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arctic-hands · 9 months

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I learned what a bullet journal was by watching a few YouTube artists set theirs up and my algorithm spiraled out of control from there so I guess I have all the bujo influencers to thank for getting into it because it has been a godsend so far on my third attempt, but damn if the over emphasis on aesthetic over the actual practical organizational aspect of it doesn't rankle me a bit

[thirty rambling tags later] huh. I didn't know there was a thirty tag limit in all the years I've been on tumblr. Whatevs I can't copy paste the tags onto the main body because I'm on mobile and I don't want to write it out again so I'll just summarize the last bit here:

If you are browsing the bujo tag because you feel bullet journaling will help you but you feel intimated because you don't think you can make it look pretty, or that the bullet journal method could never help you because it looks exhausting or the inspo you see doesn't cover what you need, I am pleading with you to ignore all the pretty inspiration, take the most common and even original Ryder Carroll formats and spreads with a grain of salt and eliminate or change them as needed, and talk to people who have similar needs than you even if they don't bujo and suss out what's important to keep track of. My bujo is eighty percent important medical bullshit, because that's what I need more than a book tracker. You prolly have your own unique needs. And hell, if you want a book tracker then add a booktracker. It's your bujo to format and plan out.

So like if you want to start bullet journaling, go to Michaels and get a seven dollar Artist's Loft dot grid journal. Or a binder you have left over from school years past and print out your own dot grid paper if you have enough ink and paper and printer that can do double sided (Kevin McLeod's site I forget the name of has free adjustable dot and other grids I've used), or buy a pack of 8.5x11 dot grid paper, and grab a crappy hole punch that just barely does the job. Get yourself a nice pen you think looks and feels nice in your hand and on the paper–or if that doesn't matter to you go get pack of Bics or even pencil if that's what you prefer (I use a pencil for things I can't have be permanent, like temporary meds or the dates of yearly vaccines). If you're twitchy about messing up then get the cheapest wite out they have (but don't worry about messing up especially if you're not even showing it off to anybody). A cheap yellow highlighter if you think it'll help. And a ruler if straight lines are important to you. I lost mine so I just wobble my lines now I don't care (and it's marginally easier to get a line adjacent to straight with a dot grid)

Anyway. If you want to bullet journal but don't know where to start or how to make it pretty or how to make it work for your needs, just try it in the cheapest way possible and rearrange the guts of the bujo as you see fit. And don't worry about the optics as long as you can make sense of your methods and writing.

(and for the love of God if you're bipolar don't make an hourly mood tracker yes our moods can and will fluctuate throughout the day but goddamn was that a bitch to log and abandoned a few weeks after inking it out)

#i see this with in regular journaling/diary circles too #people saying 'i want to start a bujo/diary but I'm not good enough at art ☹️'#like more power to you if you can make it pretty but it shouldn't be the primary emphasis especially with how useful it is #(it's especially depressing with just regular diaries and journals because like. you're under no obligation to share that shit with anybody)#I'm on my third bujo attempt because i got overwhelmed with my first two because i didn't know how to customize it with me and my needs #the most i got about symptom tracking was like a weekly layout checking off if the criteria was hit #and mood tracking was like daily smiley or frowny face in the corner #like my siblings in planning that is not enough for my chronically ill bipolar ass lol #i went way overboard my first attempt with just mood tracking. i planned it out HOURLY. every week #and that got overwhelmingly tedious and i use overwhelmingly deliberately. so i just stopped mood tracking #and then the whole thing got overwhelming so i stopped it entirely #gave it another shot because my method of scheduling things and symptom tracking was to write appointments and symptoms on post its #and pray they didn't fall off and i could remember where i even put them #and i see a lot of doctors so that was a LOT post its to keep track of #so i did another bujo but had the same problem as lack of resources and inspo and how to make it work for my needs #plus future logs were hard to parse AND i often felt too tired to lay out a new month or two every time #so like there were just whole months and the symptoms and appointments within just missing and i might as well not even have a bujo #so i stopped that one too #FINALLY after a little bit more watching Ryder Carroll and looking at prefab medical planners that were still woefully inadequate #AND MORE IMPORTANTLY talking to my fellow chronically ill. mentally ill. disabled. or all three. friends on what i should jot down #i finally got a system that worked for me thus far #i got rid of even staples like future logs and just laid out a monthly calendar format because that was easier FOR ME #and i laid out the year in advance so i could still have the scheduling part of i was too tired to do entire layouts at the beginning of the #month #my mood tracker was merged with my symptom tracker and turned into a symptoms *list*#with a section for every specialist i see. mood stuff just went under psych/therapist #also i switched to a binder format instead of a bound book for even more flexibility #i can easily remove things i no longer need. i can rearrange what goes in what section. i can easily add more to a section before the next #bujo #bullet journal

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anxiouspotatorants · 2 years

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I finally watched the infamous Mitchum scene in 5.22 and I have thoughts

So a year or so ago I said that he may have a point in that it doesn’t seem like Rory’s best fit is traditional news journalism. I argued that she might actually do better with journalistic-like longer writing, like longer coverage or factual/topical books about a specific subject of interest. But while I stand by that, a lot has still changed about my opinion over if I agree with Mitchum.

Rory loves being in that office. She likes the chaos and setting an order to it, she likes the constant stream of information and fast quips and no bullshit-talks. Even if it might not be for her long term, newspaper journalism is clearly something she’d love to do in the start of her career, possibly for years. And Mitchum refuses to acknowledge that. The girl is positively glowing once she settles into the paper, but because she hasn’t spoken up enough in the span of two weeks she «doesn’t have it».

Which brings me to how blatantly misogynist his explanation is. He’s practically telling Rory she should «lean in» more, and then says she would make a great assistant. When Rory points out the difference between her as an intern and a guy who is already a proper hire, Mitchum writes it off as if there isn’t a lot more lack of job security when you’re an intern.

Also the fact that he wants to share his review of her before she’s had the chance to show him any writing just makes it so clear he never had any intention of actually seeing if she’d make a good journalist. At no point does he point out any flaws or incompatabilities in her writing, it’s not even mentioned! It’s as if he got her this internship solely to make up for the crappy dinner and then saw the opportunity to «knock her down a peg» so she could be molded into the ideal Huntzberger wife in the future.

So long story short let Rory write and also let me fist fight Mitchum Huntzberger.

#huntzberger men are really not doing it for me huh #I still think Rory would do better with journalistic books than the 24hour news cycle #but that girl belongs in the writing world #and Mitchum is being a petty misogynistic professionally negging asshole #gilmore girls #rory gilmore #mitchum huntzberger #gilmore girls meta #gilmore girls discourse

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bleuflowerfields · 1 year

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author's note:

ulymon and shitty pick-up go brr

had this sitting in my drafts so why not post it before new years

enjoy!

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"Damon just walked up to me and is trying to speak to me on some matter. However, I don't feel like interacting with him today…" Ulysses murmured whilst scribbling those same words into his notebook.

"You do know that I can hear you, right?" The subject of the notebook entry had awkwardly mentioned, seated near him. However, Ulysses seemed to care less, only focused on his journal entry.

The only response coming from him was a subsequent "Mmmm," while he paid no mind to acknowledging Damon. He continued jotting down his entry, muttering the words to himself before putting it on paper. "...honestly, I don't think that I can. I can't even talk to him without looking at his damn pretty face-"

That made Damon double-check his hearing for a second. What did he just say?

"Wait, hold on. My…face?"

"What- oh. What exactly was it that I said about your face again?" He asked.

"You called my face…pretty?"

"Yeah." Ulysses had promptly answered, after Damon had been clearly confused about what he just muttered to himself.

"...thank you for the compliment." He had finally finished, obviously trying to escape the currently very awkward topic at hand.

However, Ulysses noticed that he had the slightest hint of pink on his cheeks.

Noting that, he had wanted to say something to spare him any further embarrassment, before Damon interrupted him again.

"Actually, shit. Pretend I never said that. If what you're saying isn't false, then explain." He quickly covered for his previous thanks, leaving that slight moment of weakness to the wind. If he wanted an explanation, he could have one, Ulysses supposed.

"Well, to briefly explain, it's from a primary source, an expert opinion."

"Which would be?"

"Myself." Ulysses confidently answered, before looking away from Damon and down at his notebook again. "That's all the explanation you need, right?"

"Okay, if that was supposed to be some kind of weird pick up line…it was really crappy."

"Your face says otherwise." Ulysses had pointed out, Damon's face changing from a light pink to a slightly darker shade, after realizing that Ulysses' words were very much true.

He didn't show it, however. "...damn it. You smartass." He seethed.

"Thanks." Ulysses had halfheartedly replied, soon returning to his writing, while Damon whipped his head to the side, attempting (yet failing) to hide his now- flustered face from Ulysses.

The only thing he heard from Damon the rest of their time together was him grumbling and muttering about how pretty his face was, instead.

He could manage with that.

#damon maitsu x ulysses wilhelm #damon maitsu #ulysses wilhelm #project: eden's garden #p:eg #fanganronpa

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mcromwell · 1 year

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You posted a TikTok where you were drawing in a sort of junk journal you'd made for playing around and using up your art supplies in and I was wondering if you have resources on how to make a book like that? I love the idea and want to make one but there's a billion different options online for how to make something like that.

Sure, I can sort of go over what I did! It might be easier in a video, so I'll record one as well and upload it to TikTok. Some other folks have been asking, as well.

But the gist of it is: I made sheafs of papers about 1/2" thick each, enough of them to where the thickness of them stacked together equaled the thickness of the book cover. I sewed them together with a very crappy version of yotsume toji (a Japanese bookbinding technique). Could I have done it the right way? Sure! Did I? Nope! I was just messing around, making a trash book. The crappiness gives it character.

The cover is an old thrifted book I cut apart for collage that was falling apart. I fixed it by gluing fabric to the inside to give it structure. But maybe your cover won't be as messed up, in which case you're good to put the pages in. Then I sewed thicker twine into the cover, just a simple stitch, which I then sewed the sheafs into.

And it's, well, let's just say it sure does meet base criteria for a book! Barely! The way I did it, the pages don't lie flat and it's not a very sturdy bind and I didn't use bookbinding cord or thread, so, you'd be better off finding and following bookbinding tutorials from professionals, for now.

I am merely a trash creature fashioning things from garbage as best my little opossum hands can muster.

Thanks for asking! I'll show more in the video!

#bookbinding #I am not a professional I am just well practiced at messing around with art supplies

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dodger-chan · 1 year

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You know, making Robin and Steve miserable is not working for me right now, so have some thoughts about a potential good future for them. Cut for length.

After Vecna is defeated/the Upsidedown is sealed off or destroyed whatever, our favorite platonic besties are a little surprised to realize they're still alive and relatively unmaimed. They've got some money set aside from minimum wage jobs and decide fuck it, they'll go to France for a while. They stuff some clothes in their bags, grab their passports and fly to Paris.

Robin is basically fluent in French and Steve, despite barely passing the one year he took, manages fairly well. As bad as he was at memorizing vocabulary lists and grammar rules, Steve's actually very good at talking to people. By eating cheaply and staying at youth hostels (and the occasional night with new friends) they stay in Paris for about eight weeks before they have to go back.

They don't quite go back to Hawkins, though. Robin gets them shitty retail jobs in Chicago, they rent one of the worlds worst apartments and start saving up to do the same thing again, but Rome instead of Paris. They also get married, because Steve really needs to have someone be his next of kin in case of emergencies, and

They fall into a pattern of working crappy jobs (sales jobs with commissions are the best, Steve is so good at those) for a several months, living as cheaply as possible, then flying off to spend a month or two as tourists in the city of Robin's choosing.

Robin gets new language tapes from the library and makes sure Steve has a basic grounding in Italian and Spanish, and eventually Portuguese and German. Steve is never as close to fluent as Robin and he's never able to have academic discussions in any of these languages, but it's not like he could in English, either.

To make extra money, Robin starts writing queer centric travel articles for a local alternative paper. She has a byline before Nancy graduates journalism school - Nancy is only a little jealous.

#steve and robin #the good future #steve harrington #robin buckley #stranger things

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lykegenia · 1 year

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Like glitter And Gold Ch. 9

Fandom/Pairing: The Wayhaven Chronicles/ Nate Sewell x f!Detective Rating: T Warnings: None

Read on AO3

“You, uh, haven’t seen the paper yet this morning, have you?”

Leah glances up at Tina from the login screen of her desktop. “I never read it,” she says, suspicious. “The astrology column is the most accurate journalism in it. Why do you ask?”

“Oh…” Tina takes a swig from her coffee. “No reason in particular. Just –”

The desk phone starts ringing.

Still keeping a leery eye on her former partner, Leah plucks it from the cradle, but barely gets halfway through her name before the mayor starts shouting.

“This is an absolute disgrace! I gave you the benefit of the doubt last time because it was your first case, but if I’m to expect this lack of professionalism every time Wayhaven is faced with a crisis, it might be time to find a more competent replacement. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Um,” she says, eloquently.

“Yesterday you assured me that you were handling this case!” the phone line crackles as flecks of spit hit the receiver.

She learned in her first crappy job in customer service that the best way to deal with situations like these is to tune out the words and let the arsehole on the other end of the line wear down their batteries, so she waits. Deciding on sympathy, Tina creeps forward as if the mayor might realise she’s also in the room and slides a copy of the local paper into her line of sight.

And suddenly it’s very obvious what the mayor’s morning tirade is about.

Most of the front page is taken up by a photo of her and Nate sitting together on the bench outside the museum. Whoever took the picture – and she has a fairly solid guess – has caught the moment that he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, the tender look in his eyes that even now as a distant observer makes her breath catch. They’re leaning close, intimate, smiling. She didn’t know she could look so sappy.

“Are you still there, Detective?” the mayor demands. “Detective!”

“I’m listening,” she lies. The headline below the photo reads FINDING LOVE: But where’s the murderer?

“Are you?” he shoots back. “This is unacceptable!”

She bites back her preferred retort. “I completely agree, sir. At some point I, too, would love to be able to find out about local news through some other medium than a loud phone call.”

“That is –!”

“My investigations are continuing,” she interrupts, “and they will do so without interference from my personal life, or from Bobby Marks, who – as I remember telling you only a few months ago – is not somebody I can control.”

She slams the phone back down without waiting for a response and has to draw a deep, calming breath in through her nose.

“That’ll probably come back to bite you,” Tina points out, with not a little bit of awe.

“I’m going to kill him.” It’s hard to think how else to deal with the vibrant, visceral anger locking her limbs into place. If she moves, she might fling all the stuff from her desk. “I’m actually going to wring his neck and dispose of the body in a vat of acid. I can’t believe even he’d be this – this – petty.”

“It says more about him than it does about you,” Tina soothes. “But even so… you and that agent of yours…”

“Don’t. It’s –”

“Babe, don’t you dare say ‘complicated’. He’s looking at you in that photo like he wants to eat you – which now I say it out loud feels kind of tactless.” A frown. “You know, considering.”

“It’s not relevant right now.” Leah bites it out, a poor substitute for explaining the need to keep Nate separate from work, the itch beneath her skin at having the two halves of her life crash together in such a public way. She knows why Bobby did this, knows it’s a move he calculated well because he knows her, and that galls as much as the photo itself. Nobody is meant to see her like this, exposed and doe-eyed as a tragic heroine, careless enough with her heart that a stranger could capture it on film. Even with the low res of a newspaper image, she can’t tear her gaze from Nate’s, the rich intensity of his eyes, the expression playing around his mouth – and it’s too much. Immense as the edge of a cliff.

“What new leads do we have this morning?” she asks, turning the paper over.

Tina watches her carefully for a moment before dropping her gaze to her notepad. “We have Seakirk’s phone records, finally. There’s a text from a withheld number sent very shortly before TOD, but the delightful person I spoke to at the phone company didn’t think we might want to un-withhold it, so I’ve asked for that to be chased up. In the meantime… Douglas had a strike of brilliance this morning.”

“Oh?”

“He’s decided to go back through the Swordfish’s CCTV from weeks ago to see if he can find anything while we wait, since Seakirk was a regular.”

Leah blinks. “That’s… a surprising amount of initiative.”

“I think you’re having an influence,” comes the teasing reply.

She nods, making a mental note to thank him for the good work, but it’s not something that’s going to offer immediate results. Between that and the phone company, the case is now a waiting game, dependent on other people to do their jobs. There’s nothing that makes her twitchier, especially when it means there’s going to be no distraction from how much she wants to throttle Bobby.

Except, there is one avenue that might have made progress. She’s already moving towards the door.

“Let me know if anything turns up,” she throws over her shoulder. “I’ll be –”

Nate almost collides with her, only managing to cushion the impact by slipping his hands around her waist. The unexpected wash of his scent makes the breath stutter in her lungs.

He smiles. “Careful.”

Her hands are braced instinctively against his chest, so close she has to tilt her head back to see him properly, the look in his eyes so like that in the photo that for a second it feels like she’s taken a blow to the head. There’s something more sombre in it, though, concerned, which she realises at the exact same moment that her face is flaming and that her office has filled with a heavy, dead silence.

“Sorry – didn’t see you there,” she manages. “I was just coming to see you about the journal.”

He gives her a long look. “I finished translating it this morning, but that’s… not entirely the reason I came here.”

Mortification wraps around her like a python.

Tina, sheepish, edges into her line of sight. “I’m going to go pop the kettle on. If I could…?”

They step to the side so she can squeeze through the doorway, Nate’s hands still settled on Leah’s waist as if glued to it, and once they’re alone he heaves a breath and turns his attention fully to her.

“I saw the article Bobby wrote,” he murmurs. “Are you alright?”

She drops her gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He shouldn’t have done what he did.”

“As if that’s ever stopped him.” She snorts. “Vindictive little shit. Why are you looking at me like that?” He’s frowning like he doesn’t believe her, like she’s easier to read than Russell’s book.

“I want you to feel you can talk to me,” he urges. “You can talk to me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Leah –”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she snaps, pushing away. “All of this, it’s…”

She turns and pulls the end of her braid over her shoulder, twirling the end in nervous fingers. In the absence of words, she lets loose a frustrated snarl, and Nate stands there watching her scrabble for purchase like a dog bracing its legs against the sides of an imminent bath. How he can be so placid, she doesn’t know.

“I’m not… good at this,” she tries. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I hate feeling so out of control.”

A frown draws down over his features, though if it’s worry or hurt, she can’t tell. “What do you mean?”

She shakes head, eyes squeezed shut, keeping the words crammed in her throat so that’s the only place they can sting.

“Leah…” he says, and steps closer.

“I knew something would go wrong.” Her knuckles connect with the desk, not quite hard enough to be a punch. “I – Can we just focus on the case? I don’t want to deal with anything else right now.”

When he doesn’t reply, she looks up to find him by the window, staring through the glass with his hands shoved into his pockets and a new stiffness in his shoulders as he tries to put distance between them. The frown has worked its way to the corner of his mouth, turning it down in a way she doesn’t know how to fix.

“Nate–”

The door bursts open again before he can answer. Douglas, his cheeks tinged an embarrassed pink, doesn’t look up from the floor as he holds out the printed photo in his hand.

“I thought you’d want to see this, Detective,” he explains, an awkward, apologetic cough in his throat.

The grainy image is a still from a CCTV camera with a timestamp about three weeks old, showing Russell Seakirk in the same corner booth he was sitting in the night he was murdered, only this time he isn’t alone. A blonde woman is seated next to him, one hand on his arm as he leans close enough to whisper in her ear. Even in the bad lighting, the identity of the woman is obvious.

“Gotcha.” Leah glances up. “Good work, kid.”

“Really?” Douglas grins.

“What is it?”

Her heart seizes as Nate comes to peer over her shoulder, but she disguises the slip as best she can by holding up the evidence for him to see. “Proof that Samantha Harris knew the victim a lot better than she wanted us to think.”

The clock on the wall reads 9 am, plenty of time to tackle the winding roads to the museum before it opens.

“I’m going to go talk to her again,” she decides, grateful or the escape, eager to be on the scent again. “I’ll meet you back at base?”

Nate blinks as she pulls on her coat. “Oh. If you’re sure?”

“Someone needs to tell Adam what’s going on.” She’s a coward. “It’s just going to be a quick chat.”

“Of course.” He flashes her a smile, but his shoulders are hunched, and his hands still sit deep in his pockets.

She tries a smile. “I’ll see you there.”

An instant passes. She starts forward with half an impulse to kiss him, to reassure him that she regrets the brittleness in his expression, but Douglas is still hovering in the middle of the room and the fear that she’ll make things worse tightens in her chest like ice. So she leaves. Her feet march her to the car and the key turns in the ignition and her hands grip the steering wheel as she fights back the prickle of heat behind her eyes. As she pulls in deep breaths to collect herself, a pair of elderly ladies pass on the opposite side of the low wall that separates the station car park from the street, and when one of them glances her way, it’s clear she’s been recognised. The pair huddle into conspiratorial closeness as they walk by, giggling behind their hands.

“Ah, infamy,” she gripes. “Just what I always wanted. Thank you so fucking much, Bobby Marks.”

She shakes her head and puts Nessie into gear; dwelling on it won’t help her solve the case.

She pulls up in the museum car park fifteen minutes before opening time, and catches sight of Samantha juggling keys and coffee in a to-go cup. The grumbling of the engine makes the other woman turn, and Leah’s seen enough petty vandals in her time as a beat officer to recognise the split-second reaction of someone wondering whether to run. But they’re on the headland here, with nowhere to go but the woods and a narrow strip of beach below, and despite her flat shoes Samantha’s flimsy office clothes would be no match for comfortable jeans and a pair of sturdy, heavy-soled boots. She decides to stand her ground instead of making a chase of it, offering a fawning smile as Leah steps out of the car.

“Detective! Our museum must have made quite an impression on you if you’re back again so soon.”

Leah waits until she’s within arms’ reach, just in case. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Russell Seakirk were having an affair?”

The smile falls, and with it, all colour drains from Samantha’s face. Beneath a careful mask of concealer and blush, the shadows of her eyes offer a stark contrast to the vibrant, artificial shade of her hair, and only serve to underline the delicate red threading of eyes that have gone too long without sleep. Her lip trembles as she tries to rally.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she says.

“This looks like you, don’t you think?” Leah counters, unfolding the CCTV image from her pocket. “We also found a blonde hair on his body, just about the same length as yours.”

“My hair isn’t –”

“It is on the museum website.”

Samantha twists her lips together, her gaze falling to the photo for only the briefest moment before she shoves it back into Leah’s hands.

She slips it back into her pocket. “Think carefully before you try to lie to me again.”

Heartbeats pass, with the morning gulls wheeling overhead to catch the updrafts rising from the cliff.

“We met when he was researching the Pegasus,” Samantha admits eventually, caving under the weight of Leah’s patient stare. “He wanted to know about it. He noticed my surname and we started talking.” Something sour passes over her features, like a child petulant about being caught stealing sweets.

“He can’t have been the first to come treasure hunting,” Leah prods.

Samantha rolls her eyes. “Every so often some Indiana Jones type comes waltzing through, convinced they’ll solve the big mystery, but he was… different.” She frowns, troubled. “Before I knew it, we weren’t even talking about the wreck.”

“And you didn’t mention this before because…?”

Instead of answering, Samantha clutches tighter at her coffee cup, as if the warmth it offers might act as a shield between the question and whatever it is she wants to hide. A heavier hand might threaten an interview at the station, but aside from anything else if Leah goes back there now it’s likely Tina will be lying in ambush with an earful for how badly she handled the situation with Nate. She prefers patience, and the stare people have always found a little disconcerting.

“I broke it off,” Samantha says at last.

“When?”

A shrug. “He started talking about running away, starting a new life, how he was so close to getting enough to never have to worry about money again.”

“And you didn’t want that?” Leah guesses.

“What was I supposed to do, leave my job – my life?” She draws her jacket closer against the wind. “He thought I’d just drop everything. He – it was just a fling. It didn’t mean anything.”

Leah decides to let it go. “How did he take the break-up?”

Another, more defensive shrug. “He was fine. Maybe a little upset, but he was fine. We went our separate ways.”

Old Detective Reele kept a list of questions for revelations like this, when a person of interest changed their story and the facts had to be teased out from the mess of poor memory and deliberate misdirection. There had never been much call to use it in a town where tacky lawn ornaments were considered serious crime, but he was thoughtful enough to include it in the rushed orientation Leah was given with her promotion. As she works through them all – Did you see him the day he died? What time? Where did you meet? – the answers get more agitated, until Samantha looses an angry huff and throws her arms up in frustration.

“Look, I really wish I could be more help, but I can’t,” she snaps. “We talked down in the woods beyond Hope Point, no one was around, and then we walked in separate directions. I spent the rest of the day at home. Alone, before you ask.”

“Where was your husband?”

She drops her gaze again. “He stays late at the boatyard sometimes. He drinks, he does it there so he thinks I won’t know.”

“Did he know about the affair?” Leah asks. It’s not the question she really wants to ask, but there’s no delicate way to shatter someone’s worldview, and Adam might pop a blood vessel if she tries.

In any case, the only response she gets is a sullen look, answer enough, and apparently resentful of being forced to thrust her husband into the role of prime suspect, Samantha retreats into the museum with her cup of coffee in her hand and an air of wounded dismissal haloed around her.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #nate sewell #nate sewell x detective #nate x detective #detective leah kingston

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merskrat · 10 months

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Hi! I think I’ve been hexed or cursed. I’ve been thinking about some people constantly who harassed me, and accused me of doing inappropriate things,and I’m just feeling crappy because of it. Idk what to do. im thinking about the incident constantly, I’m anxious,I feel guilt whenever I think of it, and it just makes me feel depressed and sad. overall I’d just say I feel crappy.

can you help?

Hey! The most important thing to do in my opinion is to physically clean your space. Sweep with the windows and doors open, dust everything, get rid of clutter, deep clean your bathroom, etc, because that is where this bad energy hides. Next do a smoke cleanse with rosemary, lavender, garden sage, whatever you have around. Work your way through every room, moving the herbs and smoke clockwise. Mix up the ash from the herbs into some salt and sprinkle it in front of your door. If you want to, you can charm a piece of jewelry or even the shoes you wear the most for protection. You can write their names down on a piece of paper, stick it in a jar of water, and freeze it to stop them from causing you any more harm. You got this! Take your power back from these people! Burn a black candle for protection and send their bad energy right back at them.

As far as the depression and anxiety, when I feel that way I throw myself into creative projects. You can integrate magic into these things too. Make a witch’s bell or a wreath for your door for protection. Create sigils and draw them on the bottom of your shoes. Make a bottle charm to wear around your neck or to carry in your pocket full of herbs that can protect you. Dill, garden sage, lavender, rosemary, basil, whatever you have on hand. Do some journaling—however you want to do it, even if you’re just doodling. I used to draw mandalas because the repetitive patterns really calmed me down and it was almost like meditation, which I’ve never been good at as someone with ADHD.

Ultimately it doesn’t matter what these people think about you, it matters what you think about you. Practice some self care, offer yourself some grace, and recognize the work you’re doing to better yourself.

If you want to, you could always hex them back. I’m not sure if you incorporate hexing into your practice, but a hex jar is pretty easy to make. If you have anything they’ve touched you can use that, or a picture of them, or just their names written on paper. Fill it with vile things. Vinegar, piss, coffin nails, red pepper flakes, menstrual blood. If you have space to bury it somewhere do that, if not keep it in your freezer or a dark corner. Never open it, and if you feel that it’s done its job, throw it in the trash and let the universe handle it.

I wish you healing and peace. You got this! Now go clean your house! It will help you feel better mentally and magically.

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mistydeyes · 10 months

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HHHHHHHHIIIII 😭😭😭 is it okay if I can request a MWII pair-up? thank you if you do this and just wanna add that ur writing is so GRJRJRKKKSL

Appearance:

I am a Mexican girl with a medium beige skin tone and a bunch of moles around my body. I have dark brown eyes with long lashes. Dark-ish brown hair that is type 2C and a medium length. I have dark circles some are kindaaa deep. I wear red glasses (my vision is crappy asf). I’d say I’m about 5’3 💀💀. Clothing wise, I really like a Twlight-inspired look, but also loveeeee Chicano-styled clothes.

Personality:

I’m a Leo and INTP. I’m mostly an ambivert, since I switch up constantly depending on who I’m with. Usually, I’m more extroverted, outgoing, and chatty around my friends. If I don’t like somebody–or don’t know them well enough–then I’m quiet and a bit distant. I daydream a lot, and can get easily distracted, and sometimes I zone out when I feel sad or nervous. I’m (thankfully) funny in the words of my friends, and can be a compassionate, caring, and shockingly smart person. At the same time, I’m the type of person who will overthink about having to stand in the front of the class to speak. I also have a bad case of anxiety LMAO

Hobbies/Likes/Skills

Some of my hobbies are drawing and writing, and listening to music while daydreaming. Usually when I’m writing, it’s more like journaling all of my thoughts into a piece of paper. I like a bunch of colors, but a lavender purple (including the scent) has to be one of my favs. My interests are honestly around learning about mental illnesses or anything related to psychology. But, I’ve always had a childhood hyperfixation on SPACEEE (and sometimes the ocean). Some of my skills are bilingualism (English, obviously, and Spanish), the ability to play the violin, running reaaal fast, and being a comedic genius (can you tell I’m lying to myself). OH OH and my fav–sea–animals are the jellyfish and manatee 🫶🫶. And if it helps, my fav artists are TV Girl, Lana Del Rey, and Cults!!!

Okay that’s about it I’m SO SORRY if I made it long. Hopefully you enjoyed reading that long ass paragraph(s). Thank you SO MUCH if you do end up paring me up with one of the lil meow meows, and hope you have a good rest of the day/night 🫶🫶 take ur time!!

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

How you met: Civilian You adored spending spring and summer in your home country. You didn't care what anyone said, Mexico was a little heaven on earth especially during the warmer months. Today, you decided to walk down to the local street market with some of your friends. You smiled as you walked amongst the various stands and watched as patrons purchased a variety of items. As you walked down another corridor of stands, you were attracted to one that sold flowers. You greeted the elderly stand owner and looked at the gorgeous array of bouquets. You finally settled on a beautiful arrangement of lilacs, hydrangeas, lilies, and your favorite, lavender. "Gracias," you gently said as you paid a fair price for the bouquet. You then continued on your way and tried to find your friends. However, you were distracted by someone arguing with a stand owner over the price of mangos. "This is bloody robbery," he exclaimed and you could see how sweat bounced off his arms which were perfectly showcased by a summer tank top. "This is the final price, sir," the owner firmly responded. You made your way to the stand as you were familiar with the owner. When he saw you approach, he smiled at you and warmly greeted you. "Diez 10 mangos para mi por favor," you happily said to the ire of the man next to you. As the owner prepared your fruits in a bag, you gave the man next to you a small smile. Once you were all paid, you knew your family friend had given you a discount. You took out 5 mangoes from your bag and gently handed it to him, much to the chagrin of the owner. "Thank you, lass," he replied in an accent reminiscent of Scotland or Ireland. "Enjoy your fruits," you remarked before continuing your shopping.

A peek into your relationship: After you helped Johnny with his precious fruit, it wasn't long until he found you again and asked for your number. That moment sparked a long distance relationship with constant texts and FaceTime calls. This time, you were flying on an 11hr flight to London. After some much needed rest, you and Johnny left the hotel to go to a museum he had planned and researched by himself. "Where are we going?" you asked as he helped to navigate through the winding streets and rail lines. "You'll see, bonnie," he simply replied and kissed your forehead. After the maze of directions, you finally arrived to your destination, the Royal Observatory. It took about 1 conversation for Johnny to realize your love for space and astronomy and he knew this was a perfect destination. You felt like a child in a candy store as you navigated through the exhibits and had him take pictures of you next to every picture of the galaxy and historic telescopes. "I saved the best for last," he said as he led you into a large room. You both sat patiently as you waited for the show to begin. Suddenly, the room grew dark and the crowd hushed as the ceiling above you turned into a gorgeous display of stars. Your eyes lit up at the sight and through the reflection of your glasses, Johnny could tell you were taking in the wonders before you. "A view of the stars for, mi estrella," he joked and besides his very poor attempt at Spanish, you blushed at the comment. Before he could say anything more, you quickly shushed him as you attentively listened to the musings of a scientist presenting. He simply laughed and threw his arm around you, happy he had planned an impressive date.

#izziespairings #madebyizzie #cod mwii #mw2 imagine #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #mw2

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