#I will also summon the people who say that tomatoes are a fruit

[rose-in-blue]

for my next trick, i will summon 2 entirely different fandoms by just saying the names of 2 vegetables. ready?

cabbages... and tomatoes.

[chanothy]

Light Shinning in the Blue Mirror

Episode five

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At first, Lono didn’t seem in the mood, but… When he started cooking, he becomes a serious Lono. He seemed to be working wit his usual serious expression. Delicious looking dishes are benign prepared one after another. I will stay by Lono’s side and support him as much as i can.

[Lono, is this presentation okay?]

LONO :: Yes! Thank you Aruji-sama!

LONO :: Now it looks great! Now the question is, do you like the taste?

[Lono’s cooking is fine]

LONO :: I hope so. It seems that nobles has much more refined plates than commoners like me

LONO :: To think that i would cook for such a rude person… to be honest, i wasn’t motivated at first

[But you never give up]

LONO :: Yeah.. that is a matter of pride for me as a chef

LONO :: After all, eating delicious food is important!

LONO :: If he was full in a good mood… he might become more approachable

LONO :: If you get enough nutrition, you might even have the energy to go outside

LONO :: Hehe.. and to tell you the truth..

LONO :: Today’s meal wasn’t made for that nobleman… I made it for my Aruji-sama

[For me?]

LONO :: Yes! Because it’s better to have the feeling, “i want to make this for someone special”

LONO :: Because it makes me feel happy too.

LONO :: I hope that your physical and mental health will improve and that you will feel more energetic. I did some research into these ingredients and menu items.

LONO :: Apparently red meat is good for relieving stress! Also fermented foods, dairy products, nuts and wen it come to fruit, bananas are good.

LONO :: So, today menu is,,, broccoli cheese soup, nut and tomato salad…

LONO :: Red meat steak…. And for desert, we have banana pudding!

LONO :: Hehehe, ot be honest, i’d like to eat it right now, Aruji-sama

LONO :: But it would be a hassle to keep the nobleman waiting. I’ll comeback later to enjoy some freshly made food!

[Thank you, Lono]

LONO :: No no! We are the ones who should be thanking you.

LONO :: This time, i was able to realize once again just how blessed i am in my everyday life.

LONO :: Even if it’s the same dish… the satisfaction can be so different on whose face you imagine eating it.

LONO :: The feeling of being able to be of use to the butlers and Aruji-sama makes me so happy.

[Sounds like Lono]

LONO :: Well… that's all i can do

LONO :: So, in order to put Aruji-sama’s heart at ease… we decided to encourage you in any way we could

LONO :: Of course, completing grequests is important, but what’s more important is the health of the client.

[Thank you, Lono]

LONO :: Hehe… sorry for the long talk. The delicious food will get cold soon.

LONO :: Well then…. Shall i deliver the food to Mr.Miller?

LONO :: I’m sure he’ll complain about something. But i’ll just smile and bear it

LONO :: …But i’ll take a bottle of chili peppers with me just in case

[Oh that’s right]

We put the food on a cart and roll it into the Dinning room. In the Dining room Nac and the others had already arranged the tableware and prepared the wine

And when everything was ready, i politely summoned Mr.Miller

Miller Mansion DInning Room

MILLER :: Hmm…! It’s ot quite bad

MILLER :: It’s impressive for a lowly demon butler, i commend you.

LONO :: Ha ha ha… thank you

MILLER :: Also, this wine taste good. Where is it from?

LUCAS :: Yes, it is an 8 year old toblis

LUCAS :: Today we have this brand Mr.Miller… it is perfect for connoisseurs

MILLER :: I see… That was a good idea

MILLER :: I like it, i’ll buy about 100 boxes of the same wine!

LUCAS :: Hehe… i understand

MU :: ….Huh? I think Miller-sama just became an adult…

MU :: are such people accustomed to drinking wine?

NAC :: heh, of course not

NAC :: What Lucas has prepared is… an inexpensive wine that is easy to drink even fro beginners

NAC :: Of course, i won’t tell him that

[That’s right]

LONO :: I see.. So in short.., he’s just trying to show off

MILLER :: Hey there! Did you say something?

LONO :: No, nothing

LONO :: By the way… is it time for desert

MILLER :: Desert… oh well

MILLER :: But… you have to be able to judge those things based on your Aruji-sama’s facial expressions, right?

MILLER :: A first class butler is one who anticipated what his Aruji-sama wants before they evne asks. That point still remains.

LONO :: …. I will do my best….

LONO :: ..Phew, hold on, hold on..

Lono was holding a bottle of chili peppers in one hand… Even afterwards he continued to treat Miller with forced polite hospitality.

After a while

MILLER :: Huh… it was surprisingly delicious

LUCAS :: I’m glad you were satisfied, Mr.Miller

LUCAS :: After your meal.. How about taking a walk in the garden to work off your hunger?

LUCAS :: The sunshine is warm today… it’s perfect for a walk.

MILLER :: Hmph!... won’t fall for that Lucas!

MILLER :: There’s no need to go out to the garden, just walking around the mansion is good enough!

MILLER :: After all, my mansion is spacious!

LONO :: … “My mansion”... isn’t it just an inheritance from your parents that came rolling in?

MILLER :: Hey you there! Did you essay something?

LONO :: No, nothing

LONO:: But.. don’t you get bored staying in the mansion all the time?

LONO :: Theres plenty of fun things to do outside, including tons pf delicious food and drinks.

MILLER :: Hmp.. what are you talking about? You can get delicious food and alcohol without leaving the mansion ru…

MILLER :: You guys have just proven that.

NAC :: Yes, and it seems like he’s just going to indulge even more

MILLER :: Alright, I decided! In the future, i plan to invite top chefs from all over the country

MILLER :: I have plenty of money. Yes, i’ll hire a sommelier

LONO :: … this is not good. It’s like he has no intension of leaving the mansion

NAC :: Yes, and it look like he’s going to indulge even more.

NAC :: If you indulge in this kind of debauchery… it won’t be good for you.

MU :: Hmm… Why is he so reluctant to go outside!

LUCAS :: …Mr.Miller. I understand how you may find social interaction bothersome.

LUCAS :: Sir Finley, head of the Grosvennor family, has always been fed up with the flattery of those around him

LUCAS :: However, being born into a noble family… it's inevitable to socialize with those around you

LUCAS :: To reassure Sir Finley…. Would you please return to social life as before?

LUCAS :: Sir Finley is worried about you Mr.Miller

MILLER :: Hmm.. i think what my uncle is worried about is the reputation of the Grosvennor family

MILLER :: So were my parents. Ther family name and reputation always came first…

MILLER :: I was raised to always be concerned about how others see me… I never paid any attention to my own feelings.

MILLER :: Everytime is ee myself in the mirror. I feel like my parents were constantly watching me

MILLER :: But my parents are long dead now. I have nothing tying me down now.

MILLER :: Deep inside the mansion, out of reach of other people’s eyes… i’ll do my best to live my life however i like.

LUCAS :: Mr.Miller…..

[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 5 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

When Naruto let go of that pitch, Sakura knew their school had won. She hugged Hinata who was also overjoyed, and she turned to her side to give Sasuke a high five then she realized he was still not back.

As she moved along the bleachers, she rallied her schoolmates to give a resounding yell routine. Disappearing within the noise, she moved along the halls below the benches, and there she found the group.

When the fist made contact with her face, she almost blacked out. The pain came rushing in after a few seconds of numbness, her sight a complete blur, a slight disorientation, and her hearing muffled. The scuffle played out before her as her eyes refocused, Sasuke kicking and punching the goons on the stomach, but it seemed she got it wrong when Kakashi’s eyes drifted to her as a pair of glaring daggers.

His one foot was on the wrist of the guy who punched her. When the blood finally dripped from her broken nostrils, Kakashi broke the guy’s hand, thankfully echoed by the screams from the bleachers. “You’ll get expulsion and multiple restraining orders just for the hell of it.”

While Kakashi called the security, Sasuke went to Sakura’s side with a mix of an irritated but worried look on his face. Ah, he was wondering why.

“I’m okay,” she tried to say despite receiving no question, but the words came out wrong. Oh my gods, are my teeth broken? How embarrassing?

As if summoned by her thoughts, he stood before them right after the guards took away the passed-out bullies. “Let’s get you two to the clinic.”

--------------------------------

“I can’t call Naruto. I left my bag with Hinata,” she tried to say again but the words were coming out jumbled like I con kor Nar-u-o…I re ma ba wi Hina-a…

Kakashi was trying not to laugh as she communicated with Sasuke who was on the other bed, being checked by a doctor with curtains drawn. The school clinic recommended them to go directly to the hospital.

“He would have to wait for our congratulations,” Sasuke replied.

“I see you wincing in pain, young man. That’s a broken rib right there,” the doctor noted from the other side. When the curtains were swept to the side, Sakura saw her raven-haired classmate clutching at his side. When his eyes opened to find hers, he glanced away and let go of his pained expression.

“Ms. Haruno, I will be referring you to our plastics. Would be a waste if your student council president loses her pretty face.” The doctor tapped Kakashi’s shoulder as she walked out of their ward.

“Thanks, Nohara,” he called out after her.

Sakura deduced he was friends with the doctor, but she could ask him that some other time. She looked a bit older than the Math teacher so they might not be together. Regardless, shouldn’t she be more engrossed of having a crooked nose in front of Kakashi than his personal love life? When he turned her attention to her finally, she instinctively covered her face with her hands.

“Sakura, you should tilt your head upwards, just a little bit. You had a nosebleed earlier, didn’t you?” She did what he said, but gods, this was so embarrassing. She tried to look at him through her fingers, and his beauty mark moved as he chuckled. Ugh, why is he so perfect?

His phone suddenly pinged, and he took a moment to read the message. “Hmm. I need to leave and go explain things to the board. Nohara might advise bed rest and school leave for at most three weeks so get well soon, all right?” Then, he turned to Sasuke. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Sakura wondered if she should ask a favor from Kakashi. Asking him to stay was a tad too much, and asking him to contact the council would be too irresponsible. Maybe she could sneak out after his exit and find a way to contact the council. She should also call Naruto – second on the task list. He would be devastated without their congratulations.

A hand on her head stopped her thoughts. “Stop thinking at hundred miles per second, and rest. I will take care of the council and inform Uzumaki of your situation. I assume you three are friends?”

“No.” “Yes.” Sasuke and Sakura answered respectively.

Kakashi smiled, finding amusement in their dynamics. “See you soon.”

“Shi yo,” she muttered through her broken nose, unaware of her fingers already fidgeting the rubber band on her wrist.

--------------------------------

She was back in the hospital the following week. While Sasuke was advised to be confined, she was sent for home care. The mandated rest did not even last a day because she needed to show up to her shifts in the café and showed up she did in some elaborate mask to cover her bandaged nose and a sketchpad for conversations. To appease the constant nag and flood of messages from her councilmates, she stopped showing up in school for three days and turned the tables on them by doing all the nagging and demanding daily updates.

On the fourth day, she was up and running through the school halls to reach the board inquisition in time. She gladly accepted an annoyed litany of precautions and reminders from Kakashi.

“I never thought you could be this stubborn, Sakura.” He was visibly exasperated. “I can’t tail you every time and remind you that you’re injured.”

But you could. “I’m sorry, Sensei. I promise to not push myself so hard for the next days.” Sakura gave him a peace sign which he jokingly waved away.

“Pull your energy back, like 60 percent of it.” He patted her head softly, like an adult would to an unreasonable kid, and never have she felt more insulted. “If only I could take care of you.”

Like a babysitter would? She immediately put distance between them, feeling angry for no reason, and she stormed off, leaving him clueless in the middle of the hallway about her sudden rigid behavior.

Now she was back in the hospital after a week of mild recuperation. When she went to check on Sasuke, she found him asleep, probably from the sedatives. It amused her that even in slumbers, his brows would furrow, yet a part of her worried that there must be something looping him in nightmares. She left her presence with a basket of fruits and a medium-sized carton of tomato juice which Naruto mentioned was his favorite. Several juice boxes of the same flavor were stacked on the other side of his bed and a plastic bag filled with instant ramen bowls. She would ask the maintenance staff later to take out the trash.

When she finally reached the door of Dr. Aki Nohara, her assistant gestured for her to wait for a while outside. She figured she can loiter in Sasuke’s room and have one of the nurses get her until she heard Kakashi’s voice inside the room.

“I know you literally accelerated throughout school, but you need to act more like your age.” Her doctor scolded her teacher like an old friend. She was aware of her eavesdropping, but she hoped to learn more of his life. “I’m saying you should visit Rin.”

“Does she miss me?” It was and wasn’t his voice. She didn’t hear his usual nonchalance when he blurted out those words. Ah, a weird ache was forming in her chest.

“Do you even need to ask that from me when the answer is already so obvious?”

“Hmm. I’m just not ready….yet.”

“Well get on with it and put a ring on her finger or others will!”

Ah, her sensei was apparently planning to get married? So he had someone after all, someone named Rin. Sakura felt the room crowd her in, almost suffocating her, and she accidentally bumped into a passing staff and a tray cart of medical supplies.

Her small disturbance brought the occupants outside the room. “Ah, Ms. Haruno, you may come in now. You look pale, dear.”

Kakashi waved at her, his teacher persona already up in arms, then he turned to Dr. Aki. “Your medical advice for my heart is noted, but not now, maybe in the far, far, far future.”

Dr. Aki tsked at him. “Off you go Hatake. I have a patient waiting. Oh thank heavens, the color is returning to your face.”

He’s not marrying her……yet. Would it be silly to think I have a chance?

--------------------------------

A whole two weeks have gone in secluded rooms – a week alone in a hospital room because of Itachi’s connections and another week alone cooped up in his apartment. He got radio silence from his brother, and he almost wished he gave him an earful of insults instead – many of which should have called out his cowardice, especially when the clash had an avoidable casualty. He looked so stupid next to cool Kakashi, Kakashi who was only five years older than them, Kakashi who smoked and read with baseball playing on the background, Kakashi who took on all four people at once with no scratch on his body, Kakashi with his silver hair being friends with doctors and bigshots, Kakashi with his beauty mark laughing at Sakura.

If there was any further downside to this, that was also the angry flood of texts he got from Naruto the night of the game, and then nothing. He was too drugged with sedatives he didn’t have the right mind to reply and process them. He was too drugged to wake up with a clear mind even. He didn’t bother to text or call back. Whatever, whatever, whatever. He took a look again at his phone, checked the time, found no new messages, and put it back on his side table.

His past self would have enjoyed this momentary social isolation, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling of missing company however, he can’t bring himself to admit this aloud.

The next time he opened his eyes, he scrambled out of bed in panic and cold sweat. Someone was incessantly ringing his doorbell. When his eyes tried to find the clock, he found that it was already eight in the evening. He was sure he wasn’t expecting any guests tonight.

He trudged on to his door and mustered some strength to look through the peephole. Blue irises looked back at him, moved away a few steps, and struck a pose with a pink-haired girl with bandages still on her nose. The door never opened so quickly during the length of his stay.

“Are you stalkers or something?” were the first words he spat.

“Dr. Aki Nohara said it’s okay to visit you now!” Naruto whined. “And Sakura brought food!”

Sakura presented several paper bags. “It was Naruto’s idea actually. He nagged me for a week.”

“Yeah and I couldn’t understand her in the first few days,” the blonde said, rather straightforwardly.

Sasuke held back the urge to slap his hand on his forehead, but he moved to the side as he allowed them to venture inside his apartment. On second thought, did he put his underwear on the laundry basket?

“We figured you didn’t have dinner yet,” Sakura told him as she laid out the food containers on the dining table. “Mind if we use your utensils?”

“I forgot to say please make yourself at home,” Sasuke snapped sarcastically.

“Eeew, you’re still in your pajamas.” Naruto made a face at him while he opened his fridge and scoured for water and fruit juices. “That makes the two of us who didn’t shower!”

“You idiot. I showered this morning.” Nevertheless, Sasuke sat on the seat beside Sakura, allowing her to give him a bowl of ramen and some serving of okonomiyaki. A large platter of takoyaki was placed in the center of the table, first to be consumed by impatient hands and hungry mouths. Sakura had one hell of an appetite and fast metabolism to boot.

“Anyway, congratulations idiot,” he said while munching on the last piece of takoyaki. “Aren’t you supposed to travel to Fukuoka for the semis?”

“Yeah, next week! It doesn’t start until next month, but Captain Haru said we need to train,” Naruto replied as he proceeded to open a bowl of instant ramen. “The board also granted us exemption from exams. My brains are saved.”

“Your training camp really coincided with the school field trip,” Sakura noted. “Maybe we could visit you in between?”

“That would be the best!” Naruto grinned sheepishly, but Sasuke swore there was a tinge of red in his cheeks.

Finally rid of all food and dishes, the three lounged around in his living room, browsing titles in Netflix – Sakura wanted gore, crime, and horror while Naruto wanted adventure and fantasy films.

“What genre do you want, Sasuke?” Sakura asked. She was in possession of the remote and was seated on the other end of the couch. Naruto was on the floor with an open packet of chips and soda.

“And if I said romance?” he chided, weirdly enough to catch them offguard, but Sakura landed on the Twilight series and pressed play without second thoughts. “I was joking.”

“And it’s now starting,” she said back.

“How long are you gonna stay here?” He lost track of time – not the first instance this happened but the first occurrence without the burden of something heavy. “It’s past midnight.”

“I thought I was slow but you’re actually slower,” Naruto teased. “We’re staying over, grumpy.”

“I would love for a vampire to bite me,” Sakura quipped out of context.

Sasuke figured he didn’t have the energy to refute their uninvited sleepover at his unit. By the time New Moon played on screen, Naruto was sleeping on the floor with his mouth hanging wide open, and Sakura was lying fully on the couch, her feet stretched out on his lap. He slid out of this awkward entanglement and strode quietly to his drawers where he took out spare blankets to cover them with. On his bedside table, his phone lit up with a message notification.

Happy birthday, Sasuke. – Itachi

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 6

[the-darklings]

Do you have more headcanons for OC!V ? 🥺🥺🥺

OF COURSE I DO, SHE’S MY BABY 🥺🥺🥺

These lowkey also include a lot of V/J & V/S, too. Because I’m trash for them. Also, this got very long oopsie.

Mumbles in her sleep a lot. Her nightmares/dreams are vivid so you can hear all sorts of interesting things being murmured. She often dreams about John and Santino so their names get whispered often. 😌

Adores going to gardens and smelling/inspecting different flowers/plants. One of the big reasons she loved Naples is because she could go and explore and do whatever in the gardens. Same for when she stayed with Camorra. She likes growing her own materials to use in her solutions/poisons when she can.

Santino infected her with the dancing bug. She’s not necessarily that good but she finds it oddly calming and it lets her focus her attention elsewhere and sometimes they do it casually just for a laugh (as if he would refuse lmao)

Back in the day, she used to try and crack John’s stoic demeanour almost daily by doing the dumbest/cutest shit just to see if he smiles/laughs. He liked her far too much anyway but always found her attempts endearing. He never used to have many reasons to be happy but she was like a ray of sunshine in his life.

Every time she does a job for Santino, he always makes sure to sneak in some time just for them. Be it shopping, dinner, visiting local landmarks etc. Even if it’s just sitting together with a glass of wine as long as they’re together.

Training with John always used to be hard and strenuous. He took her progress remarkably seriously (both because he wanted her to be a reliable partner and because he later genuinely didn’t want her to die on him) but she’s pretty ticklish, so there were one too many times when he used to put his arms around her to show her the right stance and she used to start giggling. Her smile could be so disarming, he lowkey just used to soak it up, silent.

She nibbles on her lower lip a lot when she works or is focused on something. You can imagine just how fun that is for John and Santino.

There have been a few times when money ran out for her because Tarasov took the whole cut (usually as punishment) but Winston never once kicked her out of the Continental. In fact, he always used to “summon” her for dinner and “discussion”.

Has a really bad sleep schedule but so does Santino so they often end up ringing each other at like 4am to simply talk. There’s been many times when she has called just so she has someone on the line with her when her PTSD flares up or after an especially draining job.

Sometimes she gets so exhausted that she ends up napping in random spots but only where she feels absolutely safe to do so. The first time she napped in Santino’s penthouse apartment, the man couldn’t wipe the grin off his face for two days.

She likes it when people play with her hair a lot though she’s unwilling to admit it. She always used to close her eyes and relax when John braided it for her, not even bothering to hide her fond smile from him. Santino has a habit of often twirling strands around his fingers and she never stops him, either. She has a bit of a fascination with his hair, too. The man is a smug feline when it comes to her affection.

She’s a big animal person even if she could never have any. That’s why she bonded so quickly with Cheesburger and adores Sofia’s murder bois, too.

The first job she ever did with John ended up going so well, so effortlessly brutal, that it ended up terrifying her. Hearing about John’s skill was one thing but actually seeing it chilled her and awed her at the same time. She ended up giving him a cold shoulder for a bit after, focusing on getting better. It was John that eventually reassured her that he doesn’t expect her to be him just herself but alive. It was the first time she realised she might have misjudged him. Though the comparison and expectation have always shrouded her, especially after John left and Tarasov needed that gap bridged.

One time when Santino was being an especially annoying shit, she texted him a casual, “I’m in trouble. I need your help to bury someone.” The man didn’t even hesitate, “Tell me where.” And she was like 🤡 she still sometimes messes with him though his responses often make her go “????”

One time, Iosef tried to make a pass on her and she promised him that no one will find his body if he touches her again. Iosef complained to his father of course but Tarasov laughed and asked her to have a drink with him instead, saying that making that boy fear something was actually a good thing. Hence the brat’s snippy attitude towards her in Ch4.

She sneakily found out Winston’s birthday from Charon and Charon’s birthday from Winston. She gets presents for both because they’re her family.

Used to really dislike the Albanian crime syndicates but after the blood feud between them and Camorra and V/S managing to secure an alliance, she made friends amongst the new generation of them.

She is!!! So!!! Protective!!! Of!!! Those!!! She!! Loves!!! She’s terrified of losing more people 🥺

Hates sun-dried tomatoes much to Santino’s silent despair.

She often gets involved in Camorra’s “let’s make a bet” game but she’s selective what she bets on because she uses her brains. One time she beat Hector into giving her 100k. The man is still salty about it because he was always the undefeated one.

Peaches are her favourite fruit. In turn, she doesn’t like bananas. They’re like mush. But she will eat them if needed because she’s not picky about food just has a preference.

She actually created Santino’s fragrance first. The idea came to her after Chicago.

While John always knew her name from Tarasov, she still told him properly herself and he only started calling her Clara after she told him. He told her his real name during their last mission together (Dublin job). When it comes to Santino, she told him after she got him back from the syndicate that took him in Prague. She promised him in his delirious state that if he pulls through, she would tell him. She did it when he first woke up.

Santino enjoys teaching her his local dialect of Italian (Neapolitan) if only because he enjoys seeing how her face scrunches up when she repeats the words. She always takes learning so seriously while he’s just there like “you are literally too beautiful right now for me to handle” and keeps grinning/teasing her if only for her to scowl and swat at him, grumbling at him to take it seriously.

She has sneaked a few photos of those closest to her over the years. They’re private and she keeps them with her stash of solutions/poisons in Continental vaults so no one ever finds them. They include: Winston and Charon, Santino and Ares (a few of them three altogether), one of John, her and Sofia and the murder bois, the Elites minus Hector because he’s an ass, Gianna and her, a very reluctant one of Cassian that Step helped her to sneak in amongst others. 🥺

She knew John liked her when he allowed her to drive his car. She usually always rode shotgun and liked opening the windows down to let the wind play with her hair. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that they were both free and out driving due to enjoyment. John used to always drive just a bit faster, too—almost like he could escape the reality for a while with her.

She’s lonely. She’s very, very sad sometimes, too, but then she sees/eats dinner with Winston or gets a text from Santino or Ares, and remembers that she has people who care for her and her for them. She fights through the bad days for them.

Despite her grousing how irritating Santino can be, she does miss him when they’re apart though she won’t admit it. There have been a few, rare occasions when she’s hugged him upon reunion though, and there is that lingering need in her touch that for once clamps his mouth shut and he doesn’t tease her about it, just hold her close. Knowing that she needs him at least on some level is better than nothing.

[lovehugsandcandy]

Criminal Activity  (Colt x MC, N*FW)

A/N: This one-shot is completely unedited and the only reason I got this out in time for RoDAW Epilogue was thanks to Desiree’s encouragement (Ren, I am definitely in the middle of the Venn diagram). (Apparently, I like what I like, what can I say? Am I getting soft? CRAP AM I SOFT? What HAPPENED TO ME?!?!)

Also, I am wicked behind on reading and commenting and writing back to people who said the nicest thing to me and I am so sorry. I love you all and I have LOVED reading everything so much and I am overwhelmed by your talent.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: 2580 words

Rating: N*FW

Summary: Ellie’s a girl who knows what she wants and Colt’s just along for the ride.

“Would you just stop?”

“What?” Ellie froze and glanced at him, guilty eyes watching him.

Colt dropped his wrench. “You’ve been drumming your fingers on the floor since you sat down.” 

“But…”

“You sat down like five minutes ago and you haven’t stopped fidgeting once.” He looked up at his engine, trying to calculate how long it would take to replace the intake manifold. “I really want to fix this damn acceleration problem.”

She slid to the ground to sit next to his head. “I have something I want to show you.”

“Okay…” He looked at her, expectantly.

“Not here, Colt.”

He paused, looking at her. “Is it something you want to show me because I’m really going to like it? Or something you want to show me because I’m really not going to like it?”

“I hope the first one?” He watched the smile bloom across her face. He loved Ellie in all her moods but devious Ellie? Smiling at him like she had a secret she was just dying to whisper in his ear in the dead of night? Looking like she was every one of his deepest desires come to life? This Ellie was the stuff of dreams.

“Alright.” He sat up so his face was inches from hers. “But if I don’t like it, I’m going to come back here and finish this.”

She bit her lip, eyes lighting up. “I think you’re gonna like it.”

~~~~~

“Ok.” Colt shut the door to his room. “So…?”

“Soooo…..” Ellie was ruffling around her bag, finally breaking into a grin when she saw what she wanted. “I stole something from my dad.”

“What. You what?!?” She turned to him, hands behind her back, mischievous smile across her face. Damn, she took his breath away when she had a bad idea; there was something about the gleam in her eye, the tilt of her lips. When she had a plan, she was breathtaking.

Finally, she revealed her prize with a bite of her lip.

“Handcuffs?” Colt could feel his eyebrows climbing up his face.

“Yeah.” She stepped closer. “I wanna try them. On you.”

He swallowed as she edged closer, predatory. He couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued; by the tightening of his pants, certain parts of him were very intrigued in this idea.

“You stole handcuffs from your dad?!?”

“Yeah. Please?” She blinked up at him, slow, the pout of her lips begging to be kissed.

He tilted his head at her, considering. Of course, he didn’t need to consider long. “Ok.” He held out his wrists. “How do you want me, Officer?”

“Oh my God.”

He stepped closer. “Did you catch me in the middle of criminal activity?” He lowered his lips to whisper in her ear, smirking at the shiver down her spine. “Gonna teach me the errors of my ways?” 

“I feel like you are always in the middle of criminal activity.” 

He shrugged. “Fair.”

“Get on the bed.” The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable and Colt had to bite his lips to keep the words at bay, words he had thought countless times but still wasn’t ready to give voice to.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes as she clambered onto the bed after him, straddling his hips with a few superfluous circles that had him thrusting to meet her. “Hands up. Come on.”

She leaned over him, hair falling in delicate curls over his face and shoulders, fiddling with the metal. Colt grinned; if she didn’t want him to use his hands, she definitely should not have gotten so close without making sure he was restrained. Not wasting a second, he slid his hand behind her neck and pulled, bringing his lips to hers, swallowing the ohhh from her lungs as he made sure she thoroughly, fully, deliciously regretted getting distracted.

Finally, she pulled back. “Not fair.”

“I don’t play fair, Officer.”

“Jesus….Come on.” She had the handcuffs open and was biting her lip, concentrating on pulling them through a slat in his headboard. “Give me your hands.”

“Uhh….do you want me to take my shirt off? Or are you going to rip it off me later? …Officer.”

She eyed him, pulling him forward with a finger under his chin. “The fact that you can think that through only means I’m doing it wrong.”

“Baby, you’re doing everything right.” He could feel his gaze soften as he studied her up close. Fuck, he loved this girl. 

She smirked. “Shirt off.”

He couldn’t comply fast enough and, the second the shirt was on the floor, she pushed him onto his back, still hovering over him, too far away, a mirage he needed to grasp but couldn’t reach.

Snap. 

He tilted his head back to stare at the new bracelet. “Never had one of these before.”

“Really?”

“They haven’t caught me yet. You did. Officer.” 

She smirked. “If you call me that again, I swear to God.”

“Are you gonna throw the book at me?”

“If you say something about the long arm of the law…”

He licked his lips. “Oh, not the long arm, baby.”

She looked to the sky, as if summoning all her patience, and pushed his other wrist through the cuff and locked him in. “This ok?”

He moved his hands, slowly twisting his wrists, testing the hold. “They feel ok.”

“Good.” She sat back down on his lap, sliding over him so her face was over his. “Hi.”

“Hi.” The metal bit into his skin as he flexed. “Ok, this is weird. I wanna touch you.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “Do you want me to…”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just…” He tested the cuffs again and they held firm. “Weird.”

She trailed her lips down his neck, barely a tickle of contact that edged over his shoulder and down his chest. “Good weird?”

“Definitely getting better weird.”

His stomach twitched as she chuckled, puff of air warm on his abs, hands tracing over his skin, flesh and muscle seemingly designed to respond to her touch. His cock was straining against his jeans but he couldn’t do anything about it. “Do you know why I wanted to do this?”

“Huh?” She popped the button of his pants and slowly, teasingly, slid the zipper down; there was not enough blood in his brain to understand the question.

“Do you know why I wanted to handcuff you?”

“Most inexperienced thieves-ah-most of them commit crimes of opportunity.” She was sliding the pants down his legs and he was having a hard time thinking, let alone breathing. “You-oh-you saw cuffs so you took them.”

“Mmmm….” She threw his pants over the side of his bed, watching him appraisingly. He was hard as hell and could feel the cool air of the room settling over his naked skin. “That’s not the right answer.”

“Ok, well, can you please just come back?” The metal of the cuffs clinked as he tried and failed to reach for her.

She slid over him; he would prefer to have her naked skin on his but at least she was warm, clothes dusting over his skin and hands sliding up his sides as her lips spoke into his hip. “I wanted to take care of you for once.”

“What?”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “You always take care of me.”

“That’s not true.” He craned his head to look at her. “I threatened to leave you at In-and-Out when you insulted my order.”

“Not what I meant, asshole.” 

“Tomatoes do not belong on burgers, they are an abomination to both fruit and vegetable and-holy shit.” She ran her tongue up the vein of his cock and his head fell back against the bed. “Ok, you’re right, whatever you want, baby please.”

Ellie slid her mouth over his cock and he keened, loud in the room, an embarrassing noise that he immediately regretted and, when Ellie took him deeper, immediately made again. He couldn’t function, the wet suction so tight and warm around him that he swore he saw stars. 

“Ellie, fuck, baby….” She pulled back to look at him, devilish smile in her eyes, before ducking his head. 

“What were you saying? Something about a burger?”

He grimaced as the metal dug into his wrists. “Baby, please, I want to touch you, please.”

“Let me take care of you.” She sucked on the head of his dick and it took all he had not to thrust.

“Fuuuuck…..” He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only contort his hands into fists and squeeze his eyes shut as she took him in her mouth, over and over again until he was going to snap, muscles taut and shaking underneath her expert touch. “Please, baby, I love you, please please please.” There was no relief, no break, only heat and pleasure and fuck he had to get his hands on her. “Ellie, get me out of these fucking things.” 

She looked at him, concerned. “Do you really want me to get you out?”

“No? I just want….” He couldn’t articulate what he wanted. He wanted her to stop, he never wanted her to stop, he wanted to cum, he wanted to see her face slacken in pleasure and scream his name. He wanted everything. 

She smiled, somehow understanding, and quickly undressed over him, his eyes glued to every single sliver of skin he saw and couldn’t reach out to grab.

“Please…” The word fell from his lips as she got the last of her clothes off, laying down so he could finally feel every inch of skin-to-skin contact, her body draped over him so he could feel every curve, every dip of movement. He rolled his hips, slowly, on the verge of death without the friction of her body to soothe him.

“Uh huh.” She draped her palm over his cheek so she could deliver the sweetest of kisses to his lips before sitting up. “I’m gonna take care of you.” And with that, she shifted, a slight move of her hips that had his cock sliding up and then in in in and he had to growl as she slowly edged down until she was fully seated with a low moan.

His head fell back, eyes screwed shut, an involuntary reaction as the slick heat engulfed him. Fuck, he was never going to get used to this, the way her body welcomed him as if he were coming home, making space for him in the tightest fit possible.

She moved over him, slowly at first, an agonizing slide that made him bite his cheek so hard he tasted iron, but then worked up into a rhythm that had him panting, her hands braced on his chest, unbearably close. The handcuffs clanged as he struggled, again.

“Ellie, I want to touch you.” He wanted to lace their fingers together, he wanted to leave his hand prints on her hips, he wanted and wanted and wanted. Her teeth were clenched as his cock slid inside of her, guttural moan when he hit the spot that made her legs quiver. He knew it wasn’t enough. He wanted nothing more than to work his fingers just how she liked and watch her as she took her pleasure from his body. He wanted everything.

“Ellie, please, I want to see you come, please, let me.”

Her eyelids fluttered open. “I want to take care of you.”

“Ellie…” His breath left his lungs as he watched her hand trace down his chest to the spot where their bodies met. “Holy fuck.” He was enthralled, couldn’t look away if he tried, as her fingers slid to where they were joined in a sensuous dance only made sexier by her fingers flying over her clit as she chased her own orgasm.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as she rode him, entranced by the sway of her breasts and the rhythm of her hand and the feel of her body surrounding his. He could feel her, tightening around him as she got closer, tremors that made his toes curl and water leak from his eyes as he desperately tried to hang on in the face of the hypnotizing vision in front of him.

“Ellie…please…” It was begging, it was prayer, it was desperation as he couldn’t get his hands from these damn cuffs and he just wanted her to fall apart in the best of ways.

And she did. The yelp, the holy fuck Colt was music to his ears, but the feel, the feel of her walls clenching and squeezing him, the fluttering, delicate and rough and all-encompassing, the feel of her coming around his cock was enough to pull him over the edge, only needing to thrust just once before his eyes screwed shut and pleasure invaded every cell of his body until it felt like his very essence was being rewritten solely as a devotion to her.

Finally, when her body had stopped shaking and his heart had slowed its staccato pace, she moved so she could curve around his side and lay her head on his chest. He watched her hair, wild on his chest, rising and falling with every breath, and licked the salt from his lip.

“Ellie? Can I get out now?”

She sighed and looked up to face him, content smile playing on her lips as she ran a finger down his bicep. “You love me.”

He stopped short. He did, he knew he did, but he never said it. “Uhh…”

“You said it when I was going down on you.”

Apparently he did say it, when she was sucking pleasure from him so thoroughly that he could hardly be held responsible for the words rolling off his tongue. “I don’t think that-”

“I love you too.”

He blinked at her. “Hell of a time to tell a man that, when he’s incapacitated and can’t get his hands on you.”

She rolled off the bed. “Fine fine.”

He watched the sway of her hips until she was out of his field of vision and then he just lay there, intoxicated smile on his face, body relaxing into the bliss. Fuck, he was a lucky bastard.

“Uh oh.” She had been looking in her bag for a while; he lost track of time just floating in the afterglow, but it was long enough that he knew what that sound meant.

“Ellie, I’m gonna kill-”

“They were right here!”

He twisted his hands around, but quickly gave up. They were too tight; he wasn’t getting out of these without a jigsaw that could cut steel. “Ellie, I swear I’m going to kill you!”

Finally, she looked up with a smirk. “Just kidding!” She brandished the keys in her hand before walking over to turn them in the lock.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

“Hmm…” She slid the key into the other cuff. “Really?”

And he sprung, jumping up to throw his arms around her and drag her into the bed. “Really. Because it’s my turn to take care of you. And I don’t play fair.”

He never wanted her to stop laughing as he tickled her sensitive sides. “But you love me. You love meeeee!!!”

And the only thing he could think as the touches turned to caresses and the laughter turned to kisses and he took her apart to put her together and take her apart again, the only thing he could think was Dear God he did.

Tags:  @deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard@thefarrari @client-327 @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @hazah@flowerpowell@poeticscolt@brightpinkpeppercorn @zaira-oh-zaira@desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @maxwellsquidsuit@liamzigmichael4ever @octobereighth @omgjasminesimone @waytooattuned

[bitchronan]

lime to the heart

Draco x Percy

College, non-magical AU

ao3

Crowds of obnoxious college-aged kids weren’t out of the ordinary on a Saturday evening at the store where Percy worked - they arrived en masse pre messy nights out to bulk buy vodka and own-brand mixers - but even still, the group that had just passed through the automatic sliding doors exuded the cocky self-confidence that could only be pulled off by the incredibly entitled.

The group was headed up by an arrogant blonde boy drawling loudly into a mobile phone as he pointed his friends towards the liquor aisle.

“I don’t care if there’s vodka there,” he was saying. “If you think I’m going to drink dollar store toilet cleaner, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Percy sighed as he began to unpack the next crate of tomatoes, thankful only that he wasn’t on checkout tonight.

“Can we do tequila shots with pink Himalayan sea salt?” A brunette girl in heels about as high as her skirt was short asked.

“Only if we’re criminally insane,” a dark-skinned boy replied rolling his eyes. “Honestly Daph, you’re as blonde as your sister sometimes.”

‘Daph’ stuck out her jewel-studded tongue at the tall boy and returned to perusing the shelves.

“Marcus says to get more solo cups - they’ve run out - and also to bring him some fags,” the cocky blonde boy announced, having hung up his phone and loaded two bottles of tequila into a shopping cart being pushed by a girl with a razor-sharp bob and a bored expression.

“Oh, Draco don’t talk about yourself like that,” Daphne quipped, causing the girl pushing the cart to laugh loudly and obnoxiously.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Draco shot her a venomous look but the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smirk.

“I wasn’t sure,” Daphne replied. “It’s so similar to your bad mood.”

“Is anyone but me going to be useful?” Draco ignored the jab, “Or do I have to do everything myself.”

“Title of your sex tape,” bob girl smirked, blowing a large pink bubble with gum that popped loudly.

“I’m a saint to deal with you lot,” was all Draco replied before he swept ahead of the group towards the fruit and vegetable aisle.

Percy immediately put his head down and tried to look invisible - an impossible feat considering his carrot-top hair and green polo emblazoned with the words ‘ASK FOR ASSISTANCE’ across the shoulder blades, but an admirable attempt nonetheless.

The short-haired girl leaned forwards over the handle of the shopping cart, giving anyone looking an ample view of her chest covered only by what Percy suspected to be lingerie rather than a top.

“What, we need broccoli or something?” She asked, “Worried no one at the party will have enough vitamin C?”

“Scurvy is an admirable cause,” the tall dark boy replied. “And Draco is a philanthropist.”

“Scurvy or preventing it?” Daphne asked with a grin, plucking a peach from the stand Percy had finished stacking only ten minutes earlier and biting into it.

“God, Daph,” the other girl scoffed, popping her gum again.

“Want some?” Daphne asked, holding the peach out. Juice dripped down her wrist onto the shiny laminate floor.

The girl wrinkled her nose and Daphne turned, “Hey Blaise, want some of my peach?”

“Is that a metaphor?” Blaise replied, “Because if so it’ll have to be a hard pass.”

Daphne had just taken another bite of the peach when Draco rounded the fruit display.

“Excuse me?”

Percy didn’t look up from his tomatoes.

“Excuse me?” Draco repeated, louder this time.

Percy straightened slowly, plastering his customer service face on. “How can I help?”

“Do you have any limes that aren’t so… ugly?”

Percy couldn’t help but frown at this, “Ugly?” He repeated.

“Yeah, like more aesthetically pleasing limes,” Draco confirmed.

The unnamed girl snorted from behind Percy, Draco glared at her over his shoulder.

“Whatever limes are out are all we have,” Percy said, dumbfounded at this line of questioning.

“We could go to Trader Joe’s,” Daphne suggested through a mouthful of peach.

“They’re limes,” the dark-haired girl said. Percy stepped out of the middle of their conversation, wondering if he could return to unloading his tomatoes.

“We’re gonna be too drunk to see what they look like in an hour,” she said rolling her eyes.

Draco sniffed, “Maybe you, Pansy. I won’t be able to enjoy myself if I know our limes are so deformed.”

“You’ll be deformed in a minute,” she retorted. “Go grab some limes before I hurt you so badly you won’t be able to enjoy yourself ever again.”

Percy wished fervently he wasn’t experiencing this.

The four of them stood in silence as they waited for Draco to return with the limes. After what felt like an eternity he dropped several into the shopping cart, which now contained two bottles of tequila, several stacks of red solo cups, a tub of table salt, and several admittedly unattractive limes.

“Onwards,” Daphne declared licking peach juice off her wrist whilst waggling her eyebrows at Blaise.

Percy wondered if she was planning to pay for the peach or not.

Pansy threw Percy a penetrating look as the other three left toward the checkouts.

“What time do you finish working?” She asked her gaze moving from him to the crates of tomatoes.

“What?” He asked.

“What time do you finish?” She repeated, “We’re going to a party at Phi Delta Alpha, come along once you get off.”

“I don’t really… do parties,” Percy protested.

“Whatever, I don’t care. You should come anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said like it was obvious, “Draco likes you and I’m sick of listening to him talk about how depressing his life is, or whatever.”

“Sounds like you’re a great listener.”

“Thanks,” she said, unaffected. “You’ll come then.”

“When was the last time someone said ‘no’ to you?” Percy asked.

“They don’t. I don’t let them.”

“How democratic.”

She didn’t reply, just grinned wickedly and turned towards her friends who were arguing loudly by the door about cocktail umbrellas versus tiny plastic swords.

Percy wished he could claim he didn’t know where Phi Delta Alpha was but it was pretty much impossible to attend UW without at some point acquiring such knowledge. He could, however, honestly say he had never been there before. When he pulled up and squeezed his tiny, shitty car into one of the last spaces left on the street he almost pulled immediately out and left again.

Students spilt out of the front of the house onto the lawn, most holding red solo cups and some smoking and vaping. Percy knew this area was mostly student and Greek housing so parties tended to be thrown here regularly, he’d never come to one before.

Summoning all his courage he climbed out of the car and approached the frat house - he’d changed out of his green polo shirt back into the casual button down he’d been wearing earlier that day but still felt incorrectly dressed for the occasion.

He squeezed through the crowds of people into the house, some rap song Percy didn’t recognise was blaring from the speakers and a keg was shoved unceremoniously in one corner of the living room. Percy stepped over a discarded solo cup, trying not to let his discomfort show on his face and moved further into the room.

A girl shrieked and someone grabbed his arm halting his progress.

“You came!” Daphne screamed at him, more than loud enough to be heard over the music and chatter.

Her brown hair had been twisted into a careless bun on the top of her head, and her insanely high heels discarded in favour of a pair of high-top converse that were clearly several sizes too big for her and had been laced tightly to stop them from slipping right off her feet. She held a solo cup in the hand that wasn’t still wrapped around his wrist; it was full of what looked like Red Bull and sloshed dangerously.

“Want some?” She offered the cup to Percy.

“No, thanks,” he replied. “Did you pay for that peach?”

She screwed up her entire face with the effort of understanding him after he’d repeated the question enough times to make him feel ridiculous she grinned childishly. “What are you the peach police? Peachlice?” She laughed at her own joke then, seeing his frown replied, “Calm your tits, of course I paid for it. Draco’s in the kitchen with Pansy by the way.” She added, taking a swig of the drink.

“Right,” Percy replied. “Cool.”

Someone called Daphne’s name, and she turned away, already smiling widely at the newcomer. She tripped on her too large converse and made her way across the room laughing to herself, wiping red bull off her skirt.

Percy found his way to the kitchen, unsure of why he had come here at all. The song had changed to Barbie Girl and, upon entering the room, Percy found Pansy sitting on the kitchen island, her legs loosely looped around Draco’s waist and both of them singing along to the music. Unsure of whether to make himself known Percy stood stupidly in the doorway until someone walked into him, spilling half a beer down his shirt and causing the rest of the kitchen to turn towards the commotion.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” The stranger who had poured their drink down Percy’s front swore.

“Crabbe,” Pansy said sharply.

Crabbe turned to look at her, opening his mouth to retort.

“Fuck off,” Draco supplied picking up a drink from beside Pansy and joining Crabbe and Percy by the door.

Crabbe scowled but did as he was told and Draco held the drink out to Percy.

“What is it?” Percy asked frowning.

“Lemonade. You can pour it yourself if you don’t believe me,” he added seeing the scepticism on Percy’s face.

“You were confident I’d come.”

“You came didn’t you?” Draco smirked pushing the drink into Percy’s hand, “Come on.”

Percy followed Draco into the kitchen proper and watched as Draco prepared himself a confusing concoction of drinks.

“I’m Draco by the way,” he said once he’d taken a sip of the purple drink.

“Yeah,” Percy replied slowly, pretty sure he was having an out-of-body experience. “Percy.”

“Right, your name tag said so.”

“Do you normally invite random guys to parties with you?” Percy asked feeling supremely uncomfortable.

“Pansy invited you,” Draco pointed out, taking another swig of the purple concoction.

“Right.” Percy put the untouched lemonade down, “I should go.”

“No, I’m sorry, I just meant - no I don’t normally invite random supermarket workers to parties. That’s more Pansy’s thing, but I’m glad she did.”

“Well, how has your night been so far?”

Draco laughed, “Better than yours I’d wager - you’ve probably made an enemy for life in Crabbe.”

“He walked into me!” Percy protested before catching Draco’s expression, “You’re joking.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a grin. “He has the memory of a possum.”

“How do you know possums don’t have really good memories?” Percy challenged.

“Do they?”

“I don’t know. You’re not as drunk as Pansy threatened,” he added when the conversation lapsed. “Did the ugly limes affect you that much?”

Draco grinned, “Didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you more than I already had. Although, ugly limes do plague my mind.”

Destiny’s Child was now pounding through the speakers. Percy wondered if he’d been transported to an alternate universe where frat parties played nineties hits and rich kids were actually kind of charming.

Feeling bold he turned to Draco, “Wanna dance?”

Draco looked a little shocked but decidedly thrilled with the suggestion and downed the rest of his drink before overzealously dragging Percy to the makeshift dance floor.

As soon as Percy realised that even if he was sober everyone else was too drunk to care what a fool he was making of himself he found he actually rather enjoyed frat parties. He and Draco danced to the two Destiny’s Child songs that played back to back (Say My Name and Nasty Girl) then, when some techno song neither of them knew came on, Draco dragged Percy back to the kitchen and allowed him to mix him a drink. It turned out the colour of fertiliser but Draco drank it anyway and mostly managed to conceal his disgust.

Percy watched as Draco wiped the corner of his mouth, “That was… delicious,” he said, eyes watering.

Percy smiled wickedly, “I can make you another.”

Draco looked panic-stricken for a moment before he burst out laughing, “You’re a menace!”

Feeling emboldened Percy stepped forwards, closing the short distance between them and pressed his lips to Draco. The other boy responded instinctively, one hand grasping the back of Percy’s shirt at the small of his back and the other reaching up to cup his face. Draco opened his mouth and Percy tasted the remnants of the drink he had made on his tongue.

When they broke apart Draco was flushed and Percy’s shirt had come untucked from his jeans at the back.

Percy pulled a face, “Pansy was right, you must really like me if you drank that.”

Draco laughed, “And you must really like me if you’re willing to come to frat parties and get beer poured down you.”

“Guess we’re even,” Percy said smiling.

“Guess so,” Draco pulled him in for another kiss.

[fly-pow-bye]

Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “Drama Bomb”

Written by: Haley Mancini

Written & Storyboarded by: Alicia Chan, John West

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

More drama for your mamas...and daughters.

The episode begins with the beginning of a school play based on the food pyramid from the 90's, with everyone dressed up as a food item. Not only do we see the return of Robin Snyder in a sort of voiced role, though we never quite get to hear just her voice, we get to see all of our favorite students. And by favorite students, I mean just Barry. Go, Barry, you spinning bowl of chicken noodle soup, you.

Unfortunately, the kid's talents are not showing here, as they're all painfully off-key. Even the last episode that focused on play's idea of Blossom and Jared being the main stars of Townsville Elementary's drama class has seemingly been thrown out, as at least Blossom gets an intentionally bad singing voice as well. Instead, it's Bubbles that's the big star, as she gets to properly sing the big ending song about how treats are good when they're part of a...something. She couldn't figure out the last word in her song, much to the joy of the drama teacher.

A Star Is Blossom still has to be canon, because this episode also features Ms. Moss, the drama teacher that just can't believe she's working with such children. The joke, of course, being that these children are, in fact, children. At least, most of them are obviously children, at least one of them are pretty questionable.

She at least has a good reason for this sudden bout of perfectionism: the stakes have changed. After Buttercup, who is in the play as a T-Bone steak, does the obvious joke with that, she reveals that Citysville's greatest playwrite is coming to this elementary school, and if this play was good, they could go on tour with this amazing play about fruit!

We cut right from the failed rehearsals to the final version of the play, which is, according to a sign gag and not anything in the play itself, The Five Food Groups: A Hero's Journey. Even after watching this episode several times, I'm not sure what the "A Hero's Journey" is supposed to signify. I would guess it's supposed to refer to this plot about the Tomato, played by everyone's favorite brick, in his journey to identify whether he is a fruit or a vegetable, but where does Bubbles' song fit in all of this?

Then again, it's more likely one couldn't even make out what these kids are singing, as they're off-key and can't seem to sing in-time either. Of course, this is all intentional, but it's still bad enough to be hard to listen to. Ms. Moss hopes that Belle Lakes wouldn't notice, maybe possibly giving her a slight break since these are just elementary school students.

That's not the case, as she's bored watching this drivel. Finally, a character I can relate to. But hey, at least that lady right next to her is loving it! Also loving it is good ol' Sitcom Dad, who is taking pictures with this smartphone. You'd think someone who is bad at computers would use some sort of old-timey camera. Good thing the Professor shouldn't fit that description!

This reception doesn't please Ms. Moss at all. If she doesn't do anything quickly, this performance will bomb! That last word gives her an idea.

Ms. Moss continues her affinity with using mystic objects from mystic sources, though this item is a little less fantastic than the play that summons butch viking women. In this case, it's a Drama Bomb that was given to her after she graduated at an academy for master thespians, which, for some unexplained reason, is made up entirely of people in cloaks. When this bomb explodes, it makes anyone caught in the blast 10 times more dramatic!

She happens to have this bomb in a glass case that says "In Case Of Lack of Talent", and I'd say that should have been broken 114 times by now. She calls for a brief intermission, gathering all the students, and then throwing the bomb at them. Covering everything in pink glitter, the bomb's effects appear to be negligible...at least, for a few seconds.

Buttercup: Ugh, what was that?

Blossom: I don't know...it's...

Blossom and Buttercup: Magical!

Ms. Moss quickly comes in to say this is all brilliant, and tells them to go to their places with a really ugly zoom-in to her mouth. No real explanation other than "see, Ms. Moss is cuckoo!", I'm not going to show it, and you're welcome.

Thanks to the power of that Drama Bomb, that opening song from before turns into a big, artsy, and dramatic song in the style of the Cell Block Tango scene from Chicago. The unique coloring, the similar style of the song, and it even goes right down to how the food items in the pyramid looks like they're in jail cells. Honestly, I actually like this choice in visuals.

As for the audio, it's interesting to say the least, if not that memorable or catchy. It's still the same voice actors and voice actresses singing the songs here. I was 100% thinking they were going to pull out some actual singer to dub in for these characters, but it's just the regular actors actually trying to sound good. Less ideal, but less awkward than the alternative.

There is this shot with Blossom and you-know-who embracing that's just randomly in there, even though thankfully this is not a play where Blossom and Jared are the love interests. At least, as far as the viewers can tell, anyway. It does make sense in the play, since it's either two vegetables or a fruit and a vegetable, but I cannot forget all of that baggage from those fantasy scenes from Season 1 and 2.

Belle Lakes starts to get overjoyed at this. That lady right next to her is also still liking this, though the lack of change in her expression is worrying me. And, of course, Sitcom Dad is still sneaking around, taking smartphone pictures. Now that they're supposedly talented now, there's not even a joke here other than the Sitcom Dad creeping out that one guy. I wouldn't blame him.

Blossom and Buttercup are confused, as they can't help themselves but dramatically enter rooms, make dramatic poses, and speak with dramatic lines. Well, Buttercup is just dabbing and speaking as if Bart Simpson got an even worse cold than usual, but I can see what she's trying to do. At least Blossom's Shakespeare-esque lines are fitting here, and she says them relatively well.

Suddenly, the cellphone hotline rings, and Blossom asks what evil besieges the poor Mayor, and...

...it turns out that this episode features Discount Jojo as the villain again, stealing the dome from Town Hall as a decoration! I would say that this continues a streak with episodes with main villains voiced by Roger L. Jackson, but Ms. Moss is a far bigger threat here.

The Puffs attempt to leave, only to be stopped by the power of the Drama Bomb. As Ms. Moss explains, the show must go on, who cares if Townsville becomes a burning crater in the ground. She doesn't exactly say that last line, but she might as well say it.

They don't really turn Discount Jojo's crime spree into a B-plot. We just get this one scene where Jojo is so confused that, no matter how many crimes he makes and how long he makes his laughter, the Powerpuff Girls aren't stopping him. I guess I could see some humor in how Jojo is worried that the usual rhythm of things just isn't happening, it reminds me of that scene from that one episode of Batman: The Animated Series.

Joker: Without Batman, crime has no punchline.

It was done far better there, but I'm not going to hate on the reboot for not living up to those impossibly high standards. No dramatic lines from Jojo here, as much as it would be oddly fitting for this episode, but he does ask what could possibly be so vital that it would prevent the Powerpuff Girls from giving him a slideshow beatdown?

This at least decently transitions to the scene where Blossom dramatically exclaims that it's vital to know if the tomato is a vegetable or not, and even the Tomato does not know. By the way, if you're wondering where the Chicago styling is here, they pretty much forget about it beyond that one scene.

Also pretty much gone is any semblance of a followable plot in this play. I'm not expecting anything Shakespearean to show up in this reboot with or without that Drama Bomb, but there's no real connection between this tomato plot and Bubbles' final song.

Speaking of which, Bubbles is still moping that she can't figure out what that last word in the song is. This scene comes up way too often; it feels more like filler. I could at least appreciate them being over-dramatic, but other than that, it's just "waaah, I can't figure out my liiiines!"

In the end, they say they will do it together...as a whole! This word actually ends up being that word Bubbles was supposed to rhyme with "bowl". I mean, what else could it be? Treats are better than eating coal? You got to pay the troll toll? This show needs some quality control? Would have went with that one.

Essentially singing the same song as her attempt at the end song from the rehearsal scene from the beginning, since it was the only relatively good thing about it, I guess, she finally nails the end song with the help of her sisters. Belle really loved this play, and the uphill rollercoaster with Sitcom Dad still keeps going up without any real conclusion. What does conclude is the spell from the Drama Bomb, signified with some sparkles. The Powerpuff Girls are glad that they're finally free.

However, in the end, Ms. Moss learned absolutely nothing, as she promises to use a drama bomb on every play on this day forward, and then rolls out of the room. How she's going to get more of them will never be explained. The Powerpuff Girls seemingly pay it no mind that future plays might indirectly cause the destruction of Townsville, and decide, now that the show has ended, to finally take on Discount Jojo.

This isn't a bad way to end this episode. Such a old-school beating, not only does it end with a bruised Discount, it even comes with the classic line:

Blossom: Not so fast, Mojo Jojo!

If it actually had Bubbles and Buttercup saying Mojo and Jojo respectively, it would have been perfect, but I shouldn’t compare this show to that show’s impossibly high-to-this-show standards, either. The episode ends with a line that fits in with the rest of the episode, which is more than what I could say about some episodes.

Bubbles: And...scene!

I would have preferred a dramatic line read from Tom Kenny and hearts, but alas.

Does the title fit?

Name of the object, though it does cause drama in pretty much any way I can think of.

How does it stack up?

I'm a little in the middle with this episode. There isn’t much to the episode beyond some dramatic line reads, some better than others. However, it has some nice shots, and the songs, the ones that aren't meant to be terrible, are at least passable. It’s watchable, but I wouldn’t lie and say that yawning playwrite didn’t represent me at some points.

Next, Watch It, did they botch it?

← Checkin' Out ☆ Watch It! →

[undeadhybrid]

Meet the Characters.

This is going to set up the characters I’ll be using, they are from my DnD group and I have tons of stories to tell you and prompts to use for them so here's a quick introduction to them. There are two games that I’m using mainly but I’m adding in the third one. though I plan to make a story out of the game play.

There are five players, Ad, Bard, Egg, Myself(Hybrid) and Wolfy. So far I’m the only one who hasn’t lost or changed characters, though I’ve come close to it. Also you may notice a pattern in Wolfy’s characters, he’s like to hit things and rage a lot.

EDIT - New guy in game three!! He’s been bolded!!

First game:

The Crimson Fuckers - Set in the average fantasy world.

Ad 

Garrosh, a 6ft Orc who owns a pet Dragon called Onxyia, he did own another but I joined after he had died.

Bard

Dathleen, a 5ft Assassin who can kill people using a move called study where, after studying the target for 3 turns, she can kill the target as long as the rolls are in favour. She left of her own accord.

Dolgrin, a 4ft Dwarf who has a Rock elemental companion called Boulder. He’s known for shouting out his quote “Can ye move meh?!”

Egg

Samuel.L.Jackson, a 5ft Wizard who like to collect all things magical and give no shits about the gold. He left to go in search of magical items. 

Leocan Thero, a 5ft Gunslinger who’s the apprentice of Samuel. His gun is possessed and when it hits something, it hits HARD.

I, Hybrid 

Eli Thompson, a 5ft Elf Druid who loves nature. She has a dog companion called Smudge and casts spells to summon other creatures, her most prominent one being a poison frog called Joey.

Wolfy

Guts, the Head Hunter, a 6ft Berserker who’s dumb as hell. He collects heads from everything he kills as a momento. 

Second game:

The Dweebs - Set in a world of Dragons.

Ad 

Elrond, a 5ft Sorcerer who died at the hands on Linguini during an infiltration. 

Bilbo Baggins, a 3ft Bard who’s “a sucker for a pretty face” charmed the leader of the enemies, Frulam Mondath.

Bard  

A druid, I don’t know much about it we never went into details on the character as Bard wanted to kill it off soon as. I can tell you that the character was unsuccessful in their attempts to kill themselves and died to vines instead.

 Leroy, a 5ft Blue Dragon born who’s incredibly dumb but says super smart things. He has a ‘pet’ butterfly called Cal that he talks to.

Egg 

Linguini, a 5ft Rouge raised by fairies. He’s a shit cook but can convince people to eat his food or that he made what they’re eating. Often dresses up to infiltrate the enemies.

Hybrid

 Jonah, a 5ft Arcarna Ranger who prefers distance to melee. (There’s a joke in the group that Jonah gets off when he shoots things. We rolled for dick size, you can do that in DnD and it works for boobs too, and I got 4 inches making him the smallest of the group so I said he doesn’t need to jack off, he’s perfectly fine shooting things.)

Wolfy

 Davor Greyskull, a 6ft Beserker who doesn’t speak. He uses his shield as a way to communicate, it’s covered in a chalk board type material.

Third game (The one I plan on using as a story):

The Kestrel - Set in a world where people uses ships in the sky.

Ad

Torvin, a 5ft Aasimar. He was one of two captains on the Kestrel. 

Bejra, a 4ft Lizard Monk who can only say the word Tasty.  Unless told otherwise everything is worth eating in his eyes. (He’s wise enough to know that tomatoes don’t belong in a fruit salad but he’s not intelligent enough to know why.)

Tilrin, a halfling. Little blind guy who uses an owl to see. He has a stereotypical British accent.

Bard

Qorik, a 5ft Illithid who doesn’t know he’s the only one left. He’s now the only captain of the Kestrel and is known to pull some bullshit moves. He can be quite scary when he wants to be. (Think Davy Jones from POTC)

Egg

Sylvia, a 5ft Air Genasi Sailor. The first mate of the Kestrel. Quick to boss people around, likes to pull rank. Can be sadistic at times, much to the horror of the crew.

Hybrid

Xena Bacchus, a 4ft Aarakocra Monk. All human except she has wings, bird feet and can’t be understood. She pilots the ship and will be damned if anyone else does it.

Wolfy

Ragnor, a 7ft Golaith Beserker who’s a major pyromaniac. He cam from hell, met a gambling priest who taught him cards and bashed someone’s head in with a table and tavern door just to get them to join the crew. 

Darius, a 7ft Golaith Barbarian who’s as bad as his brother. He also has a druid Totem of the Bear, allowing him to transform into a Bear for a few hours, any damage taken in this form does not go into his human form.

[biscuitincharge]

((So...I filled out a big character form on Archie Universe to get a solid feel of the boy. It’s under the cut.))

Basics

Full Name: Archimicarus Gregory Universe Nicknames: Archie, Arch, Pink Diamond 3.0 Sex: Male Age: 13 Birth Date: April 7, 114 years after the birth of Steven Death Date (If character has died): n/a Birthplace: Beach City, DV Current Residence: Beach City, DV Race (If human then state nationality): Human-Pink Diamond hybrid

Appearance

Height: 4'5" Weight: ? Body Type: Slightly stocky but slimmer than Steven was Eyes: Blackish-brown, pupils are diamond-shaped but nearly impossible to see against his eye color Hair: Brown, slightly wavy, curly at the ends Skin: Pinkish Distinguishing Characteristics/Markings: Brilliant-cut pink diamond, crown facing out, embedded in his navel Physical Flaws/Birthmarks/Scars: None Usual Attire: Dusty pink button-up shirt with sleeves rolled up and bottom half unbuttoned to show the gem, soft blue open vest with yellow-star-printed pocket on left breast, black suspenders, khaki shorts, socks, and black laceless shoes Tattoos/Piercings: None Other Accessories: None

Personality

Personality Traits: Soft-spoken, observant, creative, curious What annoys him/her? Ignorance, rudeness, being babied intellectually, being compared too much to Pink/Rose or Steven What makes him/her happy? Learning things, gentle music, designing/building things, casual strolls in calm weather What does him/her think is disgusting? Fresh tomatoes (cooked is fine), cooked spinach (fresh is fine), squishy fruit that's supposed to be crisp, wet socks Greatest Fears/Phobias: The dark, heights before he discovered his floating power, the truly unexplainable, some bugs, being taken advantage of Patience Level: Reasonably high Self-esteem: Okay Does him/her fit into a certain clique (goths, jocks, preps, etc.)? Nerds Hobbies/Interests: Reading, mechanics, relaxing music (playing or listening to), educational tours, some drawing

Favorites: Color- Blue Food- Spaghetti Place- Library Animal- Cat Clothing- Neat yet comfortable School Subject- Math or History Music (genre)- Classical Books (genre)- Of the fictional types? Mystery Movies (genre)- Documentary Season- Spring Time of Day- Afternoon Holiday- Yule

Least Favorites: Color- Yellow-green Food- Tomatoes Place-  Any crowded and noisy Animal- Cockroaches Clothing-  Anything so formal to the point of being uncomfortable, but also anything so overly comfortable to the point of looking gross School Subject- Gym Music (genre)- Heavy metal Books (genre)- Horror Movies (genre)- Horror Season- Winter Time of Day- Early morning Holiday- Dewey Day

Personal

A brief description of your character’s history: "Born" when Steven Universe died and his gem "reformed" the body, Archie was raised by the local librarian who was directly descended from Steven himself. He attends school like a normal kid while regularly interacting with the Crystal Gems in order to get an understanding of his powers and heritage. Long-term Goals: To continue to learn from both sides of his life and make a name for himself in his own way. Short-term Goals: Study his school work and learn to control his gem. What does he/she think of him/herself? He's kinda still figuring that out, but he strives to be a model citizen. If he/she could have one wish, what would it be? To somehow get to know Steven. What other wishes does he/she have? To build something really cool someday. How did your character die if they did? n/a Belongings: A collapsible flute, a smartphone, a laptop tablet, an electronics toolkit that includes Gem tools provided by Peridot (usually kept at home) Prized Possession: The flute; it was a gift from his grandfather Religion/Beliefs: None Political Preference: Democracy Darkest Secret: Despite being assured that nobody who matters cares if he does or not, he still deeply fears not doing anything in his life that lives up to his past lives' legacies. Guilty Pleasures: Despite priding himself in maintaining a healthy diet, he kind of enjoys a little junk food now and then. Does he/she keep a diary or journal? It's a password-protected app on his laptop tablet.

Relationships

Family Living With: A single mother. Family Situation: He has a fair few aunts and uncles, cousins, and distant relatives like second-cousins and one- or twice-removed ones. And that's just his human side; the Crystal Gems are all considered his family on his Gem side--mainly Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, Bismuth, Lapis, and Peridot. And then there's the Diamonds; there's one in every family, they say, but he's got three. Former Friends: None Current Friends: A few, mainly from robotics club. Former Love Interest: None. Current Love Interest: None if you don't count that one boy in science class he's too shy to talk to. Former Enemies: None. Current Enemies: None yet. Losses: Grandfather. What does he/she think of people? He lets their actions determine that. What do people think of her/him? A quiet yet good kid. What do his/her friends like about him/her? He's a real good listener. What do his/her friends dislike about him/her? He kinda needs to talk more. Why do his/her enemies hate him/her? He has none yet, but it'd probably be something Gem-related. Popularity among Peers: Only so-so. Occupation: Student Affiliations (rank if there is one): Beach County Junior High (student), the Crystal Gems (not an active member; still deciding if he wants to be) Sexual Orientation: Not fully sure yet; identifies gay for now. Relationship Status: Single Virgin? YES Hate anyone? Nobody in particular Killed anyone? NO Would you and your character get along? He seems likable enough. Would you like to hang out with your character? Maybe? Would your character like you? He might find me OK.

Abilities/Achievements

Achievements: Straight As Failures: Perfect attendance, talking to the boy he has a crush on. Education: Middle school Abilities/Powers: He has displayed budding superhuman strength, speed, and durability (still developing); shield and basic bubble summoning; Gem weaponry resistance; basic healing; speed of descent regulation; and electronics manipulation. He theoretically has but hasn't yet learned shapeshifting, fusion, complex bubble forming, phytokinesis, resurrection, dream powers, mind transfer, astral projection, and aura projection. Skills: He is a thorough researcher and can retain and peace together a lot of minute details, giving him fairly brilliant deduction skills. He's also very good with mechanics and sometimes likes taking things apart and putting them back together to see how they work, so long as there's no threat of accidentally damaging it permanently. Like any Universe, he's a talented musician and boasts at least reasonable skills in all the instrument families but especially the woodwind family. Weaknesses: He can occasionally suffer self-doubt that can disrupt his powers and can also make him hesitate too much. How strong is he/she? Very. How high is his/her IQ? Fairly high. What would his/her average grades in school be (even if they don’t attend)? As

Health

Diet: Healthy Exercise: Casual Bad Habits: Sometimes chews on the butt-end of his writing utensil when thinking hard. Avoids eye contact and blinks when lying. May get lost in thought. Physical Health Problems: None. Mental Health Problems: Slight anxiety. Hygiene: Very good.

[juniorformulamotorsport]

Tuesday, 28th August/Friday, 31st August 2018 – Hotel Shiskinn, Snovjanka, Ukraine

Having spent four days at the hotel, I’m more than a little amused by some of its claims to “Western” service levels and such like, so I’ll try and be fair because if you do find yourself in this part of the Ukraine, I suspect there aren’t that many accommodation options in the vicinity. However, I was feeling more than slightly dyspeptic about the ShiskiNN on first arriving and not just because of those capital letters in its name! By the time the bus dropped us off, I had already had a 5:00 am start to drive to the airport, followed by a four hour flight and a three hour bus trip, and was feeling shattered. My last cup of coffee had been at 07:00 and “lunch” ended up being a Mars bar and a pack of dried mango pieces, bought at the roadside supermarket the driver had stopped off at. I had hoped, once I’d dragged my thankfully small suitcase up three flights of stairs to my overheated room, that I might be able to get another one. There were cups in the room, but nothing to put in them. And the mini bar otherwise contained a bag of peanuts (not a legume I can be arsed with) and a bar of chocolate – with peanuts in. So no sensible options there, and no alternative as far as I could see.

The hotel claims that English is spoken – I’m afraid it pretty much isn’t apart from in a handful of cases, one of the receptionists, and one of the waitresses on the last night only – and sadly my command of Ukrainian, Russian or Romanian (all official languages in some or all the Ukraine) is non-existent, so I couldn’t ask for anything successfully.  There was at least water in the rooms (a complimentary bottle per person per day), which was a relief. Dinner wasn’t impressive – while I know they were trying to feed around 100 people all in one go, if there’s one thing I don’t like it’s not having any choice of what I’ll be eating, and if there’s another it’s having my food bunged at me so fast I don’t have time to enjoy it. Which is what happened when we were all summoned into the main restaurant “Grand Cafe” at 19:00. The cafe which is described as offering “a wide range of forms of food developed by us: coffee breaks, breakfasts and suppers, smorgasbord, menu «à la carte»” which is somewhat alarming, and has  opening hours from 08:00 to 20:00, which is presumably why they couldn’t serve us fast enough!

We started with some sort of salad, that looked a little like a Caesar salad without the chicken or anchovies. It was OK, just not very interesting, and was followed, before I’d actually had the last bites of the salad, with a chicken breast that looked very rubbery (I didn’t try it – I really don’t like to eat chicken unless I know where it’s from and how it’s been raised), half a roast potato that was too hard to cut, and some very vinegar-inflected aubergine chunks, cooked to a mushy texture. I didn’t bother. The dessert was a local version of an apple strudel with so much cinnamon in it, you couldn’t actually tasted anything else. It was accompanied by a glass of a local apple juice (kompot seems to be the term for it and covers any number of fruit variants where the fruit is stewed in water and sugar). The odd thing was that it was smoked somehow, and to drink it tasted very smoky and not much of apple. The bread was good so I filled up on that instead. We also managed to locate the wine eventually, and then only had to summon up a waitress who had a corkscrew and was prepared to use it. The wine was a Ukrainian wine from Shabo, a company with vineyards somewhere near Odessa, and was actually very good. They seemed to have been trying to fob us off with beer prior to that, with the only pre-dinner tipple by free beer in vast glasses. Beer is fine and has its place in the scheme of things, but a litre of fizzy beer before dinner does not appeal in the least. At least it meant I wasn’t consuming calories I didn’t need. In fact I spent the next few days having a certain amount of difficulty making sure I ate enough.

The following morning it was raining heavily so I didn’t enjoy my run, despite making myself go out and do it. Breakfast was a bit hit and miss and the coffee urn was tricky to operate. I had a massive headache by then, having not slept especially well either, so my first day of meetings was spent trying to stay awake and functional. Lunch during the day was not impressive either, starting with a salad (which seems to be what happens at every meal apart from breakfast) that aimed to be a Greek salad substitute. The cheese used was soft, very, very salty and wasn’t fooling me into believing it was Feta. It was OK spread on the malted brown bread. It was followed by a green soup that was too salty, so I quit at that point and went out to get some air. Apparently a plate of pork followed do I didn’t miss anything. That evening, we were told that before dinner we would do a “quest” as a team building thing. It’s not my idea of fun, but if I was going to do it, I was going to do it properly. Sadly, a lot of the other team members didn’t take that approach, so no matter how much the leader tried to instill some enthusiasm into them it just wasn’t happening. I tried but there’s only so much you can do against general apathy, and it seemed absurd that I was the oldest person on the team by some way, but was the one moving fastest. It got me a box of chocolates as a prize at the end.

A decent dinner that night, with a very nice actual Caesar salad, followed by some sort of fish cooked en papillote, and stuffed with a courgette slice and a tomato slice. The chocolate mousse I could take or leave so I left it. However, I was starting to appreciate my surroundings far more by then. The hotel itself felt somewhat lacking in personality, but first thing the following morning with the sun coming up over the water that ran through the trees it was glorious. It put me in an even better mood when I managed to get out and have a swim before breakfast, and then, after my shower, went out and took some photos of the grounds.

It was lovely down by the water.

The pool was also a source of pleasure, and so, although I really hadn’t slept for a second night – my Fitbit informed me I’d managed 2 hours and 35 minutes – I was much happier than I had been. I managed a better breakfast too, with some very nice bread, cheese and ham, and a very good yogurt with what I would regard as a raspberry compote (not a kompot). Lunch was pretty weird again, with a rather sorry looking salad, then a consomme of mushrooms, with far too much dill in it, followed by mashed potato and mackerel, the fish slightly pickled. It was a somewhat peculiar combination but I was hungry, so I ate it.

That afternoon we finished early and the deal was we could do whatever activities we fancied including swimming, archery, football, quad bike riding and several other things, prior to the “gala dinner” in the tent outside. With no idea what that meant, I think we were all a bit nervous. However, meanwhile I’d petitioned our organiser for the opportunity to go to the nearest town, Chernihiv, because I knew from my own research that it had a long history and there were things there worth seeing. I had persuaded three of my colleagues that they wanted to come too, and in the end there were 17 of us on a bus organised to take us there and back. I’ll blog that elsewhere, suffice to say that we made it back just in time for the gala dinner.

Tables were allocated by drawing a number, and I ended up on a table where there was at least a fair amount of entertainment to be had, and the food this time was excellent with pretty much a single exception. When we arrived the tables were loaded with foods, salads, meats, cheeses, fish, bread, sausages, the lot. There was no indication whether this would be all we’d get, so I made some pretty healthy inroads into it, just in case.

I needn’t have worried, because it was followed by an excellent stuffed quail, filled with apple and grape chunks, and cooked to perfection, thus proving they could do it, if they wanted to. The course after was a disappointment in comparison, a chunk of beef overcooked to the point of being so hard I couldn’t cut it. The potato dauphinoise was fine though, so I ate that! There was a massive pause after that, and eventually, to pretty much everyone’s surprise, a plate of sole arrived, on a bed of pea puree. The puree was a bit heavy, but the fish was beautifully cooked; there was just too much of it. Some of it may have ended up in the stray cat that had been hanging around the bar every night, because rumour has it one of my colleagues took a plate of the stuff out to try and find the cat. We didn’t see him the following day, possibly because he was lying in a food coma somewhere with his legs in the air!

It was a pleasant night, I didn’t need any more food, and around 23:00 I left the others to it and staggered off through the grounds to my room where I fell into bed and slept, finally, right through till the alarm. And then it was time to pack, pay my mini bar bill for a bottle of mineral water (25 Ukrainian hryvnia, around 68 pence in Sterling terms), and go home. Just a small matter of a three-hour coach ride, a four-hour flight and a two-hour drive to get back to my own bed!

Travel 2018 – Hotel Shiskinn, Snovjanka, Ukraine Tuesday, 28th August/Friday, 31st August 2018 - Hotel Shiskinn, Snovjanka, Ukraine Having spent four days at the hotel, I'm more than a little amused by some of its claims to "Western" service levels and such like, so I'll try and be fair because if you do find yourself in this part of the Ukraine, I suspect there aren't that many accommodation options in the vicinity.

[cheaprobot-blog]

Talking Tomato with Legs: A Bedtime Story

Alright, kiddo, here is a story about a tomato, a talking tomato with legs so he can do stuff. His name is... what's your name again? Jimmy! His name is Jimmy what a coincidence. Alright he's in your favorite place Scoopy's Ice Cream Palace! Tomato guy Jimmy is super happy here because he loves ice cream and eating it is his favorite. He goes to get some strawberry blast cream when the guy behind the counter he has one of those dumb paper hats you like so much he's like "Whatchu doin here tomato man you belong in salads or a ketchup." "I wanna strawberry blast uh in a cone, the sugary one" "Ohhoho new policy you veggie-fruit abomination, tomatoes get sent to the Pitt!" The ice cream guy pulls a diabolical lever behind the counter and the floor falls beneath Jimmy sending him like 8 feet down where he plops on a mattress. "Oh crackers!" Says Tomato Jimmy "This is no place for a talking tomato haha!" Breaking into a nervous sweat. He bumbles around in the dark when he finds a flashlight. Tomato-man waves it around like a light saber for a bit then gets bored, then he finds a door with words on it. "Thee who answereth thisth riddle can maybe get some ice cream which is behind this here door here." Says the voice in Jimmy's head when he looks at the words "What is round and red, has a leafy bit on the top, and is definitely and definitively a vegetable, Terry, you big dumb idiot I..." It stops being important because Jimmy knows the answer "Why, it is I, a tomato oh great door, I now desire entree." The door does not respond so the Tomato just kinda pushes on it for a bit until it opens. Inside is a great hall with chandeliers and paintings of ice cream on the walls and a big dining table with a throne at the end all filled with talking vegetables. The room goes silent as our tomato hero shambles in all befuddled like. "Ummm... My name's Jimmy and I like Ice Cream." The hall erupts with applause and joy and they sing songs replacing the names with Jimmy’s as they hoist him in a chair and spoon Ice Cream in his mouth but not in a sexual way. "This is wonderful! I love Ice Cream so much and this is great being surrounded by creatures similar to I and being liked and all!". The vegetables carry Jimmy to their leader at the end of the room, a cucumber with a paper crown from a burger joint "Oh I love those!" interrupts real Jimmy. The cucumber goes on to inspect the new guy "Greetings fellow vegetable! Here we all eat Ice Cream and watch Veggie Tales!" Jimmy is too busy eating ice cream to listen but cucumber doesn't care, he’s back to watching Veggie Tales. Like a few hours go by but that’s a couple years at least in tomato years so Jimmy is all fat now. Jimmy realizes that ice cream is great and all but this Veggie Tales and ice cream crap gets boring so he stands up "Uhh, Ima go later guys, take it easy" and headed for the door. Cucumber king interrupts "You don't like Veggie Tales! You may never leave! Seize him!" A couple carrots and an asparagus march up to Jimmy who is now crying. Next thing Jimmy knows he is in a cell. Across from him is a rotting apple core with a long white beard who begins in a gruff voice "You... you are as I." "What do you mean ancient one?" "Who are you calling an-!" Apple core man regains his cool mysterious vibe "Ahem, You are a fruit as I am, and as everyone totally knows all fruit people know krav maga." "Krav Maga?" "Yes, it's like karate but cooler." "What you're saying is, I have the power." That one snap song (their only one lets be honest) plays as Jimmy punches his jail open and heads again for the door. "I'm terribly sorry vegetable people, but I am a fruit, I know because I know krav maga." gasps fill the hall and cucumber king approaches "That is irrefutable evidence which also explains why you don't like Veggie Tales, I am no longer offended." Proclaims the king "Here, let me get the door and prepare the ladder." Jimmy leaves Scoopy's, for it is a strange and cruel place. "I guess I am a fruit after all" and Jimmy tomato legs lets out a sharp whistle that summons up a horse and he rides into the sunset because it's the 1700s for some reason. The end. And you tell that dopey ass cousin of yours, real Jimmy, if I have to tell him one more time tomatoes are a fruit I swear im gonna roundhouse kick him.

[chefbarry]

The Almost New Adventures of Zucchini Bellpepper, Righter of Wrongdoing, Volume 12—Tropical Madness

It was an unusually cold day in San Antonio, where I had recently moved my offices to kind of start over after a long journey through the Vietnam Wilderness. I had brought back some kind of stomach thing after eating what Andrew Zimmern calls on his show “Edible Spirits” during a ritual secret ceremony where only the town elders, a local fisherman, a visiting ex-caberet dancer from the 1960’s, mute orphaned triplets from Siberia, myself and my guide where allowed to participate. It had gone on long into the night and into the next morning, when I woke up with someone else’s underwear on my head, and my own missing, a fuzzy taste in my mouth, but my wallet and backpack intact. My guide was nowhere to be seen and I couldn’t pee. I couldn’t even stand. I think there was moonshine and karaoke involved and some kind of local delicacy that we all had to ingest for the ceremony. It was supposed to awaken the inner mind and free old inhibitions, but make you able to run an eight minute mile in seven minutes. Andrew tried it, why couldn’t I?

Anyway I was frowning in the mirror at my reflection, the worst was over, but still had some residual crampiness and discomfort. The pills my doctor gave me yesterday hadn’t kicked in yet, but I was hoping for a normal day of cleaning house, binge-watching the new “One Day at a Time” (I still had a childhood crush on Valerie Bertanelli, and just the thought of the show’s title gave me a warm feeling all over), and maybe going through some old files to maybe strike up some new business. Things have been slow since I moved here. I had to distance myself from my old life, old neighborhood and old habits. Word of mouth that a progressive-thinking private eye had moved into the abandoned warehouse district (that used to be trendy new lofts, until they burned down a year ago, and now back to being a ghost town, but the rent was cheap!) hadn’t taken off yet, so business was super slow.

I was taking out the trash to the dumpster, which was really a large plastic trash bag that the landlord would eventually pick up, when she stormed in. She was wearing a white pantsuit with a purple ascot, ruby red lipstick, and converse sneakers. She was loud to look at.  I said, “Hi, can I help you?” She replied breathlessly, “Are you Zucchini?” “Yes”, I replied, turning off the TV. “Please sit down anywhere.”

There really was nowhere to sit except my desk at the moment, as I was still unpacking, and had no furniture. She sat on my desk, took out a business card out of her purse, and said, “ my name’s Toast, Adriana Toast, and I got your name from the Apple Butcher in the Valley.” I lived in Los Angeles previously, and had gotten a lot of business through the Apple Butcher. “I’m traveling through Texas to visit my sister and thought I’d look you up. Ya see I got a real problem at home. It’s my daughter, Avocado.”

“Avocado?” I asked, “Is that a nickname?” “No, she replied, “It’s a family name. My husband’s uncle from Veracruz wuz named Avocado Tequila Manuel Dilacente, and he was very present at her birth. In fact, he was our doula, my birth coach, her godfather and overall midhusband, since his nephew, Mr. Toast, was out of town at the time.” “What’s a midhusband?” I asked, sensing I was talking to the matriarch of a family of gypsies. “It’s like a midwife”, she said, “but when it’s a guy.  He’s very artistic and where he comes from, he’s as popular as the local Pastor. Anyway, my daughter is only 16, but everywhere she goes, she get’s the paparazzi, folks hassling her, strangers asking for her autograph, boy’s making the eyes at her, and people just giving her free stuff all the time. She’s just a quiet sweet girl, and she just wants to have normal troubles, like algebra and pool parties, and such. She didn’t ask for any of this, but in LA, they serve Avocado Toast everywhere and it’s taking over our lives!”

I could understand this, as it was becoming a national fiasco, not just centered around southern California. Chefs everywhere were taking advantage of their patrons by tricking them into thinking that Avocado Toast was something special. A dish you couldn’t make at home in 60 seconds, something so falsely elevated you would order some just to see what the fuss was, and then after eating would be too embarrassed to say anything, so you would convince yourself you just had a complete meal, then go home and Instagram all your friends about it, thereby repeating the cycle. Since when did toast become a vehicle for anything? Toast is a side, an afterthought, a bread basket giveaway, something you might need if you were having a brothy soup. Avocados? Well they’re great, obviously, but so are tomatoes, mushrooms, goat cheese and hummus. Should we start making a thing out of hummus toast? What about chicken toast? How about grape jelly on Ritz crackers? Maybe start overcharging customers for a spoonful of peanut butter? I had to do something about this.

It was time to pay a visit to the Apple Butcher.  He was a large man with small hands, too small to work in a real butcher shop, so he specialized in the dissecting of fruit. The lines around his shop in south central LA were long; folks waited for hours to get his special blend of small cut fruit in large cups with a variety of syrups, condiments and secret delicacies. Celebrities sent their PA’s there to stand in the sweltering heat for a low cal lunch. He was an old friend from back in the days when liquor was cheap and the girls wore short pants. We used to pal around like war buddies, without ever spending any time in the military. He was a man who knew how to make things disappear.

I packed my duffle bag and dop kit and hit the road for reunion. Later that night I caught him taking out the last of his trash (he had a real dumpster) and getting ready to close shop. “Zucchini!”, he shouted when he saw me, “How long has it been?” I replied, “Too long my old scoundrel! I need your help with a case, that smokey joe dame ya sent to me, Adriana…it’s too much.” So I explained the dilemma and we went out for tacos. Small tacos.

The plan turned out to be simple. Since he was a fruitmonger, he had access to underground tropical shipping channels you only hear about in whispered mob tones. He had an old war buddy (don’t ask) that owed him a big favor. The Butcher was able to make a huge pineapple conspiracy disappear, before the government got wind of what was happening, and saved his buddy a ton of money in storage fees. He asked his buddy to drop a toxic gas from low-flying airplanes over the avocado orchards throughout central California. People on the ground would think it was weather control, and the government would be none the wiser. The avocados would fall off the trees and die, and the desperate restauranteurs would have to resort to using those large green Mexican avocados that no one likes. Everyone would eventually stop ordering avocado toast and they would go back to using them as an occasional salad topping next year, when the avocado toast craze was over. Maybe a new trend would take over like savory ice cream sandwiches (think red pepper and truffle ice cream in a rosemary walnut shortbread cookie).

I thanked my old friend and offered to pay him, but he refused, saying it was a pleasure and his business would somehow benefit from this too. I returned to my office and summoned Mrs. Toast. She came in the next day, paid my humble fee, plus a huge bonus, which allowed me to sort of decorate my office. I received a postcard a couple weeks later from the Toast family, Adriana, Avocado, the dad, Altamont, and the crazy uncle midhusband, also named Avocado. They were beside themselves with glee. They took a trip and no one seemed to bother them or ask them any questions. Another case closed! I went out for a well-deserved breakfast of chicken toast.

[nofomoartworld]

Thinks: Elena Ailes

Hello dearest reader. Welcome to another installment of Wednesday THINKS. This week, we bring you a text from Elena Ailes, an artist, writer, educator, and in my opinion, a true citizen of the world. As you might intuit from the text below, Elena is at home in sensorial-anyplaces. In my view, she writes from deep within the consciousness of our dreamed-out-nation-state that may or not awake from its slumber. Here’s Elena. Enjoy.

Yours,

Meg Santisi

  On January 20th of this year, the inauguration for the President of the United States included prayers by two American televangelists, both self-described ‘prosperity preachers’. Religious leaders of the prosperity gospel preach that financial wealth and physical wellbeing are gifts from God, a mark of his blessing and preference given in exchange for unyielding faith, prayer and donations to the Church.

In this worldview, the accumulation of capital is clear evidence of moral certitude and blessedness, while words, actions and ideas are wrapped up in the confusing, arbitrary and seemingly masturbatory nature of ‘God’s will’.

The wealthy are merely God’s willing subjects, and this ‘willingness’ is never connected, spiritually or otherwise, to the systems used to concentrate material wealth or to how these systems jeopardize the wellbeing of others.

The verticality of this God – Blessing – Chosen Subject ecclesiastical model is not unfamiliar, though one hardly expects to find the production of capital so disturbingly tethered to the swooping curve of the divine right of kings. Humans, by and large, live on the ground, even as we yearn for atmospheric flux. So far, very few have been interred up, in the air. Most of us will go down, in earth or sea, or away, in fire. Some do make it up, in death. Elysium Space, Ascending Memories or Orbital Memorials, all private companies, can bury you in space.

What orientation should beings (and non-beings) be ordered? Ordained? Can we now agree that  +  is actually a delightfully astute, if somewhat cryptic, symbol for the spiral, minus time? Is the spiral a pitch towards progress? Or just another spin on the vertical/horizontal wheel of fortune? What on earth do we do with all this?

  Opt out and become uncontained. Err away from the horizon of the will toward the curve of deviance. Swerve toward still.

  Herr Jakob Johann Baron von Uexküll,

When you say “clamp a snail”

(YA-KUB VON OOKSGULL,

I would never recognize your name off the page)

when you say “clamp a snail” and put

it on a rubber ball in water

when you say hit the snail repeatedly

with a

stick

when do you recognize that in an effort to articulate another’s world

you have fundamentally altered your own?

  Jakob von Uexküll, the early 20th century German biologist and biosemiotician, fine-tuned the study of animal behavior right into a worlding, right into umwelten. For Uexküll, each species is a performed fullness contained within a spatial and temporal boundary; each sensorial frame of reference an articulation of subjecthood, of being.

He told us that if you hit a snail repeatedly, three times per second, it will turn away. But if you manage more than three blows in the allotted time and hit the snail four or five times in a second, the snail will perceive the stick as not moving at all, and will continue forward to crawl onto the stick. The snail would fully understand the faster moving stick to be a stick at rest because the movement of the stick was functioning outside the register of snailperception, snail umwelt.

Clearly, consciousness, whether that of the snail or of the scientist, is a limited ability, taking hold only in the most certain of situations. The uncertain situation calls upon something else.

  You came to show me the ingenuity and boldness of your sandwich making while I was in the shower.

  Potatoes. Eggplants or aubergines. Neither term seems particularly accurate, though accuracy in titles was never required, nor possible.

All of the groundcherries, including goji, boxthorns, gooseberries, wolfberries and tomatillos. The difference between naming things in the north and naming things in the south is a difference that you can feel in your body, though it is impossible to locate where. It moves, and it is none of your business, as it is not business at all.

Tomatoes, familiar to you. Hopi tomatoes, probably less so.

All of the chili peppers: ancho, arbol, habanero, ancho (which is just another, drier, name for poblano), Anaheim, which is just another name for home, which is nowhere near Anaheim.

Bell peppers, whose chemical taste is the result of the volatile compound methoxypyrazine, also found in wine grapes when they’ve been picked before full ripeness or when they’ve been treated with sulfur to prevent the spread of phylloxera.

Your average lover of Chilean wine has been hoodwinked, though the average Chilean potato grower has not.

Tobacco. A sacred gift and the subject of a $206 billion dollar lawsuit settlement.

Jimson weed, Devil’s snare, thornapple, moon flower, hell’s bells, tolguacha, prickle burr, devil’s cucumber, Datura stramonium.

Petunias. Yeah, petunias.

Atropa belladonna, divale, banewort, death cherries.

Henbane and Mandrake, particularly beloved by the witchier crowd.

  These are my nightshades.

  And, of course, Solandra maxima, Solandra grandiflora, campaña, cup of gold vine, golden chalice, cutaquatzitiziqui. The orange trumpet flowers of the Solandra maxima plant can be as wide as the diameter of a dinner plate. The massive blooms perfume the air with coconut, honey, and a little something else, something warmer. When a flowering plant fills the air with scent it is a summons for the external and autonomous apparatus that is so necessary to the plant’s ability to reproduce: the pollinator. Moth as foreplay.

The flowers of Solandra maxima vines also release another sort of summons: a chemical pheromone identical in structure to human pheromones normally associated with the reproductive activities of sex and love. Pheromones that human bodies also produce.

This overlap, this biological and chemical repetition of form, is a parallel summons emitting forth from the plant-being carrying coconuts, and from the human-being carrying salts. A scent-based call-and-response to amorous action, pushing and pulling on one another.

  Particulation is an atomization of perception, a collapse of a unified and fluid whole into the smallest units of perceptible information possible, a necessary slowing down of time. Particulation is what happens right before exhaustion, and what is exhaustion but a moment of saturation, a final ‘no more thank you’. If we are exhausted subjects, we are also saturated subjects.

  From petunia to goji berry, the Solanaceae family is taxonomically massive, a plant family comprised of 102 genera and over 2800 distinct species, which is so many sisters in one room.

A potato shares 92 percent of its genetic material with a tomato, that last 8 percent a blueprint for the secret architecture of the tuber, a devotional to the swollen root vegetable as opposed to the fruiting body.

Modern pharmacology owes at least one finger to the nightshade family, the genera being host to a chemical gold mine of alkaloids, painkillers and mood-enhancers, psychotropic and otherwise, the properties of which become a mind-numbingly large maze of toxicological data.

It is through the gifts of a nightshade that we have dilating eye drops, local anesthetic, hormone replacement therapy. People often eat nightshades, but in some cases, that shit will turn you into a vegetable.

  Pick a flower and place it by your bedside. Turn it towards you, a trumpet blasting a coconut invitation right in your hole-filled face.

  The term vegetative state has long been used by the medical profession as a diagnosis for patients who exist in a wakeful yet unconscious state. Patients are described as being in a state of partial arousal, rather than true awareness. Their eyes are open but they are unresponsive to external stimuli. The European Task Force on Disorders of Consciousness recently recommended that the term be abandoned in favor of a more neutral label: unresponsive wakefulness syndrome. Vegetative state, it is argued, has a “pejorative connotation, and seems to inappropriately refer to these patients as being vegetable-like.”

I am certainly not interested in the dehumanization of anyone who has suffered a brain injury and is thus limited in function or responsiveness, nor in speaking on their behalf while they themselves exist in silence. If I could share the agony of someone in a vegetative state, I wouldn’t try to speak about it. I would stay silent for my plant person. (1)

I would like to note, however, the language for language swap that is occurring here: vegetableness for an immobile wakefulness.

We are most plant-like in the one third of our life that is unaccounted for, in our sleep. It is in sleep that we enter the temporal register closest to plant beings. Our attention turns inward towards the void, towards rest. Exhausted, we put our feet at the bottom of the pool of our thinking minds and let go.

  You have many mouths, and many hands.

  Here we neglect to experience time in any measurable sense. We absorb the world through muted scrim without the benefits or hindrances of having to perform language. We lie dormant, in darkness, our perceptive senses limited to simply absorbing light, heat, sound and touch. We are, for the most part, sessile, immobile.

The most familiar apocalypse scenarios involve visions of “the end” as a natural disaster: a massive meteor slamming into earth, a switching of the magnetic poles, floods of biblical proportion. In short, the end is generally depicted as a display of nature’s power over culture. With global climate change as arguably the most important and unifying fact of human life on this planet, the irony of culture swarming over nature as the usher of the end of the world would be funny if there were anything left to laugh about.

The binary separation between the human and non-human world into distinct categories of “culture” and “nature” clearly does not convey the complexity of the interrelated spheres of influence that these worlds possess over each other. The fact still remains that human beings are subjects that are also objects, who both live with other objects and in another object.

  Try to imagine your imagination functioning multiply.

  The difficulty of truly grasping the concept of the possibility of a subjectless planet is in part due to the inability of finding easy ground with this continual subject-object switcheroo. Any argument for the radical reorientation of the human subject in a world of objects can be recognized as a symptom of the current position of the human subject, which, I would argue, is that of the exhausted subject.

I see potential in this altered subjectivity, a state of possibility, openness.

  Imagine that your sex is multiply located, experiencing both direct sun and partial shade.

  A human woman sits on the bus for too long—three stops past her regular stop—making eyes at you while you hold a shopping bag and pretend to eye smile into the screen of your phone. The woman hopes that she is flooding the air with pheromones, fully knowing that your vomeronasal receptor, located at the back of your throat, is likely useless. Unsure if you share this chemical grammar, she silently marvels at the antiquity of her system of desire, at the bold dysfunction of her direct inquiry

  The sea sponge uses mimicry and chemical seduction to find food and to manage successful reproduction.

A sea cucumber, when it receives the right stimulation, dumps a third of its own body weight in semen into the ocean waters. Another sea cucumber, receiving a separate but appropriately timed signal, releases a cloud of eggs, a chancy ejaculate.

Stimulation, in this case, is moonlight and the temperature of the surrounding waters.

Fungi, such as molds and mushrooms, are capable of being any number of the possible 36,000 sexes.

We are all worlding here.

  –

  Much of this text was recently published as a small chapbook, NIGHTSHADES by Kastle Editions (Chicago, IL) The images depict examples of biological ‘sexual conflict’ and are held in the Wikipedia Commons.

  Elena Ailes is an artist, writer and educator who is interested in what makes her a better or worse person, especially in theory. In reality, she lives and works in Chicago, IL. You can find her work here and here.

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