balmy

anonymous asked:

Concept: harry and the missus pre kids drunk and kissing in the back of the taxi, perhaps its a paris getaway and their staying at a beautiful flat all to themselves and the fun begins

Oh my goodness. 

And they’ve both had so much wine and are so giggly and the kissing is a little clumsy and sloppy. Maybe it’s early summer so it’s just perfectly warm and balmy and it’s still light out even though it’s close to ten at night and there’s evening sunlight streaming in through the back windows, and they’re almost draped over each other. Harry pulls away just so he can press his nose against her neck to smell the sun-warmed perfume on the hollow of her throat. Hands sliding down her sides, cupping her hips, fingertips skimming her thighs as they peek out of the hem of her sundress. He doesn’t have to let his fingers travel any further to know how wet she is already. The cab driver is clearly unperturbed. They must not be the first couple who are drunk and in love in his backseat. 

“You look so pretty,” he slurs against her skin. “Smell pretty too.” 

She smiles, grazing her lips to his, so he’ll nudge his face towards her and initiate another kiss, which he happily obliges to. 

“Yooour pretty,” she whispers. “Pretty eyes. Sooo green in the light.” 

“Are they?” He’s got a smug grin stretched over his lips. 

“Don’t call ya ‘Green Eyes’ for nothing.” Her hand slides up his thigh to palm him  just below the front seam of his jeans, enough to make him whine against her lips. 

He kisses over her mouth and then over the ridge of her jaw and down her neck. “Las’ time we came here, I didn’t kiss ya like this.” He nips at her neck with the edge of his front teeth. “Wha’ a fucking idiot, I was.”   

“Took us long enough, huh?” 

She feels him smile against her mouth. “Gonna make up for it.” His fingers cup under her jaw as he pulls her mouth to his, kissing her deeply. 

When the cab pulls up to the terraced apartment that’s their’s for the week, Harry hands the driver far too much to cover the fare and begins to dig in his pocket for the keys. 

Every light source in the house is outfitted with antique filament bulbs that glow so softly off the pale cream walls and the dark hardwoods. Harry puts on a record that fills up the already quiet room, and draws them a bath in the clawfoot tub that the missus had swooned over,  full of lavender and rose oils and milk. Their fervent kissing has slowed to that which smolders slowly. Lots of fingers grazing across skin as clothes are removed. The taste of wine still heavy on their tongues, breathing deep, but quickening. Harry mouths at her shoulder as he pulls her panties the rest of the way down her legs.

“Look at how beautiful you are.” 

She feels her cheeks grow rosy and warm under his gaze, and hides her face in his shoulder. It feels nice, to stand there holding each other completely naked. Warm, intimate, nothing rushed.  

“Stooop.”

“So fucking lucky,” he coos.

She kisses him then, swirling his taste on her tongue and the softness against her own mouth. 

“I didn’t do too bad either,” she whispers between them, kissing his chin. 

They get each other off in the bath, before soaking in each other’s arms until it runs cold and loses its fragrance. They pull themselves from the tub and lay draped over each other on top of the fluffy duvet in the master bedroom. Harry announces that they indeed had, “Too much wine.” 

The ceiling is made almost entirely of wide panes of glass, perfect for seeing the stars that are just becoming unhidden. They eat chocolates from the shop around the corner and tell each other stories until they fall asleep wrapped up together. 

xx.

Zodiac Ball
  • Aries: The temperature becomes warm, a baby dragon tries to make a swift entrance, but the glass breaks and a chaos begins, giggling and excited, blowing up balloons with scarlet lava, The party has only just began
  • Taurus: swinging on the vines outside, Mother Earth inhales with the trees in the wild, leafy weaved hair sparkling matted with Venus hairspray, held to tradition, its customary for beauty to arrive late
  • Gemini: One young, fresh faced winged creature flitters in following sprinkles of scattered chatter, in a second, it vanishes, and another one appears, contradicting everything the first creature said
  • Cancer: Arriving with suitcases, a girl with half crescent moon eyes arrives at the door, purple lunar dust she doesn't know her age, her chest has freckles like constellations, she said she was looking for home
  • Leo: Light begins peering through the window, a golden haired baby cub face arrives, snapshots flashing through illuminated eyes, crimson hair that falls behind her like a red carpet
  • Virgo: A mental hum sweeps through, in walks a youthful, earthly creature, wings held down to the ground with sewed safety pins, thinking with her eyes as they dart across the ground and sky, her mind impossible to catch
  • Libra: Pan flute music begins playing, and a cloud descends from the sky, translucent and reflective, a creature with a clam necklace and icing sugar for rouge, everybody wants to be friends with her, now the party is fun
  • Scorpio: Nobody noticed with their eyes that a mystifying essence had arrived, but everybody's soul was alerted, because they felt their spirit swamped with a watchful gaze, a ruthless guardian
  • Sagittarius: A balmy, coconut breeze blows through the party, enchanted, fiery arrows are thrown into the dartboard, a creature of many backgrounds and teachings arrives, speaking many languages and decoding secret rhymes
  • Capricorn: From a silver lining in a cloud, delicately crafted snowflakes fall down, a Princess arrives at exactly on time, riding a carriage pulled by unicorns, her name engraved on a plaque on the highest star in the sky
  • Aquarius: A rainbow of illuminated fairy lights beam from the clouds, rain drops of thought fall into your mind, a creature, clear winged and extraterrestrial speaks with every guest telepathically
  • Pisces: Music from seashells play in everyones ear, footsteps are heard from galaxies away, reverent and indefinable, a creature enters with sand webbed in her feet, Neptune dust sprinkled in her hair a teal turquoise dream reaching into the sea
shakespeare aesthetics

romeo and juliet: suburban july. scraped knees, bruised knuckles, blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in a breeze. burning inside. an ill-fitting party dress, a t-shirt you cut up yourself, the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friend’s house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn-looking basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. a eulogy written on looseleaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet: speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half-remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins, books with cracked spines, books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. a big black t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil under your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night: wicker deck furniture. new england summer. big dark sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean, patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. chlorine smell. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love, love for the idea of love, love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar, a crab fisherman with tattoos, a pretty boy with a slackened tie. a light house. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. finger guns. big floppy sun hats. double-speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drunk on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for, hope you weren’t expecting, pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. pool noodles. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth: the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat, the stillness after battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. a sulfur smell. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path, an owl that watches you, a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke. dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now. 

much ado about nothing: the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck, military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch, a pitcher of iced tea. barbecue. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. indian summer. ill-timed proclamations. stomach-clutching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen, a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. camomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you have a home until you’re there. 

king lear: cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lightning, a too-big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red-black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown-out windows of skeletal houses. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes, shutting up, holding your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods, wondering if the gods are listening, wondering if the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream: wet soil/dead leaves smell. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill somebody slipped you. fear that turns to excitement, excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hollow in an old tree. glow-in-the-dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

Ohana

Summary: “Ohana means family. And family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.” Everyone knows that Dan is a Lester and belongs on the family holiday–well, everyone except Dan himself. However, a beautiful seaside walk and a special surprise from Martyn and Cornelia may be just the ammunition he needs to change his mind.

Genre: Pure fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Like 2 swear words but that’s it

A/N: Because we all know there was some soppy convincing needed to get Dan to stay in Florida. Inspired by this ask over @nihilist-toothpaste.
I hope you enjoy!!

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The Earth Signs - Flower Fairies
Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn

The earth signs are shadow dwellers, nocturnal, and guarded by Mother Earth. Three flower fairies dance in synchronistic unison, a tribute to the rhythm of the seasons. Like ancient witches, the earth signs become intimate with nature and its properties. They are in tune with minerals, medicines, and potions. The earth signs have vines wrapping around the mind, typically blooming later in life, displaying the resilience and the beauty of nature itself. Taurus is the petal princess, frolicking with the love and musical creativity of Aphrodite. Virgo nurtures the flower seeds, routinely serving God in service, preparing for astounding spiritual bloom. And Capricorn orchestrates the natural law, upholding the responsibility for all creatures great and small. The earth signs support life and uphold the foundation to which the whole zodiac can ascend from. 

Flower crowns were donned by angels the day Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn were born, a testament to their natural beauty. Taurus is the heiress of the Kingdom of Nature, possessing the creative fertility of Mother Earth, giving form to art and essence. Taurus is ruled by Venus, the planet of love. But the love of Taurus grows deeper than interpersonal relationships. The love of Taurus radiates throughout all of earth and its allure. This is why Taureans love to take vacations to relaxing, even remote locations. It’s so they can hear with all sensual grace the crashing of waves, the song of wind, the rustle of trees. This is existence to Taurus. And they are energized by material, often envisioning creative design with fabric, construction, and artistry. Virgo’s hands are glossed in heavenly gold, and they hold the precious orb of all life, nurturing the Christ Child inside. One of the earth’s most reverent tasks was left to the Virgo, the Divine Mother. She walks on the fresh grass, dipping her toes in the water, waiting for the call to dive, so the fishes of Pisces can rise from her. Virgo is where soul meets body, as the sand and sea of the earth reunites again with spirit, revealing the mastery of godly design and detail. 

Capricorn awakens a sign of mystery, an enigmatic unicorn heading one direction - forward. Capricorn is the guide and guardian of all the land, containing the knowledge of all seasons, processes, and laws. The full flower of all cosmic life comes into form through the hands of Capricorn, sculpted with the lines of the alchemist. Capricorn is confronted with routine crises, like still days followed by vicious hurricanes. She can battle these alone, on behalf of humanity, undertaking major tests to retain her flower crown. The earth signs are always preparing for a hurricane. And they can be very intuitive with weather patterns and howls from the earth, typically reflecting in their great concern for ecology and environmental protection. The earth signs inherit protection of nature, growing daisies in their hearts, worshiping the sun, and bathing in balmy air, frolicking in blossom skirts, surviving in the wild, aloe bleached, sun kissed earth child. 

-C.

[art: Jasmine Beckett-Griffith]

5 Times Pie Would Have Saved the Day in Classic Literature

It is a truth universally acknowledged that pie is beautiful and delicious, and classic novels are full of characters gritting through their complicated, difficult lives. But what if these characters had a heartwarming slice of pie? Things could have been very different…


1. Captain Ahab. Was ever a man more in need of a slice of coconut cream pie? Like the giant whale Moby Dick, coconut cream pie is large and white, but far less likely to induce unholy fury and a life-shattering revenge spree. Plus, Ahab would have to sail to some beautiful tropic isle to obtain the requisite coconuts, and a balmy tropic vacation could only do good things for his chilly temper.


2. Scarlett O’Hara. This feisty Southern belle has demonstrated time and again that she won’t give her heart away easily. The only solution to her inevitable loneliness is a cherry pie as bold, classic, and all-American as Scarlett herself.


3. Dorian Gray. Rich, dreamy, and devilishly smooth. Are we describing Dorian Gray or a chocolate silk pie? You don’t know, and that’s why they’re the perfect match. Perhaps if Dorian had been able to channel the passions of his youth into eating chocolate pies, he wouldn’t have turned out as dark and bitter as a Ghiradelli 86% cacao bar. Just sayin’.


4. Miss Havisham. Jilted at the altar. Left alone with her misery in a rotting home. Surrounded for years by reminders of her thwarted romance. This woman needs some SUNSHINE in her life, for goodness’ sake! No pie is better suited to the task than a cheery lemon meringue. Its pillowy meringue, sunny yellow curd, and buttery crust are enough to make anyone clear out the cobwebs and start spring cleaning.


5. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Look, man. We know you tried. But heading into a proposal with the general game plan of “Insult family, point out her inferiority, bring up class difference, overwhelm her with ardent love” was a pretty poor strategy, all things considered. Imagine how things might have gone over with Elizabeth B. if you had shown up, casually, with a steaming rhubarb pie. You could have told her her that the bold tartness of the rhubarb reminds you of her stinging wit, but that you believe she could also be subtly sweet. Things could have gone so much better for you, Darcy.

But, since you botched the first proposal attempt, maybe you should go practice swimming in the lake at Pemberley. Don’t ask us why.

“hey magnus, i was wondering–”

it was a balmy spring night, just chilly enough that the breeze was slightly biting as it blew through the open doors to the balcony. alec had been in the study for about an hour now. he had told himself he was going to write reports but somewhere along the way that idea was forgotten.

instead he started running his fingers over the spines of all of the books and gathering himself a little pile he wanted to read. the only problem was that he found one that looked really interesting - sporting the name m. bane curling around the spine - but it was in a language he didn’t know and had never seen before. magnus’s books were always his favorites to read so he had been planning to ask him if there was a copy in another language anywhere, but that plan died in his throat the minute he walked into the living room.

because there in between the pillars and couches, magnus was on the floor doing pushups. an hour ago alec had left him out on the balcony honing his magic. when he left magnus had been wearing a grey tank top, but now it was crumpled, discarded on the floor. needless to say, magnus was doing shirtless pushups with the warm lamp light catching on the sweat slicking his broad back. alec forgot he had wanted anything, let alone to ask a question, as he stood there staring with his lips parted.

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Lana Del Rey is… happy? -

“I think I was feeling happy that I was present, and not afraid in a way that I couldn’t enjoy my everyday things,” the musician says of the new record’s title, sat in blue jeans, cross-legged on the floor of a Chateau Marmont hotel suite, enjoying French fries and a Diet Coke on a balmy, breezy Friday afternoon. “I’m the kind of person that really loves those things. Like when I drive, I love every road, and I can’t believe that I’m in L.A. I love the architecture, grabbing a coffee, striking up conversation with the people I encounter. And I hate when I can’t enjoy the little things because in the back of my head I have concerns or preoccupations. So for me, it was that sort of lust for life. It was kind of just about happiness.”

—  Lana Del Rey interviewed by Flaunt Magazine (2017)
9

Happy 48th birthday Cate Blanchett (May 14th, 2017) 

Cate Blanchett has a peculiar relationship to time—to hours, to years. She does not, for example, know how old her mother is. “I guess if I analyze it I could work it out in relation to my own age,” she says, “but it’s a piece of information that my brain won’t let me compute.” At another point, we get to talking about answering machines, back when they still had microcassettes in them, and when I pinpoint the year I rst bought one as 1988, she says, “That recently?” So it should come as no surprise that on a balmy night in late October, when I’m supposed to meet Blanchett at a theater in southeast London, she is late. - Vogue, January 2014 USA

How to Change a Fuqboi (Hoseok)

Word Count: 3,912

Loosely inspired by the song “Fuqboi” by Hey Violet and “Not My Type at All” by Jacob Whitesides

Rated M (language and like REALLY REALLY suggestive sh!t yo 😂)

Originally posted by ultranicolet

How To Change A Fuqboi

Volume 1: Happenstance (Jungkook)
Volume 2: For-Getting His Attention (Jimin)
Volume 3: Bonding and Binding (Taehyung)
Volume 4: One and Done (Yoongi)
Volume 5: Unintentional Liar (Seokjin)
Volume 6: To Be Loved (Namjoon)
Volume 7: Checklist (Hoseok)

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

Step 1) Pay attention to first impressions*

After a little…thinking time, I have decided to write this last volume in sight of the fact that there is something we failed to discuss earlier.

In the words of the great poet William Shakespeare, “Some are born as a fuckboy, some achieve fuckboy-hood, and some have fuckboy-hood thrust upon them.” Okay, yes, I changed it a LITTLE. But that’s beside the point. In this volume, we will be addressing the third version, those that have “fuckboy-hood thrust upon them” which I will henceforth reference as a “convert.” Often times, these are guys who have experienced emotional trauma in a romantic relationship, but instead of working toward a healing resolution, they will compensate by seeking comfort in… something else.

Jung Hoseok, a name that anyone- nay, EVERYONE in the Middle Earth dormitory has heard.

Jung Hoseok, the dancer, the straight A student, the part time waiter in the university’s only sit-down restaurant.

Jung Hoseok, the most notorious fuckboy on campus.

See, rumor has it, he keeps this list, a LITERAL list. It has no title and no explanation, but neither is ever really necessary. It only consists of names…about three hundred of them, though the general consensus stands that slightly more than half are crossed out. And let’s just say it’s not because he’s handing out party invitations.

So obviously, when you moved into your Middle Earth apartment, having transferred over from another university, within the first two days you knew who he was and that you should stay the hell away from him at all costs.

You want NOTHING to do with Jung Hoseok.

It’s not that he’s trouble, because let’s face it, you are NO stranger that word in any sense, but rather your avoidance of him has everything to do with how you first met and what he said to you. Or maybe what he didn’t say.

The empty carton of cigarettes stares back at you with a vengeance, the last one poised between your fingers.

By now, one would think you’d learn to keep a reserve, but NO. You let your vices eat you alive and then cyclically get angry when you neglect them out of laziness. You shrug, skillfully flicking on your lighter before letting the tip of the flame kiss the edge of the cigarette.

Fine. Whatever. Learn nothing, that’s okay too.

Taking a thoughtful drag, shifting your position at the base of the tree, you pull out this quarter’s class schedule and the campus map to look them over one last time instead of watching students pass between small dormitory buildings, meeting neighbors, greeting friends.

As you have or desire neither, you devote your attention to the paper, pretending to be thoroughly interested in wherever the hell “Science Lecture Hall B” is located- especially as some boy decides that out of ALL the decorative trees to sit under, he’ll be occupying the space under YOURS.

“You know this is a smoke free campus, right?” he deposits his book bag beside the trunk, looking at you like you just killed a man.

You arch an eyebrow, unsure whether to be irritated or curious, “You know I don’t actually care, right?”

“Great, because I don’t either,” he laughs at his own bad joke, taking a seat and stretching out his legs. You’ve got to admit (or I’ll force you to), he’s a little attractive with his bright smile, tanned skin, lean frame, and dark, feathery hair- but oh GOD is that a choker?

“Fantastic,” you smirk before taking a long drag and blowing the smoke right into his face, hating the burning, but loving the coughing fit your new companion bends into.

“Was that…really necessary?” he bats at the air, action so (possibly unintentionally) comical that it makes you laugh. The boy seems to take this as the go-ahead to continue, “You got a name?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?” you’re more amused than anything at this point, ego being stroked fervently by his insistence on finding everything you say hilarious. You want to believe your interactions are reluctant, but the smile on your face as you tell him your name says otherwise.

He extends his hand for a shake and you’re one hundred percent ready to accept the greeting until he says, “I’m Hoseok. Jung Hoseok.”

“Oh.”

You immediately retract, having skimmed the skin of his palm, watching him now with a look of disgust. His smile falls.

“Did I do something wrong?”

You stand, shoving your schedule into your bag so haphazardly that it audibly crumples, “Don’t think I haven’t heard your name before. I know what you are.”

“What I am…?”

You decide to not grace him with an answer, opting instead to walk away. But the persistent boy follows.

“Wait, what do you mean? I don’t understand.”

If your roommate hadn’t warned you about him, you might think Hoseok is actually upset by your leaving, rather than simply pining for attention. If your name is on that notorious list of his, you want absolutely nothing to do with him- a thought that I encourage enthusiastically.

You drop the cigarette, stomping on the smoldering end until satisfied, words gruff, “You don’t NEED to understand. Now, unless you have a pack of smokes that you want to share, we’re done here.”

*Elaboration: first impressions are not always correct and should not be used to judge the ENTIRETY of a person, but rather your impression of them should based in what they do to maintain a good image or repair a bad one.

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anonymous asked:

describe how each high school year by semester went for you

9th grade: We don’t call it a play date anymore, it is hanging out, hanging by our toes like wet lipped fruit bats, like jungle gym monkey kids. Young and swollen. Blood, immature blood, pink blood, fresh meat blood pepto bismol up the wazoo, and spit under my bed. Code names aren’t for spies, they’re for 14 year old girls with googley eyes, not that we needed them. Kevin and Grace, Ellie and Joshua, Paloma and Matt which is weird because I’m hot for him, and they kinda look like siblings. Pink shorts, black tights, Jimmy Eat World, pizza bagels and lucky charms under a fresh white linen morning like detergent sealed crust between my eyelids, you tore them open. I mean, not yet. But soon. I discover neon sex scenes, Sky Ferreira, and Skins and this is where the final hopscotch box stops; at the end of the subway platform. This is where I’m supposed to jump. Monkey balls fall on our heads as we walk home, and autumn leaves crunch like drum line snare beats. All godless girls with snakes and cherry lollipops and 9 millimeters pointed at our clits, Bend it Like Beckham under your itchy wool blankets, Alice’s mom thinks I’m cool, and I stay for dinner and crack some risky jokes like a fox among wolves. (I think he looks at me when I look away). Me and Hana FaceTime I take screenshots of her dancing with her cat. The girls who play soft ball in short shorts, the girls who call them sluts, the boys who watch. We dance through rainbows in the sprinklers on the way to the Homecoming dance and pretend we don’t care we don’t have dates. We’re floating in the cytoplasm, floating on the cotton candy overdose cause our parents drop us off at the bowling alley but we are too loyal to sneak out the back. We pool our money every Friday after school for the spring break road trip we’re going on when Hana gets a car, and one of us has lost our virginity, and none of us are scared of the dark.

Miss Budd yelled at me for not standing for the pledge of allegiance, and I was 4 years old again. My English teacher held me back, and held my hand, and gave me a safety pin for my missing button, and told me it would be. Okay.

10th grade: We were on the news that year. Cristo’s curls on KTLA, solemn, and not the boy cross eyed and high with his pants around his ankles. Suddenly we’re all standing up straight, suddenly we’re being told we can’t wear leggings because somebody posted a video of Penelope having sex with Max on Facebook. Suddenly we’re underground in the girls locker room (red varsity knee socks, Dina drowning the spider nests with Victoria’s Secret rose perfume, humid with shame and lesbian suspicion) holding our arms in front of our naked breasts, single file like ants for the syphilis test. The boys who drew penises in fire and salt on the soccer field grass, like druid frat boys, but not the boys who put gorilla glue in the classroom locks, and not the boys who wrote their hit list in the red pen on the back of Mr. Chan’s syllabus and ended up in court, who called in a bomb threat, just to get the test pushed back. We all took turns getting our ghosts exorcized in the principals office. It was pompeii and pandemonium, and nobody was safe, not even us girls sleeping wrapped in the dust of library encyclopedias. You moved away from me like I was illiciting the restless black dreams on your grandmas shitty air mattress. The sheets are clean enough, but this attic is haunted, you keep waking up in the middle of the night to your body sinking like a pirate ship caught by the Kraken, the floor gnawing at your bones again so you just. Got up. And slept somewhere else. My English teacher held me back, and told me I was a good writer but don’t be so angry, and I cried right there, and she gave me a kleenex from her Shakespeare tissue holder and I blew this stupid pain head first out of my nose. I never told you about that. Maybe if I had you would’ve felt bad for me and stayed a little longer. But you hung out with those buckwild kids under the spot by the willow tree, and it was easy. it was just snuffing out an annoyance. A mosquito licking the ruby of your earrings that you shooed away. Our birthstones were both rubies, you know, we were twin cancers with balmy skin and busted appendixes, the aliens took you once and the only explanation was a scar on your spine, and I reckon I should’ve known they’d come back for you.

(You are gonna tell your kids about these cherry cola years of golden suburbia, and midnight blue debauchery snapping teenage knees, and furrow your brow forgetting the name of the girl you spent the first two calling your best friend.) You cheered at football games. You got drunk with them at night, and you were bursting and missing teeth like a watermelon smile, you rubbed up against each other like cats they touched you in all the right places and you didn’t text me anymore. You went to sleepovers and posted photos on Instagram, I wasn’t invited, I thought this bullshit was supposed to stop happening in elementary school. All the things we thought would never happen, lockdown drills, fire drills, earthquake drills and we still weren’t prepared. It was. Pandemonium. It was. Chemical fires in Mr. Dow’s science class. And me and my plans were just. so fucking boring standing next to your cherry blossom hurricane. You didn’t wait for me after class anymore and I just. Looked so stupid trying to catch up. Blood, mature blood, cows blood in the manure for the roses to eat. Black blood, like storm sky, I dish out this milkshake I pick the scab and I lick the blood away. Thomas comes out and dubs himself the gay cliche, we walk home together on the yellow brick road, and we pray a tornado will land the school library on our corpses so we can die with those sparkly shoes on. Those ruby shoes on. The Fates gagged me with a pack of jolly ranchers. I got straight A’s while Rome was falling. Nobody has ever made me feel so small.

11th grade: New school. The kids talk different here. Depression in California is like getting a cold in mid-July. So ironic it’s almost insulting. I’m pretty sure it was raining all year, but don’t count on it, I lived sub-terrestrialy with my mothers tulip bulbs. Today’s Wednesday? I thought it was Friday? I thought yesterday was Sunday? Depression in California is like running after a rabbit in the woods. It doesn’t matter how sunny it is, you will suddenly look up and it’s night, and the trees are not your friends, even when they are as skinny and shaky as you. You will get stuck in the swamp, leave your shoes behind, and not even remember why you were out here in the first place.

Headache. Stomach ache. Lots of those, those are easy to fake. Menstrual cramps, vomiting, gut wrenching, kinda vomiting. A personal favorite. I got to get my hands dirty for that one, I got to reach for the gag reflex like a remote control and press fast forward and feel my arc capsizing, until the static buzzed and I was pale like southern gothic tragedy, I’m not bulimic I just don’t wanna go to school. Depression in California is like an abandoned zoo. Everything echoing animal shrieks. They set them free but the cages were empty long before that. I make some friends, nice ones who laugh at my jokes, and I feel like I should get a sticker for it, but I do more nervous shaking than laughing.

Depression in California is like a badly maintenanced carnival. We’ve gone around the ferris wheel 8 times now and nobody seems to notice. The cotton candy polluting my blood, running slow and globby while the kids below spin, the kids drop, the kids could die, but they just giggle hand in hand with smiling clowns who pump them full of teeth rotting sweets, the winking lights are blurry this far away, and it feels like eons before we’ll get back to the bottom. I’m out of tokens. I think I’m just gonna jump.  

12th grade: Trump won. I think I might like girls. My dad jokes about his own death so I know what it means to be angry now, like femurs forged from the goddamn ring of Isildur. Is this what’s normal now? Fucking boys who are oil slick and easy living, and lose my socks in their dorm rooms? Meet them for diner food and xans on the weekend, and everything just temporary? Is that just what everybody wants now? My brother got a green card marriage, but I guess he loves her for real now. We watch the Walking Dead until the streetlights glaze over our eyes, he asks me if I have a boyfriend, no. If I’ve had any since I last saw him, no. If no is my favorite word, yes. Thing is I’ve never been anyone’s girl cause I’ve got a volcano where I should have a stomach. I know what it is to live on the red planet. But I ignore all that and go to concerts that bleed beer and swoon for boys who drink the blood. I guess we’re used to falling off of things so we do it on purpose now. It’s not over but I know how it’s gonna end. Cracked skull, and police lights. And to the break of dawn on Brandon’s roof, boxers stained with mayonnaise, and Deadpool is probably his favorite movie or some dumb white boy shit like that. I’m not gonna cry when I leave for college, I’m gonna cry at the car rental watching the sun bleed out on the trees. I’m gonna cry in the knothole of an oak tree, hiding from the freshman mixer party in the woods I knew I shouldn’t have come to once the social anxiety starts clawing up soaked in the gallon of strawberry Crush I downed to calm myself down. You know, in some other parallel universe, my parents never divorced and we dispute where the sugar pantry should be at inopportune times, and I don’t straight jacket myself with the echoplex sound of my mother screaming over my dead body just to not inhale the chlorox under the sink. I was so bloody, I just wanted to be clean.

I thought it was like the 80’s, the rusty exhaust pipe of Matt’s car turning the snow black while he’s wasting time daydreaming of my piston pumping sloppy hips, and rumored things that happen in the backseat, and kicking cans in no particular direction, and first love sticky and first love stabbed into your kidney and you never really recover. I thought it was sixteen candles, and say anything, but it’s getting bloodshot squirrelly smoking hash in the disabled bathroom stall. It’s a personality disorder grown up from the ground like a mushroom that is poison to the touch, and thrown away birthday presents, and valentines day balloons stuck in the trees. It’s dropping the last slice of college acceptance celebration cake on the floor for your dogs breakfast, and cartoon rain puddles for eyes talking about how scary it is to drive on the freeway. Karina and Maddie rough housing like pit bulls in fifth period cause we don’t do shit in that class and pretending that we are not all gonna be strangers in 6 weeks before we. Before we. Please don’t make me say it out loud.

My English teacher held me back, and told me to make up the quiz I missed, and that was the only time I will ever be happy that some strangers just stay that way. And Daddy, I will miss you when you leave me, and Daddy I will meet you in the next life you just gotta wait for me ok?

I am not the kind of girl people have crushes on. I am the kind of girl who can survive 18 stealing food from parties, couch surfing, living like a lightning bolt. There one minute, and gone the next.

“Nesta Archeron, I would like to take you to bed,” Tarquin said.

“You know I have a mate.”

“Yes, I know. And where is he now?” He stroked a dark knuckle down Nesta’s cheek. “You’ve been in my court for three months now. You’ve mentioned him once and that was it. He hasn’t yet come looking for you.”

Nesta closed her eyes, then opened them to stare at the dark water below, sparkling with the lights from the pleasure barge. They stood on the back end of the boat. It was warm and balmy, but a slight breeze kept them cool.

She had no idea where Cassian was. What he was doing. The last time she’d seen him was that night in Velaris, on her mother’s death day when…

She didn’t want to think about what it’d felt like to share her body with her mate. To share his body. Didn’t want to think about how long she’d laid in an empty bed knowing he wasn’t coming back.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Tarquin said quietly.

Nesta shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know what I want,” she lied. Nesta knew exactly what she wanted. It was hundreds of miles away probably drowning at the bottom of another bottle. And who was she to judge? She’d left soon after they’d slept together and fled to the only court she knew he couldn’t get into. Told them all it was to avoid the harsh winter of Velaris. But really she was hiding from him, from what they should have been, but never would be.

She was a coward.

And she was lonely. So unbearably lonely.

She turned to Tarquin. His blue eyes swam like ocean waves. “I can’t offer you anything more.”

He smiled and stroked his knuckle down along her cheek again. She leaned into the touch. “I know,” he said gently. “I’m not asking for anything more. I’m just asking for tonight.”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Okay.”

[End Dark Paradise - pt 4] [pt. 1, 2, 35, 6, 7, 8, 91011, 12]

“There’s no relief, I see you in my sleep, and everybody’s rushing me, but I can feel you touching me.”

Catchprases masterlist

These catchphrases for ACNL villagers were collected on tumblr, contributors can be found at the bottom of this post. Remember not to capitalise catchphrases or add punctuation marks as the game takes care of this, according to wherever the catchphrase will show up in a sentence. However, do capitalise greetings and use punctuations marks in greetings unless you don’t want any.


Catchphrases for any villager

kweh / kupo / booper / ya know / your majesty / I guess / in America / in bed / ba-bang / nifty / cool beans / hella / pumbloom / *pees* / marmalade / darling / dear / sweetie / sweetheart / honey / love / imagineer / human / robot / friend / jeaaaahhhh / I’m lying / yes? No? / okey dokey / OK / I say / you see / you know / sugarcube / YOLO / TL;DR / orz / *censored* / in-game / …help me / [hiccup] / mean it / not again / why me / shut up / stop that / hmm… / yeah / ugh / you’ll see / dear / partner / bonjour / so funny / so sad / hon hon / no worries / gotcha / you cutie / go away / come here / mind you / same / so what / me, too / my child / golly / stay safe / take care / sniff


Catchphrases for normal villagers

dear / dearie / puddin’ / pumpkin / sweetie / mhm / mittens / sweet tart / honey / darling / heh / tea time / nutmeg / yippy / verily / books / hun / baby / :3 / kiwi / mango / plum / papaya / love / sweetums / love dove / balmy / doodles / breezy / ahaha / cupcake / hehe / nyah / if I may / lovely / my friend / my love / o-okay / flower / oh my / sweetheart / buddy / precious


Catchphrases for peppy villagers

yeah / girl / goof / sunshine / weirdo / for sure / lmao / like, yeah / omg / LOL / girl power / shiny / totally / totes / like OMG / y'know / yay / notice me / :3 / pudding / jeepers / doll / bonbon / zippy / sunny / rosy / hoorah / boosh / cutie pie / yayzies / boop / yo / hooray / my fan / aha / twinkle / sparkle / ta-da / teehee / bestie / [sings] / and like / much wow / wow / aww snap / superduper / sugar / silly / like / hm? / sugarbear


Catchphrases for snooty villagers

wow / peasant / dear / floozy / wild one / posh / darling / hrmp / oh dear / babe / um / hipster / fancy / fancypants / mrrrow / dawling / kisskiss / darling / dearie / sweetie / hey bby / #tweet / #selfie / my pet / dahling / belle / capiche / la-di-da / cheeky / swanky / uppity / ugh / right / honey / fancy / you wish / my pet / quite so / whatever / sweetheart / mon dieu / hmph / ridiculous


Catchphrases for uchi villagers

lil sis / son / pumpkin / sweetie / dude / lovely / sister / friend / aw yeah / maaan / sugar / little sis / mm hm / girls / sis / bro / awesome / dude / hey bby / hun / yeah yeah / yeah right / whatever / junior / dainty / precious / foxy / nifty / nimble / friend / sugar pie / kid / cutie / gotcha / am I right / cuz / dudette / sweetie / twerp / uhh… yea / 10/10 / neh


Catchphrases for cranky villagers

ugh / punk / darn it / lass / sprout / child / ugh… / you kids / urgh / sweet / dagnabbit / durnit / you child / tch / kiddo / who am I? / ech / Billy / ya jerk / get lost / snappish / maroon / huff / tart / crabby / surly / seriously / grumps / kiddo / youngster / boss / NOT / …I guess / MWAHAHAHA / suck it / or else / human / nyeh / hmph / [sigh] / munchkin / buddy / whatever / shut up / my head / sigh / I hate it / you baby


Catchphrases for jock villagers

booya! / dork / goof / speedy / hiyah / woah / crunch / hup-to / coach / teammate / mate / bud / guy / bam / 10k / carbs / champion / frat boy / you’re it / let’s race / T-DOWN / GOAL / football / sportsball / notice me / d00d / dude / brah / bruh / bro / dude man / player / rookie / pro / champ / tiger / lifting / exercise / energize / homie / get wreckt / ten-hut / ba-BOOM / *fistbump* / nerd / yo / rock on / yahoo / c'mon bro / up top / level 100 / brawler / *sweats* / carry me / snot


Catchphrases for lazy villagers

yessir / yawn / snooze / snore / munchie / drowsy / pip / snuffle / hmmm / mhmm / …yawn / I guess / *rumble* / FOOOD / peach / apple pie / tart / yum / yaaawn / biscotti / biscuit / cake time / snack time / let’s eat / milk bone / I’m hungry / *burrrp* / narf / word / mkay / mmm… / …zzz… / drowsy / toddle / truffle / dreamy / or whatnot / cookies / I’m sleepy / hrm? / mm'kaay / sluuuurp / duuuude / never mind / yo / snug / ehh jk / feed me / snoozer


Catchphrases for smug villagers

lol no / zoink / honey / babe / darling / m'lady / mistress / my liege / princess / my queen / my king / friend / dear / haha / fabulous / I say / sure / howla / chicky / hottie / woah dude / call me / notice me / #selfie / hey bby / m'dear / yessir / wise-guy / righteous / alright / cutie / heh heh / romantic / huehuehue / what, what / indeed / guvnor / says I / bien / eheh / my friend / believe it / told ya so / bonjour / starlight / love hurts


Animal themed catchphrases & greetings

Bears: cubby, roar
Birds: chicky, cluck yeah
Cats: me-wow, purr purr
Chickens : chicky, cluck yeah, cluckin’ a
Cows: partner
Cubs: roar
Dogs: growl, woof, bark
Ducks: quackers, duckyeah, quackowsky
Frogs: (greetings: Frogget about it.)
Goats: baah
Hamsters: squeak, squicky
Kangaroos: mate, matey, crikey, blimey, g'day
Koalas: mate, matey, crikey, blimey, g'day, eucalypbro
Mice: squeak, squicky, gouda, cheesy (greetings: Gouda see you!)
Octopi: inkling
Penguins: ice cold, sugar cube
Rabbits: thumps, flop (greetings: What’s up, doc?)
Squirrels: squeak, squicky
Tigers: growler
Wolves: growler

Greetings with fitting catchphrases

Get off my lawn & ugh (for cranky villagers)
Don’t talk to me & goodbye
Good to see you / I was worried!  & I hate it!
Howdy & partner
Got any food? & I’m hungry
Zappity Zap Zap & pachirisu (for Static)
Judge & witness
Honey & sting
Hey there & sugarbear
Sweet meet & sugar cube
Don’t hurt me! & ouch


THEMES

Dessert/sweets theme
Catchphrases: snickerdoo / chocochip / jellyjam / meowringue (cat) / mooringue (cow) / creamsicle / lebkuchen (wolf; they always struck me as German-ish!) / sconesie / cinnaroll / honeybun / frostings / cuppycake / maraschino
Greetings: Snickerdoodleoo (chicken) / Chocochipper / Sugar'n spice

Alcoholic beverage theme
Catchphrases: mojito / cider / bubbly / bourbonne (specifically I have this for my snooty cat Monique as she seems French to me) / icewine (penguin) / amaretto (squirrel) / duckquiri (duck) / fruitini / baileys / sangria / sherry / kahlua
Greetings: Prost (wolf) / bottoms up / cheers



CONTRIBUTORS – thank you all so much!

katieshmatie, ar-te-mi-s, subliminal-asshole, bluesodacrossing, mayor-merlot, oaktincans, delilah-crossing, lasershield, kakkuja, faylian, kastrokingdoms, smokeyapaloosa, thestaticstalker, alwaysactually, mayorakito, jerseydevilapologist, mayor-brandy, mayorette, possibly-devon, pkmn-trainer-olive, ferotton, amibrazen, ifsbuttsandmeco, peppy-villager​, skye-crossing, pinkpeonii, aisemicr, mayor-jenn, crossingsnivy, elegant-mushroom, dordt-animal-crossing, shoujokay, miss-mismagius, webcomixwastaken… and several anons, thank you too!
Also thanks to rabbityfur who helped clean up the catchphrases.

I took the liberty not to include offensive catchphrases (explicitly sexual ones, ableism, (sexist) slurs, Japanese ones and AAVE). You are of course free to use the latter two if you’re Japanese/black but I didn’t want to support cultural appropriation with this list.

Texas Gothic

- “Remember the Alamo,” people say. They glance toward the horizon with fear in their eyes and plan their yearly pilgrimage to San Antonio.  The Alamo does not like to be forgotten.

- The lake is not natural. It was built as a reservoir, everyone says, but when you go out on your cousin’s boat, you always see strange movements in your wake. In summer, when the water level drops low and lower still, bare branches reach from below the surface, strangely twisted and contorted. The lake lodges close down. Your cousin puts his boat in storage. No one mentions that there are more branches this summer than last. No one mentions how they move even when there’s no wind.

- Each winter, the Northerners come, driving in by the dozens from Michigan and New York and Oregon, even Canada. “We’re getting too old to brave the snow,” they tell you. “It’s so warm here! Such balmy weather. You must love living here year ‘round.” They look somehow thinner than they were when they arrived, eyes fever-bright and fingers twitching nervously. “Such nice weather,” they whisper. “So warm.”

- “Everybody’s somebody in Luckenbach,” proclaims a T-shirt in the back of your closet. You have never been to Luckenbach, and neither has anyone you know. The shirt hangs there as a reminder: someday Luckenbach will call to you, and you will not be able to resist.

- It is fifty degrees out and everyone you pass in the street is in heavy winter gear, as though their skin feels a chill that the thermometer doesn’t register. 

-  In the night, you hear gunshots. “It’s okay,” your mother says. “Just dove hunters.” You  know it’s not dove season, but you go back to bed anyway. It’s better than thinking of alternative reasons for the gunfire.

- After a day of excruciating heat, the skies open and rain pours down. At first, you’re delighted, but as the rain goes on and on, you start calling family members to make sure they’re on high ground. The rivers rise and flow over the roads, dividing the town into a series of islands, and still it rains. There’s a dip in the road at the entrance to your neighborhood, and it fills with water. You count your canned foods and check the weather-proofing on your doors and windows. It is still raining. You no longer remember what dry ground looks like.

- You pass a recent roadkill on the highway. In the split-second glimpse you get of it, it seems too big for a deer. There are too many limbs. A high-pitched ringing starts up in your ears and you quickly look away. When you drive past the spot again later that day, there’s nothing there.

- “Texas-sized,” says the 64-ounce cup you bought at the gas station. “Texas-sized,” brags the diner about its burgers. “Texas-sized,” whispers your neighbor, pointing out the tracks in your lawn. They look like coyote tracks, but they’re ten inches across.