metallic salts

2

etsyfindoftheday 3 | 5.15.17

beautiful textured brass goodies by spicewildflowers

i’ve been looking for a salt cellar spoon for a while (not for me; as a gift — my pal jenny gave me a beautiful cellar-and-moon spoon set for christmas last year!!) and this gorgeous spoon by spicewildflowers may be just what i need! love the texture. it’s the same as the dotty teardrop crystal (or ring) dish too — doesn’t it look a little like a ouija planchette?! both are SO RAD.

Pokemon Offerings and Working With Them Masterpost

Here is a masterpost of items you can put on altars for offerings to pokemon or to work with their energy or with them as guides. This is by pokemon type and compiled from my personal grimoires

Originally posted by paralyzeheals

Fire

Offerings: matches, ashes, candles (especially red), tea lights, LED candles, lighters, charcoal, black salt, cooked foods, spicy things, hot sauce, pepper flakes, black pepper, peppercorn, images of fire and volcanoes, lava lamps, chocolate, hot chocolate, dark roast coffee, fire related herbs like cinnamon, basil, sunflowers, and oak; fire related crystals like amber, carnelian, diamond, and bloodstone; anything red or orange, images of fire pokemon

Correspondences: power, anger, passion and lust, energy, strength, love, purification, courage, competition, victory, destruction and the element of fire

Spell types: burning, smoke cleansing, candle spells, fire elemental; strength spells, courage spells, revenge curses/spells; love spells

Water

Offerings: waters of all types (tap, rain, ocean, river, etc), sea salt, sea shells, beach sand, river dirt/sand, blue candles, ocean scented things (candles, lotion, sprays, etc), crab/crustacean shells, bath bombs and bath products, soap, spray bottles, images of the sea, lakes, rivers, rain, etc; pearls, anything blue, water related herbs like seaweed, lotus, cucumber, and aloe; water related crystals like aquamarine, lapis lazuli and sodalite; images of water pokemon or dive/net pokeballs

Correspondences: peace, tranquility, compassion, pure love (self-love), knowledge, purification and cleansing, emotions and emotional balance, and healing

Spell types: bath spells, spells using water, water elemental spells; cleansing, healing spells, tranquility/peace spells, self love spells

Grass

Offerings: living plants and succulents, leaves, grass, dried and fresh herbs, flowers and flower petals, natural scented incenses, oils and candles (like pine, clove, mint, forest, floral, etc), wooden objects, tree branches and bark, images of forests, meadows, and fields; fresh produce, foods containing vegetables and fruit, herbal teas, fresh water, watering cans, gardening tools, seeds and nuts, planting soil, green candles and tea lights, anything that is green and earthy colors, images of plant pokemon

Correspondences: prosperity, life, learning, youth, growth, the natural world, plants and plant magic, healing and health, luck, material gain and wealth

Spell types: herbal spells, teas, kitchen magick, garden magick, forest magick; healing spells, wealth and prosperity spells, luck spells, growth spells

Electric

Offerings: batteries, copper, wires, electronics, computers/tablets/phones/etc, cds, flash drives, yellow candles, energy drinks, sugar, storm and rainwater, sounds of rain and thunder, images of storms and lightning, LED candles, fairy lights/christmas lights, yellow things, lightning symbols, lemons and citrus, lemon balm, yellow flowers and plants, rice, yellow foods, sour foods and candies, trail mix, energy bars, motivational quotes and images, images of electric type pokemon

Correspondences: happiness, youth, energy, motivation, action, movement, change, power, and friendship

Spell types: storm magick/spells, motivational spells, happiness spells, friendship spells, charging and empowering spells, self-empowerment, energy work

Bug

Offerings: honey, sugar water, soda and sugary beverages, fruit, leaves and greenery, flowers (especially bee friendly ones), hives/wasp nests (safely collected of course), wax/bees wax, yellow and green candles, sweet flowery or fruity scents and oils, spider webs, woven things, braided threads, sewing supplies, quilt work, silk, green and yellow crystals, images of bug pokemon and/or net balls

Correspondences: mending, repair, transformation, growth, life lessons, change

Spell types: knot magic, woven or sewn, mending things, growth spells, accepting change spells; binding spells, curses related to paranoia and anxiety

Psychic

Offerings: purple, indigo and yellow candles; purple, indigo and yellow items; divination tools like tarot cards, divining rods, pendulums, and scrying mirrors; books, writing tools and supplies, art supplies like paints, inks, etc; crystals related to divination and psychic work like amethyst, mugwort, tea and tea supplies, herbs for divination and psychic work like dandelion, fig and orange peels; incenses that relate to psychic and divination work, essential oils associated with psychic and divination work, images of stars, planets, the sky and nebulae; images of psychic pokemon

Correspondences: divination, psychic abilities/work, communication, self exploration, curiosity, knowledge, wisdom, meditation, focus/memory, creativity, inspiration, mysticism

Spell types: divination, psychic work, meditation, dream work, cosmic witchcraft, written or drawn spells, sigil work, creativity spells, inspiration spells, knowledge spells, memory spells, improving communication

Dark

Offerings: black pepper, obsidian, onyx and other black crystals; black candles, storm water and salt, images and representation of the moon and night sky; moonstone, moon water, garnet, herbs associated with cursing like nightshade, rosemary, and foxglove (use caution with poisonous plants), black soil, charcoal and ashes, black ink or paint, glow in the dark objects and items, images of dark type pokemon

Correspondences: the unknown, mysticism, the moon/night, invisibility, peace, silence, banishing, cunning; curses of all kinds

Spell types: banishing and warding, invisibility spells, curses of all kinds, moon and night related magic

Ghost

Offerings: bones, graveyard dirt, apples, pomegranate, necromantic herbs like mugwort, mullein, mandrake and lavender; black and purple candles, skulls and imagery of skulls, crow feathers, dead plants and flowers, dried flowers/herbs, meat dishes, images of graveyards, blood, hematite, bloodstone, red wine, salt and black salt, iron, poisonous plants/herbs (use with caution), pendulum, tarot cards, ouija board, mirrors and scrying mirrors, images of ghost pokemon

Correspondences: death, endings, new beginnings, rebirth, renewal; sorrow, loss, fear

Spell types: spirit work, necromancy, ending things, cutting ties, unbinding, banishing; curses of all kinds, binding

Fairy

Offerings: glitter, sweets, baked goods, fruit, honey, beauty products, lotions, bath bombs, candy, bows and ribbons, nail polish, flowers, flower scented incense and oils, perfumes, mirrors, pink and white candles, gold, jewelry, rose quartz, clear quartz, pink and white crystals, lace, floral print, clothing and accessories, images of the moon, glitter jars, arts and crafts supplies, himalayan pink salt, epsom salts, floral or fruit teas, sugar, molasses, images of friends and loved ones, cotton balls and soft things, beads, pearls, images of fairy pokemon

Correspondences: glamour, beauty, youth, grace, passion, self love, whimsy, wishes, fantasy, friendship and family

Spell types: kitchen magic (especially baking), cottage magic, glamour, mirror magic, bath spells; self love spells, beauty spells, happiness spells, friendship spells, bonding spells, wishes

Poison

Offerings: poisonous herbs and plants (use with caution); willow, elm, mugwort, purple candles, amethyst, tanzanite, any purple crystals, purple things, toxic stones and gemstones (use with caution), iron, needles and sharp things, slime and sludge, lava lamps or glitter lamps, black lights, glow in the dark objects, images of poison pokemon

Correspondences: endurance, survival, emotional balance and strength, patience; spite, cursing, chaos

Spell types: endurance spells, emotional balance spells; cursing of all sorts, hexes, poisoning relationships

Ground and Rock

Offerings: dirt and mud, earth related herbs like wheat, oats, and ash; breads and grains, rice, rocks and stones, crystals related to earth like jade, jet and sandstone; clay and pottery, root vegetables, potatoes, raw metals, sand, brown candles, salt, images of mountains, caves, and canyons; anything brown, images of ground/rock pokemon

Correspondences: strength, endurance, balance, stability, wealth, respect, humbleness, grounding, maturity

Spell types: burying things, grounding and centering; strength spells, wealth spells

Ice

Offerings: ice water, melted snow, snowflake symbols/items, images of winter and snow, winter clothes, blankets, hats, scarves, mittens, blue and white candles, clear and white gemstones like clear and milky quartz, white glitter, silver, pine needles, pine cones, pine incense/oils, anything related to winter, the winter solstice or winter holidays, deer antlers, images of ice pokemon

Correspondences: isolation, shelter, serenity, beauty, grace, snow/winter magic, meditation, sleep, rebirth, new discoveries, cleansing, purification, protection

Spell types: invisibility, cleansing, cottage magic, serenity and peace spells, beauty spells, sleep spells, bringing new things into one’s life, protection spells; binding, freezing others

Flying

Offerings: incense, bells, feathers, imagery of clouds and sky, pinwheels, wind chimes, instruments, music, poetry, light fabrics, cotton, dandelion fluff/seeds, yellow, blue and white candles; headphones, ipods/radios, kites, air related herbs like lemongrass, mistletoe and lavender; air related crystals like fluorite, turquoise and mica; stamps and envelopes, art supplies, books, writing supplies, cameras, photos and drawings, divination tools like tarot cards and pendulums, mirrors, glass, wand, broom/besom, ribbons and string, soft things, bird’s nests, branches of bendy trees, images of flying type pokemon

Correspondences: weather, air element, flight, freedom, music, happiness, joy, divination, travel, discovery, communication, adventures

Spell types: divination, art and written spells, song and music spells, incense spells, weather magic, wind calling, air elemental spells, flying spells, inspiration spells, creativity spells, travel spells, communication spells

Normal

Offerings: bread, cooked meals, rice, quinoa, potatoes, blankets and pillows, home related tools and ‘knick knacks’, images of friends and family, wool, brown and white candles, kitchen tools and cooking supplies, cleaning supplies and tools, besom and brooms, warm scented candles and incense, brown and white crystals and stones, toys, postcards and letters from loved ones, baby powder, tissues and tissue paper, candy and cookies, candy and cookie tins/boxes, images of normal type pokemon

Correspondences: the home and hearth, family, friends, peace, content, nostalgia, memories, comfort, cleansing, warding, protection especially of the family and home

Spell types: cottage magic, kitchen magic, family related magic, friendship spells, protection spells, memory spells, comfort and calming spells, warding

Fighting

Offerings: trophies, sports equipment, outdoor gear, red candles, strong incense and oils, chalk, healthy foods, foods high in protein, vitamins, epsom salts, crystals and herbs associated with power, images of fighting types

Correspondences: strength, power, victory, overcoming foes/tragedies; aggression, anger

Spell types: strength spells, power spells, competition related spells; curses relating to revenger or anger

Steel

Offerings: metals of all kinds, nails, tools, metal containers and objects, gray, silver and gold candles; gray, silver and gold colored objects; chains, wires, tacks, and images of steel type pokemon

Correspondences: defense, protection, endurance, invincibility, self-assurance, self-empowerment, warding

Spell types: protection spells of all types, warding

Dragon

Offerings: cloves, cinnamon, bay laurel, sage, pepper, allspice, sunstone, carnelian, jasper, onyx, obsidian, amber, citrine, glass and glass objects, nuts, meats/high protein meals, beans, wines and alcohol, lanterns and candles, colors of red and purple, depictions of dragons and dragon related objects, dragon scales or dragon scaled items, dice, fantasy novels and books, images of dragon pokemon

Correspondences: dragons, power, nobility, respect, motivation, travel, mysticism, seeking the truth, loyalty

Spell types: draconic magic; strength and power spells, respect spells, self empowerment spells, motivation spells, loyalty spells, learning and discovery related spells

“It’s not looking good, Commander. A full ADVENT platoon on high alert is between us and our VIP. Given our manpower and the enemy’s strength, I don’t think it’s even humanly possible to save our man." 

 "Maybe… Maybe we shouldn’t send a human, then." 

 *muffled THUNKs heard behind the walls* 

 "Sir, if you’re really suggesting who I think you are…" 

"I am, Bradford." 

 *Background THUNKing is getting louder* 

 "This plan is just crazy enough to work. I’ll do my best, but it might take some time to get in contact with them." 

 *A giant Sectopod bursts through the walls, as silently as the moon on water. And the water was in a tidal wave. A silent tidal wave.*

 "Thing is, they could be anywhere right now." 

 <PERHAPS, EVEN RIGHT BEHIND YOU.> 

 "THOR(!) I don’t know how you found your way into the Avenger, but I’m glad you did anyway. We have a new mission for you. One that requires a little wetwork." 

 <DO NOT FEAR, BRADFORD. DISCRETION IS MY PROFESSION. JUST SHOW ME WHERE.>

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rosymamacita

Summary:

Clarke hasn’t gotten to talk to Bellamy at all. She left science island to go to Polis, but the meeting started before she could see him. When he joins the gathering, he won’t meet her eyes, she knows something is wrong.
When it’s over, he grabs her wrist and pulls her into a closet, where they talk, finally, and he isn’t happy with what she’s done. But it’s time to get it all out.

Notes:

this sucker did not want to let me end it and now i’m mad at it. sorry for the awkward summary. here. take it. you deal with it now.

Clarke made it to the conclave before Bellamy did. She was looking for him in the crowd when she got there, but he didn’t show up until after the meeting had already begun. She couldn’t go over to talk to him like she wanted. She saw him, filtering in with Harper and Octavia and Monty. She wondered if Kane had had them on an errand, but there was no chance to ask Kane, standing next to her, before he was already speaking for Skaikru.

Clarke joined in when it was demanded, but for the most part, they only needed her for her presence. The great Wanheda, there to represent the power of Skaikru, dressed in that heavy old coat and her shitkicker boots. But not really doing much at all. Clarke had even managed to add in some semblance of the hairdressing crown they’d always had her wear as Wanheda in Polis. She’d started strong with a french braid at the top of her head, but kind of lost speed with a few more little additions and just tied it off behind her head. She couldn’t be bothered. She still wasn’t sure why she had to go for fancy hair anyway.

Clarke tried to catch Bellamy’s eyes across the hall, but he stood with his feet braced and his arms crossed over his chest, scowling. She thought she would catch his eye a couple of times, but each time she looked over, he was looking away. The muscle leaping in his jaw.

A pit opened in her stomach. Something was wrong. And for the rest of the meeting, she couldn’t get him to meet her eyes at all.

When the meeting finally broke up, and the ambassadors and coalition leaders were milling about, Kane and her mom having serious discussions about things that were just housekeeping and not anything she needed to worry about, a hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her through the crowd.

“Bellamy!”

He didn’t respond, just lead her through the crowd and into the hall and down it into a small room with only a high open window, up near the ceiling, letting in light. The door closed behind them, although she could still see light through the cracks, and hear people passing in the hall.

“What did you do?” He asked, his voice gravelly and dark.

“What?” she shook her head confused.

He raised her arm and pulled her sleeve back up to her elbow, exposing the small bandage still wrapping the puncture mark, and the black veins running from beneath it.

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jihoon; animal impulses.

»  Wilder than lions, louder than sound.
»  Rated PG-13 for brief mentions of blood.
»  696 words; vampire!au.
»  a/n: this is for @versigny, who requested it a long long long time ago. kap, i know you’ve said you don’t really read many vampire fics, so i understand if this one isn’t quite what you’re looking for!! sorry in advance, lol.

Jihoon can smell the electricity of a storm in the air, but rain is an hour off, give or take fifteen minutes, and he can’t justify denying your request for a walk when he knows that accepting will prompt that face you make, the one that’s a bit like looking straight into the beam of a lighthouse. He keeps some faculties attuned to the weather, still listening as you babble, somewhat nervous but more so mindlessly, about your day, though he’s altogether far more interested in how you’re feeling now.

He knows all this by rote: the flood of warmth to your cheeks that radiates a kind of warmth he can barely fathom feeling, the increase in your pulse whenever he touches you, the sweet intentions hidden under your tongue and every one of your stuttered, hesitant words, but the one thing he can’t quite get over is the sound of your heart, a beat so loud that he’d near swear it was wilder than he could ever be, and maybe that’s just him getting old but he can see something there, in the corner of your gaze sometimes, something that puts him on edge, his fangs braced against the skin of his lips.

That uncertainty doesn’t equate to danger, necessarily, and it certainly doesn’t stop him from wanting you.

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You were My Sweetest Downfall (I loved you first)

Ichiruki. Angst.

Special thanks to @sequencefairy for being my beta <3

Summary: AU where Ichigo and Rukia are sent on a mission in Hueco Mundo, things go wrong: their garganta won’t open; they’re outnumbered.

Weekly fic prompt for @deathberryprompts - ‘Dawn.’

640 words.

____________________________________________________________________

Fuck.”

He hisses as they slide out of shunpō and he slams into the cold ground beneath.

She watches him buckle, and spit gore over the stark white underbelly of Hueco Mundo, adrenaline turning her nimble as she slides over, feeling him land with a thud.

“I know,” she says, suddenly at his side, tearing Zangetsu’s binding and securing it firmly around his waist with a groan from him and steely eyes from her. Her reiatsu trembles over his skin.

    “That was c-cold. That was — close.” He pants, the ice in his veins thundering through to his teeth.

“I know,” she says again, and rubs his palms, breathing hot air into the numbing spaces of skin. The light from above infiltrates his vision and blends her silhouette into something stark and dancing, so he grips her wrist.

    “Ichigo,” she says, with a tight grip back.

        “Y-yeah…”

    “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to get you so much in the radius. I told you to move.”

        “I-I know, I know, but your left side was open-”

    “I can handle it.”

He pleads, fingers slipping with blood, and sweat, gliding his eyes up to meet hers. “Not this time. The damn thing was fast, Rukia—” He hisses again, and steals a breath through his teeth as more blood bubbles past their first-aid. It stains the white hilt of Shirayuki, laid beside him, as Rukia presses her palms into his skin.

      For a minute, his heavy breaths mingle with hers.

“Okay,” she says, tinged with panic. “I need you to wait here. I need you to hold on, Ichigo.”

    “What?” he snarls, losing a little more blood with the outrage.


As he refocuses, and props himself up on unsteady palms, he is suddenly hit with how outnumbered they are. He had thought, before, that the fires kindling at the back of his mind had been shinigami (perhaps with delusion), but now, their presence sings Hollow.

    “Oh,” he breathes, marking her skin with copper.

She fixes him with a look, one laden with a please, and the sea, and the day he had let her go the first time. All rain-locked, and absolutely unavoidable. So unfair. It was so unfair.

    “No,” he says, and scares himself with how tightly it breaks the air.

“Yes,” she retaliates, and scoops up Shirayuki, and its sheath, and his heart along with it.

“Rukia,” he whispers, one last time, reaching to grip the base of her Shihakushō as she turns from him, frustration boiling over into a broken sob of:

    “Wait.”

And god, for all the warning cries in her heart, she does. She does. And she leans back down, and presses a fierce kiss to his lips, and it tastes of metal and salt and desperation.

And now turns into a minute, and then two, and - now… it’s just them, and the haunting presence of death over their heads.

    “Stay alive until dawn,” he pleads - begs - through slippery lips and grisly palms and matted hair.

“Dawn-” she chokes on a laugh, and a smile, and anger all at once.

      “You idiot,” she sighs, slipping her grip to his jaw.

(She forgets to tell him that down here it’s just darkness and bleak skies and a moon - that it is as improbable as their survival that something alike would exist… Or maybe, she doesn’t forget at all).

Rukia draws herself upwards with a huge breath, “Dawn.”


Ichigo watches her leave, numb; helpless, and choking on emotions that won’t even pass his lips- and he thinks, not for the first time, I’ll come save you, I will, I will, I will-

    If he concentrates hard enough, he envisions her turning into light.

        If he really tries, he can see the senkaimon opening on the horizon.

            And if he doesn’t try at all, he slips away into a formless darkness.

6

Battle-Goblin’s beloved yet totally underrated bands: Power-ish metal edition

If you’re looking for good, ridiculous (in content, talent, or both) power metal, look no further! I have 6 suggestions that will make your knees quiver.

Elvenking: Power Folk Metal from Italy. Great, very unique voice. Violin out the ass, medieval and Celtic sounding at times. Some epic 10 minute songs. Covered “Heaven Is A Place On Earth.”  

Listen to: “What’s Left Of Me,” “Grandier’s Funeral Pyre,” “Another Awful Hobs Tale,” and “Neverending Nights.”

Unleash The Archers: Power Death Metal from Vancouver! Female singer who can wail like nobody’s business. Recently signed to Napalm Records. Great live energy. The heaviest of all 6 bands. Some background growling. Amazing guitar solos.

Listen to: “Astral Annihilation,” “Daughter of Winterstone,” “The Worthy and the Weak,” and “Tonight We Ride.” 

Twilight Force: Straight up Power Metal from Falun, Sweden. Adventure metal. Swords, dragons, magic. Collaborated with Joakim Brodén of Sabaton on the song “Gates of Glory.” One of the best vocal ranges in metal today. LUTE! Unsheathing sword noises. 

Listen to: “The Power of the Ancient Force,” “Gates of Glory,” “Made of Steel,” and “Enchanted Dragon of Wisdom.” 

Powerwolf: Power Metal from Germany. Male singer who puts some of the world’s greatest opera singers to shame. Werewolves, religion, horror. Blasphemous as fuck. Church organ. Face paint. Satire. 

Listen to: “Sanctified With Dynamite,” “All We Need Is Blood,” “Resurrection By Erection,” “Die, Die, Crucify,” and “Catholic in the Morning, Satanist at Night.” 

Gloryhammer: Power Metal from the UK. The singer looks like Link. Saga metal. Epic stage names. Enthralling story telling. Gorgeous melodies. The closest you’ll ever get to a straight up parody band, though their talent is no joke. 

Listen to: “Tales from the Kingdom of Fife” in its entirety. 

Visigoth: Heavy Power Metal from Salt Lake City. Very good voice. Perfect soundtrack for playing D&D. Fantasy, battle. Slower than most power metal bands, but heavier. 

Listen to: “Dungeon Master,” “Vengeance,” and “Creature of Desire.”


The day L died, Roger didn’t cry because of a detective – he let out a gasp of horror as he checked the phone that Quillsh had given him, meant to notify Roger should L (and Quillsh himself) die. But as long as the timer run down, as the numbers didn’t all reach zero, there was still hope, and the very first night, when the numbers read 29 days and some irrelevant numbers, for the first time, Roger prayed – he prayed that it was just a false alarm, or a bad dream, that Quillsh would come back, smiling like he always did after a successful case, that it would be a test or a faulty device – anything but the death of the man he had loved.


Roger kept checking the phone, waiting for the numbers to disappear or Quillsh to call, waiting for the countdown to suddenly stop and a text confirming that the founder of the Wammy’s house was alive replace it, he even glanced out of the windows to see familiar figures of the elder and the detective standing behind the gate, or perhaps walking closer, or maybe the black car stopping in front of the house – but whenever he did, Roger was met with dread. The numbers kept ticking, no call came, and no figure of the elderly inventor with snow white hair accompanied by the crouching detective came, except in Roger’s dreams – and what dreams they were. The most vivid one, the one Roger dreaded the most, was the one where he was in a church, standing in front of two coffins, one of the black as ebony, full of white flowers that looked like freshly fallen snow, Quillsh resting on them, as if he was asleep, eyes closed and face calm. Roger always woke up, tears in his eyes, hands trembling and desperate plea to whatever god existed – that when he’d look at the phone, the numbers would stop changing, that there would be a call from Quillsh, or perhaps even Quillsh would be next to him, asleep, but breathing and alive, his arms around Roger.

But Quillsh was never there, and the numbers never stopped.


10 days passed, and one of Roger’s plants died. As always, in the evening, after the dinner, Roger carried it into the small forest behind the orphanage and buried it, holding a small, private ritual. Usually he shed a few tears, or just felt a slight heartache when one of his plants died – but this time, for the first time he remembered since his childhood, Roger wept, kneeling next to the small, freshly dug grave – he wept for Quillsh, for L, because he knew that they won’t come back, that it was hopeless, that Quillsh was never going to accept the sapphire ring in his pocket that Roger had wanted to propose with – that it was all for nothing. But still, he refused to accept this, because there was still a chance that they would be alive, that it was nothing but false alarm, right?

Roger clung to that hope, like a human that is about to die from falling clings to a rope, even if the said rope is about to give up, even if there is just one single thread holding it together.


And when 20 days passed, Roger still waited for Quillsh, still waited to kiss these lips that tasted like metal, salt and Earl Grey, still longed for these warm, comforting hands around him, still looked forward to the nights they were going to spend sitting in front of the fireplace, after the children had gone to sleep, Roger’s head resting on Quillsh’s chest or shoulder, still wrote letters… but he never sent them. The letters full of love and longing stayed in his bottom drawer, locked into a separate box, never sent out. And Roger waited, glanced out of the windows and kept watch on the numbers mercilessly going down.


And on the evening of 29th day, as he was about to go to bed, in a fit of rage and hopelessness, Roger threw the phone to the other side of the room and wept for hours, as the realization hit him like a fist – Quillsh was never going to hold him again, he was never going to wake up Quillsh from nightmares anymore, he was never going to play the piano for Quillsh again, he was never going to taste the lips that were like metal and salt, reminding of machines and sea, he was never going to rest his head on Quillsh and feel completely at home again, and there was nothing, nothing he could do about it.


And on the 30th day, when the numbers hit zero, Roger felt a part of himself die with Quillsh.

#4 Blood Play- Dean x Benny

Requested by anon for my kink list!

Warning: Smut, blood play

Word Count: 1700ish

A/N: I have never written this ship before, and I LOVED WRITING THIS. If you are even REMOTELY curious, please read this and tell me what you think!!

The first time Dean offered his vein to Benny, it was because they were being hunted. He wasn’t sure what was after them, wasn’t sure how close they were to being truly dead, but he did know that they had a better chance of survival with his blood coursing through Benny. The blood made the vampire stronger, made him wild and fierce and almost indestructible. So Dean pushed up his sleeve and held his wrist out. “Drink,” he ordered. After one long glance, Benny sank his teeth in.

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Concept: Novakid Fae

Yeah it’s weird but hear me out… Early Novakid ends up on Earth. They’re literally made of starlight and insanely long-lived. Odd moral compass, a tendency not to pay attention to “mortal affairs” (i.e. anything that fails to keep their interest for more than five seconds), intelligent enough to advance their technology to the point that it seems magic to bronze age people… 

Also possibly an aversion to iron, since the magnetism there would screw with their natural magnetic fields, and maybe to salt. I’d imagine metal salts inside the living chemical reaction that forms them would play havoc with their brands. 

And heaven help you if you drink the “faerie” wine. It makes people do very strange things.

2

If you ever feel afraid that no one will ever love you, I want you to think about Good & Plenty candies

I mean, have you ever tried these things? They’re TERRIBLE. They are, without a doubt, the worst candy ever invented. (And in a world where Circus Peanuts and Boston Baked Beans exist, that’s saying a lot.)

The outside is waxy and flavorless. The inside is disgusting black licorice. And the pink ones get their color from a dye that’s a concoction of metal, salt, and the crushed corpses of parasitic bugs. (I’m not even making that up.)

But you know what? Somehow, inexplicably, there are people who love Good & Plenty “candy.” And not just a few people. You can buy these cursed confections in ALL 50 STATES OF AMERICA. That means there MUST be enough people buying them to keep them stocked all over the country.

My point is, if that many people love a candy as foul as Good & Plenty, don’t you dare think for a second that you, who are FAR superior to that white and pink abomination, can never be loved.

You are worthy of love. And plenty of it.

3

So my friend got me mildliners, and i started using them obviously, i’m obsessed with my notes because they’re less neon which is towards my preferences. I’ve also lost track of my 100 days of productivity but that’s okay.
Tomorrow i have a physics summative about magnetics and electricity and i am screwed. And on friday i have a biology essay to submit. On saturday i have a german grammar test in goethe and my birthday party. And lastly on sunday i am free but on monday i have a chemistry summative on acids, bases, salts, metals and organic chemistry

Yandere

Trigger warning for extremely messed up relationships.

*****

Love. Love had become a bane to your existence as you hid trembling inside a closet, just waiting for him to sniff you out.

You knew he would find you soon. It was almost like he had a sixth sense when it came to you.

Every where you went would have him watching you. His eyes would follow you and easily find you no matter how much of a crowd surrounded you.

He was always smiling. A creepily soft smile that one could mistake as tender and without threat. In fact it was that ‘smile’ that had fooled you into trusting him.

His eyes would be warm, but after awhile, you had seen that there was something dead behind his gaze coupled with that faint smile of his that didn’t show any teeth.

To others he just looked like an ordinary boy, to you in the past before seeing what he truly hid behind his eyes, he had been a sweet boy from your class that had always offered to help you with your homework or walk you home from school .

A gentlemanly boy that seemed out of place in your high school full of moody teenagers that worried more about their appearances than their grades.

You had thought he was special and he had proved he was special just short weeks of dating him.

When the first dead boy had appeared in the school’s gymnasium, you hadn’t made a connection. Of course having a classmate being killed and then put behind the bleachers only to be crushed as the bleachers were pushed back into the wall was terrifying.

Students had gossipped for weeks saying that the dead boy had been so badly disfigured and taken apart by the bleachers pushing back on his dead body like an accordion.

It had made you shiver but he, the gentlemanly boy, had been there to comfort you, making you feel safe.

The only thing you had remembered of the dead boy was that on the day he had died he had asked you for a pen when in homeroom.

That was all you remembered of him.

The second dead boy came as a shock because it was a mere two weeks after the first one.

This one was found with his throat slit from ear to ear just a block from his house, or so the gossip addicted students had whispered in the halls.

Ah, you had talked to that dead boy… Once.

He had accidentally bumped into you in the hallway just two days before.

How could you have known?

Your parents began to worry about you going to that school. Sure, the murdered students were boys but they still didn’t want you to go back to school until their transfered you to a school without a growing death toll.

You had cried over the phone to your boyfriend, the one with the sweet smile, and he had been as understanding as you had expected him to be.

“I’ll find a way to keep you in our school, I promise.”

You had gone to sleep peacefully that night, thinking foolish things like your boyfriend talking to his parents to transfer with you or talking to your own parents in order for you to stay.

The smell of metal and a suffocating wetness covering your mouth along with a weight pressing down on your hips was what awakened you later on.

You had opened your fearful eyes widely in the dark, just seeing a shadow inches from your face. You heart was pounding so fiercely, your chest hurt and felt like it was being crushed.

“I took care of everything…,” the soothing tones of your boyfriend should have been comforting if it hadn’t been for him being inside your house in the middle of the night, smelling a nauseating scent of metal and having his wet palm that tasted of a sickening salt over your lips.

The metal and salt was blood.

“Now you won’t have to transfer anymore!” his voice had a manic tremble to his tone despite its cheeriness.

You had only managed to get away because he, in his crazed state, would have never guessed you would scratch at his smiling face.

He was so angry when you rushed out of the room and nearly slipped on the slippery blood spilled in the hallway.

It was so dark but you knew your house better than he did. The new things that were obstacles in your escape were the rubbery wet chunks you tripped over while fleeing.

Nausea made the insides of your throat itch at merely guessing what you were tripping over clumsily in the dark.

You had been so close to the door… He had seen your shadow darting there and you were so frightened you could hear him breathe while watching you trying to hide from him.

He knew you were in that closet. He could always find you even in your shadowy house.

You could hear him panting outside the closet door as your blood rushed through your veins in terror because he KNEW you were there yet he wasn’t opening the door to drag you out.

“I did it all for you…,” he sounded as if on the verge of tears as you squeezed your eyes shut at the eeriness of his voice breaking the silence of your house.

“Why are you running away…?”

Your mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

It felt like an eternity before you stopped hearing his panting breath, heard some rustling and then the front door of your house opening and closing.

When the cops came minutes later, they had found a message written in blood in the hallway outside of your room.

It was an ironic message that almost made you have a fit of laughter. Your parents were dead along with two boys in your school and your boyfriend’s parting message to you was hilarious yet infuriating.

“I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

However… Despite his message, you could still feel his eyes finding you in a crowd or watching you before going to sleep.

No one heard of him again after that, but last week one of your coworkers at the office you worked in years later, a nice man that had opened the door for you, had been found strangled by his belt inside his apartment.

There had been a double meaning to the last message from your old high school boyfriend. He had only said that to hide from the police while in his mind you were still his.

The gentlemanly boy with the kind smile was still around and you no longer had a closet near your front door to hide from him when he next decided to visit you late at night.

anonymous asked:

Finn as a girl?

“Girl” is a designation that belongs to inferior worlds, less ordered schema of the galaxy—you are a trooper, a creature molded from white plasticine and without distinction, a doll (you’ve never had a doll, seen one, but the concept exists in your head all the same, called self-me-I.) When they press a blaster into your hand and order you out into battle, you are still not a girl; you are a thing that pulls a trigger, you are mechanic and purposeful, singular, you are made to shoot. You should shoot

Only, there is a girl in the village. 

She is probably a girl because this is one of those backwater worlds where gender is an identifying designation, where someone thinks of themselves as girl, and not a manufactured thing with an ID number, cobbled together from plasticine parts that do not have any identity unto themselves, and—

(You are a girl too. You know because you both choke on the same grateful sob when you lower your blaster.)

After, Lady Ren will stare at you across a field of bloody sand and fire. You wonder why she has been afforded the distinction of ‘lady’ when it is denied so many others, if Captain Phasma or General Hux are jealous for the awful truth of such a thing. You have watched them, on holos and propos and you have felt the strange tension. (You can be First Order or a girl but not both, a choice between either that strangely still-masculine neutral or the sacrilegious gendered, and so—)

Lady Ren does not say anything to you. She stares, and then she turns away, and your heart pounds beneath your breast, broken somehow, in some way you can’t haven’t been taught to repair, shedding painful radiation like a broken hyperspace drive into your lungs, your gut.

You wake from the moment choking on a breath—and something else, something new.

.

Pia Dameron is everything, and also nothing like you would have imagined of the Resistance. When she grins at you, splitting open the cut on her lip so it bleeds red, so red, she’s the most awful beautiful thing you’ve seen. She wants to die so very badly you can taste it without ever kissing her on her wide, angular mouth, and you are so busy thinking about burying your hands in her hair that you almost miss the part where she names you.

Fiona? she says, and it’s not right, but it’s closer than ‘FN-2187′ ever was. I’m going to call you Fiona, if that’s all right with you.

Yeah, you laugh, because one name is as good as (better, so much better) the other. I like Fiona.

And then you go ahead and hurl yourself into gravity and sand; die screaming with blood (hers, yours, what’s the difference) on the same planet you thought would take you before, and that’s fine, that’s good, because this time you died with a name. Everything else is—

The planet roars up to meet your embrace.

.

(No one’s ever taught you the cruel stereotypes—say what you like about the First Order: in robbing you of any choice, they saved you from some of free will’s ugliness, whether or not you think that a fair trade-off. Otherwise, you might think about this in terms of spreading your legs, getting fucked by fate or the Force. Instead, you have to drag yourself towards civilization, choke down your disappointment and fear with sweat, shielded by Pia’s jacket spread over your neck, your shoulders, the gender-neutral humanism of survival—

of course then you met Rey, and gender neutralism goes out the kriffing window.)

.

Cute—boyfriend? you ask, your voice faltering on the word. You’re not sure how to ask, if that’s something you can ask. You wish you’d paid more attention, when your commandant ranted about Republican gender politics. Most of it had been unflattering, full of scorn and possibly lies, but you need signposts here. Lies would better than nothing.

You can’t get it out of your head, how Rey looked at you when you said you were with the Resistance, her breathless cheer when you shot down that last TIE fighter in that weightless, impossible moment—

You want to make her eyes go warm again. You want her to echo your name again, Fiona, like she did before, her voice soft and small and wondering. 

(No one in the Order ever gave you context for this, like you’re holding a live wire under your tongue, like the first time you dissembled your blaster and reassembled it without looking, because knowing it was inside you. And sure, yeah, they taught you about sex and human reproductive biology but it was theoretical as Imperial politics, abstract.

You weren’t a girl, then. It didn’t apply.)

When you pass Rey the whatever wrench, your fingers brush her wrist. You go hot, and don’t think you’re imagining the sudden flush at the back of her neck.

.

“Here’s the thing, Big Deal,” Hana Solo says, her hand heavy at your shoulder. “Women? We always figure out the truth. Always.” 

You don’t think she means it to be reassuring, but then, you imagine Solo’s always been a woman. You can almost see her, younger, a defiant badge of girlhood like a bruise on her cheek, or maybe between her bared teeth—she swaggers as second nature, so that her hips roll, her chin and breasts thrust out. You can’t imagine her ever accepting anything less.

“Looking forward to it,” you say.

.

Later—much later, after Starkiller and a medically-induced coma and after the drugs have mostly worn off, while she’s trying to distract you from all the awful kriffing pain—Pia will ask you what it felt like, to hold a lightsaber in your hand. To hold the lightsaber of Darth Vader, a creature even the First Order spoke about in whispers.

You say, “Like nothing else I’ve ever known.”

(This has the virtue of being true, and also totally inadequate.)

.

That lightsaber belongs to me!” Kylo Ren snarls across snow, and for a moment—not even a moment, the space between moments—you consider letting her have it. The awful twisted up pain embedded in the hilt of this lightsaber, the howling ghost that was not-a-boy the way you were not-a-girl, just a doll, a thing to be used for others’ ends—

(Someday, Lucy Skywalker will say, my father was born a slave, and it will make sense to you. Someday, you will have strange dreams, and a man with sad eyes will say, I changed masters, but I was always a slave, and you will weep.)

So you do, you almost hold out the lightsaber to Lady Kylo Ren, who seems determined to strip herself of even that, discarding name and face and title and mother until she is no one.

You have been no one. You do not recommend it.

“Come get it, then,” you say, hefting the blade.

.

The homecoming isn’t quite what you expected. You have to hobble out to meet Rey on the durcrete—your muscles are still learning to work with your new biomech spine—and you can quite sweep her into the passionate embrace you’d planned. Definitely, she doesn’t swoon, just sort of…leans against you, tucking her chin into your shoulder.

(Pia lent you her collection of romance holos under the guise of ‘acculturation and deprogramming’. Breathing in the metal-and-salt-sweat of Rey is better than any of the dashing Rebel pilots or swooning heroines you read about.) 

“I missed you,” Rey mumbles into the collar of your uniform. You can feel her mouth moving through the cloth, and you shudder.

“I missed you too,” you breathe. “I missed you a lot.”

“Well, I didn’t miss you at all,” General Organa says to her sister. Lucy Skywalker, last of the Jedi and breathing legend, war hero of the Rebellion, has the decency to look somewhat abashed. “And it’s been over a decade, so if it hasn’t happened yet—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Skywalker says, and the two exchange a look that you imagine only sisters could, too over-full of affection and understanding to use on any other.

You startle a little, though, when Skywalker’s stare turns on you. She looks amused, and you feel your face heat. “So you must be Fiona, then.”

Your surprise must show on your face, because Skywalker grins. “If it’d been just the Rebellion 2.0 stuff, I probably wouldn’t have been in such a rush. But this one just had to see her girlfriend absolutely right now—”

‘Girl’ is a designation that belongs to inferior worlds, you know. But in this one, Rey is blushing and grumbling at Lucy, and the General is staring assiduously at a spot above all your heads, obviously trying not to laugh, and you are here, figuring out the truth of it all.