#november is the same gentle month i remember.

[threewordusername]

"November."

d.b.a

[cherienymphe]

Bite Marks & Bruises (Roman Godfrey x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, stalking, period sex + consumption, blood, compulsion

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​

summary: Roman Godfrey is spoiled and arrogant and rude...and he gets whatever he wants.

~

Your life was over the first moment you stepped into The Godfrey Mansion.

The dark, gothic, and imposing structure was a staple in Hemlock Grove for as long as you could remember, countless stories being passed around at sleepovers about all manner of horrors and mysteries that probably took place in the home. Tales of shadowy figures and howling wolves and low moaning wails like whispers on the wind. None of it was true, of course, lies made up by overimaginative girls with too much time on their hands, driven to pass around falsities out of an unquenched desire to see what the infamous house was really like.

As you got older, such stories became silly to you, aware that it was just a home like any other owned by some rich woman like any other. All of its intrigue lay in its exclusivity, its secretiveness, and with maturity came the lessening desire to see inside some fancy old home. Even as you walked the halls with its inhabitants—Shelley and Roman Godfrey—the Godfrey mansion was just something you thought about less and less.

Until about six months after you graduated.

…and Olivia Godfrey was offering you substantial compensation to tutor her daughter.

It wasn’t an answer that required a lot of thought on your end. After all, you would be relaxing in a beautiful mansion and helping some seventeen-year-old with her homework while getting paid for it. With no desire—and no money—to jet off to college anytime soon, it seemed like an obvious choice. Those silly stories that you and your friends would tell each other under the cover of darkness behind closed bedroom doors were the farthest thing from your mind.

It was cold the first day you walked to The Godfrey Mansion.

It was the middle of November in Pennsylvania—air biting, leaves crunchy, and breeze gentle. Olivia Godfrey greeted you with a smile, her dark hair looking like midnight against her fair skin. The mother of two didn’t look a day over thirty, and you remembered staring at her, feeling so hypnotized by her beauty and wondering how she was old enough to have two children of graduating age. Her thin statuesque frame swayed gently with her every step, hands gingerly flailing about as she gave you the grand tour.

“All of her tutoring will take place up in her room,” she told you, tone rich and poised. “Shelley is so very particular about her space…and I’m trusting you.”

That last comment was said slowly, and she turned to face you as she said it, hands clasped together as her umber eyes connected with yours. Silence followed, and you didn’t need to be a genius to know what she was getting at. You recalled how the kids at school would treat Shelley, how they would simultaneously fear and torment her. Her daughter was protective of her space, she was protective of her daughter, and she was allowing you access to both.

“I understand,” you eventually forced out, nodding.

It was quick, but her cold visage transformed almost instantly, that ever-polite smile on her pink lips. In no time, Olivia Godfrey had turned back around and was continuing to lead you through the mansion. She droned on about the different rooms, making a point to comment on your chances of getting lost should you need to use the bathroom or something.

“Shelley must get all of her rest as growing teens do, so you won’t be staying all hours of the night, but you will be welcome to join us for dinner should you ever choose to.”

You didn’t know if you’d ever take her up on the offer, but you welcomed the polite invite, nonetheless.

You’d been tutoring Shelley for four days when you finally came face to face with him. Roman Godfrey—tall and spoiled and possessing the kind of face every girl you knew would gush over. You’d been in the same graduating class, but you were sure that you’d never talked to Roman once, not until you were in his house and eating his food, at least. You recalled walking to and from school most days, your gaze catching sight of that bright red convertible.

Since graduating, you didn’t see it as much.

After reuniting in his dining room…you saw it all the time.

“Sweetheart, you remember Y/N, don’t you?” Olivia’s articulate speech filled the air as soon as her son stepped through the threshold. “I believe she graduated with you last year.”

She continued after looking to you for confirmation, smiling at her son when you nodded.

“She’s been tutoring Shelley, and she finally took me up on my offer to join us for dinner.”

The dark-haired teenager didn’t say a word at first, slowly making his way to the table. You had never known Roman to look…bad, always dressed immaculate even while wearing the simplest of things. Shelley—a much more outgoing individual than you’d initially believed—had smiled at her brother with his approach. Their mother had started up an entirely different conversation, one you tried to be involved in, but you felt trapped by Roman’s gaze instead.

If you thought Olivia Godfrey was hypnotizing and entrancing in every way, then Roman Godfrey was absolutely paralyzing.

It was hard to look away from him, trying everything in your power to but failing every time. His dark hair was neat and pushed away from his face, perfect and put together even within the privacy of his home. His green eyes didn’t look so green, and you wondered if it was the lighting in the dining room…or something else entirely. When he finally made himself comfortable next to Shelley and diagonal from you, only then did you find the strength to lower your gaze to your food.

Dinner was a talkative affair, Olivia dominating the conversation with the occasional commentary from her son. She pulled you into the dialogue here and there, but with an oppressing gaze weighing down on you, you felt…restricted. It was purely all in your head, you knew that, but you couldn’t fight the thought that Roman was watching your every move—judging you.

You really could not get out of the house fast enough when dinner was over, hoping that your sudden skittishness was not noticeable. Roman’s gaze was something you felt on you even as you insisted you’d make it home just fine. Olivia didn’t fight you too much on it, and you were grateful, and the darkness that met you was somehow less terrifying than vibrant green eyes. It wasn’t until the next day when you realized that Roman wasn’t judging you, at all.

What he was doing was much worse.

“I really don’t mind walking.”

You told him this as he sat in your driveway, that familiar fancy red car taking up residence in it. The sun was out, and he was wearing shades and a thick jacket that made him appear bigger than he actually was. His jaw slowly moved, some gum in his mouth you presumed, and after a moment or two, he slowly turned his head to stare directly at you. Your eyes briefly glanced at his tapping finger against the wheel.

“You’re tutoring Shelley. Why would I make you walk all the way to our house when it’s not like I have anything better to do, anyway?”

He said it so flippantly, almost like this whole ordeal annoyed him, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that his mother made him park in your driveway. However, Roman never struck you as the kind of guy to do something he didn’t want to do, so his attitude only served to confuse you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and although you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew they were fixated on you.

You could feel the heat of them despite the cold air that surrounded you.

After some time of your short impasse, a slow smirk danced along his lips.

“I could always make you…”

His voice was low, and there was something mirthful in his tone, like the idea of dragging you and forcing you into his fancy car was an entertaining one. Something in you told you that he would despite what you wanted to believe, and something else told you that he’d enjoy it very much. With that thought and a sigh, you finally conceded and made your way to his passenger side.

His eyes remained on you the whole way there.

The ride was quiet, the walk from his car to the door even quieter.

Olivia’s voice rang through the house, inquiring as to if that was him coming through the door. The sound of his voice was answer enough, and you looked away from him when he slowly took off his shades.

“…and Y/N.”

Something about the sound of your name coming from his lips unnerved you. It didn’t exactly roll off of his tongue, something mocking in the way he said it, and you stared straight ahead as you walked down the hall in search of Shelley. You didn’t dare look back, afraid of what might be gaining on you.

Roman was the kind of guy that was impossible to ignore. Not only because he was just that imposing, but also because he simply wouldn’t let you. You’d gone to school with him for years, and it wasn’t until you both graduated did you learn that he was needy and constant in his want for attention. He was disturbingly honest, vulnerable to his desire to say the first thing on his mind no matter how inappropriate.

…and he was determined to get what he wanted once he decided he wanted it.

“So what? You didn’t want to fuck off out of this town and go to college or something?”

He asked you one day as you relaxed—as best as you could within his presence, anyway—in the passenger seat of his car. He wasn’t wearing his shades, and you almost missed them when you looked over to meet his green gaze. It was so intense, and there were moments where you were sure that Roman could see right through you.

“Don’t know what I would go for,” you replied, the cold air whipping against your face.

You could feel him looking at you as you stared through the windshield, and you got the feeling that he wanted you to elaborate on that. Even if you did know how to talk to Roman, you still wouldn’t. He made you uncomfortable in ways you couldn’t even explain, and the worst thing you did was allow him to know that.

There always seemed to be some sick pleasure in his eyes, the green of them glinting with something unknown to you. He watched you like a cat would a mouse, a wolf would a deer, a predator fully amusing itself with the prey it had in its line of reach. Only, Roman wasn’t some predator. He was some guy, you reminded yourself, and you were simply some girl.

At worst, you likened Roman to that of an asshole with too much free time on his hands.

The only person spared from that was his sister.

“You’re good with her,” he commented, turning his car off as it sat in your driveway.

Your hand was on the handle, seconds away from exiting the vehicle when he spoke. His voice had startled you, used to the silence of his unwavering gaze as he watched you exit his car and go into the house. You watched him place a cigarette between his lips, the flame from his lighter brightening his face in the night. The smell of smoke followed soon after.

“Shelley,” he explained, exhaling. “You’re good with her. She likes you.”

You glanced away, squirming in your seat when presented with an actual conversation you could have with the rich boy.

“I like her too. She’s very sweet…and…even funny, sometimes.”

You shrugged when he looked at you, pulling another drag, and the longer he stared at you, the more uncomfortable you started to feel. You looked away, gaze falling to your purse at your feet, preparing to grab it and wish him a good night when he spoke again.

“My mother thinks I stare at you too much.”

His words shocked you, and your eyes widened when you looked at him again. He wasn’t looking at you, now, smoking and partaking in his cigarette. Your own lips parted, unsure of how to respond to that, and he took another drag, loudly exhaling. Roman had a habit of saying anything that was on his mind, so that wasn’t what shocked you. You were shocked because it wasn’t all in your head…

…and that someone else had noticed too.

“She’s right,” he breathed, gazing at you, now, and you swallowed.

His eyes were taken with the action, lowering and resting on your neck for a few seconds too long. It was late and dark, save for the half moon in the sky, but something in his gaze seemed to shift as he stared at your throat, eyes tracing the very top of your chest before they met yours again.

You swore they weren’t as green, now.

“I do stare,” he murmured, looking away and taking another pull—a final pull—of the cigarette between his fingers. “You’re pretty…and I sometimes wonder if you were this pretty in school.”

You didn’t know if you liked where this conversation was going, straightening and looking away.

“School was only six months ago,” you mumbled, finally speaking after some time. “I can’t possibly look that different.”

Roman chuckled then, and it was a genuine sound, and so you didn’t know if he was laughing at you or himself.

“You’re right,” he relented. “I was probably just too busy fucking cheerleaders and paying already rich girls for sex.”

You grimaced, reaching for your purse, now when he stopped you. You were alarmed by the feel of his hand on your wrist, and when you looked up at him from your leaned over position, it seemed that Roman was somewhat startled by his own actions. Like he’d always entertained the thought but never imagined he’d go through with it. He quickly let you go like you’d burned him, and you slowly sat up as he cleared his throat.

“Shelley’s gonna be hanging out with our uncle tomorrow…” he looked away. “They’re close like that, but… That doesn’t mean I still can’t pick you up.”

He said a whole lot without saying much, and you felt your stomach twist. Roman was used to telling a girl he wanted her and then…well…having her. You’d seen it many times, the way they flocked to him and preened at the opportunity to fuck Roman Godfrey, and it wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive…because he was.

…and he knew it.

Roman scared you. Everything about him seemed designed with the key purpose of repelling you. He was too observant, too sure of himself, too…creepy. These weren’t things you could overlook, and instead of helping him, you were sure that his looks didn’t help your feelings. Roman didn’t look real at times—genetically altered even—and it only made you think there was something…inhuman about him.

Something that told you he wasn’t like you…and you should be wary.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you honestly replied, and you didn’t stick around to look at his face.

You held your purse to you as you got out of his car, and you reluctantly looked at him, your sympathetic gaze meeting his even one.

“I’m just here to tutor Shelley…and…we should probably keep it that way.”

You kept your rejection soft, and you turned away from him before he could reply. You ignored the feel of his gaze boring into your back, wrapping your arms around yourself as some half assed protection against the cold. You couldn’t get in your house fast enough, and you swore that you’d been leaning against the door for at least half an hour, waiting to hear him finally drive off.

The first night Roman raped you, it was raining.

Storming, to be more specific. It was odd because it was winter, and Pennsylvania was known for its summer storms. It was why you were even at the mansion so late, Roman refusing to drive in the violent downpour and you unable to walk. Olivia seemed to care neither here nor there about the whole thing, almost annoyingly cavalier about your plight.

“Oh, darling, you know how unpredictable a bit of rain can be,” she’d said, a glass of wine in her hand. “There’s no shortage of guest rooms. Find one for the night. I’m sure Roman can be of some help in that department.”

You hadn’t missed her crooked smile, an almost wicked sight as she softly chuckled to herself. She clearly found her son’s attraction to you amusing, harmless even, while you found it uncomfortable at best. Shelley was the one to help you get sorted for the night, visible eye soft and smile even softer as she pointed out where the towels and such would be.

You hadn’t realized you’d forgotten the problem of clothes until you stepped out of the shower to find some on the counter.

You froze at the sight, sure that you hadn’t heard a soul come in. At least…no one who wanted to be heard, and you grimaced before putting them on. Walking the corridors of The Godfrey Mansion with clothes in hand felt weird, and when you made it to your chosen guest bedroom of the night, you still didn’t relax.

Nothing about the mansion was calming, and the raging storm outside only made it worse. You laid in bed for a long time, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, just waiting for your heart to stop racing and your mind to grow quiet. It felt like forever, but it happened, and when it did, you finally felt your lashes flutter.

Sleep was finally yours.

…and then you woke up.

The sharp stabbing pain had you sitting up in bed, hand pressed to your stomach at the ache you felt deep within it. The familiar ache, and you felt your heart sink, wondering how your night could possibly get any worse. You didn’t need to look at the bed to know that you’d left something behind, only searching for your purse, positive you had an extra pad or tampon or something.

Relief filled your heart, and product in hand, you made your way into the hall in search of the bathroom. So focused on your pain and finding the bathroom, you didn’t mind the dark corridor, at all. Any other night, and you might have been hypervigilant with fear, but as it were, you could only focus on stopping any more ruin of the pajamas you’d been given.

It was a noise from behind you that gave you pause, and as you turned around, all those childhood stories about the fearful Godfrey Mansion came to mind. Every manifestation of what goes bump in the night filled your mind, but as you stared into the darkness, darkness was all you were met with. Telling yourself that an old mansion was bound to creak and groan, you turned away.

…and straight into Roman.

His very presence forced a shriek from your lips, and in your panic, your hands pressed to his chest. His bare chest. You didn’t register it, at first, so focused on trying to calm your heart and relax again. Your hands were empty, your saving grace of the night on the floor, and when you took a step back to pick it up, Roman took one forward.

You paused at the action.

“Roman-.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

The question came out somewhat harsh, and you squinted at him in the darkness. It threw you off for several reasons, but mostly because you didn’t understand what he meant. As best as you could make it out in the darkness, his face seemed contorted, pinched actually—eyes narrowed, lips pursed, and gaze riddled with accusations.

“…what? Roman, what are you-.”

Your words died in the air when he forced himself closer, a strange look on his face as he eyed you. You watched his nostrils flare, another step forward from Roman, and you finally took another back. He was so close, too close, and when you blinked, you remembered that you didn’t have time to try and understand Roman tonight. Ignoring him, you reached down, and as soon as your hand was around what you so desperately needed, another hand was coming down on your wrist.

You reacted harshly, flinching and crying out, and you registered that Roman’s grip was actually…painful.

You were both standing now, Roman still holding onto you, and his nose brushed against yours as he leaned in. His hair, normally so neat and perfectly in place, was kissing his forehead. The dark strands were going every which way, and when his lips parted, a soft exhale escaping in time with a flutter of his lashes, only then did you say his name again.

As if waking up from a dream, you watched his eyes focus in on your face, really focus, and it took him some time to let you go.

Your wrist ached, his phantom touch lingering, and you held it to you protectively. You felt that you could really see into Roman’s eyes, now, and the mansion lit up from a brief flash of lightning. His own eyes glinted, and you recalled that the last time you and Roman were this close, he was trying to spend time with you outside of his sister’s tutoring.

…and you’d turned him down.

When he took a step back, he finally spoke again.

“Looking for the bathroom?”

You wondered how he knew that, but you surmised that it was a good guess. After all, it was the middle of the night, and you were roaming the corridors with a tampon in hand. At your nod, he slowly smiled at you, something mocking in it as he reached out to rest a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s over here,” he told you. “You’ll get lost without me.”

His voice was smooth, tone almost gentle, and it was like that awkward and startling moment had never even happened. His touch was light on your arm as he guided you through the darkness, and as uncomfortable as Roman made you, in your predicament, you didn’t have much choice but to follow his lead. The muffled sound of rain was all that surrounded you, and when Roman finally reached what looked like the bathroom, you relaxed.

“They say sex helps with that…”

You paused, looking at the rich boy, and his visage was serious.

“The cramps,” he continued with a raise of his brows as if you didn’t know what he was getting at.

“So, I’ve heard,” you said after some time, unsure of how to even respond to that.

When you walked into the bathroom, you were shocked by the feel of Roman ripping the tampon out of your hand. The light from the bathroom lit up the hallway behind him, the darkness on the edge of the doorway making him look…ominous. His gaze was unreadable, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

“You’re not funny,” you told him, reaching for it, but he only held it out of reach. “Roman…”

You stumbled back when he crossed the threshold, blocking the doorway completely, and irritated and in pain, you were losing your patience for his game. He could be such a child sometimes, demanding attention at the worst moment possible, and you grabbed the tampon with a quickness. Only, Roman held onto it too, and he pushed at your hand, forcing you back in the process.

His green irises glinted under the light.

“Roman…”

You words died in the air when his hand slid to wrap around your wrist like earlier, and you felt your heart…drop.

The way he stared at you, something about it was terrifying, and his eyes started to appear almost unfocused. His hand tightened, and you winced, and you were just about to say his name again when the sound of the door clicking shut reached your ears. You blinked, looking behind him, unaware that he’d forced you both so far into the bathroom with enough room to kick the door shut. Like the first day you came face to face with him again, you felt paralyzed, trapped under the crushing weight of his gaze, and you could feel your heart speed up.

His hold on your arm prevented you from moving when he kissed you.

You were in shock, feeling wholly out of control that you just stood there, unable to quite feel his lips on yours. You felt crowded by him, forced to hold still lest you provoke something impulsive, and you didn’t even register just how painful his hold on your wrist became. You only blinked when the stabbing pain deep in the pit of your stomach reminded you of your plight.

Pulling away, you pushed at his chest.

“Roman, what the hell?”

Your lower back painfully met the sink, and you simultaneously tried to lean away and push him away too. His other hand snaked around your neck, your head harshly pressing against the mirror, and you whined in frustration. His lithe frame found a home between your kicking legs, and your panic seized you when he kissed you again.

Fighting against Roman felt like a lost cause—he was stronger than he looked.

The kiss felt hungry, like he was trying to devour you, and you whined again as he pressed you against the sink more. The hand on your wrist kept your arm outstretched, and he let out a sound in between the kiss that sounded somewhat like a hiss. His breathing was heavy too, and when he finally let your neck go, there was no sense of relief.

You pushed at him as he pulled at your pants, and they were barely to your knees when Roman suddenly dropped. One hand on your leg kept you from moving, the other preoccupied with getting the other out of the borrowed pajamas. Horror and confusion were battling within you, and all you could manage to do was hit at the wall when he dipped his head between your thighs.

Horrifying and bloody circumstances aside, you didn’t want this.

You cried out his name, throat tightening, and your free leg banged against the sink cabinet. One of his hands had a death grip on your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin so harshly you knew it would bruise. He kept it pushed away, practically flat against the counter, the stretch burning in a way that made you wince. However, the feel of his tongue between your legs made for a confusing reaction.

Your head was spinning at the feel of his tongue sliding along your bloody folds, lips completely covering your mound as he sucked at you. Your eyes rolled, and it was hard to focus on the true nature of what was going on. Your toes curled under his ministrations, and your nails scraped against the wall and counter top.

“Roman, stop,” you choked out, heart beating wildly in your chest.

You finally pushed at his chest, whining in both pain and pleasure when he refused to move, only lapping at you harder. Your stomach was tightening for more reasons than one, now, and despite the cold season and cold mansion, you felt so hot. Too hot.

Roman hooked his arm under your thigh, yanking you down further, and you were in too much of an awkward and painful position to properly fight back. When your nails dug into his face, his other arm wrapped around your free leg, forcing that one where he wanted it to be too. You couldn’t even grapple with the full circumstances of Roman with his face between your legs during that time of the month, reaching out at the wall and counter in panic when he fell back, taking you with him.

Unable to move, you were forced to sit on his face, hands pushing against the wall behind him as a means to get free. That tightening in your gut was accompanied with a pleasant burn, now, and  your breath hitched, lashes fluttering at that tightening coil, shrinking more and more until it had no choice but to release, making you gasp when it did.

The moan you let out was unlike anything you’d heard from yourself, shocked at the strain in your voice. You couldn’t breathe fast enough, sucking in air with a swimming vision. In Roman’s greedy consumption of you, his hold loosened, and you didn’t hesitate to push yourself off of him. You were still shaking, the remnants of your orgasm gripping you, and your eyes were wide as you looked at Roman. He laid on the floor with parted lips, slowly blinking in wonder as he ran his hands through his hair.

The entire bottom half of his face was covered in your blood.

You felt frozen, unsure of how to even process what had just happened. You were so confused and disturbed and scared, staring at Roman like he was something not of this world, and when you finally shifted, that’s when he seemed to remember your presence, green eyes landing on you with a quickness that made you freeze up, as if trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Your scream rang throughout the bathroom when he lunged for you.

Roman’s bloody face was all you could focus on as he hovered over you, pushing his cock into you over and over again. Every time his hips met yours, your chest arched up against his, back curving and eyes rolling. Roman was so silent that you would’ve swore he was possessed, but there was an awareness in his green gaze that told you he was anything but.

His hands held yours down, dark brown hair hanging into his forehead. On the off chance that he smiled, it was a bloody one, and it scared you more than anything. The bathroom floor was cool against your naked back, and through the haze of Roman’s assault, you realized—with reluctance—that the feel of his cock driving in and out of you was indeed helping with your cramps.

The inside of your thighs were a bloody mess, much like his face, and as disgusting as it was, it was the least of your worries. Roman was a lot of things, annoyingly arrogant above all else, but you never pegged him for a rapist. A freak, maybe, yes, but a rapist? No. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the bathroom, and so focused on the feel of him plunging into you, you couldn’t even pinpoint when the storm had ended.

You cried out, tears spilling over as you pressed your hands against the hood of his car. You kept trying to push yourself up, but Roman’s determined hands kept shoving you back down. The moon was hidden by the clouds, no visible light shining down on his assault, a hand of his twisted at the nape of your neck.

You pressed your nails against his vehicle, and that was when he yanked you back, lips at your ear.

“Don’t scratch the fucking paint,” Roman spat, sounding very mad by the mere thought, and you insulted him several times over behind closed lips.

You’d tried to quit after that horrific stormy night in which Roman raped you on the bathroom floor. You’d given Olivia Godfrey every excuse in the book and tried to gently let Shelley down many times over, but the single matriarch simply wouldn’t hear it. She rolled her eyes in that coquettish way she tended to do, a soft smirk on her pink lips. Or she’d simply laugh you off, a sharp ‘nonsense’ soon to follow.

“Am I not paying you enough? Do you want more?”

“It’s not about the money,” you’d replied.

No amount of money in the world could possibly make up for the sick deviant that was her son.

After he came inside of you, breathless and satisfied, he’d dragged you crying and kicking all the way to his room. Any fight from you was immediately squashed down, and you didn’t know if Roman had snorted a few lines of coke or what, but no one was more shocked than you when he pushed you onto his bed, determined to continue what he’d started in the bathroom.

You’d been a dazed and abused mess when you snuck out in the early hours of the morning, half dressed and still bleeding. It hadn’t been Roman that came for you, but Olivia instead, talks of obligations and Shelley. No amount of refusal had deterred her, and you got the strangest feeling that the older woman fully knew the extent of just how her son felt about you.

You felt trapped.

By kind and sweet Shelley who broke your heart to leave, by Olivia who wanted to spoil her son with his new plaything of choice, and most of all by Roman who decided he had to have something once he wanted it. The last time you’d tried to quit, Olivia merely waved you off with a soft laugh, and when you turned around, none other than Roman had been at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

It was how you found yourself in his car, no choice but to let him drive you home. You hadn’t uttered a word to him since that night, and as you very well knew… Roman hated to be ignored. He was going to command your attention one way or another, and you hadn’t even heard him open his door after you, following close behind until his hands were on you and pushing you down onto his car.

Your forehead grazed the vehicle as he plunged his cock into you, stretching you out in your driveway for anyone to see. The embarrassment of such a thought was what kept you quiet, tears kissing your cheeks as you were forced to take his thrusts. His jeans were pulled down just enough to give him room to fuck you as he wanted, your own pants down around your ankles while he rutted into you.

When Roman came, he pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in with deep inhales. You could feel his heartbeat against your back, and you sniffed, shakily reaching up to wipe your face. Roman remained where he was for a few moments too long, just basking in the feel of you wrapped around him, and after some time, he let out a low chuckle.

It was a disturbing sound.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about this pussy since that night…” he breathed, finally pulling away.

You felt him right himself, and he was rough in doing the same to you, pulling your pants up. Once done, he rested his hands on your hips, remaining close and leaning in.

“Quit trying to quit,” he harshly said. “My sister really likes you, and if you hurt her feelings, I’ll make you choke on it.”

You stumbled back when he finally pulled away to make his way to the driver’s seat. You wrapped your arms around yourself, struggling to swallow as you accepted the truth in his words. You believed him wholeheartedly, and you trembled from more than just the cold as you watched him speed away in that fancy red car.

You knew that you wouldn’t be getting much sleep, and you hated how right you were when you were staring at your ceiling hours later. Like the day after that night, you’d scrubbed yourself until you felt raw, but even still, you could feel his hands on you. Those long fingers that were more reminiscent of spider legs than limbs.

Roman Godfrey was equally rotten inside as he was beautiful.

You discovered just how rotten only a week later when he was holding you down for the umpteenth time, a wicked smile on his lips just before leaning down. The sharp pain where your shoulder and neck met made you jerk beneath him, and beneath the cover of darkness, you just knew that the strong smell that hit your nose was blood.

You didn’t think it was possible for Roman to horrify you any more.

…but he did, and you screamed, and he only held you tighter. He was resting comfortably between your parted legs, fitting snuggly inside of you as he made a pulling sensation with his mouth. You squirmed beneath him, fighting and pushing back as much as you could, but he wasn’t deterred. You could feel his hips jerk, a gasp escaping you as he thrust into you to the hilt.

Your hands clawed at his bedding, the sound of tearing fabric reaching your ears above the low moans that left Roman. When he got his fill, you were a sobbing mess, reaching up to clutch your neck as he curved his hips into yours. You could feel some of your blood drip onto you from his mouth, and when his bloody lips met yours, you gagged.

Your disbelief was forced to be suspended with the unfortunate truth that was right in front of you. You didn’t really care about what was possible or not in that moment, only wanting to get away from him. Roman seemed entertained with your struggle, fighting with your hands as he fucked you, a tight grip on your wrist. The other hand danced down your body, light touches and skin grazes along the way.

“Look at me,” he murmured, drunk off the taste of you. “Look at me.”

His bloody hand on your face forced you to do just that, and his calm voice stopped you from shaking. Even in the dark, it was like his green irises were all you could see, and the color was so calming—so soothing—that when he told you to relax…you did.

You felt so at ease as he slowly thrust into you, pulling out until only the tip of him remained before pushing all the way back in again. The feel made you sighed, and Roman sighed too, a soft hum escaping him. Deep in the back of your mind, you were still terrified of the dark-haired boy, but despite that, you just felt so calm.

“Good,” he softly purred. “Good girl.”

One of his hands rested on the headboard above you, the other pressed into the pillow beside your head. You were so relaxed that all you could do was stare up at him as he surged over you again and again, retreating with every pull of his hips and driving forward with every thrust. Relaxed, you were more able to focus on the sound of his cock sinking into you, the squelching noise reaching your ears as your body fought to cling to him and keep him from leaving each and every time.

Dazedly, you reached up to touch your neck again, the smell of blood strong, and as you lifted your hand to look at it, Roman leaned down to cover your fingers with his mouth. The hum that met your ears was one of appreciation, and when you came for the first time that night, you were met with another.

“You’ve had enough?” he wondered, hand pressed into your stomach as he drove his hips against yours. “…or you want more from daddy?”

His voice was low and gruff, strained with emotion as he basked in the tight and warm feel of you. It didn’t really matter what your answer would be for Roman had already decided to fuck you well into the night as he wished. When you came for a final time, his hands were leaving bruises into your hips, and you were ripping his sheets apart.

The woods of Hemlock Grove seemed extra thick and hazardous tonight, as if it was their sole purpose to slow you down and trap you for him.

Bite marks and bruises littered your skin for months before you finally cracked. Months of walking into The Godfrey Mansion with fear, tutoring Shelley and distracted the entire time by thoughts of Roman. Wondering when he’d come to collect you, what corner he might pop out of, when you might feel the brush of his touch along your shoulder. You didn’t stay for dinner anymore, unable to sit across from Roman and have him stare you down as he reminisced on the feel of you coming around him, bleeding and broken.

Olivia Godfrey pretended not to notice Roman shadowing you like a ghost, like a grim reaper come to collect what he felt he was owed. She smiled that coy smile and waved around those waifish arms, all the while nursing a cigarette or a drink, fully aware of what her spoiled son got up to under the cover of darkness when no one could see your abuse at his hands.

Your last period had been your last straw, shuddering at the memory of Roman keeping you prisoner on top of him as he ate you out so long that it started to grow painful at some point. When he finally sank into you—in more ways than one—you couldn’t even try to enjoy it, too overstimulated to the point where you kept trying to get away.

Roman was sound asleep when you ran.

…but he was wide awake in time to run after you.

You truly didn’t even know where you were going, so set on just getting away from the terrifying boy that you just let your feet carry you. The biting air cut at your skin, and the leaves crunched beneath you. It was only moments ago when his voice had rang through the trees, your name bouncing off of the trunks as he desperately called for you.

“I can smell you!”

That fact did not deter you, sure that you could escape him. Every whip of a branch cut into you, and you knew the blood that you felt was the very same blood he smelled. The steep inclines and downward slopes of Hemlock Grove slowed you down, tiring you out, and your chest hurt from your harsh sobs. You had just pulled yourself up a small hill when you fell to the ground.

You were not alone.

“Y/N,” Roman snarled, a guttural edge to his voice that made you cry harder. “Get back here!”

He screamed it so passionately and loudly that it actually made you wince, and your vision was blurred from your tears as you clawed at the ground, fighting to get away from him. His fingers dug into your pants, preventing you from moving as much as you wanted, and despite the fact that you knew no one would come, you screamed for help when he crawled up your body.

He slammed your head into the ground, impulsively, and you saw stars in your vision. He succeeded in what he wanted, halting your movements for a time as you fought to collect yourself. In that time, Roman had already covered your frame, chest completely pressed down on your back. His hand closed around your throat, pulling your head back some.

“Don’t be stupid,” he roughly told you, lips at your ear. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

You clawed at the dirt and leaves as his other hand reached beneath you, sliding into your pants with ease and cupping you. He made a noise of appreciation at the feel, and as Roman told you that you’d never escape him, he sank his teeth into your neck.

In your despair, you accepted this truth.

[v6quewrlds]

❝ nothing on me, d. booker. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: you and your girls decided that november will be dedicated to self-discovery. as innocent as your pact is, devin can't wrap his head around why you need to "decenter men".

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: a little devin fic for all my book girlies <3 can't believe there aren't more devin fics on here but we ball! day four of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: devin booker x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 3k.

"Damn, you looking good enough to eat," Devin murmured, his eyes tracing the curves of your body as you stepped out of the bathroom, the steam wrapping around you like a seductive embrace.

You rolled your eyes playfully, a knowing smirk playing on your plump lips. "Don't start, Devin. You know the next three weeks is about self-care for me and the girls." You padded over to the bed, your skin glowing from the warm shower, and slipped into a pair of oversized sweatpants and a tank top.

Devin sat up, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. "Come on, babe, that's some bullshit some losers came up with to last a month without jacking off." He threw his hands up in exasperation, his gold necklace glinting in the soft light of your bedroom.

"It's not 'No Nut November', Devin," you corrected him with a laugh, your pressed hair cascading over your shoulders. "It's about us focusing on ourselves, not just sex." You grabbed your phone from the nightstand, scrolling through social media as if his whining was a mere background noise.

"But what about me, baby?" Devin whined, his voice dripping with false innocence. He reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You know I need you."

You glanced at him, your brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "You'll survive, boo," you said, your voice a sweet, teasing melody. "Besides, it's not like you're gonna be celibate or anything. You can still jack off, just not around me. I'm decentering men, remember?"

Devin pouted, his bottom lip sticking out in the most adorable way you had ever seen. "But it’s not the same," he complained, his voice taking on a child-like whine that you couldn't help but find endearing.

You couldn't help but laugh, your light, airy chuckle filling the room. "I'm sure you'll manage," you said, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Besides, I've got a girls' trip in two weeks, so you'll have plenty of time to handle your own business."

Devin's face fell, but he quickly recovered with a smirk. "Alright, I guess I can handle that." He leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms behind his head. "But when you come back, all bets are off, right?"

You just winked at him and said, "We'll see," before leaving the room.

The weeks passed by in a blur of work and preparations for the girls' trip. Devin did his best to respect your boundaries, though he couldn't help but drop hints here and there about what he had in mind for when you returned. You, on the other hand, remained steadfast in your commitment, focusing on yourself and your friendships. The anticipation grew like a slow burn between you, the tension palpable.

When your week-long escape to Miami with your friends finally came to an end, you practically waltzed through the airport, your skin kissed by the Florida sun, and your spirit rejuvenated. Devin had arranged for a luxurious ride home, a sleek black Escalade with a bouquet of your favorite roses waiting inside. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement when you saw his text message confirming his surprise.

"Welcome back, baby," he'd written, along with a heart emoji.

As you stepped into the car, you couldn't help but smile. Devin had always been good at surprises, and you were eager to see what he had in store for you. When you walked into your apartment, you were greeted by the heavenly scent of your favorite comfort meal. The living room was lit with the soft glow of candles, and a bottle of your favorite wine chilled on the counter. You could tell he'd been waiting for you, the pent-up energy in the air was thick with anticipation.

Devin emerged from the kitchen, his tall frame backlit by the stove's warm light, a chef's apron tied around his waist. "Welcome home. You hungry, baby?" he asked, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine. Despite your best efforts, you felt the heat between your legs begin to build.

"Starving," you replied, dropping your luggage by the door. You watched as Devin sauntered over to you with a confidence that could only come from knowing what awaited you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a kiss that was both tender and demanding. His lips tasted of mint and the faint hint of something sweet you couldn't quite place, making you crave more of him.

The two of you broke apart, and you looked up into his eyes, which had darkened with desire. "You didn’t have to do all this," you said, your voice thick with lust.

Devin smirked. "I wanted to make sure you had something to come home to. Show you what you been missing out on, decentering men and shit." His hands roamed down your back, slipping under the waistband of your linen pants.

You giggled, pushing his hands away gently. "You're such a fool, you know that?" But you couldn't deny the way your body responded to his touch. You stepped back, taking in the sight of him in the apron. "Maybe I should decenter men more often if this is the kind of treatment I get."

Devin's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "You say that now, but you know you missed this." He winked, his dimples deepening, and you couldn't help but melt a little inside.

"Maybe just a little," you admitted, your voice breathy with desire. He took your hand and led you to the kitchen table, which was set with your finest silverware and adorned with more candles. The food looked like it had been plucked from the pages of a gourmet magazine—grilled chicken with a side of asparagus and perfectly seasoned rice.

You ate in a comfortable murmur of conversation, occasionally exchanging heated glances that spoke volumes of the passion you had stored up. You felt the tension between you build with each bite, like a simmering pot about to boil over. After dinner, Devin cleared the plates away and turned the music up. The bass thumped through the walls, setting the mood as he approached you with a slow, deliberate stride.

"Ready to get re-centered?" he asked, his voice low as he poked fun at your earlier declaration. The corner of your mouth quirked up in a half smile, your eyes brushing over the clean, empty plates. You took a deep breath, the scent of the meal lingering sweetly in the air, and nodded.

Devin didn't waste any time. He pulled you to your feet, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. He spun you around, pressing you against the counter as he kissed your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Your hands found his chest, your fingers digging into his muscles as you arched into his embrace. You could feel his hardness against you, a promise of what was to come.

"Take your top off," he whispered in your ear, his voice a seductive rumble. You complied, the top of your linen set sliding off your shoulders and falling to the floor. Devin's eyes raked over you, his desire for you clear as day. He traced the curve of your features before leaning down to press chaste kisses along your shoulder, making you shiver.

As the music filled the room, Devin's hands slipped lower, caressing your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. Your hands wound around his neck, your nails lightly scratching his skin. He groaned, his mouth moving down to suck on your neck, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"I missed you," Devin murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Missed this." His hands began to explore, cupping your breasts through your bra, fitting them perfectly in his palms. You gasped, your knees slightly buckling at the sensation. You leaned into him, your body begging for more.

With a deft flick, Devin unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His thumbs brushed your hardened nipples, teasing them into peaks as your eyes closed, your head falling back onto his shoulder in pleasure. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress that sent goosebumps skittering across your flesh. He kissed the nape of your neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty sweetness of your skin.

Your breath hitched as Devin's hands continued to wander, sliding down your abdomen to the waistband of your pants. His fingers danced there, tracing the fabric before slipping inside, finding you wet and ready. You moaned, your hips rocking back into him as he touched you with the expertise of a maestro playing a melody. The ache within you grew stronger, the need to feel him inside you becoming unbearable.

With a playful growl, Devin scooped you up into his arms, carrying you to your bedroom as if you weighed nothing at all. He laid you down on the velvet comforter, your body a canvas of passion waiting to be explored. He stripped away your pants and underwear, his eyes never leaving yours as he took in the sight of you. "You're mine," he said, his voice filled with a possessive hunger that sent a thrill through you.

Your breath was ragged, your chest rising and falling with anticipation. Devin knelt beside the bed, his eyes feasting on your naked body. He took off his apron and shirt in one fluid motion, revealing his sculpted chest and abs. The candlelight danced across his skin, giving him an almost divine glow. You felt your body responding to the sight of him, your thighs quivering as he leaned over you, his mouth watering at the sight of your wetness.

Without a word, Devin began to kiss you, starting at your ankles and moving upwards. His lips traced a fiery path up your calves, his tongue darting out to taste the salt on your skin. He reached your inner thighs, nipping gently, making you squirm with pleasure. When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, your breaths were coming in short gasps. You could feel the heat of his breath on your sensitive flesh, and you were close to begging.

"Devin," you panted, his name a plea on your lips. He looked up, his eyes locked with yours as he pushed two fingers inside you. He watched your face contort with pleasure, his eyes glued to yours as he stroked your pussy with a precision that left you breathless. The room spun around you, the candlelight blurring into a sea of heat and desire.

Devin chuckled against your skin, the vibrations sending aftershocks through you. He kissed his way up your stomach, his teeth grazing your flesh as he went until he reached your lips.

The kiss was deep and hungry, a declaration of his need for you. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and you reached down to stroke him through his sweatpants. With a sudden movement, you pushed him onto his back and straddled him, your wetness slick against him.

Devin's hands slid up your waist, gripping your hips as you rocked against him. "Take it off," you demanded, nodding to his pants. He complied eagerly, his cock springing free and standing tall between you. You bit your lips, your eyes dark with desire as you took him in your hand, stroking him with a firm, steady grip that made him groan.

"You been missing this, too?" you taunted, your thumb brushing the bead of precum at the tip. Devin's only response was a nod, his eyes hooded and his breath coming in pants. You smirked before leaning down to kiss him, your tongues dancing together as you lined him up with your entrance. With a slow, deliberate motion, you slid down onto him, your walls enveloping him in a warm, tight embrace.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, his thumbs playing with your sensitive nipples. You began to move, your hips rolling in a sensual dance that had Devin's eyes rolling back in his head. You took your time, savoring every inch of him, your muscles contracting around his cock in a delicious rhythm that had you both panting for more.

Your kisses grew more fervent, your bodies moving together in a symphony of passion that had been denied for too long. You felt Devin's hands tighten on your hips, urging you faster, harder, as he matched you stroke for stroke. The sound of your skin slapping together filled the room, mingling with your moans and gasps.

"You feel so good," Devin managed to murmur between breaths. His eyes were glued to your bouncing breasts, the sight making him throb with desire.

"Mmhmm," you agreed, your voice a low, sultry hum that vibrated through your chest and into his. You leaned forward, your wetness smearing on his abs as you took his face in your hands and kissed him deeply. The taste of wine still lingered on his tongue, a tantalizing mix of sweet and savory that only served to fuel the fire burning within you.

With a growl, Devin flipped your positions, his hands gripping your waist as he thrust up into you. The sudden change in angle sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp. He took your hands in his and pinned them above your head, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to move. Each thrust was deep and purposeful as if he was trying to claim every inch of your being.

Your bodies moved in a perfect harmony, each stroke bringing you two closer to the edge. Devin's abs flexed with every movement, his muscles rippling under your fingertips. You couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of him, at the raw power and passion that he brought to the bed. It was like watching a masterpiece come to life, each motion a stroke on the canvas of your love.

Your nails dug into his skin as you met his rhythm, your hips rising to meet him, welcoming him deeper. Devin's eyes were dark with lust, his breaths coming in harsh pants. "You're so fucking tight, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse. You just smiled up at him, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you reveled in the sensation.

"I'm gonna cream this pretty pussy," Devin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he pounded into you. You threw your head back, your hair fanning out on the pillow, and let out a whispered moan. Your nails dug into his back, leaving trails of red against his caramel skin as you urged him deeper.

"You better not stop," you warned through gritted teeth, your eyes meeting Devin's. The challenge of the past few weeks had only served to amplify your desire for each other, and now that the dam had broken, you were both eager to dive into the depths of your passion.

"Baby, you're so wet," Devin murmured, his voice thick with need. He increased his pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with a delicious ease that had you moaning his name.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, your body lost to the feeling of Devin's thick cock filling you up. You had missed this, the way he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world, the way he knew exactly how to touch you to make you come undone. "Harder," you begged, your voice a desperate whine.

Devin obliged, his hips snapping against yours with a force that made the bed shake. The headboard slammed into the wall in time with your frenzied movements, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. Your legs pulled him deeper, urging him to take everything you had to give.

"Oh, shit," Devin groaned, his strokes becoming erratic as he felt himself nearing the edge. Your pussy clenched around him, your orgasm building like a crescendo. "Keep squeezing me like that, baby," he managed, his breath hot against your neck. "Make me come."

Your eyes snapped open, and you met his gaze with a fierce determination. You clamped down on him, your muscles tightening as you reached the start of your climax. Devin's eyes rolled back, and with a roar, he emptied himself inside you, his cock pulsing with the force of his release. You both lay there, panting and trembling, your hearts beating in time with the pounding bass from the speakers.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your heavy breathing and the occasional crackle of the candle flames. Then, Devin leaned down to kiss you, a soft, gentle press of his lips to yours. "Damn, baby," he whispered, his voice a warm caress. "That pussy's a weapon, I swear to god."

You chuckled, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. Your hands gently caressed Devin's back, feeling the sweat that had gathered from your intense lovemaking. "Is that a compliment or?" you teased, your voice a sultry whisper.

Devin grinned down at you, his teeth gleaming in the candlelight. "Both," he said, his voice a gruff rumble. "You always know how to make me lose control."

You giggled, feeling the stickiness between your thighs as you snuggled closer to him. Devin pulled out gently, rolling over to grab a towel from the nearby chair. He wiped you both down, taking care not to disturb the delicate post-orgasmic bliss that had settled over the two of you like a warm blanket. You lay there, your limbs tangled together, basking in the afterglow of your passionate reunion.

"Mm, I guess I do have that effect on you," you purred, your body still quivering from the intense pleasure Devin had brought you. You couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you had the power to reduce him to a puddle of desire.

Devin chuckled, his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. Your bodies cooled as the candles continued to flicker, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

[keepwaitingforyou]

do you have any facts about dylann that are your favourites? could you share them with us? :3

I already answered this question this morning on my other blog but I'll give some more bc why not

there are supposedly hundreds more photos that he took that still haven't been released to the public

he wrote a letter to tucker carlson

apparently he'd leave in the middle of conversations and go listen to music in his car

in his interrogation, he very incorrectly guessed how long he stayed in the church and forgot what month and day of the week it was

when someone would try to quote dylann, they'd have to get every word exactly how he said it, or else he would say that they're wrong

in 2016 he said he'd rather have bernie sanders as the president than donald trump or hillary clinton

he thought his message would get across better if there were only black people on the jury because he thought white people would want to give him the death penalty so they wouldn't seem racist

he got passport photos taken at cvs. i have no clue why.

when he was a kid, whenever he'd go out to eat with his family he'd almost always order spaghetti

there was a map of the world on the wall of his bathroom and a chair right next to the toilet

and here are the facts from my other post since that blog got termed anyway:

- I've never seen anyone bring this up, but in his bank statements it shows that he went to an aquarium in charleston

- Dylann had a friend who died in November 2013, and he left a tribute on his obituary in May 2015

- his favorite photo is the one he took with the slave mannequins at boone hall plantation

- Dylann bought the rhodesia and apartheid south africa patches on his jacket on the same day that he registered the lastrhodesian.com domain in February 2015, but didn't put his manifesto on his website until the day of the shooting

- he seemed to mostly listen to music on cassette tapes, and asked someone on stormfront if they'd be willing to sell cassettes to him

- he's been described by people who have talked with him and saw him after the shooting as "gentle", "childlike", "polite", "mostly passive and submissive in dealing with others", "wary and sensitive"

- at one point he said he wanted to get a job as a retail worker but thought no one would hire him because of the way he looks

- when dylann was in middle school, he saw a band live and then asked his mom if they could stay in their house. his mom's boyfriend at the time allowed it and the band slept in the basement

- when he was a kid he went on vacation with his family to the florida keys, which was the only time his dad was able to remember dylann befriending someone else

- dylann wanted to change his middle name

- some of his other interests before white nationalism were Star Wars, Maple Story, Bionicles, dogs, and dinosaurs

- Dylann is too shy, socially inept, and easily embarrassed to engage in conversation a lot of the time. He speaks softly and usually only gives one or two word answers. When he'd ask the manager at Clark's for a day off of work, he'd "wring his hands in nervousness"

[thesensteawitch]

Fortune Reading 🔮 FORTUNATE READING

🔮🤎🔮🤎🔮🤎🔮🤎

Pick A Pile

(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Little Things--- leading to BIG things

A fortunate shake up is happening in everyone's life as this lunar eclipse is approaching.

Hello, senstea souls!💜

Welcome to my blog! I am back with another pick a pile reading that is going to reveal to you how fortunate you are!

This is a timeless tarot reading. So remember you find something when you're meant to find it. Sit calmly, grab a snack and take a few breaths before beginning to read.

AND if you end up resonating with the reading and if it touches your heart then do let me know!💜🔮✨

Also, if you wish to know more about you or your life then feel free to DM me and book a reading with me.💟

I am looking forward to your response to this blog.🪄🤍 (Because it took me a lot of energy to do this reading!🥹)

TAROT BOOKING FORM 🍀 • MY RATE CARD✨

Here you go!🌈

Pile 1

Tarot Cards- Two of Cups, Page of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, Judgement, The Hangedman, Knight of Wands

Pile 1!!!!! You leave traces of wisdom behind you. How fortunate! Isn't it? For the people who will find the marks left behind by you and will call it a treasure. Your existence is fortunate for others. The card says, “No matter what has caused your unique point of view to come about—it has come about. ALL-THAT-IS is benefiting from YOUR existence and your point of view.” How fortunate it is to be a source of fortune for others (I write this at 1:11). You're not meant to draw conclusions. You're meant to allude! Allow your mind to flow into the infinite chemistry of this universe. You're reminding me of the temperature card. You embody the essence of the creator, creating life on the outskirts of the well-established towns. But be careful; you're always on the edges, hence prone to confusion and losing balance. How many times have you lived your days on DIYs? Always find a way to do what you are being called to do. HUGE fortune is coming due to your shrewdness and resourcefulness. When you create something from nothing, you show the universe that you deserve everything your heart desires and may seem too far-fetched of a dream. I see, “A beetle and a boat. A dog and a fox.” If you ever had a pet or a friend who is on the other side or is no longer a part of your life (whom you had to let go), then know they are your fortunate blessing in this lifetime because they protect you from the other side and will always be on your side even in separation. I also feel very strongly that the space that once belonged to someone is now empty, and the universe is about to send someone in your life to fill that space. The month of November is shown in the cards. Perhaps, by the month of November, the spaces in your life will be filled. Till then, hold these spaces and keep weaving magic. Your intuition has been guiding you to trust that the universe is about to shower you with an abundance of love and fortune. Prosperity and abundance are very, very strong in your cards. Like I'm literally going to scream out of the intensity of energies. But I can't! Because at the same time your energy makes me feel so calm. It seems someone in your energy wants to scream out of frustration because they want to LOVE YOU. But something is keeping them away. And when it comes to loving yourself, you too have felt like screaming but quickly went back to being gentle with yourself. AND the word FORTUNE has literally appeared in your reading TWICE.

You have swallowed so much of what you could have said when it pinched you to be in a state always trying to make your ends meet. Though undeniably you do it with so much grace and like a witch or wizard, you still deserve the world! 😭 Don't you worry, darling, the door to your bright future has to open now. There's nothing left in this phase for you to learn or grow. AND YET!!! YET???? Yet you've been filling this phase of your life with love. It's like you're on the last page of this book and it's the blank page because the story ended on the page previous to this one, but YOU are even finding so much beauty in the blankness. HOW??? I hear, “It's the end of a decade but the start of a new age.” You're seriously in your power! The way you're dancing on this blank white page is something only highly wise and mature people can do. Bravo! Fate stepped in and forced you to say goodbye. The book that just ended was beautiful, wasn't it? Though it had a sad ending. I hear, “Long, long live the walls we crashed through. Long live the magic we made and the mountains we moved. I had a time of my life fighting dragons with you. Bring all the pretenders; I'm not afraid. We'll be remembered.” You've been fortunate, my dear, pile 1, and you'll always be fortunate. If THAT BOOK and MANY CHAPTERS in it were so beautiful that the ending made you cry for months, then imagine what fate would have in store for you next?????? Have you ever thought of that? This magic that you walk with is what made you exceptional enough to have another beautiful and abundant story of your life. You changed your destiny. YOU GREW! Not everyone has the capability to come out of adverse situations this strong. You're ready. The new book is launching soon. It's time for an upgrade. Expect LOVE AND MIRACLES.

(DM me if you wish to book a reading with me! Thank you!💌)

Tip my blog if you love this message! 🤍

Pile 2

Tarot Cards- Four of Wands, The Magician, Nine of Cups, Nine of Swords, Seven of Wands, Five of Wands

Were you attracted to pile 1 as well? (Or maybe you're attracted to someone whose life is like that of pile 1, lol.) The first card kind of said the same message I just wrote above. So if you were drawn to pile 1, then by all means read it too. I feel some of you feel so okay being a villain in someone's story. You just try to laugh off certain events that have hurt you quite deeply. Have you been having intense dreams lately? You feel fortunate to be able to have control over your emotional set points. You thought you would be alone in this journey, but the universe keeps talking to you no matter where you are! And you feel so mesmerized and fortunate to be on the receiving end of the divine guidance. I can see you smirk, lol. You're so much up in the sky thinking and thinking that you literally have to walk barefoot on Earth to ground yourself. Tell me how blessed you would feel if you were living in the mountains or somewhere where there were trees all around. You LOVE NATURE. Currently, you feel so blessed to be on Earth and experience the natural beauty. It's healing, and it has healed you. And flowers? You love flowers! You're a flower. Maybe someone related you to a particular flower. Or you may often buy flowers for some reason. It seems this pile has been through a lot when it comes to their health. Have you? There's a lot you need to take care of, like what you eat, how much you eat, your supplements, your skin, etc. Every day you're following one or the other self-care practice, and the moment after you finish it, you feel rejuvenated and healthier. Sometimes you fight a lot with yourself to maintain discipline. Be gentle with yourself because it seems you've come a long way and that too alone. You learned all alone what your body needs and what works for you. And yes, keep spending time in nature. It's healing you. Your cards say that very clearly. You're doing it right. Maybe since last December you started taking more care of yourself, and this coming December or 2.5 months from now you'll see huge improvement in your health. You may not have been fortunate in having the support of your loved ones, but you have always been supported by God, and for that, I feel you're really grateful.

Your energy seems like that of the movie ‘Little Forest'. You know how to make yourself feel warm in cold weather. You also remind me of this K-drama named “When the weather is fine.”.

Someone would feel so fortunate to be around you because they think very highly of you and sometimes even feel that you're not their cup of tea. Very few of you are expecting a child (maybe that's why you are taking care of your health) or are about to get married. Some sort of marriage/union is on the cards. Just know you're not alone. And whatever is around you loves you dearly. You just need to learn to handle criticism well because in the past you've been rejected so much that you've become so comfortable in your own company. This upcoming full moon seems to have something good in store for you. Nevertheless, you have your reasons to have this safe space because you have created this serene energy around you, which you needed after a tough war. Just try to be a little social, keeping your boundaries intact. Do you literally dream of marrying someone or had a dream where you were getting married? Union and celebration are on the cards. It seems that you're fighting yourself when it comes to this wish of yours. Did you confess your love to someone in December? (Very specific) Or that's when you met someone, talked to them, or started weaving this wish of yours. Someone's birthday can be in December. You're definitely enjoying your sovereignty at this point. I hear, “When you're young, they assume you know nothing.” Maybe you've really been criticized for your opinions, and that made you go silent and refrain from expressing them. Hufff...my dear pile 2, there's deafening silence in your reading now. I hear, “Since the love that you left is all that I get, I need you to know that if I can't be close to you, then I'll settle for the ghost of you. Young blood thinks there's always tomorrow. I need more time, but time can't be borrowed. If you can't be next to me, your memory is ecstasy.”

Now, I'll say whatever this dream is, know that you're worthy of having it. Whoever this person is, they really think highly of you. It does seem that you're trying to move toward better days, but your emotions come in between. At one moment you feel so optimistic toward this wish of yours, and in another moment your mind turns against you. I hear you saying to yourself, “Oh, don't be so stupid.” Your emotions go up and down. You felt REALLY FORTUNATE when you stopped pursuing this wish, thinking that it's the right decision you're making for some reason. But it seems it was your ego stopping you. I hear, “I can't save us.” Maybe at times you feel you can't save yourself and your dream. Look how the reading took a u-turn. Your energy isn't balanced, my dear, pile 2. I also hear, “Sometimes I look in her eyes, and that's where I find the glimpse of us.” It seems that fortune lies on the other end of your fear. So go for what you have always dreamed of. And if you think you cannot then just let it go. Don't hold your dreams even in your memories. Choice is yours!

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Pile 3

Tarot Cards- Six of Cups, The Star, Justice, Page of Swords, Tower, Eight of Wands

How many of you applied nailpaint or cut your nails recently wondering how would God or an enlightened being respond/would've responded in a certain situation? I feel that there has been pressure from your parents or an authority figure to be a certain way, but you aren't what they have you in their image. You're someone better than their image, someone different, but you don't know how to show that. You put yourself in everyone's shoes (and they are fortunate to have you in their lives), but it seems you don't get that in return. But let me tell you, you won't. Not because life isn't fair but because you start overdoing it; you start walking in other people's shoes and on others's paths. That's how you lost yourself (if you were wondering how you turned into someone you weren't). But now you know better. Better late than never. Maybe something ended or came into light in the month of August (very specific). I hear, “To live for the hope of it all, cancel plans in case you'd call...you weren't mine to lose. But I can see us lost in the memory as August slipped away into a moment of time.” You sacrificed yourself too much for others. Though you are at a stage where you're supposed to rewrite your story and redefine yourself, know that you'll get success in resolving your problems. You're protected from the negative energies beyond your control. I am getting the message that you need to learn to balance your root chakra and keep your feet clean at all times (idk why I channeled that!). Life will naturally bring in opportunities where your best side will come out and people around you will witness it. An advice that is coming for you is to stay clear of any drama from now on.

Because slowly but surely you're moving ahead, so it's important that you keep yourself protected at all times. Don't get yourself involved in others's business as well. It's time for you to have lighthearted days. It seems that you're very fortunate to come out of a situation that was burning your dreams and who you truly are. So at this time it's important you realize your blessings and take care of YOUR needs first. I am channeling the song ‘If we have each other' by Alec Benjamin. “When the world's not perfect, when the world's not kind, if we have each other, we'll both be fine. I am thankful for my sister even though we fight.” Someone—maybe your mother, brother, or sibling—was there for you in difficult times. You're very fortunate to have someone who always looks out for you. The people close to you see you as a star. They KNOW you're amazing! Don't you ever worry about that! You'll be very fortunate to have justice in the area where you gave too much but didn't receive anything in return. Some part of the justice has happened. It's time that you receive the love you deserve, and justice will fully be served. I see you've been cooking lately. Perhaps you should pursue cooking as a side thing. I don't know it may be specific for a very few of you.

You're slowly learning about life and seeing the world from a different perspective. Consistent ideas after ideas are coming. One narrative ends and another emerges, and then that dies too, only for a new one to come to the surface. You're spiritually growing, so keep going, pile 3. New creative ideas are about to come left and right that will pave a way for you to build the life you always wanted to. You'll soon be working toward a dream of yours. The universe is preparing you to receive these ideas well, and soon, brick by brick, you'll be creating a castle of your dreams.

I don't know why cooking and baking are coming again and again. Maybe it's a form of therapy for you. No more staying stuck in your head, my dear pile 3. Your energy seems like that of a stubborn child. Who made mistakes and now is learning from them? But you're a quick learner, so it seems that you're no longer in pain but very glad where you are. I see books. Maybe some of you're bookworms or are being called to read more. I also hear, “I'll never fall in love again until I find THE ONE.” You're keeping your boundaries strong and making yourself mentally stronger. You've been quite naive and trusted people easily. It seems you had wounds that needed to be healed, and now they are healing. You seem like a very young soul who is just learning about the world. If you resonate as an old soul, then this pile isn't for you.

You definitely have great qualities, but you're new here, so you needed some tough lessons. But I truly feel you deserve gentleness more than anything. But such gentleness could have led you to trust everybody. You need gentleness with strong boundaries (writing this at 3:33).

Protect, protect, and protect yourself. Your spirit team is keeping you away from negative energies, but you need to stand up for yourself too. And you do have space and opportunities to protect yourself and live a gentle life filled with laughter. Your own gentleness and the support around you are your fortune, pile 3.

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[flowercrowngods]

the prompt: rest | rating: G | cw: non-explicit trauma-related insomnia

The steady thrum of the engine is like gentle white noise that not only fills Eddie’s head and smoothes out the frayed edges of consciousness, but runs through his whole body as a comforting presence. It spreads from the hands holding the wheel in a loose, easy grip up his arms and to his shoulders, down his chest where it settles in his gut. That feeling of belonging, of comfort, of familiarity. It leaves him with a smile as he shifts the gear, accelerating a little on the open street.

No one else is out here tonight, and there’s no destination ahead, but his goal has long since been reached.

Part of him wants to roll down the window to feel the breeze in his hair, allow November in just for five minutes, just for the duration of this next song.

Hey, little girl, is your daddy home? Did he go and leave you all alone?

But he won’t, because this moment is not his.

He glances over to the side, catches the split second where the passing street lights make Steve glow golden, his breath even, his face relaxed. His eyes closed, his forehead void of pained frowns. He’s been asleep for an hour.

It mends something inside him, seeing Steve like this, but something splinters all the same.

“What do you need? What can I give you? Please, Steve, you need to sleep. You deserve to rest.”

He remembers asking, tears welling up in his eyes and desperation clawing at his insides, clawing to get out and tear at Steve, tear at him to find out what it is that Eddie can do.

“Can we just— Drive? For a while?”

“Where to?”

“Nowhere, just… Might help.”

And it did. It does.

It’s been a few months now, and sometimes it’s Wayne who takes Steve — or both of them — on a ride to lull him to sleep with a steady engine and a tape that Vecna never touched.

And every time, Steve wakes the second the car stops. But it’s fine, because he’ll smile, he’ll say, “Thank you”, he’ll say, “I love you,” and he’ll lie on Eddie’s chest for the rest of the night, listening to the steady thrum of his heart while Eddie hums a quiet melody until Steve is asleep again.

written for @steddiemicrofic, dedicated to @auroraplume because i can 🤍🌷

[gravity-falls-fanatic89]

November's Naughty and Nice Stories

Day 7: Coffee Date

Stan x Reader fluff

Some language!

It was chilly and overcast as Stan drove the car into Gravity Falls, wanting to take you out, and show you off, enjoying your company.

He parked the car, and you two walked in and out of the little shops on the main street, him with his arm around you while you rested your head on his chest as you browsed together. He was all dressed up, wearing his tan suit and red dress shirt just so. He didn't have his fez today, and you couldn't help but keep admiring him, all while he was doing so in turn to you.

"Stan, could we go look in the book store? I wanted to see if they had anything new I could pick up...I just finished the last one Ford suggested on urban legends," and you laughed a little. "He said it should have honestly been in the non-fiction section, but people never learn."

"You can go ahead, babe...I was goin' to go down to the dry cleaners and see if they got my shirts done....Don't tell Ford, but I snuck a bunch of his sweaters in because they were reekin'," and he gave you a peck on the head, and then a longer kiss before you parted.

"I'll meet you back here in a half hour, hon. Love you."

"Love you too....And take your time. I'll be around. I know how ya get in there. I might just end up sleeping in the car waitin'!" And he walked down the street, as you stepped in the shop.

It was mostly books, but it had other things, like DVDs, CDs, and other media stuff, but you knew what you were getting. You ordered it months ago, and it finally showed up for you. But, you took some time, and browsed for a bit, picking up a couple books, some postcards for Stan's great nephew and great niece, and finally, your order.

You stepped outside, and looked around, noticing Stan on one of the benches nearby, and you snuck up on him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Hey gorgeous," he said, smiling, and then pulling his arm around to you. There were two dozens roses greeting you in turn.

"Stanley! You didn't need to get those! Oh, they're beautiful! Wait, you didn't steal them, did you?" and you gave him an eyebrow look.

"No, I didn't, but I shoulda! The florist are the real thieves in this town!" he retorted. "But ya like 'em?"

"Yes, yes I do. Thank you, and I love you."

"Love ya too, babe. Now let's go get some coffee. It looks like the sky is going to open up on us."

You booked it to the coffee shop before the ominous sky opened up, and picked a quiet little corner booth near the window, sipping coffee together, avoiding the gawkers. People still weren't used to seeing Stan Pines, the miser in the Shack, married to someone that apparently "was out of his league" and "too nice for him", even if it had been over 2 years. But you just didn't care. You were in your mid 40s, and him in his early 60s. You've done nothing wrong.

"This is nice just kinda being away from everyone...Sorry these assholes still give ya looks about me," Stan said apologetically.

"Stanley Pines, you know I don't give a shit what they all think...You make me happy, and I hope I make you happy."

He smiled a small grin, but you could read his face still felt bad. He went into these bouts where he still had lingering thoughts you shouldn't be together. He didn't talk much about it, but at the same time, you knew he felt like you could do better. You couldn't see that though. You nuzzled deep into his jacket, and looked up at him, kissing his neck in a gentle manner.

"I love the roses. They are gorgeous. I love who you are. And I love this life with you," you whispered into his ear.

"Christ, hon," he rubbed his eyes. "There's a ton of dust in here....And I love ya too. More than you'll ever know. Thanks for stickin' it out with me. I ain't much, but I'm more with ya in my life."

You squeezed him, and remembered. "Hey, actually, I was in the bookstore, and got you something!"

"Huh, I don't read much, sweetheart, you know that. That's more of Ford's nerd thing."

"Just take it."

It was a little wrapped package that he opened, and when he pulled it from the paper, his mouth dropped.

"Y/N, you....How did you know? I mean, shit, I...uh..."

He held up the copy of The Duchess Approves, the Golden Edition, and you saw tears slowly come out from his eyes. "Thank you." He whispered into your forehead, kissing it hard.

"It's the "Super Boring Extended Edition" too! It's got behind the scenes of that one guy that plays Count Lionel giving his last interview at the hospital before his hair replacement surgery botched....And a mini documentary on the costumes...And..."

"I love it, hon. I didn't know you knew nothin' about my, uh, 'guilty pleasure'."

"Eh, Ford told me about it, and I've been searching for months since it was out of print. But, I'd love to watch it with you, if you would like me to."

Stan looked outside, and you both hadn't realized it had become a torrential downpour, and most everyone had left.

"We can later...For now, I just wanna sit with the most wonderful wife in the world," and you kissed each other deep, and watched the rain fall peacefully.

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

because i needed the reminder today:

it is okay to adapt & improvise “normal” tasks to work for you. it is okay to break them into smaller steps. it is okay to take breaks. it is okay to approach in a “nonsensical” way.

if it works for you, and it isn’t hurting someone, breaking a law (caveat in tags), or going to lose you a job/get you kicked out of a school that you need (bend rules as far as they’ll bend, but don’t hurt yourself/your future in the process if you can avoid it), do that.

do what works for you.

yeah, do this for more complex tasks.

do your homework one question at a time if you can. use a premade sauce to make your favourite food if you don’t have the spoons to make it the “normal” way.

make the steps smaller and do them more frequently. take longer breaks in-between.

but i’m talking ‘simple’ tasks too.

wash every outfit the day you use it, as soon as you change. ¿is it more water? maybe. but you deserve clean clothes. if it’s difficult to remember or rely on your spoons/energy/physical limits to be able to wash things once a week or once a month, then adapt. find a way that works for you.

also, if you’re also recently discovered autistic &/or ADHD, or you’re newly physically/mentally disabled (or recent ish & still coming to terms with it), I see you.

it’s frustrating to simplify or give up on things you could’ve done before. it’s exhausting to find all the things you can’t do that you always could, especially if you never thought you would see a day you can’t do it.

you are still worthy of love and care. yes, even now. especially now.

(more personal examples & also direct comfort/reassurance below the cut)

i can’t do long staircases anymore. i used to love running up them, running or hopping down the steps. now I shakily take one step at a time, leaning heavily on a cane, and my ankles/knees still tremble and hurt. (i’m hypermobile & some of my connective tissue is deteriorating.)

i can’t read academic texts by myself anymore. there’s so many feelings about that, and it’s the most recent curve of acceptance.

i realized 3 or 4 days ago that the reason i’m falling behind on the readings for astronomy & human development (which I find fascinating) is because of the length of the readings. i keep up in sociology, but it’s smaller chapters & less reading, & I can usually skim for terms & catch enough info to participate in class. but in order to pass my classes, in order to succeed, that requires me to use a text-to-speech website or app, or to have a friend read for me.

for those who don’t know, i’m a creative writer. i write fiction and poems like it’s nothing. i also love the feel of a physical book. i’ve stayed in denial, thinking that i just need to break it into small chunks.

but i got a traumatic brain injury in November of 2019, that most affected my prefrontal cortex. i need that to focus, to self-regulate. i need it to read effectively, let alone long amounts of text.

i’ve stayed in denial about how bad that injury was, because i had enough to deal with due to everything else that nasty concussion did (shaking trauma memories loose, breaking masks & layers of amnesia within trauma disorders, breaking autism mask, severe emotional dysregulation i’m still recovering from).

but i can’t keep up with university classes if i keep trying to force myself to read the same way i did before. i need to use screen readers or text-to-speech, i need to rely on friends or family. i need to accept help.

and it sucks. it’s a terrifying loss of independence. it’s frustrating. there’s a lot of grief.

but this is my life now. i have to adapt.

all this to say, be gentle and kind with yourself. treat yourself the way you want to be treated. learn to tolerate yourself. (i would say ‘accept & love yourself’ but that’s its own learning curve.) adapt your space & your actions to match your current capabilities. prioritize completing self-care tasks, even if you don’t/can’t do it perfectly.

you deserve to, and can, accommodate yourself. the world around you may not be accessible, but as much as you’re able (to your degree of independence & financial limits/budgets), find ways to accommodate yourself.

and treat yourself once in a while. it doesn’t have to be expensive or difficult. sitting in your car (if you have one) in the lot of a nature park is better than never seeing trees. a poor-quality drawing is better than never drawing again. a cheap thrifted or dollar store plushy is better than no plushy. whatever it is you want to do or have, within your limits, do it your way. treat yourself to your favourite things if you can.

we weren’t put into this world to suffer. we weren’t put in this world to lose all our dreams.

we arrived to live. we arrived to have fun. we arrived to create. we arrived to play. we arrived to love (platonic, romantic, etc.). we arrived to dance and sing (even “badly”).

and maybe your disabilities steal some of these from you. but if you can find even one thing that makes it worth it, if you can make one thing accessible again....do it. make it happen. you deserve happiness and relief and love, especially now.

and if you don’t believe it right now, that’s okay. i’ll hold hope for you until you can. 💜

~Nico

[loverboy-cc]

Our own starlight

A SFW Modern AU Halsin x Tav/Reader ficlet

“What’s something small you miss? From living in the forest I mean.”

“Starlight. It was one of the first things that really threw me off about this… place. Night is unbearably dark, yet somehow unpleasantly bright at the same time.”

TWs: Family death, grief, spoilers abt Halsins backstory.

Reader is gn and undefined besides working in a greenhouse.

AN: waugh this is just kinda word vomit following me having a really good idea. It’s entirely unedited so if you see any errors no you don’t <3

Also I am fighting for my life trying to find a voice for halsin bear with me please.

Halsin remembers being a kid in the cabin his family lived in. His mother teaching him how to cook alongside his younger siblings.

He too remembers sitting outside with his father, the chill of fall nipping at his face while he was taught how to pick good sticks for firewood; along with the promise that next year he’d be old enough to help split up logs with his father.

He remembers a thick book shared between him and his eldest sister while she taught him Druidic magic, and the terror on his mothers face when he gave himself fuzzy little bear ears (and his sister laughing because couldn’t figure out how to get rid of them.)

He remembers being sick, just a little sick. A stuffy nose and a sore throat he caught from falling into the stream in late November when the frost set into snow.

He remembers burying them all that spring.

He didn’t want to, but he knew that disease clings to corpses long after the flesh chilled. He thanked Silvanus that the illness came in December and not one of the warm months that would’ve forced him to bury them immediately lest he meet the same fate.

He remembers the following winter being warmer than usual, but little else of the year.

Halsin knows now that he had gotten lucky, unbelievably so. The gentle winter allowed him to live despite being unwilling to split his own firewood, it allowed him one year to prepare himself before he was truly forced to acknowledge the finality of it all.

He remembers finding his balance the following year. Their garden took quite of bit of work to recover after being abandoned for a year. But he managed it, along with making himself some traps based on some diagrams in an old book and the odds and ends he remembered learning about how to make them more effective from his mother.

“So… why are you here?”

They look up at him, visibly confused.

“Not that I don’t like talking to you- but it seems like you were managing fine past the first year.”

“The expansion of the city drove the animals away. Then men in suits appeared at my door asking for documents I didn’t have. Proof of ownership and deeds to the land our cabin was on. They threatened to arrest me for squatting if I didn’t leave.”

He sips his tea, it was brewed far too hot. Leaving it bitter even with sugar, but it was something he could afford, which seemed few and far between lately.

“I only recently learned what squatting actually is. They’d looked at me like I was a fool for asking”

“That’s… Gods I’m sorry. I can’t even fathom how shit that must’ve felt, I’ve always lived in the city so…”

“It isn’t all awful; being in the city. Living is a much more manageable kind of tiring.”

He was lucky to be as strong as he is, he’d manage to land a job as an unskilled labourer. As much as he resented the title he knew it wasn’t a slight, he didn’t have any of the certifications or diplomas required to hold any other station at the greenhouse he worked in. Even if he knew more about many of the plants they grew from his own personal experience working with them.

One thing of many he’d yet to get used to. Your experience doesn’t matter in the city unless you have a piece of paper proving it.

“That’s fair I suppose… I would give damn near anything to be able to be self-sufficient like that… Alas I’m doomed to forever be a slave to capitalism.”

Halsin wants to tell them that they’re not.

He wants to say that if enough people stopped thinking that they don’t have the option to rebel the entire system would fall apart.

He bites his tongue, figuratively and literally. Wincing as the sharp taste of iron settles in his mouth.

Well, it’s not like his tea could’ve gotten much worse.

“What’s something small you miss? From living in the forest I mean.”

“Starlight. It was one of the first things that really threw me off about this place. Night is unbearably dark, yet somehow unpleasantly bright at the same time.”

They nod, and ponder their tea for a beat.

“Do you have any plans tonight?”

“How forward.”

They scoff, but it lacks venom.

“Just answer me you dork.”

“No I do not.”

Their smile widens considerably.

“You do now, assuming you don’t mind coming over to my apartment.”

He nods in agreement, and they beam.

Another thing that’s definitely not awful about living in the city is them. He had met them through the greenhouse they both worked at, and had kept contact after they had quit.

The afternoon passes by as it usually does during their little dates. They would talk about their job and their cats, he would reply in kind. His tea went cold long before he finished it, and he’d thank the barista as he handed their mugs across the counter.

The walk to their apartment was nice. He realized as they spoke about the bus they missed how much he missed not being alone.

It was a long walk, he silently thanked Silvanus.

Their apartment was almost identical to his on the outside. Grey building, black doors, painfully sterile.

The inside however, was not. Almost every flat surface was plastered with posters and prints, the shelves full of knickknacks and candles more so than actual books.

“Okay so, I don’t have a couch obviously because I have a studio apartment but my bed doesn’t have the best view of the thing I want to show you.”

They push some things haphazardly out of the center of the room, before pulling a blanket off their bed and laying it out.

“Gods this is so sketchy I’m so sorry- Lay on this and close your eyes.”

“It’s alright. I trust you.”

The blanket is soft, but thin. The linoleum below digging into his shoulders as he lays down. There’s a soft click and the lights turn off, they settle beside him after a moment.

“Okay. Open your eyes.”

It takes him a second to put together what he’s looking at.

Stars. Painted on the walls and ceiling between the posters and tapestries, glowing in the dark of their apartment.

“It’s obviously not as pretty as real stars but… I dunno I’ve never been far enough out of town to see many real ones so I made my own starlight.

“It’s beautiful.”

He doesn’t need to be able to see them to know they’re smiling.

© cakeboxie •• 2023 •• Please do not translate/repost. reblogs are appreciated and requests are open!

Part of the @eveningatthrmoviesnetwork

~~

Taglist: @yarnnerdally • @starrry-angel • @yuelqnn • @yeonpm • @beardedladyqueen

Wanna be added? Send me an ask off anon and lmk if you want to be on the sfw only list!

[nanowrimo]

Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: How to Keep Writing When it Feels Impossible

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Shameez Patel Papathanasiou is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

National Novel Writing Month is almost over. Some authors managed 50K In A Day (my wrists scream at the mere thought), some are steadily hitting that 1667 daily word goal, and others have fallen behind—and that’s when writing starts to feel impossible. 

Don’t. Give. Up! 

Even if you’re under 50,000 words by the end of November, you’ll come out with something: perhaps 20 000 words, exciting characters, or at the very least, a new idea. 

Keeping at it when you’re juggling a full-time job, parenting, and surviving a pandemic is tough, but you can do it. Here’s how: 

1. Sprints

This concept is not foreign to any seasoned WriMo. My personal favorite is a 10-minute sprint because regardless of how busy I am, I can find 10 minutes, be that after I inhale my lunch or the 10 minutes I usually spend creating stories in my head before falling asleep. 

With some practice, you can write between 250 and 500 words in a 10-minute sprint, and if that is all you’re doing every day, that’s okay. Consistency is key. 

2. Writing-On-The-Go

For years I thought I had to set up my space and get in the zone, but one night, after years of being stuck in bed beside a sleeping toddler, I stopped doom-scrolling and opened a Google Doc on my phone instead. Within months, I had an 80,000-word first draft. 

While I realize that some of you use Word or Scrivener to draft, it would help to keep a Google Doc handy for those days you find yourself waiting at the bank, outside your kid’s school, or even for when you’re lying in bed a little bit too cozy to get up and fetch your laptop. 

Trust me, you won’t remember the idea you’re promising yourself you’ll remember. Write it down or send it to yourself in a voice note. Your phone is a powerful tool, use it!

3. Writing Buddies

This is another thing that NaNoWriMo has blessed me with. While writing is often seen as solitary, it doesn’t have to be. Having a close group of friends who write not only means they’re there to encourage you and keep you company, but they’re also there to critique your work and to cheer for you on the days you doubt yourself. 

4. Don’t Compare

Don’t compare word counts, don’t compare the time taken to get published, don’t compare the number of awards, don’t compare anything. Your writing journey is your own for more reasons than even you know. It will happen when it happens in the way that it is meant to happen. If your writing buddies are succeeding before you, remember that there are also others behind you. 

A line from one of my favorite poems comes to mind: If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Which leads me to another line from the same poem: 

5. Be Gentle with Yourself (And Your Work)

First drafts are supposed to be messy. They’re your first attempt at a project, which makes it your worst attempt too. And in every revision, you will create something better and more beautiful. Acknowledge this and allow yourself to play around with characters and worlds, to feel joy in the story you’re writing, to vomit out the roughest form of the story you’ll one day share with the world.

We’re almost there, and no one else can write it the way that you do. Do your best!

Shameez Patel Papathanasiou is from Cape Town, South Africa. She is a civil engineer by day and an author by night. Her literary adventures take her to worlds filled with magic, monsters and someone to fall in love with. Shameez fell in love with fiction at a young age. Her parents fondly recall her first handwritten story completed before the age of ten, titled The Treasures of Zombie Island, which surprisingly featured no zombies at all. She has been writing ever since. Her debut fantasy novel, The Last Feather, is out now—it, at the very least, features a feather.

[dartmoorsfinest]

Inside Josh Widdicombe’s home with butcher shop tiles and a £6,000 bath (The Sunday Times, 10.11.24)

The comedian’s interior designer wife, Rose Hanson, has restored an 1860s house with copper pipes, vintage finds and lots of books.

[NON-PAYWALL / ORIGINAL]

The comedian Josh Widdicombe and Rose Hanson, his interior designer wife, have restored a 19th-century former artist’s house in the village of Mullion, on the Lizard. The star of Channel 4’s The Last Leg is in the process of writing gags for his 2025 stand-up tour. Called Not My Cup of Tea, because he gave up alcohol last year and now drinks eight cups of “builder’s tea” a day, the show will be a catalogue of gentle gripes on topics from motorway services to children’s party bags. He says inspiration strikes during the eight-hour drive from where they live in Hackney, east London, to their Cornish home, when he has the captive audience of Hanson and their kids, Pearl, seven, and Cassius, three. Traffic jams on the A303 are evidently fertile ground for middle-aged grumbles.

We are speaking during half-term, and the final stage of the renovation — the landscaping of their three-quarter-acre plot — is in ear-splitting full swing. A sauna has already been installed and by the time the diggers depart there will be a fireplace and outdoor kitchen on the patio, and a natural swimming pool in the garden. To a backing track of excavations, the couple, both 41, explain that they picked this glorious spot because Josh grew up in Haytor Vale, near Torquay, and his parents still live nearby in Devon, while Hanson (whose mother, incidentally, helped to create Zippy, the puppet from the 1980s kids’ show Rainbow) remembers Cornwall fondly from childhood holidays. “It felt like a natural place for us to look,” she says.

The 1860s house, called Moorlands, previously belonged to a local abstract artist, Barrie Cook, whose works are in the Tate and the Government Art Collection. “He’s got Wikipedia. So he’s legit,” Widdicombe says. “I don’t know much about art but if someone’s got a Wikipedia page, that’s quite a big deal.” Along with the rambling building, they took on the expectations of Cook’s family. “We had quite a strange day of meeting the whole extended family after we’d bought the house,” Widdicombe says. “They just wanted to know that this place was going into the hands of people that would care about it and treat it well.” The couple have done the Cooks proud, with a sympathetic top-to-toe restoration and a reconfiguration of the layout to meet the demands of modern family life.

They bought Moorlands in October 2022 for under £850,000 and are likely to spend the same again on renovations. Work started in January 2023, knocking through walls upstairs and between the sitting room and dining room on the ground floor. Six months later, the old extension was demolished and by November every single window in the house had been replaced. “They’re basically identical to the windows that were here, but they’re not falling apart,” Hanson says. They took the property from five bedrooms and two bathrooms to six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, overhauled the electrics, got rid of the oil tank and replumbed with help from a local company called The Braze. “It’s like an incredible work of art with all of these amazing copper pipes,” she says.

By March this year the lights and heating were on. Hanson sourced the oak flooring from Dartmoor firm Coppice and Crown. The most striking change was the replacement of the old sunroom on the first floor. “The upstairs conservatory was quite amazing. But it was just completely impractical because it was absolutely boiling, and there was quite bad damp in the room below. So we got an architect involved and designed two double bedrooms with en suites, and a beautiful formal dining room underneath.” Hanson repositioned the kitchen at the front of the house, where the family would benefit from the glorious garden view. By April 24, every room in the house was finished, and they had their first guests to stay.

Now they intend to spend six weeks of the year enjoying their seaside getaway, and let it out in between family visits. So how do they live when in Cornwall? Hanson lifts weights in her home gym and plans to learn to surf at the nearby Dan Joel Surf School. “I hate stuff like that,” says Widdicombe, who can’t swim. “I like a walk. I like running on the treadmill, but I don’t like anything that takes me outside of my comfort zone, ideally. The reason to be on holiday is to relax, not to do anything that makes me stressed.”

He doesn’t mean to party, either. It’s a part of the world notorious for celeb spotting, with notable locals including fellow comics David Baddiel and Morwenna Banks, but the couple plan to lead a quiet life. “We don’t really have parties because we’ve got young children,” Hanson says. “And the people who come and stay have young children too. I mean, we’re lucky if we all get downstairs again after the kids’ bedtime at nine o’clock.” The wildest evening at Moorlands so far was, Widdicombe says, “The first week we stayed, we had four couples and eight children in the house, and we managed to get six kids in the bath at once.”

The tub in question, in the family bathroom, is a £6,000 Rockwell, from Water Monopoly, which Hanson describes as “an extravagant purchase”. A magpie who is constantly acquiring vintage treasures, she added inexpensive second-hand touches to complete the decor. “We found this amazing little yellow bathroom cabinet that just kind of makes the whole room pop. I’m a real hoarder of second-hand fabrics from eBay and I’d got this vintage Pierre Frey fabric patterned with tassels and gems, which we made into a blind.”

Asked how much of the design is her husband’s idea, Hanson is quite clear. “He doesn’t have any say. I don’t even run anything past him, except budget. There are times where there are things that he would really like. When we moved into our first house, Josh really wanted a bread bin that said ‘Bread’ on it. So I made that happen. Then there was [a request for] a hot water tap. So fine. Yeah, you can have your hot water tap.”

Widdicombe has no complaints. “I’d rather someone else who knows what they’re doing takes the lead,” he says. “I know what I’m good at and I don’t think Rose is ever going to give me notes on my stand-up. And in the same way, I’m not going to give her notes on this.” Hanson responds: “You’re basically the dream client.”

Before they moved in together, the comedian’s taste was based around displaying his music collection. “I lived in a rental property in Turnpike Lane [north London] when I was in my twenties and I didn’t have much money. I had a wall of about 600 CDs.” Now his focus has switched to books as decor. “I buy a lot of books and I’m a keeper of books. I hate it when someone says to me, ‘Can I borrow that after you’ve finished reading it?’ Because I think, ‘No, I want to put it on my wall.’ It’s like you’ve killed a deer or whatever, isn’t it, and you want to display it? If someone says that, I’ll buy them a copy of that book rather than give them my book.” So, excluding the library in his study, and keeping her hands off the hot tap and bread bin, Hanson had carte blanche to decorate the house to her taste.

She brought in her friend Charlotte Tilbury, a designer who had worked on their London home in Victoria Park, Hackney, and moved to Devon during Covid. Halfway through the works, the two women decided to start a business together and make Moorlands their first joint project: Penrose Tilbury was founded. “It’s not like work,” Hanson says. “It’s like going and hanging out with your mate and drinking rosé.” It wasn’t all wine and design chat, she corrects herself. “The hardest things to find were bathroom tiles. We did a collaboration with Original Style who made a bespoke pencil-black tile for us that we just couldn’t really find anywhere. Then the Daily Mail did a story — they must have got some pictures from our Instagram — and somebody said in the comments that our bathrooms look like a butcher’s shop. I was quite pleased with that. That was sort of the look I was going for.”

The next visit will be for New Year’s Eve, when the couple will be inviting friends for an ultra-low-key gathering. Hanson says: “We might have a glass of wine after we finish bedtime at nine o’clock.” And there will be plenty of PG Tips.

[ashestoashis]

In November 2022 an old friend and I were in one of those quick fire messaging sessions when she went very quiet for around 10 minutes. when she came back it was with a screenshot of a conversation we’d had exactly one year before about the exact same topic. To the day. And despite my pretty sharp memory, I couldn’t remember that initial conversation at all.

From there we wandered into the philosophy that all things are cyclical, how the body remembers, how different months or even days of the week have a distinctive feeling about them. We considered how many undetected patterns people run each day and whether patterns can erase themselves without external effort, questioned whether things are designed to repeat themselves over and over again unless disrupted with intention.

I think about this on what marks a different year-to-the-day moment. Life threw me some major curveballs last year, their flight-paths outlining patterns that could no longer go undetected. Patterns that exploded into monstrous jagged beings and chased me through the night, patterns that disrupted the natural rhythms of my body and estranged me from myself.

And somehow, miraculously, a year later I’m still here. I honestly didn’t think I would be, but I am. So thankful for these hideous lessons that have both destroyed and rebuilt me.

Sometimes growth is gentle, other times it is brutal. Sometimes jolting painful moments are the only thing powerful enough to grab our attention.

And sometimes, attention is enough to stop a pattern in its tracks.

This is my screenshot: curious to see who I’ll be when I return to it in a year.

[clatoera]

Since when do you like THG/TBOSAS? Tell me your fandom story 😊

Have you read or watched all the books/movies?

Thank you.

@curiousnonny

Okay so I answered a similar version of this question last year here so I just copied my answer over and put it under a cut because it's LonG but it's still the story!

Okay, I have been waiting to do this justice. But here I go.

I was one of those fans back in the day. I think I started reading the books in 2009/early 2010s. THG and CF were out, and I was literally counting down the days with my mom and aunt to Mockingjay being released. I was 12 at the time, in 7th grade. I got into the series at the age of the youngest tributes, at the age of Rue and Prim. My mom and my aunt recommended it to me, and I remember falling in love. District 12 was my hometown. An old coal down surrounded by the woods, I remember just identifying so much with that. I was little. Me and my mom got Mockingjay the day it released and I read it within a day. I was hooked.

I counted down to the movie. I remember every announcement. All the fan casts, the fan versions of Katniss' song. The buildup as to oh who's going to be Katniss! Who's going to be Peeta! What does Cinna's eye makeup look like. The clothes, I could NOT wait to see the clothes. The girl on fire dress. All of that. I remember finding out while sitting in my aunt's bedroom about it being Jennifer Lawrence. I remember the fan casts of Dianna Aaron as Madge Undersee (RIP). I can literally remember the feelings of cast releases. I bought every merch item that came out. I had a blanket, I had district 2 nail polish that looked like cement, I had the girl on fire 12 nail polish. I remember learning how to do the braid and it becoming my personality for an entire year. I publicly counted down to this movie release. My grandma made me a custom Team Peeta shirt that I rhinestoned for the premier. My best friend and I went to the movie at midnight with my Grandma. We went to them all, and she and I will be going to the newest one this November. I was 14, turning 15, and insufferable.

The Hunger Games defined me. I thought I was Katniss. I did that braid. My baby sister was 4 years younger than me. When CF released in theaters, I was the age of Katniss and she was Prim's age from the OG movie. That relationship of love between sisters is the most relatable part of the entire franchise. To this day, my sister reminds me of Prim. She is sweet and gentle and smart and innocent. And I would do anything Katniss did to protect her sister.

I got very into Clove for reasons unknown. Maybe because Isabelle Fuhrman and I were the same age. Maybe because I remember clove in the books being described as dark hair and dark eyes with freckles. thats what I sort of looked like back then. I'm 5'3, was never very tall. There is still hunger games fanfic I wrote in 2014 floating around out there of Katniss/Peeta and also Clato obviously.

To this day when I go into surgery, I have my hair in those little training ponytails Clove wore, because it keeps my bangs out of my face.

I distinctly remember wanting to be a blonde when I was 13/14. In 8th grade I kept dying my hair lighter with highlights. But about a month before the movie, I dyed my hair back to the dark natural brown. The way home from that appointment my mom pointed out to me "Maybe the hunger games, and Katniss, showed you that you can be pretty with dark hair and you don't have to change that." That has stuck with me for 11 years.

I fell out of it naturally, as I went through HS and College. I went to all the movies at midnight, but still, I was growing up and growing out by the last Mockingjay movie. Even in HS, for golf and dance I braided my hair out of the way. I did hunger games themed dance solos at competitions. Eventually, I did fall out of it as I got closer to college.

But like all things, you find your way back home.

It's been..14.. years since I read those books.

I still do my hair like Clove, but now as an almost doctor/future surgeon.

I still think of my home town as District 12 adjacent.

I still recognize the love of Katniss and Prim as the most important love and relationship in the whole series.

My type is still tall blonde boys with blue eyes (which..I got from THG movie).

I'll be at the midnight premiere of this movie with my best friend, like I did all before.

Recently I saw the movies on prime. I cried watching mockingjay part 2 because that was still so much like me and my sister. I watched again and I mourned the reality of what my favorite series EVER was.

This is a series about children fighting to the death. The horrors of fascism and the government. About actual war. The social commentary (The outrage of the capitol at the thought of Peeta and Katniss's fetus dying in the games, vs the reality of watching 23 children fight to the death every year and cheering is one of the most jarring and realistic reflections of society today). The media sensationalized THG to a love story just like the capitol. Looking back, from the age of Finnick in mockingjay, rather than Clove or Katniss in THG and CF, the way I see these films and this series is so different.

Thats what drew me back. Theres a comfort in this series, it was my favorite thing.

Theres a comfort I want back, in the most stressful season of my life.

But there is so much for me to uncover and unpack as an adult that I missed as a child.

It feels like I am doing a service to my younger self.

thank you for asking and thank you for giving me space to gush.

[yellowcry]

Getting wiser

Chapter 3. Luminous

Casita cracked with a floorboard, getting Luisa's attention. She froze for a moment, not knowing what was going on. Then she realised: today was the fourteenth of November. Her birthday.

"I'm grown up!" Luisa shouted out in happiness, jumping on her bed and trembling her hands in the air. She just spent her last night in the nursery. Camilo looked at her; a small sparkle of curiosity appeared in his eyes as he stood up, holding on to the crib rails. Mirabel sat, also staring at Luisa with interest written on her face.

"I see my little girl is already up." She heard Papi's voice. When did he come into the nursery? "Do you know what's going to happen tonight?"

"My gift ceremony!" Luisa laughed, running to him, then jumped to hug him higher. "I'm a big girl!"

"Oh noo..." Papi looked away in fake sadness. "If you'd grow up just a little bit, I wouldn't be able to carry you on my shoulders." He giggled, taking her in his arms, then put her on his shoulders. Luisa chuckled, reaching up and touching the seller.

She didn't want to stop being carried around. So she clutched to Papi tighter, trying to hold every moment of it. She pursed her lips, asking unsurely. "Will you still roll me on your shoulders after I get my gift?"

"Why is this a question?"

****

Well, Papi wasn't going to stop giving her rides, which was amazing! Luisa looked around, thinking about who she should visit first. Well, of course, her hermana is supposed to be the one; what's even the question?

"Isabela!" Luisa shouted, opening the covered in flowers door.

The older girl groaned, turning over to the other side. "Luisa, por favor, it's five AM." She covered her head with a pillow.

She ignored it, running up to Isabela's bed, then pulling her sleeve, trying to get her up. "You're going to oversleep my gift ceremony!" She screamed in her hermana's ear.

"Luisa, don't be silly; your birthday is..." Isabela shuddered, suddenly opening her eyes widely. "Today?" She asked unsurely.

Luisa nodded, putting her hands on her sides proudly.

"Oh, mi hermana pequea es tan grande ahora." Isabela whispered, wiping a nostalgic tear that ran down her cheek with a handkerchief.

"Let's go!" Luisa pulled her hermana again; there were so many things to do that they couldn't spend their time lying in bed. "We have to start preparing!"

"Maybe you should go and change your clothes." Isabela yawned, lying on her bed again. "I'll sleep for a while."

Luisa crossed her arms in resentment, offended by such a cold action. "Okay, if you won't see me getting my gift, it's your fault." She muttered, walking outside.

****

Mami was already in the kitchen, working as always. Her movements were clear, polished by cooking for many years. Her skin became paler from lack of sleep in the last few months.

"Mami! I'm getting my gift today!" Luisa ran to her, happily reminding her about the main event of today's evening.

Mami chuckled, looking at Luisa upside down, then squatted down to be the same height as her. "Oh, I can't believe how grown you are." She smiled, taking Luisa's arm. "It feels like yesterday you were just born."

"Silly mami." Luisa gigged. "If I was born yesterday, then when was Mira?" Mami let out a sigh and reached for Luisa's cheek, giving her a big, gentle kiss.

****

Luisa was staring at her future door, which almost begged her to open it. But Abuela said that they had to wait until the evening. Luisa couldn't say that she wasn't worried; she still remembered how her prima's ceremony ended with Dolores crying. Luisa really hoped that she wouldn't get anything like that as her gift; she could barely imagine how awful it should be. Sometimes, people around me were too loud, even without any superhuman hearing.

"Luisa," Abuela called her. "Are you ready? It's time to take your party dress." Luisa ran to her, fixing her hair.

"Si." She nodded her head.

Honestly, Luisa would prefer not to wear these special clothes. It was just so uncomfortable; the fabric was too rough and too tight to her body. But it was the sacrifice she needed to get her gift in the best ceremony.

***

It was so boring. When they finished with her appearance, Luisa was finally free to go. Usually, it meant that she had to find other work to do. But today everyone kept repeating. "It's your party; just have fun!" But what was she supposed to do? She couldn't jump or even move freely in this tight dress; after all, she didn't want to wrinkle it. And even if she wanted to, today even Casita was doing its best to make Luisa rest. She lifted her teddy bear a couple of times, but it was not enough. Besides, it was boring. Everyone was focused either on preparations or on taking care of Mirabel and Camilo.

"Hey, are you here?" She heard Bruno's quite unsure voice before the nursery door creaked and he came in. "So... happy birthday?" He touched his elbow.

"You will be at the ceremony, right?" Luisa crossed her hands, frowning. She knew that Tío wasn't exactly here most of the time. Sometimes it felt like he was an outcast in the family. But she wanted to see him on this special day; surely, he wasn't the best partner in running around the house, but he has the best stories!

"Of course, I will." Tío stretched his arms forward, stopping Luisa. "I'll never miss such an important day."

Luisa let out a relieved sigh, clutching her palms in front of her chest. "You better be!" She threatened him with her finger, holding her side with her other hand.

"She is right." Luisa and Bruno both shuddered as they heard Pepa in the doorway. "If you try to hide inside your tower again, I'll come for you and get you out with brutal force."

"I would never miss such an important day." Bruno groaned, and Tía chuckled at this statement as she walked inside the room and started to reach for something.

"Now Cami would be all alone." She stated, grabbing the diapers from the shield.

Luisa rolled her eyes. "Mirabel." She reminded her, crossing her hands, there was the sound of a ringing baby rattle.

"Well, I'm not sure if she could help with taking care of Camilo." Bruno mentioned it, holding his elbow and slightly shrugging.

Tía Pepa waltzed out of the room with the stuff that she took and disappeared in the doorway for a moment before she took a step back and smiled at Luisa. "By the way, you look great."

 

***

Luisa stood on the stairs quietly, watching as her Papí and Tío were doing something on the patio.

"Are you good?" Tío Felix asked, tuning the strings in his guitar.

Papí hit the piano keys, listening carefully to the produced sound. "Yes, it's good." He nodded, then stared at Luisa for a second as he noticed her. "Luisita, do you need something?" He waved at her, smiling. Luisa was startled in fright; she didn't expect to be noticed. To Felix turned his head as well to hind her.

"Oh, here's the birthday girl!" He giggled as Luisa went downstairs awkwardly. "Gus, could you believe that she's getting her gift tonight?"

"Do not remind." Papi groaned. "Why are they growing up so fast?"

"I want to be grown up!" Luisa declared, putting her hands on her sides, head up to look at Papí.

"Don't you say that you want to be able to ride on my shoulders?" He asked, squatting down and patting Luisa's head with a quick flip-flop.

Luisa pursed her lips, looking around. Then she finally found an answer. "But if I grow up, I'll give you a ride as well!" She was sure that Papa also wanted a ride but was too scared to ask for it.

Tío Felix burst into a thick bass laugh. "You're the sweetest girl that I ever knew. Well, except for Pepi."

"Thank you, Luisa; I'll look forward to it." Papi chuckled softly, ruffling her hair.

Tío looked at it for a moment, then clicked his teeth as he remembered something. "Dolores was searching for you." He winked conspiratorially.

****

"Can you stop spinning?" Dolores sighed, brushing her hair.

Luisa pursed her lip, fiddling with the golden ribbon in her hand. She really would like to, but she was so excited that she couldn't calm herself down. And all this energy inside her body just begged to find a way out.

"Your hair is so soft," Isabella murmured excitedly, rubbing them with her hands. "You should leave it down!" She stated confidently.

"But I want a bun!" Luisa begged, twisting the ribbon. "It feels good!" She had enough with this uncomfortable dress; she couldn't stand her hair tickling her back in addition to that.

"Maybe we can weave an extra ribbon into your hair?" Dolores asked, bending down to her. Luisa nodded weakly; she wasn't sure if it was a good idea.

"I can't believe how old you are." Isabela put her hand on her forehead dramatically.

"You're older." Luisa snorted, as her hermana was acting like a drama queen.

Isabela gasped in a feigned shock. "Oh no!" She sprang to her feet. "One day I won't be here anymore."

Luisa gasped; she didn't want to be alone. "No, don't leave me!" She jumped up, outstretching her hands toward Isabela.

"Stop scaring her," Dolores muttered, crossing her arms.

"Yes, sure." Isabela rolled her eyes, putting Luisa back in the chair. "Guess I won't die."

Luisa let out a relieved sigh, slightly screaming, when the brush caught on a lump in her hair. "What would my gift be?" She asked, swinging her legs back and forth.

"We'll find out when you open your door." Isabela shrugged, spinning the rose between her fingers.

"I bet it's something cool." Dolores said, starting to braid her hair.

"Pff." Isabela carelessly waved her hand. "Obviously, the second-best hermanita in the world is going to give her the coolest gift." She said it as if it were an obvious statement.

Luisa started to frown, offended. "Why the second?"

Isabela chuckled a little. "Sorry, but Mirabel totally stole my heart." Well, Luisa couldn't blame her in any way.

"Hey, I thought that I was your favorite!" Dolores said jokingly offended.

"K-mon, Dollie," Isabela muttered, shaking her head. "You're already out of this rank; you're my mellizita, not my hermanita.

***

Her door was shining in the evening twilight as Luisa looked at it from the other end of the patio. There were so many people, all staring at her as if she were some kind of strange animal in the zoo. She took a deep breath, clutching a pink flower necklace on her neck, created by Isa, and slightly spinning it as she took the first step. She was so scared, especially after hearing the story of her abuelo. Still, she knew that time was ticking. Casita slightly pushed her forward with a tile. Luisa finally walked to the door, cowering from everyone's gaze. The stairs cracked under her feet.

"Will you use your gift to serve our community?" Abuela asked, bending a little bit.

The candle was so warmly kind, sending confidence down her spine. It was okay. She can do it. Luisa clenched and unclenched her fists a few times before she turned to her luminous door.

A golden glow surrounded her. Spinning in front of her eyes. Luisa felt dizzy, trying to keep an eye on this glitter.

Luisa didn't remember how she lifted the rock, but it was totally weightless. She looked behind her and realized that the image of an older Luisa surrounded by dumbbells and rods was engraved on her door. She looked up at the giant, weightless piece of stone in her arms, then slightly threw it up, gigging.

"We have a new gift!" Abuela announced happily, putting her hand on Luisa's back.

"Here's my little girl!" Papi said proudly, lifting Luisa. She chuckled, wiping her hands around him.

That's when she heard a crack. Papi screamed in pain, dropping Luisa, as Mami rushed to him, already having food in her hand. Luisa froze, biting her lip, and her eyes opened wide. What happened? She looked at her shaking hands. Did she hurt Papa? She gasped, sobbing.

"Thanks, mi amor." Pap let out a relieved breath. "Lu, how are you?"

Luisa took a step back instinctively, arms outstretched to keep her distance. "No, don't come closer!" She cried, shrugging her shoulders in fear. She saw a little bit of fear on his face as he swallowed.

"It's okay; I'm sure you didn't mean it." Mami gave her an assuring smile, stepping closer. Maybe she was right, but Luisa still did. She wanted to protect her family... And now she hurt her papi!

People were gossiping, but she couldn't hear them, clutching to the wall behind her like a cornered prey.

"What about your promise?" Papí reminded her, and Luisa looked up in surprise. "You said that you would give me a ride on your shoulders when you grow up."

Luisa bit her lips, wiping her eyes. Yes, she did it earlier today, but she didn't expect to let it happen so soon. And she was also too afraid to hurt him again. But... what kind of person would she be if she wouldn't do the least thing she could to pay for her mistake? So she took a step forward, bending down.

"O-okay." Her voice trembled. "He just sat here." She just won't touch him."

"Is that okay?" Papi asked worriedly as he put one leg on her shoulder. Luisa nodded quickly, holding back her tears.

Papi had to outstretch his legs because they were touching the floor. Luisa walked forward slowly, scared that she might hurt him if she made any wrong moves. She heard how Papi held his breath, shaking a little bit. Carefully, Luisa slipped off the rectified stairs, getting to the door. People parted, trying to stay away from her. Luisa saw how her hermana clutched her teeth, putting her hand on her chest.

"Is that enough?" Luisa sighed, hoping that this walk would be enough.

"It was the best ride that I ever had," Papi assured her, jumping off her shoulders. Luisa couldn't hold back a laugh when he fell to the floor. For a second, she wanted to give him a hand but stopped in the middle of the movement.

"Hey, can you lift a trolley?" Somebody from the crowd asked, screaming.

"What about bricks?"

"I wonder if you could lift an entire house!"

Luisa giggled unsurely, wiping her wet face. Well, she had to make sure that everyone was having fun tonight. She gently pushed the door, afraid to hurt Casita, and screamed. "Let's go and check my strength!"

And if it was totally okay if everyone stood at least one step away from her,

[maolong]

Saying Goodbye to my cat, Misty

Today is unfortunately the day that we're going to have to put my cat down. She's 14 now, and she's lived a good life, but it still feels like there's so much more left for her to live.

I still remember when we first met her, there's a number of shelters around the area including the general one as well as an animal rescue facility outside the normal shelter system that we'd ended up working with. After one of our two cats, molly and old cat with long fur who'se heart gave out before her spirit did, died, we'd decided we would get another one or two from them. It was a nice place, with small rooms where cats were allowed to roam around and play with each other in all seperated by age range. There's something funny about the fact that if I'd had my way we wouldn't have gotten you Misty. My family had issues finding a cat that they felt meshed with everyone, but there had been three that I'd managed to connect with prior to us meeting you. One was a talkative Siamese cat who's brother had been adopted, one was a gentle tortoise shell who no matter who was in the room only seemed to want to spend time with me, and the last was a loving big fur ball who'd at one time slept on my sister and I at the same time. His name, was Puff and we'd been thinking of getting him around the time that you moved rooms from the ones with the smallest kittens to ones who were a few months old. However someone else had bought him first, it was close, a matter of hours. But it's thanks to that you managed to get the other boys into your life.

You probably don't remember this, but at the Shelter you were called Star and were quite active. You'd still had your spunky streak going then, and now that you're old and I can see the pain from Arthritis in your movements and hear the raspy breathing brought on by your asthma I can still see that spirit in you that had attracted us to you. We had purchased you with two boys, Matthew and Bear (Though none of you kept those names) and ended up staying in my siblings room as all three of you adopted to life at our house. My sibling spent almost a month sleeping downstairs on the fold out couch while our old boy got the run of the house, you three spent longer in there then we'd intended because whenever you were let out Matthew would often times go after Nicholas (The old one) and try to play with poor nicky. It was around that time you got your name, Misty, from how you moved. Silent as the mists rolling in, and just as ever present as the mists on a cold day. You'd show up whenever you wanted something from us, and we'd do our best to help you get it. And eventually, the troublesome kids that we were, this included freedom. Despite the trouble it'd casue each time, my sibling and I would intentionally release you three now Misty, Shadow, and Pounce, to let you run about the house. Eventually one day, you decided you didn't want to go back in. And we accepted.

I know during that time you were jealous of Nicky, how couldn't you be? He recieved Lettuce and hot dogs, roast chicken, he had his own water bowl and litterbox, and rooms of the house that we wouldn't let you in. And even then he was allowed to go outside when you weren't! But all that came to an end a few months later. I know you missed him, all three of you, from how you walked around the house looking in his hiding places meowing at the table seats he'd take to be fed at and looking outside at the spots he'd slept as if he'd be there. We know we'd hung onto him for too long, and I believe my parents feared and still do that the same would happen to you. His body had begun to fail him when he was put down, and in many ways on the day he died it was the most reassuring day because after all the suffering he had gone to he still had it in him to on that last cold November day he still had it in him to fall asleep purring happily on my dad's shoulder after he'd been taken into the outside world one last time.

After he passed away, thankfully peacefully, we were distraught. Us kids hadn't been informed that he was going to be put down soon, and the day it happened was a school day of which we were informed on the way back. And I know that you as kittens sat around his body respectfully. It was a mixture of grief, confusion, and despair. We hadn't known this was happening, to young to know the signs that he was in constant pain at 19, and in many ways I'd believed he could live forever. We ended up seeking out comfort in the three of you, now the last three cats in the house. Pounce, and Shadow were far more receptive to it than you were, you always did have your defiant streaks. But you were still wiling to serve as our little girl. While we were all having issues during this time, you'd had more then once.

You weren't even two when your anxiety got the better of you and you began cleaning your tail to the point that you would clean away the skin. It was always troubling, but I remember clear as day the night when we got back home and you had cleaned so far that bone was showing. It wasn't memorable because of the shock of seeing it. I don't even recall that, I remember how you had run all through the house with blood falling from your tail dripping it on everything and spraying it everywhere you went. Who knew a kitten could have so much blood! To this day we're still finding specks of blood from this all around the house. Just in June I found a new patch in my bedroom where you must have run and hid. But we were able to get you help, though you didn't appreciate it at first. Fighting so you wouldn't have to take your meds and I remember how at some point you had hated wearing the cone so much that we had to exchange it for an inflatable blue ring decorated with daisies. You wore this for so long, and while you had your issues with it, it helped you heal and eventually when it came off you became the only one of the cats to wear a collar. We had a few that you'd wear. One was pink, another purple but eventually you'd stop wearing them.

When I was still young, and you were still small you weren't as cuddely then as you'd used to be. It became a game between me and my sibling to try to catch you and cuddle you. And then do it with the others at the same time as well! You weren't so obstinate that you were against this but you'd make your displeasure known. You never tried to hurt us though, even when I'd managed to grab all three of you at once and hold you together. You were strong and could have injured us if you wished, I still have faint scars from times you almost tried, but you didn't.

During the next few years I'd try to be at every single vet appointment you had. I'd try and be with you in the car to talk to you, as well as to try and pet you through the grates in the carrier. You would spend the whole ride despiratly trying to convince us and me to turn around and bring you back. But at the Vetrenatians office, that's where you really appreciated my presence. Like clockwork, each time we went together you'd attempt to hide from the vet, oh how you hated being their, and we'd have to disassemble the carrier to do so. When you were finally forced out and put onto the table you'd hunker low trying for a place to hide almost inevitably burying your nose into whatever I was wearing (Usually a hooded sweatshirt) and doing your best to ignore everything that was going on. An as much as you hated it, we know that you could tell when we were going back home from the way your demenour changed. Not just were you more quiet you were friendlier. However, as you aged and as your health problems grew worse we'd often have to put a pillow over the door to prevent you from scraping the skin off your nose from trying to force your way out. I'm sure given enough time you could have tried to use your paws to escape, and you thought of that once, but in your desperation it was a rarity.

Through much of middle school, you were my ally through all the work that needed done. You wouldn't join to 'help' with my work like a certain other cat would. However you would be there to support me emotionally whenever I needed it. You'd visit me often, perking up and jumping up to meet me. It was also during this time that you were at your most playful. Still young enough to dance about with the greatest of ease, flitting through the air like a dragonfly, but also you were fast and lethal capable of killing a string in seconds from when it started moving. You were quick, but so agile that I could stand right in your path and trust that you would barrel through like a freight train and not so much as brush my toes! Even our new cats can't match that. There were so many different things you liked to play with, we had cat dancer ribbons that our old cats had loved to death (In one case literal for the dancer), the paper and wire toys that we'd get at the vets, many a string some such as your favorite pink ones my dad had owned, others like the blue cord that were ones I had used in scouting, and one of the most special was a thick red cord I had gotten in 8th grade chinese class. All of these were ones with their own merits to chasing, and their own unique texture to chew on. But there was one toy that was far above the rest. The Fishie, as we call it, is a toy that's composed of a small plush fish attached to a three part plastic rod by a long thin elastic cord. When used properly it could dance through the air better then any bird, and could zip and zoom so fast that it became a blur. And still, you found it easy to catch. You could snatch it out of the air with one paw, or pin it to the ground to prevent it from escaping! In some cases, even pick it or the string out of midair with your mouth! No matter what was chosen though, the thing that you loved most about it was chewing on the strings. You loved their texture, taking them into your mouth and chomping the elastic between your teeth. You could shred through them so fast, that if we didn't do something to stop it the toy would be unusable in seconds. You did this so often that I've lost track of how many were ruined in replaced. As far as I know there are currently seven in our house at the moment, only two of which are intact. But I know that the number is much higher than that, only proving what a great huntress you are.

Of course, it wasn't just toys that you hunted. You loved hunting bugs, to the point that even as you got older and I was at college age you'd still be willing to chase down a bug and could be seen stalking one through the halls and rooms of our house. You could keep up with flies, and could hunt so well that when you set your mind to it none of the insects could escape her grasp. While you were younger your favored method was to have someone pick you up and use their shoulder as a platform from which to hunt at new angles Dad was always your favorite for that, he had nice wide shoulders and while I did as well I was much too bony to make a good ride. That didn't mean that you weren't willing to hunt with me, but I was far from your preferred choice. Of course, as you got older you stopped doing this as much, before only doing it with dad, and then eventually stopping altogether. It's easy to see why, your daring exploits as a kitten and young cat were something that were dangerous. Perching on someone and standing wide. While you were young this may have seemed fresh and exciting. But now, that was quite dangerous. But that didn't mean you stopped the hunt, instead you took it to the ground. And for anyone who would have thought that caution would have slowed you down you proved them wrong. You were still, even when I went to college, able to rush around the house in hot pursuit of the devious mayfly and ensure that she as the Huntress brought them to justice. A proud warrior for many years, even after she'd gotten asthma that crippled her potential.

Your explorative heart was one that was right at home with us. While you never went outside (And never wanted to) the design of our house left a number of nooks and crannies all over the place for you to explore. And explore you did! You went from the depths of the basement to the point that we had to wall off all the entrances to the crawl space in order to prevent you from getting lost in there, all the way to the top of the refigerator finding new spots for you to lie down and sleep. In our rooms, you found spots in our closets and beds that we wouldn't discover for years to fall asleep, and now that you've passed I'm not sure that we ever will find all of your hiding spots. I think I may have found all the ones you used in my room. And if I may say so, there are quite a few devious ones that you had from various places under my furniture to areas that were just hidden by line of sight in exceptionally devious ways. You were an expert at finding areas of the house that no one else knew about, and when you wouldn't show up for meds we'd often find new hiding spots we didn't know you used let alone existed that you would come trotting out from once we had been searching long enough.

Misty, you are perhaps one of the cats I've known who's the best at cuddling. It wasn't just how much love you gave, but how you gave it as well. You were an expert at knowing how to lie down just so the weight was put in all the right places. You were able to make it so that someone could feel all of your bodyweight on them from just the head. And were able to make it so that you could find just the right angle to put their leg to sleep. Of course your timing was perfect as well, you knew just when we were going to get up and would always try and visit us then to get us to stay just a little longer. It worked on me far less times then I would care to admit, though I'm still glad you chose me so many times. You were in many ways one of the best cats at cuddling I've ever had, a master of knowing just where to lay and just when to change positions. You were able to put on so much weight, that after spending so many hours with your dead body I can no longer call the pressure you put on my legs 'dead weight.' You were a loving girl who was able to make me smile just by popping up, but only more so if you would choose to lay down. I have seen how you've changed through the years, and I'm sorry that I've changed as well. From tossing and turning too much in bed to serve as a good resting spot, to that period where when you slept I'd get so anxious about whether or not you were alive that I would check your breathing almost always inadvertently waking you up. The fact that I would do so many things to be a worse place to cuddle and nap is one of my biggest regrets with how I treated you. And I wish so deeply that I could go back and fix it that you will never know.

You have stuck by me for all these years, and I will be ever thankful for that. We met in the fourth grade but you were my support and guidance for every year after till I moved to college. And when I had to return, you were still there for me. When I was a child you were my playmate, and you were my friend always there when I needed someone. When i was a tween you were there to be my companion when I was adrift in the sea of a new social environment. You were my advisor through my high school years always willing to join me when I needed to do homework for longer and a friend when I was finished and needed someone to spend time with. And that didn't change when I came back from college. I was at some of my lowest then, fully cognizant of how much I had failed and helpless to prevent it. But you didn't care. You still loved me. And through doing so you helped me through that, by being the companion I needed and guidence forward every step of the way. I have never fully repayed you for that, and now I never can. You have been a guiding light, and I as I have grown older have found myself not giving you that which you deserve. Something I regret to the deepest depths of my heart, and will carry with me till the day we meet again.

But I know who your greatest friends were. It wasn't me, or my dad whom you had chosen as your people. It was the other cats, specifically Pouncers. While Nicky was someone that you had fondness for you never truly developed a bond with him and the youth of Cypher and Jasmine may have been entertaining to watch it is impossible to deny that they were far from the kindest to you. Though early on, you were quick to give them a what for before age began to catch up to you. No, your greatest friends were the ones you arrived at our house with: Pouncers and Shadow. Shadow was a good friend, and while he often annoyed you with his desire to always be close to someone, and how loud he was you still more then tolerated him and would let him clean you. He was a bit of a bully to you, but eventually that to would end even though he desperately wanted you attention. However, we know truly that Pouncers was your soulmate. He was a Russian blue, far cuter then a button, and with a heart that was large enough to hold everyone in it. He was the one you truely loved, the two of you often snuggling close to each other and spending as much time together as you could. Cleaning each other, as well as curling up close even in areas as small as someone's lap. You two were practically made for each other, no creator could have done a better job. And I'm sure you were the most devastated of us all when he died. I know that a year and a half prior you had been at deaths door yourself, and despite the poor health that he was in Pounce was still just as himself as ever. He was still as energetic as he was, and he was still just as loving as he was. And when I came back from college, I could tell that you had lost a part of yourself with him. You had lost some of your spark, I could still see it dancing behind your eyes, and you hadn't lost any of your spunk. But I knew that you would never show it as you had before.

While you have suffered with anxiety and depression for a long time, I know that they were managed and under control. And I know you knew as well, from how you would rise in the morning to take meds as well as how you would dutifully demand them every night. But we weren't sure that you would make it after you got asthma. When it started out it wasn't minor, it was a health risk that very nearly put you in a state where you would die if it got worse. But at the end the medication worked, and you survived. And you were able to spend a year and a half more with Pounce before he passed away. And then an additional three and a half years with us and shadow. I'm sorry that this was around the time I stopped traveling with you to the vet. And this was the time I stopped going in with you. This was when covid was around, and in my anxiety about catching it again I had neglected to give you the treatment that you deserve. It was a failure on my part to act like I had, to neglect you and force you into such a situation without due cause. And this is another deep regret in how I treated you. I can only hope that when we meet next you can find it in you to forgive me.

College was a good time for me, I enjoyed what I was doing, but I had to do it without you. This wasn't gaurenteed. We very nearly had me go to a school where I would be able to live at home and still spend time with you, but in my haste for freedom I left. To this day I can't say that was a mistake. Even if at the moment I deeply regret all the time I couldn't spend with you. But, when I came back from college in 2020 that was after pounces death. No one was alright at that time, everyone was still grieving, you most of all, and I had so far failed to fully conceptualize what it meant. I remember being in the college mess hall, and was talking with some friends from a club. They had asked if I was excited to return home, and remembering that Pounce was dead I responded with a dejected "No." That isn't to say that I didn't want to be back with everyone. But despite having a week to prepare for coming home to a house without Pounce, I was not ready at all. It was like having a wound that was torn open again before it had even begun to heal, and I know it was far worse for you. I know people say that Cat's can't grieve. However, anyone who would have seen you then would've known otherwise. You hadn't just lost a friend, you'd lost a soulmate and the other half of your spark had been lost to you. While you are reunited now, at the time you would have nothing to take comfort in besides us. And I had little to take comfort in besides you. But you helped me, more then you'll ever know, to work through the grief I was feeling. It was awful, yes, but you helped me through the loss more then you'll ever know.

These past few years have been bad for both of us. I have been affected by Gender Dysphoria, Anxiety, Depression, and ADD while you have been afflicted with the rigors of age. I know that it must have been painful for you to see me as I was without any understanding as to why I would breakdown like that or why I seemed to be at times broken. But, nonetheless you still came to help me with it. To spend time with me, and act as emotional support by being there for me when I needed you to be. I wish I could have done the same for you. But when you get so old that your eyes and ears begin to fail there is nothing that can be done to help. I have watched as you have stopped going to your favorite hiding places such as the top of the refrigerator, or the upper shelf of a closet, because you can no longer jump. And if you did you are no longer confident enough in yourself to get down. I have watched as you've slowed the hunting of bugs from running to beat them at whatever game they claim they are better at, to stopping and sitting to bat at you. But these past few months have been the worst. I have watched you go from dashing to catch a string, even if it was only once, to just yesterday being unable to do so because you had something stopping you that I can't see or know and can only guess on. I have watched as you've gone from tracking a string with all of your senses, to you being unable to track your favorite cords when they are right in front of your mouth. Yesterday I did my best to interact with you as much as possible, to do everything in my power to make sure it was excellent. And I watched, as you were unable to jump up to explore the counters you so desperatly wished to walk on, I felt it as the string in my hand was tugged forward with a far weaker force then it ever had been before, I heard it as you struggled to keep your purr motor running and it weakened even as I was petting you. Misty I love you. I wish I could do everything in my power to help you. But in these last few days, I do not know what I can do to help you. Except this.

The person who came to put you down today arrived four minutes early at 10:26 instead of 10:30. You were put down around 10:50. I couldn't read the clocks through my tears, I can only guess based on when my alarm sounded to announce the change in hours. You may not know this but you died in dads arms with me caressing you, even though you fell asleep from the anesthesia in my arms tucking yourself into my arms just like you do at the vet in a sight just as tragic to see as it is joyous that even now you can find comfort in me. I wish it could have been another way.

Yesterday on the 20th the appointment was made. I was supposed to work that day but called it in to spend time with you. I thank you for being willing to spend it with me, yes you hid in the backroom and the closet like you usually do. But you were willing to spend most of it with me. You were willing to spend most of it getting carressed, petted, skritched, loved in a hundred different ways by me. My sibling came in to give you love as well, but they had to go to work. Dad was too sick from the flu to stay awake long enough to spend much time with you. But when he woke up in the evening you still spent hours cuddling with him. You made his day with that you know? My mom had to go to work, but she still took care of you. I wish they also could have spent the day as I did. Memorizing every contour of your body, taking enough pictures to fill a book, filming and recording you as I tried to get every little thing you do recorded to try and stop my memory from drifting too far away from who you are. I have tried to memorize the shape of your head, the contour of your back, the way your ears flick when you rub them. I know the contours of your gut from when it bloated, I can feel just how they shift as you slowly remove it from your system. I know how you purr, I know your dusty scent. And I dread that I will one day forget it all. Please don't let me. I know it wasn't the best day to memorize everything about you. I know I say how you failed to dash, how your body was slowing down, how you couldn't see or sense where things where. But, I could also tell that under there it was you.

On the 19th we were debating what date for putting you down was best. We still tried our best to spend time with you knowing this could be our last chances. I didn't do a good enough job. I should have done better. I grew bored with it, not fully realizing how little time we had left and spent much of the afternoon simply being near you. On that day we hadn't made a decision and the way that you acted gave us hope that you could survive a few more weeks without your condition getting worse. That day you lit a fire under me in order to many things done. And I thank you for that.

The 18th was when I got my first full day knowing what I wanted to do to make your life as nice as possible before you passed. However I don't remember much of that day. I know how desperately I tried to spend it with you, as well as later failing to do so. I am not proud of how I operated that day, and wish I had focused more on you.

On the 17th I had work. I don't think you'll understand the pain it was to spend it away from you. It was only five and a half hours, but even with the medications I had taken it felt like an eternity. I was a Dead women walking all day at work, unable to get the energy to do my job because of how drained I was. I had spent much of the morning trying to be with you but I had not gotten much sleep waking early that day from thirst. Thankfully you still accepted me that day, and we spent good time together. At this point I didn't know when you would be put down, but I was fearing for the worst. This was also the day we almost decided to switch back and try insulin. We know you were living a good life, and one that you weren't in much pain. And we know that you were enjoying it. But we also knew all that would change once the treatment started.

On the 16th it was confirmed we would put you down. I had an eight hour work day and after coming home we ate dinner and then we discussed what we would do with you. Only a few days prior we'd learned that you had Diabetes, and it was barely two weeks ago from today that we'd taken you in to the veterinarians office for testing to help you with your gas problem. I was distraught, we all were. No body wanted this option, the issue is that we also knew that your bloodsugar was so high that in order to feel better you would have to endure weeks or even months of bihourly pin pricks, twice daily injections, and a hormone drop of over 300 that would leave you grumpy, hungry, and generally feeling awful for weeks on end. It was that, or put you down. Because letting you die to diabeties wasn't an option. I had trouble sleeping that night, I couldn't cry myself to sleep that night as much as I tried and was forced to try and find another option to fall asleep. It worked, eventually.

In many ways today has been the worst of the days. As much pain as everything else was, as much pain as it was knowing just how physically frail you've gotten, as painful as it is knowing just how much age has caught up to you, you were still you. Misty, it was painful to see Misty trapped in her own body. A body that was unable to fully do what it wanted to do, that couldn't see what it wanted to see, a body that couldn't be what it wanted to be. But through it all you were still at your core Misty. And now I've lost that. It has been around six hours and thirty minutes since you passed as I write this. It was painful to lock you out of your sleeping places Misty. But we wanted to make sure your death was as painless as possible. But that pain of forcing you to do what you didn't want to of making you uncomfortable. It's less then the pain of losing you, and far less painful than if you had died by one of the other options creeping up on you. I know the details of liver failure deaths. I know the details of diabetes deaths. And I will take the pain of feeling hollow physically and emotionally only to breakout in extreme grief at your loss if it means that you will never have to experience that. Please, if you can, let us know if we made the right decision. Do you approve of what we did, I can only pray that you do. To who? You of course. I pray you are still watching over us and waiting for us with Pounce. I pray that when it is our turn to leave for the afterlife we can meet again. I pray I can remember you forever and always, and that I will never forget you.

Misty, you have been my greatest companion through life. I am 22 years old, we got you when I was 9. You have been with me so long I find it difficult to describe. You have been with us longer then I have been reading books without pictures, you have been with me longer then I have known about sex and human reproduction. You have been with me before schools started implementing personal computers, and those that I brought home were all younger then you and part of a program younger then you. You have been a part of my life for more then half of it and I am so glad you were. I am so glad that you were willing to stand by me, I am so happy that we have had 14 long beautiful years together. I remember playing with you, you leaping through tunnels as the crinkle and rustle just like pounce would. I remember you and him sleeping together in a yin-yang esque symbol. I remember oh so much about you, the bad and the good, I remember accidentally throwing you off while I sleep. And how mad you were at me. Now that you are gone, I can not go back to normal. Because you are so intertwined with it that I must create a new one if I wish to be normal again. And I hate doing that, I hate having to construct a new world without you to understand. But please, wait for me on the other side. I pray it will be long, but please. Wait for me. I know in your old age you have become, as my dad put it, "A Peaceful Patience" so please show me that. Wait for me so we can meet again.

Please my Darling Misty.

My Little Girl.

My Princess.

My Cat.

Until we meet again, I love you, I love you always, and I love everything about you.