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purplestrawberrywerewolf · 3 years

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Raya cleans Cat litter!

Note: This is a crack fic ig lmao. I based it off my cats since I have two and as much as I love them, I always dread cleaning the cat litter lol. So then I wondered, what would happen if Raya cleaned it? Well, here u go! Enjoy :))

(You can read it here or in ao3)

She shouldn’t have agreed to this. She should’ve just lied and say she was busy taking care of her younger brother Boun instead of being nice. She should’ve just said she was busy at work but she knew Namaari would see right through her and catch her in the lie seeing she had the day off that day and decided to spend it doing her own thing and then planned on picking up Boun later that day to go get some ice cream.

Instead, she was here.

When she got a text from her best friend, asking if she could do her a favor, she should’ve just pretended she didn’t see it or act like her phone was dead. Instead, she answered.

Namaari:

Hey dep la, can you do me a favor?

Raya:

Yeah, what’s up?

Namaari:

Turns out I'm working late tonight 🙁 and the cats need their litter changed. Do you think you can do it?

Raya:

Uhhhh yeah I guess

Namaari:

Ok. You have the key to the apartment. It’s easy to clean. Just use the scooper, it’s next to their litter and if u can, replace the old litter and put new litter. Afterwards, can you feed them?

Raya:

Woah, sounds like a lot but I can do it

Namaari:

Ok, thank you <3

Raya really didn’t think much of it. I mean, it was just poop, she’s dealt with it before. She has a dog, his name was Tuk Tuk, and she’s taken him on walks and has picked up his poop a thousand times. This was easy! What could go wrong?

So much.

Raya entered the apartment building before walking up to the second floor where Namaari’s apartment was. She fished for the key Namaari had given her and unlocked the door.

She went inside and as usual, it was quiet and clean. Namaari lived a pretty big apartment for someone who didn’t make a lot at work, but Raya knew a lot of this was thanks to her mother who had a lot in pocket.

“Meow” Raya looked down and smiled when she saw the two cats. “Hey you two” she greeted as she bent down and picked up one of them. She's known Mai and Buan since they were kittens when Namaari called her one day excitedly telling her she adopted two baby kittens.

She looked around. “Alright, well your mom wanted me to clean your litter so where is it?” She asked as she looked around. She then remembered the text where Namaari said the litter was in the wreck room where the cats’ toys were.

She glanced at the door and walked towards it, the cats following her. She turned the knob and opened the door, and the worst smell known to man hit her nose. Raya gasped, placing a hand over her nose as she kept herself from gagging, the cats looking up at her wondering why she was acting the way she was.

“Ugh, what the heck.” She groaned as she squeezed her nose. She sighed. “Let’s just get this over with” she said as she opened the lid of the cat litter and gagged at the smell.

“Ugh! What does your mom feed you guys?” She asked. From what she knew, Namaari bought her cats Rachel Ray food, saying she wanted to feed her cats good, healthy organic food instead of the ones that were filled with processed stuff that can make them sick.

The cats meowed as they ran off. Raya looked for the scooper and found it. She bent down to grab it as she grabbed the bag that was folded. She opened it and began to scoop the feces. “Ewww” she squealed as she dropped it into the bag.

She gagged again. “Hold on, let me see if Namaari has a mask or something” she said as she got up. She left the room and found the pantry where her best friend kept everything.

She found the box of masks her friend bought after the pandemic hit. If Raya was being honest, she felt like Namaari was being a little overdramatic when she stocked up on food and supplies, freaking out that everything was gonna go out of stock and they would have to survive like in those zombie movies.

Of course, as you know, things were slowly beginning to get better but Namaari still had that paranoid mindset. Raya grabbed the mask and put it on, walking back to the room, almost tripping on one of the cats.

“Ah! Damn cat” she groaned before entering the room. The smell wasn’t that strong anymore but still strong enough to go through the mask. “Ugh” she groaned as she grasped the scooper and began to throw the poop in.

Suddenly, Mai began to attack Raya’s hand that was holding the scooper. “Hey! What are you doing?” She asked as she picked up the cat and swiftly threw her aside.

She began scooping again, and was almost done before Buan came by and jumped into the litter box. Raya groaned. “Really? I’m busy here” she commented. Suddenly, Buan went into his bathroom stance and Raya’s eyes widened.

“Oh no-AGHH!” She yelled as the cat began to poop. “Ew, ew” she practically sobbed as the cat finished its business and jumped out without covering his business.

Raya groaned. “Really? You could cover it!” She yelled after the cat. She covered the poop with the litter, cringing at the smell. Both cats then ran into the room, playing with their toys as the girl scooped out their business.

“Okay, now I have to changed your litter” she said as she scooped out the old litter and threw it in the bag. “Ugh” she groaned as she finished getting the litter in. She then looked at the floor and sighed when she saw that some of it fell. “Really?” She said before getting up.

She tied the bag shut and threw it next to the trash, making a mental note to herself to throw it out. She remembered Namaari’s text telling her the cat litter bag was next to the room and noticed the very, very big and possibly very heavy bag.

“Okay Raya, you can do this” she said before grasping the bag and groaning when she dragged it into the room. “Ugh, how does your mom deal with you guys?” She asked as the cats meowed.

“Okay” she said as she opened the bag and found the mini scooper in it before scooping litter into the box. She scooped as much as she could before agreeing with herself that it was enough.

“Okay, cool” she said as she clipped the bag shut and dragged it all the way out, groaning. “Ugh, how did Namaari carry this thing. Well, she is buff and can probably knock me out with one punch so that’s a stupid question” she said to herself before setting the bag down.

Buan meowed up at her. “Alright, where does your mom keep the broom?” She asked as she walked to the pantry again. She saw the red broom in the corner and grabbed it before heading back to the room.

She swept up the left-over litter. Mai then began to attack the bristles of the broom, trying to chew on it. “Aye! Shoo! Go!” She hit the cat gently with the broom. The cat refused to listen and Raya rolled her eyes.

She picked up the cat and put it in Namaari’s room where Buan was sleeping. “Stay in your mom’s room” she said before closing the door, rolling her eyes when she heard the cats meow.

She finished sweeping and threw out the litter. She grabbed the bag and walked to the back to throw it out, cringing at the smell as she threw it out.

As she walked up the stairs to go through the back door of Namaari’s apartment, her eyes widened when she saw a disgusting moth. “Ew, oh my gosh” she said as she ran to the door, practically screaming when she heard the moth fly.

She slammed the door shut as she panted. Did Namaari know there was a giant moth living in her porch? From what she remembered, Namaari despised bugs. Even the smallest bug can make the once tough Fang girl turn into a scared toddler, jumping onto the counter and calling Raya to kill it.

Raya went back to the room and sprayed it with air freshener. Once she felt that the room was at a better smell, she grasped the two bowls and went to fill them with cat food.

“There's a red cup in the bag. Just give them half a cup each” Namaari’s words echoed in Raya’s head as she scooped the food out. She filled their bowls and set them out before giving them fresh water.

She went back to Namaari’s room and opened the door and the two cats ran out. “Go! You guys are disgusting” she said as she sighed. This was the last time she was doing Namaari a favor.

That binturi owed her.

~*~

“Don’t be dramatic. They’re not that bad” Namaari rolled her eyes as she and Raya sat on her couch in the apartment as Raya told her the adventure of cleaning the cat litter.

“They were! Don’t you clean it?” She asked. Namaari scoffed. “Yes, I do. I clean it 3 times a day but I had to work late today, which is why I told you to clean it, but you’re such a chicken” she said.

Boun laughed as he pet one of the cats. “Ha! She called you a chicken” he laughed as Raya stuck her tongue out at him. “Well, it was disgusting, and that’s the last time I’m doing you a favor” she said as Namaari rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. You’ll come crawling back to me”

“Pff, as if”

“I bet you”

“Oh, you will?”

“Yup.

“Alright, bet”

That bet did not go well.

#Poor raya #cleaning cat litter sucks #and the smell #UGH #its grosss #Namaari #Boun #Boun is the sassy younger brother that gets on ur nerves but u love him #ratld

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jamaiskookie · 4 years

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mutuals (pjmxreader) [bonus:celibacy]

~mutuals~ [youtuber!reader x idol!jimin] social media AU

synopsis: park jimin is a (slightly problematic) idol singer, and he becomes completely smitten with a youtuber after stumbling upon her dance cover to his own song.

genre: fluff, a good dosing of cracK, literally two seconds of angst blink and u miss it

word count: 2.3k

[A/N]: thank you for all the love you’ve given mutuals! can’t believe it’s only been like one week since this blog has been up hehE enjoy this drabble of thirsty!jimin after he found your video. if you have no idea what i’m talking about gO READ THE FIRST CHAPTER

series masterlist

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When JinHit first hit record sales with the success of Jimin’s mini album, and RAPLINE’s first title single a couple years ago, Jin finally gave in to Jimin’s begging and gave all the artists their own personalised studio in the JinHit building. It’s where all the greatest hits on the charts are written. It’s practically the modern eighth wonder of the world, considering the names and talent that have graced the walls.

Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon all have their separate studios to write, produce, and record in, and all three of the small rooms are located next to each other. Partially because of design and common sense, but also so all three friends can conveniently annoy each other when needed. Jin’s office isn’t too far away either, just across the floor. Usually, if they’re all working in the studio, they’ll walk over to Jin’s office during lunch hour and leech off his amazing personal pantry in his office. The office is much, much bigger than their studios, and Jimin never fails to remind Jin that.

All three artists have grown a little attached to their studios. It’s where they do what they all love most, after all. Yoongi barely lets anyone into his ‘Genius Lab’, and ever since a staff member accidentally messed with his coffee machine, he hasn’t let anyone step foot in. Nobody’s even allowed to come inside Namjoon’s studio during what he calls his ‘namjoon talent time’ which is basically just a period of time before comeback season where he locks himself in the studio, writing music 24/7.

He occasionally asks Jimin to listen to his unreleased files for suggestions, but other than that, noone except Yoongi goes inside his studio during ‘namjoon talent time’, and Namjoon only reluctantly lets him in as his bandmate. Not that Jimin minds, he hasn’t been let inside since he accidentally mistook Joon’s studio for his own and brought one of his one-night-stands over. Joonie was horrified, and made Jimin sanitise, wash and clean every part of the room, all while he cried about how his ‘baby was molested’. It was traumatising for both parties.

Out of the three, Jimin’s the least protective over his studio, even though he’s the one who put the most effort into it. He’s spent years perfecting it, making it the best place for inspiration and writing music. Everything in the studio has been personally chosen and thought out by him. The snacks and custom mini fridge, the wall of his entire discography, trophies, music awards, and his personal favourite, the official JIMIN logo sign above the couch.

It lights up in purple.

Despite being a pretty stereotypical assholey partying douche idol, Jimin’s likes to think he’s actually quite talented. He’s been named ‘Most professional idol’ on every single online survey he can find (He’s also always voted for ‘Most handsome’, but that’s besides the point), and it’s true. Jimin never sells himself short. He is a professional musician, singer, and producer. He writes his own music, choreographs his own dancing, and uses his platform to spread positive, meaningful messages. There’s a reason he’s so internationally successful, and it’s because he’s talented.

Maybe right now isn’t a great example of his talent. Jimin was in his studio, holding his head in his hands. Sure, he’s a globally recognised and accomplished songwriter, but to be honest, he hadn’t written a single piece of original JIMIN music since he wrote ‘Filter’ with Namjoon months ago. He was in the biggest creative slump in his entire career. He had tried almost everything, co-writing, exercise, music samples, playing around on instruments. Hell he even tried music therapy. Whatever melody he tried to create, whatever lyrics he tried to write, it all came out sounding like garbage.

Yesterday was a little bit of a blow to Jimin’s ego. It was three in the morning, and he’d been in the studio for seven hours, with only one verse written.

I love to let loose,

Have you ever tried eating moose?

It’s all so bananas,

Tony fucking Montana.

Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing. It’s not even a verse, it looks more like a kindergartener’s attempt to write poetry. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t really feel like writing music or putting his thoughts in a song. Jimin is just plain out of ideas. He has nothing to write about. And if he doesn’t have good content to put out, he’d rather not put anything out at all.

But he still hates it. All his life, he’s coped by writing, singing and dancing. This writer’s block has been too frustrating. Too many sleepless nights and crumpled papers have been wasted over it, with no progress or music in result. Plus, Jin might be one of his closest friends, but Jin was also a boss, and he still needed more tracks for Jimin’s big comeback, happening end of the year.

He can’t help it. Jimin has nothing left to write about. He opened one eye when he heard the distant ding of his phone coming from somewhere in the studio. Grumbling incoherently, he opened the notification, to find… you.

Jimin’s mouth was hanging open the entire video. His eyes twitched the tiniest bit and he almost dropped the phone when you said his face was “decent”, but he had to watch it again, because the first time around, he didn’t hear a word that came out your damn mouth. He was otherwise… preoccupied. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t tear his damn eyes off the screen. Curse Min Yoongi for sending him this.

He even cringed when he had to bring his sleeve up to wipe the tiniest bit of drool off his face. Practically salivating. What the fuck? How old was he? He was Park Jimin, why was he popping a boner from watching some stranger on the internet dance to his songs? He’s been in the industry for way too long now, he was practically immune to scantily clad women prancing around him. So why he completed concentrated on your stupid little crop top? Not to mention, you were practically insulting him at this point. What was so special?

For one moment, Jimin forced his eyes off the screen, wondering if the sleep deprivation had really affected him that much, or if this was another side effect of the writer’s block he’s been having. It’s the partying ‘clean act’ ban Jin’s been forcing me to go on, he thought, even though Jimin wasn’t totally convinced of that. (Despite swearing not to, he looked straight back to down at his phone afterwards to reply the video.)

He was so fixated on the screen, he didn’t even notice when Yoongi flung the door open and walked inside. Jimin only lifted his head when he heard Yoongi’s obnoxiously loud groan.

“What- When did you get here?” Yoongi recently went back to a fan-favourite hair colour of his, and Jimin was still not used to seeing him with bright mint coloured hair. In his opinion, he looked like a highlighter, but Yoongi seemed to not mind it.

“I’ve been standing here for the past two minutes, drinking my coffee. The fuck you watching on your phone that’s got you drooling?”

“NOTHING.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, and before Jimin could even move away, he managed to snatch the phone away from Jimin’s hands.

“What the fuck- how? You know, this is why your fanbase thinks you’re a cat.” Yoongi ignored his words with ease. “Oh my god,” He said. “Are you watching the video I sent you? I didn’t expect you to actually watch it.”

“I always watch my fan’s videos after a comeback!” Jimin insisted, clawing upwards to steal his own phone back, but Yoongi kept slapping his hands away.

“Yeah, but this isn’t a fan. This is just like, one of your fanboys and a girl roasting you.” Yoongi stared back at Jimin suspiciously when he tried to defend himself. “Why were you watching this girl dance like a starving man, Chim?”

“Just, because- what- I was nOT watching her like a starving man. Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of a pervert!” Jimin finally managed to grab ahold of his phone again, and he threw it behind him on the couch, away from Yoongi.

“Hyung,” He sighed. “I think maybe it’s Jin’s new ‘clean, good boy’ rule. Along with this stupid fucking slump I’ve been having these days, I just don’t feel great, okay? So don’t be so fussy with me. I can’t write, I can’t party… If I want to ogle over some random girl on the internet, I will.” Jimin cringed once the words came out of his mouth, but Yoongi slowly nodded, sitting down on the couch.

Min Yoongi may be a little too gay to understand Jimin’s womaniser ways, but the frustration behind not being able to write music, that, he understood. “You’re trying to justify being a perv by using your mental problems, but I’ll talk to you about that later on.”

“Chim, we all have our slumps. It’s honestly a wonder that this is your first serious creative block. Me and Joon, and every single artist in the world, is bound to go through that at some point. It’s not the end. You’ll still be able to write good music soon, you’re a good writer.” Jimin refused to meet Yoongi’s eyes, even if what he was saying did make a little sense. He just chose to stay silent.

“You just have nothing left to write about. You can’t keep living like this though, Chimmy. It’s unhealthy.”

“What do you mean, unhealthy? I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

Yoongi stared at him deadpan, gesturing to the entire state of his studio. “It’s a complete mess in here,” He said. “Plus, I don’t think you’ve left this studio for days. The others may not want to say it to your face, but we’re all a bit worried about you. Stop forcing yourself to ingest all these redbulls to try to keep writing.”

“When inspiration comes, it’ll come. You can’t force it, it doesn’t work that way. What you need, is a break. Go back home for once, maybe visit your mom. And for god’s sakes, take a shower please. Trust me, okay?”

Yoongi doesn’t like admitting it, but he’s the most caring one out of their friend group. Anyone can tell from the look in his eyes right now, that he’s genuinely concerned about his friend. He’s also the one with most sense, but Jimin will never tell him that, because his advice, no matter how sensible, is useless.

All he’s known is singing, writing, and throwing himself in work. To just stop? Even if it’s to take a short break, it doesn’t feel right to Jimin. Instead of telling Yoongi his problems, he just poked his tongue in his cheek. If lightbulbs actually popped up above people’s heads when they had a good idea, a massive one would’ve appeared on top of Jimin’s.

“I’ve got it!” He said, excitedly. Yoongi sat up straight. “You’re going to take my advice for once?”

“No, of course not, Hyung. Don’t be silly.” Yoongi slouched his back again, closing his eyes.

“I’ll just hit this girl up!” Yoongi’s eyes snapped open.

“What.”

“Yeah! Who knows, y’know? Maybe I’ve been keeping myself to Jin’s rules a little too well. It won’t hurt the company if I let myself go just once. Blow off some steam, come back fresh and recharged.” Jimin rubbed his hands together like a bad Disney villain.

“It’s too early for this.” Yoongi whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Yoongi ignored him.

“You really aren’t going to take my advice, huh.”

“Nope!” Jimin said, popping the ‘p’ annoyingly.

“You promised Jin you’d go celibate.”

“I said I’d clean up the partying act. I don’t recall taking a vow of celibacy.” Yoongi just sighed, and fell back down on the sofa, mindlessly sipping at his coffee.

Jimin hesitated. “You’re not going to… tell me not to? Or give me another one of your eco-feminist speeches again?” Yoongi shrugged.

“You’ve heard it too many times. Plus, I have a feeling this is going to be funny.”

“Funny? Hyung, what part of this could possible be funny to you?” There was a brief pause filled with awkward silence, before Yoongi blinked slowly.

“When she rejects you, of course.” Jimin threw his jacket, aimed straight for Yoongi’s head. His stupidly fast cat-like reflexes managed to dodge it, but Jimin scowled at him nonetheless.

“She’s not going to reject me.” Jimin walked over, picking up the very same jacket he threw at Yoongi, before plopping his sunglasses back on his face. “No woman has ever managed to reject me before, and I intend on adding her to that list.” He pursed his lips.

“Plus, she’s super hot. Great ass. Attractive people attract attractive people.” Jimin turned his phone back on once more to sneak one last peek at you in the thumbnail of the video, before stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “I just need to get it out of my system. This might be what I need to get me out of this creative rut!”

He could’ve sworn Yoongi muttered something under his breath, something along the lines of ‘fucking asshole’, but he chose to ignore it.

“Alright, well, see you, Yoons!” Jimin practically skipped out of the studio, startling the producer’s assistant outside with his slightly disturbing enlarged grin.

“Don’t come crying to me when she refuses to get in your pants, you fucking diva!”

Jimin continued walking towards the elevator, but he threw up his middle finger behind him.

“DON’T RUIN MY EXIT, BITCH!”

[taglist:] @notmontae97 @lucedelsole97

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headfulloffantasies · 4 years

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Search and Find

Part 5 of Clones and Kings

Read on Ao3

Three hours pass and Rex still hadn't heard from Mando. He scooped up Mini-Yoda and decided that if Mando couldn't find his own way home then Rex would go bring him home.

Rex needed to have words with Ahsoka. When he’d finally managed to contact her on Wolffe’s behalf, she’d practically squealed with glee at the sight of the other clone. And then she’d scooped Wolffe up and dragged him away to do undercover work in a distant sector. But Ahsoka had left Rex with Mando and Yoda Model 2.0. Ahsoka told Rex it was important. Ahsoka claimed the child had incredible powers that could not be left untended until Skywalker finished his quest. Ahsoka promised Rex was doing the will of the Force.

Why pray tell, did the Force want Rex covered in drool and run ragged keeping a toddler from eating jumper cables? No one would tell Rex. So Rex continued to shadow the Mand’alor’s steps.

Mando had a lead on his elusive beskar dealers. Not just the thieves, but the big dogs involved in melting down stolen armour and selling it on the black market. The lead led them to Coruscant.

Rex hated Coruscant. The towering spires twisting up into infinity and the platforms raised higher and higher into the sky gave Rex a sense of vertigo. The ground never felt stable on the top levels and the lower levels were always shrouded in dark.

Only the old Jedi Temple sat free of the dizzying influence of modern architecture. Still, Rex wouldn’t go back there in a million years if someone paid him a million credits. That was a haunted place.

Mando landed his ship on a platform somewhere in the middle of the levels just after sunset.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Rex asked for the umpteenth time.

Mando gave him a flat stare through the helmet. “I won’t risk taking Grogu with me,” he explained again. “And this has to be done tonight before the dealers get wind of me. I need you to watch Grogu until I come back.”

The tyke slept in his hammock in Mando’s bunk. His massive ears twitched every now and then as he dreamed. Rex imagined Little Yoda dreamed of frogs of lightsabers.

Mando strapped his pulse rifle over his shoulder. He checked his whistling birds and re-loaded his blaster twice. If Rex was a braver man, he’d guess Mando was nervous.

Finally, Mando approached his son. Rex turned his head to give them a bit of privacy. Out of the corner of his eye, Rex watched Mando caress Un-Yoda’s fat cheeks. Rex averted his eyes.

Mando’s boots thudded down the ramp. Rex followed to close the door behind him. Mando turned on the last step.

“If I’m not back in three hours, take Grogu to Luke Skywalker’s Jedi school,” Mando instructed.

“What?” Rex squawked. “But-.”

Mando swept off into the night, ignoring Rex’s protests.

Rex shuffled in the doorway. Mando hadn’t said anything about leaving him to die in a Coruscant gutter. The mission hadn’t seemed that dangerous to Rex when they’d discussed it. Had Mando lied to Rex about the severity of the danger?

Rex had half a mind to grab his guns and go after the kriffer. But Master Yoda’s Copy still slept in his hammock. Rex kicked himself. He should have known if Mando refused to bring the kid that this mission was too much for Mando to handle alone. The buir and ad’ika normally could not be separated on pain of death.

A chirp drew Rex’s attention. He looked down. The New Yoda blinked sleep from his huge eyes. He babbled and waved his hands to be lifted. Rex reached down and picked him up.

“Well, kid?” Rex asked. “I think your buir may have stepped in the bantha’s mess this time. So, do we wait him out, or do we go after him?”

The child snuggled into Rex’s elbow and fell back asleep. Rex decided that meant one vote for giving Mando the benefit of the doubt. Rex rocked the kid gently and made his way up to the cockpit. He sat in the pilot’s chair and watched the dark streets through the windscreen. Rex’s stomach rolled with every passing second. He was a soldier. He wasn’t used to laying low and sitting around when someone else faced the fire.

Every moment that went by was a moment Mando might have a bullet in the back of a knife between his ribs. Rex couldn’t stand this. He checked the chronometer. Only an hour had passed.

Rex didn’t mean to fall asleep. Honestly, he had worked himself up so much he didn’t know he could sleep. But the kid had made a nice warm lump on his chest and the night dragged on.

Rex bolted awake alone and cold.

The tiny Jedi was gone. Rex lurched out of the pilot’s seat.

“Hey kid?” Rex called out. He didn’t see any green ears or hear any pattering feet. Rex had left the door to the cockpit open. He cursed himself as he hurried down the ladder.

“Kid?” Rex scanned the interior of the main hold. Mando’s bunk stood open. Yoda the Younger had not returned to his hammock.

“Kid?” Kriff, what was his name? Googoo? Grog? Gremlin?

“Little Grub?” Rex tried.

A babble caught Rex’s attention. The pantry door hung open. Master Yoda’s Double sat on the highest shelf, his clawed feet waving. Wrappers littered the floor along with crumbs and rations bars deemed unacceptable to the toddler’s unknowable sense of taste.

Rex scooped up the child. “How many of those did you eat?”

The child only burped. He took another huge bite of the ration bar in his hands. Those new teeth growing in didn’t seem to bother him so much right now.

Rex brushed crumbs off Not-Yoda’s face. The kid caught hold of Rex’s finger and waved it around.

“Yes, you’re very cute and very naughty,” Rex grumbled. He extracted his finger before The Progeny of Master Yoda tried taking a bite out of it.

Rex glanced up at the closed ship’s ramp. “So your buir still hasn’t come home, has he Little Grub?” Rex shifted the child to settle against his hip. Rex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t anything ever go according to plan?”

The baby cooed. Rex looked down at him. Those huge eyes implored Rex.

“Kriff,” Rex cursed. “We all knew I wasn’t going to leave him to die here. Are you ready to go drag him out of whatever mess he’s gotten himself into?”

Hardly-Yoda dropped his ration bar and smacked his sticky hands against Rex’s chest, a string of gurgles flowing between his teeth.

“Okay then,” Rex nodded. He grabbed his pistols and opened the ship’s ramp. A squall of rain lashed against his face. Rex tucked the child into the crook of his arm and slogged out into the storm. The wind nearly toppled Rex over. He staggered off the landing pad and into the relative shelter between two buildings.

“This way.” Rex headed down. Mando’s contact owned some kind of warehouse in the lower levels of Coruscant. Rex hustled past the denizens of people trying to escape the rain. Eventually, they wound up in a dark, wet alleyway that smelled like dead loth cat. The warehouse door hung open.

Rex unholstered a gun and carefully stepped from the dim street into the blackness of the warehouse. The empty space echoed the screech of the door falling shut. Rex froze. His heart pounded while he waited for someone to jump out from behind the scattered shadows. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dark. The shadows coalesced. Rex drew a sharp breath. He covered the child’s eyes. Those weren’t crates or boxes. They were bodies.

Rex tread carefully, stepping over outstretched arms and crumpled legs. He recognised among the wounds the marks left behind by whistling birds.

“Your buir was here, Little Grub,” Rex whispered.

The child whined.

“He’s not here anymore,” Rex noted the lack of shining silver armour among the fallen. “So where did he go, Little Grub?”

Rex followed the trail of carnage. A disgusting smear of blood led out the back door. Rex prayed it didn’t belong to Mando. Rex stepped out into the rain again. He blinked water from his eyes. A body slumped against the alley wall.

Rex realised with a jolt that if the beskar thieves had won and left Mando’s body to drown in the storm without his armour, Rex would never recognise Mando. He knelt beside the cold corpse. It couldn’t be Mando, Rex decided. This man was too bulky in the shoulders and round in the middle to be Mando.

So, Mando had slaughtered an entire warehouse of armed men and followed this last straggler out to finish the job. And then what? Where had he gone?

Rex spun a circle. This alley was used by a dozen establishments as a garbage disposal. The mouth of the alley led to a main thoroughfare. If Mando had gone that way Rex would never catch up to him.

Yoda the Smallest cooed. Rex glanced down at him. The child stretched his hand out. Rex followed where he pointed. The door directly across the alley was smudged with blood.

“Good work, Little Grub,” Rex said even as his throat closed with worry. Someone had left this alley covered in gore. It had to be Mando. Rex just prayed the blood on the door handle didn’t belong to Mando.

Rex shoved the door open.

Pounding bass and flashing rainbow lights deafened and blinded Rex immediately.

Rex had heard this joke. A clone and a baby walk into a bar. What happens next may surprise you.

The music buzzed. Rex craned his neck to try and see above the crowd milling around the tables. Rex grabbed the first man walking his way.

“You seen a Mandalorian running around?” Rex asked.

“No,” the man said almost before Rex was finished speaking.

Rex frowned. “You sure?”

“Never seen a Mandalorian in my life. Now scram,” the man shooed Rex away.

Rex backed into a woman. “Sorry,” he apologised.

She put her manicured hand on his arm and leaned into his space. Rex got ready to tell her he didn’t want to dance. She put her red lips next to his ear.

“I heard you say something about a Mandalorian,” she said over the music. “Go ask Erl.” She nodded to the squat Didynon with white ridges on his face and bulging eyes minding the bar.

“Erl knows everything,” the woman promised.

Rex pushed his way to the bar. He had to wait for the Didynon to finish serving several customers before he could attract Erls’ attention. Tiny Yoda reached a clawed hand for the amber drink someone had abandoned on the bar top. Rex scooped him up and away. Yoda Junior wailed. One of the eyes on the sides of Erl’s head swiveled in Rex’s direction.

“Erl?” Rex asked.

The Didynon raised his head. Rex found he couldn’t look in both eyes at once. He tried his best to pick one and stay focused.

“I’m told you might have seen a Mandalorian around here?” Rex asked.

Erl’s gaze dropped to the child wriggling in Rex’s arms.

“That thing housebroken?” Erl demanded.

Rex honestly didn’t know. “I’m looking for a Mandalorian,” Rex repeated.

“I heard you,” Erl nodded. “I seen a Mando about an hour ago. Silver armour? Yeah, that was him. He came storming in here from the back room, covered in blood, and then left in a hurry.”

Rex perked up. “You see which way he went?”

“Might have,” Erl blinked both eyes one after the other.

Rex grumbled and dug into his pocket. He came up with a handful of credits and dumped them on the bar.

Erl leaned closer. “The Mando said he was going back to his ship.”

Great. Rex deflated. If Mando had left an hour ago, he would have run into Rex and Not-Yoda-Yet. Something had to have happened between the bar and the ship.

“Thanks,” Rex left the bar. He stood in the rain for a long moment. He had no idea where to look next. Underage-Yoda wailed again. Rex tried to calm him. The child only cried harder. Big fat tears mixed with the rain slapping down.

“Hush, it’s alright,” Rex tried bouncing the kid in his arms. “Your buir’s around here somewhere. We just have to find the kriffer. Nobody can kill that bucket-head. I swear he’s immortal. That’s why he keeps going on suicide missions. He’s proving his invincibility. And his ability to give me an ulcer.”

The child quieted from wailing to loud sniffles. He seemed to be listening, so Rex kept talking.

“That’s it, Little Grub. Someone up there is watching over your buir. Maybe even Master Yoda himself.” Rex let out a barking laugh. “Wouldn’t that be a sight? Old Master Yoda keeping an eye on you and the kriffing Mand’alor. I wonder what the old jetti thought of your buir claiming the Darksaber.”

Rex imagined Master Yoda swinging his cane and screeching. The thought brought another laugh.

The child had quieted. He gripped Rex’s gloved index finger between both hands.

Rex sighed. “I don’t have any more ideas, Little Grub. Let’s go back to the ship and try to get some sleep. Your buir might come back on his own. If not, we can try to find him in the morning.”

Rex slogged through the puddles back to the landing dock. A voice shouted as Rex approached. Rex spun with a hand on his blaster.

“Woah there,” a man with an impressive beard waved from the shelter of an overhang at the edge of the dock. “I mean you no harm, friend. My name is Teach.”

“Teach,” Rex held back a sigh. “I don’t really have time to chat.”

“You’re looking for the Mandalorian?” Teach asked. Rex went still.

“How do you know that?”

Teach shrugged. “The Mandalorain was looking for you.”

“What?” Rex squawked. “When?”

Teach scratched his beard while he thought. “Maybe twenty minutes ago.”

“Where did he go?” Rex demanded.

“That way,” Teach pointed a dirty finger in the direction Rex had originally left the ship.

“I am an idiot,” Rex hissed. Premature Yoda cooed. “You don’t have to agree, I already know it’s true.” Rex grumbled. “Come on Little Grub. If your buir was still upright twenty minutes ago, then he’ll loop back to the ship eventually.”

“Better hurry,” Teach advised. “Your friend wasn’t looking too good.”

Rex stopped in his tracks. “What does that mean?”

Teach spread his hands helplessly. “He was covered in blood. And sort of tipsy, you know?”

Kriff. It sounded like Mando hadn’t escaped the fight unscathed after all.

“Don’t worry,” Rex patted the child’s head. “We’ll find him.”

Rex was a soldier. Better than that, he was a Captain. He knew how to sweep a grid search. He started by heading in the direction the man had pointed. Rex followed the street to its end. He kept his eyes peeled for a kriffing Mandalorian just as idiotic as Rex himself.

Rex and the green bean in his possession weaved back and forth down the streets, alleys, and side streets all around the landing dock. Rex asked the people he found braving the rain about Mando. None of them had seen Rex’s lost bucket-head. If the ghost of Master Yoda really was looking down, now was a good time for the old gremlin to give Rex a divine signal.

Rex slammed into something solid as brick.

“Kark!” Rex spat. He checked over Yoda the Second. “Watch where you’re-.” Rex looked up at the silver chest plate he’d run into. He blinked. A familiar visor looked back. Mando and Rex stood frozen in tableau in the middle of the slick street. Rex’s mouth opened and closed. Mando stood still as a statue.

“Where have you been?” Rex exploded.

“Me? You were supposed to leave hours ago. I thought someone had got you.” Mando snapped.

“Well, I thought you’d been gutted and left for the birds,” Rex shot back. “And I’d never leave a brother behind.”

Mando fell silent. Rex realised his voice had risen to shout through the rain.

Mando swayed on the spot. Rex shot a hand out and grabbed Mando’s arm. The man looked ready to keel over.

“Come on,” Rex pulled Mando back to the ship. He waved his thanks to Teach still sitting under the dripping overhang. Rex tugged Mando up the ramp and out of the rain.

Rex shoved Mando to sit on the edge of his bunk. He plopped the shivering wet Sham Yoda into Mando’s arms.

“Are you hurt?” Rex demanded. “Do I need to leave you with the med kit?”

“No,” Mando shook his head.

“Are you sure?” Rex pressed. “You don’t seem stable, no offense.”

Mando said nothing. Rex knew better than to keep pushing. He pointed to Mando’s left shoulder. The armour sat askew. “What happened here?”

“They managed to rip my pauldron off,” Mando grumbled.

Rex’s blood went cold. “They tried to strip your armour before killing you?”

Mando nodded. “That’s the way they operate. They know it’s the ultimate dishonour for a Mandalorian to have their armour removed by another. They shame our people before they kill us.”

Yikes, yikes, yikes. Rex did not have the context to process that.

Mando stroked a gloved hand over the Little Jedi’s head. The tyke cooed. It seemed to calm Mando. His shoulders climbed down from around his helmet. Rex heard the sigh through Mando’s vocoder.

“You know the significance of armour,” Mando said. “I’ve seen you checking your paint.”

Rex nodded. The blue stripes and scores had just as much importance to Rex as his own limbs. To lose them would be devastating. Especially after so many clones had lost themselves to the Empire. Rex swallowed that thought down before it overwhelmed him.

“You’ve never asked me my name,” Mando said. “Not once in all this time.”

Rex straightened up. “It’s yours to give. Names are important.”

He thought of his brothers, who chose their names so carefully when no one bothered to give them one. He couldn’t help his mind straying to the first of many funerals he’d attended during the war. When the commanding Jedi had read the list of the dead, he’d read their CT numbers. The hiss of disapproval didn’t rise over the helmets bowed in grief. But no CT numbers were ever read at a funeral again.

“Din Djarin,” Mando said softly. Rex almost missed it. “My name is Din Djarin. When we’re alone, you may use it.”

Rex dipped his head. “I’m honoured, Din.”

Mando stood awkwardly and shuffled to the fresher.

Rex kept watch on him out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t convinced Din’s wobbly demeanour stemmed entirely from emotional upheaval. More likely the kriffer was hiding a blow to the head. Rex recalled a whole tribe of Jedis who would remain unnamed who used to conceal injuries like that.

Phony Yoda whined and waved his little claws.

Rex patted his green head. “We found him, Little Grub. Nothing else to worry about.”

Din came back out of the fresher and paused. “What the hell happened to the rations?”

Rex pointed a finger in Mini-Yoda’s face. “This is your mess and I’m not taking the fall for it.”

#captain Rex #star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #baby yoda #grogu #angst #fanfiction #fanfic #star wars au

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gwiiyeoweo · 5 years

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Ignis moves into a new town, to take temporary ownership of a small cafe as his uncle recovers. Its people are friendly enough, his neighbors quick to receive him with housewarming gifts, and he easily finds himself falling for the quaint little place.

Even for the friendly creature lurking outside his window, skin pale as the moon and hair gleaming with black starlight.

Simple: Home Pairing: Ignis/Noctis Rating: G @ignoctweek

With the jingle of his keys, Ignis pops the trunk open and grabs at his scant belongings: a single large suitcase and a duffel bag. The parking garage echoes loudly as he firmly shuts the trunk and locks his car, and he slings his bag over his shoulder while he takes to the elevator, rolling his suitcase behind him.

It’s a quiet ride up to the fifth floor, alone as he is during this afternoon. Limbs weary and dry eyes blinking from his six-hour drive from Insomnia to Delia — a quaint little seaside town in Cleigne — he manages a tired smile when he plucks his phone from his pocket, scrolling through the texts shared with his uncle. He shoots a quick message to the man, to let him know he’s arrived safely at the condominium and was now riding up the elevator, before pocketing his phone again.

The elevator slows, chiming sharply when it finally stops, and Ignis winces just slightly at the shift in gravity that needles at his head — he's always hated that. Though all things considered, there’s not much choice aside from getting used to it, he supposes. He’ll be living here for a while. When the metal doors part to let him through, he steps over to the directory, perched on the wall just across from him, and searches for his unit number. ‘Units 500-510 to the left… 511-520 on the right.’

He follows the right hallway, eyes keeping track of the plaques next to the doors. He quickly passes by units 514 and 515, pauses at 516 to fumble through his keys and find the one his uncle handed him — a bronze key with a tiny cactuar sticker on it — and turns it in the heavy lock of the door. A click. And he’s home.

Ignis steps through into the foyer, quickly foregoing his manners and kicking his shoes off, and makes a bee line for the couch in the living area.

He tosses his keys onto the coffee table, but he miscalculates and it skids across the surface to fall onto the floor. He thinks nothing of it and lets the handle of his suitcase fall out of his hand, lets his bag slip off his shoulder and down his arm, as he all but throws himself into the couch. Ignis rolls onto his back, props his feet and head up on either ends as he throws his arms and stretches with a loud groan. He can feel and hear his spine pop and stretch and decompress and whatever the hell bones and joints do, and he receives it all with gratitude and relief. He’s never made such a long drive before, especially not a straight course distance with no breaks, and he silently chastises himself for not stopping at the rest area when he had the chance. It was killer on his back and legs.

Well, lesson learned.

He allows himself this moment’s respite, stretched and sprawled out on the couch with his eyes closed, until a chime from his phone interrupts the silence. He fishes it out of his pants and looks at the screen. A reply from his uncle. Ignis swipes his finger across the notification and reads the entire message, a short thank you and some reminders. He taps out a message of his own, assuring that it was no problem at all and that in fact, he’s rather excited for this new venture. There’s a few more texts sent back and forth until he puts the phone down on his chest.

“Alright,” Ignis huffs after a few more minutes of idling, lightly patting down his cheeks, “Time for work.”

He swings his legs over the couch and plants his feet on the floor, standing with his hands held squarely onto his hips. He crosses the living space and opens a small closet, finds a vacuum, a mop and bucket, some disinfectants and sprays. He goes for the vacuum first, plugging it into the nearest outlet. Then goes to town on the condo.

It’s early evening by the time he’s done scrubbing down the walls and floors, done dusting the shelves and airing out the sheets. He finishes the last of his housekeeping when he puts away the last of his folded shirts into the drawer, and he checks the time to see if it’s not too early for dinner. Between making a homemade meal for tonight or trying out the local fare instead, he chooses the latter. While his unit is completely furnished and decorated, the refrigerator and pantry are bare and dry. Ignis thinks it’s too much of a goal to completely stock his kitchen, too many trips in the elevator that he cares for in one go, so he may as well start with a small trip and work his way from there.

He’s locking up his door when he meets his first neighbor, the resident in 515 by the looks of it. Immediately his first impression is that of a spunky young blonde, more of a boy than a young adult, with his naive but inviting smile that threatens to blind Ignis with all the strength of a midday sun.

“Hey there!” The man is loud too. He trots over to Ignis, a distinct pep in his gait, and offers a hand. “Just moved in?”

“Indeed. Pleased to meet your acquaintance,” Ignis takes the offer in a quick handshake. “Ignis Scientia.”

“Prompto Argentum here,” the blonde replies, raising his eyebrows, “And like, Scientia? Like Vincent Scientia?”

“He would be my uncle, yes. Do you know him?”

“Oh, duh. I technically pay my rent to him. He owns all the units on this floor, y’know.”

Ignis knew his uncle had made investments here and there, that his sizeable wealth wasn’t coming only from the little cafe he owned. He knew his uncle owned the unit he just moved into, that he had extra furnishings delivered solely for Ignis’s new residence, that he refused to have his nephew pay rent for the condo. But he didn’t know his uncle owned all the units on the fifth floor.

“Plus, his pumpkin croissants are to die for, man.”

And he didn’t know that his uncle’s croissants were apparently famous. It was Ignis’ turn to raise his eyebrows. “I didn’t know his oven was so popular.”

“And his coffee. He has the best little coffee shop around here. I only worked there part time, but it was like, the greatest employee perk to take home the day’s leftovers. Everyone was so sad when we heard about the stroke too. Is the old guy okay?” Prompto’s bright smile lost its radiance then, concern etching along his eyes and mouth.

“He’s faring quite well, thank you. He won’t be returning to work for a while, but they’re optimistic.” While Ignis is genuinely appreciative of the care and worry over his uncle’s wellbeing, he wonders just how much of a mini celebrity his uncle is. And of what else he has yet to tell Ignis.

“Oh, that’s good. It’s a shame we’ll have to settle for Starbucks now, but it’s great that he’s doing okay.”

“Ah, about that.” Ignis smiles. “It’s why I’ve moved here.”

As they make down the elevator, he explains his whole motive for coming to Cleigne in the first place. How Uncle Vincent, once he was able, had called Ignis and asked if his darling nephew was interested in putting his recent business degree to use, if he would like to try his hand at running his cafe over in Cleigne. That the trip from Insomnia may be long, but room and board would be covered and free, that his ever-wise and ever-humble uncle had a condo open and free for a new tenant named Ignis. That he knew his nephew would be bored out of his mind working in an office cubicle in a stuffy suit and tie, that coming over to Delia and running the ovens and espresso machines would be leagues more fun.

And that he agreed with his uncle, that kneading his fingers into dough while surrounded by the strong aroma of coffee was more of his element, that his business degree was something he had earned only because his parents were iffy on sending him to culinary school.

“And, if you have the time, would you be interested in working at the cafe again? As eager as I am, I’m afraid I’ve little real-life experience in managing a business,” Ignis says, as they walk along the sidewalk outside the condominium. “Your insight would be extremely helpful and appreciated, Prompto. And it goes without saying you’ll be paid for your work. We could discuss a raise, even.”

“Dude, hell yeah I’ll work again. Between my classes and finals, I haven’t found the time to go job hunting. Man, if not for the paycheck, then I’ll do it for those sweet, sweet pumpkin croissants, baby.” Prompto winks and throws a pair of sidelong finger-guns at Ignis.

Ignis cracks a smile, amused at the other’s light-hearted fun. They discuss possible work hours, wages, responsibilities, and so forth, even as they walk into the local Crow's Mart. Eventually, of course, their conversation turns away from work and leans toward Prompto giving Ignis a rundown of the town, what restaurants to check out and which ones to avoid like the Scourge, or which neighbors to keep away from “like that weird lady who has this creepy taxidermy hobby and probably has five stuffed cats in her bedroom.”

Ignis cooks dinner for two that night, and he tries not to gloat too much when Prompto stuffs his face with rice and chicken, eyes sparkling as he showers the man with nothing but praise muffled between forkfulls of food.

While Ignis found himself pleasantly surprised with such a friendly and outgoing neighbor in Prompto, he didn't expect the same for the rest of the fifth floor tenants. Didn’t expect for the next three mornings, for more neighbors to come knocking at his door. For them to come bearing gifts in their hands and warm welcomes on their lips.

Gladio was a mountain of a man, a scar over his left eye and an impressive tattoo over his muscled arms and chest, the sight enough to scare off any petty thug. Ignis was almost startled out of his mind when he opened his door to see the hulking man in nothing but a tight tank top, until he saw Prompto at his side with his typical blinding smile. Gladio held up a gift basket with a small bouquet of flowers and a small box of chocolates, at which Ignis thought would be more suited given to a potential date than a welcome gift. Gladio seemed to read his mind, admitting that this was on short notice and the florist's he worked at had nothing better. But Ignis was grateful nonetheless, and he carefully placed the flowers in a decorative vase he rinsed out and placed in the kitchen.

Cindy was a pleasant woman, with all her southern charm and hospitality. Ignis was eating the chocolates when he had heard her playful knocking at the door. She stepped right on in and gushed about how homey his place was, that she particularly liked the little coeurl statue sitting on the shelf. He could barely give his thanks when she turned on him and took both his hands to drop a gift bag in them, before pulling him into a tight hug, and surely a lesser man would have blushed as her… Gifts pressed against him. He offered her some coffee but was declined, saying her father needed her at the auto shop, but that Ignis could definitely drop by at the mechanics if “Yer gal's ever needin’ a fixin’, sweetie. Or if ya need a guinea pig to taste test ol’ Vince's brew.”

Or at least, that's what Ignis thought she said. The gift bag was a mini assortment of shower gels and lotions, all with a hint of citrus, and two sets of face masks, and were set in the bathroom, though Ignis wasn't sure if he'd ever use the masks. (His five-step routine did the job quite well at the moment.)

Takka was an older fellow and not even from the fifth floor but from the second. His visit was short, though he greeted Ignis with a chickatrice and beans casserole. He learned the man owned the diner a couple blocks down, and Takka boasted he cooked the best damn homemade meals in this side of Delia. Ignis humored him and promised to taste his food there one day, even if he had his doubts about the cook's claims. Takka only asked to let him know when the Cafe would be up and running again, because he sure missed those pumpkin croissants. (Ignis really wondered if those croissants were as delicious as everyone kept making them out to be.) When Ignis took his first bite of the casserole, he was determined to weasel the recipe out of Takka the next time they met.

A few old ladies even came by — none of them the one Prompto had warned him about — and brought cookies and a knitted scarf and well wishes. An old couple gave him candles and a blanket, a young man a bottle of wine and a tupperware set, another some more flowers in a glass vase.

It was all very heartwarming. And as much as he appreciated their gestures, it was also almost overwhelming.

Which is why he makes sure to wake up at the crack of dawn this morning, foregoing his casual but sleek attire for a set of loose sweats. Breakfast is a dull affair, simply eggs and buttered toast, and he makes a hasty trip to the elevators in case someone spots him and lays down more gifts before him.

He chooses the thirty-minute walk over the car ride, and strolls along comfortably in the cool mist of the rising sun, admiring the humble town. It's just a bit chilly this spring morning, but the walk and rising temperatures warm him enough and the sights are sufficiently distracting. The well worn buildings are nothing compared to Insomnia's high-rising towers and neon billboards, but there's still a touch of modern and urban living. Delia looks to be an old town with its wood and stone eroded from years of salt and moisture, yet it's still very much alive and kicking.

The sign reads “Bervenia” in a simple large script, perched right in the center and above the door. He peers in through the wide glass windows, smiles at the nostalgia of it all, and unlocks the front door. It's a bit dark, considering the lights are off and the sun has yet risen to its full glory, and the chairs are set atop the few tables, but it's mostly as he remembers it all those years ago, when he visited his uncle during his childhood. His memory of Bervenia may be a little fuzzy, but he remembers the patchwork tiles and the soft lavender wallpaper quite clearly. The refrigerated display, though, is new. He only remembers his uncle offering goods to eat warm or at room temperature. But to be frank, he expected more changes and additions other than a display case, given all the years.

Heading to the back, Ignis checks the time on his phone and swipes through his contacts. He shoots a quick text to Prompto, asking if he'd be willing to help clean up the cafe should he have the time. It's still a bit early in the morning and a Saturday, so he hopes his text doesn't interrupt his neighbor's sleep. A short beat later and his screen at least confirms Prompto is awake.

Sure! B there in 20

No use in dilly dallying in the meantime. Ignis rolls up his sleeves and sets to work.

He’s immensely thankful for Prompto’s help, who promptly (Heh) came in with a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s a runner, he told Ignis, and that he’s typically up at these hours for his morning jogs. Meaning, Ignis didn’t need to worry about waking him up at Saturday’s early hours.

Only a month out of commission and the poor thing was covered in dust; not to mention the fridge’s contents had gone rancid. That had been a smelly affair, much to the blonde’s dramatics. But with their combined efforts, they managed to clean up for the most part. Prompto had left an hour ago, much to Ignis’ insistence, considering he kept the poor man far past lunch time.

Ignis finishes wiping down the espresso machines and throws the dirty rag into a bin, finishing up the day’s cleaning. He takes a quick peruse of their inventory, taking into consideration what needs to be restocked or replaced. He has yet to test all their machines, but he’s confident they’re all in working order. In any case, he’ll make sure to confirm everything’s functional in the following days; no need to rush since he has to wait to restock their shelves first.

As he takes a gander through their supplies, he notices there’s just enough ingredients to try his hand at baking. He remembers the little box of recipes in the office, so he rummages through the drawers for the small wooden box and searches through the laminated cards for a muffin recipe.

‘How old fashioned,’ he thinks, smiling to himself as he brings the card over to the counters. He makes a mental note to make a digital copy of all the recipes, just in case; he’d hate to lose them all in a fire or storm, and a back-up is always a good idea.

Ignis makes a quick trip to the gas station down the street, to pick up the perishables that the recipe calls for, and makes it back to the cafe in quick order. He skims over the ingredients and puts the card aside, reaching into the cabinets for bowls and flour and whatever else his uncle instructed. It’s simple enough, a standard muffin batter, with just a few personal flairs that make it unique, though Ignis isn’t sure about the dash of hulldagh nutmeg. He adds it anyway, because surely there’s a reason his uncle underlined it in bold green highlighter.

By the time the chocolate muffins are done, the sun had already set. He cleans up quickly as he lets them cool on a rack, then gathers them all in a couple paper bags once he’s done putting everything away. When he locks up Bervenia for the night, the fresh cool air hits him all at once and already he finds himself missing the aroma of the oven and spices. It’s something he could easily find himself falling in love with for sure.

The streets light up as the sun dips ever lower into the horizon, its orange and yellow hues disappearing into the dark of the night sky. Ignis wants to believe in the peace and safety of the town, but he can’t help but keep his pace brisk as he avoids the growing shadows and dubious corners. It’s safe for all his uncle has told him, but his time in Insomnia tells him otherwise. The Crown City may be a bright glistening thing with all its lights and sounds and thrumming engines, but not even its neon lights could ward off the dangers that lurk in her dark streets and narrow alleyways.

The stars have just begun to peek out when he makes it to the condominium. He knocks on Prompto’s door, to offer him a bag of muffins for his help today, but no response has him carrying both bags back to his condo. He’s searching through his cabinets for the smaller tupperware gifted to him, so that he can drop them off to Prompto in the morning, when he hears a suspicious rattling from his balcony. He automatically thinks cat, but he remembers there are no trees that reach above the third floor; and pets aren't allowed. There's a possibility that someone's hiding one anyway, but the long distance between the adjacent balconies makes him doubt it. Birds maybe? It's night, however, and they should all be roosting.

It could be an owl. But then it's a distinctive knocking — three bold raps — and Ignis nearly jumps out of his skin at the sheer loudness of it. He gingerly steps over to the balcony door, his phone in hand just in case he needs to call security, and he pulls the heavy curtain aside with a sharp rattle and. Oh.

Hm.

A young man stands there, one hand in his jacket pocket and the other waving at him. Ignis is so thrown out of his zone that he barely catches the “Hi” the stranger-possibly-burglar-slash-serial-killer mouths to him.

Common sense dictates he calls security, right now. But Ignis is too busy wondering how and why and where. There's no trees to climb, no ladder to reach up so far, and there's too large a distance from the neighboring balcony to even think of making the jump. And unless this man is some sort of professional stuntman who is deeply invested in parkour, it's almost impossible he climbed down from above without sporting some broken ankles or other bones. And he looked perfectly fine with his sheepish grin and bright eyes, no sign of injury or pain anywhere.

Maybe he's hallucinating, maybe it's all the fumes from the detergents he used while cleaning up Bervenia , or maybe instead of nutmeg, his uncle had stashed away some sort of hallucinogenic drug in the spice rack, and he had inadvertently laced his chocolate muffins because this made absolutely no sense and —

The man's tapping pulls him out of his bout of panic. Again, logic tells him he really should just call security , but instead he makes a completely absurd decision and unlatches the sliding door, cracking it open just enough to fit a man's finger through.

“Hey, is Vincent here?” the intruder asks.

Vincent. Uncle Vincent.

“…No.” Ignis answers before he can stop himself, and he silently berates himself for his chain of bad decisions. It’s that terrifyingly disarming smile, he tells himself, that the man offers him.

“Oh. Really? I thought I smelled his muffins,” he says, his posture suddenly turning awkward. He shifts his weight between his feet, one hand reaching back to idly scratch at his neck. “Sorry, my bad.”

“I baked them.” Okay. Ignis visibly cringed at how quickly he responded. “They’re my uncle’s, ah, Vincent’s recipe.”

He purposely ignores the fact that this man claimed the smell of his chocolate muffins as the reason for this unannounced visit. Ignores that it was not at all normal to knock at someone’s (fifth floor) balcony instead of the front door. And especially ignores that, on closer inspection, his skin looks so pallid it’s almost translucent, his hair so black it melts into the night sky and stars danced among his locks. He looks almost ethereal .

“Oh! You’re his nephew then. He mentioned you a few times, just graduated from university and all that, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m here to take care of the shop in his stead.”

“That explains it.” The man’s chest puffs up visibly as he takes in a deep breath. “You smell like Bervenia, so I thought he was back.”

“Would you… perhaps like a muffin?” he said, against his better judgment — which could strangle him right now if it had hands.

“Hell yes.”

Ignis turns his back — a death wish if this man truly meant any harm — and plucks out the treat from the bag. He quickly returns to the door, relieved and delighted that the balcony intruder didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to see through with any heinous plans he may have had. Ignis widens the door, just enough to slip his hand through, and drops it off in the other’s palm.

“Thanks a bunch. I’ve been craving his goodies lately, been really missing his pumpkin croissants. Can you make those too?”

Again, those pumpkin croissants.

“I’ve never tried, but I don’t see why I can’t.”

“Cool, thanks again for the muffin. Say hi to Vincent for me, too.”

Ignis barely got the time to nod when the man backed away to place one hand on the railing and then —

Jumps over the fucking railing.

Ignis throws open the door and takes the three fastest steps he had ever taken in his entire life, a lightning speed compared to Field Day at high school when he had been delegated as the final runner in the baton pass. His torso lurches over the edge, and he half expects to see a blood splatter on the concrete, to maybe call emergency services after all.

But there’s nothing. Everything is still, quiet. No body, no blood, not even a passerby walking down the sidewalk.

“Uncle, this condo wouldn’t happen to be haunted, would it? I believe I’ve just met a ghost.”

“Oh, Ignis my boy, of course not. Only a vampire.”

“Ah, yes, of course… Pardon?”

After a riveting half hour spent on the phone with his uncle, Ignis tries through the motions, to recreate his normal, typical nightly routine, and charges his phone on the nightstand. He returns to the kitchen, boils some water in his electric kettle, and spoons in some loose-leaf tea into a steel filter. He takes a sip out of his mug, warm and comforting in both his hands. Then one more.

Alright, no. This isn’t working.

So instead of trying to feign normalcy, he dumps his tea down the sink and heads back to his bedroom, where he sinks into the mattress and stares at the ceiling. Ignis breathes in deep and reviews what his uncle had told him, instead of trying to shove it away and ignore it all.

And according to his uncle, the not-burglar-slash-serial-killer is a vampire. A friendly vampire, the little voice in his head corrects, who really likes Vincent’s pumpkin croissants. (At this point, did anyone not like his croissants?) His uncle had pointed out the vampire had a sweet tooth in general, but he was partial to whatever Vincent baked up. Also, that the vampire had been in Delia long before Vincent moved in himself.

“But he’s like a friendly cat, don’t worry about him. Just don’t try to feed him vegetables, and he won’t bite… Probably,” Vincent had said, hanging up before Ignis could question the ‘Probably’ part.

Okay. Alright. He could deal with this. Probably.

#ff15 #final fantasy xv #ignis scientia #noctis lucis caelum #ignoctweek #i can type

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relucant · 6 years

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i am legit so terrified my mother is going to give herself a stroke before i escape in a week. and because she cares about nothing except her own anxiety and the cat, despite my begging her in literal tears to help put a plan in place for what happens to my father if that does happen, to the shock of no one, she has done zero to make that happen even a little.

i mean, the cat is sick, which obviously puts her even more on edge than always -- i love the cat more than life itself and i would take a bullet for him in an instant, but he is pretty much her therapy animal and the only thing keeping her even remotely tethered to this earth. and he’s 11, and has liver problems, so yeah. it’s scary. but like, it’s also basically textbook UTI -- which last week at the vet, even before he started feeling sick, the vet was like “i’m going to go ahead and test him for a UTI, i think it might be possible.” i hate it when people are like “oh, it’s okay, he’ll be fine!” because maybe he won’t be, and that’s terrifying, but also like... the cat’s having some intestinal ickiness and doesn’t feel good isn’t quite apocalyptic yet.

and my father is garbage to be in the same room as, absolutely, but like... there’s also ways to cope somewhat with him, and she just is in such a constant spiral of literally paralytic anxiety that she just... won’t do absolutely anything to make her life slightly less miserable even it requires changing her behavior even a tiny bit.

“he just... he just came in here earlier, and just, i had all the magazines stacked up on the chair, and he just picked them up and threw them on the bed!” okay yeah, because he’s an asshole with dementia, but like, can you tell him not to do that? “stop attacking me!”

having a full-on panic attack, sucking in breaths, finally gasping out, “he- he came in here, and he said he was going to do laundry!” while bursting into full sobbing. “he- he can’t do his laundry! he doesn’t use bleach, and he- he just throws his underwear full of shit into the laundry!” yeah dude, that’s fucking awful. but erupting in earsplitting shrieks of “NO YOU CAN’T FUCKING WASH YOUR UNDERWEAR YOU HAVE A PAIR BECAUSE I JUST FUCKING CHECKED” well, have you considered, “no, don’t, they need to be bleached, i’ll do it tomorrow.”

obviously, “calm down” has never made any situation better in the entire history of anything, ever. and her situation sucks. mine is probably worse in the immediate, because i have two parents who don’t know or care that, like, i’m a human being and not their maid/emotional support punching bag, respectively, but i have a way out, and she doesn’t, so that’s awful. and it’s going to be awful, at least until he dies, but again, like, it doesn’t have to be absolutely, intentionally as horrifying awful as it can possibly be, because making anything a little better would require her, like, doing something.

i keep trying to get on her case about looking into, like, actually getting treatment for her crippling anxiety disorder, even though i’ve been on this futile merrygoround for at least a decade and the circle never changes, because she’s so wrapped up in her cocoon of anxiety i don’t think she wants it to change.

every single time i bring up the possibility of just talking to someone about how bad it is -- like, i dunno, her shrink to start with, who it’s a miracle i even finally got her to go to that even, and i am dubious she’ll continue after i leave, even though she likes her shrink and also her shrink will come to the house, or even just her GP, who she also likes -- she just immediately reverts into, like, “well, maybe i should just start taking my xanax every day again.” no like, dude, that’s like... not a treatment for chronic anxiety. “well it says anxiety on the bottle.” yes. for like... a plane trip.

this exact back and forth has happened probably 50+ times, and she just deletes it and reuses it over and over.

“but -- but i don’t want to quit drinking! i can’t, not right now with what’s going on!” like honestly fair enough, that train has left the station. so like... okay, don’t. if you go to a doctor who refuses to treat you unless you quit drinking, like... go to a different doctor. i asked my shrink, and she’s kinda like yeah, obviously, drinking isn’t great on psych meds, but for most anxiety meds, it mostly just decreases their effectiveness (and don’t drive, which she doesn’t anyway), not kill you, and still probably better than nothing.

and then after the xanax response, and then the drinking response, she just shuts down any further attempt at the conversation and starts crying about whatever asshole thing my father last did, which she completely did not in any way at any time ask or tell him to, like, not do that. until she’s so upset she starts banshee shrieking at him for doing a thing she never once told him not to do. (or vice versa)

and i realized the other night that what gets to me so much (among a million other things) is like... the exact shitty ways he behaviors towards her, and that she comes sobbing to me about, are like... unsettlingly similar to ways she behaviors towards me, if in different ways.

like, come into her room, sit down, talk blankly at her about stupid shit and then get annoyed when she tries to actually respond? kiiinda like every time she comes into my room, sits down, complains to me about the exact same thing she complained about last night, and then gets upset when i try to have a back and forth conversation.

“he just -- he just says the same thing, over and over! five times in the last two days if we have money for the gardener! he’s asked me twice today what the baby’s name is! he told me three times he’s going to go get the mail! it’s like talking to a r*tarded toddler!” (excuse that word, not sure how to rephrase)

yes mom, and that’s the 10th time this week you’ve said it’s like talking to a toddler, and i’ve said yes, it is like talking to a toddler, because he has dementia, he cannot form new memories, and two minutes later you just wail that it’s like talking to a toddler, again.

and the cycle continues, because i know perfectly well it’s as pointless to think there’s any chance of her making any significant changes in her behavior or grasp on her mental health, any more so than my father whose brain is nearly chewed up and spat out by now. but she’s still in there just enough that i can’t help feeling like i could almost get through to her if i could figure out how. and when she’s not near my father, like when we were up in new jersey with my brother and sister in law and baby nephew, her anxiety abated to the point that lke, yeah, she still had a meltdown when faced with like, a single step, despite being surrounded by three able-bodied adult humans, but overall, mentally, was like at like 70% a fairly normal elderly woman, kinda dotty but doting on her grandchild and puppies and basking in at least one of her children turning out with an apple pie life (about 15 years later, but still pretty perfect). and so i’m haunted by all the what-ifs, what if she can just survive until my father dies and she’ll be okay, so maybe i can still help, so maybe i should keep trying, even though i know, i know, i know.

and i try to keep in mind that it’s also easier for me because, like, my father more or less likes me, as a person -- i don’t think he’s ever loved me, or is capable of love (except for our pets, which honestly is a fairly big redeeming factor, i suppose) but he thinks i’m interesting, and my brother, and that if he was manipulated into having kids by whatever the hell he used to do, his resentment of our existence is tempered somewhat by the fact that he’s kinda pleased with how we turned out, and i have one or two pleasant memories of sitting on the trunk of his old car as a small child pointing out the pleiades, or drunkenly reciting ts eliot on the kitchen floor. my mother does not get that leeway; he thinks (or acts, at least) that since he did his duty and got married and procreated, her entire existence should be devoted to his convenience -- not even comfort, just convenience, and making herself exist as little as possible.

which plays into the cycle again because then i, unfairly, resent my mother for that more than him, because it genuinely did not occur to me even as a precocious kid that fathers were supposed to, like, love their children until i was at least in middle school if not later; it still jars me sometimes, bitterly, when i see dads who are just like in love with their kids. but my mom was my mom, so as it became clear that she never actually wanted to, like, parent anyone either, she’s the one my hurt and pissiness channels to.

anyway if anyone actually read all of this, i know i say the same shit over and over about this, but it’s so complicated not many of the few people i talk to one on one know what’s going, and i don’t want to over-vent, but i feel like i’m about to claw my skin off with the anger and frustration and regret, so thanks.

in a funny-scary sign-off, so i finally convinced my mother to get a mini-freezer so i can stock it full of real food before i bounce to eurasia next week, and it came today; instructions said to let it sit for a few hours after getting it in place before plugging it in, so i hauled it into a convenient dining room corner and forgot it. fast forward i come out to the kitchen to check on the huge vat of minestone soup i’m making and my father is lumbering triumphantly out of the kitchen pantry with a frayed probably 40 year old extension cord in his hand.

i blink at him, immediately concerned. he’s like, “i think i’ll go ahead and hook up that new... thing-a-ma-jig! ‘cause the thing on the plug, it’s got the three things [prongs], but the things in the walls, they’ve only got the two things! so i’m gonna just go ahead and plug it in here!”

i’m like, “NONONONONONONO!” because like (a) common sense and (b) the manual was specifically like do not do NOT use an extension cord, and if you MUST make ABSOLUTELY SURE it has these EXACT SPECIFICATIONS and is IN NO WAY SHAPE OR FORM SOME DECREPIT CORD-SNAKE YOU DUG OUT OF THE DUSTY BOWELS OF YOUR KITCHEN PANTRY (i may have exaggerated that last bit). he’s like what?? i explain that to him, in fewer words, and that i in fact have an adapter specifically to convert two-prong to three-prong.

he’s mystified, demands explanation of how that works; i try to elaborate, that i put the two prong end in the wall and plug the freezer into the three-prong end, and just blank looks. “well i don’t think that’s going to work, i think we should just use this.” i just kinda take it, tell him i’ve got it under control, ignore his aggrieved hissing, and walk away.

i go to tell my mom this, because like gallows humor or gtfo i guess -- she’s like jesus even i realize that’s not a good idea -- and only then do i realize that the extension cord he had so proudly produced was in fact a two prong... to a two prong. so either he didn’t notice that, or more likely, just intended to jam the two prongs into the extension cord and just leave the third prong kinda just... out.

and it’s sad as hell, because dude was an electrical engineer who worked at the absolute cutting-edge of the aerospace industry, like literally worked on apollo 11 at cape canaveral and dementia has eaten his brain to the point he doesn’t understand plugs. but. sometimes you take the laughs where you can get it.

anyway one week one day from right now my plane takes off so please can just like (a) my cat (b) my mother and (c) my father hang on that long (in that order) until i have enough distance to get my fucking head on straight again for a tiny little bit.

#not spn #personal #long long rant #family #dementia #anxiety #alcoholism #am trying not to punch a thing

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lakesandquarries · 7 years

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Cookies and Conversations, Part One

Fandom: Sanders Sides Pairings: LAMP/CALM/Polysanders [chapter is focused on Logicality] Summary: Logan offers to help Patton bake. Warnings: none! this is pure fluff. Wordcount: 1411

Recipe Used, sorta

taglist: @lovelylogans @erlenmeyertrash (thank you so much for letting me tag you!)

It’s a well-known fact that Patton loves to bake.

Technically, he doesn’t really need to - he could simply conjure whatever he wants into existence, he doesn’t need to mix ingredients and preheat the oven and wait for them to be ready - but he likes to. It’s soothing, relaxing, and there’s something about made-from-scratch desserts that conjured ones can’t replicate.

It’s time consuming, though, so he really only bakes a couple of times a week. But the other three are always happy when he does, and it makes him happy to see them happy, so it’s well worth his time.

Logan is the first one to offer to help. It’s surprising - he’ll normally be nearby while Patton bakes, often sitting in the living room, but he’s never offered to help before.

“Would you….like any assistance?” he offers one day, putting his book aside, and Patton spins so fast he makes himself dizzy and nearly falls over, catching himself on the counter.

“Are you offering to help?” he asks, grinning widely, and Logan nods, adjusting his tie.

“It would go faster with my help, correct? And you seem to...enjoy it. So, why not try?”

Patton squeals with joy, spreading his arms to hug Logan, who gives him a nod of consent. Patton squeezes Logan as hard as he can, before hurriedly releasing him to grab the recipe book. He places it in Logan’s hands. “What do you wanna make?” he asks, as Logan blinks at him, recovering after a moment.

“It’s probably best to stick to something simple to start with. Chocolate chip?”

“You’re just saying that because they’re your favourite,” Patton says, smirking, and Logan goes red.

“Falsehood,” he mutters, but there’s no weight behind it.

Logan is a good helper, it turns out. He’s very by the books, but that’s not really a bad thing when baking. It's not quite Patton’s style, though.

“Ooh, you know what might go good in this? A little cinnamon,” Patton suggests, as he measures out the salt.

“And screw up the recipe? That’s a terrible idea,” Logan says, blunt as ever.

“It won’t ruin the recipe,” Patton says, already going through the pantry. “We’re just modifying it! Nothing wrong with that. Ah-hah!” He pulls the cinnamon out and places it on the counter, grinning at Logan. “Changing recipes is fun! I do it all the time.”

Logan frowns. “Wouldn’t that disrupt the balance of it, though?”

“Baking’s not that delicate,” Patton informs him. Logan raises an eyebrow, which Patton ignores, measuring out just a little cinnamon - enough to taste, not enough to disrupt. Logan frowns at him, but Patton gives him a kiss, distracting him from Patton adding in the cinnamon. Logan sputters at him adorably, and they have to pause the baking process so Patton can dust Logan’s cheeks with kisses, like chocolate chips into the batter.

Chocolate chip cookies are pretty fast to make, what with how often Patton makes them. He's soon whisking everything together, giving his arms a decent workout as he mixes the batter.

“Pass the chocolate chips?” he asks. Logan frowns at the cupboard.

“Mini, or regular?”

“Yes,” Patton says. Logan rolls his eyes as he hands him the bags. Patton kisses him anyways.

“You wanna know my secret?” he asks, beaming at Logan, who smiles back.

“Teach me your ways,” he says, smirking. Patton opens the bags, pouring almost all of each bag into the batter.

“So, first, lots of chocolate it always good! And second, using the mini and the regular means there's more melted chocolate bits and all that good stuff.”

Logan actually looks interested, nodding. “That does make sense,” he says. Patton beams at him, still mixing the chocolate in.

“May I?” Logan asks, nodding at the spoon in Patton’s hand. Patton nods, about to let go of it, but instead Logan places his hand over Patton’s, guiding it.

It's….kind of extremely sweet and adorable. It also hurts his hand something fierce, so after a minute he pulls his hand out from under, giving Logan a kiss on the cheek as he does so. “I’m gonna get the tray ready,” he says, digging through the cupboard for a moment before he finds it. Logan’s got the whole thing nicely mixed by the time Patton’s placed it on the table. He lays a piece of parchment paper on it and starts scooping dough onto the sheet.

“Thank you for the help,” he says to Logan, carefully placing the tray into the oven. “You’re good at this,” he informs him, and Logan’s cheeks look just a little redder. It is, like many things Logan does, very cute.

“Well, there’s no reason to thank me just yet. They’re not actually done yet, we don’t know that I didn’t….do something wrong.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Patton says, with an affectionate eye roll. “Hey, you wanna lick the spoon?”

“That dough had eggs, which could contain -”

Patton cuts him off. “We’re not real, Logan, we can’t get salmonella.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Don’t worry so much!” Patton says, brely stopping himself from adding that’s Virgil’s job. “I’m sure it’s fine.” He scoops some batter onto his finger, making a show of licking it off. “Mmm,” he says, peering at Logan over the top of his glasses. He has no idea what Logan’s doing anymore, but he’s pretty sure he’s rolling his eyes. “Really, though, it’s okay. You don’t have to have any,” he informs Logan, tilting his head back so his glasses fall back into place. “If you don’t eat it there’s more for me!”

“If you insist. Once you’re done with that, would you like me to wash the dishes?”

“I would love that,” Patton says, leaning for another kiss, only for Logan to pull away.

“Salmonella,” he says disdainfully, and Patton laughs.

Patton makes short work of the dough, placing the dirty dishes in the sink. He sits on the couch, scrolling through tumblr (there’s so many blogs that do nothing but post cute animals) as he waits for the cookies to finish baking.

He’s watching a gif of a raccoon eating a popsicle - it’s so mad at the person handing it to him at first, and then so happy, it’s utterly adorable and reminds him a bit of Virgil, he’ll have to remember to show it to him later - when the oven beeps, signalling that the cookies are ready. He darts into the kitchen, nearly crashing into Logan, who’s just finishing with the dishes.

“Sorry!” he says, pulling on his over mitts (one has a cat and the other a dog, they’re basically his favourite thing) before opening the oven door, letting the smell of fresh baked cookies waft over him. “You smell that, Lo?”

“I do,” Logan says, placing the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. “They smell….good,” he adds, adjusting his glasses.

Pattons places the tray on the counter, taking off his mitts to grab a cookie, dropping it immediately. “Ow!” he yelps, and Logan’s at his side in a second.

“Patton, you must be more careful,” he says, guiding him to the sink and placing Patton’s hand under the water before Patton can even react.

“Aw, Logan, you’re so cute when you’re worried about me,” Patton says. Logan frowns.

“I am not cute,” he says.

“You really are. It’s very sweet.” Logan’s frown deepens. “But if you don’t want to be cute, that’s okay! I appreciate the help anyways. Do you think the cookies are cool enough now?”

“I’d give them a moment,” Logan says, carefully looking at Patton’s hand, like he really burned himself. Patton’s heart swells a bit. He waits until Logan is done, blowing on the cookie he failed to pick up, this time going about it much slower. It seems to be cool enough to touch by the time he actually does so, and though it burns his tongue a little when he bites in, it tastes perfect.

Logan takes a bite of his own cookie, and he seems pleased too, an even greater victory. “These are….adequate,” he says, and Patton puts his cookie down to wrap his boyfriend in a hug.

“See? You were a great help.”

“I suppose,” Logan says, but he’s smiling.

The cookies aren’t anything spectacular, if Patton is to be completely honest. They aren’t the best batch he’s ever made or anything. At the end of the day, they’re just cookies.

But they taste so much sweeter after Logan’s help.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #logic sanders #patton sanders #morality sanders #logicality #cora writes #adventures of cora

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mcalhenwrites · 6 years

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I would love a small house, especially if I could have a separate room/studio for crafts (since that is my workplace).

While I can’t live 100% minimalistically - especially because my house is also my place of work - I would benefit greatly from a simple kitchen without too many appliances. I’ve been thinking about ways to reduce costs and keep to a limited space, which includes giving up a microwave and using a small oven, stovetop, or slow cooker for meals that will last me a while. I reheat a lot of things on stovetop or in the oven, anyway, as I don’t like microwaves for this purpose. Kettle is a must, though. Can be one that sits on the stovetop to heat, too, I’m not in need of one of the electric ones - though I’m not opposed to it, either, if that’s what I end up with. I’ve got a way to make coffee without a big appliance, either, even if it is a tiny bit tedious. Just need a kettle and to set it up over a cup! I’d need a decent pantry size, though, for stocking pet food in containers, my containers for rice and beans (I try to buy giant bags that are like 17 lbs when it comes to rice - cheap way to have it last all year), paper towels and such, and whatever jars and boxes of food I have around. A medium-sized fridge is ideal, too. Not a mini one, but the ones that are like...short enough I could put my elbows on if I wanted? Enough for a brita filter, my vegetables and fruits from my garden or from the store, a container or two of leftovers, some frozen poultry, juices, iced herbal teas, and my cooked rice that I make in advance because it saves spoons to make a huge batch and grab half a cup or so whenever I need it throughout the next few days, rather than trying to get a batch done each time I need it. :P Plus I am thinking about making my own wet cat food to accompany the cats’ dry food, so I’ll need a little space for that. ^^; I would like to own a small outdoor grill someday, but I’d keep that in a shed with my gardening supplies and the mower and such. ^^ A dining set isn’t required, tho I would want a small table space set into the wall to sit at and eat. Trying to keep my dishes to a minimum, too, though I already have quite a few! (I have so many fucking mugs, but tbh I hope I’ll have guests who enjoy drinking out of them xD) I’m not interested in a large bedroom - give me a small space with a bed and a closet/storage for my things! (I want enough space to make the bed, though.) If I were on my own, I’d spend a lot less time in my bedroom if I lived elsewhere and enjoy being “bedridden” on the sofa or something, so I’d like a small space that’s easy to clean and manage. Parts where I’m less minimalistic are my gaming items, yarn (which would go in my workspace), and books. I would love shelves set into the wall, with a comfortable reading nook that has blanket storage underneath, and maybe a comfortable pair of chairs and/or a sofa (for a guest to join me in playing games and such). I do need to sort through books and donate tons of them, though, and they’d share shelf space with figures and plushies. (I am hoping I have decent shelving space in the bedroom, too, where over the bed, I can just set up a ton of amigurumi!) It’d be nice to have a small built-in table around some of the bookshelves where I can sit and work on my writing, too, from a table and chair. Maybe something with a nice window out into the garden! Plus I’d like a tiny enclosed patio or something for me to enjoy sitting out there with plants and my cats. Doesn’t even have to be big. Small garden area, and then a decent patch of green grass fenced in that’s specifically for my dog. :’) (Provided I have a dog by the time I move out. I know I won’t be having more rabbits in the future, but if Augustus is with me, this whole set up will have to change quite a bit to allow space for his pen - which is huuuuge.) Will hopefully have a nook for a cat box or two, ‘cos cats are one pet I think I’m gonna always have around. Though I do want a dog, too, so adopting some elderly beast would be nice. <3 Bathroom can just have a shower, but with my health issues, I want a built-in seat for it. Don’t really need a large bathroom or anything, though I can’t deal with something super tiny, either. Will probably need some bars in the room, esp if I can slip my cane through one on my bad days! The garden would be raised, too, with seating along the edges so I can basically sit down and work with my disabilities. Would have nice little pathways. If I had enough money to enclose the whole thing and allow my cats free reign through some of it, I would - I just have to have two sections, one that’s officially outside for stuff like tomatoes and whatnot, since they’re toxic to cats. (Well, to humans, too, if we tried to eat the leaves/plants and not just the fruit :P ) That would also be a good space to put bird feeders, since the cats would be banned! :’) I want my own place so bad ;A;

#mcalhen personal #if you can't tell...I DREAM BIG #even when dreaming about living without all the shit my parents just EXPECTED to have #and I have grandparents who've got breadmakers and dining tables and CHINA CHINA CHINA #and act like going without those things is a fucking crime?#as if I have money for that shit #also I work from home so there's a need to have space for supplies for that

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365daysofj2 · 8 years

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Of Casseroles and Carnal Relations (Disabled!Jared 'verse, NC-17, 3/?)

Jared’s phone rings and he grins when he sees that it’s Jensen. He answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting the phone down on the table next to him. “Hey, Jensen.” “Hey! How’s it going?” “Not too bad. How was your meet?” “Well, we won, but only because the other team forfeited three races.” A cat suddenly meows audibly in the background. He hears a shuffling sound and then Jensen says, “Dean, knock it off,” in a muffled voice before he speaks to Jared again. “Sorry, one of my cats decided he wanted to say hello.” “How many cats do you have?” “Three,” answers Jensen. “Dean and Sam were littermates, and then I got Cassie a couple years later.” “So, you knit and you own three cats. Are you sure you’re not my grandmother in disguise?” Jensen laughs. “I wear cardigans, too. If I wasn’t a high school teacher I’m pretty sure I’d have to be a librarian.” “But do you knit the cardigans yourself?” There’s a short pause before Jensen responds. “Not always,” he murmurs sheepishly. “Sometimes people give them to me as gifts, along with ties with math symbols on them.” “Well, at least you teach math and not English,” Jared points out. “You have a tiny bit of masculinity left.” “Masculinity is overrated,” replies Jensen. “Not that I go around wearing lacy panties or anything—well, not since I graduated college, at least. You went to Etown, were they still doing the Rocky Horror midnight show?” Jared grins. “Yeah, they were. I played Dr. Scott all four years. Saved them from having to borrow a wheelchair from the OT department.” Jensen chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it would. The girl who played Riff-Raff when I was there could pop wheelies like nobody’s business. She tried to teach me, but I was hopeless.” “Who did you play?” “I played Brad once and Rocky twice,” answers Jensen. “I got in trouble for wearing an actual Speedo, but I was a swimmer, so I had a ton of them. I didn’t see what the big deal was, when we were allowed to wear them in the pool all the time.” Jared chokes a little at the mental image of Jensen in a Speedo and nothing else. “Do you still swim?” Jensen snorts. “You mean, do I still wear Speedos? Occasionally. You should come to the pool with me sometime. Could you get in a hot tub?” “Depends on how it’s set up,” says Jared. “If there’s steps going down, then yes.” “There are,” says Jensen. “Are you free tomorrow? I could get you a guest pass.” Jared grins. “That sounds like fun. I haven’t been in a pool in forever. I went to hydrotherapy for a couple months after I had my hip replaced, but that was almost three years ago.” “Still got your swim trunks?” “Yeah, I just gotta find them.” Jared glances over at Sadie, who’s taking a nap on her bed. “Sadie can help me look later.” “Why don’t I come help you look?” suggests Jensen. “And maybe cook you dinner?” Jared can’t help but smile. “I would really like that.” “Do you like casseroles? I make this great chicken and broccoli alfredo casserole with whole wheat pasta.” “That sounds amazing,” replies Jared. “I think we’ve got some garlic bread in the freezer, too.” “Great!” Jared hears a door creak in the background. “Let me change and pack up the food and I’ll be right over.” Jared grins. “Can’t wait. See you soon.” He ends the call and pockets his phone. Jensen gets there about half an hour later. Jared’s not sure where he lives, just that he mostly works at home. He doesn’t even know what pool he uses. Sadie opens the door for Jensen and he comes in carrying a giant grocery bag. “Where’s your kitchen?” Jared turns his chair. “Follow me.” Jensen hoists the bag onto Jared’s countertop. “I didn’t know what you’d have, so I kinda brought everything. Except the pans. I hoped you’d have those.” “What do you need?” “I need a big pot to cook the pasta, a bowl to microwave the frozen broccoli, the biggest mixing bowl you have to mix everything, and a small mixing bowl for the topping.” Jensen starts taking jars and bags and boxes out of his grocery bag. Jared wheels into the kitchen. “Sadie, come here.” The wall cabinets in the kitchen are the standard ones, but the lower cabinets have been replaced with large drawers to be more accessible to Jared. He points to one of the drawers. “Open.” Sadie pulls open the drawer with a special strap. Jensen takes the pans he needs out and sets them on the counter. “Close it,” says Jared, and Sadie pushes it closed. She repeats the process until Jensen has collected everything he needs. Jensen starts cooking the pasta and cutting up the chicken with his own knife. Jared wheels back out of the kitchen to let him work, but he sits near the dining room table and watches Jensen’s progress. Once Jensen’s got the casserole assembled and in the oven, he sets a timer and comes out to sit with Jared and Sadie. “I guess you like to cook,” says Jared as Jensen wipes a splotch of alfredo sauce off of his t-shirt. “I’m not the best at it, but I do all right,” replies Jensen. “I know my way around a kitchen, and I haven’t set anything on fire yet that wasn’t supposed to be.” Jared raises an eyebrow at that. “There are things that are supposed to be?” Jensen grins, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I like to make alcoholic pan sauces.” “That’s awfully fancy.” Jensen shrugs. “Not really. Not once you know what you’re doing. I used to live with a classically-trained chef, so I picked up a few things here and there.” He stands up. “You got any wine? A Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio would be best.” “I think we have some mini bottle of Pinot Grigio in the pantry.” Jared sends Sadie to open the door and wheels up to it. He locates the four-pack of mini bottles and carefully lifts two out. He sits them in his lap and then carefully sets them on the counter. “There are wine glasses in the big cabinet on the left of the stove.” Jensen retrieves the wine glasses and sets them out. “It’s a proper dinner for two now,” he says, smiling. He glances at the timer. “Oh, shit, I need to put the bread in.” He pulls the bag of garlic bread out of the freezer and hunts around till he finds a baking sheet. He quickly shoves the bread into the oven and adjusts the temperature slightly. “Okay, we’re good.” He comes back to the table and sits down. “You really didn’t have to do this, you know,” says Jared. “Gen would have fixed dinner when she got home.” “Well, I wanted to,” replies Jensen. “I haven’t seen you in three days, so I wanted to do something special for you.” Jared shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “Three days. Imagine if we’d been apart for a week or two.” “If I’d been away for a whole week, I wouldn’t bother stopping to eat,” replies Jensen with a smirk. “I’d have my way with you the second I got in the door.” He sobers. “I mean—can you—?” “My dick works just fine,” says Jared with a small chuckle. “However, it takes a lot of pillows and cushions to maintain certain positions for any length of time. I can’t put weight on my knees or hands, so I’m pretty limited in what I can do.” Jensen nods slowly. “But you can do some things…?” “It’ll make sense when you see it,” Jared assures him. “You’re a young, fit, healthy guy—you’ll do fine.” He reaches out and pats Jensen’s knee. Jensen grins, but the moment is ruined by the shriek of the timer. Jensen takes the pans out of the oven and dishes up the casserole and bread and brings the two plates to the table. He returns to the counter to pour the wine and grab the silverware. Once he sits down, Jared moans out loud at the amazing smell of herby, cheesy, garlicky goodness. “I hope it tastes as good as it smells!” Jensen beams and picks up his glass. “Better, actually.” Jared takes a bite of the casserole. Jensen’s right—it tastes even better than it looks. The crumbly topping is surprisingly flavorful and the cheese mixture is deliciously gooey and thick. The chicken is moist, the broccoli crisp, and Jared’s pretty much ready to marry Jensen if this is what he’s gonna get every night. Jared moans with pleasure again and Jensen blushes in the most adorable way. Jared doesn’t even remember his wine until after he’s cleaned his plate. “Please tell me you’re leaving the leftovers,” he says between sips of wine. “I guess you can have them,” Jensen replies, pretending to begrudgingly agree. “Good, then I’ll put out.” Jared smirks as Jensen nearly spits out his wine. Jensen swallows hard and coughs lightly a couple of times. “Shit, don’t do that!” “Sorry,” says Jared. “Offer still stands, though.” He wheels back from the table and points his chair toward his bedroom. “Come on, Sadie. Time to get ready for ‘bed’.” He trusts that Jensen will hear the air quotes. Once inside his bedroom, Jared pulls off his shirt and Sadie helps him shed his shoes, socks, and jeans, dropping them in the clothes hamper. With just his boxers left, he wheels to the door. “You can come in now,” he calls to Jensen. To Sadie, he says, “Open the clothes closet.” She obeys, pulling open the door of his clothes closet, where he stores his long-neglected sex wedge. Jensen comes in and Jared points to the closet. “Can you please grab the big red pillow and put it down at the foot of the bed?” Jensen nods and complies, even though it’s clear he’s not quite sure what he’s getting into. Jared slowly stands up and Sadie sticks close to his side as he maneuvers himself into place on the wedge cushion. It’s basically a bowtie-shaped cushion that puts his ass in perfect position without him having to support his weight on his legs to do it. Jensen gets the hint and sheds his own clothes, tossing them aside and moving to the end of Jared’s bed. He nods down at Jared’s shorts. “Need a hand with those?” “Definitely.” Jensen carefully slides Jared’s boxers over his hips and then his knees and feet. Sadie comes over and grips them with her teeth, which surprises Jensen, but he lets go. She puts them in the hamper and sits at attention next to the bed. “You’re off duty,” Jared tells her. “Go lie down, pretty girl.” Sadie trots off to her bed in the corner and Jensen turns to Jared. “It’s not gonna scar her for life if we fuck in front of her?” Jared laughs and shakes his head. “She’s seen it before. She’ll be asleep before we really get going, anyway.” He gestures at his nightstand. “There’s lube and condoms in the top drawer. Make yourself useful.” Jensen chuckles and opens the drawer. He grabs a condom and the bottle of lube and raises an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s a little overconfident.” “What can I say? I’m an optimist.” Jensen comes back over and sets the supplies on the mattress next to the cushion. Then he crosses to the doorway and turns out the lights, leaving only the glow of Jared’s alarm clock and the tabletop Christmas tree in the corner he never took down. He steps into the space between Jared’s legs and captures Jared’s lips for a kiss. Jared rests his ankles on Jensen’s hips, taking the pressure off his knees. Jensen’s tongue dances around Jared’s, giving him the barest hint of the sweetness of wine and the slight tang of Italian herbs. Jared’s almost fully hard now, and he can feel Jensen’s hard length pressing against his own. Jensen obviously feels it too, because he reaches down and takes both their cocks in one meaty fist. He swipes the tip of his thumb over Jared’s slit and Jared gasps, breaking the kiss to catch his breath. Jensen jacks them both just roughly enough to make Jared’s pulse pound in his ears. Jensen kisses a trail from Jared’s jaw down to the hollow of his throat, and drops to his knees to take Jared’s substantial cock into his mouth. Jared’s nerves sizzle with electricity as Jensen flicks a bead of precome off the slit and then flutters his tongue over the sensitive spot, eliciting a full-body shiver from Jared. He wraps his legs around Jensen’s shoulders as Jensen laves a thick stripe down Jared’s shaft to the base of his cock. He teases Jared’s balls with the tip of his tongue and Jared’s not sure he’s going to last until the main event. It’s been a long fucking time, okay? Jared throws his head back and tries to remember how to breathe as Jensen does beautifully obscene things to Jared’s cock. with his mouth and tongue. Finally, Jared reaches out and pushes Jensen away. “Enough teasing,” he rasps, voice hoarse from exertion even at this early stage. “Just fuck me already.” “Geez, you’re fuckin’ bossy.” But Jensen tears open the condom packet with his teeth and rolls it on. Then he squeezes a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and slides one cautiously into Jared’s hole. Jared throws his head back and forces himself to relax and breathe through it as Jensen presses further in. He hasn’t done this since college, and it’s long overdue. Jensen presses past the ring of muscle to brush the sweet spot and Jared chokes on a groan of pleasure. “You all right?” Jensen asks in a low, breathy voice. “Peachy.” Jared squeezes his eyes shut. “Keep goin’.” Jensen does as he’s told, adding a second finger and driving Jared nearly to the brink. It’s been way too fucking long. Jared slides his ankles back down to Jensen’s narrow hips. Jensen leans forward and covers Jared’s mouth with his own, swallowing the breathy gasps and bestowing upon Jared’s tongue the sweet essence of white wine. Jensen adds a third finger and Jared nearly loses it right then and there. He breaks the kiss. “Do it,” he gasps, barely audible. Jensen crooks his fingers in a way that makes Jared see starts. Then he draws them back and eases his considerable girth into Jared’s hole. Jensen’s bigger than his compact build would suggest, and Jared has to consciously relax to let him in. Jensen draws back and runs a hand through Jared’s hair. “Relax, babe. I gotcha.” “I know.” Jared curls his fingers around the edge of the cushion as Jensen starts to thrust in earnest. It’s almost too much for Jared’s already overloaded senses. The endorphins have kicked in, and Jared’s floating on a chemical high, completely free of pain for the first time in years. He moans, long and loud, and Jensen redoubles his efforts in response. Jared goes boneless as Jensen plunders his ass in ways Jared has only dreamed about. “So close,” breathes Jared, digging his heels into Jensen’s sides. Jensen hits home once, twice, and that’s it for Jared. He comes with the force of a thunderstorm, lightning singing along his nerves from his cock all the way to his toes. Jensen stutters in his rhythm and Jared feels the warm rush of Jensen’s release soon afterwards. Jensen pulls out with exaggerated care and drops to his knees, pressing his forehead between Jared’s thighs and gasping for breath like a dying man. Jared reaches down and grasps Jensen’s hair to pull him up toward the mattress. Jensen takes the hint and crawls up alongside Jared’s cushion, sprawling out and throwing an arm over Jared’s stomach. “Y’okay?” “Never better,” Jared replies without hesitation. “How ‘bout you?” “Gimme a minute.” Jensen’s panting like a dog in heat, and he curls in on himself and scrubs a hand over his eyes. “Holy fuck, that was hot.” “All thanks to you.” Jared runs a hand through Jensen’s sweat-dampened hair. “You did all the hard work.” Jensen pushes himself up on one elbow and presses his lips to Jared’s. “Don’t sell yourself short.” Jared smirks. “Nothin’ short about me.” “I’ll say,” replies Jensen, and kisses him again.

#j2 au #j2 fanfic #j2 #365daysofj2 #disability

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tragicbooks · 7 years

Text

23 ways to spend your tax return that can make you happy and the world a better place.

Feel good about your splurging.

<br>

It's April, which begs the question how are you going to spend your tax return this year?

(If, of course, you're fortune enough to get a return. My condolences if you end up owing Uncle Sam.)

Bills need to be paid. And the zeroes in your student debt total should, at least in theory, keep dwindling. You should probably stock the pantry while you're at it, and make sure the gas tank is filled, too.

But if you cross off all the boring payments on your "being a responsible adult" list and still have a good chunk of change at your disposal, I have a few suggestions that could make you feel good about where your money is going.

Here are 23 seriously rewarding ways you can spend your tax return this year:

1. Buy individual sets of flowers and visit a senior center.

Image via iStock.

Bring a friend if you like, too, and pass them out room by room. You'll definitely make (at least) one person's day.

2. Find a cool and important project helping teachers and students on DonorsChoose.

The online platform allows educators, mostly in underserved communities, to raise funds for neat learning opportunities for their students — from getting new computer tablets to providing enough instruments to create a drum line for music class.

Welcome, Head Start teachers! We’re excited for even more preschool teachers to join the DonorsChoose family: https://t.co/WJfTsZ4ySf http://pic.twitter.com/WzBoUzZGcY

— DonorsChoose (@DonorsChoose) April 4, 2017

3. Donate it to a local nonprofit helping your own community.

Big, national, or international nonprofits do vital work, of course. But there's something pretty special about seeing how the people in your own city can benefit from a little generosity.

4. Pay it forward in the drive-through line — or, better yet, the grocery store.

You've seen the viral stories of folks grabbing the tabs of other patrons ahead of or behind them in line. You could be the person who starts the next chain reaction.

5. This one isn't immediately gratifying, but ... your savings account may need some padding.

Image via iStock.

Just because something doesn't give you instant gratification doesn't mean it won't eventually be rewarding, right? Save up to pay off that loan, buy that car, be prepared for a rainy day, or be less burdened when next semester's tuition bill arrives. It'll be worth it.

6. Sponsor a person or group that has been taken advantage of by our flawed justice system.

News flash: The power structures at play in our law enforcement and justice systems favor white and wealthy people. Funded Justice is a crowdfunding platform where donors can help foot defense expenses — like legal and bail fees, for example — for those seeking a fair shot.

7. Throw a pizza party at your local food bank.

Ask the Pennsylvania man who did just that in 2016 — it's great knowing every cheesy bite is greatly appreciated.

Image via iStock.

8. Reach out to that friend you've been meaning to call and take them out to dinner and a movie.

You both deserve each other's company.

9. Chocolate.

Hey now, it's good for you. Indulge a little.

10. Give cash to a friend or family member who could really use it this month — in the form of a money cake.

Image via Jodi McKinney, used with permission.

OK, this is a bit lavish, but if you're feeling especially generous, here's how to make it, courtesy of Jodi McKinney's blog, "The Creative Life In Between."

11. Buy new socks and feminine hygiene products to give to a homeless shelter.

They're always among the most requested items, but — because you can't donate these sorts of items used — many donors don't realize how tremendous the need is. (Here are other vital products to donate you maybe haven't thought of.)

12. Donate to Meals on Wheels, then grab a friend and volunteer for the group locally.

After seeing President Donald Trump's proposed budget, the organization may need all the help it can get in the years ahead.

Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

13. Commit to guilt-free purchases for the week.

Shopping for food, clothes, and other products that are fair trade, locally sourced, and produced by ethical companies can be an expensive, exhausting privilege not everyone can afford.

But with some extra cash on hand, try to take the leap for a few days. You may be able to work in some better long-term spending habits, too.

14. Book a solo weekend getaway on the fly.

Depending on whether you're an impulse buyer, this probably sounds either exciting or terrifying. Either way, you should indulge in some R and R. In today's 24/7, on-the-go world, recharging mentally and physically is important. (Plus, solo travel rocks.) Quick, go!

Image via iStock.

15. Donate to an organization that helps people who are particularly vulnerable in the era of Trump.

So many groups — immigrants, LGBTQ people, women, people of color, Muslims, and others — are facing a hostile administration attempting to strip away their rights and send us backward. Help them out.

16. Buy house plants and bulk up on garden items just in time for spring.

Research suggests that greening up your living quarters can actually benefit your health and boost happiness. If you're new to the plant game, maybe start out with some succulents (they practically take care of themselves).

17. Order a bunch of Girl Scout cookies for the neighbors you love or the ones you haven't met yet.

Photo by John Moore/Getty Images.

What's a better icebreaker than "Hi, here are some Thin Mints"? Another option: Hoard all of the Samoas and Caramel deLites for yourself (no judgment). Either way, you'll be supporting an important organization doing great things.

18. See if there's an Amazon Wish List registry for an animal shelter near you.

Animal shelters need lots of specific items to care for their four-legged friends — things like outdoor, durable furniture, cat and dog food, and specialized collars to keep pups (and their humans) safe.

19. Buy some Dogsbutter for your pup. Your purchase will helping another sweet doggo in need.

Dogsbutter — made from peanuts and flaxseed (minus any sugar, salt, or hydrogenated oils) — is a healthy snack for your pup they'll certainly enjoy. For each item you buy, Dog for Dog also gives an equal amount of food to a pet shelter, so dogs in need will benefit, too.

Happy #tongueouttuesday from Izzy 😋 #POUNDforPOUND #DOGforDOG Photo by @blue_eyed_izzy http://pic.twitter.com/mm5ZJi5Cgn

— DOGforDOG (@DogforDog) February 21, 2017

20. Buy "(R)evolution: The Girls Write Now 2016 Anthology" and help underserved teen girls pursue their creative dreams.

The book of essays and poetry was published by Girls Write Now, a New York-based after school program that connects girls with accomplished female writers, who serve as mentors. All proceeds of the book benefit the program.

21. Donate to a bowling team that's helping fund abortion access.

The National Abortion Access Bowl-a-Thon allows people to set up bowling teams and fundraise on behalf of abortion access across the country. Donate or — better yet — join a team. It's a sort of unconventional but equally awesome idea.

22. Get your neighborhood excited about books again, and snag some supplies to set up your own Little Free Library.

Once you build and stock one of these (ridiculously adorable) mini-libraries in your yard — or any other public-facing space you think might be a great spot — readers take a book from the stockpile and leave a different one in its place.

"Books saved me as a kiddo in foster care and I want to spread my love of books." - Steward Jodi H., Library #8846 http://pic.twitter.com/k4MRvAnvMN

— Little Free Library® (@LtlFreeLibrary) February 28, 2017

23. And last but not least: Treat yo' self.

GIF via "Parks and Recreation."

Get that flat-screen. Book that massage. Splurge a little (or a lot).

You work hard, and you deserve it.

<br>

0 notes

socialviralnews · 7 years

Text

23 ways to spend your tax return that can make you happy and the world a better place.

Feel good about your splurging.

<br>

It's April, which begs the question how are you going to spend your tax return this year?

(If, of course, you're fortune enough to get a return. My condolences if you end up owing Uncle Sam.)

Here are 23 seriously rewarding ways you can spend your tax return this year:

1. Buy individual sets of flowers and visit a senior center.

Image via iStock.

Bring a friend if you like, too, and pass them out room by room. You'll definitely make (at least) one person's day.

2. Find a cool and important project helping teachers and students on DonorsChoose.

Welcome, Head Start teachers! We’re excited for even more preschool teachers to join the DonorsChoose family: https://t.co/WJfTsZ4ySf http://pic.twitter.com/WzBoUzZGcY

— DonorsChoose (@DonorsChoose) April 4, 2017

3. Donate it to a local nonprofit helping your own community.

Big, national, or international nonprofits do vital work, of course. But there's something pretty special about seeing how the people in your own city can benefit from a little generosity.

4. Pay it forward in the drive-through line — or, better yet, the grocery store.

You've seen the viral stories of folks grabbing the tabs of other patrons ahead of or behind them in line. You could be the person who starts the next chain reaction.

5. This one isn't immediately gratifying, but ... your savings account may need some padding.

Image via iStock.

6. Sponsor a person or group that has been taken advantage of by our flawed justice system.

7. Throw a pizza party at your local food bank.

Ask the Pennsylvania man who did just that in 2016 — it's great knowing every cheesy bite is greatly appreciated.

Image via iStock.

8. Reach out to that friend you've been meaning to call and take them out to dinner and a movie.

You both deserve each other's company.

9. Chocolate.

Hey now, it's good for you. Indulge a little.

10. Give cash to a friend or family member who could really use it this month — in the form of a money cake.

Image via Jodi McKinney, used with permission.

OK, this is a bit lavish, but if you're feeling especially generous, here's how to make it, courtesy of Jodi McKinney's blog, "The Creative Life In Between."

11. Buy new socks and feminine hygiene products to give to a homeless shelter.

12. Donate to Meals on Wheels, then grab a friend and volunteer for the group locally.

After seeing President Donald Trump's proposed budget, the organization may need all the help it can get in the years ahead.

Photo by Justin Sullivan/Getty Images.

13. Commit to guilt-free purchases for the week.

Shopping for food, clothes, and other products that are fair trade, locally sourced, and produced by ethical companies can be an expensive, exhausting privilege not everyone can afford.

But with some extra cash on hand, try to take the leap for a few days. You may be able to work in some better long-term spending habits, too.

14. Book a solo weekend getaway on the fly.

Image via iStock.

15. Donate to an organization that helps people who are particularly vulnerable in the era of Trump.

16. Buy house plants and bulk up on garden items just in time for spring.

17. Order a bunch of Girl Scout cookies for the neighbors you love or the ones you haven't met yet.

Photo by John Moore/Getty Images.

18. See if there's an Amazon Wish List registry for an animal shelter near you.

19. Buy some Dogsbutter for your pup. Your purchase will helping another sweet doggo in need.

Happy #tongueouttuesday from Izzy 😋 #POUNDforPOUND #DOGforDOG Photo by @blue_eyed_izzy http://pic.twitter.com/mm5ZJi5Cgn

— DOGforDOG (@DogforDog) February 21, 2017

20. Buy "(R)evolution: The Girls Write Now 2016 Anthology" and help underserved teen girls pursue their creative dreams.

21. Donate to a bowling team that's helping fund abortion access.

22. Get your neighborhood excited about books again, and snag some supplies to set up your own Little Free Library.

"Books saved me as a kiddo in foster care and I want to spread my love of books." - Steward Jodi H., Library #8846 http://pic.twitter.com/k4MRvAnvMN

— Little Free Library® (@LtlFreeLibrary) February 28, 2017

23. And last but not least: Treat yo' self.

GIF via "Parks and Recreation."

Get that flat-screen. Book that massage. Splurge a little (or a lot).

You work hard, and you deserve it.

<br> from Upworthy http://ift.tt/2nyMVCj via cheap web hosting

#Upworthy

0 notes