fall in love with and remind me of them and just in general ig.

description; im whipped <33 ;)

wlw <3 — women loving women 💍 period. gay songs ig.

description; women are amazing 💗 loving women is amazing! and i love them! so pop your shit love!! <333

toke 🍃🎶 — my smoke playlist but also just the songs that i love and I add most of the songs that I like in here just to listen to. so its a smaller version of garfields playlist (my big all around playlist).

description; high!! <3

i die for you <3 — my sad playlist ig. idk. it’s dark and sad songs but also badass songs too.

description; and only you. but you don’t for me..?

1st period 🐉 <3 — old songs. good vibes and everything!!

description; Theater 🎭 sup. third week in the making :D lots of oldies 🫶

4th p. boy’s vibe 🎸 — I don’t know how to explain the songs in here. lots of rock ‘n’ roll I would think.

description; and its only first week of school.. edit — i dont like him. i like his vibe! <3

im in love with myself <3 — I finally made this playlist. I hadn’t made for so long but I didn’t have any songs in it except like one song. but I literally love this play this now!! just songs that make me love myself <3

description; “just want to get to know myself” — my life is growing into MY life. AHHHHHHH-

school <3 🏫 — I don’t know what this play this is really meant for. I kind of just added songs that reminded me of school. I made this before school started also.

description; new school year..? playlist.

melody — it’s for my glee dr.

description; glee <33

Ren 🦔 <33 — A playlist for @/lalaland06 <333

description; “𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌” — unknown.

sage 🦦 <33 — A playlist for @/sagesworlddd <333

description; “lose your mind so that you can gain a new way of knowing.” — Quote by Holly Lynn Payne.

note; I don’t really know if these quotes go with these people but I put them when I made the playlist and I don’t want to change them because I love them.

smoking with 🦦 & 🦔 <33 — they are my smoking buddies so smoking playlist!!

description; 🍃🎶

dance 🕺🏼💃🏼 — I like dancing and this is kind of just a mix of hip-hop dancing songs and some actual dance songs. idk. no description.

lilyflower and prongs — this goes with my dark Paradise dr. where I am James and Lily‘s daughter. 

description; mom & dad <3

Seaboy — it’s my Percy Jackson playlist.  you know surprisingly enough even though I haven’t read all of the books I’m a big Percy Jackson fan. like I love reading fanfiction of Percy Jackson and it’s amazing and I want to read the books too but I’m already reading a book series so, it’s added to my wants of reading.

description; look, i didn’t want to be a half-blood.🗽⚡️🌊🦋🌼

Dark Paradise | hp — my Harry Potter dr where i am the older sister of Harry.  no description.

euphoria but fuck you — euphoria vibe ngl. chill songs. I made this during the season two of euphoria coming out and everything. 

description; *sigh* if you shuffle this bitch it’s awesome

Twilight — I actually had three playlists that was for one twilight dr and I decided that I didn’t like that so I added all three of those into one. or I added two into one but whatever it’s now one consistent playlist of twilight vibes. but yeah. 

description; aesthetically pleasing songs…  of twilight ig

garfield <3 — this playlist right here is everything. everything to me and everything that goes with music for me.

description; all around playlist <3

old 2019- — ugh. I hate this playlist but I keep it around because why not. it was during that horrible phase where rap music consisted of mumbling words. where it was a bunch of songs turned into TikTok songs and will forever be TikTok songs now. I don’t care if you like the songs or not, it’s just my opinion.

description; idk these songs suck.

[safarigirlsp]

Thank you!!! Omg you always give the best, most generous, and lovely reviews! And you’re hilarious too!! 💗

Actually, I have three stories that I’m going to try to turn into novels from three different genres that I like. An adaptation of this story is one of them lol! I can easily expand this idea into 100k words and it will be a blast to do it! This isn’t the project I’m working on now, but when I get to this one, I’ll be happy to send it your way for you to check out!! I have a part 2 planned for this one too. This was one of my favorite Halloween AUs. Exorcist Jacques, Werewolf Flip, and Magician Kylo are my personal Halloween favorites so far!

I totally get you not being into Le Gris! He’s not for everyone. But I’m glad you gave this a chance anyway and ended up liking it! I love that he’s a character who finally has a smartass, flirty, outgoing personality to play with! Ignoring his hotness that is right up my alley with the long hair and goatee, his personality and Flip’s are the most fun for me to write. I enjoy Kylo and Clyde too, of course, but I think when I write them, I take a lot more liberties with them to make them more talkative and outgoing lol!

Those are some of my favorite tropes too, as you know!! I love badass women and badder ass men being completely and helplessly head over heels!

Omg I loved your comment with the pun about your username! 🤣

Thank you so much for taking the time to give me such a thoughtful and wonderful comment! 💗💗💗

Sinners Welcome

Sinners Welcome

Exorcist Jacques Le Gris x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 25.9k

Warnings: NSFW. Romance. Smut. Graphic Violence. Gore. Murder. Chasing. Nuns. Demonic Themes. Possession. Heresy. Horror. Priests Behaving Badly.

Summary: Sent to Rome to find an Exorcist on behalf of a client, you are introduced to the most notorious man in the business. Little does he know, his toughest case is just beginning.

Author’s Note: Let’s kickstart October right with some demonic fun and a hot ass exorcist! There are very little actual religious themes in this but plenty of horror, sexiness, suspense, and good times! Sinners are always welcome here!

AO3 Link

Keep reading

[safarigirlsp]

Omfg thank you for your comments!!!

This was the second part of my 1k follower celebration where people voted on tropes, like ‘only one bed’ etc, and AU ideas and Hitman Kylo was the result. I was so happy people put the idea in my head because otherwise, I probably would have left him on the back burner for a while. He and Knight Kylo are my absolute favorite Kylo AUs and I love writing them!

Action/Adventure is my favorite thing to write and I love John Wick too lol. I tried to write John Wick/Mr. & Mrs. Smith vibes with this one for Kylo and Off with A Bang! for Flip. And BaddieButTheFuckingSoftestEver!Kylo is 1000% my favorite way to write Kylo. (I love that btw!) All my guys actually. I love big scary tough guys who treat their women like Queens. As it should be!!! I’m also SUCH a sucker for Love At First Sight sort of bs. Especially with the biggest badasses!

I’m happy to hear you liked the ending and that it worked! The ending was the first thought I had for the damn fic and then I worked backward to get there lol!

I’m definitely going to do more with him!

Thank you!!! 💗

Fortune Favors the Bold

✨ Here is the second oneshot for my 1k Follower Celebration ✨

Fortune Favors the Bold

Hitman Kylo Ren x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: NSFW. Language. Smut. Guns. Gun Violence. Graphic Violence. Lots of Violence.

Author’s Note: I tossed in two other Star Wars characters for added flavor. One is Hux, whom I know people are pretty familiar with. The other character mentioned is more obscure, DJ, a character from The Last Jedi, for anyone who cares.

Continuar lendo

[laurelome]

I love this! Just made me laugh.

« Before, I was archidruid, now I’m just a dumbbell for the strongest faerûn women. »