It's ya boi

He rolls up, no idea what to expect, but apparently they’re expecting HIM.

“200,000 units are ready, with a million more on the way.” Cool, so what are we talking about, weapons?

No, it’s an army. Oh ok, so droids then?

Some more Batch Batch content since I'm invested. BONUS SCENE:

Like, it's so stupid simple, you literally cannot mess it up.

Wanna know the trick? Wanna know the secret?

These bad boys.

That's right, lemons.

I love these things. Don't like how someone's treating you? Write their name on paper, cut a lemon open, shove their name in there and stitch it shut to close their sour mouths.

But this isn't about that, this is about absorbing negativity that's influencing your space. And again, it's stupid easy. Literally all you need to do is...

Wash your lemon with salted water

Cut into wedges (I usually do 8)

Pepper them around your space.

As they dry, they absorb negativity! Once they're all completely dried up, you can burn them or toss them in a cleansed jar and cap it tightly. Wait until they're totally dry, or else you'll get mold! You can keep these, and if you practice sour/baneful magic, they're excellent. It's a great, passive way to give your space a little bit of a positivity boost.

If you're looking for other ways to use lemons, leave a comment or send an ask, and I'll make a master post about lemons and my favorite ways to use them

Anon, I am kissing you right on the forehead rn 💋

Delicious.

-

Usually, sweet treatment came from your partner when he had done something and needed you pliant, not just because he could, so on the third day in a row of your usually cagey and abrasive boyfriend bringing you a sweet treat, you caved. The questions poured forth, endless swathes of potential reasons he had been so nice to you and yet, he simply smiled and kissed you on the cheek, telling you not to worry.

Something twisted in your gut as he walked away.

It's terrifying; only once before had he done something like this, and it had ended horrifically for you. The cold walk from that random gas station to the apartment still rings through your memory as you shakily slipped sleeping tablets into his nighttime treat, watching as he nods off before you put your all into getting him into the basement, the one he made lock from the outside months ago.

The following morning, you sit at the end of your bed, staring at the basement door, waiting, watching as you pull at loose threads, already hearing the slam of his fists against the door in your mind. The same rolling twist of something runs through you as you wait, minutes ticking by as you think about going to shower or eat, but the idea of passing by the basement door, passing by where he is, makes you shudder and makes your legs feel weak.

It feels like something wrong.

Only, as the sun fully rises, you hear weak knocks and the sweet call of his voice, almost cajoling as he calls your name, asking sweetly if you will open the door, apologising for scaring you and promising to do better, but you had to let him out. There is a warble to his words as he calls your name, followed by pet names and sweet words, pleading for you to just let him explain, to let him out.

Your stomach turns as you tiptoe past the door, recoiling as something unbearably horrifying emanates from that closed door.