#Chihuahua Cupcake AU

[floofballsammy]

SPOILERS FOR FNAF MOVIE

So I got a massive spurt of inspiration due to discord friends to draw 'Cupcake is just Susie's rabies ridden Chihuahua' doodles.

Ourple man just wanted to kill a child but her handbag-sized protection unit wasnt having that. So he killed and stuffed it out of spite.

I'm chosing to believe this as canon. I'm already making Lore, you cant stop me.

[parsheliii]

Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria

"Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza... Err... This is your first night isn't it Great-"

"George, that's the wrong one"

"What?"

"That's the wrong script, you are reading the wrong one!"

"Uh...Oh! I see now, this one?"

"Yup"

"K...

Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria! Where all dreams come true!

Come enjoy a slide of pizza with all your family and friends while listening some fancy music from the Fazbear's Band! Or hearing some curious stories at the Pirate Cove.

Alfred Fazbear, the leader of the band, with Benjamin Babier, our guitarrist, will be the waiters that will assist you when their performance is over, they will be the ones to bring all your wants and needs.

Chanelle Cairo, our sweet vocalist, will also be the chef and cook, the pizza's recipe hasn't changed in decades, the main creator being Alfred's father, Dock Fazbear.

...

I gotta add that Freddy doesn't know how to cook and he is a fucking failure to his family, even his sister was the chef in her own pizzeria back then, how can you be the only one that can't even fry an egg, Fazbear??"

"Keep. Reading. The. F*cking. Script"

"...And last things last, Felix Farley, being our storyteller, is also our delivery, you will get your pizza in a blink of an eye if you use our delivery services!

Being said, the bear here himself, George Kietzman, will be the one taking your phone calls and orders by calling 1-800-083, don't forget delivery services is just for night time!

Afternoon phone orders will have to be taken in the pizzeria's location.

Other things to let you know:

• Fazbear's Band perform every monday to thursday from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m., so write that down in your schedules and don't miss it!

• Pirate's Cove is exclusive for saturday nights and birthday parties, so don't forget to book your next birthday party at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria to enjoy some new stories from our beloved pirate fox!

• Friday nights are the perfect nights for YOU to perform! Come over and show all your talent, or just have some fun at the karaoke with your friends while singing the songs of your choice!

• We are closed on sundays, so we will be seeing you on mondays back again!

That's it, how did I do?"

"...Could have been better"

____________________________________

Endless Show At Freddy's is based on the characters and story from Five Nights At Freddy's, owned by Scott Cawthon.

The story and characters are REALLY different. It includes a lot kind of relationships and ideas that aren't canon in game, but they are in this AU, if you aren't happy with them, I'm not going to change them just 'cause of ya', so keep your words.

The same goes with some characters' genders and designs, they might change from the original character, just because! For the fun of it :]

Who is who? Here is a short list:

Freddy Fazbear→ Alfred "Freddy" Fazbear

Bonnie The Bunny→ Benjamin "Ben" Babier

Chica The Chicken → Chanelle Cairo

Foxy The Pirate Fox→ Felix Farley

Golden Freddy→ George Frederick Kietzman

Notes:

• Mr. Cupcake is Chanelle's pet, he is a chihuahua. He doesn't work there, I just wanted to show how Chica's cupcake looks like in my AU

• If you have been here long enough, George still has ear piercings, but in this reff sheet I couldn't add them because they are in his other ear (this is mostly a note for myself, because I will probably forget lol)

• Felix has another outfit when he works as the delivery, I just preferred to show him with his pirate clothes, I don't want anyone confused by 'why doesn't he have pirate clothes???" I'll do an individual reff just for his delivery clothes, including Chanelle, she also has another clothes while cooking, i'm not going to let her cook with that cute dress!

[heavenlyhoundoom]

I want to make new characters for my Snowball au.

Starting with Willow's family, because it's bugging me that we know nothing about Trixie's family outside her husband and daughters.

Willow's mum: Daphne(red poodle)

Willow's dad: Scotch(apricot poodle)

Willow's little sister: Lexi(red poodle)

Willow's brother-in-law: Ace(Lexi's husband, pink poodle)

Willow's first niece: Rose(Ace and Lexi's first daughter, pink poodle)

Willow's second niece: Garnet(Ace and Lexi's second daughter, red poodle)

Willow's nephew: Timmy(Ace and Lexi's son, pink and red poodle)

Uncle Porter(Scotch's little brother, silver poodle)

(Daphne is an only child)

Now I'll talk about Titan's family(Titan is a tan afghan hound).

Titan's mum: Amari(tan afghan hound)

Titan's dad: Sterling(black afghan hound)

Titan's big sister: Faith(tan afghan hound with black markings on her face, ears, and tail tip)

Titan's little sister: Stella(black afghan hound)

Titan's big brother-in-law: Shaun(Faith's husband, gray irish setter)

Titan's little brother-in-law: Prince(Stella's husband, blue afghan hound)

Titan's niece: Nora(Faith and Shaun's daughter, afghan hound/irish setter mix)

Titan's nephew: Thunder(Prince and Stella's son, black and blue afghan hound)

Now, let's talk about Titan's ex friends and ex-girlfriend.

Titan's ex-girlfriend: Molly(golden lab)

Titan broke up with Molly after he found out that she cheated on him with his ex friend, Gus(rottweiler), and he had to burn bridges with most of his friends after they chose to side with Gus. This is why he only had three friends during Double babysitter.

Titan's ex friends: Tango(white heeler), Beau(american foxhound), Ziggy(chihuahua), Specter(great pyrenees), and Jackson(saluki).

Titan's three remaining friends are Louis, Hank(boxer), and Schnitzel(Dachshund).

New kid characters

Mrs.Inu has fraternal triplets(one boy and two girls. They're the same age as Snowball, and they go to the same school and class as Snowball because they're mum's a teacher there(Mrs.Inu is a black and tan shiba inu)

Oldest triplet: Mochi(female, black shiba inu)

Middle triplet: Taco(male, tan shiba inu)

Youngest triplet: Cupcake(female, she is a white shiba inu, like her dad)

Mrs.Inu's name is Eclair, and her husband's name is Noodles(I thought it would be cute if they were all named after food).

Odin is a male german shepherd from Germany and is the Jean Luc of this universe.(he only spoke German until they meet again as teenagers in a flash forward scene).

Goldie has a little brother named Ryder. He's the same age as Bisket and is his best friend, as they go to the same school.

Duke has a big sister named Sally, she is ten years old, and is very protective of her little brother.

[idleglowingpixels]

So I was thinking about my human FNAF AU, as one does, and because of the way the movie used Karl the cupcake I was wondering if/how I could somehow possibly include him in some way instead of him just disappearing into the ether of irrelevancy like he had been before

Then I saw a comment on some instagram reel about him that said something like "we all thought Mangle was what became of Susie's dog, hell nah it was the cupcake fr" and I was like WAIT A SECOND--

So Karl is now a dog and I love him <3, what breed tho is being debated in my brain (I considered a chihuahua cause they're usually not trained right and become ankle biters and that sounds right, but also in the movie Chica lets him do her dirty work so idk maybe he should be a bigger dog like a shepherd that can be taught to fight people in defending their humans and do lethal damage)

[obae-me]

Beneath Still Waters- CH 1

Miracle Meeting

Word count: 3600

Summary: It’s the first of many strange meetings you’ve yet to come across. As you feel you’ve hit rock bottom, someone comes along to give you an opportunity. Feeling like you have no other choice, you pack a bag and head to a town known as Old Midev, the place where your adventures will soon begin. 

Tags: (Mostly) Human AU, second person view, gender neutral reader, I do not endorse always following the advice of a stranger, but for trope purposes, it’s fun.

They say that despite the appearance of calm surfaces, you should always be aware of the danger of currents churning just beneath them. There’s a point people warn you about, for once you drift too far from shore, there’s a good chance you’ll never be able to come back, even for all your fights and struggles. The best thing for you to do at that point is move with the flow, all the better to keep your head above water. Is that what your life had come to at this point? Had you been swept along by unseen forces, working to barely keep afloat? 

A little raindrop made its way down the glass pane, weaving and shifting past other stagnant dots of moisture. The trail it left formed small beads before it drifted down too far, disappearing from view. The locomotive ticked and churned along its path, unaffected by the storm outside. You sighed, changing your posture after having sat in your current one too long. Everything in your body was stiff, your muscles were sore, but most of all you were undeniably nervous. Was this a mistake? You wondered. Had it been too good to be true? But at this point...was there a better alternative? In all honesty, your life was at a low point. A very low point. Due to circumstances beyond your control, you’d lost your job, been told you had to find a new place to live by the next month, and finding any sort of stability financially, mentally, or otherwise seemed nigh on impossible. 

That was, till about two days ago. Trying to scrounge up any semblance of peace, you’d taken a trip to a local park. Disheveled, heartbroken, you sat on a bench, pondering if soon you’d have to sleep on this very seat in the near future. At that point, it seemed like a very real possibility. Little kids threw balls at each other and screamed in joy, the birds around you sang without a care. Everyone else looked happy. Everyone else didn’t seem to struggle as you did. And while it seemed silly, you couldn’t help but seem envious of everything. Envious of the adults who seemed to have everything together. Envious of the free birds. Even envious of the little flowers planted in their permanent little pots. 

“Mind if I sit here?” A gentle voice snapped you out of your thoughts, some worry racing through your mind, wondering if the stranger had noticed how bitterly you watched the passersby. The man was a kind looking soul; bright blue eyes, dark-toned skin, well-kept clothes, a shining smile on his attractive features. A soft breeze ruffled his curly brown hair. He pulled his ivory jacket closer around him, adjusting the blue scarf around his neck, the ends of the fabric billowing behind his shoulders. Something about him struck you as otherworldly, but you couldn’t place it. 

Aware of the way you looked compared to him, you scooted a little closer to the edge of the bench, straightening your own clothes in an attempt to make your hoodie and sweatpants a bit more presentable. “Uh...sure…” 

As he sat down, he thanked you only to apologize right after. “I’m sorry, I just had a feeling...maybe you could use some company.” Had you really looked that pathetic? Like a wounded animal left on the side of the road and calling out for help? You refrained from making a comment, hunching your shoulders instead. The stranger tilted his head at you, then lifted his chin to observe the puffy clouds drift up above your heads. “A beautiful day,” he expressed. “Don’t you think?” Really? Out of everything that could’ve possibly happened today, a charming yet odd stranger basically asked how you thought the weather was? Was it a good day? Was today, a day you’d been handed two rejected applications, a day you’d been hunting for anyone to take you in, a day you felt as if nothing could get worse, a good day? “It doesn’t have to be a good day,” he started, speaking as if he’d directly read your thoughts, “For it to be a beautiful one.” The breath in your lungs stopped for a moment as you observed him with semi-wide eyes. How did he…? The man simply shot you a sympathetic grin. “Ah, sorry for the assumptions. It’s just, in my line of work, you tend to see a lot of people sport the same expression. I couldn’t help but notice it on you when I passed by.” 

Some heat poured into your cheeks. So you had been that easy to read. A small family walked by in front of you, one of the younger children running too far ahead. Their guardians hurriedly reminded them not to go too far. Once they passed, you straightened your slouched posture, taking a deep breath. “In your line of work?” 

“I’m a doctor,” he explained. 

“Ah…” How much despair had he seen, how many grief-stricken people had left such an impression on him that he could simply tell how someone was feeling just by their face? Was he an empath or just observant? It doesn’t have to be a good day for it to be a beautiful one, he’d said. The leaves off the trees shone different shades of green, some shifting to warm hues in preparation for the approaching autumn, rustling under the beams of sun branching out from behind the clouds that rolled past the grey-blue sky. The air was crisp enough for jackets, but not yet cold enough for coats. You could smell the aroma of freshly baked goods, the air carrying the scent from the bakery just across the street. It was...rather stunning. “I’m going to be homeless.” The truth slipped out of you before you could process even moving your lips. With it, your emotions followed, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been working towards has failed. My efforts amount--they amount to nothing! I don’t even know where to go or-or what to do anymore.” A choked back sob made your voice waver. “I’m sorry...I don’t even know you, I--I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just shared all that with a stranger.” The tears slowly began to dry as you brushed them away with the back of your hand. 

“Dr. Matthews,” he stated. “But you can call me Simeon.” 

You blinked, sniffling a little as you glanced quizzically at him. “Huh?” 

He rummaged for a few things in the confines of his pockets. With an outstretched hand, he offered you two things. One, a tissue, something you accepted with more than a little sheepishness as you dabbed the end of your nose with it. The second was a business card. It was a white and rather professional looking little paper with gold lettering. The name and title ‘Dr. Simeon Matthews’ was printed on the front, along with his email, business phone number, and website address. “Now I’m not a total stranger.” He smiled earnestly, and something about the idea of a doctor easily convinced that simply sharing a name would immediately make you acquaintances let a bubble of amusement float to the top of your mind. 

“Simeon?” You repeated, and he nodded to confirm you’d gotten it right. The vowels slid past your lips. “It’s a nice name.” 

He beamed at the compliment. “Thank you.” His long legs shifted and his hands fidgeted in his lap as he struggled with an internal thought. “Tell me...have you heard of Old Midev?”  You hadn’t. In fact, you couldn’t even tell what he was referring to by name alone. A book? A show? An illness? “It’s a little old town quite a ways from here, but it’s where I grew up. It’s so small most maps don’t even bother displaying it,” he chuckled. Homesickness stood out behind his eyes, his smile a lonely one. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve been home...Do you like house-sitting?” His question left you stunned, and a pit formed in your stomach. You could connect the dots. Was he inferring what you thought he was? 

“Simeon!” A high voice turned both your heads. A child about the age of ten or twelve was awkwardly running towards the bench with a little plastic container in his hands. Golden hair bobbed across his forehead as he stood before the man and presented the container; a little cupcake with pink frosting and pearl-like sprinkles dwelled inside. From under the kid’s blue jacket sleeves, you spotted bandages as well as a medical bracelet covering his wrists. “I managed to get one! They let me watch them make it fresh! Doesn’t it look delicious?” 

“It looks amazing, Luke!” Simeon addressed the pale child. “But remember what I told you about running?” 

Luke huffed and raised his nose. “I’m old enough to buy this by myself! I can handle running a little.” 

“I just want to be cautious is all,” Simeon assured him. The doctor used a hand to gesture towards the kid. “This is Luke, he’s a patient of mine.” Your heart quickly sank. It explained the bracelet, why Luke looked too pale, why his bright tufts seemed so thin. Simeon noticed your face quickly drain, and he playfully ruffled Luke’s hair. “He’s been a fighter, but it’ll end up being moot if you waste all your energy running around like a rabid chihuahua!” 

Luke, affronted, swatted Simeon’s hand away and fixed the stray strands. “I’m not a chihuahua!” There was fire in him yet. He pulled the cupcake box closer to his chest like he had to protect it. His sweet innocence and their wholesome dynamic let a smile curl across your face, something that hadn’t happened to you for a while. “Who’s your friend, Simeon?” 

The man hesitated. He didn’t know how to explain that you two had literally just met, and your name had yet to be announced. He’d probably refrained from asking in the event it would make you uncomfortable. You drifted your sight between the two of them, the sense of unease devoid from your intuition. Usually you could trust your gut on sketchy strangers. The two of them felt warm, safe, strangely familiar, like you’d been fated to cross paths. Some faith in your humanity was restored, and as you looked at Luke, you remembered that other people were suffering too. If he could, you too could fight a little longer. With a little sigh, you let some of the heavy weight of hopelessness slide off your shoulders, and you shared your name. 

And that was simply the beginning of your journey. A meeting of miracles. 

Simeon had asked you again how you felt about house-sitting, and before he took off with Luke, he encouraged you to give the number on his card a call once you’d thought it over. Now here you were, on a train to this town of his, doing something potentially reckless. Old Midev...small alright. After you’d double checked Simeon’s doctorate claims, you’d searched this town. It did exist, but it took you a while to find it. For the longest time, the only result that would show up were some crackhead conspiracy posts on a mystic sea creature written by someone calling themselves The Sorcerer. There was only a lake in that town, nothing really seaworthy about it. Nothing really note-worthy about it, in fact. From the overhead map view, you could see a school, a library, a park, a gym, a grocery store, a few other scattered businesses--basically the bare minimum--and that was it. There were only about 800 people, and even that was slowly declining as residents moved away. But in that town held the potential of some support, a shelter, some hope, at least until you could get back on your own two feet. 

The train buckled a bit, the speed starting to decline. You picked your head up, eyes heavy as you’d almost begun to nod off. Only now did your heart begin to pound. New people. A new environment. Would you be able to tell people you were basically someone’s charity case? That you were going to be squatting in someone’s empty home till you could sort yourself out? Groaning, you tapped your feet against the floor to get your nerves out. It took about another ten minutes before the train came to a complete stop. The luggage you’d brought with you resided in a single large suitcase in the proper compartment. Everything else you owned you had boxed up and placed in a storage unit in your old city. 

If the station you stepped out onto was a testament to what the town was like, you could see that it truly lived up to the name Old Midev. The train had pulled next to the only station in town. It almost seemed as if the station itself was built before the rails, and they conveniently converted it into a station as an afterthought. It looked more like a barn than anything. A little red wooden building with rusty red walls and white trim that had begun to chip and grey with time. The platform was decorated with log benches, carved animal statues, and barrels that had been cut in half to serve as flower planters. There was a nice little overhead to keep people--and you--from standing out in open weather. Even though it was still raining, it had lessened to a light sprinkle. As you tried to move, your luggage quickly got snagged on a nail sticking out from the creaking floorboards underneath you. With a tug, you got it free. The pistons to the train hissed as they prepared to shut the doors behind you. It’s your last chance to turn around. It’ll be hard to get out of this if you stay, you told yourself. And yet you stood your ground, watching the train start to chug away. 

Simeon had given you some insight into a few things before he’d so graciously purchased your ticket for you. One, he told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed. Yes, this town housed his home, and yet his work had him traveling constantly, so there was no one there to look after it. Two, his extra set of keys was in a compartment behind a wall plaque with a proverb on it. And three, a friend of his would be waiting at the station when you arrived to help take you to the house you’d be staying at. Only...you were seemingly the only living soul around. Swiveling your head to observe the area around you, you only further confirmed this. There was no one else here. No one was sitting down, no one was inside the building when you peeked in the windows. Being alone in...such an unfamiliar place...out in the middle of nowhere. Your blood started to run cold. Should you have done more background checks on Simeon? Yes, there was a website and a secretary and Luke and everything...but maybe it had all been staged! Was it all fake? Did you make a mistake? What were you even doing hopping on a train to come all the way out here?! Sure you had joked about dropping your entire life to move to a desolate place and change the way you lived, but you never thought it would be this frightening in the moment!

“Hey.” The monotone voice of someone behind you made you shout. You quickly turned, placing your suitcase in front of you in the event you needed to use it as a shield. You’d brought a self defense keychain with you and hidden it in your sleeve. Up until now, you hadn’t had to use it yet...but you would if you were desperate. There before you, occupying the space you could’ve sworn was empty, was a man; ripped jeans, dark circles under his eyes about as dark as the large sweatshirt he was wearing. Floppy purple hair with frosted ends hovered in front of his vision. He had a chain around his neck, a dirty look across his face, and a strange intense stance. You were dead. You knew it. Somehow you’d been fooled into coming here, and now you were about to be killed. “Are you the person Simeon sent?” 

Oh...was this the friend Simeon had talked about? Your nerves were still on edge, but you found it a little easier to breathe. “Y-yes...are you…” 

“Yeah. He sent me here to pick you up. I’m kinda late, I-” He was interrupted by his own large yawn. “I overslept. But it’s whatever.” Wasn’t it already dipping into the late afternoon? There was still some trepidation inside you, and he must’ve finally noticed your defensive stance. “Oh. Simeon told me to say ‘seraph’...I think it was the word.”  Seraph had been Simeon’s little safety measure to try and ease your anxiety and to prove who to trust. It was such a random little word, you’d doubted anyone could come up with it without being told by Simeon first. Your shoulders loosened a bit. Although, still...not to stereotype...but you found it interesting that a character like Simeon would be friends with someone like...this person before you. He appeared as if he’d torn up his entire wardrobe with a set of knives and yet looked entirely comfortable about it. Like...soft-emo-core. And yet their clashing attire wasn’t what bothered you...it was Simeon’s angelic nature vs...this person’s apathetic attitude. Well, who were you to judge? Simeon just always threw more surprises at you. 

“Yeah. That was the word.” You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. “Thanks for coming to pick me up. I wouldn’t know left from right here.” 

His blank face managed a little laugh. “Most people don’t. Anyway, come on, my brother has the car running.” He already started walking off, not even bothered to check to make sure you were following. You muttered some curses in your head before dragging your heavy suitcase behind you, trying not to trip on the uneven platform. 

“Your brother?” 

“Yeah, I don’t like driving,” he replied, kicking a few stray rocks as he hopped off the platform and onto an unpaved road. A large four-door red pickup truck was idling a few feet ahead. Through the darkened window, you could see another man--the brother, you pieced together--eating behind the wheel. You grimaced. Getting inside a vehicle with two people you didn’t know was exactly the sort of thing you’d been told not to ever do. The one time your escort actually looked back was the time you’d hesitated. “What,” he smirked. “You think we’re going to murder you or something?” 

You stopped in your tracks. “Maybe! I don’t know you!” Your accusatory tone came out of nowhere. “You still...Simeon told me the name of the person coming to get me. You haven’t told me your name.” 

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. Even if he’d told you, you weren’t sure you'd fully believe him. The main factor that contributed to some trust was all thanks to the person who rolled down the window of the truck, swallowing another handful of fries. “Belphie! Why didn’t you help them with their suitcase?” The name was right. Simeon had told you the person coming to get you would’ve been called Belphie. Strange name. Much like the password, you doubted anyone would’ve just made up a name like that on the spot. 

“Eh. I didn’t feel like it. It looks heavy,” Belphie admitted. You almost glared at him. What is with this guy?

The other man opened the door and stepped out of the truck. He was wearing a tracksuit. Red jacket and matching crimson pants, both of which had black stripes running vertically up the sides. He was wearing a black shirt underneath, a little bright stain of some sort smudged on his chest, probably some condiment from what he’d been eating. Unlike his brother, he had bright red hair and an expressive face, although his voice shared the same consistent and unwavering deep tone like his sibling. He stepped towards you, almost giving you a heart attack when you realized just how tall and muscular he was. God help any creature that dared to upset him. When he moved his arm in your direction, you felt faint, but then he simply grasped your luggage with one hand and plucked it up from the ground, settling it gently in the bed of the truck. 

He turned on his feet towards you, Belphie slinking away to get into the passenger seat of the car without even offering to help. “You’re MC, right? Simeon told us some about you.” The doctor hadn’t known you for very long, so the ‘some’ must’ve been the whole...rock bottom explanation. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to point behind him. “That’s my twin, Belphie.” Twins? They didn’t exactly strike you as such just on an observational standpoint, but it’s not as if twins were always identical. “Sorry about him. He gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

“It’s okay…” You mustered up a polite grin. 

“You can call me Beel.” Beel opened one of the backdoors to the car, quickly clearing the backseat by shoving old takeout bags into one slightly bigger bag before settling it on one spot on the floor, looking a bit proud of his swift cleaning job. “Hop in, MC. Let’s bring you to Old Midev.” 

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Pt. 13

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by Dara.

[All chapters are tagged as 'mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: Not much smut, lots art. And also Dante. I hope you enjoyed things going smoothly in these past few chapter, because that’s not gonna last. 

***

“You know it’s just for a few days, right?”

“Sure.”

“They’ll be back home by Sunday.”

“Mhhh,” Ernesto grumbles, looking away from him to fix his jacket, and Héctor rolls his eyes. Oh, of course he’s gonna be like that: he’s always like this when he’s denied something… or in this case told that no adult fun is going to be happening in his and Imelda’s apartment for a bit, due to Imelda’s brothers visiting. 

It’s not like we can let them know of this arrangement, Imelda told him the previous day, practical as always, and Héctor agreed… though somewhere in the back of his mind he did wonder if they’d really take it so badly. They’re young, both much more open-minded than their parents would be, and would know better than babbling; still, he understands and shares her decision to keep it under wraps. 

Part of him feels as though the arrangement works as long as it was kept in a bubble, only the three of them in it, no explanations needed or given. If asked to explain it to someone else, and put it into words… Héctor isn’t sure what he might find himself saying. Nor is Imelda, and Héctor suspects it worries her more than it worries him. 

As long as no one else knows, they don’t need to explain a thing. Not even to themselves. 

Héctor chases away the thought and glances over at Ernesto, who’s still frowning at the mirror. “Think you can stop pouting anytime soon?”

“I’m not pouting, I--”

“Héctor, Ernesto!” Armando’s voice rings out from behind the door, followed by a knock. He opens the door without even waiting to be told he could come in, a clipboard in his hand. “The room is almost set up. A few rehearsals, then we start recording.”

Ernesto makes a face. “Do we have to?”

Armando raises an eyebrow at him. He has unusual, dark green eyes, and Ernesto muttered once - thankfully out of his earshot - that there is no way he’s not into men and that, under different circumstances, he could get him in his bed within a week. Héctor laughed, but was very careful not to ask what he’d meant with that about circumstances. 

That, too - Ernesto has slept with no one else other than them for several months now - is something he knows, but chooses not to dwell on. It’s for the best.

Entirely unaware of his thoughts, Armando is speaking to Ernesto. Slowly. “... Recording is generally an important step in putting together an album.”

“I mean the rehearsals.”

A sigh. “We’ve been over this. The answer is yes,” Armando says, and gives a light pat to the clipboard, like a judge slamming down the gavel after uttering a sentence. “Don’t pout like that, I’m certain you’ll enjoy yourselves. It’s our best recording studio. We start in fifteen minutes,” he adds. 

As he leaves, Héctor is unable to hold back a grin. “You do pout.”

“Chingate.”

“Oh, you wish you could do that,” Héctor replies, gaining himself a shove - but by the time they start playing to warm up, the pout is gone. Then they start recording and Ernesto plays with so much energy, the kind he only has before huge crowds, and it’s enough to chase any lingering shadows away from Héctor’s mind as he follows suit.

***

“... Huh. What’s that cabrón doing in the courtyard?”

“You’ll need to be more specific,” Imelda mutters without looking up from her tablet. She’s having a look at potential places to rent for a proper shop - best to think ahead and look at the options, now that things are looking so good for Héctor and Ernesto’s venture - and has already bookmarked a few interesting ones, all pretty close to home. “What cabrón? Could be Chicharrón, Gustavo, the guy from the fifth floor with the sweaty hands--”

“Gustavo,” Ernesto replies, still peering out of the window.

As though summoned, Héctor peers in from the kitchen. He’s been cooking - he can cook very few dishes, but they always turn out amazing - and Ernesto’s chihuahuas are following him around, eyes huge and pleading for scraps. Imelda wonders when was it, exactly, that she lost the battle to keep them out of at least some rooms of the apartment. 

“Cheech is not that bad,” he protests. “He’s a good guy, deep down.”

“He threatened to beat you with his prosthetic leg last Tuesday,” Imelda reminds him.

“Very deep down.”

“Couldn’t one say the same of Gustavo?”

“No,” Héctor and Ernesto say at the exact same moment. 

“Gustavo is a jerk,” Héctor adds, and looks at Ernesto. “And you say he’s in the courtyard? Like he actually lives here? The horror!”

Ernesto rolls his eyes. “No, I mean, what is he doing-- he’s… setting up a cage?”

“... He’s what now?” 

Within a moment they’re all at the window, pressed together to fit. It reminds Imelda, briefly, of one time they all perched on the same branch outside a window to listen to Padre Edmundo’s drunk-like singing after root canal treatment. 

But back then, they had seen nothing other than the drawn curtains. Now they can see what Gustavo de la Jerk is doing, and he is… setting up a cage, just like Ernesto said. Before Imelda can even begin to wonder why, Héctor opens the window and leans out. 

“Oye, Gustavo! Decided to camp out?” he yells. That causes Gustavo to turn up, and scowl. 

“Oh, ha ha. You should thank me!”

“And why? For ruining the flower bed?” Imelda asks, raising an eyebrow. A few steps from him, the flower bed in question is a trampled mess. 

“That wasn’t me, I’m trying to solve the problem here! Some stray Xolo dog keeps getting in somehow--”

“A Xolo dog?” Héctor repeats. 

“Oh, of course you didn’t notice, señor Head Stuck In Clouds! It comes in, sniffs around, makes a mess of all the plants. It’s worse than the rats your amigo brought in! Yelping all the time!”

“They have to be loud, pendejo,” Ernesto snaps back. “Someone has got to be of service and cover the noises you strangle out of that violin.”

A furious glare, but as he and Héctor just so happen to be the ones with a record label contract under their belt, he clearly decides not to argue. Instead, he points at the cage. “Well, at least I am trying to solve the issue with that thing. I’m catching it and calling animal control. Which is something the administrator should be doing,” he adds with a scoff. For a moment, Imelda can almost sympathize: Chicharrón is the worst possible choice for an administrator, and to this day she has no idea how he ended up with the role. She doubts he remembers it, either. 

Of course, her sympathy vanishes the next moment he speaks. 

“And besides, I haven’t seen you trying to solve a problem. Remember when you nearly set everything on fire with fireworks?”

“It was just Roman candles,” Héctor mutters, but he does look slightly sheepish; to be absolutely fair, the celebrations for Ernesto’s birthday got out of hand. Mostly because they had to make up for having… completely forgotten about it. 

It hadn’t been their fault, not really. Héctor was hopeless with dates, and Imelda… well, to be fair she had never really needed to memorize it. Ernesto would always start babbling about his upcoming birthday weeks in advance, bragging about the size of the party he was putting together and which would usually result in a lot of drunk people with very few memories of the previous night. 

This year, however - before they got the call for an appointment with the representatives of a record label, when it had looked like their career in music might never take off the way Ernesto had dreamed and that he was about to turn thirty without knowing real success - he just… hadn’t brought it up. At all. And neither her nor Héctor had remembered it until they were on the other side of Mexico City to buy some supplies for her workshop; only then had Héctor realized, in a sudden burst of clarity, that it was Ernesto’s thirtieth birthday.

He’d felt so bad they had returned sooner than planned, with cake and some Roman candles, only to meet Ernesto at the gate looking absolutely distraught, with four cranky chihuahuas in their carriers who wouldn’t even look at him. He’d been about to have a chocolate cupcake, he’d admitted, when he’d left to get a lighter to light up the lone candle on it and the dogs got to it.

He didn’t know which one of them had actually eaten it, panicked, and taken them all of the vet where they were made to vomit it all out before it got into their system. Which had made for four healthy but angry Chihuahuas, and an even more depressed Ernesto.

Who, however, significantly perked up at both the cake and the Roman candles. Especially when Héctor held up the candles with a wide grin.

“Shootout?” he asked, causing Ernesto to finally grin back.

“You’ll regret asking.”

What followed was a full-blown fight, with fireballs flying everywhere, yells and protests - “not my hair!” - as well as grumbling from several people with windows facing the yard. Imelda wasn’t supposed to join it, but of course she had in the end and of course she had won. 

They returned to Ernesto’s apartment laughing like idiots, clothes and hair just slightly singed, to finally have the damn cake. And a sandwich, later. An Ernesto sandwich specifically, a birthday present he seemed to appreciate very, very much.

And all along Imelda pretended not to have noticed, on the small table by his couch, the letter his mother had asked Héctor to give him - still sealed, but not destroyed as he’d said he would. Maybe at one point, when it wouldn’t be such a touchy subject--

“-- And anyway it’s not like anything caught fire!” Ernesto is yelling, bringing her back to the present and to the situation at hand, before he slams the window shut. “Cabrón,” he huffs. 

Héctor, on the other hand, looks thoughtful. “A stray Xolo,” he mutters. “Maybe the one who followed me in the park?”

“Not impossible, I guess.”

“Maybe it’s looking for me.”

Both Imelda and Ernesto turn to look at him, taken aback, and Héctor seems to shrink a little, as though embarrassed by what he just said. “I swear it’s the one I saw in Santa Ceci-- ow!” he protests when Ernesto rolls his eyes and smacks the back of his neck. 

“Come on, we talked about this. There’s no way a dog followed here from Santa Cecilia.”

“That’s it, pendejo, that’s the last you touch me this week,” Héctor grumbles. He glances at Imelda, clearly looking for support, but this time she can’t really give it.

“Lo siento, but he’s right. Santa Cecilia is much too far for any dog to have just followed you,” she says, and her husband sighs, deflating a little. 

“True,” he says. “I guess it’s impossible.”

*** 

“Well, today didn’t go too badly.”

“You almost let them drive our car.”

“Almost being the key word.”

“Only because I was there to stop you,” Imelda points out, and Héctor grins, leaning in to kiss her nose before leaning his head down on the pillow. 

“Story of our life,” he mutters, and pulls her in his arms. She rolls her eyes, but rests gladly against him, closing her eyes. A couple of doors away, in the guest room, there is a yelp and a loud thump. They both ignore it, because you learn to ignore a lot of things when Óscar and Felipe are involved. 

“You’re not doing too bad at all,” she murmurs against his skin. “My brothers are a handful.”

“They’re fun.”

“They’re a health and safety risk.”

“But the fun kind.”

A chuckle. “You didn’t grow up with them. I have seen things.”

“I grew up alongside Ernesto, though.”

“Fair,” she mutters, and yawns. “Is he still pouting?”

“He didn’t pout, Imelda,” he protests, then sighs when she pulls back to raise an eyebrow at him. “... All right, he pouted a little. He probably got so used to spending the night here, I wonder when he last even changed his bedsheets downstairs.”

“A little too used to it. He could use a reminder that we are the married couple and he’s--” The third wheel, Héctor thinks, but Imelda doesn’t say it aloud. Still, there is something guarded about her tone now. “This was meant to be a one-time thing, and-- temporary.”

For a moment Héctor is sure she’s about today they went too far, that they must call it off, and it’s like a weight has been dropped on his stomach-- a sense of loss that is much like pain, and dread of what telling Ernesto will be like. But then she speaks again, and she… doesn’t say that.

“The arrangement is… unorthodox. However long it lasts, it must stay a secret.”

Well, no arguing there. “I know.”

“And my brothers are quite terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Like when they decided to dab into being magicians but couldn’t resist telling everyone what the trick was?”

Imelda laughs. “Sí,” she says, running her hand through Héctor’s hair. “Something like that.”

They say nothing more and lean down against each other, skin on skin, their breathing quiet. But Héctor doesn’t fall asleep for another while and, he can tell, neither does Imelda.

***

It isn’t that Ernesto is having trouble sleeping. It’s just that-- that-- fuck it, he’s having trouble sleeping.

He picked his bed king-sized for two main reasons: firstly he often had guests to entertain and, secondly, he just plainly liked having space in the occasions when he’d sleep there on his own. Now it feels… too big. He can stretch out his arm and meet nothing but the mattress, and it irks him in a way he can’t put into words.

This is stupid, Ernesto thinks, knowing full well keeping their arrangement from her brothers or… anyone else is simply the smart thing to do. I’m having a crappy night and I bet they are too. I bet they’re getting nothing done without me. 

At least he hopes so, because if it turns out they took advantage of his absence for fun he’ll be distinctly annoyed. 

His dogs being there with him - mostly on top of him truth be told, one of them sprawled across more mattress than he had any right to occupy - helps to some extent, he supposes, because Imelda doesn’t allow them in bed with them and you know what, her loss. 

This isn’t too bad at all, he tells himself, and he finally falls asleep late at night. Only to be awakened, much too early for a Saturday morning, by screams.

“Mierd--” 

Thud.

“Ow!” As he lands on the hard floor, his dogs starting to bark hysterically, he can tell that the screams are coming from outside and not, as it seemed, from right next to his ear. Trying to ignore the way his heart keeps beating somewhere in his throat, Ernesto throws his window open and looks out. 

Inside the cage Gustavo left in the middle of the yard, there is a howling, hairless dog biting at the bars and bouncing around, rattling the metal. Well, look at that-- he managed to catch the stray. Problem solved, now it would be for animal control and… and… aaand apparently Héctor had some objections to it, because he was already running out of the block and into the yard, followed by two gangly teenagers who could only possibly be Imelda’s brothers. 

“Ah-ha! I finally got you! I-- hey! HEY! What are you doing, Rivera??”

Oh, of course, he should have known this would happen. With a sigh, Ernesto looks up to see Gustavo’s head poking out of his own window, looking constipated as always. Before he can yell something at him, he disappears from the window-- only to reappear half a minute later in the yard, running up to the trap right as Héctor and the twins manage to set the dog free. 

“Stop that! I have to call animal control!” Gustavo barks, only for Héctor to turn and glare at him. The dog is in his arms, tail wagging and ridiculously long tongue lolling. 

“Well, good news!” one of the twins exclaims.

“We got this sorted!” the other continues. 

“So no need for animal control! Isn’t that lucky?”

Gustavo looks moments away from a stroke. “You can’t--”

“Adopt a stray dog? I believe I can,” Héctor replies, and walks back to the block, dog in his arms and twins at his heels, leaving behind a fuming Gustavo. His triumphant smile, however, wavers when he gets beneath Ernesto’s window and meets his gaze. 

Ernesto raises an eyebrow. “Looks like you got a dog,” he says, his own chihuahuas jumping up against his legs. “Congrats.”

“Er… thanks.”

“It’s not coming anywhere near mine, to be clear.”

“Look, I haven’t thought it that far. I haven’t thought a thing, really. And-- ay, Imelda. I have no idea how I’ll tell Imelda this,” he goans. The dog wriggles in his arms, licking his face, and Ernesto smiles. 

“Hold on a minute, I’m coming,” he says. 

A relieved smile. “Ah, thanks! I could use some help--”

“I’m not going to miss the scene.”

“... Cabrón,” Héctor mutters, and Ernesto laughs, getting back in to reach for his trousers. He can hear, faintly, the twins talking. 

“Maybe if you tell her he saved you from that guy...”

“Or a pack of rabid coyotes…”

“Rabid coyotes, in the middle of Mexico City?”

“Oh! I know, he pulled you out of the way of a road accident!”

“If you tell her we were driving, she’ll believe it.”

“You could argue she has a cat, so you get a dog.”

“Would be fair!”

“If we wash it really well before she comes home and put a bow on him…”

“Didn’t work with the fox, though.”

“Well, it did eat her parrot.”

“But we’ll think of something!”

Ernesto can hear his best friend sighing as they moved to the entrance. “Thanks, muchachos,” he says, “but maybe it’s best if you don’t.”

*** 

“... Héctor.”

“Sí?”

“What have you got there?”

Héctor’s eyes shift to the plastic glass in his hand, the other still holding onto the makeshift collar to keep a very excited dog from jumping up to Imelda and cover her in slobber. Like he’s already done to everyone else in the room, Pepita included, leaving muddy pawprints on… everything. “Horchata,” he finally says. 

Imelda says nothing, but her own eyes shift to the dog. Then to the pawprints. Then on the smashed vase by the window, the victim of an enthusiastic tail wag. To the door leading to the bathroom, where - she can guess - a very much unwanted bath resulted in some noteworthy devastation. Eventually, her gaze pauses on the three faces peering at her from the doorwary. 

Two immediately disappear in a well-timed retreat. Ernesto stands his ground. 

“I tried to stop him,” he declares. 

“No,” Imelda says quietly, and with utmost certainty. “You did not.”

“I told him I don’t want that mangy thing anywhere near my pups. Counts as trying to stop him.”

“He’s not mangy,” Héctor’s protests. “He’s naturally hairless.”

“And very, very itchy,” Ernesto retorts. With the dog furiously scratching himself, and then starting to bite his own back leg, her husband knew better than to argue otherwise. 

“Well-- we’ll take him to the vet and get him checked over,” Héctor mutters.

Imelda smiles, a sweet kind of smile that never fails to make Héctor’s blood run cold. “Good idea. And what’s the plan after that, mi amor?” Her voice is rotting honey. At the doorway, she can see Ernesto is shifting uncomfortably and shrugging his shoulders.

You’re on your own, amigo, that shrug says. Her brothers are, of course, still gone from sight. Smart boys.

Héctor tries to answer with a sheepish smile. He looks far too nervous for that to work. “Uh, well. I mean, he’s purebred. Maybe he has an owner, the vet can check if he’s chipped.”

That could be a good point, Imelda almost concedes, but she shakes her head. “If you believed that, you would have let animal control handle it.”

“Well-- I didn’t want to let Gustavo win this one!”

Another good one. Imelda has to give him that. “... All right. We will take him to the vet. If he’s chipped and missing, good. If he’s not, it’s out of our hands and this is final.”

*** 

“A fungal infection. Really.”

“It’s not his fault! And-- look, we only need to take a few pills. It’s not like he has rabies.”

“Could have fooled me, with all that drool.”

“You’ve never seen a rabid dog, have you?”

“And I don’t plan to. Hey, if my hair starts falling off--”

“It won’t. It’s not mange, Ernesto. Just annoyingly itchy.” Héctor scratches his arm. “Anyway-- no microchip. That means no owner.”

“And that means he has nowhere to go!”

“And that means the pound!”

“And then death, of course!”

“He could very well be adopted--”

“And he needs medication!”

“For the fungal thing.”

“Will they keep up with his medication at all?”

“I bet they won’t bother.”

“Other dogs will bully him!”

“And steal his food!”

“And he’ll starve!”

“But no pressure.”

“None whatsoever.”

“... Thank God the two of you are going back to Santa Cecilia tomorrow.”

No reply, just two identical smiles. Behind them, Ernesto is almost sticking a fist in his mouth not to laugh - good for him, because if he does laugh he’ll never get back in the same bed as her. Héctor is smiling at her as well, tilting his head to the spot where the dog is sleeping, skinny legs sticking out in all directions and, most puzzling of all, with a purring cat over his chest. 

Traitor, Imelda thinks, but with no venom.

“Pepita likes him,” Héctor points out the obvious, delivering the lowest of low blows. Imelda draws in a deep breath. 

“... A week at most,” she finally says. Héctor smiles even more brightly and ah, damn him, he knows how much she loves that toothy smile of his.  

“A week,” he agrees. 

“And in that week, you’ll find him a home.”

“I will.”

“A home that is not ours.”

“Of course.”

“And you will not name him.”

“Aw, but--”

“No buts. If you name a street dog, you never get rid of it.”

“All right,” Héctor agrees, placing a hand on the dog’s. “No name.”

*** 

“Paco.”

“What?”

“He looks like a Paco.”

“He does not.”

“Loco, then.”

“That’s marginally more fitting, but too similar to Lobo’s name.”

“Who’s Lobo?”

“One of my-- do you just forget their names?”

“I known them collectively as the Chihuahua Pack.”

“... Fair.”

“How about… Perro!”

“And here I thought songwriters need to be creative.”

“Pelón? Or Tonto.”

“Both fit.”

“How about--”

“Dante.”

“Huh?” Both Imelda and Ernesto turn to glance at Héctor, who has just wrestled something out of the Xolo’s jaws. He holds up a chewed-up case of some old videogame he’s been re-playing recently, the title - Devil May Cry - barely readable. He grins.

“I say we call him Dante.”

*** 

Officially, they never decide to adopt Dante. It just sort of happens. If asked, Imelda will say they are waiting for a good home to come up for him - never mind they’re actually doing nothing to find it. So Héctor makes sure no one asks. 

The threat ‘if he eats one single shoe so help me’ remains a threat, because he never does go after shoes - the few times he got into her workshop, Pepita jumped on his head and led him into a chase, and he lost interest. He chews plenty of stuff - including a hair product Ernesto left at their place once - but never shoes. He never quite learns how to walk on a leash and pulls like a train, but Héctor can handle it without flying off after him. Most of the time. 

The fungal infection clears up, he is allowed to play with Ernesto’s chihuahuas, and the empty box of the medication they all used is thrown away, along with the instruction booklet full of details they didn’t really read.

Because really - who bothers with those?

***

“I had an idea.”

Héctor’s voice is little more than a gasp as he lays on the mattress, still panting, Imelda’s head on his shoulder and Ernesto’s arm across his chest. It causes Imelda to lift her head to glance down at him - her hair tickles, making him squirm.

Ernesto, on the other hand, groans. “Whatever it is, I’m spent. So can we discuss it--”

“You two should sing together!”

“... Right now? We can barely talk and--”

“No, no, not now! For the album!” he protests. Ernesto lifts himself on his elbows, and exchanges a baffled glance with Imelda before looking back down at Héctor. He rolls his eyes.

“There still is that song-- we could still use a female voice for it? And Armando’s idea to do a cover of La Llorona to have among the songs, you and Imelda could do it!”

She blinks. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not! You sing well together. I’m sure Armando will agree!”

“Last time we tried, it didn’t work out,” Ernesto points out, like he wasn’t there to see it.

“Because you tried to sing over each other! Now you have--” he trails off before the words - come a long way - can leave his mouth. It is true, he knows that, but it would still feel like saying too much. Part of him fears what they have will be soured and lost if they speak of it, if they put too much thought in it. 

The part of him that longs to turn everything beautiful in his life into music aches, but he knows it’s not to be. Best not to look for words. 

“... You have a chance to try again,” he finally says. He runs a hand through Imelda’s hair, shifts a little in Ernesto’s grip. “Third time’s the charm.”

“This would be the second time.”

“So, one step closer to the third,” Héctor grins, gaining himself a roll of the eyes and a flick on the nose. “Come on, we’ll try here. Just the three of us. If you suck, no one else will find out.”

Imelda gives a small smile, then she glances at Ernesto, and it turns into a grin. 

“If he can keep up,” she challenges, and of course it is the only push he needs.

*** 

“Ay de mí, Llorona, Llorona Llorona de azul celeste…”

Ernesto isn’t sure who between the three has moved to dance first - they were not supposed to dance, just to play and sing - but at the moment he finds it doesn’t really matter. They dance easily across the living room, he and Imelda singing and Héctor playing his guitar, dodging furniture, the dogs and cat and all their toys strewn about in Imelda’s once-pristine living room. 

“Y aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona No dejaré de quererte No dejaré de quererte…”

Imelda steps forward, chin tilted and eyes ablaze; he meets her with a stride forward of his own,  Héctor twirls with one last strum, and as they come to a standstill. As the last notes of the song fade, the words - no dejaré de quererte! - echo in his mind for a long, long moment. 

Then Héctor lets out a grito, Imelda laughs, and Ernesto only joins her a moment later. He didn’t like Imelda getting involved with music last time - she’d been invading, he felt, what should have been something only he and Héctor shared. But now, he finds he doesn’t mind.

If things stay this way forever, he won’t mind. He won’t mind at all.

***

[On to Part 14]

[Back to Part 12]

***

Also by Dara: Doggie May Cry. 

[chicagobeststeak]

Steakhouses Are Beefing Up Brunch in Chicago

These steakhouses are putting their stamp on brunch the weekend tradition.

Brunch at Tavern On Rush

Considering the popularity of both brunch and steakhouses these days in Chicago, it’s no surprise that some of the city’s finest steakhouses are getting in on the weekend action. From hot newcomers to timeworn classics, these are some of Chicago’s best steakhouse brunches right now.

Shaw’s Crab House: A perpetual favorite for brunch, lunch and dinner, Shaw’s Crab House features one of the most dazzling displays in town. The River North standby’s “Grand Buffet” lives up to its lofty name with a dizzying array of savories and sweets. This includes croissants, bananas Foster French toast, Parmesan-crusted cod, au gratin potatoes, chorizo frittatas, fried shrimp, smoked bacon, tater tot hash browns and more. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg, as the rest of the menu features surf & turf selections, omelets, waffles, an expansive cold seafood bar and a sweets table laden with cookies, cupcakes, parfaits and tartlets.

Tavern on Rush: The weekend brunch menu at this Gold Coast bastion is as expansive and crowd-pleasing as the dinner fare. A lot of the popularized lunchtime and dinner dishes are available at brunch, including staples like seared Hawaiian tuna, Tavern sliders and Azteca salads with crispy tortilla, avocado, Chihuahua cheese and black bean-corn salsa. These are adjoined by corned beef hash, eggs Lola (apple chicken sausage, chorizo, spinach basil pesto), chilaquiles, skirt steak and eggs, stuffed French toast and more. Currently, look for fall specials like a roasted beet and carrot salad, a king crab and pistachio pesto pizza, and a smoked salmon scramble with red onion, capers, parsley, tomato, bagel and cream cheese.

Chicago Cut: Renowned for its scene-y dinner service, Chicago Cut is also one of the few steakhouses to offer weekday breakfast. It’s a good way to kickstart the workday, especially when dishes like corned beef hash and prime NY strip with two poached eggs are available. Other items include beignets, citrus-smoked salmon bagels, eggs Benedict with prime filets, vanilla challah French toast, and Irish oatmeal.

Ditka’s Restaurant: Eat like an NFL coach at Ditka’s Restaurant, where some of the heftiest, most comforting dishes make up the steakhouse’s breakfast menu. This means pot roast hash scramble, biscuits and gravy, fried chicken and waffles, and a tenderloin Benedict with grilled filet medallions, poached eggs, hollandaise, and hash browns.

RL: One of the city’s premier power lunch epicenters is also quite a spectacle during brunch. Come for the ritzy scene and stay for the quiche Lorraine, rotisserie chicken hash and Belgian waffles with Chantilly cream. The Gold Coast Benedict is a favorite as well, made with potato cakes, smoked salmon, poached eggs and hollandaise.

Maple & Ash: The newest and ritziest addition to the steakhouse brunch scene comes courtesy of Maple & Ash. In line with the restaurant’s penchant for blending irreverence with serious skill, executive chef Danny Grant brought back the classic chef-manned stations, something rarely seen in steakhouses (or restaurants in general) outside of holiday buffets. The crown jewels are the beef tenderloin and maple-glazed ham carving stations, along with an impressive egg and breakfast station with customizable omelets, fresh fruit, granola and salad. Another fun flourish is the restaurant’s housemade ricotta agnolotti, which will be served table side for a bit of added pizzazz. It all finishes with warm, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies courtesy of pastry chef Aya Fukai. The whole shebang costs just $40 per person, which is a great bargain for such a prestigious restaurant such as this. Especially considering the onslaught of food available. For an additional $20 per person, diners can augment their meal with unlimited mimosas and bellinis.

The post Steakhouses Are Beefing Up Brunch in Chicago appeared first on Chicago Best Steak.

http://ift.tt/1UxiWUz

[floofballsammy]

My take on a potentially different design for Molten Freddy, one that I might refine some day. (Really, it's just me experimenting with stuff). After kicking Baby out, they tried to fix themselves up as much as they can. Their left leg doesn't work and their right one has it's kinks to work out. But it's far easier lugging a protective shell around than a mess of wires and endo parts. They will willingly and temporarily abandon the leg shells when it's convenient though. Their voice boxes are basically unusable, sounding like a chorus being painfully strangled and stabbed. They use what's left working of the voice mimic and voice recording, stringing together sentences with any voices but their own.

[justsammysart]

[Date: 03.11.2023]

I largely forgot about this AU for a while. The lore post mentioned will be coming right up though.

SPOILERS FOR FNAF MOVIE

So I got a massive spurt of inspiration due to discord friends to draw 'Cupcake is just Susie's rabies ridden Chihuahua' doodles.

Ourple man just wanted to kill a child but her handbag-sized protection unit wasnt having that. So he killed and stuffed it out of spite.

I'm chosing to believe this as canon. I'm already making Lore, you cant stop me.

[floofballsammy]

ANYWAYS! Was not lying when I said I'll make Lore!

First of all, the dog's name is Carl. Most of you know why. That was just a given.

Susie's family does not know how she acquired Carl. She just came home with a dog and they havent been able to escape him ever since.

He's very much an aggressive dog. To adults and teens. Children are fine (most of the time). Carl eventually comes around to Susie's family though.

He will bite and just never let go unless Susie pulls him away. Has intimidated all the dogs in the neighbourhood. Not the cats though, local cat Minka hit him on the nose, that meanie. Doesnt go near cats since. He also bit off a kids finger once. But he usually goes for the legs and knees (cause he's short).

The reason why he is so distrustful and aggressive is cause Carl originally was an anniversary gift, but they put no research into it, didnt treat the dog good and then just abandoned it. Susie's family now tends to not put cardboard boxes near Carl. It also took Susie months before she could put a bow collar on him. They also have to use a harness because any harsh pulling on the collar sets him into a panic.

Susie gets to keep the dog if she partakes in caring for him and training him. She wouldnt have to do it alone though, even if her parents weren't fully convinced she'd keep at it. Surprisingly she did keep at it and actually jumped at every opportunity to care for him. So her parents fully commited to this and did their proper research on caring for a chihuahua.

The day Susie died, she actually snuck out to Freddy's without her parents knowing. She didnt properly close the gate though, so Carl also escaped a bit afterwards and followed Susie. He did find her, dead, and he just started biting William and being real loud. So William also killed the dog (the barking was drawing attention and he did not want anyone knowing there's a dead kid back here) and stuffed him out of spite (and to not carry a dog corpse with him).

Yeah, no big mistake. That thing is more powerful now.

Cupcake has no chill what so ever. He is filled with all the rage of a tiny dog in hyper protective and 'fuck you world i will fight god' mode. Very much movie Cupcake.

The other ghost kids are very amazed by Susie's dog and Carl also came around to them. Except for Cassidy. She has a dog allergy and fucking hates Carl. That hate is mutual. They're not allowed alone together in a room. Cassidy has had mutiple screaming matches with the dog.

That's all I have for now. Silly little AU for silly little idea. Maybe I'll expand on it and throw some more headcanons into it later. Maybe even connect my AU Nightmare designs?

SPOILERS FOR FNAF MOVIE

So I got a massive spurt of inspiration due to discord friends to draw 'Cupcake is just Susie's rabies ridden Chihuahua' doodles.

Ourple man just wanted to kill a child but her handbag-sized protection unit wasnt having that. So he killed and stuffed it out of spite.

I'm chosing to believe this as canon. I'm already making Lore, you cant stop me.

[justsammysart]

[Date: 03.11.2023]

SPOILERS FOR FNAF MOVIE

So I got a massive spurt of inspiration due to discord friends to draw 'Cupcake is just Susie's rabies ridden Chihuahua' doodles.

Ourple man just wanted to kill a child but her handbag-sized protection unit wasnt having that. So he killed and stuffed it out of spite.

I'm chosing to believe this as canon. I'm already making Lore, you cant stop me.

[justsammysart]

[Date: 06.03.2024]

My take on a potentially different design for Molten Freddy, one that I might refine some day. (Really, it's just me experimenting with stuff). After kicking Baby out, they tried to fix themselves up as much as they can. Their left leg doesn't work and their right one has it's kinks to work out. But it's far easier lugging a protective shell around than a mess of wires and endo parts. They will willingly and temporarily abandon the leg shells when it's convenient though. Their voice boxes are basically unusable, sounding like a chorus being painfully strangled and stabbed. They use what's left working of the voice mimic and voice recording, stringing together sentences with any voices but their own.