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dark-dragon-8 · 11 days ago

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A Supernatural × Batman crossover where the Batfam are actual cryptids and the brothers are sent to hunt them, only to find out that these guys are pretty much immortal, god like beings whose only weaknesses are each other, the sun and some weird sentient manifestation of their home city that they seem to care about, and most of them already grew out of the second one, since, apparently, the sun only affects them when they're newborns/newly transformed/changed.

The whole reason they ended up in Gotham in the first place was because of some online rumors saying that there is a demon cult in the city, as well as Blüdhaven [it's true, partially, the Bat clan has had several cults and/or religions painting them as godly beings/saviours of Gotham throughout the years, still do (imagine the colonies from F'ing Demon Bats, only this time the cryptid part of them is actually real)] along with shrines for human sacrifices.

At first they thought the locals sold themselves to a Pagan God in exchange for their safety, that the shrines and "holy grounds" spread throughout the city were for blood and human sacrifices and the creatures were feeding on the souls of their followers or something.

Turns out, that couldn't be further from the truth. Yes there were bloody sacrifices at the shrines, but most of the time those were just grieving kids bringing their dead pets to silence's holy grounds for them to be healed, or taken care of, by the spirit and have their souls at peace. But, again, that was rare, and only occurred at the holy grounds themselves rather than the shrines people attended to daily.

Majority of those shrines were filled with books, art supplies, music boxes with ballerinas and, sometimes, you could even find a few trinkets and computer parts, as well as the occasional plates and plastic boxes filled with home cooked meals, sometimes they even put pots and kettles filled to the brim with savory goods and nice tea. Nobody ever touched the food, not even the poor and desperate, when asked why all the brothers received were looks of horror and hushed whispers about how "The bats don't like thieves" and "They'll stop coming by the shrine, maybe even destroy it if we do that"

Dean didn't like it, neither did Sam, they didn't like how the locals, people who barely even bat an eye when they see a dead body on their way to work, get so scared and terrified as soon as they hear of something that might displease the Bats. They tried asking around, trying to figure out what is it that makes them so scared of their dearly beloved deities, after all, they talk about them like such a wonder, like they're the best thing that ever happened to them. Hell, one of them is named Mercy and was revered for its compassion and understanding of those around them.

They only got their answer when investigating a place called Crime Alley. They locals were all the same, if not even more reserved than their city's counterparts, but there was one person, a young girl who couldn't be older than ten that said she'll be willing to answer their questions in return for some money and stories from their time as hunters. They were reluctant at first, but seeing as they haven't had much of an option, they agreed.

"So, Masey" Dean started

"Missy" she corrected

"Right, sorry, Missy, you said that you could tell us what's up regarding those demons"

"Deities" she said sternly, the man simply nodded "And yes, I can do that, but you'll have to do something for me first"

"And what would that be?"

"You said you were a hunter, right?" He nodded "And you also said you have some money. So I want you to give me two hundred dollars, cash, and a written story containing at least three of your adventures with your partner. You can't use big fonts, lie or omit any details from the story, it needs to be one hundred percent real and legible and needs to be at least fifty pages, understood?"

Dean was confused, confused and worried. Why would this child need a story about them hunting monsters? And why did she need it to be so long and accurate? Was she trying to sell them out to the Bats or something? Why was this so important?

A million questions flooded his head and looking at Sammy, he could tell the feeling was very much mutual.

"Um Missy" it was Sam talking to her this time "Why would you want a story of us hunting like that? We could tell you about our time together on the field, if you want, but why do you need that written so meticulously?"

The little girl shook her head before he even finished speaking "No, no, I need it written"

"How so?"

"For Passion, of course"

"Passion?"

"Yeah, Passion, the component watching over Crime Alley, it loves reading stories but only when they're worth it. It doesn't like when people give them stories only to please it or for it to give them undeserved attention. It needs to be good and interesting, a story about two hunters will definitely do that"

The two hunters met each other's eyes, both their expressions filled with worry, apprehension and suspicion.

"And why all the other rules? Why does have to be so long and accurate?"

The girl tilted her head, looking at them as though they've said something stupid "Because you're introducing yourself, maybe"

"I can't just tell you guys all there is to know about the Bat without at least one of the components acknowledging you guys and giving me permission to share that information with outsiders"

"And what makes you think it won't just kill us as soon as it realizes what we do for a living?" They might've been desperate, but that doesn't mean they're going to give an essay about their weaknesses and hunting methods to a freaky, probably homicidal spirit on a silver platter

"Because they like people like you, people who put their lives on the line in order to help those around them. Also" she leveled her gaze with Dean's, which was pretty impressive considering she barely reached his hip "Had it wanted you dead, you wouldn't have been able to take two steps inside Crime Alley without having a heart attack, or your head magically disappearing"

The two brothers tensed, the taller's eyes rapidly scanning their surroundings, hands fishing out a weird cellular device, probably an EMF reader or maybe a bottle of holy water, as the shorter failed to keep up his confident facade in front of the (probably) ten year old (because Dean isn't going to be spooked by a kid that hasn't even reached the double digits yet, he's 𝘯𝘰𝘵)

The little girl laughed, completely ignoring their - very justified!!! - panic "Relax, would ya? Passion doesn't kill people unless they feel like it's necessary"

They didn't seem to be very relaxed, she didn't care, she just told them to meet her again on the border of Crime Alley and its neighbor city in a week, before leaving.

Two hours later, Carrie Kelley was skipping into the main living room of Wayne Manor, where several of her siblings played video games and with their father reading the newspaper on the side, the perfect illusion of a normal, happy, completely human family.

She walked up to Bruce, sitting on the arm of his sofa as the last of her illusion magic slipped away

"Did you do it?"

"I offered them the deal, still not sure if they'll end up actually agreeing to it"

"Mn. You did well"

The young teen preened under the praise, thanking her father before going off to boast and scheme with the rest of her siblings, they were up planning contingencies and devising plans until Sundown.

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aisling-saoirse · 1 month ago

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Growing Paw Paws from seed: 2024

Some of y'all may recall last year I made a Plant Profile post after finding my first Paw Paw (they don't really grow this far north in NJ so this was exciting). Well after eating the fruit I decided to see if I could propagate the seeds and I was very successful!

Below I'll describe my process and some tips, this was unconventional towards how I usually grow saplings but I was in my final year of a masters program, needed to be as cheap as possible, and this is probably easier for those of you in apartments

So you want to propagate paw paws? It's not hard it just requires a bit of understanding.

When I found my first Paw Paw I was on the University of Pennsylvania campus, I saw a tree in front of a multi-faith church and immediately recognized the fruit. My friends and I climbed up the branches to get some bigger fruits and then we basically ate them on a nearby bench.

Once I had the seeds (I started with 14, only 4 viable) I walked home and washed off any debris then I wrapped the seeds in a damp paper towel (wring out excess water) and placed them in a plastic bag in the fridge for 3ish months

Around February I decided to grow them, I had some extra cardboard pots I was starting oaks in (image 3: ps I hate these pots) and knew I could use this to to start the seeds, at the same time I asked a friend to grow paw paws so we had a diverse gene pool to produce fruit. Paw paws need deep pots because they develop a taproot that can easily reach 12" the first year, instead of buying multiple deep pots you can place disposable pots in a bigger container with soil. If you find like long/narrow containers those are your best option.

I used left over peatmoss (but loamy potting soil will be better) and placed them 1" deep each. I then cut off the bottoms of my small cardboard containers and placed those together in a deeper pot I had (image 4). You want to retain moisture, so also cover the pots in plastic wrap. Of course water enough to keep the soil moist that goes without saying.

Paw paws take about a month to germinate above the soil but still need the increased light levels. Keep an LED light on above it (these are very cheap to operate) They will start growing a taproot soon after you plant them and occasionally will break the surface, just try to keep it covered in dirt.

Once they appear above the surface (this was march-april for me), let them grow till they develop like 4-5 leaves before planting out. I kept them in my Frankenstein pots until about June when I had time to exchange with my friend (he grew like 18 with seeds from an online seller but stunted their taproots a bit).

Paw paws have a natural insecticide in their leaves, I didn't encounter any herbivory from both deer and insects but I left my best specimens in a sapling cage. I planted about 8 in my yard, all around 4 inches tall (image 5), in partial shade conditions. When you plant the sapling dig a little deeper than the taproot and leave soil around the taproot itself, it helps to have a deep trowel. For amendments, I mixed in richer compost soil with the native soil, but for a few I gave no amendment (I wanted to test if it made a big difference). Ultimately those which grew the most were in brighter conditions but they all did okay, my largest ended up being 15" (image 6) which is the same development as some nursery stock I've encountered for $165...

On a side note you're not supposed to move them once planted but I ended up having to do this with one. I did break the taproot in half, however this sapling still survived so these trees are a bit hardier than others have implied.

So, is this the best way to grow paw paws? No absolutely not. Is it cheap and basically using just garbage...yes! Try to grow your own :)

#paw paws #plant profiles #growing trees #asimina triloba #gardening #native plants of north america

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submariini · 1 year ago

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When Finland’s Käärijä took the stage at this year’s Eurovision, a star was instantly, explosively born. With an outrageous energy, infectious presence and that oh-so-catchy hook, the Vantaa-based rapper may not have won the contest but he certainly snatched the hearts of those in his home country and beyond. We ask Käärijä the million dollar question: what next?

[full article under the cut]

Last May, a peculiar frenzy engulfed Finland. Virtually all green foods – cucumbers, especially – were sold out from stores. Buildings across the land were bathed in vivid green lights. Social media brimmed with green-themed parties, while data obtained by Swedish fintech company Klarna showed a 570 per cent increase in the online sales of neon green shirts.

This phenomenon was all thanks to Käärijä, the rapper who represented Finland in the 2023 Eurovision Song Contest. His now-infamous, blazing green puff sleeve bolero – dreamt up by Finnish broadcasting company Yle’s costume design team and which he dons when performing the smash hit track ‘Cha Cha Cha’ – had taken on a life of its own, the lush hue uniting the entire nation amid the competition. “It was incredible to see it happen and so cool being part of it,” Käärijä says. “It wasn’t planned at all – it was the people who created the commotion. I’ll definitely never forget it.”

When we speak over Zoom, Käärijä, whose real name is Jere Pöyhönen, is lounging in his minimal apartment in Vantaa, a city just outside Helsinki. He appears on my screen shirtless, a chunky gold chain dangling on his neck. On his head sits a pastel turquoise cap adorned with little cat ears. As he gestures with his hands, I spot flashes of poison green nail varnish. Pöyhönen’s chosen attire, or lack thereof, is extremely fitting – he typically performs bare-chested (“It gets so hot during my gigs”) and his Instagram handle is @paidatonriehuja, or ‘shirtless rascal’.

Hot off a performance in western Finland, the 29-year-old is enjoying his first days off in a while. It’s been a sweltering summer of non-stop touring, with fans flocking to festivals and concerts nationwide to see his explosive live show. Things are not winding down either, with Käärijä heading off on his first-ever European tour this month. Some of these shows sold out in mere minutes, an indication of his immense international following. “It’s so exciting; I’m definitely jumping into a new territory with that tour,” Pöyhönen says. “But I don’t have any expectations – I’m just going to let everything happen organically rather than stressing about it.”

Although he created one of this year’s buzziest songs, the guy on my screen is humble and, save for his look, almost un assuming. I remark on the stark contrast to his fiery and flamboyant stage presence. “Through Käärijä, I get to channel all the craziness, quirkiness and hyperactivity I’ve had since I was a child,” Pöyhönen says, describing himself offstage as “just this ordinary dude”. Without delving into further details, he tells me that the name Käärijä (translating roughly to moneymaker) stems from a history with gambling. Despite the darkness of its origin, he notes that the moniker is to be taken with a grain of salt.

While it might seem like Käärijä exploded into the public consciousness from obscurity, Pöyhönen has a long journey in music behind him. Born in Helsinki but having spent most of his youth in Vantaa, he started dabbling in the medium at just three years old. Coming from a musical family (“My dad and big brother both play the guitar”), jamming sessions were commonplace in the Pöyhönen household, his instrument of choice being the drums. “I was playing with pots and spoons before I got a set of those plastic kids’ drums,” he says. “When we moved to a bigger house, we built a band room downstairs where me and my brother spent a lot of time practising.”

At that time, rap music hadn’t yet entered Pöyhönen’s life; he was strictly a self-described “metal guy”. His older brother had instilled in him a love for the genre, particularly metal icons Rammstein. Upon starting high school, his musical taste broadened and he began listening to Eminem and popular Finnish rap groups Fintelligens and JVG. “Me and my friends were filming our own music videos to old rap songs, learning the words by heart,” Pöyhönen says. “It [making rap music] pretty much started as this humour thing I did with my mates.”

Encouraged by his loved ones, Pöyhönen began writing his own songs, still playing it for laughs. Turned out he had a knack for it. “Since I was little, I’ve been an avid storyteller – my imagination ran a little wilder than the rest of the kids’ at my school,” he says. “So when I started making music, I didn’t even need inspiration; I was able to whip up the lyrics from my head.”

But then, at 15, an unexpected turning point came by way of a severe sudden illness. Rushed to the hospital with ulcerative colitis, a chronic inflammatory bowel disease, Pöyhönen underwent emergency surgery to remove his colon. Had he not been treated immediately, the complications could have been fatal. “I was writing songs in the hospital – music became a source of strength for me,” he says. “I decided that if I make it through this, I’m going to give my all to music and be serious about it.”

After over a decade of hard work and countless hours in the studio, Käärijä released his first album, Fantastista (Fantastic), in 2020, but it would take three years for him to become a household name in Finland. After snapping up the top prize in Uuden Musiikin Kilpailu (the Finnish contest for new music) with his party anthem ‘Cha Cha Cha’, a song dedicated to a hedonistic night out fusing rap, electronic music and metal, he secured the coveted spot as his country’s entrant for the 2023 Eurovision, held in Liverpool. One of Pöyhönen’s craziest dreams had come true.

For Pöyhönen, Eurovision was “an amazing but immensely tough experience”. The event’s intense schedule and the little time carved out for practising surprised the artist. There was no room for errors or retakes once it was time for rehearsals. “They didn’t give much mercy,” he says. On the bright side, the long days filled with “lots of press conferences and waiting around” gave Pöyhönen a chance to get to know the other artists. “The group we had there was wonderful – there wasn’t a competitive atmosphere at all,” he says. One of the contestants he became especially close with was Sweden’s Loreen, with whom he exchanged numbers and promised to “meet up and talk about everything else but music”.

By the time the grand finale came, Käärijä’s explosive performance and infectious song had made him one of the favourites to win. Ultimately he came second, while Loreen nabbed first place. How did Pöyhönen handle the letdown? “It was a huge disappointment, but in the end, the feeling didn’t last long,” he says. “When I thought about how far I’d gotten, the incredible journey it was and all the new friends I made, I realised that these things are far more meaningful than winning.” Plus, he still achieved something major: ‘Cha Cha Cha’ made history as the first ever Finnish song to reach Spotify’s global most-listened charts. The track’s reach proved to Pöyhönen that language doesn’t matter; it’s all about creating a singular, infectious sound: “The mouth is just as much of an instrument as the piano or the guitar is,” he says.

Having made history, I ask Pöyhönen if he felt any pressure after the Eurovision bubble had burst. “Of course there are the thoughts of ‘what now?’ and ‘is this going to be it, will anyone be interested anymore next year?’ – I’m aware that the hype won’t last forever,” he says. “But I’m onto creating the next thing, trying not to feel any pressure for future releases. I haven’t done that before, so why would I do that now?”

Pöyhönen hints at a new album dropping sometime next year, but in the meantime, he’s enjoying the attention – including his Vogue Scandinavia debut. Shot at the extraordinary home of the late interior architect Antti Nurmesniemi and his wife, textile artist Vuokko Nurmesniemi, we find the space where Pöyhönen and Käärijä meet, the quiet confidence mingling with that more-is-more persona.

And while Käärijä might develop as a character (“I want to show that he’s more than just a bolero chap”), he’s adamant that he will stay true to his music and keep singing in Finnish, despite the sudden international attention. “In the end, I’m doing this for myself,” he says. “Also, why change something that works?”

Photographer: Karoliina Bärlund Stylist: Sanna Silander Talent: Käärijä Hair Stylist and Makeup Artist: Neea Kuurne Photographer Assistant: Milja Laakso Stylist Assistant: Nelli Korhonen

#käärijä #jere pöyhönen #eurovision #the article in full

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sevs-corner · 15 days ago

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Cont Idea on: Tf 141: Mafia AU!

(Brain rotting rn so lets get it out of my system)

So I realized how this may be similar to like a gang au but I wanted it to be more fancy with the crew (Tf 141) literally treating you as their unofficial-official sugar baby.

Walk with me in my insanity real quick— I can just imagine the unconditional love and care they’d give you and you being unable to say ‘no’ because, at first, all the things they give are things that you need like:

- clothes (branded btw) for the winter, or for any cold occasion because they notice how you rotate through the same apparels and are worried how you might shiver to death. They swear that they could hear your teeth chattering from the cashier despite the warmth the bakery exudes from the kitchen. Price, on more than one occasion, had willingly gave you his scarf (he brings extras in his cars once he started noticing it and gradually became a habit) and he could just melt at seeing you all snuggled up in his clothes.

- pots for your plants (you grow your own vegetables from veggie scraps). Gaz, when he dropped you off at your apartment one time, noticed how you used recycled stuff around your very dingy- yet homey- apartment. Right at the kitchen, where the one other window was present in your apartment (the other one was by your bed), he saw by the sill how you used plastic bottles for your tiny plants and how you used your old veggie scraps, making him want to provide for you even more— but he settles for something simple for now, and then gradually build up to that when you grow more comfy and closer together. <33

- fairy lights to decorate your room with (because they know you study + work late in the night) and Ghost notices this sometimes from how your bags seem so deep. While simultaneously working a day job, you admittedly said that you were also working to get an online degree for the arts, so you could help out Nonna and Nonno’s (italian for grandma and grandpa respectively) business and make it more popular.

( Notice how they grew more downbad with that admission hehe)

- Ghost knows your stubborn and hard working, and don’t usually bend or compromise on important things like that- so instead of forcing you to rest or leaving you be, he decided to give you lights to create a better ambiance for your mini desk workspace. “Hurts the eyes less,” he says as he handed you two boxes of it after your shift. He knows your constantly works in fluorescent lights and knows how that tires the eyes more (from experience), so he thinks this would help you both in studying and for sleeping. (Secretly hoping you’d think of him whenever you gaze at it.)

- surprisingly, Soap would give you bluetooth earphones, knowing how you would work and study with them in every opportunity that you can. Working on slow days, he first noticed you would look around at the front and back before whipping out from your pocket a phone that was wrapped with the earphone’s cord, a bright smile on your face as he sees you bop your head to the beats as you worked to clean or count money or help around at the front of the house. Though, he also notice how mixed up and messy you get in it, seeing you cuss under your breath makes him chuckle but also think of how he could fix that in his own little way. Luckily he had a “spare for his mate but he didn’t wan’ it,” he says to you after an event held at the bakery. It wasn’t like he was waiting for the moment he could catch you alone to see your eyes sparkle just for him only 🫢

Overtime you got used to their gift giving that by the time they were doing all these grandiose stuff for you, it was hard to say- “no,” and deny them from how puppied-look they get. You knew that Simon or Gaz barely gave you things (they’re more of a spend-quality time of love) so you had no choice but to accept (but also to see their grins and how they would snuggle you and pepper your face with soft kisses) As for Price and Soap, you knew they would be huffy and pouty so you decided to avoid that entirely when Gaz accidentally confessed one time that — because you put him into an irritable mood, he kind of skipped the interrogation part with a prisoner (betrayed them lol) and went straight to… execution.

Yeah… it wasn’t a pretty sight. Alternatively, their genuine laughs and smiles were so of course you’d prefer that! (And they too as well~)

OK THATS IT FOR NOW ADDING MORE LATER🫶

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breelandwalker · 2 years ago

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Sneak Peek - Spoons In Spades

At a little distance he saw a fire, and beside it there sat three giants, busy with broth and beef. They were so huge that the spoons they used were as large as spades, and their forks as big as hay-forks: with these they lifted whole bucketfuls of broth and great joints of meat out of an enormous pot which was set on the ground between them.

- Niels and the Giants (The Crimson Fairy Book)

[img src]

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Intent: To give oneself additional “spoons.”

Ideal Timing: This charm can be made at any time.

Materials:

Spoons

Large Jar

Cotton Balls

Herbs: Hyssop, Rosemary, Thyme, Juniper Berries

When I asked my readers what sort of spells they'd like to see in this second volume of fairytale-inspired spells, one of the most strikingly popular responses was, "Is there a spell to give me more spoons?"

If you're not familiar with the term, "spoons" or spoon theory is a metaphor which describes the reduction in mental and physical energy experienced by people who are disabled or chronically ill, with spoons used as a unit of measurement to represent how energy and motivation must be rationed throughout the day to accomplish necessary tasks. Spoons are only replenished through rest or sleep, so once a person runs out of spoons, that's it for their day.

The term was coined by Christine Miserandino in her 2003 article "The Spoon Theory," in which she uses dinnerware to demonstrate to a friend how living with invisible chronic illness required careful daily planning and prioritization, and how even with the best intentions and efforts, tasks are often left undone due to a lack of energy or an increase in pain. The term has since been adopted by wide sections of the online community in relation to struggles with disability, chronic illness, or mental health, as a descriptor for daily energy and motivation levels, i.e. "I don't have the spoons for this," or "After a full day at work, I have exactly one spoon left, and I need it for laundry, so going out is off the table."

As someone who regularly battles ADHD, anxiety, executive dysfunction, migraines, and depression, I'm a big fan of spoon theory, largely because it makes those invisible daily struggles, which so many of us have, much easier to visualize and explain. So in honor of all my fellow spoonies, here is a spell to help you gain those critical extra spoons.

For this spell, you'll need a fair-sized jar, some healing herbs, and a bunch of spoons. You can use plastic spoons or metal ones, if you happen to have spare silverware lying around. Use as many or as few spoons as you feel you need. If you need more spoons than can readily be acquired, you might draw or print out pictures or spoons and use those instead.

Place the spoons in the jar with a big handful of cotton balls. Apart from their mundane medical and cosmetic uses, cotton has healing magical properties and also represents the comfort that may feel lacking on low energy or high pain days. If desired, add several pinches of Hyssop, Rosemary, Thyme, and Juniper Berries, or a sachet containing the herbs if you'd rather keep things neat.

Close the jar, give it a big hug, and say:

I bless this jar and spoons And ask for the strength to function; And when I need a helping hand, These extra spoons I'll summon,

Set the jar aside somewhere safe. If desired, you might want to label it. You don't want anyone borrowing your magical spoons for their cereal, after all. When you need an extra boost to help you get through the day, simply open the jar and take out a spoon. You can carry the spoon with you, place it on your altar, or discard it to activate the charm.

Please keep in mind that performing this sort of magic should always be accompanied by appropriate medical and self-care measures. Magic isn't going to cure a chronic illness or permanently alter your brain chemistry. But it can help you cope with the symptoms and give you that all-important push to get yourself through the day. Stay strong, witches!

(If you'd like to check out more fairy-tale spells or any of my other published works, please visit the Willow Wings Witch Shop!)

#A gift for all my readers on my birthday - hope you enjoy!#witchcraft #witchblr #spells #spoonie witch #The Sisters Grimmoire II

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bnnuy-wabbit · 8 months ago

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PIN TUTORIAL.

So. You want pins of your favorite band/cartoon/oc/funny thing to put on backpacks/jackets/pants BUT you're broke and/or have no means to Acquire Pins. You find yourself thinking must Man do i need to make these???? And the answer is yes. Sadly, one either needs to purchase items to have items or make items to have items. I know, i know. It's unfair. It'll be alright, though. Fear not, beloved internet user, for i have The Easy Solution to Your Problem. For thee. Let me hold your hand passionately.

What you'll need is:

Safety Pins - you can buy them for hella cheap in packages with Many Of Them. I'm probably not from your country so you'll have to look for them yourself online or in a store) Pair of Scissors - for cuttin' Plastic - Any kind as long as it's thick enough. reutilize something that would go to the trash, if you can. I'm using an old fanta bottle i stole from dad's pepper pot from the garden. you could also used those hard ish plastics from boxes too or packages. It doesn't have to be transparent, but that's recommended. Some sort of Glue - I recommend hot glue. I did not, however, have hot glue, so I used a two-part resin for fixing pipes instead. If it works it works. You can use anything as long as it secures the safety pin to the plastic. The Pin Content - I'm using STICKERS. i bought 200 6 months ago and have many left overs. You could also use a drawing you made or a cutout from a magazine and tape it to the plastic with transparent packaging tape.

That's all you need. However, if you'd like to make your life a bit easier, it'd be nice to have in hand:

tape - for tapin' razorblade - for scrapin' pen - for Penin'

See. easy. doesn't need a lot. I must say that since i'm a craftsperson i have More Materials laying about than the average arguably human population, but that's pretty much it.

tutorial with pictures continues under the read more. selfie under read more too with them on a cool jacket. here are the results so you know what you're getting into. Ooooo you want to make pins so bad oooooooo

TLDR: glue Pin Content onto the plastic, glue the safety pin to that next. Pic IDs added.

STEP 1.

Stick the thing you want to pin on the plastic. I'm using stickers, but you can use the non adhesive stuff. You can tape a piece of paper to the plastic with transparent duct tape. Just make sure to leave a margin on all sides.

STEP 2.

turn the plastic sheet around. Mark where the Up part of the sticker is and where you want the safety pins to go. This part is optional, but it helps making sure you're not going to put the pins in the wrong position. I didn't do it on my last batch and they turned out fine.

STEP 3.

Secure the plastic to your work surface using tape to keep it still while you work. Again, optional, but it'll help keep the thing straight if your plastic is bent like mine.

STEP 4.

Scratch the surface of the plastic so whatever gluing method you use actually works. The surface shouldn't be smooth or else it'll be hard to glue. You can use anything to scratch it. I did a criss cross pattern as shown in the picture.

STEP 5.

Glue the pins to the scratched surface.

In my case it was done in two steps since the resin needed time to dry. I made a hard base to secure the pin and waited for two hours for that to dry. Then i put a small layer of resin over the part of the safety pin that doesn't open and waited for it to dry again.

This would be miles easier if you used hot glue. Just hot glue the pin to the plastic, making sure to keep the movable part free.

STEP 6.

Cut the pins! If you taped them to the plastic instead of using premade stickers then make sure to leave more plastic to the sides. so it doesn't fall off. They're done. You now have pins.

If you want to go above and beyond, you can cover the pin with a thin layer of clear nail polish to make it impermeable and more durable, but i'm all out of clear nail polish, so i didn't do it.

RESULTS PART 2.

That's it. That's all. Have fun!

#pins #enamel pins #DIY #adventure times #rock #alternative #grunge #punk #tutorial #art supplies #safety pins #cheap stuff #tutorials #artists on tumblr #diy craft #this took so many tries until i figured out the stupidest and easiest way possible to make it lmao #anyways yeah #enjoy #yayyyy

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affordablepunk · 10 months ago

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How to DIY energy drinks for cheap

First, required reading: link to article

Energy drinks have a few vital components:

>sweetener

>flavor

>water

>caffeine

>bubbles (i never do that and don't know how)

Here are some of my favorite things to use:

>granulated sugar (sweetener)

>stevia leaf or granulated artificial sweetener (sweetener)

>kool aid (flavor, sweetener)

>loose-leaf herbs (flavor) (try hibiscus petal, chicory, even lemongrass and mint can be nice)

>lemon juice (flavor, preservative)

>kool aid (easiest flavor/sweetener combo)

Supplies you might need:

>kettle or pot for heating water

>tea strainer ball to keep your leaves out of the final product

>a nice ragu jar or old Gatorade bottle for pre-made stuff

>funnel for pourin

>ladle for scooping liquid into the funnel

Kaffn-8 or any other such liquid caffeine product will do you for caffeine. That brand is super easy and convenient. Kaffn-8 is my favorite for the quality and ease in dosing, as well as the value (15 bucks has lasted me 2 months of daily use).

I like to make a sugar-flavor concentrate, then assemble each glass as I need it. Sugar tastes better when melted with heat than when dissolved without heat, even once chilled. This also allows me to tweak caffeine content. Here is how to make it:

Fill tea ball with herbs (use about a handful or 1/2 cup for every quart of water, you're making it strong)

Heat water and pop the tea ball in

Simmer or keep hot for 10 min

Remove tea ball and turn off heat

While hot, add as much sugar as you had herbs, and mix until melted.

Mix in as much lemon juice (or other assorted acid or preservative) as you can stand. The more preservative, the longer it'll keep

Allow to cool enough to handle

Jar it up, put it in the fridge for later use. You can and should re-use all manner of bottle, just be wary of melting anything plastic or burning your hands w hot water.

A note: the smaller your batches, the less you waste. But high concentrations of acid and sugar keep it good for up to a month in the fridge.

To use: mix water in a cup with your syrup, tweaking concentrations until it tastes good. Add caffeine, measuring your dose carefully.

Then, do bubble magic to add carbonation if you can do that. Maybe you found a soda stream somewhere. If you don't have bubbles, you'll just have to enjoy your energy drinks flat.

And, you're all done!

Now, where to get everything:

(Grow your own herbs if you are mega brave. Mints are nearly indestructible little plants.)

Lemon juice, dollar store. Quality is the same, you've just got to shake it up.

if its a foreign grocer, they likely have herbs cheap. If its a Mexican grocery, they 100% have the best herbs. (Aguasfrescas drink mixes are cheap and THE BOMB, and hibiscus flower always comes in mega bulk) .

Herbalist and spiritual shops have herbs too, and are likely to have tea balls. Branch out! Catnip has been my favorite oddball herb.

Farmers markets also have some (like three if you're lucky) herbs, and you may have to dry them yourself. Since it's punk to reach out to your community, ask around at the farmers market to see if you can get any herb or dried flavorant that's on your mind- small businesses love consumer feedback! You just might have to wait for the plant to grow, heh, but if you're friendly then you'll make friends. Some examples: ask the jam bottler for dried fruit peels, the farmer for mugwort

I get my artificial sweeteners on closeout, my stevia from herbal shops, and my sugar at Walmart (bite me, its cheap and I'm poor).

Kaffn-8 can only be found online, as far as I'm aware. I promise I'm not sponsored, just a grateful caffeine addict.

Do Google your herbs for drug interactions if you take meds. Healthline has good info on herbs. Dried grapefruit rind can mess with my psych meds, for example.

Again, be careful about caffeine. Always dose your caffeine. Having high levels of caffeine on tap is a bit of a big responsibility: I know I nearly bit the dirt from the all-you-can-eat espresso bar at my college. Immaturity could kill you, caffeine is a drug. Count doses, never go above 500 a day, try not to go more than 200 in the same hour.

Now take that money you've saved and give it to a charity to blow a very mean raspberry at nestle. Or, yknow, feed yourself. Its a tough world.

#energy drinks #diy #diy energy drinks #frugal living #i am poor

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sleepnoises · 11 months ago

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hi! apologies if you've been asked this before, but do you have any advice for first time online store owners? i'm thinking about opening one to sell sculptures of my own but i've got no idea where to start, and was wondering if you had any tips to share.

anyways, i love your charming little clay fellows and i hope you have an excellent new year 🤎

i may have been asked it but i can always answer again! tagging this with "clay ask" so you can review past answers

tips:

it's fine to start small and go slow and not optimize everything right away. sculptures are a luxury good and they will usually not immediately start flying off the shelves.

that said: it's nice to track what time you're spending on what. just block it out on google calendar after you're done so you can tot it up at a later time. this tip is super hypocritical but i've done it in the past

i use and like big cartel for my storefront. it doesn't have the fees of etsy or the will sell your stuff twice if people buy it really fast of storenvy. it also doesn't have the discoverability of either, so you'll have to try harder on other social media, but it's a worthwhile tradeoff for me. i don't know anything about shopify and i won't learn

i like pirate ship for shipping labels; it talks directly to big cartel (and a lot of other storefronts!), gets good rates, lets you preview hypothetical packages to check shipping costs, and lets you save package presets. i have a shipping label printer but you should be fine with a regular printer + packing tape.

try to make some reliable size classes of sculpture so you can use a few package settings and not recalculate shipping every time

i try not to buy shipping material from uline because they love trump soooooo soo much. if you have anything local, that's generally a smart call for last minute supply runs, especially because shipping on boxes is spendy. i like upaknship.com for jazzy bubble mailers. i haven't researched their politics but at least they aren't uline

do not put anything particularly delicate in a bubble mailer. i assume you can guess this but a friend once mailed me a plant pot in like. a plastic bag with some shredded paper. so i don't trust what people know about distribution of force in packaging.

you want pressure to be pretty evenly distributed. you don't want anything to be able to twist or bend or snap or rub against itself. you want your packed mailers and boxes to not make any noise when you shake them or to "clunk!" when you drop them on a table from a foot or two up. if you're worried about dropping them that far you have not packed them right.

people will often give you packaging materials if you say you're collecting them

it's nice to have a tape gun... i inherited mine from a childhood neighbor who was a wonderful lesbian

take very careful notes on expenses and income. expect about 25% of $ that comes in to go to taxes (i'm in CA, this might vary)

have a cute logo :) just for fun

these are my THOUGHTS. enjoy!!

#clay ask #long post #this doesnt even get into the nightmare that is product photography <3 #oh also if you're doing pricing/profit math paypal and stripe eat about 4% iirc.

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bagiyaa · 30 days ago

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Choosing the Right Plastic Plant Pots: A Complete Guide for Gardeners

When it comes to gardening, selecting the right container can make all the difference. Plastic pots have gained immense popularity among gardeners for their versatility, durability, and affordability. In this article, we’ll explore the benefits of plastic pots, the different types available, and where to find plastic plant pots online.

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2. Cost-Effective

Plastic pots are typically more affordable than other materials. This cost-effectiveness allows gardeners to buy multiple pots without breaking the bank. Whether you’re starting a new garden or adding to an existing one, plastic pots are an economical solution.

3. Variety of Styles and Sizes

Plastic plant pots come in a vast array of styles, colors, and sizes. From small pots for seedlings to large containers for shrubs, there’s a plastic pot to suit every gardening need. This variety allows you to choose pots that match your garden's aesthetic while accommodating different plant sizes.

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Most plastic pots come with drainage holes, ensuring that excess water can escape. This helps prevent overwatering and root rot, making them suitable for a wide range of plants. You can also find self-watering plastic pots that make maintaining moisture levels easier.

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These are the most common types of plastic pots used by gardeners. They are versatile and can be used for various plants, from flowers to vegetables.

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Perfect for maximizing space, hanging plastic pots allow you to create vertical gardens. They are ideal for trailing plants and can add a decorative touch to patios or balconies.

3. Self-Watering Plastic Pots

These pots are designed with a reservoir at the bottom, allowing plants to draw up water as needed. This is particularly beneficial for busy gardeners who may forget to water regularly.

4. Seedling Trays

If you're starting plants from seeds, consider using plastic seedling trays. They provide the perfect environment for germination and can be easily transferred to larger pots once seedlings are ready.

Where to Buy Plastic Pots Online

Shopping for plastic pots online offers convenience and a wider selection than local garden centers. Here are some tips for finding the best deals on plastic plant pots online:

Reputable Garden Stores: Look for well-known garden supply websites that offer a range of plastic pots. They often have detailed descriptions and customer reviews to help you make informed decisions.

E-commerce Platforms: Websites like Amazon and eBay have vast collections of plastic pots, allowing you to compare prices and styles easily.

Local Nurseries with Online Stores: Many local nurseries now offer online shopping. Purchasing from these stores supports local businesses while still enjoying the convenience of online shopping.

Bulk Purchasing: If you’re planning a large garden, consider buying plastic pots in bulk. Many online retailers offer discounts for bulk orders, making it a cost-effective option.

Conclusion

Plastic pots are a fantastic choice for both novice and experienced gardeners. Their lightweight nature, durability, and variety make them an ideal option for a range of plants. By exploring different types of plastic plant pots and utilizing online shopping options, you can easily find the perfect containers for your gardening needs. So, whether you're searching for plastic pots online or looking for specific styles, remember that these versatile containers will help your garden thrive!

#plastic pots #plastic plant pots #plastic plant pots online

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homeplantblr · 1 year ago

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Elevate Your Space: Home Plantblr - The Best Place to Buy Outdoor Plants Online in Bangalore

In the heart of Bangalore, where the urban landscape meets the desire for greenery, Home Plantblr emerges as the go-to destination for those seeking to enhance their living spaces with the beauty of outdoor plants. As the concrete jungle expands, the need for a touch of nature becomes paramount, and Home Plantblr stands as a green oasis, offering the Best Place To Buy Outdoor Plants Online in Bangalore .

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Visit Our Website For More Info:-

Plastic Pots For Plants in Bangalore

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what-even-is-thiss · 1 year ago

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When I watch unboxing videos and people ask why there’s a little plastic bag around an item I know they haven’t worked in retail before. Everything is wrapped in little individual plastic bags that are too thin to recycle and the employees all unwrap them before putting them on the shelves.

Almost every single sweater, cooking spoon, pot, pair of shoes, bottle of shampoo, etc. that you see in the stores was previously wrapped in a little individual plastic bag headed for the landfill. I unwrapped countless baby onesies and pairs of leggings and whatnot when I worked for Walmart. Every individual piece of clothing had its own wrapping. When you get a thing from Amazon or somewhere else online that’s wrapped in thin plastic, that’s how the stores get it.

#roman said a thing

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ty-bayonet-betteridge · 1 year ago

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(transfem top x ambiguous gender pov bottom, woundfucking smut, do not read if you are underage. trigger list will be in the first reply.)

the girl you've been talking to online turns out to be local. not too surprising since your city is so major compared to some of the other ones left, but still good news. you had plans to meet up tonight at a bar near her place and are almost ready when she sends you this text:

sorry have 2 cancel bc work running late. i work from home tho so if u want 2 come over i can send the address

you agree and she gives you the address to her apartment. she says the door will be unlocked when you get there so let yourself in. you send her a thumbs up and head over. her apartment building is very poorly designed - the only door into her place is accessible from the third landing of a rusted fire escape. you let yourself in after verifying that you have the right unit number. immediately after opening the door you are struck by the scent of blood and sweat, as well as other smells you can't immediately put names to and the humming of what sounds like a loud fan. she calls out from another room. she says hey. she says shut the door. you do. she says sorry i cant greet you im in the living room and cant move. you say thats ok and head towards her voice. the scent gets worse as you head through the door into her living room.

on top of the dirtiest sofa you've ever seen lies a man you do not know. he appears to be asleep, though with the state he's in it's difficult to tell. he has no legs, and no bandages covering the bloody stumps where they once were. the legs that previously WERE attached are sitting on the ground in a heap, along with his similarly detached arms. his chest cavity is open, and his ribs are unfolded. various tubes lead out of the open cavity. some of them are made of plastic and lead to what appear to be bags of saline, blood, and a strange machine with vents along the top that whirs loudly, the source of the noise you heard before. others are made of flesh, their shape and size similar to how you imagine intestines look, and they connect to several of the man's organs, which are currently stowed on a three-tiered rolling metal cart.

on the middle shelf is a jar of neon blue liquid, inside of which his heart sits, still beating thanks to live electrical wires leading to what appears to be a gutted and repurposed chunky plastic kid's electric piano. his lungs hang off of a hook on the side, inflating and deflating in a shuddering motion that is not at all what you expected breathing to look like. the middle shelf also holds his kidneys, one of which has been disconnected and sits in a pool of blood on the bare shelf. the other is in a jar of what seems to be some sort of clear jelly. the bottom shelf holds a concerning pile of viscera, none of it connected to the man. you pick out his stomach and intestines easily enough, but the offwhite translucent fatty mass that clings to the intestines and the sad grey sac included in the mix are foreign to you. the top shelf holds several organs you don't recognize as well - a yellowish-gray waxy lump in a vaguely phallic shape and a small red orb , both of which are suspended in the same jar of pale yellowish fluid and appear to connect back to the same fleshy duct. they twitch occasionally, but are otherwise motionless. another top shelf organ you identify as the liver. it has no special setup, simply laying flat on the shelf, but is nonetheless connected in several places and seems to be functioning normally, especially as you can see some sort of dirty yellow-brown liquid dripping out of it through a plastic tube and into a large, clear bottle that you're pretty sure was a mayo bottle at some point in its past. finally, two large cooking pots are gently simmering over a large camping stove, connected to the rest of the mess of tubes, ducts, veins, and flesh. one of the pots has a lid on, leaving you unable to see what's inside of it. the other is about half-full of an off-white, slightly meaty substance.

in the center of the mess sits the girl you're here to see. you've exchanged both lewd and non-lewd images before, so you recognize her well enough, though you haven't seen her in these clothes before. if you can call them that. she's wearing simple black panties, a pair of light grey ankle-height socks, a deeply stained apron with a heart and a KISS THE COOK on it (though somebody has taken a maroon fabric marker, crossed out COOK, and written SURGEON below it), a pair of yellow rubber dishwashing gloves, and nothing else. her legs have a thin covering of hair, as if she shaved four or five days ago and it's starting to grow back but she hasn't had the energy to shave it again. her wavy blond hair is unkempt, and she makes no effort to tie it back. this is somewhat concerning, as she currently sits hunched over the dismembered man on the couch, her hands inside of his open body cavity. her hair hangs around her face, the ends of it matted and dirty with blood and other fluids.

the man you thought was either sleeping or dead opens his eyes and turns to look at you, silent, a look of blank curiosity on his face.

she stands and turns to you. she looks like she hasn't slept in five weeks. there are track marks on her left arm. she extends a blood-soaked glove for you to shake. you take it, dazed. she says hey, nice to finally meet you in person. im riley. doctor riley grace davis MDE. you say nice to meet you too. she says sorry that theres not space on the sofa here. when she draws her hand back to gesture you wipe the blood off on your pants as best you can. she says do you want to sit at the kitchen table or go straight to the bedroom? you say um. you say sorry if this is rude but who is that? she says one of my clients. you say clients? she says yeah. you both look at each other for a moment. you say uh, sorry, what is it you do exactly? she says did it never come up? you say no. she says oh. she says sorry im used to people having heard of me, guess i forgot to mention. you say its fine. she says im a plastic surgeon.

you glance at the man with his organs spread out across the cart. you say that looks like a little bit more than plastic surgery. she says im very talented. you say isn't plastic surgery minimally invasive? im very talented, she repeats. come on into the kitchen, she says, turning to lead the way. you say uh, is it okay to leave him like that? she says yeah. you say isnt he going to bleed out? she says trust me, i'm a doctor. as she heads through the door she reaches one gloved hand to tap a frame on the wall. a smudge of blood is left behind on the glass. you look at the frame.

The assembled medical staff, Thinker-class parahumans, and administrative staff of the Parahuman Response Team East-Northeast, in cooperation with the governance of New Brockton on Earth Gimel, confer on RILEY GRACE DAVIS-LAVERE the degree of MEDICAL DOCTORATE EQUIVALENCY for recognition of medical knowledge and talent conferred by a parahuman ability, evaluated and classified as Tinker 8, as well as for the demonstration of excellence in prior practice of medicine and the use of that parahuman ability to complete an assessment of medical knowledge and talent agreed upon by PRT staff.

you follow her into the kitchen. in the time it took you to read her doctorate, she has apparently doffed both the apron and the gloves, which now sit on a pile in the floor. she holds out a bottle to you as you join her at the table. it's a green glass bottle with no label. what is this, you ask. beer she says. she says i made it myself. you take a terrified sip. it tastes amazing.

you are acutely aware of the fact that she is now topless. my eyes are up here she says. you say sorry, but she's grinning lecherously. she says you like'em that much? you say honestly i was stuck on how different you look from your pictures. she says wow, rude. you say i didn't mean it like that. she says how did you mean it? you take a second to collect your thoughts. you say your boobs are at least 50% larger in person. she says puberty is a magical thing. you say puberty? she says yup. you say how old are you? she says don't you know how to talk to a lady? you say absolutely nothing about this visit has led me to believe you're a lady. she laughs. you have no idea how to label the sound of her laugh in your mind. it would almost be a cackle if it didn't degenerate into a giggle. she says you wanna know how old i am? you say yes. she says me too, kid. you say what year were you born? she says 1998. you say okay, so- she raises a finger to stop you from talking. she drains her beer, then slams it down and starts talking very fast.

born in 1998, triggered and stopped aging mentally in 2005, went on puberty blockers in 2010, started aging mentally again in 2011, went off puberty blockers in 2012, undid my puberty and went back ON puberty blockers in 2013, then all of my self-modifications were undone also in 2013, and i dont know what else in my body changed at the same time, went off puberty blockers again in 2014, or 1 GM if you use that calendar, i dont because thats stupid but just in case, aged fairly normally until 2023, then undid my puberty again because i was scared, aged normally until 2029, and from then on my Amy and i have theseus shipped me about twenty times over because staying the same is boring. so yeah. the paperwork says i'm 38, let's go with that.

you dont know how to respond to that. to any of that. she gets up and says sorry, ill be back in a second. she leaves the room. you take another sip of the beer. you don't like beer. how the fuck does this taste so good? you glance around the kitchen a bit, not getting up. it's clean in the sort of way that indicates it doesn't see much use. the only thing that has clearly been used frequently is the microwave, which you can tell from here has probably never been cleaned since she bought it. at least the lack of mess means there's probably no mouse, rat, or ant problem. in here, at least. you vaguely wonder if the bloody, dying man in the other room would attract vermin.

she returns, shrugging on a filthy grey hooded sweatshirt and carrying a small case. she says sorry, room gets cold as balls sometimes. dont usually notice it while im working. she grabs another beer out of the fridge, then sits down and pulls a rolled cigarette out of the case. she pulls an old zippo out of the sweatshirt's front pocket, lights it, and starts puffing. it doesn't smell like nicotine or marijuana. want one, she asks. you say what are they. she says salvia mostly. she says bit of kratom to mellow it, but mostly salvia. are those safe to use together you ask. especially while drinking. she pauses. she says fuck, iunno. id hardly notice at this point if i started to OD. pretty sure im good enough to fix it if i do. fix it you ask. she says yeah. how you ask. she says im a doctor. damn good one too, she says. you say arent you a plastic surgeon. she says im a lot of things.

she says sure you don't want it? you seem tense. you say uh, ive never really been high before, don't want to start with untested interactions, no offense. she says none taken. she says youre drinking, though, that counts. you say im drinking but ive never really been drunk. she says wanna fix that? you say im good. she says good. she says being drunk sucks. she says worst depressant there is, just use tranquilizers if you want to start acting like an idiot and forget it all the next day. you say i didn't know you were so into this, um, scene, i guess? she squints at you. she says are you a cop? you say no. she says cause you're being awkward and simultaneously pretending you know and don't know what you're talking about and that's what a cop does. you say i'm not a cop. she says none of this is illegal. she says all this shit falls under the realm of reasonable materials for her research. you say i SWEAR im not a cop. she says and jeff in the living room there signed the consent forms and waivers before i started doing that shit to him. you say if i were a cop i would be given better training on handling this situation than just repeatedly saying im not a cop.

she says if youre not a cop why are you so fucking tense? she says calm the fuck down. you say um. she says you were so casual over text, thought we had good chemistry. you say we did. she says so whats got you like this? is it cause ive got a client? you start to answer her but she keeps talking. she says sorry about that, really. she says it was supposed to be a simple body swap job, organs out, couple changes, organs in, but dude keeps asking for more and more weird shit until somehow the plan has changed to him floating inside of a translucent biological skin suspended in a mix of lympatic fluid and vitreous jelly. you say what?? she says and i got no problem with that, but it means im gonna need a fuckton more meat than i thought i did when i started, and its gotta match him or his antibodies are gonna fuck him UP, so now im working his stem cells and bone marrow overtime to cook me up all the shit i need, meanwhile hes on life support and all this equipment is so esoteric i gotta babysit it the whole time, so i can't get away like we planned. again sorry about that she says.

you say its fine, i just didnt know what your job was. you say caught me off guard coming in and seeing a guy opened up like that. for a second started wondering if i was next. you laugh awkwardly. she does not laugh. she smokes a little more without saying anything. the silence goes on an uncomfortably long time.

she says do you want to be?

you say what? she says dates get discounts on ops, especially if its something hot or something simple. im really fucking talented too she says. she says you saw the state jeffs in and hes still alive and well. so cmon, anything you want? you say um. she says cmon, dont get shy now, tell me! you weren't scared to talk about kinks online. you say well there is one thing, not a body mod exactly but something that wouldn't be possible to do under normal circumstances. she says out with it, grinning wolfishly. you say im, uh, kind of into woundfucking.

she takes another gulp of her beer. she says god, who the fuck isn't? she says i'll never understand why that isnt a more common thing. seeing somebody as so much of an object that youd put a new hole into them just for your own fun. or alternatively, loving someone so much that you need to feel what it's like inside every part of them, need to connect with their muscle and blood just as much as you do the rest of them. fuck, it's delicious, she says, her grin stretching unnaturally wide, like a Glasgow smile that opened to reveal more teeth and gums. you have never felt more afraid. you have never felt more turned on.

you top or bottom, she asks. bottom you answer. good, she says, cause i've been wondering what you would look like screaming this whole time. your eyes widen. she downs the rest of her beer and stands up, grabbing your arm and yanking you up as she does so. she says cmon. you follow her, if only because when she pulls at you you briefly feel she may have the strength to tear your arm from its socket.

you pass through the living room. she shouts out yo, jeff. the unseamed man opens his eyes and looks at you. you cant read his expression. she says im gonna be busy in the next room for a couple hours. if you start dying, she says, slam your head into this. she grabs what looks like a game show buzzer off of a bookshelf covered in junk and sets it on the couch next to his head. she says should be loud enough for me to hear from the bedroom and come get you stabilized. blink twice if you got that. he blinks twice. she says cool, later. she pulls you through another nearby door and slams it closed behind her.

her bedroom is a confusing mix of the junk and grime you saw in the other room with a shockingly pristine bed. her clothes are strewn about the floor and the walk-in closet, with no organizational system you can discern, not even between clean and dirty. in fact, you wouldn't have called any of these clothes clean. she opens the cabinet under the bedside table, pulls out a huge roll of plastic sheeting, and covers the bed. ah. that explains it.

is this a dexter reference, or... you say, trailing off. she laughs again. what the fuck is that laugh? she says my amy got frustrated having to clean the sheets literally all the time so now i just do this instead. you say er, whos amy. she looks at you like youve lost your mind, a hypothesis you cannot disprove as you think on the situation. my wife, she says. wife you ask? she says fuck, did i not mention this either? shit, fuck, goddamnit. she says ive been married for three years. you say uhhhhhhhh. she says oh dont worry she knows! shes cool the relationships open. uh, unless YOURE not comfortable with me being poly, i guess. fuck i couldve sworn i mentioned this, she says. its not a problem you say. she says you wanna keep going? you say yeah. she says good.

she heads into the walk-in closet, grabbing a three-tiered cart from under a shelf and starting to wheel it to the bed. allergies, she asks? oxybenzone, you say. she says well im not planning to inject any fucking sunscreen into you, so i dont think thats relevant. you say look i dont know how any of this works, better safe than sorry. she says dont worry, you're always safe with me. AND im going to make you sorry, she says. she giggles before she stomps on a toggle on the cart that locks the wheels. you get a look at this cart and see that it has a collection of medical and not-so-medical implements, with the middle shelf appearing to contain various bottles, jars, and tubs of what you hope are medicines while the top shelf holds needles, sutures, scalpels, saws, scissors, and almost any kind of tool you can think of that holds a blade, from bread knives to x-actos. the bottom shelf has a large circular saw and a rusted chainsaw.

traffic light system for safety checks, she asks? you say yeah. cool she says. she pushes you onto the bed, the plastic crinkling as your head hits the pillow and you fall on your back. she sits on top of you, straddling your lap, holding your hands over your head by the wrist with one hand. she's freakishly strong, far moreso than her spindly limbs should allow. she takes the cigarette out of her mouth. you swallow. your eyes flick to it. you say sorry, can you, um... she grabs your neck, interrupting your speech and yanking your head forward. she leans down, spits on your cheek, and shoves the lit end of the cigarette against the same spot. the saliva buffers it slightly, but the burning feeling is still intense, a pain that rides through several seconds as she presses the cigarette into flesh. you hear yourself whining at the pain.

she flicks the now-extinguished cigarette aside and kisses you. it tastes like blood and morning breath and ash. she picks up one of the scalpels. in stark contrast to the rest of her home, each and every one of the tools is in sparkling pristine condition. she toys with the scalpel as she looks you up and down. you have any experience with being cut into, she asks? you say huh?, taking some time to process. oh, you say. um not really you say. never done cutting during play before and my only surgeries have been dental when i was a lot younger. she says no problem. she says im only gonna dull your pain a little, but let me know if i need to adjust sensation up or down. you nod breathlessly. she angles the scalpel and cuts through the front of your shirt, a swift motion that leaves the tip of the blade an inch or two from your neck. you recoil on instinct and she giggles again, pulling the knife back and moving the fabric of your shirt aside. she takes one of the smaller jars from the cart and dips two fingers in it, the scalpel dancing in her fingers as she does so, like a bored baton twirler doing pen tricks. the paste is bright pink, and she rubs it into the flesh of your upper stomach. you feel your nerves start to tingle slightly as she finishes.

she fills a syringe with something pastel red. placing her hand against the numbed area of your stomach, she spread her fingers, guiding the needle between two of them to hold it steady. you watch the point of the needle break skin, feel it sinking through your flesh. she depresses the plunger slowly. you exhale as she removes the needle. gooood toy, she says softly. your breath hitches at the praise and she smirks. she presses the scalpel to your skin, but doesn't start to cut. color, she asks? you say green. she smiles. she says making the incision.

the feeling of blade breaking skin isn't the sort of jarring penetration you thought it would be. the transition between the scratching pain of the scalpel against your skin to the actual slicing sensation is gradual, and you're not certain you could have pinpointed the moment if you weren't watching. you find yourself gritting your teeth, your jaw clenching involuntarily as your body tries not to vocalize the pain. it isn't intense, but it's persistent and deliberate in a way that doesn't match what you think pain should feel like.

riley is more energetic than youve seen her this whole time. she starts to hum happily to herself, cutting through your skin and flesh. the incision is vertical, two inches long and ending about an inch and a half above your belly button. she retrieves a pair of those metal clamps surgeons use to hold the incision open during surgery. you don't know what those are called. maybe you should ask her. you think that would kill the mood. you'll ask her after. she inserts them into the incision, adjusting the tension so that they spread it open about an inch. she notices you looking. she says you don't need to watch if it makes you squeamish, pet. you swallow hard. you say i want to watch. she giggles.

you lose track of time, watching her work. she wields the tools with a grace, precision, and speed you didn't think was possible. the blood wells out as she does so, flecks of it flying when she moves too frenetically, adding to the stains on her hoodie. it covers the ends of her fingers, drops trailing down to paint their streaks further down her hands and arms, like candle wax melting. your blood. her hands. you feel slightly faint, and you don't know if it's from arousal or bloodloss. the pain is constant, but still sharp enough not to ache. you breath shallowly, occasionally whimpering or letting your breath hitch as the scalpel catches flesh. for the most part, neither of you speak, though from time to time she gives soft praise, her voice warm and comforting as she assures you of how sweet and well-behaved you're being.

she isn't just making a hole. you don't know exactly what she's doing, but it's not just cutting. the needle and thread flash in her hands from time to time, and you can feel the muscle and fat in your torso being stretched and pulled, split and joined in new ways. your angle of view prevents you from seeing the operating area, to your dismay, and at times you almost speak up and ask if you could reposition so you could watch better - but you know you can't. it's not your place to ask anything of her. she's the one in charge.

still, you wish you could see. she described herself as a plastic surgeon earlier, but her movements don't match that description. it is not the slow, precise, micro-motion of a surgeon; her body language is free and expressive, passionate in a way that reveals her true nature. she is an artist, her chosen medium skin and meat, the tools of her craft surgical by their raw nature but not in the way she wields them. the blood-covered flesh, the sinew and fat held beneath your skin and even the skin itself are only the raw material with which she crafts her magnum opus. a sculptor of a living body, like a leatherworker or carver of bone taken to the logical conclusion.

she pulls off her sweatshirt, a sheen of perspiration covering her skin. your eyes are glued to her bare form. she notices you staring and flashes a predatory grin. aw, someone likes watching, huh? she says. you nod dumbly, and she chuckles. stupid little pile of meat, she says, affection in her voice. you think you might be in love. you cannot tear your eyes from her, though she evidently does not mind the attention as she returns to her work.

your gaze is not lustful, though doubtlessly lust is the predominant feeling in you. your focus is drawn to her through fascination and adoration, not arousal. you study her curves, the hair of her stomach, the dullling red stretch marks that frame her chest and gut and streak across her thighs, because this is the body of the woman who is recreating you. is this not the same as knowing the form of the god who shaped you in his image?

no, it is something different from that. this is not the god who made adam in his image but the god who knew man would need a companion, and shaped one from a rib torn from the body of his creation. a divinity that does not create from whole cloth but rends meat and bone until its craft is complete. a godly vulture, a being that tears its hooks into the carcass of the universe and pulls free a dried, gristly tendon, granting importance to that which exists but lied bound beneath the surface of the skin, out of sight, out of mind, waiting to ooze its way free from this veil of vellum. the perfected form of imperfection. the blood is drying in her filthy, matted hair. she takes a pill bottle from the cart, pours out a handful, and swallows them without water before returning to the frenzied stitching of your adipose tissues.

what must be hours later, she sits up and wipes the sweat from her brow, smearing your blood across it at the same time. she wipes more of the blood onto her thighs, apparently to clean her hands, though they are still caked with grime and gore. think its done, she says. she says anesthetic should be wearing off too. she sets the scalpel down and leans over you. she's right; you feel the sensation returning to the area she's operated on in full force. she lays on her side next to you, head propped up on her hand, her other arm draped across your body, cheshire smile on her face. you feel her fingertips lazily trace the edges of the gash before she slides one in.

how do you describe the sensation? what does it really feel like for something to work its way between the folds of your muscle, for subcutaneous fat and flesh to be pressed aside, molded, to make way for the penetrating presence of another? the pain is omnipresent, but not overwhelming as you expected it would be. the flesh holds sensation deeper than you thought it would as well - several inches beneath your skin, you can feel her fingers hook inside of you. you can't tell how much of the pleasure is physical and how much is psychological, but it is there, and it is overwhelming. you tense in response to it, moaning, and the tension causes your muscles to clench, sliding against her fingers, bringing sensation to new parts of your abdomen. the feedback loop overwhelms you, and you feel a disappointed whine escape you as her finger leaves the hole.

she giggles. so needy, she says. she says guess i did make you pretty sensitive, huh? you whimper in response. she says don't worry, i won't leave you empty too long. she moves, sitting on your lap, pulling the panties off as she does so. her dick flops out over your stomach. it is roughly human in shape, and on the larger end of normal human size, but its appearance throws you for a loop. it is stitched together, frankensteinian in construction, without even a consistent skin color. she notices you looking. you like it she asks? she says sort of had to bodge it together pretty quick, don't put nearly as much effort into my own body as i do others. she says amy could do better. you are far too horny to consider the implications of any of that. you whine, straining upwards to press the wound towards the tip of her cock. she laughs. good toy, she says.

she sighs deeply as she forces herself inside of you. ffffffffffuck, that's good, she says. your core muscles shift around her, flexing to squeeze her cock as she sinks it in, hilting inside of the hole. you moan, your hands coming up reflexively to cover your face in some act of shame or modesty which is at this point thoroughly meaningless. she pulls back out slowly, her cock glistening with your blood, before slamming back into you, new parts of your abdomen being forced aside to accommodate her. you think she is pressing against organs now. you desperately want her deeper.

she pulls your hands away from your face with one hand, and with the other shoves the finger that she had previously used to explore the laceration into your mouth. you suckle at it thoughtlessly as she rolls her hips, the tip of her dick forcing itself into your abdominal cavity. the taste of blood and sweat and dirt linger on your tongue. she starts thrusting hard, the repeated slamming of her cockhead against the parts of you that were never meant to be touched the only thing you can think about. it hurts. oh god, it hurts, and it feels so much better than anything you've ever felt. damn that's a good hole, she says. you don't say anything. she takes the finger out of your mouth. color, she asks? it takes you a second to connect the thought. green, you say. she says thank god. can i come in you she asks. you nod stupidly, your mouth still open from her finger being pulled out. she giggles.

she grabs your chin, tilts your head up, and presses her lips against you. she tastes like morning breath and your blood. it's delicious. you wrap your arms around her as she forces herself in and out of the gaping, bleeding wound in your stomach. she's so close to you, her whole body pressed against you as that massive, unnatural cock digs into your blood and muscle and guts. she doesn't smell like she knows what a shower is. she is practically laying on top of you. you can't think. your wrap your legs around her too.

she groans in your ear as she slams herself balls deep into the gash again. your insides are flooded with her cum. your own orgasm forces your core muscles to clench, tightening and sliding around her length, unintentionally milking her cock into you. she pulls out, laying the dick slick with blood, sweat, and cum across your stomach, as she pants. she rolls off of you, laying in bed beside you. unthinking, you turn onto your side and press your body against her. she wraps her arms around you and kisses you again.

you hear the sound of thrashing from the other room, followed by a cartoon buzzer sound effect, and then what sounds like the seinfeld jingle starts to play. she jumps to her feet. god fucking damnit, jeff, she says. she says i'll be right back as she crosses the room at a run, slamming the door behind her. the wound in your stomach is still bleeding. you have no idea how to process anything that just happened.

#wormblr #parahumans #worm spoilers #our writing #riley davis #riley grace davis #bonesaw #dr riley davis mde #hjow the fuck do i tag this #tw gore #tw body horror #tw blood #tw sex #tw medical stuff

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iepurasdepraf · 1 month ago

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𝕁𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕖: 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕝 𝕓𝕪 𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕦𝕞 - ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚

Song for this fic

“Oh, come on.” You hissed, balancing on the rusted out running board of Crane’s truck, fighting with your oversized and overfilled rucksack. It was a challenge to get around on its own, but now one of its damn seemingly infinite straps was caught up on yet another piece of the content’s of the truck bed and you struggled to lift the thing up at the weird angle. You thought you’d gotten it free at one point, but nope.

Coils of rope, burlap bags, several unsealed first aid kits—one had what looked like blood on it, some old moldy moving boxes you’d heard metal rattling in on the way here, blue plastic tarps, hoses of various sizes and lengths, beat to hell tool boxes, what looked like some kind of pump—you don’t want to think about what that had been for. The headlines you’d seen online flashing to the forefront of your mind about how the Scarecrow had pumped in fear toxin through the vents of a residential building at Gotham U. Squeezing your eyes shut to force yourself to stop taking inventory and focus on pulling, you wanted to do anything but think about it.

Finally it came loose from whatever it was stuck on. Unfortunately, you’d not prepared for it to come loose that easily. Eyes shooting open as fear scruffed you by the back of the neck, you found yourself trying and failing to maintain your balance on the untrustworthy running board. Choking on your own spit when you realized Crane was on the other side of the truck watching you. Your foot goes through the weak metal, almost sending you toppling into the rocks, barely saving yourself by grabbing onto the large generator he had in there among the mess.

It was at that moment you realized how tall he was. The very top of the side panel came up to the bottom of his ribs while he was standing flat footed on the ground and he could not only see inside just fine, but could reach the middle of the bed with those long arms of his. He could probably grab you from where he was standing if he really wanted to.

When had he gotten out of the cab? You couldn’t remember hearing him get out. You had to really slam the doors on that thing to get the old latches to catch. Trying to stuff down those rattling nerves, you ask “Were you an eagle scout? You look prepared for anything short of the apocalypse!” in the most pleasant way you could manage without your voice shaking. All you got was a mere hum in response and him looking away for the first time since he’d gotten out of the truck that you’d noticed. Down into the bed, to the snarled rat's nest only he could make sense of. You chose to take that as him agreeing with your observation.

In the past few hours of in person interaction, if you could call it that, you’d been talking at him while he gave you the Kubrick stare for the most part. The way people talked about him online you thought he’d have been enjoying the sound of his own voice after so long in Arkham, but then again what did true crime people actually know? It gave you an odd sense of hope. Maybe they were wrong about him. In enough ways for it to matter at least. In enough ways to be able to go home tomorrow.

You hupped to psych yourself up and lifted the rucksack with all your might. Letting it do a, partially, controlled fall to the gravel driveway that was more mud than anything at this point which made you groan a little louder than you should have when the sensation of cold mud sprayed across your ankles. It had been brand new, but really that was its purpose, wasn’t it? Bound to get dirty sometime.

Out of breath, but you were able to get that heavy bag to the foot of the patio steps and thunk thunk thunked it up the too tall DIY project steps onto the patio. Old paint crunching under your shoes and flaking away as you dragged the rucksack across the planks to the door, leaving a trail of grainy mud in its wake.

The owner had said the hide-a-key was in the plant pot by the door, but you couldn’t see anything that looked out of place in the odd tiny pine tree’s cracked fancy pot. “Do you see a—” You looked beside you thinking he'd be standing there, but he wasn't. Somehow it made you jump harder than if he'd been there.

Your first instinct was to look behind you, but he wasn't there either. "Dr. Crane?" you whispered, not sure if you wanted him to answer. Where did he go? He wouldn’t ditch you there would he? Had he gotten back in the car? You squinted trying to see what you could with the dim porchlight illuminating no more than a few inches from the bottom step. When you couldn’t see him in the cab your eyes followed the way you’d come up the pavers to the door. Then it clicked, you were looking past him. You flinched slightly in surprise finding him lurking at the foot of the porch steps.

You couldn't even see him so much as the outline of him and the very bottom part of his raggedy corduroy pants covering his shins, down to those struggling to stay together old brown work boots barely clinging to his feet.

Finding him made you jump harder than him not being where you thought he was. "Jesus Christ!" "Mm?" The vaguely questioning sound he produced made you realize he'd either not heard you or hadn’t been paying attention when you’d said his name. If you’d said it louder you might have thought he had been waiting to startle you on purpose. “What are you doing down there?” No answer. “Can you help me find the hide-a-key?” Again he says nothing, he did join you on the porch though. Stamping over steps you’d had to climb without having to try or even pausing to have to think about it.

It only took him a second, that was all. Finding it at a glance among the perfectly similar river stone rocks scattered in the pot. He fished it out and used the tattered hem of his red sweater to wipe the dirt off before handing it to you. That was sweet of him. You made sure to say thank you. The corners of his lips turned up slightly after you looked away from him, you caught it out of the corner of your eye. Like he’d tried to smile, but had accidentally done it too late.

The door was finicky. You thought the key was going to snap before you managed to jiggle it right where it wanted to be in the keyway to unlock the door, but the moment that deadbolt slid open enough to escape the strike plate the door handle was yanked out of your hand. Wrenching itself open so violently it slammed into whatever was behind it, rattling the glass inlay hard enough that you were shocked it didn’t shatter.

You stood frozen, not even daring to breathe. You look to Crane, but for what you weren’t sure. He was playing with a lock of his hair, making it curl around his finger with the expression you’d expect from someone watching their favorite tv show. “A draft.” He offered cooly when he noticed your pleading look. “Yeah,” You peered into the house, finally finding air with one hard gulp until you just couldn’t look into the abyss anymore so you looked back to him. “A draft.”

When you didn’t move he took the initiative. Walking into the house like he owned it and taking your rucksack with him, making you do a double take when he picked it up one-handed like it didn’t weigh a thing. All the way to the other side of the cabin, setting it on the dining room where he sat it on the table. Thoughtfully, turned on the light. It flickered then slowly eased to its full brightness, only illuminating the table itself and close to a foot around it, making it an island in the middle of an inky sea of vague shapes and shadows.

You should have gone with him. You should have, but you didn’t and now there was an insidious moat between you and him. All you had to do was walk across the living room to him. Go through that oh so narrow unlit area, come on. There was nothing there. A rug at most or maybe one of those weird floor sockets for lamps. Crane waited patiently with his hands folded in front of him like an innocent choir boy who totally wasn’t enjoying watching you stickbug back and forth in the doorframe trying to psych yourself up.

You’d ridden out into the middle of nowhere with one of the most dangerous men in Gotham City on a Friday night, to some guy you’d found on Craigslist’s house so you could hunt ghosts because he’d told you his grandpa died there in a hunting accident, and said dangerous man watching you oscillate just got out of an insane asylum after going on not one, but multiple crime sprees that took some kind of pet play gimp bat freak to stop. The insane asylum, there was only one in Gotham—Go in the house. Why are you afraid of the dark? The scariest thing for miles was standing in the light.

So you closed your eyes tight, clenched your fists, and power walked into the house. Through the dark moat and right into Crane. He stumbled a step or two back when you plowed right into his stomach then offered a steadying hand on your shoulder. “Sorry.” You squeak out peeking up at him. All you got was a scoff of what might be a laugh or some kind of grumble. He wouldn’t look at you, as far as you could tell he didn’t seem particularly bothered and you were quick to give him his space back after he removed his hand.

It meant a lot to you that he didn’t get upset because from the moment you met him he’d made it absolutely clear to everyone who crossed his path that he did not want anyone to touch him, look at him, or be near him. To the point where he’d refused to approach when someone had tried to be polite and hold a door open at the diner earlier. You’d expected him to move away or move you away. Maybe not being shoved away from him was a reward for facing your fear. Maybe you’d watched too many Youtube videos about things you had no idea about and overthought everything.

You metaphorically grab yourself by the back of the head and put yourself on task as to not dwell, forcing yourself to fight the myriad straps so you could get in your bag and start unpacking. After setting your flashlights and your recorder down you realized you were fucking up. Slow down, pay attention, explain things to him. Show him there’s a process.

"So—well,” You cleared your throat and tried again. “So it’s kind of a some now, some later thing.” “Mhm.” Oh, you had his attention. “Because while we can, hopefully, get some responses in the moment. There will be some things we’ll have to go over the recordings for after. Like voices we couldn’t hear or—” He tilted his head like a curious puppy, giving the impression of not knowing in the slightest and you fumbled to think of other examples. “Shadow people or apparitions. Things like that.”

A snort, the tiniest of poorly hid smiles on his face to accompany it. “Don’t laugh!” Telling him not to made a jack-o-lantern-esque smile crack his thin lips. He was, somehow, more and less creepy when he smiled at the same time. It was like he didn’t know how or maybe it hurt him to try. A spidery hand leapt up with a jolt to cover that shattered facade with his fingers. He was apparently conscious of this which made you a little sad. You hoped no one had been mean enough to say that to his face. “I’m not.” He assured in not more than a low rasp.

After cutting him with another side eye, you went back to unpacking. He moved to hover behind, looking shoulder to see what other nonsense you were packing. Picking up the K2 meter and turning it over in his hands, almost shooting up onto the ceiling like a cartoon cat when he turned it on and it beeped. That was quickly turned off. “We can’t use that in the kitchen.” You say while checking that all three of the flashlights batteries are in them. “It detects electromagnetic fields, it’ll give a false positive in a spot with a lot of electricity running through it.”

He made no comment, but he did turn it back on to test that for himself. Shuffling hither and thither through the living room and kitchen to see what and where set it off while you made sure your video camera had nothing embarrassing on it in case he got curious about that too. It seemed to be mostly old videos of your cat. You turned to say something and about leapt out of your skin. He’d at some point moved to stand beside you, but you couldn’t even give what you were going to say a second try because a loud gut wrenching crunch sent a cold shiver down your spine and an echo cascading out into the otherwise silent house. It had come from Crane.

Which didn’t make it less ominous.

At first you were scared to look at what was in his hands. When you did you found he’d pilfered a bag of Goldfish crackers somewhere and was munching away like he’d not eaten a big supper an hour or two ago. “You can’t eat that.” You protested putting your hands on your hips. “It’s not ours—” then you saw the date on the bag. 03/17/2014. “Oh my God.” He had to have seen that. You know he saw that. The look on his face when he realized you’d seen it told you he had. The only way to describe the expression was ferretish. How could someone so skeletal look that mischievous? At the very least they had to be incredibly stale, at the worst they were moldy.

“Jonathan!” His eyebrows shot up at the use of his first name. That was the only time you seemed to have done something he didn’t expect. “Stop!” Another handful. “They’ll make you sick!” He rolled his eyes and noticed the camera. Jerking his whole body like it was a marionette on a string so he’d be out of the shot. If it was so no one saw him eating decade old Goldfish or for some other reason you weren’t sure. Maybe he didn’t like to be recorded? That was fine with you.

You turned it so you were the focus. “It’s not recording, don’t worry.” To ease his concern you held it out to him. “Here, this way you won’t have to worry.” An incredulous glance, but after a moment or two of you not changing your mind he finished his last handful of Goldfish, dusted the crumbs off on his pants, and took the camera. He was so careful when he did, almost as if he was worried your hand would snap off like a porcelain doll’s if he was slightly too rough. After sussing out how it worked, he had it focused on you with the red light on, recording already. At least he couldn’t eat the Goldfish anymore with his hands full.

You smiled into the camera, then your eyes flicked up to him. Holding up one of the flashlights as you presented the equipment to him “UV light.” then another “Infralight.” then the last one “This is just a mag light, but!” You tapped the camera with your fingernail once you’d sat the flashlight down next to the bag of Goldfish that would haunt your nightmares. “That’s a full spectrum camera! So hopefully it’ll get anything—” “And where,” “We might—” “Did you get all of this?”

You were struck dumb. That was the longest sentence he’d ever said to you in person. It hadn’t been half a day of knowing him in person so that wasn’t really saying much, but still. Unfortunately, you knew your answer wasn’t a winning one the moment you went to answer it. “Am…” His eyebrow arched, the judgment had begun. “Amazon?” You managed to get out with all the authority of a parrot saying “Bottle.”

He looked away, sucked on his bottom lip and let it go with a loud pop before letting out a long breath that would have been some kind of prolonged stress sigh if he was more annoyed. He wasn’t annoyed or disappointed, but you also couldn’t tell what emotion it was for certain. Crane looked back at you, but ultimately returned to his silence even though it felt like he wanted to say something. At least he didn’t laugh, just slow blinked at you like your cat did sometimes.

“What?” He shook his head “I know you want to.” You pestered with a smile. That made him give you an amused look. You decided to take it as him being tickled you claimed you could tell. “I’m simply admiring your,” He took pause to consider his next word carefully, “resourcefulness.” You, not believing that for a minute, threw a playful side eye at his head trying to seem more agitated than you were, decided to go back to unpacking. If only out of spite at the moment. “You could be a smidge more grateful, you know? I spent a lot of money on this stuff for us. I know you think it’s silly, but—” ‘You didn’t already have this?” “No?”

The small amount of good humor he’d afforded you hit the floor like a lead balloon and his tone was suddenly very terse. “Why?” “Because I promised you I would?” He threw his hands up causing you to wince. You were a little shocked he didn’t accidentally fling the camera from how instinctual the gesture was. He lowered them when he saw you flinch. “But this couldn’t have been cheap?” He didn’t raise his voice in spite of the clear agitation in his voice or at least disgruntled confusion. Still near whispering which made the fact that you’d bothered him in some way a lot less terrifying than it should have been. You kind of felt like a librarian that told him he couldn’t check out any more books until he paid his late fees.

“I don’t care about that.” You guaranteed, holding your hands up in surrender. Trying to show him you weren’t arguing so much as saying your piece. Though it was still arguing at the end of the day, wasn’t it? You were incorrigible. “It’s just-It’s just money.” Your anxiety made you eek out a nervous laugh saying that in spite of yourself and it did nothing to soothe his consternation. “You don’t care?” “Why would I care about that?” It was a genuine question that he seemed completely boggled by. “None of this,” He waved the camera to give an example, making your guts do flips, it was so expensive “Could have been cheap. You got scammed—” “No.” You put a finger up and to his credit he took being interrupted like a champ, going quiet with a soft huff.

“If you think, genuinely think, that this is all about proving ghosts are real to you then maybe that sweater is too tight in the neck.” It wasn’t, it was so loose at this point you could see his Adam’s apple and where his clavicle started. Stop looking at that. “You wouldn’t chastise me for buying a badminton set, would you? That’s all this is.” You got the feeling he would have chastised you for that too, but that was the generally miserly vibe he exuded. Crane almost seemed like he was buffering on that statement until you added, “It is a bonus though. Proving ghosts are real, I mean.” “Even if you do find something no one will believe you.” Crane actually broke into a miserable frown before saying in a tone that betrayed sadness instead of the anger you were expecting. “Not with me here.”

“Well,” You puffed yourself up and crossed your arms defiantly “I’d rather have you here than anyone else believe me anyway.” That sent him into an odd state of awed confusion, his mouth opened a touch and heavily lidded eyes wide. “Besides, you’re the only person I care about believing me. It’s not like I would do this for anyone else. It’s just us here.” There was a split second where he looked like he was about to throw up, but he choked down whatever emotion that was with a forced cough. Crane held the camera back up with that inscrutable expression right back where it was before your exchange. He didn’t argue, how strange. He loved arguing. Maybe you had won for once? The ex-professor stopped fussing, that's what mattered.

You’d forgotten what you were doing during that. You must have looked lost because he motioned at all the stuff on the table. “Oh! Right, right, right. Anyway, that’s a full spectrum camera. So it should be able to pick up anything we miss. I wanted to get a thermal camera, but I ran out of money. Aahahaa—” He didn’t laugh, but he did smile a little. This time it didn’t look like it hurt. Maybe those little smiles made this whole goofy adventure worth it in the end? They did to you and you’d decided that’s what mattered.

Banner art: DRCL - Midnight Children by Sakamoto Shinichi

#jonathan crane x reader #you x jonathan crane #//.mywriting.//

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