#one of my most favorite memories of my grandmother's house

[snazzymolasses]

also the patch of moonlight falling on my bed

patch of sunlight from the window save me

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 10 | stanley pines x f!reader 

Summary: pictures paint a thousand words, and it’s time you take some of your own

warnings (TW): swearing, discussions of death, grief, familial-loss 

tags: mutual-pining, character background, familial bonds

notes: HELLO ALL! I am doing much better and settled into my new apartment :) ive had a rather hectic couple of weeks and it may take me a couple more to really transition into my new space and job so there may be some breaths between updates for now!! Does this chapter reflect some of my own experiences? Of course, it does. Was I always gonna write this chapter? YES- this chapter is a reflective/background for our beautiful reader/doc’! The formulative next chapter is BIG BIG BIG (unless i think something is missing in which it will be thrown into said plot between this ch and the next “formed” one) but okay! I missed u all! Apologies for the lack of actual… well STAN in this ch lol

word count: 4.5k 

| masterlist | 

Her childhood home’s walls’ were scattered with differing picture frames. If you were to ask her what she remembers most distinctly about her abandoned corn-field house she would recount the countless pictures her grandmother collected and stretched across every inch of the hallways between closed doorways. She’d recount most distinct the presence of her mother, only ever in picture form, and the bearing weight of her grandmother's ire. 

Not to say the older woman hated her. No, she constantly breathed everlasting love at her. But when she tilted her head in certain lights her grandmother would remember that she was not actually her daughter. She had existed in the shadow of a dead woman for a long time, in that home. Her grandmother didn't have a waning memory though, only a waning heart. Forget herself in between her blame and love for the young child she was to take care of. 

As she grew with age she began to sympathize with her grandmother more and more. To lose a daughter so young, to have to raise the thing that tore her apart. It made her grandmother sick at times, and she didn’t have the heart to fault the woman for open palms and harsh words.

Her grandfather was quite a pillar in her memories though, a lasting good memory of the house and her childhood. He’d come home with dirty hands from fields and fold her into his arms every day, anyway. Some of her favorite memories are shucking corn on the porch with him, the sun cresting over the skyline, and crickets chirping between. She’d talk, and he’d listen. He was a quiet man, a content one, but he also carried a certain grief in his eyes when he’d look at her at times. Something she blamed herself for entirely. 

Reasonably she could compartmentalize that the death of her mother was not her fault, even without a therapist. Her mother was young when she fell pregnant with her, still in high school, had just gotten her driver's license. She knew, could reason, that she held no fault in this. In the entire situation. Besides her looks, she blamed herself plenty for that, she blamed herself for not doing more to distance herself from those picture frames. 

It’s why her grandmother forgot at times, why her grandfather looked most grieved when the sun set just right over the dinner table. She looked remarkably like her mother, a perfect picture replica in just the right shadows, just the right cadences. 

It’s why her grandmother didn’t take down the pictures, truly. Pictures of her mother in her prom dress, of her first and last Christmas under the tree. Of her mother in the backseat of her grandfather's old Buick, of her mother in the golden-crested corn fields just outside their back door. Because there was no point in forgetting because she haunted them every day. Her face was proof enough of that. 

She didn’t have any pictures of her own, any hung up anyways. She had the official ones done, of course, the yearbook photos and the prom pictures her friends’ mother took for them. But that’s where it stopped and ended. It was her own secret grief, but wasn’t comparable to the glint in her grandparents' eyes. So it stayed that, a secret. 

She dreamed of a simpler life at times. That she was her mother. That the pictures were her own, that her (grand)mother kissed her goodnight, and that her (grand)father didn’t hesitate when he hugged her. Dreamt of a life with her very own lover, dreamt of a life filled with children and apple pie and Christmases at her (grand)parents' house. She dreamed about that fantastical American dream, of wrap-around porches and pastures full of fireflies. But this too stayed a secret, until her junior year of high school. 

School came easy to her, and it usually served as a much-needed reprieve from her mirrored hallways. Come five years old she most looked forward to early mornings and car rides with her grandfather. Her caregivers were always drowsy in the morning and forgot themselves in the darkness of early September. Her grandmother would kiss her goodbye, and fold a packed sack lunch into her small hands. Her grandfather would lean in closer, and read blurry newspaper headlines off to her, like she cared to be known and be seen. Soon though, these mornings disappeared, with age. 

From the ages of fourteen to almost eighteen years old she did everything and anything to impress them, to distress them, and to upset them. She wanted them to capture her achievements in scrapbooks, and laugh over misadventures she would get into, much like they did with her mother's memory. She figured that’s how one lived, in shadows and stories. 

She joined every school club, then quickly quit them. She excelled in writing and sciences alike, and then quickly failed them. She earned enough money to buy her first beat-up car, then quickly veered it into the nearest ditch. She snuck off, broke locks on doors and off windows, ran through fields, and came home late with mayhem in her wake. Prayed that the back porch light would be on, that her grandfather would be back there, on the porch, smoking his cigars. That he’d have that awful look on his brow, that he’d look at her different, speak to her like she wasn’t a shadow, carry a cadence in remembering her name in his anger. She hated when he didn’t remember her the most, even if the memory wasn’t a good one. 

For the longest time, her grandfather was her favorite person, even if he stumbled over his words, and misspoke her name at times. It almost didn’t matter as much to her, because he had a predisposition to always apologize, unlike her grandmother. 

She could always count on him being on the back porch, during the fall and summer and spring months. He had a favorite wooden chair, no cushion in site. Most would have called him a rather stiff man. Stiff in his gait, stiff in his politics, and he usually had a stiff drink on him. But he was a warmth that she didn’t wish to forget, she was his only granddaughter, the last line of his family. 

Her grandfather, while quiet, was an amazing listener, and had a plethora of solid advice to usually dish out most nights. But he was only open for certain hours and seasons, only ever when he was outside and only ever when the sun hung low in the sky. 

Most of her actual problems she never had the guts to voice to the stoic man, she mostly spoke of school, of subjects and passing friends and any gossip she could get her hands on. Her grandfather was a nosey man, funnily enough, and enjoyed listening to whatever she could sparse from the school halls that day.                                                                                 

Their topic that night, though, had her grandfather sitting in a longer silence than she was comfortable with, a stiff drink balanced in his left hand. Her grandmother had scolded her during dinner, for not having looked into colleges to attend as of yet. She was in her eleventh year and hadn’t even considered truly attending. She knew a handful of other female students who didn’t even plan to go, she figured she fell into that category also. Figured she’d wind up much like her grandmother was now, doing the dishes while her husband lounged. Something her grandmother claimed she didn’t mind but something she was still having a hard time wrapping her head around. 

Truly she did not know what she wanted to do after graduation. It still felt like she had so much time, but in all honestly that illusion was fading. She knew something for sure though, that she didn’t have a desire to go to college. She wouldn’t even know what for, and she wanted to be close to home. Closer to the shadow she lived in and in suffocating hallways. She didn’t know anything else. 

Perhaps that’s what her grandmother meant, that she didn’t mind, because she had no mind in it at all. She didn’t know anything else, anything other than this house and her husband and the child that had torn her own apart. It wasn’t a comfort it just was. 

She liked routine, despised change, and preferred her adventures in corn and soybean fields. Preferred late nights with friends with windows rolled all the way down in convertible cars, and preferred stiff drinks with her grandfather on the shaded porch. So she would stay. She said as such at the dinner table too, something her grandmother didn’t take too kindly to. Having her (grand)daughter speak back to her. 

She didn’t break the quiet tension between them that night on the porch. She’d love to forget what happened over the dinner table entirely. The heat in her grandmother's eyes, the ire behind her twisted words. That she would leave, would seek better for herself out there in the world. Educate herself and move on from this home, from suffocating walls, and from them. That's what she figured her grandmother really meant, that in some twisted way, she wished to be rid of her. Hated living with a mirror of her daughter around every corner. The old woman could take down sun-stained pictures and be rid of the image of her forever, rest peacefully knowing she’s finally pushed her so far away. Fold what was left of her mother into boxes and ship it all away for once. 

It made her bitter, at the time. She resented the older woman on and off for years. When she was younger she didn’t understand it all, couldn’t quantify her grandmother's grief, tucked herself into corners, and disappeared into nooks of fields and sheds to distance herself from heated looks. At seventeen it had transformed into an equal distaste. Nothing she did seemed to shape up to the image her caregiver had of her, and she grew tired of attempting to evoke even the slightest of positive emotions from the woman now. The only time she was ever at ease is when she forgets who she even truly is. How was she to pretend to be someone she didn’t even know? She couldn’t even compartmentalize the depth of her own self. She was still a little girl in her mind, still six and begging her grandmother to hang their family portrait that she had drawn on the fridge. She didn’t have it in her to beg anymore and didn’t have it in her to even define who she was. 

Looking back at it all, she realized she was never supposed to know. People change all the time, she had changed. It all just depended on who you surrounded yourself with. In that home, in those fields, and on those gravel roads she had no one. No one but a fading grandmother and a tired grandfather, and perhaps it wasn’t even fair to continuously implore that she stay. She wouldn’t be who she is now, wouldn’t recognize herself even now if she hadn’t left. And if her grandfather hadn’t convinced her of such. 

Her grandfather broke that tension between them that night. She remembers distinctly his words that he spoke between them that night. 

“You can live here sure, but could you die here?” He spoke abruptly, nursing his cup along the wooden edge of his chair. 

She scoffed, shaking her head, fixing her eyes to the fields beyond. “Now that’s just dramatic as hell.” 

“I’m being serious.” He sips his drink, humming along the rim of his cup. “You can see yourself living here because you do now, but can you see yourself dying here? Would you be happy to die here?” 

“What are you even talking about? Happy? To die?” She shifts her eyes back to him, his own eyes glassy. 

“Your mother never made it out of here. Never so much as had a life beyond this plot of land. I dreamed of her being free of it one day.” He sighs like it choked his throat and was too heavy on his chest to admit. They didn’t speak of her often, at least not when he was as sober as he was now. “ Happy, out there somewhere.” 

“Was mama not happy, grandpa?” She implores, figuring he may be being the most honest he’s ever been in this moment

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Your mother was the brightest thing in the room. But people grow up, get older, and sometimes those bright things die. I wanted her to get out, explore new bright things, things to push off the dying parts of you.” 

“So you think I should go?” 

“I think one day, when they put people to rest, that the dirt matters. I think you should find new dirt, kiddo.” 

She shakes her head, burying it in her palms. She can feel the pent-up tears, feel the shake of her shoulders before it makes its way from her stomach to her lungs. “I’m scared though, pa’.” 

“Good.” He hums, a comfort to his deep voice. “Humans are scared of things they don’t yet know. Soon, new dirt won’t be so scary.” 

She leaves that discussion on the back porch, and her grandfather does not discuss it again in her presence. He really only needed one conversation to sway her, make her consider. She kept it to herself though, felt too private to consider out loud across dinner tables and porches. She was afraid to admit that it… scared her. The thought of leaving the only thing she’d ever known, leave behind the firefly fields and the four corners of her bedroom. Perhaps she’d even miss the four corners of the picture frames, and the call of her name from the room over. 

Her grandfather's health waned that last year of high school. He soon forgot where simple things were. Forgot where the utensils drawer was in the kitchen, and wondered where the lamp in the corner of the living room was when he turned his back. She learned that memories fade in waves and that there are acts and paragraphs and distances between forgetfulness. That when he’d turn and forget to take his shoes off when he got home from the fields it would evolve into him forgetting where their gravel driveway was. That’d he’d forget numbers and words to describe things. That he’d forget soon, how to spell his name, and how to properly hold a pen. That soon he’d forget how to climb the stairs, and then forget how to put one foot in front of the other. 

Forgetting who people were always seemed to come last because categorically it was the most painful to forget. She suffered through being called by her mother’s name for months, she never had the strength to correct her wilting grandfather. But watching the man forget his own daughter was different, and she grieved differently for her and her own mother that last month of his life. 

After he forgot for good and faded from this plane into the next, it upset her, even more, to watch her grandmother do much of nothing about it. She waited in anticipation, for the rage and denial that came with death. She recounted the stages of them in her head for weeks, but never witnessed her grandmother falter in all that time. It angered her beyond anything she knew up until then. It exploded in her face one day when she came home to her grandmother folding away picture frames into boxes in the living room. 

It took her only a moment to find it was exclusively her grandfather’s pictures she’d plucked bare from the walls. Holes were left empty along the living room, nails protruding from the blank white walls behind the many portraits. How could she fold him away into boxes, remove him from walls and from corners of the house, like he wasn’t still here, in every room they passed through? 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Her grandmother turned, her usual quirk in her brow and downturned look in her eyes. “Language, girl.” 

“No.” She stomped forward, ripping the frame from her caregiver's grasp. “Why the fuck are you putting him away.” 

“Enough.” She scoffed. “I’m not putting him away.” She waves her hands around the living room, to his recliner chair and the lamp he would turn on each night to read his newspaper. Points to his books of sudoku on the coffee table and his empty T.V. dinner tray he’d set his late-night hot coco on. “He’s still here. He’s right here.” 

“No.” She pushed back and away from her grandmother. “Why would you put his portraits away? Why would you take them down?” 

Her grandmother shakes her head, hands on her hips, a weird look of defeat on her face for once. “I won’t be interrogated about my interior design skills.” She moves around her, back through the open doorway into the kitchen light. 

She runs after her, picture gripped in her left hand, her right continuously running over her chest, self-soothing. “No!” 

“Yes!” Came her grandmother's reply from her position bent over the kitchen sink, going back to washing sudsy dishes that she left to soak. 

“Why?” She begged, stepping closer to her grandmother's back. “Why the pictures? Why the fucking pictures, ma’?” 

Her grandmother doesn’t wilt, twisting her head to look back at the girl she had raised, the girl she had raised twice now. “What?” 

“You know what I’m talking about ma’ don’t play dumb!” She never would have ever called her matriarch that in her right mind, but the disrespect felt inconsequential in the visage of her anger. “Why the pictures?” She held up the portrait in her left hand, facing it towards her grandmother. 

Only then did she melt in front of her, suddenly looking younger than she’d ever remembered her grandmother. Eyes teary and hands soaked from the kitchen sink she reached for the frame, holding it in weathered hands, tracing the portrait with slight fingers. 

It struck her, that she could not drum up a memory of her grandmother ever crying in front of her. Her caregiver had always been headstrong, stubborn at her worst, and mellow yet firm at her best. But never a wavered figure. She remembers now, the woman’s age. 

It has her moving forward, has her reaching for her grandmother's shoulders for the first time in forever, shuffling the smaller woman to the dinner table. Pulling the chair out and allowing her grandmother to compose herself while sitting at the unset table. 

It’s her grandmother that breaks that hanging tension, breathing out around her tears and stuffed nose. Chuckling at the image now held in her hands. 

“It rained right after this picture.” She couldn’t stop laughing now, bent over, and holding the image between them. “He took me out for a picnic, set up the stand for the photograph and everything. Then boom, ten minutes later we were caught in a thunderstorm! We were a good mile away from his car.” 

It was unlike her meticulous grandfather to not have checked the weather. Something she questioned out loud to her grandmother. 

She sighed, a tilt of her head that still spoke of her love for the man that haunted them both now. “He was so nervous that day, he forgot to check. He was going to propose that day, he told me later. Had it all planned out, but then forgot to check the weather.” The first thing he’d ever truly forgotten.

They both laughed, staring back at the framed photo of her grandfather and grandmother sprawled out on a checkered picnic blanket. 

She looked back at her grandmother, finding the older woman was already staring back at her. Her frail hand reached out, tucking frazzled hair behind her ear. Moving her hand back over her cheek to her chin, tilted her head up to face the older woman's head on. 

“I’m sorry.” A break in her grandmother's voice. “I kept them up because I thought it best. I thought you would want to know her.” To know her mother. “But it was selfish of me. To keep her up on all these walls.” Her thumb was firm on her chin now, tears leaking down her own face now, too. “I didn’t make any room, for you here.” 

“I’m not her, ma’.” 

She sighs a smile on her face suddenly. “You aren’t my daughter.” Moved her hand back, to cup her cheek again, palm warm against her. “But you are not nothing to me.” 

“I know, ma’.” Her grandmother moved, wiping tears from her cheeks. 

“But you need your own space now.” 

She nods, understanding what her grandmother finally meant. She needed her own walls and space and dirt. She needed to leave, and find her own four corners and hang her own pictures, and she knew her grandmother would help her get there too. 

“Do you want it?” 

“Huh?” She startles, turning her gaze to Stanley beside her. The camera in front of her was brand new, and a stupid turquoise blue. Turquoise like her mother's bike, in that one picture, hung along the wall right before her grandparents' room. Turquoise still, that bike was, rusty around the chains, when she found it stuffed in the back of one of the many sheds on her grandparents' farm one summer when she was but thirteen. Turquoise, which she loved to hate but secretly adored. Perhaps it was her favorite color, her mother's, that is. 

He’s waiting beside her, his arms full of odds and ends he found in the thrift store. Things he would tear apart and resew into new things- weird attractions to entice customers into their homes to pay the bills. 

She laughs, struck by his ridiculous tactic of not grabbing a shopping basket in favor of stuffing his broad arms full of odds and ends. Easier to steal, he claimed, when you don’t have a shopping basket. 

“Nah.” She lies. “Color just reminded me of something.” 

He shrugs, goofily dropping something from his arms. He bends over to pick it up, narrating out loud to get a smile back on her face. Anything but that deep contemplative look on her face and that scrunch in her brow. 

“I’m bending over now. Definitely didn’t just spot something on the bottom shelf that I want… definitely didn’t just get that also.” He stands again, shuffling things around in his arms. “That thing may or may not still be on the bottom shelf.” 

She laughs, taking some things from his arms and heading up. “Come on, you don’t need much else here. Let's get some dinner already.” Already thinking of the order she’d get at Greasy’s. 

They check out without a hitch, mainly because the teen at the register barely looks up from their magazine to take their money. Stan jokes about the potential to have just left the shop with their arms full without having paid a dime.

“They didn’t even look up! We could have just booked it, hun!” 

“No, we couldn’t have!” She laughs. “Plus I don’t wanna get some poor kid fired, Stan.” 

He huffs, pulling her door open, then putting their bags in the back seat of the car. He doesn’t make another comment until he gets to his own side, sighing slightly in the front seat while pulling something out of his inner coat pocket. 

“Now-” 

“Stan don’t tell me you took that dumb salt shaker from the bottom shelf for real.” 

“No, hun.” He laughs, handing over a flash of turquoise. “Just this.” 

She smiles unconsciously, holding the ugly camera in both her hands. Bringing it up to her eye to see out the camera, checking the back of it for the film. She can’t help but tear up, about something as stupid as the potential to finally take her own pictures. Something she forgot about even wanting between everything else. Next, she’d have to get out of the car and roll around this new dirt she found herself on. 

His doc’ was a terrible liar. He knew she wanted that camera as soon as she stopped in front of it. She kept passing it in the store, kept wandering back in front of it, but never reached out for it. Just… stared. He didn’t wanna figure on the significance of her fascination (unless she supplied it readily), only wanted to figure how she’d brighten up the room if she had it. So he took it. 

It was the best thing he’d ever stolen her. Between her snatched spoons and stolen diner crayons, this felt more significant. More purposeful, more solid between them. He knew she wanted it, so he got it for her. It felt significant, and it made her heart ache for the young girl surrounded by all those pictures that acted as twisted mirrors. He didn’t even know, what it meant to her. 

“Thank you, Stanley.” She smiles at him, all bright like he predicted. The edge of a tear along her eye, so he reaches and folds her into his broad shoulder. He grazes his lips along her hairline, humming close to her ear like he knows she enjoyed. Perhaps it was like that thing she did, soothing her hand over her heart and chest. Maybe the warmth of him and the vibration reminded her of four corners and hallways and home. At least he hoped, stupidly. 

He brings her back out, reaching over her and buckling her in as she smiles stupidly at him and then back at the camera back in her lap. 

“To dinner!” He exclaims, turning the cars’ keys to begin their journey to Greasy’s for their yearly anniversary dinner. 

She’d have to get some picture frames, for them.

[ignisgalaxia]

With the release of Prodigy season 2, the Trek fandom finally has an answer to what Chakotay's native ancestry is. He's Nicarao, a tribe from the western region of Nicaragua who actually share a common ancestry with the Nahua Aztecs of Mexico. The show even mentions the island of Ometepe specifically, which is the largest island in Lake Nicaragua made up of two volcanoes.

The reason this is so important to me is because my dad and his family are from Nicaragua. I’ve been getting more in touch with those roots over the last year or so, and I’ve found it very frustrating how there seems to be no Nica representation in media, at least not in the mainstream. But when I found out that Chakotay was a fellow Nica, I was literally bouncing off the walls. To think, one of my favorite characters has the same ancestry as me (well, almost, but I’ll get to that later)! When I told my dad, he laughed so hard because he never would’ve imagined.

But I haven’t seen a lot of people talking about this aspect. I get it, it’s a minuscule part of the wild ride that was season 2. But I’d really like us as a fandom to discuss this more. I mean, we literally don’t have to guess what tribe he’s from anymore!

So since nobody else has come forward, I am going to claim myself as the only member of the Voyager-Prodigy fandom with actual Nicaraguan ancestry, and am making this post to give firsthand information about the Nicarao and the nation as a whole.

Firstly, some context. My dad was born in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, and lived there with his family until he was 7. Then they fled the country due to the Contra War that was going on. My grandfather was born and raised in Bluefields, a city on the country's Carribean coast, then went to college in Mexico where he met my grandmother. Neither of them are Nicarao, and are in fact very European (the DNA tests proved it). However, when they were all living in Managua, my grandparents had a handful of maids that worked for them (they had six kids they needed some help), and a couple of them were Nicarao. Specifically, they were natives from a village in the nearby mountains. So while I don't have info on natives from Ometepe, I do have some on the people in general.

The maids lived with my dad's family during the week and would go home to their village on the weekends. They primarily spoke Spanish, but he would occasionally catch them speaking in their native tongue which I assume is Nahua.

My dad recounted a time when the maids invited the family to their village for a day trip. He said they were living in Adobe houses and had lots of livestock (cattle, chickens, goats, etc) as well as horses, which he apparently rode for the first time there. He also said most of the natives had two primary weapons: a machete to cut crops and other vegetation, and a 22 single shot rifle. They used the rifles to shoot iguanas off trees. Iguanas and iguana eggs are a delicacy in Nicaragua that the natives are experts at making.

This is a direct quote from my grandmother when I asked her about what she remembered of them:

The people I knew, they were good and hard working people. Smart, happy, funny… they really are sociable, like to talk and say jokes invented with their mind and history. The women were skillful, knew how to survive. They cooked, cleaned, planted crops and vegetables. Good merchants, they really knew how to sell and buy.

I wish I had more info to share, but unfortunately season 2 could not have been released at a worse time because my grandfather has recently begun developing Alzheimer's or some other form of dementia and has been losing his memory over the last few months. Even when my dad and I were with him in May and I asked him to recount his earlier life, he repeated himself a few times since he evidently had forgotten he'd already told us those parts. If I had known how fast he’d be deteriorating, I would’ve started my work sooner.

If I do end up learning anything more from my relatives, I’ll update the post. For now, I hope this is of some use to people. And if anyone has questions about Nicaraguan culture in general, I’ll be happy to pass them along to my dad.

[artsy-moonwalker]

A new fairy among the fountain.

Let me get a little personal.

My first introduction to the legend of zelda came to me when I was around eight years old. I was at my grandmother’s house, and noticed she had Mario 64 in her basket of n64 games. I was already a big Mario fan and wanted to play it, but my grandma insisted that I try out something different. So she put me on Ocarina of Time.

Ever since then, to be fully dramatic, it changed my life. That moment is so very special to me. Zelda has become my most favorite piece of media and was rooted that way since I was a little kid. My childhood would be completely different if I was never introduced to it, and I can’t imagine who I would be today without that spark of adventure motivating my life for all those years. It brought me comfort, creativity, warmth, inspiration, etc. etc. etc… I could go on all day. I would never change a single things if it meant not having the cherished memories I have with each Zelda game I’ve played.

But very recently, the person who introduced me to the series as a kid left us.

And when I returned home that day, the world spinning, my head numb, the only thing I could think of doing was playing Ocarina of Time. She loved this series. She loved the fantasy and the magic and the characters. She loved every aspect of it, especially the fairies. She even called herself one. I think I played oot that day because I wanted nothing more than to feel her presence once again. To bring out the thing her and I bonded over the most. Our strongest shared interest. I can’t begin to thank her enough for everything she gave me. The butterfly effect is SO real. And her gift of a childhood full of adventure is one I’ll never take for granted.

And now that enough time has passed, I like to think she flies among all of the fairy fountains in every version of Hyrule.

[thejustknowing]

Three Word Prompt to Distract my Busy Thoughts...It worked. Genre was Horror with the words, popsicle sticks, lawn and stem.

My grandmother was a profoundly intense woman. A fervent follower of Jesus, she never missed Sunday Mass. Though she had a green thumb, she didn't relish gardening as a hobby. Instead of giving a monetary donation at Mass every Sunday, she brought plants to the houses of anyone on the prayer list or anyone in church she heard needed a little extra kindness in their life. It's strange, or maybe it would be to you, but my grandmother was different from others we sat next to, kneeled next to, then sat again next to, stood next to, shook hands with, and wished peace to. As you've probably figured out, this is a Catholic Mass, a very serious event where most of the smiling and speaking happens when you shake hands. That has always been my favorite part—it felt like a moment to finally smile, talk, and someone wishing me peace always made me feel a bit better inside, though I'd never admit I enjoyed any part of it. But my grandma, she didn’t smile shaking hands; she did it rather reluctantly, almost like she was a mix of angry and frustrated with her faith, or maybe with God, most likely due to her forced devotion to it. It was written all over her face, at least I think it was. I was nine, then ten, then eleven; I didn’t learn about human emotions until later—that's another story.

Sometimes, I would imagine that she was really a spy for the devil and not a devout Catholic at all. It kept my mind busy during the boring sermon, and I swear her expressions fit the part just right. But all that changed one night when I walked by her bedroom and saw her kneeling by her bed, clutching her rosary with a focus that seemed almost desperate. Each bead slipped through her fingers with a whispered prayer, her lips moving silently. It was a nightly ritual, one she never missed. I wondered if I would ever understand the significance of those beads if they ever ended up in my hands.

Another peculiar thing about my grandmother was that she went to everybody's funeral. It was like she knew everyone who died in our entire town. When you get old, you know all the other old people, but these weren't just old people—sometimes a baby would die, sometimes a mother would get cancer and pass away, sometimes a whole family from out of town would get in a car accident, and she’d go pay her respects at their funeral too. I never questioned it too much. How can you question an old woman going to pay her respects and bring a grieving family a memorial plant grown from the stems of the funeral arrangement they loved most, complete with soil and lessons on how to plant it and take care of it? She would teach the whole family of the deceased; the children could come too. I went with her many times, and it gave these people such comfort. This made my grandmother even more mysterious to me. The hardness of her look, the way she did things—it was all so intriguing. Despite all the little red flags and inconsistencies, I always came back to thinking how beautiful what she was doing was, how it meant something to these people who were overjoyed. My grandmother couldn’t be an evil demon; she couldn’t have those looks in her eyes because she was doing something more terrible than I could imagine. I liked to imagine her being a demon, but she was my grandma, so I was pretty sure she wasn’t.

Grandma would have me kneel down with her and make tiny little headstones. We made these with popsicle sticks glued together every summer. We would tape the funeral pamphlet, you know, the one with the photo, and cut it to fit over the popsicle stick frame. Then we would attach one last stick to the bottom so it would stand up in the soil; yep, it was a mini headstone. Her backyard was filled with mini popsicle stick headstones. They all had stems planted around them in the soil. Those stems, like magic, would grow into new plants and flowers—they were beautiful. When the flowers had bloomed and were ready to take to the next family, my grandmother's eyes almost gleamed with an unusual excitement. If you saw it, you’d probably think it was misplaced or maybe even inappropriate. But I was nine, I was ten; I didn’t know what it meant, so I just forgot about it. I didn’t understand, and it was too much for my ten-year-old brain.

That hindsight is 20/20 thing is real. Grandma lived for about nine more years, and during that time, I became an adult. I wasn’t around to help her with her backyard graveyard as much. But I rushed home when she got very sick. I said my final goodbye to my strange, intense, interesting, unusual, quirky grandma. For the first time ever, her eyes looked soft. She looked into my eyes, and I wondered if maybe she had made peace with her life, or maybe she was deep in thought. “Grandma, what are you thinking about?" I asked. “I’m picturing you carrying on what I've done for the church and for the people. I hope that you could do that for me. I hope that you can promise that you will do that for me. I'm leaving the house, the garden, and everything to you. All the instructions are written in the shed. Everything I have is yours. Just do this for me."

"Grandma, of course, I promise I will go to all the town funerals that I can. I'll cut the stems and get the photos. The stems will grow into new plants, and I will give them to... wait, who do I give them to?"

“Whoever needs prayers on the prayer list at Sunday Mass. If the person on the prayer list is in the hospital or a nursing home, don't bring the plant and soil there. The person won't be there permanently, and the plant is meant to be forever. Bring two bags of soil and the plants to their home, and teach the children and adults there how to plant them."

“One bag may be enough to cause some effects on the family."

"Affects, Grandma? Like gratitude or thank you cards?"

“My sweet grandson, there are many short and long-term effects that depend on many variables. You'll see, don't worry."

“Grandma, are you okay? I don't really understand what you mean."

“Well, you have to see to know. So deliver your first one now," she said. Her eyes at that moment became dark but excited, cunning. She looked into my soul, but her blackened eyes were devoid of anything, empty, void. My grandma was not in there. I wondered, is this what happens when you die? But how could she have left her body, how could her soul be gone when she’s awake? Now, as an adult, I knew something was wrong. I knew that all along there was something about my grandmother that was sinister.

“Son, I'm very tired now. Please go pick up the plants at my house. This child is six months old and is sick. He needs it near him, so please place the flowers and soil in the nursery. Do not stay very long at all."

“Grandma, I don't want to be rude."

“You asked about the affects. The affects on a child are intense and immediate. They could start minutes after being in contact with the soil."

“The soil, Grandma? What is in the soil, and what effect will it have on a little baby? Is it some holistic, natural thing you've gotten into? I don't believe in that stuff. You can't cure a sick baby with magic soil."

“My stubborn grandson, just be on your way, and you will see. Listen to me carefully. After the sweet baby's funeral, which should be in a week or two, show the parents the utmost kindness. Give them a gift that will always remind them of their child. Go back to their house with more soil and plant with them their child's plants in the backyard."

“Grandma, did they give you some meds? Are you saying... what are you saying? Are you... wait?"

As David stood up, his grandmother looked pale, her eyes barely open. "David, one more thing. You mustn’t forget to bring enough soil. The chemicals, they make the plants grow so malevolently powerful."

She smiled at me, looking straight into my eyes, and I knew exactly why. I felt it in my eyes—they were black, empty. I felt nothing but a strange sense of excitement. At that moment, I changed forever, this incredible sense of clarity came over me, I wasn't meant to understand it, until that moment. I had become blind as an adult to my family's sacred truth. Just as my Grandmother warned me, my ego took over for a while, but this too was part of my soul's plan. Everything came rushing back into me, I could almost feel all of the dense energy releasing and being pulled out of me and this powerful light entering.

There was never a demon, the devil was not at work in my Grandmother! She protected me, and she groomed me. Our destinies intertwined, our darkness a continuance through generations. It all made sense now. My grandmother loved me, protected me, and groomed me, all while never stealing my innocence. There was never any demon inside of her, or any sickness. Everyone has darkness inside them; that I know for sure. Some are meant to let it completely take over, until they can accept and heal it. Some are meant to walk in the light and spread the light to the world. What about you? Are you lying to yourself and everyone else, is the darkness buried deep enough? Are you open and healed? Are you letting all your light come in? If not, what of the urges then, have they come back yet? No one can escape themselves forever. So, tell me… which parts of yourself are in that box buried so deep inside? Why can’t they be acknowledged? Are they too ugly? Do you feel enraged if someone really ‘sees’ you, and catches a glimpse of what you hide? Do you become enraged at that point and project the darkness onto them? If you are doing this, it’s bad, and it’s destructive, but it’s not too late. You can stop the darkness from winning, we all can. Accept it, acknowledge that ugly parts exist in you, and in all of us. Love the parts of you that you don’t like, as you do the rest of yourself. They make up the story of your soul's journey through lifetimes.

32 years after David sat with his dying Grandmother. A little boy opened a leather journal he'd never seen before sitting on his kitchen table.

He recognized his father's handwriting and began to read.

In David's seemingly twisted rationale, he trusted that those he led to their deaths had soul plans that included this violent end. He believed that their family members were meant to endure the agony of grief, a necessary suffering to evolve in their spiritual journeys. To David, the act of murder was not evil; it was a sacred duty, a dark rite of passage. His understanding of his role was both horrifying and absolute. He knew, with chilling certainty, that he was fulfilling a cosmic order. Each death was a step closer to his soul's ultimate evolution. And so, he continued, each murder more calculated than the last, each victim a willing participant in his grotesque mission. David's final thought before he drifted off to sleep at night was simple, yet profound.

"In death, I bring life to my soul."

[magics-neptunes-things]

Lover

Hello there ♥

Sorry for all the people waiting for this one, you can find the request here, here, here, here and here. Can't believe how many request I have for them to be honest.

But it's the international break so let's find some comfort in here 🥲

It's with the prompt n°15 and 34 from here and the end of the two first chapters that you can find here and here.

Enjoy!

TW : None

PART 1 | PART 3

_____________________________________________________________

Waking up with Katie is probably Caitlin’s favorite thing these days. Even if Katie isn’t the same on the field as outside, sleepy Katie is extremely cuddly and clingy when waking up. With her morning broken voice, her body still warm to have been all night under the duvet and her sulky face if she didn’t get her lot of hug, in Caitlin’s opinion she is simply adorable. And it’s terribly difficult for her to resist her repeated requests to hug or extend their time in bed.

It’s the same this morning. Caitlin is lying on her back, Katie completely lying on her, her arms wrapped around her neck and her face buried at the level of her chest. Caitlin has been drawing for many minutes imaginary drawings on Katie’s hips with her fingertips, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The spirit of the Australian woman flies away a little, remembering some of their memories with a small smile.

Their first kiss that quickly slipped on their first time. The first dinner with their two families together and a big difference in the number of Foord compared to the McCabe, Katie having ten brothers and sisters and Caitlin only a big sister and her mother. The dinner at the restaurant where Caitlin asked Katie if she could change the sens of the Irish ring she wears to signify to the world that she’s no longer single. Their joint move into a new house in St-Albans. The fun they had to heckle like teenagers when choosing their furniture. The memories are many and all bring a pleasant feeling of warmth in the pit of Caitlin’s stomach.

Caitlin’s attention turns to Katie when she moves when a wave of shivers run in her skin.

"You tickle me" moaned Katie, burying her face even more in Caitlin.

"Sorry" laughs the Australian with a kiss in her hair.

Katie only responds with a new moan and the Australian passes her arms around Katie’s waist to tighten her against her.

"We’re going to have to get up Katie baby" Caitlin announces, glancing at the alarm clock on her bedside table.

She still remembers when Katie made fun of her to still have an alarm clock "like a grandmother", but when Caitlin pointed out that it allowed her to watch the time without having to move and interrupt their hugs to grab her phone, it suddenly found favor in her eyes.

"Noooooo" complains Katie, as expected, by infinitely sticking against Caitlin.

This amuses the Australian who laughs softly, laying kisses on Katie’s forehead and hair.

"Five more minutes but that’s all we have left" Caitlin whispers, kissing Katie’s temple.

The latter growls in a low voice, creating a new smile on Caitlin’s face. And as always, five minutes later Katie again asks for five more minutes. Unfortunately, their time is up.

"Fine" grunts Katie sitting on the bed and rubbing her eyes with a sulky look.

Wondering how she can be as cute as at this moment, Caitlin cannot resist the urge to lean over her to gently kiss her cheek.

"You’re beautiful, you know that right?" whispers Caitlin against Katie’s cheek.

The latter smiled as she heard her and laid a kiss on her lips.

"You’re the most beautiful of us two" replies the Irish, frowning when she sees Caitlin rolling her eyes with a smile. "What? It's the truth"

"Of course, my love. Avocado toast for breakfast?"

"Please" answers Katie with a big smile.

********

Hours later, the two young women are on the football field of the Arsenal women’s team, the referee’s whistle announcing the end of the match. It’s with general relief from the players of Arsenal that the whistles are welcomed. The match against Manchester City was complicated, but they managed to win with a difference of one goal, bringing the score to 3-2. Beth, Alessia and Caitlin managed to find the net despite an excellent goalkeeper. A few yellow cards were also handed out, one to a Katie who was a little too abrupt when she pushed a player who had the misfortune to make a bad tackle on Leah.

At the end of the game, Caitlin takes the opportunity to talk a little with Alanna, whom she sees too little to her taste despite the fact that they live on the same island again. Catching up with Mackenzie is simpler as the latter is also in London. They are soon joined by a teammate of Alanna who enters herself the discussion. And it only takes Katie three seconds to find that this young and charming Swedish is looking at Caitlin with a little too much interest.

Leaving her teammate of the Ireland team behind, Katie quickly goes to the entrance of the tunnel, where the conversation between the trio takes place. After having greeted Alanna warmly and then a little less warmly the other brunette, Katie positions herself next to Caitlin. Without necessarily touching her but her positioning leaves no doubt about the threat barely masked to her opponent.

"Can you stop doing that?" gently laughs Caitlin after they say goodbye to Alanna and her teammate, Alanna and Caitlin promising to call each other in the week to see each other quickly.

"Do what?" Katie asks, following Caitlin into the corridors leading to their locker rooms.

"Intimidate people"

"She doesn’t have to look at my girlfriend like she did" Katie groans grabbing Caitlin by the waist.

Turning her in her arms, Katie gently sticks her against the wall behind her and also sticks against her.

"You’re mine" she says, frowning.

"Okay, keep your pant on, cowgirl." Caitlin laughs as she wraps her arms around the Irish girl’s neck. "Of course I am"

They only have time to exchange a kiss before they are interrupted, Kyra emitting a disgusted "ew" like a child surprising her parents kissing.

"I’m taking you for a date tonight" Katie abruptly decides.

********

Later in the evening, Caitlin and Katie are actually in a restaurant that both particularly appreciate by their shared passion for sushi. The conversations are light and their complicit looks are enough to make the people around them understand that it’s useless to try to disturb them if they ever recognized them. Tonight, it’s only about them and whatever if the world explode.

"There’s something I’d like to talk to you about for a while" Katie begins while trying to catch a grain of rice with her chopsticks.

"Okay?" Caitlin replies, looking at her with curiosity.

"But I don’t know how to tell you. And I must confess that I’m a little afraid of your reaction"

Caitlin slightly frowns, mixed between curiosity and worry. What’s going on in Katie’s mind that she’s afraid to talk to her about something? But, deciding to remain benevolent, the Australian gently puts her hand on Katie’s who is sitting in front of her.

"You talk to me about anything Babe" says the Australian, smiling.

Katie looks at her, hesitating for a little while before finally opening her mouth. Caitlin feels like she can hear Katie’s brain working from where she is.

"How do you feel about kids?"

"Good, I think? I mean, I know Kyra beats me in Harper’s favorite aunties, but I think she likes me" says Caitlin, shrugging her shoulders before realizing. "But you mean having kids?"

"Yes" sighs Katie, secretly relieved not to have to explain any longer.

"I’ve never given it too much thought before" Caitlin honestly replies. "When you’re a woman athlete, I find it hard to combine. It makes you stop more than a year, with pregnancy and everything after it"

Without saying a word, Katie listens religiously to her girlfriend. Her only visible sign of nervousness is that she bites the inside of her lower lip.

"Katrina had courage" Katie simply replies, since Caitlin referred to Harper just before.

"I’m not saying I don’t want it. I perfectly imagine us both starting a family" Caitlin says, looking for Katie’s eyes. "But maybe not right now. I selfishly want to have you just for me a little more"

Katie smiles softly, interlacing her fingers with those of Caitlin on the table. It’s been a long time since they decided to stop hiding and act naturally with each other.

"And please don’t tell me you want eleven kids like your parents"

"No" laughs Katie shaking her head. "I am exceedingly admiring how my parents managed to raise all eleven of us without any of us going wrong. But definitely not eleven"

"How much then?" asks Caitlin, tilting her head to better observe her.

"I don’t know, one already sounds good. And why not a second a little later"

"Two is good" confirms Caitlin, recalling moments spent with her sister.

Her sister and her mother are two of the most important people in her life, Katie having managed to make her place in this ranking. But after growing up without a father, having these two people by her side when she grew up was very important to her. She wouldn’t see herself without her sister.

"Two is perfect. Like you are" smirk Katie.

[mariacallous]

What do you think of when you hear the word “liverwurst?” Many people think of something gross, usually liver (which, although pooh-poohed by Americans, is very popular in many cuisines across the world). Then there’s the German word “wurst” (meaning “sausage”), which sounds exactly like the English word for something that’s the least likable, the most inferior. Even translated fully into English (liver sausage), it sounds horrendous. 

Beyond its name, liverwurst is a paté, which makes most Americans squeamish. It’s made from offal, the internal organs (heart, liver, kidney, brain) and entrails (stomach and intestines) of a butchered animal — usually pork. Liverwurst is mentioned in the 1987 Chicago Tribune article titled “The Foods You Love to Hate,” and even with the rising popularity of charcuterie and nose-to-tail eating, liverwurst hasn’t gained traction in the U.S.

Despite Americans’ aversion to liverwurst, I love it. For me, it provokes feelings of adoration and nostalgia. I grew up eating liverwurst and associate it with one of the most important people in my life: my grandmother, Tutu. For the record, my kids love it, too.

One of my most cherished childhood memories is of eating liverwurst in Tutu’s San Francisco apartment. My grandparents were German Jewish exiles who barely escaped Nazi Germany in 1938. They arrived first in Honolulu, where they lived for three years until Pearl Harbor; that’s where the name “Tutu” came from — it’s Hawaiian for grandmother. They settled in San Francisco in 1975. I was born the following year.

Although I grew up eating liverwurst, my parents never fed it to me; it was a treat (along with Barbies, paper dolls, and My Little Ponies) reserved for Tutu’s house. Unlike many grandmas, Tutu wasn’t much of a cook — she much preferred to have family celebrations at restaurants — so her kitchen rarely smelled of sumptuous food preparation. But Tutu always made sure her grandkids’ favorite store-bought foods were available when we visited: hard boiled eggs (always sliced with an old-school slicer, which I later inherited), Stove Top, chocolate pudding and sprinkles, and a fresh pack of liverwurst.

At some point, I internalized the idea that it wouldn’t be cool for me to bring a liverwurst sandwich to school — the other kids would have turned their noses up in disgust. But that didn’t stop me from enjoying my liverwurst on toast under safe cover at Tutu’s house. She would even cut off the end of the Farmer John liverwurst tube when she opened a new package and save it for me for the next time I was at her house — she knew I loved scooping out the meaty, smooth spread from its snug, hemispheric encasing and eating it directly, even before I put it on bread or crackers!

The fact that liverwurst was a staple at Tutu’s house also taught me about the cultural specificities of our German Jewish ancestry. After all, liverwurst isn’t a thing other Jewish kids eat — it’s a quintessentially German product. It was also a symbol of the fact that German Jews had been well-integrated into German society before the Nazis came to power; they had attained economic success and weren’t as marginalized as other European Jewish groups were. They were also more secular than other Jews, likely because they came to understand that being less observant might help them avoid the stigma of being Jewish and fit into German society better. German Jews were culturally quite German, which set them apart in certain ways from other Ashkenazi Jews who emigrated to the U.S. in the early 20th century. This specific history explains why, although Tutu held very negative feelings about Germany, she still carried on German traditions, like eating liverwurst. 

Liverwurst represents my cultural heritage, my family history, and the unique traditions of German Jews. Continuing to eat it is one of the ways I honor Tutu and pass down our traditions to my own children. I feed it to my kids — spread on toast or crackers — partly as a way of teaching them about their family history, but also because, despite popular opinion, liverwurst is delicious!  

We all know kids: if they think something is gross they’ll refuse to eat it. But my eight-year-old son asks for liverwurst. He still doesn’t remember its weird name so when he wants it, he asks for “Starburst.” My daughter is only two and can’t yet ask for it by name. But I can only hope that, like her namesake — her middle name is Hilda, Tutu’s given name — she will love liverwurst as much as I do.  

[poisonlove]

Miss Ortega | j.o

part 10

The Christmas holidays were approaching, and I was at Jenna's house. Jenna's family had arrived from California a few days earlier, eager to spend the holidays with their daughter since they didn't have many opportunities to see her during the year. Of course, Jenna's family had no idea that Jenna and I were in a relationship, which complicated things because Jenna was my Calculus teacher.

A few hours earlier, I received a call from my mother informing me that my grandmother wasn't feeling well and that the family would have to travel to Italy to visit her. Due to the high flight costs, I offered to stay in the United States, obviously concerned.

Jenna's family suggested that I spend the holidays with them; they were curious to meet me. I enthusiastically accepted the invitation, grateful for the opportunity to spend Christmas with Jenna's family. I was eager to get to know Jenna's parents better and spend time with them during the festivities.

I did have some concerns about my relationship with Jenna, especially considering the fact that she was my teacher. However, I hoped that we could set aside her role as a teacher and student during the holidays and simply enjoy our time together as friends (in front of her parents).

Despite my worries, I was excited about spending Christmas with Jenna's family. I looked forward to discovering what they had planned for the holidays and feeling welcomed in their home.

"Thank you so much for the invitation; it's really kind of you. I would be delighted to spend the Christmas holidays with all of you," I admitted with a smile.

"We're really glad you've accepted. It'll be nice to have some company during the holidays," Jenna said, giving me a tender look and a smile.

During dinner with Jenna's family, they chatted animatedly, immersed in a pleasant atmosphere. Jenna and I exchanged secret smiles, aware of the need to keep our relationship discreet.

I paused in the act of bringing the fork to my mouth when I felt Jenna's hand on my thigh. With a shiver, I tried to ignore her touch and continued listening to the conversations at the table. Jenna's hand moved closer to my inner thigh, and on instinct, I coughed, attracting the attention of those present.

"Excuse me, something went down the wrong way," I admitted, looking at Jenna with narrowed eyes. She hid her smile, looking at her family with enthusiasm.

During dinner, Jenna's parents asked me about school and my plans for the future. I responded enthusiastically, trying to be natural despite the awareness that I had to hide my relationship with Jenna.

The night continued with joy and happiness as the family enjoyed each other's company. Despite moments of caution, the dinner became a precious memory for all, a time when love and acceptance prevailed over the need to hide the truth.

"So, Mrs. Ortega, is there a favorite dish you like to cook during the holidays?" I asked, trying to strike up a conversation with Jenna's mom.

"Oh, dear, call me Natalie... anyway, during the holidays in California, I like to prepare the traditional Christmas turkey with all its sauces and side dishes. It's a family tradition. And you, t/n, what's your favorite Italian dessert during the holidays?" she asked, knowing that I'm Italian.

"I love pandoro! It's a Christmas sweet that I adore. It's fluffy and light, and I love serving it with a bit of mascarpone cream. But I'm also curious to find out what the typical Christmas sweets are in California. Do you have any local specialties?"

"Well, here in California, we have a wide variety of desserts. One of the most famous is strawberry cheesecake. It's a delicious and refreshing dessert, perfect for Californian days. Additionally, we have a strong tradition of artisanal ice creams and sweets made with fresh seasonal fruits," Edward chimed in, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Wow, that sounds delicious! I love discovering new desserts and flavors during my travels. I can't wait to try the strawberry cheesecake and other local sweets during my visit to California," I admitted, gently intertwining my pinkie with Jenna's.

"Speaking of California, have you already planned what to visit during your stay? Obviously, if you come in the summer. There are many interesting places to see. For example, the beautiful city of San Francisco with the famous Golden Gate Bridge, and the vibrant atmosphere of Los Angeles with its beaches and theme parks," Isaac added, shrugging casually with a hint of pride for his city.

"I'm fascinated by California, and I can't wait to explore San Francisco and Los Angeles. They're iconic places I've always dreamed of visiting. And I'd also like to discover lesser-known spots; if you have any advice to give, I'd love to hear it," I asked, glancing at Jenna.

"Absolutely! There are many off-the-beaten-path destinations that might interest you, like the beautiful Santa Barbara with its beaches and Mediterranean climate, or the picturesque town of Monterey with its famous aquarium. These are charming places that could enrich your trip," Aliyah, one of Jenna's sisters, chimed in.

"Thank you for the suggestions! I'm truly excited about visiting California and discovering all these wonders. I feel fortunate to have this opportunity," I confessed, taking a sip of my Coca-Cola.

"We're happy to have you here with us, t/n. It will be a special experience to spend the holidays in California together, if you decide to come, of course. If you have more questions or curiosities about our city or state, don't hesitate to ask. We're here for you," Natalie said sweetly, smiling warmly at me.

"Thank you, Natalie. I'm grateful for your warm welcome," I said, looking at the family with embarrassment, hearing laughter around the table.

"Have you finished buying all the Christmas presents?" Natalie changed the subject, starting to clear the table.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I haven't had the chance to do that yet. It's been a really busy period for me," I admitted, remembering the pile of tasks we still had to do.

"I understand, it's a hectic time indeed. But we still need to find a time to do the shopping," Edward smiled at me, taking a sip of his wine.

"Yes, we need to go gift shopping. Can we do it tomorrow?" Jenna looked at me with a smile, clearly excited about shopping together.

"Will you join us, T/N?" Isaac suggested, looking at me with eager eyes. Embarrassed, I looked at Jenna, unsure how to respond. Jenna raised an eyebrow at her brother, trying to read his intentions.

"Yes..." Jenna responded on my behalf, subtly placing her hand on my thigh.

(...)

After dinner, Isaac and I found ourselves on the couch, chatting about various topics. Out of the corner of my eye, I looked for Jenna, who was helping her parents wash the dishes in the kitchen. I smiled sheepishly when I realized that Isaac had extended his arm over my shoulders, likely seeking to hug me.

"Does anyone want some coffee?" I heard a voice from beside me and turned to her with embarrassment. Jenna watched us with curiosity, offering a forced smile.

"Oh, yes, please! Coffee would be great," I tried to break the awkward atmosphere around us, looking at Jenna with a forced smile on my lips. Jenna's dark eyes looked at me, trying to understand my intentions.

"I'd like coffee too, thank you," I could feel Isaac's eyes on one side of my head. I lowered my head to my lap, absentmindedly playing with my fingers.

"Alright, I'll prepare coffee for everyone," Jenna nodded, clenching the inside of her cheek to avoid saying anything inappropriate about her brother. The dark-haired girl gave me a fleeting look before returning to the kitchen.

"Hey, t/n, would you like to go out for coffee sometime? I'd love to get to know you better," Isaac's question surprised me, unable to imagine that he'd be interested in going out with me. The metallic clatter of the coffee maker hitting the table startled me.

Jenna had intentionally knocked the coffee maker onto the table upon hearing her older brother's proposal.

"Oh, well, sure! That would be fun," I admitted, looking shyly at the boy.

Isaac Ortega is a young man with a charming and distinctive appearance. He has an average height and an athletic build, indicative of his commitment to sports and taking care of his body. His hair is a soft shade of dark brown, which suits his short and neat haircut perfectly. He has an intense and penetrating gaze, with deep brown eyes that seem to light up when he's excited or interested in something. His eyebrows are well-defined, accentuating the expressiveness of his face.

Isaac's face is characterized by a square jawline and a slightly pronounced chin, giving him a determined and masculine appearance. He has clear and smooth skin, suggesting good personal care. His smile is contagious, with white and perfectly aligned teeth.

"That's great! I'm sure you'll have a great time," Jenna's tone of voice was slightly different, probably trying to raise her voice to avoid showing her discontent.

"Thank you, Jenna. I think we'll get along well," Isaac said with satisfaction.

"Yeah, I'm sure we will. Enjoy your date, you guys," it was evident that Jenna was jealous and almost afraid of being too obvious. I gave her a sidelong glance, signaling that only the teacher could see it.

"Thanks, Jenna. Will you join us next time?" I looked at Jenna, trying to convey that she should change her tone if she didn't want to blow our cover.

"Of course, I'd love to. Just let me know when," Jenna smiled nervously, wiping her hands with a cloth.

Jenna returned with the coffees and noticed the tension between Isaac and me, but decided not to intervene directly to avoid making the situation worse. She tried to distract herself and involve other family members in the conversation, hoping that the atmosphere would gradually ease.

Despite Jenna's jealousy, the evening continued, but the presence of Isaac and Jenna in the same room became an evident point of tension. I tried to stay polite and not reveal my discomfort, while Jenna struggled to hold back her words.

***

18+

After an endless hour, it was time to go to sleep. Jenna had assigned the rooms to her family, wanting to sleep in the living room so as not to arouse suspicion. I take off my shirt, intending to put on my pajamas when I hear the sound of the doorknob. I look toward the door in a panic, but then smile as I realize it's Jenna. The brunette smiles sincerely when she sees me without a shirt and rolling her eyes in a childish gesture.

"Are you staying here?" I ask, lowering my voice. Jenna nods absently, almost surprised by the obvious answer. She takes off his shirt and undoes the buttons, quickly removing her pants. My throat dries up at such beauty and my eyes can't help but get lost in its curves. “My God…I really need you to touch me,” Jenna confesses, shifting uncomfortably in place. I open my mouth in surprise and lick my lips greedily, imagining finally getting a taste of Jenna.

"Get naked and lie on the bed," I say seriously, finally putting my shirt on. Jenna obeys my request with a smile on her lips. "You have to be extremely quiet, Jen, if you want to avoid being found out," I admit, leaning my knees on the mattress of the bed, my eyes looking at her completely naked body with mischief. "I will be, love" I smile like an idiot when I hear the nickname. "You are mine, right? Not Isaac's," she asks seriously, looking into my eyes.

I nod several times.

I lie across Jenna's body, looking up at her with sparkling eyes. "Completely yours... now show me that you are mine." I confess looking at her privacy. My breath crashed into her privacy and she shuddered instantly. I smell her delicious excitement again, a pungent scent but not unpleasant. It was fascinating to see how excited she was for me, you could see her small and big lips covered and shiny with her fluids. She snorts in exasperation and I smile.

I bit my lip satisfied with what I saw.

I gave her a kiss on the lower lips and began to lick them. Jenna groaned softly putting her hands on my shoulders. "Please, love," she murmurs again.

I looked up to see that Jenna was propped up on her elbows looking at me pleadingly, her eyes hooded with arousal. her hair on the sides of her shoulders moved due to her heavy breathing. Her lips were parted.

Without looking away, I put more pressure on her intimacy and wrapped my lips around her clit. moan more. I saw that she went back to bed. Her hands clenched the sheets.

It was fucking exciting.

"Yes..." he whispered slowly. I started sucking on her button and Jenna's sighs gradually increased. I closed my eyes and continued to move my tongue around her clit, swallowing and savoring her delicious taste. I put a finger inside it to collect more fluids wanted more. "Yes... continue" she said, biting her lips hard to hide her moans.

I clung more to her thighs and inserted my tongue into her privacy. "Shit," she groans, biting her lower lip, closing her eyes.

I smiled and gently kissed her inner lips, releasing a stream of saliva that connected her to my mouth. With one hand, I made rotary motions around her clit, causing Jenna's sighs to grow heavier. My hand was completely covered in her fluids, and I leaned in and placed another kiss on the nervous wreck. I licked the excitement off my lips with my tongue.

I put my lips around her clit again and slipped two fingers inside her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jenna's knuckles go completely white, clenching needily on the sheets.

The walls of little Ortega tightened around my fingers and I realized that it was coming. She put her hands in my hair and made more pressure towards her intimacy. I kept licking and penetrating.

Her back arches more.

"YES..." she moans and arching my fingers I find his G-spot. He moans mostly. "Fuck," she exclaims. Her hips moved more and I increased the pace of the lick. As I stopped penetrating her, I put my fingers in my mouth, sucking on her nectar. "Look at me," I exclaim. Stopping licking her delicious intimacy. With difficulty she supported her weight on her arms and excitedly looked at me.

She was covered in sweat and her lower lip was caught between her teeth. I took her legs and invited her to rest them on my shoulders, giving me more access to her privacy. Without looking away, I licked again and watched as Jenna shifted her weight onto one arm, the other reached out and put her hand through my hair. Move your hips again.

groaning.

-Fuck!. Yes...- she whispers. Her eyes turned white with excitement. She turned her attention back to me. "Y/N," she exclaims with difficulty. "I'm... for..." she murmurs with difficulty and doesn't even finish pronouncing the sentence when I feel his arousal pouring into my mouth. I ate the excess. Breathing raggedly, Jenna leans back against the mattress. With a satisfied smile I rest my head against my beloved's abdomen, enjoying her pampering.

"From one day to the next you became an expert, amore" Jenna's words made me feel proud and murmuring against her skin I continued to enjoy her caresses.

ĶA long night awaits us.

[blackwolfstabs]

Top five places you could go if you wanted??

another tough one bc i don't know of many places that i'd want to go bc i overthink travelling like no other xD

but alas:

Seoul, South Korea

Long Beach, California

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Dubai (just bc it looks so fucking lit)

Santa Fe, New Mexico

these are all places i've never been but think it'd be nice to visit. if we're talking places i have been before and could go if i wanted, here's that list:

Galveston, Texas (i live in tx so i would go here every day if i could)

my grandmother's house (it sounds weird ik, but most of my best memories are here and it's like my favorite place to be)

San Antonio, Texas (dope place to walk around)

Rockport, Texas (went here once and had a blast)

Corpus Christi, Texas (why i went to rockport - the USS Lexington is here and FUCK it's the coolest aircraft carrier to tour)

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

heard you are trying to write for other Pedro characters! I've got a request for one, though I don't know for which character exactly. it is a fic (possibly an au depending on which one you write for) where Reader and her younger siblings go visit their grandma's house for summer (at the beach or whatever place you find the sexiest). she meets a man who helps out her grandmother (Pedro character) who is much older than her, but that is exactly what attracts her to him. they then end up having the sexiest summer ever. (bonus if he's her first, cause you write loss of virginity so gosh darn well! and double bonus if one of the reader's younger siblings catches them kissing and has a cute reaction to it!!). again, it's up to you which character you write for. whichever you think would fit this description most. :)

I couldn't pick a character so I had you guys pick for me.

I'm writing for the prettiest DEA agent, Javier Peña:))

This is take place end of season 3 where Javi is back in Texas.

AN// the spanish is going very limited, I only know the basics, and shoutout to my beautiful mom for helping me with the spanish.

WC: 3.4K

playlist

masterlist

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, religious imagery, reader of mexican decent, sexual tension, age gap, soft!Javier, 23yr old reader, fingering, mention of death, loss of virginity, kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected sex(wrap it up), p-in-v, mention of male/female anatomy, innocent!reader

Summers in Laredo were always boring for you but you and your brother got to spend time with your abuelos. Your summer would be consumed with doing work around the family ranch, you hated doing the work but you kept it to yourself because it meant the world to your grandfather getting to spend time with you.

This summer is different after the passing of your abuelo. You wondered who took over the work when he passed, you knew it wasn't any of your cousins who were all boys because you were the oldest grandchild they have out of the family only 23 in college. 

When you park the truck, the sun was high in the sky at noon. You could feel your hair heating up from the blazing sun. The wind was blowing dry heat, your skin was already being kissed by the light in the sky. You look at the house that you were practically raised in decorated with our Lady of Guadalupe statue in the rose bush, the screen door slams closed and a tall dark-haired man walks out with your abuela. 

"Oh, Javi, come meet my little bebés," she motioned him over, your eyes trailing up and down his body. You took how the sun hit his hair, the ends turning red from the rays. The aviators he had on blocked the true color of his eyes. His clean-shaven face left only a mustache. 

You felt like you'd seen before at a wedding. You couldn't pin where you've seen the gentleman.

"This is my beautiful girl," she introduced you to the man, "she's our princesa, the only girl we have and this is Gideon our strongest boy in the family." she went on about how you were the favorites out of the family.

"And This is Javier, he lives down the road near his father, Señor Peña, you guys remember?" her words jog your memory of the wedding from a year or two ago.

He was the man who caught your eye, he was beautiful like an angel but you never went up to him because you were insecure about being so young.

You could feel his gaze burn into your skin, Javi took in your beauty, the wind was blowing through your wavy hair and the golden undertone of your skin. The way your gold chain with the Virgin Mary pendant paired with a small cross fell at the start of the valley of your breasts would be if you weren't dressed so modestly. The light makeup you had on with a soft red lip. Your doe eyes that would make a man fall to his knees and pray.

"Nice to meet y'all, I'm Javi." He shook your brother's hand before yours, and when his hand engulfed yours you swear that it felt like electricity traveling through him to you.

"I'll be back in the morning to get the boy to work." He winks before leaving you in the dirt driveway.

"Cariño, grab your and your sister's bags." Your grandmother linked your arm with hers. You smiled at her while you entered the house. 

The house never changed with the many picture frames that took over the walls. Every stage of your life was on display, your first birthday, first communion in a frilly baby pink dress, Christmas with your all cousins, and your senior portrait.

Many paintings and prints of the Virgin Mary and what people think Jesus would like look, mixed in with the family gallery. It was like you were in a church with all the prayer candles burning with a rose scent filling the air. 

Your brother carried your bags to your mother's childhood room which became your room every summer since you were a teenager. Dusty rose-colored walls with a crucifix over the bed, a rosary on the bedside table a worn-out bible next to the lamp. You fall on the bed and closed your eyes to see Javier again in your mind. He is a walking sin, just calling out your name, and you started to feel your skin become hot as you remember the man. 

You wished he stayed a little longer to at least have a conversation but who you are kidding? You wouldn't have said one word to him, it's not that you were scared of men but they rarely approached you. If they did they weren't what you wanted. Javier was what you wanted, mature, experienced, hard outer shell. You never went after guys your age, you always went after the older men. 

-

You clouded Javi's mind since the day you came to the ranch. He would show up early just to have a small conversation with you at sunrise. The first time he showed up early you were walking to the barn in a white sundress that stopped mid-thigh and the sleeves cuffed right at the start of your arms, you looked breathtaking in the morning glow. He followed you and watched you give the horses their breakfast, you would quietly talk to them like it was only you in your little world. 

You turned on your heel and saw Javi standing there with a soft smile on his face. Your cheek heat up when your eyes met his,

"Oh good morning Señor Peña." You shyly smiled at him, you got a chuckle out of him and he stepped closer to you. His cologne filled your senses and his hand pushed your hair out of your face.

"You can call me Javi, querida," he said while his finger brushed through the waves of your hair. He loved how shy you were, just flustered by everything he did or said.

"Would you like some coffee, Javi?" You breathed out as you gathered yourself. 

He agreed you took his hand in yours and he blindly followed you from the barn to the house. The glow of the sun was hitting your golden skin making you seem like an angel guiding him to heaven.

You would glance at him to make sure he didn't change his mind. You served him the promised coffee and you took it upon yourself to make him breakfast. You were always told the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, Javi felt a warmth inside him when you made him breakfast to go with his coffee. 

That became routine for the two of you. The touches between you and the older man seemed innocent to the naked eye but the look in his eyes told another story. The hand on the small of your back, an embrace, taking your hand in his, and moving the hair out of your face, it all seemed like he was just being a gentleman. 

The conversations between you and him brought you closer together. He learned how you grew up in the church but didn't believe in god, how you keep up the act for the sake of your family, what your favorite color was, how you prefer to wear dresses and skirts over jeans and shorts, how everybody treats you as a little princess even you were 23.

You felt embarrassed for being so young and so attracted to him. You thought you were another stupid girl falling for an older man. You found comfort in Javier, he also found that in you. You were just easy to talk to, he liked how you wanted to hear about his life and how it didn't seem forced. 

-

Soon the mornings weren't enough, you wanted to see him more. You took matters into your own hands and slipped a note in his back pocket when you hugged him goodbye before he left for the day. 

'Midnight, no headlights'

He watched you disappear into the house and gave him a wink before walking away from the window. He loved how forward you were for being an innocent young woman. You hoped that he would show up, and you made sure to wear your favorite skirt and red lip. As the time grew closer to midnight the knot in your stomach grew. 

All of this could be a mistake, maybe the flirting was all in your head, he pity you for being so innocent and ate the attention he gave. You made sure everyone in the house was asleep, you climbed out the window and started walking to the end of the dirt road. There was the truck with no headlights, Javi leaned against the front of the truck waiting for you. The moonlight guiding you to him. 

You smiled and ran to him like a little kid, Javier embraced you and picked you up off the ground, and spun you around in his arms. Your giggle was music to his ears. He set you back on your feet and cupped your face, the moonlight highlighting the whites of your eyes. 

"I thought you wouldn't show," You whispered as you took in what he wearing, a simple white tee and light-wash Levi jeans. He looked like James Dean, your very own heartthrob.

"Why would you think that?" Javier asked, he was a bit hurt that you had doubts.

"Because I thought you would think I'm that stupid young girl who had the wrong idea," Your eyes danced around his face, if you looked into his eyes you would start crying. 

"Don't call yourself stupid, because you had the right idea." Javier watched your lips curl into a smile,

"¿Puedo besarte, hermosa?" ( Can I kiss you, beautiful?) he asks, and your heart jumps in your chest.

"The question is why haven't you kissed me yet?" You smirked, he laugh and shook his head.

"Because I thought I had the wrong idea," He retorted, you leaned into his touch and loved how warm he was in the cool night.

He pressed your frame against his and dropped his head as his lips caught between yours. Your arms throw themselves around his neck, his hands moved to your neck as he deepens the kiss. 

Javier leans you against the hood of the truck, his lips tasted like whiskey and cigarettes. Your lips parted as his tongue slips into your mouth. A soft moan leaves your mouth and into his, your fingers pull on his hair while his right hand slides down your body and slips underneath the short skirt. 

Your body shivers as his hand draws shapes on your upper thigh. You gently pull his bottom lip between your teeth, causing him to moan into you.

"Get in the truck, we're going for a ride." Javi breathed heavily as his lips left yours. You looked at your lipstick staining his lips. His thumb swipes away the lipstick that is smeared along the bottom of your lip. 

Your necklace was shining in the moonlight, he looked at the pendant and laughed himself. A young woman who is so innocent making out with an older man in the dead of night was such a paradox. He opens the passenger door for you and helped in the truck, he quickly ran to the driver's side and started the truck. 

The radio came on as soft background noise, you scooted across the bench and sat as close as you possibly could without being on his lap. You leaned your head on his shoulder as he took you away from the ranch. 

He drove the truck to the property he had just bought, a small ranch home with many trees lining the driveway. The truck stopped at the end of the property line meeting the river. The moon was right over the bed of the truck where you made yourselves comfortable in each other's arms.

Your fingers trace the features of his, and he melts under your touch. You make him forget about everything he has done, all the bad things, you make him into a different person. A gentle person who doesn't have any anger in his heart, no sadness dwelling inside of him. 

-

You spent many nights with Javier under the stars, he would find himself opening up to you about his time in Colombia and how you shouldn't like a man with blood on his hands. Always reassured him that it did not change the way you felt about him. 

"You help me forget," Javier moans as you kiss down his neck, you straddle his waist in the bed of the truck.

Clothes littered the grass just leaving you both in your undergarments. His hands resting on your hips as you grind yourself against his hardened length. 

"You deserve more," his words stop you, your heart was being pulled by the strings. You panicked inside as you could hear the rejection in his voice. You sit up and look at him with tears forming in your eyes.

"You don't want me?" You sounded like a child,

"No, no I do want you, mi amor, you're my angel." He sits up and your chests meet and he holds your cheek in his hand. 

The moonlight reflecting in your tears made you look so pretty to him. You still felt a pain in your heart from his words. His eyes flickered to the gold necklace that decorated your neck beautifully.

"Do you want me?" He asks as he licks his lips, he wipes the tears running down your face.

"Yes, more than anything...I'm yours, Javi." You confessed as you looked into his eyes, your words made him want to run. How could you just give yourself so easily to him? 

He buries his face in your chest and breathed in your perfume, rose water and ivy.

"Te adoro," you whispered to him, he laid you down on your back and locks your lips together. His hands stripped your bra off your body, and your nipples hardened from the cool air of the night.

Javier takes one nipple into his mouth and kneads your other breast. Your back arches into his hold, the sensation of his mouth on your body, his mustache against your soft skin. Your hips buckled needing friction.

"I need you," You whimpered as Javier made his way down to your clothed heat, without missing a beat he pulls down your lace panties and threw them behind him.

Your dripping cunt glistened in the moonlight. Javier lowers his head and starts licking your wet fold and then sucking your clit.

"I knew you would be sweet," He hums against your pussy, and you threw your head back as he kisses your clit. His fingers parted your lips and collected your wetness with his tongue, he slips his thick digits into your entrance and curled them.

You were a whimpering mess underneath him. You sounded like a choir of angels with the moans that left your lips. You were like a stained glass cathedral that he was worshipping in.  

He replaced his fingers with his tongue, drinking from you like it was wine during communion, savoring the taste of the sweetness.

"Fuck, you're amazing," You let out a breathy moan, you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. Javier sucks on your throbbing clit and his fingers start fucking you. Your walls clenched around his digits as they went in and out of your aching cunt. 

"Cum for me, querida," Javi moans, your fingers pulled on his hair harder at the moment your release came. Your thighs trembled as he worked through your high. The sweat glistening on you, looked like holy water baptizing your soft skin in sin.

"Such a good girl," he said like he was in prayer. You smiled at him and brought Javier to your lips, you could taste yourself on his tongue. His hands caress the curve of your hips to your breasts.

"I've never been touched before," You confessed to him, Javier felt himself become even more hard by how pure you were.

"Please fuck me, Javi," you whined to him, he looked again at the Virgin Mary on your necklace. 

"Are you sure, baby?" He asked, realizing that he would be your first and hopefully your one and only.

"Yes, please," your doe eyes were his weakness. Javier plants open-mouth kisses along your collarbone taking in the necklace in his mouth, his cock glides along your slit and pushes himself into your heat. 

You whimpered at the feeling of him inside of you, the stretch stung a bit but it was welcoming pain.

"You're doing so well taking my cock, mi amor." Javier drops the necklace from his mouth into yours. You suck the metal, the two pendants falling at the corners of your lips.  

He pushes the rest of himself in and his thick cock was in your tight pussy, your walls wrap around him tightly. You loved this feeling of being so full,

"So tight, bebita" Javier was in love with how you felt around him. The pace of his thrust were slow but hard, he loved how your breasts bounced at each thrust. 

Your hips roll to meet his.

"Faster," you mewled with a lustful look in your eye. Your red lipstick smeared across your lips made you look divine. Your cunt clenched around his cock when his finger rubs your clit,

"I-I'm gonna cum, Javi." You screamed out, the feeling of his hands on your body made you feel like you were in on a cloud. 

"Te sientes como el cielo," (You feel like heaven) Javier grunts while his thrust became uneven, his words made you drunk. A string of moans left your mouth as you came undone.

"I love how you cum around my cock," He confessed in your neck, you loved the feeling of how deep he was in you.

"I'm gonna cum, baby, where-"

"Inside of me, please" You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist. Javier's hand wraps around your neck pulling you into a hungry kiss as his cum spills into your tight cunt. He continues to fuck into you as he rides out his high. 

He leaves himself inside of you not wanting to leave your warmth. You both try to catch your breath, Javier holds you close to him like you would disappear if he let go of your body. You felt like heaven was a place on earth with him.

"Are you okay?" Javier asks as he pulled himself out of you, suddenly cold from the emptiness inside of you.

"More than okay," you giggled as you left a soft kiss on his nose.

"Do I need to worry about-"

"No, I'm on birth control." your words put him at ease.

"I should've asked before," he said while laying kisses around your face.

"It's all okay." you melted in his arms, and the cool air blew making you shiver. Javier pulls the blanket underneath you over your naked bodies. 

"I'm going to miss you when I leave at the end of summer." You said while feeling a tear drip from your eye, he stroke your hair.

Javier wanted to be selfish and ask you to stay and you wanted him to ask you to stay. You wanted him to read your mind and ask but the moment passed when he helped you get dressed. 

-

Maybe this doesn't mean a thing to him, maybe it's a summer fling. You were packing up your bags and getting ready to leave Laredo until next summer. You thought he would show up and stop you from leaving.

You dragged out every second, his truck comes speeding down the driveway and Javier jumps out of the truck and grabs you by the waist, and pulled you in for a kiss. Your brother and abuela looked at each other wondering when did this all happen. 

You dropped your bags and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Tell me you're mine, tell me I'm all you want." You cried into the kiss, Javier put you down and looked deeply into your eyes.

"You are everything and more, please stay, please you're the one thing that makes me feel okay." He begs, and you could see him starting to tear up. 

"That's what all I needed to hear." You beamed at him and nodded your head. You kissed him again with even more passion.

"This whole summer I was working my ass off and you were having a fucking summer romance," Your brother gagged,

"Cudia tu idioma! Gideon," (watch your language) your grandmother smacked the back of his head.

"You let your sister be, she deserves it." you felt even better knowing that she was on your side.

"Javier, you better take care of my princesa." She looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"I swear on my life," Javier smiles at you. It was like someone answered your prayers, you have your piece of heaven in front of you. 

[0hboyhowdy]

Prologue

Something small for me to dip my toes into writing :)

A bat family self indulgent insert lol. I've been building up this character in my head since before the pandemic, so this character is near and dear to my heart and I've decided to share as a reader insert for fun. Short for some back story, very little bat fam in this one.

839 words.

(Y/N) was a peculiar child. Nothing immediately alarming, soft eyes and smile. Polite, quiet, raised by their grandparents in a tourist town home to a cryptid legend. An old soul they were called, mature for their age to an off-putting degree. They spoke as if they humbly knew something you didn't know. For as long as they could remember they had a purpose, a nagging feeling in the back of their mind of something they couldn’t quite place.

Age 4, (Y/N) babbled about sounds for days on end. Their earliest memory, watching Papa making lunch in their outdated kitchen while sitting in a high chair and humming a tune only they could hear. The music was soft most days, their head swaying and soothing their mood. They weren’t a fussy baby, but when the music became loud there was nothing they could to do to console them. Distress and anger were volatile emotions in their child, Nan concluded, after picture frames flew off the walls and shelves shook. Her arms pricked and tingled where her bare skin touched (Y/N). Papa took to teaching the piano to soothe their tantrums.

Age 5, Nan brings them out into the woods.

Age 7, (Y/N) became fixated on the weather. Exact amounts of rainfall, clouds in the sky, hours of sun. Before it happened. They often refused to wear light clothes, even on the hottest days they still claimed to feel a chill crawling up their neck. Nan often caught them reaching to rub their neck whenever their weather outbursts occurred.

Age 8, they had exceptional spatial awareness. Nan attempted to catch them off guard numerous times and failed. No matter how quiet, (Y/N) knew. Nan used to get them geared up with her and train in the woods behind their house. Their favorite drill, in which they never lost, involved hunting down their grandmother a half hour after she entered the woods.

Age 9, (Y/N) spoke to themselves often. Their grandparents weren’t surprised by the new development but were wary of other people. On Sunday trips to the flea market, with their yield of corn for sale, they often had to scold (Y/N) for speaking to nothing in front of customers. When pestered once, they told stories of the customers' parents, who had long since passed.

Age 10, (Y/N) was allowed in the forest alone. They came back 8 days later. Pale and bloodied, with a raised red scar across their heart.

Age 12, (Y/N) wakes in a cold sweat months after Papa’s death. Bone-chilling fear coursed through their body as they stumbled out of bed and down the hallway. They knew before Nan, was shown in a dream, but too late to wake up. They found her sitting up in bed, the lamp beside her flickered when they stepped cautiously through the door. Nan spoke calmly, her hardened features now gaunt and dark.

“(Y/N) dear,” Tears silently tread down their face, and she patted the bed beside her “Come sit”. (Y/N) sat by her thigh and took her hand. One note of a piano endlessly rang through the house. “I trust I’ve done the best I could” Nan’s voice was hoarse “I hope my job is complete”. (Y/N) sat staring into her eyes, before being pulled into the longest and only hug they’ve ever received from her. A letter was pressed into their hands. The lamp light flickered out. The room was cold.

The small tourist town of Wester quit receiving sightings of their own urban legend. A stark white face stripped to the bone, large ram horns, razor-sharp talons, and a bipedal beast-like body, that leaves behind corpses of large animals. The Wester Vulture, laid tucked in bed, hair braided and pale-faced. The Wester Vulture sat on a bus with a letter clutched in hand, a suitcase, and a large survival backpack in the seat next to them. Their claw weapons sat at the bottom of the bag

Gotham was child's play compared to the Wester forest. Starving and roaming the streets was nothing compared to really fighting for your life. Homeless shelters were unsafe unless (Y/N) wanted CPS involved. Instead, the Angel of Death traveled the slums at night searching for their father. (Y/N) walked bruised during the day with the ram skull helmet tucked in their bag. They survived for 8 months on their own. Not a very good detective, but greatly intuitive.

The 8 months came to an end, face to face with their dad. A has-been sorcerer versus a vengeful spirit with his ex wife's face and wrath. The fight was long, but the end was quick. Quicker than The Batman, who watched the beast murder in cold blood.

Their claws weren’t fully clean of flesh before Batman engaged. The battle was unlike anything Bruce had experienced in a person, more akin to an animal. Swift and brutal, aiming to kill and forcing him on the defense. Vulture’s brutality was no match for his stronger armor and wealth. Bone helmet was cracked from the mouth, huffing out in frustration. In an instant Bruce was met with the face of a child.

[dreamerofasgard]

Artifacts of Merlin

Chapter One - Old Journals

Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw Fem! Reader

Concept: I'm a huge fan of The Mummy movies from 1999 & 2001. I wanted a fun, adventure, action-packed, and slightly comedic mashup filled with magic and love. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Summary: In an alternate universe Voldemort was officially defeated by Harry Potter during his first year at Hogwarts. The world of Witches and wizards has finally known peace. While the golden trio has not so many big grand adventures a Ravenclaw student, Y/n Constantine, with help from her childhood friend Draco Malfoy, stumble on a discovery of a lifetime. She enlists the help of her classmates and friends. Hermione Granger, one of the best witches she knows, and Luna Lovegood one of her roommates and a very insightful person. Where this artifact will take them they don't know. Will friendships evolve into something more? Or will tensions between the group come in the way of the answers? Will Hermione punch Draco in the face again? maybe Will Luna make out-of-pocket comments? probably Will the quest change them or will the quest change the world?

Word Count: 2.5k

Playlist - If you wanna listen to it. 😊

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

Warning: swearing, blood status, cute nicknames <3

Y/n POV

Summer had come and gone all too soon but just as summer came to an end, a new school year filled with excitement was about to begin you thought as you slowly sat up in your bed. This would be the start of your fifth year at Hogwarts and you were beyond excited to see your friends again. Though you lived not too far from some of them, that didn't mean you didn't miss seeing them every day.

As you got out of bed a familiar owl tapped on your bedroom window. Making your way over to the window you let the eagle owl in as he drops a letter for you. Smiling you pick up the letter and give the eagle owl a snack before it flies off.

The envelope is black with a green wax seal with the Malfoy family crest pressed into the wax, Draco. He was your friend and neighbor since you were small but despite 'the prince' of Slytherin's' tough and arrogant persona he was still that kind-hearted kid you used to play with all those years ago. You opened the letter and began to read it.

The letter reads:

Y/n,

Meet me in my mother's garden as soon as you can, I found something in the library that might be worth looking into regarding your favorite subject. I know that clever mind of yours can't say no to a puzzle like the one I've found. See you soon Pegasus.

~Your favorite troublemaker

Draco

PS. I know you'll meet Granger at Platform 9¾ tomorrow but please don't tell that know it all about this. Don't want her telling Potter and Weasbee.

You sighed as Draco was indeed your favorite troublemaker despite his attitude towards some of your friends, especially Hermione Granger. You thought back to your first adventures with Draco as you got ready for the day. You met each other around the age of five when you moved from London to Wiltshire after your grandmother passed. Your parents’ inherited the family mansion, the house seemed gigantic as a child when you first moved in but once you met Draco the house turned into a stage for great adventures.

You smiled at the memory of meeting Draco the first time, it was one day late spring after you finally finished moving into the mansion. Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy came over and introduced themselves while Draco held onto his mother’s hand tightly till he saw you. Both your parents smiled as you invited Draco to come play while your parents talked about things going on within the Ministry of Magic.

Things were simpler back then as little kids. You'd both spend most of your summers exploring each other's mansions, reading in the libraries what you could, and having your 'Adventures' in the gardens. You smiled at the memories as you started to get ready. You put on a pair of dark grey shorts, a black tank top, and a denim jacket with your black ankle boots. You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled to yourself as you put on some light makeup and French braided your h/c hair. Taking a deep breath as you stand up from your vanity and grab your messenger bag putting it on your shoulder. Making your way downstairs you grabbed two green apples from the kitchen island and made your way towards Malfoy Manor.

Draco's POV

It was a little over a half hour since Draco sent Y/n that letter. She would come over to see what he had found, she always did when it could be a new adventure for them. But this time something felt different about this one. He was pacing in the kitchen as one of the house elves prepared breakfast for Draco and Narcissa.

"Draco darling, please sit and eat. You're gonna make the floor warp from all your pacing" Narcissa said as she watched her son pace anxiously.

"Sorry, Mum. It's just that Y/n is coming over soon and I have to tell her about a puzzle I found." Draco said quietly as he sat down across from his mother at the kitchen table. His mother smiled at him as one of the house elves put breakfast on the table.

"Y/n is an extraordinary girl," Narcissa said as she started eating breakfast, "And a pretty one too," she said while smiling at her son.

"Yeah she is," Draco said as a blush formed on his cheeks before he realized what he said, "I mean she is pretty but she's just a friend mum," he said trying to change the subject.

"Right, a friend who is a girl who is closer to you than that one girl you briefly dated last year. What was her name again? Patrica? Piper? Prudence?" Narcissa said teasing her son about his developing feelings for Y/n.

"Pansy mum. She started dating Blaise this summer," He said as he groaned thinking about his short relationship with Pansy that turned out to be nothing other than friends. He was happy for his friends' relationship but he wondered if his friendship with Y/n was just a friendship.

"Ah yes, Pansy. She and Blaise will make a cute couple," she says looking at how her son reacted to her teasing, "Now what is this puzzle you want to show Y/n?", she said after taking a sip of her tea and looking at her son who had barely touched his food.

"Well you know how Y/n is practically obsessed with Merlin and Morgan le Fay's history," Draco said as he looked out the kitchen window smiling as he continued, "I may have found something referencing Merlin but it's in a code," he said as he saw Y/n slowly making her way to the manor.

"Another one of your little quests," Narcissa said referring to how the two would make up 'quests' when they were younger as she looked out the window she saw Y/n opening the back gate. "Well, I'll let you two start your new adventure," she said as she got up and took their plates to the sink.

Y/n POV

Walking up to the gate of Malfoy Manor you felt a bit of excitement as you slowly opened the large gate. You saw Draco in the kitchen window talking with his mother as you slowly made your way through the huge backyard. You always liked Draco's mother Narcissa, she always made you feel welcome whenever you and Draco hung out despite Lucius not wanting you around much since you called him out on his pureblood bullshit.

"Ah Ms. Constantine to what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting this morning," Lucius said coldly as he looked at you from his table under a willow tree.

"Good Morning Mr. Malfoy. Draco had something he wanted to show me so I came over as soon as could," you said trying to sound your normal pleasant self which was hard since Lucius Malfoy made your blood boil most times.

"Draco is in the kitchen with his mother, Good day Ms. Constantine," He said as he simply waved you off as he picked up his cup of tea, and the Daily Prophet completely uninterested in you.

"Good day," you said as you continued making your way to the garden which was past the kitchen you started to calm down.

Despite being friends with Draco for so long and knowing the Malfoy's for most of your life you could never get used to Lucius Malfoy's attitude and cold demeanor. Thankfully unlike her husband, Narcissa enjoyed you and was pleasant and kind, unlike her husband. As you walked past one of the kitchen windows you saw Narcissa talking with the house elves. She was much kinder to the house elves and treated them as if they were people rather than servants. As you continued on you saw Draco pacing as he had a few books on the small garden table.

"You know if you keep pacing like that the grass will stop growing Draco," you chuckled as you walked up to the pacing boy scaring him out of his thoughts.

"Bloody Hell Y/n you scared me," Draco said as he looked at you and clenched his chest as some of his hair fell over his eyes.

"Well it's your fault you were too deep in your thoughts that you didn't notice me," you said as you threw him an apple before taking a bite of your own, "Now what do you have for me to solve," smirking as you watched Draco catch the apple and smile at you.

"Good morning to you too," smiling as he took a bite of the apple, "So I was looking through the library since my father bought another old book collection. I looked through them and found that a few books were written entirely in some code."

"Some code or just Old English," you took out a magnifying glass from your bag before setting the bag down beside one of the chairs.

"Very Funny Y/n. But Old English I can translate. This is something beyond my skill level, surprisingly," Draco said a bit annoyed as he watched you examine the text carefully line by line.

"Surprisingly," you chuckle as you continue to examine the text.

As you examined the text it was indeed in some form of code but none that you have seen before. In the past few years while at Hogwarts, you developed a reputation of being one of the best 'code breakers' and helped translate books and texts for some extra credit for Professor Binns. After looking over the first couple of pages you take a notebook out and start writing down a few sentences and phrases. This was definitely one of the harder codes to crack but several words seemed to repeat creating a pattern in the code.

~After a few hours and several breaks later. ~

You close your notebook in excitement as you look up at Draco beaming with joy.

"You found something?" he said as he knew that smile meant you had figured out part of the puzzle.

"Maybe, these other two books are the same code?" looking at the other books around the same size but instead of being tome, they were older looking as if from the early 10th century which was most likely magically preserved.

"Well that's the thing," he said as he reached past you to pick up one of the leather-bound books, "I think these are journals," opening the book you see a neat handwriting that was oddly similar to a few books in the restricted section.

"Draco where did your father get these again?" looking up at the boy who was so close you could feel his breath on you as you looked up to those gray eyes.

"He didn't, unfortunately," Draco said as he looked at those e/c eyes of yours and smiled, "But if you look here," he opened to the last page of the one journal where there was a name on the bottom left corner.

"Merlin.." you said as if you couldn't believe what your own eyes were seeing as this was one of the journals of Merlin himself. "Draco you need to bring these wit-"

"Me to Hogwarts so that you can research it more and figure out what actually happened to Merlin this could be one of the biggest discoveries of all wizard kind," he said smiling as he closed both books, "I'm way ahead of you Pegasus, as always."

"I wouldn't say always, Dragon," dropping the nickname you gave him when you were younger and found out about his namesake. Just as he did when he found out your birthday coincided with the constellation Pegasus. Both of you smiled at each other as you packed up your bag again.

"So will you be on the train with Granger, Pottah, and Weasbee tomorrow?" he asked cautiously and dryly as he watched you pack up your stuff not wanting you to go just yet.

"Do I sense a hint of jealousy from the 'prince' of Slytherin? Because green is your color after all." teasing your best friend as you finish packing up turning to look at him as his arms are now crossed and he's looking at you with a mix of jealousy, anger, and hurt in his eyes. You always hated to see when he got like this but you suppose that's what happens when your father is a prick.

"Draco," you said softly as you walked up to him taking one of his hands, "We can sit together on the train after I say hello to Minoe and Luna. Plus we can look at these journals more. If you can sneak them out of the Manor," you say trying to calm him down.

"Taking them to Hogwarts will be easy, unlike avoiding Weasbee and Granger's arguments all year. I still don't know why you are friends with that bloo-," Draco stopped himself before saying something he knew you'd hate him for, "Bloody idiot." he said as he looked away.

"Well, I mean it comes with being friends with Mione. I can normally tolerate Ron but lately, it's just weird," looking down at the ground you think about how the train ride at the end of the year felt strange.

"I know how much you can't stand the tension between Granger and Weasbee as of late. You told me that much," chuckling as holds your hand gently thinking back to your hour-long rant.

It was true that Hermione and Ron had some weird tension between each other since the Yule Ball. Some kind of jealousy sparked in Ron whenever Hermione was around Viktor Krum. Now every time Hermione gets close to another boy Ron calls her out. It was driving you insane how dense Ron actually was.

"I just wish Minoe could tell that thick-headed boy how she felt about him. It's so obvious that the whole school can see it," you say as you look at how you are holding hands with Draco and blush a bit.

"Weasbee is as dense as they come especially when he tried to hex me with that broken wand," he says as he starts laughing which in turn makes you laugh.

"Stop it that was terrible for Ron," giggling as you playfully hit him on the shoulder.

"The number of slugs that he," Draco couldn't get the words out as he continued laughing.

You both stood there laughing for a bit as you remembered the slug incident. You remembered also how confused Draco was as you yelled at him for calling Hermione a 'mud blood'. From that day on anything he said about blood status was almost always followed by you yelling at him about how outdated those views were. And after almost 4 months of yelling and lecturing him, Draco started to think differently. As both of you eventually regained the ability to speak again you remembered that you still needed to pack.

"Shit, I gotta go pack," letting go of Draco's hand and giving him a small hug. "I'll see you tomorrow Draco."

"See you tomorrow Y/n." He smiled as he hugged you before he watched you walk home.

[suratan-zir]

long rant, very personal

nothing new honestly, I know y'all are sick of hearing the same lame story over and over again

sorry

You know how sometimes certain sounds, images or even smells can evoke some nostalgic memories from the past? It happens to everyone, right? To me, it doesn't matter if these flashbacks good or bad, it means I'm screwed either way. It's even worse when the memories are happy, because so many things are gone forever and there is no going back.

Recently I've been playing sims, and they were listening to the radio. I forgot that a long time ago I put some of my favorite songs in one of the folders, so the "Pop" station in the game has some real songs along with Simlish ones. I haven't listened to some of those songs in years.

Then that one song started playing, and an entire part of my life flashed before my eyes. I listened to that song a lot while on the road, during my weekly travels from my hometown in Donetsk oblast (where I was born and lived 'till I was 16) to Donetsk city, where my grandmother and other relatives lived, and where I attended some courses before the uni. I also listened to it on the road to another town, where my other grandma and my best girl friend lived, so I visited her every long holiday.

Why all these boring details are significant in any way?

Both intercity bus stations in Donetsk, which used to be my destination, no longer exist. "Zapadnyi" and "Pulitovskyi" they were called. "Zapadnyi" was located near the airport, so it was completely destroyed in battles for Donetsk airport back when russia first invaded us, in 2014. It wasn't even fully finished before being destroyed.

No buses or passengers there anymore.

"Pulitovskyi" station was not that far too, russian militants even blew up the bridge connecting the station with the city. To be honest, even when I lived in Donetsk, I no longer visited that part of the city, it was just too sad.

I know that it's not important on a surface level, all these places are just decorations, it's not the end of the world. But our memories, our lives consist of such decorations, random places on the map. When everything around falls apart and changes so suddenly, it feels weird and disorienting, most of the time I try to avoid direct contact with these changes, but I can't control my memory.

Fast forward to today, I will probably never be able to return to the city that I used to love so much. And my grandma no longer lives in Donetsk, she's "russian" now, along with brainwashing that often comes with such status. You already know it if you for some reason read my posts. She thinks that russia and putin are saving and liberating us here in Ukraine. I no longer call her "grandma" or call her at all, I have her blocked on my phone, our chat deleted. Funny enough, my ex friend also lives in russia now. Or so she was the last time I checked.

My other grandma from the town in Donetsk oblast left the country and is a refugee now. I have so many great memories of that town, if the russians will advance further in the Donbas (which they are trying to do) the town will become another Bakhmut, Vuhledar, etc. This is Mar'inka now, very close to the aforementioned town:

(and yes, this is a russian tank firing at a house, or what's left of it)

There was a town, now it's a lifeless desert.

I don't have that many memories, because I never had too much going on in my life. I know, it's embarrassing. Not only have I never been to other countries, I haven't even traveled much in Ukraine. My whole life until 2021 was in the Donbas region. Even my vacations were there, we didn't have money to travel. Every summer we would go to the Azov sea, which is now completely under the control of russia. What I wouldn't give to be once again on the shore of that godforsaken sea, even though I can now afford something better. I remember its smell and miss it so much. I was 18 when russia first came to my home to tear it apart. I couldn't live normally, I couldn't plan anything, I couldn't even buy furniture for my apartment because I only dreamt about leaving, and it was impossible to bring anything big with us through all the military posts from Donetsk. Years later, when we thought we are about to finally start living, traveling, enjoying everything that was taken from us for so long… yeah, you know the story.

Now life suddenly seems so short, it's passing by and I'm helpless to change anything. I'm so sick of living through this shit. Sick of the russians stealing my youth, my life, our lives, poisoning our memories, ruining everything around us.

I swear, I held it together before that fucking song started playing. I probably shouldn't post this, I have to at least disable reblogging, it's too embarrassing.

[bondagebimbo]

the time has come once again for me to ask my favorites questions to get to know them better 🖤

1. what is a scent that reminds you of a happy memory?

2. are you most drawn to the forest, the ocean, the mountains or the desert?

3. do you have any go-to comfort foods?

4. what are five things you love about yourself?

5. what is your favorite horror movie franchise or series?

6. is there a song that gives you goosebumps every time you listen to it?

7. if you could magically learn a new language, which would you choose?

no pressure to answer, beautiful! i hope you have a wonderful day 🤗

hiiii honey!!!! not pressured at all!!! I love being asked things that are more thought provoking like this!!! I just hope my answers are satisfying lol

1. my old great grandmothers very light rose scented perfume. I still smell it around my mom’s house occasionally from time to time when I’m over there (she lived with us before she passed, despite her death being almost 12 years ago now) and it’s a really relaxing and comforting scent to catch a whiff of when I’m over and manage to, just in general, because my mom doesn’t have a bottle of it in the house so we take it as a sign that she’s visiting from wherever she is. so it brings back a lot of good memories with her when I catch that scent anywhere in public or whenever I’m stressed out because she always used to help calm my panic attacks when I was young. losing that woman did a number on me, honestly.

2. mountains/forest combination, hands downnnn. throw me in the PNW and watch me flourish as a newfound cryptid 😭😭😭

3. steak 😅 I love a good fuckin steak ONLY if it’s rare as hell. anything more done than mid rare and I cannot stomach it. gotta be blue rare/rare for me lol.

4. oh please don’t ask me this when I’m already feeling not great about myself, I can’t think of a single thing right now, I’m so sorry about this one 😭

5. Silence of the Lambs, if I’m being dead honest. Hannibal Lector could get it (and so could the Mads Mikkleson show adaption, not just Anthony Hopkins lol 🥵)

6.

HEAR ME OUT OKAY: just the fucking INTRO makes me shiver and makes my nipples hard, like, not even hitting vocals. once it gets to that point, I’m already a puddle ngl. this song just does it for me. Maria Brink x Motionless in White is the best crossover tbh.

7. I already know Latin, but I want to learn Italian, Russian, French, god. thinking about it, I’d be content to learn ANY other language tbh. I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge and it’s def triggered by wanting to learn every language I possibly can, lmao 😅

[naradivision]

Miraitabi Home Aesthetics

I had this post sat in my draft for months and finally, it’s time for my boys’ house tour episode…

—Yuuya Kanata

Top Row: Balcony/Laundry, Yuuya’s Bedroom, Ojou-chan’s house Middle Row: Father’s altar, Entrance, Kitchen Bottom Row: Recording Room, Father’s Room/Mini Studio, Living Room

🏮 Tidbits 🏮

Yuuya lives on the 2nd floor of a certain apartment in Nara city

He is on favorable terms with the landlord auntie. Moreover, she shows to be quite sympathized with him for his father’s sudden demise

He usually does laundry on the balcony and also keeps some edible veggies like sunflower sprouts in the planters out there

His bedroom used to have bunk beds back when his big sis was still around, but when she left, he sold it out because he thinks it has no use for someone living alone anymore…

After adopting Ojou-chan, he decided to build a cat house to welcome her. And as funny as it may seem, he has recently got another new roommate again —Luckily, looks like this new roommate doesn’t need much space for the living

He owns one red bicycle which he regularly uses and is allowed to parked it in the parking space on the ground floor

Another trivia about him: he can cook rather well as he usually the one who makes his own meals. Well, he has a habit to depend on instant food whenever he feels down

He was once used to take charge of making meals when his father was still alive since his father was utmostly clumsy when it comes to cooking.

His father’s room is full of his bittersweet memories yet is his most favorite place to find himself in, and now he has turned it into his own mini-studio

Although his father has owned a separated studio elsewhere nearby, in his room is still all equipped with many music instruments which Yuuya refuses to sell any no matter what

There is a minimal soundproof room (Recording room) built in one side of his father’s room as well

Also, on the other side of the room has his father’s urn placed in a small altar. And you may guess it right: his family including him is Buddhist

—Asahi Tomoharu

Top Row: Back Corridor, Asahi’s Bedroom Middle Row: Store Interior, Exterior/Storefront, Store Counter Bottom Row: Grandpa’s Room, Living Room, Kitchen

🍡 Tidbits 🍡

Asahi lives with his grandparents and their personal spaces are mostly up on the upper floor of their store 

His house and family store “Harumatsuya” is located in Nara city’s commercial district known as ‘Naramachi’ a.k.a. granny Momose’s territory

His house/store had been constructed in somewhat traditional Japanese style since the early generations of his grandfather 

Despite still preserving some traditional elements like tatami mats and sliding doors, Asahi renovates almost everything in his room according to his own likings such as decorating it in comfy pink and vamping up his bed to be a canopy one

Asahi is an anime and manga lover too! He has his own manga corner and keeps so many merchs as well as plushies in his room

Most of his numerous hobbies are handicrafts and one of them is embroidery, therefore, he also has one sewing machine placed somewhere in his room. He may not be into crossdressing or cosplaying himself but he is kinda into making cute clothes!

Asahi’s grandpa is unfortunately bedridden, so his own room is on the first floor (For convenience) and his room is equipped with few medical supports

His kitchen and ingredient room is pretty large and is located at the back of the first floor where Asahi and his grandmother mostly spend so much time preparing things before the shop opens

—Saigo Fuyugami

Top Row: Saigo’s Bedroom, Antique Room, Office Middle Row: Hydrangea Garden, Exterior, Staircase Bottom Row: Security Vault/Chishio’s Room, Living Room, Dining Room

💠 Tidbits 💠

(I’ve already described it once here!)

[i-sveikata]

Hi Gabby!

I have another great song for VegasPete playlist!

Masterpiece by Motionless In White

"All the stupid lies and the stupid games

Left a vacancy in this picture frame

A prisoner by my own hands

'Cause if I can't have me, then no one can

I need to heal what I inflict

But I'll burn that bridge when I get to it

As I play roulette with a broken gun

I confess these sins with a sharp and spiteful tongue

So how do I apologize

And put the tears back in your eyes

When every canvas that I paint

Is a masterpiece made of my mistakes?"

I think this could be about Vegas. Putting Pete as a prisoner but also his own self too? Vegas is a prisoner of his family heritage, trauma and mafia life but Vegas puts himself in the cage where no one else can reach. He doesn't think he deserves anything, love or affection. His own thoughts are sabotaging him. He needs to heal the wound he inflicted on Pete and himself. More actually on himself. How long did he battle with emotions through physical pain to distract himself? He will burn many bridges before he gets there. And with his sharp tongue he will push Pete away to .. do what he will in the next chapter lol

This one made me think, did Vegas or Pete ever cried in your fic? We know well that series Vegas is a little pitiful meow meow cry baby. Cause I don't remember if they ever did, and if they didn't.. will they in the future?

I'm not gonna lie. I love unhinged psychopath Vegas but I also love his soft and broken side in the series too.

The scene where Vegas and Pete cried at the same time, alone, after the safehouse. It's one of my favorite scenes. And the significance of food there too!

Anyway, hope you have a nice day/night and week!

It's 35C these days here so I always wonder how people in Australia can survive this temperature. I'm literally melting in my house 🫠

hello again!! and thank you (i will add it to my to listen playlist ;) now) oh yes i totally agree vegas is very much a prisoner of his own heritage and traumas and also the circumstances hes also created for himself. he is definitely self sabotaging but the worst part is that he fully believes that he has no control over it- that him screwing things up is just inevitable. he is definitely doing his best to heal the harm that he inflicted on pete and himself tbh but yeah healing is not a straight line and he is absolutely going to screw up before he gets there!

vegas has cried in the fic (during the high tensions and angst and grief of the pool scene) but pete is a bit of a tougher nut to crack- i think he might have teared up a little when he first went home to his grandmother shellshocked from the hell he just crawled out of (but my memory is terrible i could be wrong lmao) theres no current scenes i have planned with pete crying currently- but who knows theres so many extra moments that havent come into my brain yet we might all be surprised!

oh yeaaaaah this is the moment where vegas let him go right??? and they were both really emotional! didnt really play out the same way because pete escaped in my fic but honestly who knows- their emotional confrontations are always pretty feeling heavy so we could possibly have a similar kind of emotional scene - pete might definitely be in the right headspace for it now that his house has been destroyed. i think once they're alone again (and safe) they're both going to process a lot of these things together.

im doing alright thanks hope you are too!!! oh dear thats terrible sorry to hear that youre melting in your house! its always so much harder to cool down than it is to warm up i hope the heat drops quickly for you! (yeah tbh the things you can get used to are wild- 38-40 degrees and higher are considered more intense 'hot days' here in australia- but also we're a bit better prepared for that- most houses have been built for those kind of temps an AC is a godsend- honestly we're smack bang in the middle of winter at the moment and a couple weeks ago it was 3 degrees at 7AM and i honestly couldnt get out of bed it was so cold hahahahahaha) good for snuggling up and writing though!!!