say no to catnip

jblackcz  asked:

Do you have any tips for good marichat fanfics?

Sorry it took so long to respond, but I was looking through my bookmarks and subscriptions to make this list. But it’s finally here: a list of some my favorite Marichat stories. Some very popular, some not as popular, but wonderful. In no particular order, except the first one.

MARICHAT REC LIST

Ne Me Quitte Pas by @imatrisarahtopsn - This was the fic that sold me on Marichat, for its slow burn. It is so cute, and Chat Noir is so sweet with Marinette. Also funny and has my favorite akuma name: Cafiend (it’s been almost a year, and I’m still not over that XD) Completed.

Broken Hearts Club by @frostedpuffs - Marinette and Chat Noir get rejected by their respective loves and end up in a strange friendship with whom they rejected. This story is so beautiful and has wonderful characterizations, it is one of my current favorites. Ongoing.

A sure thing by @baneismydragon - Part of a series, but it can be read as a standalone. Kind of Adrinette, but mostly Marichat. Where Chat Noir makes a bet with Marinette for her to confess Adrien. Only two chapters long, and super adorable! Complete.

Wait, what? by @khaleisey - Volpina switch, with Marinette being the illusion. This is just a funny one-shot reveal. A quick must read. Complete

Plant by @foolish-idiot - It’s basically a metaphor of the growth of their relationship, and it is beautiful. Short, but so worth the read. Complete.

Quiet Ice, Silent Nights by @thelastpilot - A winter fanfic, where Chat Noir sees Marinette ice-skating in the dead of the night, and later decides to help her for a competition. It’s beautiful, and is even more beautiful when you read it with the piano song linked in the story. Complete.

Drunken Confessions by @my-insanity-is-an-artform - Based on the tumblr prompt ‘I like someone else’. While everyone else did angst, this genius here made drunken comedy gold in a one-shot. Completed.

The Purrincess and The Chat by @sinnamon-toast-chat - This is cuteness with hilarious internal monologue, courtesy of Adrien Agreste. I like this one in particular for its characterizations. Completed.

Stray Chat by @pozolegirl - Roomate AU, where Marinette has no idea Adrien ran away from home, but knows she has Chat Noir for a roomate. Funny, cute, and just wonderful for so much more. A must read. Completed.

chat noooo by @imthepunchlord - Chat Noir gets high on catnip. That’s all I need to say. Complete.

On The Prowl by @ghostgirl19posts - Criminal Chat Noir AU. No miraculouses, where Chat Noir is a cat-burglar, but is not as bad as he seems. Ladybug shows up later in the fic. Really, it’s a lot of fun to read. Complete.

When Duty and Desire Meet written by @midnightstarlightwrites and illustrated by @edendaphne - Older Chat and Reverse Crush AU. Not only is it wonderfully written, but the illustrations are gorgeous. A very unique experience and a wonderful collection of interconnected one-shots. Ongoing.

That’s all I got for now. Reminder that these are Marichat only. For other stories, I would need to make a different list. But these ones are some of my favorites from this side of the love square.

Happy reading!

Untitled ficlet: Dean gets magically whammied

Spell’s incomplete when it gets tossed at Dean by the witch to try and slow him down, leading to only Dean getting affected, and to him ending up with the ability to scent people like something out of an urban fantasy novel.

Since Dean’s not hurt, they aren’t too worried by it- even if Dean tends to follow Sam around or even get mad because “Fucking hell, Sam, you smell like a damn bakery. I need something with cinnamon now.”

Sometimes the smell has obvious meanings no one mentions, like how Mary smells like a burnt pie- love that turns into disappointment.

Sadder still, and a secret he keeps to himself, is when Dean digs out Charlie’s left behind duffle he’d kept just in case… just in case. He cries when he smells her. Cries like he never got to when he lost her.

Coming into the library to see Castiel seated in one of the chairs, Dean’s eyes sort of glaze over, and the next thing he knows there’s a hand on his shoulder and one at his waist (not the same person) and two people saying his name in concern, and Dean blinks and pushes himself up and back, like dragging himself awake from sleep- though he knows he’s awake- with a gruff, “What?” and Sam can’t seem to even make words, though his face does a series of odd things, and then he hears a low, “Dean" soft and pointed and near, and Dean finds himself blinking in confusion into blue eyes aaannnddd Dean has somehow crawled into the chair to straddle Cas’ lap and basically bury his nose at Cas’ neck and shoulder smelling him.

He kind of wants to get back to that, actually. Sam shifts around, brows furrowed and hazel eyes more worried than amused. “Dude, are you high? Cas, I think you got him high. Look at his pupils.”

Dean feels high, actually, and snickers with the realization. And kind of want to lick a stripe up Cas’ neck. From the flush of heat on the angel’s face, Dean thinks he might have already. And, oh yeah, aside from giggles, that’s another side affect when Dean and drugs mix, which he can feel very evidently as he shifts to try and shove himself away.

“Sam, get him away from me. Or me from him,” a laugh, “He’s catnip and I wanna climb him like a tree,” followed by more giggles.

Sam drags him away, barking orders for Dean to both stop fighting him as well as to stop talking, herding him out into the garage, and Dean nearly purrs when he scents the Impala, happily climbing into the car and lounging back in contentment.

“You… better now?” Sam asks worriedly. He’s breathing heavily like he had to practically drag Dean the rest of the way, scared and aggravated in one.

Dean can only chuckle and wave him away, before settling back to sleep.

The next time he wakes, it’s to fingers gripping his chin and turning his head, and Dean is suddenly very alert at the sight of Rowena and Sam, eyes zeroing in on her.

She waves his brother away. “Run along, Samuel. He’ll be fine.” Standing, she offers out her hand, which he immediately takes, letting her lead him from the garage. “We’ll be in the library.”

Dean’s obedient as she tells him to sit on the end of the table, eyes studying her as she moves, pulling things from a carpet bag and setting them on the table near a bowl.

“It smells like Lysol,” he says softly.

“They wanted to make it safe for you to come back in the bunker.” She glanced at him with a coy smirk. “Heard you made quite the display.”

He can’t stop staring, fingers reaching out to pluck at one long curl. “You don’t, though.”

She falters with a blink, expression going guarded as she busies herself. “And what do I smell like?”

“It’s… complicated. Sweet, like sunlight and honey on the tip of your tongue,” he answers a little dreamily, like he’d been laying out in the sun and wanted a nap. “It’s warm like tea. Flowers in springtime. It suits you somehow.” There’s pink on her cheeks even as he releases the coiled lock. “What’s wrong with me?”

She pats his knee. “Nothing serious,” she comforts, voice soft and, for once, genuine. “Your body is under the effects of an incomplete spell for a sixth sense and psychic abilities. Your brain is interpreting partial readings of the world around you using the senses you have- all well and good, so long as you’re dealing with a mortal.” Straightening, she tapped the tip of his nose with her finger. “The supernatural on the other hand? You smell magic on me. Things a bit warm and fuzzy at the edges? Feel a wee floaty? Like a dream?” He nodded. “Aye. That’ll do it.”

He struggles to remember, earlier in the library when he’d had a bad- or very good reaction to- “Cas.” He looks at her. “What happened with Cas?”

Her lips purse like she’s trying not to smile. “Apparently, your bonny angel is- well, Samuel says you were immediately intoxicated and quite giddy. Whether from, ah, feeling not exactly platonic or just sensing the divine, I’m afraid I don’t know. Perhaps a mixture of cause and effect. Drink this.”

Obeying, he pulls a face at the taste, and hands the container back. She’s studying him. “What?”

“You… you just did it. No suspicion. No threats. You obeyed.”

She starts working on another concoction, Remedy Part II, he guesses.

“You’re not here to hurt me,” he answers. “Why wouldn’t I?” Something spikes in the way she smells, tangy like orange slices, and he think he may have embarrassed her, but then is immediately distracted again, reaching forward once more. “I like your hair.”

Two concoctions later, the room loses the dreamlike quality for something more real, before he starts feeling very heavy and sleepy.

“Samuel!” Rowena calls, stepping to the side as Sam rounds the corner, catching Dean as he slumps forward, half-asleep already. “The rest is sleep,” she soothes, fingers gentle where they touch him.

He comes only partially to, later, awakened by the sense of a familiar presence that has him reaching out blindly, index finger hooking around the tips of Castiel’s that hang over the arm of the chair.

Material shifts, and Dean can tell his patient waiting is replaced with alert relief. He cracks open a eye, trying to focus even as he feels himself drifting back under.

“Sorry…’bout before.” He yawns and snuggles more comfortably into his pillow and memory foam mattress, settling. “You still smell nice, though. I like it. Like you.” Sleep saps strength from his arm, making his hand fall away. “You always smell nice… Catnip.”

If he was going to say more than that, he doesn’t get to, and he doesn’t remember it when he wakes up. He buys Rowena some specialty tea as a thank-you, and sends it with a card.

He still zones out sometimes. At the scent of coffee or flowers or as light refracts brightly and it’ll take him a moment to come back to himself, shaking away the fog like a forgotten dream.

“Dean?”

Green eyes drift to the angel that had been walking beside him, then down to the bouquet of sunflowers he vaguely remembers selecting from the cart. “They’re you.” Cas clearly lacks all understanding in his meaning, which is drifting so quickly, Dean hardly remembers it himself. “They look like you,” he tries, knowing it’s not right, and grip loose as Castiel takes them from him.

A flush spreads across the angel’s cheeks and Dean wonders at it and then down at the flowers he’s holding, gesturing to them and trying to remember when they stopped. “…you like those or something? We can get ‘em for the bunker if you want.”

Cas angles his head, smiling. “I do like them.” He steps forward, gaze dropping to Dean’s mouth and then back up. “And, you don’t remember this conversation, but… I like you, too, Dean.” His brows knit as he tries to remember the exact wording. “Like catnip.”

Dean doesn’t remember, but something beyond memory does, something that has him smoothing a hand up the line of Cas’ neck to cup his jaw and slot their mouths together.

Dean freaking loves witches.

anonymous asked:

Something with plants prompt?

Well, seeing as this was a pretty broad prompt, I decided to have some fun with it.


“Hey, what’s this?”

Nino glanced over at the potted plant on his windowsill. “Oh, I’m keeping it there for my sister. Apparently, my window gets the right amount of light.”

“Yeah, but…” Chat Noir leaned forward to delicately sniff it. “What is it?”

“Catnip.”

Chat Noir raised a brow. “It smells really good.”

“I mean, I guess it smells alright.” Nino shrugged.

“No, I mean it smells really good.”

Nino straightened, alert now that he noticed the way Chat Noir’s speech was beginning to slur. “Maybe you should stop smelling it.”

“No, it’s fine.” He gently rubbed his cheek against the plant. “It just smells-”

Nino gently grabbed his tail to tug him away from the catnip. “Okay, I know you keep saying you’re not a cat, but just this once, I think you kind of are.”

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Happy Birthday, ive-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this!

Today, we wish a very Happy Birthday to @ive-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this! We hope you have a wonderful day, and get everything on your wish-list! To add to the celebration, the lovely @historywriter2007 has written a story just for you :)

Happy Birthday  ive-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this! I hope you enjoy the fluffy Jealous!Peeta fic.

Checkmate

Rated T.

Peeta rushed through the doors of Abernathy’s, which was already filled with the happy hour crowd. He hated being late to their weekly get together with his college friends for several reasons. Finnick would be waiting to jab at him for his job and ridiculously stupid boss who always seemed to drop the ball leaving Peeta to clean up a mess. Then there was Joanna who felt the need to add to the fray with her own opinions of how much he’s messed up his career working for Crane even though Peeta wanted to be a graphic designer on his own. It wasn’t like he got enough crap from his mother for his failures. While these reasons were annoying they were the truth so he brushed them off and added them to the list of reasons he needed a new job and fast. The real reason he hated being late was what he was looking at right now.

Keep reading

     “Chamomile and Catnip tea,”
     says the witch, “No cramps for me!”

But seriously, with or without my silly incantation, catnip and chamomile are my number 1 go-to herbs for menstrual woes. They’re soothing both physically and emotionally.

(Obligatory reminder: make sure you check before consuming any herbs to be certain they won’t interact with other medication you may be taking or be harmful to a condition you have. Be safe!)

melodramaticcmess  asked:

hello cat, I am human and my kitty died 4 months ago and i still sad and miss my old lady grumpy sweetheart. she was 18 tho and time for her to say bye. what suggest for cure sad?

have you try catnip? always make me happy. if not hunt mous or birb, nothing better than fresh hunt meal! :3

Come lay your bones on the alabaster stones

A second one-shot inspired by the 1x13 deleted scene. Alice and Jughead have a late night heart-to-heart.

ao3—> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11758992

(also because i like continuity and cross-referencing, here’s the first one-shot)


It takes a week before he’s comfortable enough in the Cooper house to wander around without Betty, which makes it awkward in the moments he’s home and she isn’t. He winds up penned in whatever room he’s in when someone comes in. Sometimes, it’s his room which is nice because he basically has the run of the basement and there’s a TV down there, but which also makes him feel guilty, like he should be trying harder to assimilate with the Coopers as a unit. But if Jughead’s in the kitchen or the living room, he winds up stuck in that room, trying his hardest to make small talk and seem normal. Once, he spent forty-five minutes talking to Hal about car engines. He knows nothing about car engines. He had to check with Betty later to make sure he hadn’t said anything stupid.

He’s getting over that though, slowly but surely, his curiosity overtaking his social awkwardness. Because he’s discovered that he’s the only one ever awake at 2 am, and so it’s prime snooping time. He discovered it by accident, one night coming out of his writing trance dying of thirst. He filled a glass from the chute in the refrigerator door and wandered the ground floor in the dark, peering into picture frames. The wall below the stairs is a visual timeline of Polly and Betty, from photos of them in their hospital blankets right down to a photo of Polly at prom last year and one of Betty with Toni Morrison’s arm around her.

Now it’s become a bit of a nightly ritual. He’s moved on from picture frames to picture albums. Mundane residua that exist as testament to the Coopers’ deep love for one other. He knows his father loves him. But their life has never encompassed either the leisure time or the inclination for an activity such as scrapbooking.

Tonight he eases his way up the stairs, avoiding the creak he’s discovered in the second step from the top. He’s had a breakthrough on how to wrap up a dangling plot thread, and is ready to sleep knowing he’s earned the night’s rest. But not before he makes it through “Polly and Betty 2011-2012.”

At first, he doesn’t notice the under cabinet lights are on in the kitchen, because at least one usually is. A courtesy night light for any late night prowlers, ie, him. But tonight they’re all on, and Alice is sitting at the table, wrapped up in an oversized sweater, both hands around a steaming mug of tea. He stops in the doorway.

“Jughead, what are you doing up? Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’m always up now, Mrs. C.” He cups the back of his neck with his hand and ruffles his hair. “I actually haven’t been to bed yet.”

“You’re a night owl. And you’ve been up night after night alone?”

“I don’t mind. Betty’s tried to stay up with me a few times, but she always falls asleep.”

Alice’s face moves as if she’s smiling, her eyes crinkle warmly, though her lips stay motionless. “I suppose we’ll all have to make some adjustments. That will be good for us.”

He gets his water and takes a seat across from her at the table. “Listen, Mrs. Cooper. I just want to thank you again. I don’t know how to tell you how much I appreciate your and Mr. Cooper’s letting me stay with you.”

“Jughead, I’ve told you, if you’re going to be living here, I want you to call me Alice.” She pauses to take a sip of her tea. “Are you settling in alright?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” It is, but he can’t quite articulate to Alice what he means by that. He’s still adjusting to things in the Cooper household. They’re quieter than he’s used to. People move more softly. They say please and thank you and they offer to refill each others’ drinks when they go into the kitchen. He’s not suffering from any delusions, he knows they’re all crazy, even him, but still it’s nice.

There’s a soothing regularity to being warm when he falls asleep and when he wakes up, to knowing where his next meal is coming from and that all the USDA-mandated food groups will be covered. He loves Archie and Fred, they’re his family, but he doesn’t think it ever occurred to either of them that an air mattress on a cold wooden floor doesn’t the warmest of beds make. Especially in November in an old house. Plus, with a few more consecutive meals of frozen pizza, he’s pretty sure he’d have gotten scurvy. Especially because the Andrews men always opt for ‘Meatzza.’ And it’s been a long time since FP was capable of getting a family dinner on the table.

He feels guilty even having these thoughts. But Betty’s stopped brushing his under eye bags with her fingers the way she’d taken to in the last few weeks when she got so preoccupied worrying about him she stopped being self conscious. So yeah, it’s nice.

“What are you drinking? It smells good.”

Alice’s fingers tighten on the mug. “Oh, an herbal tea blend I use sometimes when I’m having trouble sleeping. Mostly chamomile, but it’s got some other herbs in it. Lemon balm, valerian root, catnip. I can make you a cup.” It’s a sentence but her intonation tells him she means it as a question.

He doesn’t know how to say no, he doesn’t drink tea, especially not tea with catnip in it, so he says, “Sure.” Apparently he doesn’t know how to talk to Alice Cooper at all. The Coopers are middle class in a way even the Andrews aren’t, in a way that goes beyond their gross yearly income. He’s known Betty since they were four and yet he hadn’t expected catnip tea and kale salads and the whole set of all-natural shower and shave products that had been waiting for him in the bathroom on the day he moved in. He’s been dying for days to make a joke about how bougie they all are. But of Archie and Betty, only Betty would get it, and he doesn’t want to give her another thing to feel self-conscious about. He knows she already worries about the class differential between them, that she still feels guilty about not knowing he was homeless.

Alice bustles around the darkened kitchen, switching on the electric kettle, scooping what to Jughead look like dried spices into a little metal ball she sets in a mug and then in front of him. Are tea bags not good enough for these people?

When she pours the water in, the smell, now much closer to his face, is overwhelmingly floral. Almost like perfume. But he lifts the mug and inhales deeply anyway, thankful that for the moment it’s still too hot to drink.

“Betty said you used to work at the Twilight.”

“Yeah, til it closed.”

She nods, as if Jughead, who had been the only one in the sophomore class with a paying job, is normal. “I want you to focus on school. And on being a teenager. But I’m sure it must be hard to lose that extra bit of autonomy that money can give. So if you wanted to find another job, for after school a couple nights a week, Hal and I could help.”

He doesn’t want to seem to eager, so he stares at the snow falling in the window behind her before answering, “That’d be great.”

“Not at the Register, though. You and Betty need at least one place you’re not together. Everyone needs somewhere to escape to. That took me five years of marriage to learn and I’m offering it to you for free.” Alice emphasizes her words of wisdom by pointing at him. “And no garages either.” Then she looks at him like he’s supposed to know what that means. Surely she knows Betty’s the one who belongs in a garage.

Then, horror of horrors, his stomach rumbles. Loudly. Alice smirks.

“How about some lasagna to go with that tea?”

“I never turn down food.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.” Jughead’s coasted on his reputation as a human garbage disposal for many years. It’s assumed that he’ll want seconds, that he’ll finish other people’s leftovers. Betty has made more than one comment about his unfair-teenage-boy metabolism. But a prickle on the back of Jughead’s neck tells him that’s not what Alice means. She pops a large square of lasagna in the microwave then comes back to face him, a new glint in her eyes.

“I remember what it feels like to go to bed hungry.” She doesn’t direct it to him necessarily, it’s not accusatory. But almost, conspiratorial? As if she’s charting out neutral waters where they can meet.

“I grew up in Sunnyside, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that, Mrs. C—” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Alice. I didn’t know that, Alice.”

Her smile is warm. “I did. Until I was 17 and moved in with an aunt who’d gotten out and had an apartment over the hair salon on Fifth. It was almost too late though. They didn’t let girls in the gang officially then, but I was around enough to get into some stuff I had no business being a part of.”

Jughead chokes on his catnip tea. “You were a Southside Serpent?”

“Mhm. I’m surprised your dad didn’t mention it when you and Betty started dating. Every day I expected her to come home and throw it in my face.”

He’s not sure how to respond to that so he waits while she retrieves his plate from the microwave, setting it in front of him with a fork and a folded napkin.

“But you’re not a Serpent now?”

“Of course not. I put enough distance between us and I didn’t know anything really dangerous so eventually they let me go. Plus I started dating Hal that summer and things got serious between us pretty fast. And his dad was the mayor, so they couldn’t get too close to me anyway.”

To say Jughead is stunned would be an understatement. Alice Cooper, pastel spokeswoman for suburban perfection, grew up in a trailer park and ran with a gang as a teenager — ran with his father’s gang. It’s almost like she’s trying to tell him they’re the same. He wonders, uncomfortably, if they are. And it gives a new shade of meaning to the dream he’d had once of Betty in a poodle skirt and Archie with a knife in his back. He’ll have to untangle the resonance of that one later.

But now she’s revealed something of herself and, in the calculus of interpersonal relationships, Jughead knows it’s his turn. “I was surprised when you guys offered to let me live here. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful. But, to be honest with you, I didn’t think Mr. Cooper liked me all that much.”

Alice sighs. “Hal is a good man. He’s a good father. But he has the privilege of seeing the world as black and white in a way that you and I can’t.” She looks up from her mug of tea and meets Jughead’s eyes. “He’s always been that way. So clear about right and wrong. I’ve tried for most of our lives to mimic that. I was so sure he was right.” She trails off for a moment and the silence settles like a blanket of snow. “All I’ve ever wanted was to do what’s best for my children, all my children. And I’ve made a lot of mistakes in pursuit of that. Some of them irreparable. But some…I have a lot to atone for.”

Jughead swallows. She seems to need to speak, and he wants to hold that door open for her. “I don’t know about Polly, but Betty does knows that. She knows how much you love her. You’re a good person too.”

She nods, but looks as if she’s not really paying attention.

“Good people in bad circumstances still do bad things.” It’s a truth Jughead is intimately acquainted with, and, yet, in Alice’s mouth the words seem heavier, more personal even. Maybe because he knows about her son. Maybe because he knows that, like the hand of God, she’s plucked him off his father’s path and deposited him on her own.

“You’re here because Betty loves you and because you’re a good kid. You deserve better than what you’ve been given. It’s hard, almost impossible to climb out of that hole. Someone gave me a hand once. Now I’m passing on the favor.” She twists her empty mug from hand to hand. “Your dad’s always meant well, always done his best in his own way. He doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him. If the situation was reversed, I like to think he’d do the same for my daughters.”

“You talk like you know him.”

“We were close, once. People don’t change that much.”

Jughead thinks about the baby Serpents he’d met at Southside High. “Can I ask—Betty never mentions any family—do you still know anyone, have anyone left on the South Side?”

“No, they’re all gone now.”

He reaches an arm halfway across the table then lets it fall. “I’m sorry,” then, catching himself in time, “Alice. I know this is lame, but if there’s anything I can do.”

She smiles at him as she pushes back her chair and stands up. “You know what you can do? You can make good. And rinse that plate before you put it in the dishwasher.” She takes both their mugs to the sink. His is still three quarters full. Jughead’s ears feel hot. She shakes the contents of the little metal ball into the compost bucket beneath the sink, then loads everything into the dishwasher. When she turns back she says, “Liking tea isn’t a pre-requisite for being a Cooper.”

“Noted.”

“Sweet dreams, Jughead.”

“G‘night, Alice.” This time he doesn’t trip over her name.


A few minutes later, Betty appears in the doorway Alice has just vacated, her face a mask of sleep and concern. “Juggie? What’s going on? I got up to go to the bathroom and I heard my parents’ door close.”

“Me and your mom were just talking. She fed me lasagna.”

Betty stumbles over and curls up on the chair next to him, her head on his shoulder.

“Here, baby.”  He holds a forkful of food up to her mouth. Once she takes it, she sighs and snuggles deeper into him.

“What’d you guys talk about? Was she nice?”

“Just stuff. I’ll tell you in the morning when you’re not asleep. And yeah, she was.”

He sees her frown in his peripheral vision. “I’m not asleep. I’m just not a night owl like you.”

“Okay, Betts.” But by the time he’s finished eating, she’s fully asleep, making quiet snuffling noises.  He lifts her head off his shoulder and guides her as she melts onto the table. He turns and rinses his plate and fork before placing them in the dishwasher.

Then he lifts her back up and slings one of her arms across his shoulders. “Come on, early bird. Time for bed.” He presses a kiss against her hair, and together they stumble back toward the stairs.

anonymous asked:

HC that the last time Sev cried laughing was when he bought a laser pointer and used it on Cat!Minerva; watching her spin in endless circles sent him into stitches. When she Transfigured back to human form, she was dizzy and irritated at him for playing a prank like that.

Bonus: Severus is walking towards his classroom when he sees a phial of Felix Felicis floating in the hallway.  Looking around from side to side, Severus chases it down only for it to zip out of his hand at the last minute.  Finally, he gets stuck halfway up the side of a large suit of armor while chasing it when he hears a familiar laugh from the shadows.  Minerva emerges with a smug look on her face and Severus glowers back.

“Some assistance, perhaps, Minerva?” he asks, his voice unable to hide his mortification.

“Of course, Severus,” she says with a wry chuckle, levitating him down and handing him the phial.

Severus hands him the laser pointer, looking chastened.

“Not much fun when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?” Minerva says.

“Hmph,” Severus responds, “Just you wait.”

A week later, Severus slips her catnip tea instead of her normal Scottish Breakfast.  After she doesn’t show up to her first Transfiguration class, Albus finds her in cat form, lying on her back and batting at sunbeams with her pupils blown wide.

Communication with Catnip

Some background information, my boyfriend has a lovely catnip plant that is growing amazingly and I really wanted to talk to it!

I begin by asking if Catnip would like to communicate. I use a spirit quartz pendant that I own as a pendulum because I feel this is the right stone to use. I receive a yes.

As I feel accepted as someone to talk to, I feel I am small and cradled by hundreds of catnip leaves, and I am falling downwards. They swirl around me and gently roll through the air around me. I land on dirt and I feel as if I am looking at it from below. I feel calmed and I can see Catnip’s energies flying around the wind.

I say why I am communicating with it. Catnip says it is happy to talk to me, saying that I clearly appreciate its power and it is making itself visible to me and willing to work with me.

I ask if it has a favored magical use.

“I aid in bringing out the calmness that everyone has, because I aid in bringing out the truth. This is the strongest truth that I can see.

But that is not my favorite, my favorite is hiding the truth, and providing fog to whatever someone may need to hide. Be it themselves, or be it something they want to avoid”

I hear this with accompanying imagery of fog hiding buildings and trees, that its blue gray energy can work in a similar way.

There is more to this conversation but I am cutting this post short due to private information! This was kind of an intense communication for me, and I am thoroughly exhausted as I am still a bit inexperienced and Catnip was a little bit um. Energetic.

10 Characters I want to.... kiss ;)

OMG this had been hiding out in my draft folder for like, FOREVER. Please enjoy Strumpet’s thirst from, like, 2016… 

Tagged by @regardstosoulandromance and @rumples-leather-emporium

Thank you both! This is an incredibly hard list to narrow down but I think I’m gonna follow Regards’ idea and only do one character per actor… 

In no particular order!

10. Nicholas Rush (If I HAD to choose, he’s the most delicious Bobby, to me. Second choice would be Lachlan. Yum.)

9. Clara Oswald (Pretty much my perfect girl. Not even kidding.)

8. Malcolm Tucker (I know, not the Doctor. But Malcolm needs kisses too!)

7. Everett from Mayday (Seriously, such a sexy mo-fo. My other fave Aidan is probably DI Bloom from Identity /drooool)

6. Lisa from Girl, Interrupted (My sexual awakening. I know, Jolie is a Bisexual cliche but it’s true)

5. Mark Darcy (Nice boys do kiss like that)

4. Greg House (sexy, older, and sarcastic af. CATNIP)

3.  Spike from BTVS (need I say more?)

2.  Jorah Mormont (fuck yeah Iain Glen)

1. Sidney Chambers from Grantchester (I mean, just look at him…)

Honorable mention to  P.L. O'Hara from An Awfully Big Adventure (fucked up story but he was HOT in this movie.)

and both Enid and Seymour from Ghost World (lookit these adorkable cuties!) 

Edit from 2017 because, I GOTTA add this hottie (Paul Weston from In Treatment): 

Originally posted by fuckyeahgabrielbyrne

I think I’ve seen a few of these already but tagging @rowofstars @maplesyrupao3 @rufeepeach @emospritelet @endangeredslug @petyrbaelish @alayne-stonecoldfox @elloette @marvella15 @theladyofthedarkcastle @prissyhalliwell @b-does-the-write-thing @thatravenclawbitch @bettercall-gameoftywinning @rbennetwrites @evilsnowswan @frenchroast007

Sorry if you did one and I missed it. Feel free to ignore, as always <333

The One True Morty + Crazy Cat Morty = Cat God Morty

Brought into reality by the collective belief of the cat-loving Mortys throughout the multiverse, this Morty blesses his most loyal followers with the promise of a second life as a cat. Some say his presence can be marked by a faint scent of catnip in the air.

((As requested by @skitten219. Thank you for requesting!

I call bullshit on every garden blog that says you can plant catnip.

I’ve planted catnip a thousand times. Or transplanted it. or tried to start it from seed. It’s died every. goddamn. time.

The only way to grow catnip is to have it appear, spontaneously, in your yard. You must be chosen and deemed worthy.

It’s a lot like cats that way tbh