#and I think my powders will enjoy a large piece to congregate under

[ichorousisopod]

moved one of the bark pieces from the pied enclosure to the powders' and I'm really scared I didn't get all of them off of it, there's little crevices that they're very good at hiding in

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Happiness Continues

Part 2: 5 Weeks Pregnant

Summary: Y/n comes down with an unexplainable bug and tries to chalk it up to stress at work. But after a conversation with her sister-in-law, realization hits her that it’s not in fact a bug at all. 

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.8K+

Warnings: Language, nausea and vomiting, discussion of surprise pregnancy

Author’s Note: Welcome back to the party everyone. Let’s get started! Special thanks to my always hype woman @waywardbeanie​ and my amazingly patient beta @emoryhemsworth​ Please enjoy some reviews from friends who have the luxury of a few sneak peeks. xoxo Alex

“I never thought I would have to engage in fisticuffs with Jensen, but here we go lol”  @jensengirl83​

“Y’all are gonna love it.” @emoryhemsworth​

Catch up with the series masterlist and then check out Alexandra’s Library for more by yours truly!

The whole church was bustling as the pastor released the congregation for the day. It had been a nice sermon that Y/n hadn’t exactly paid attention to. All morning her body had been feeling iffy. It was something that she couldn’t exactly place, she just felt...off. Y/n assumed she was just coming down with a bug. By the time they had made it to the church, she was ready for a nap. In all honesty, she had to fight to keep her eyes open as their pastor droned on, which she did feel bad about. 

Y/n was rolling her tongue about as Jensen drove them off to Jared and Gen’s for their usual Sunday brunch. Gen had woken up late with the kids and therefore the Padalecki’s had skipped church that day. That meant Y/n didn’t have to help cook, a fact which she was grateful for considering the spinning going on in her head. 

“You’re quiet over there,” Jensen noted as they walked to the front door, their fingers entwined between them. 

“I just feel off this morning,” Y/n explained. “I’m not sure what it is.” 

“You think you’re coming down with something?” Jensen pushed open the door, letting themselves into the house. 

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you have been stressed lately. First, there was everything that happened at work and then the move. It’s a lot for anybody. Your body is probably worn down.” His words trailed off as Shep came running to greet them at the door. Jensen ruffled the kid’s hair as he came to hug them both. 

“Hmm, remind me to chug some orange juice then,” she commented before turning her attention to her nephew. Shep went into a deep explanation about how his mother had let him help cook their brunch, telling them both how he only dropped a few eggshells into the bowl. 

Y/n was laughing along with him as they went deeper into the house. It wasn’t until she rounded the front staircase that the smell of cooking bacon and pancakes hit her nose, causing a wave of nausea to roll through her. Planting her feet, she dropped Jensen’s hand and ran to the nearest powder room, the door slamming behind her. 

Y/n had to spit the saliva pooling in her mouth into the sink, taking deep breaths through her nose to will away the rolling inside her. Puking was the worst thing in her mind, and she would do anything to avoid an episode. This time she was successful, rinsing her mouth with water from the faucet helping to calm inside her. 

“Y/n/n,” Jensen turned the knob, waiting for a protest from her that didn’t come before pushing the door open, “Are you okay?”

Y/n shook her head, afraid if she spoke it would open the faucet inside her. “Do we need to go home?”

“No,” she swallowed down the bile and took another deep breath. “You eat, I’m just gonna lie down.” 

“Okay,” Jensen relented, running his hand down the back of her head and pulling her in so he could place a kiss to her forehead. “You’re sure?” 

“I just—” a hiccup tore through her, threatening to destroy all she was fighting down. “I just need a minute.” She managed to get the words out before leaving her husband standing in the doorway to the bathroom. As she headed off for the couch in Jared’s office, Jensen made his way back to where Jared and Gen were waiting, both of them staring at him in anticipation upon his return. 

“Is she alright?” Gen asked as she flipped a pancake on the griddle. 

“She says she is, but she’s gonna just lie this one out I think. Earlier she mentioned that she felt off.” Jensen took a coffee mug from the counter and filled it before sitting at the table. “I think she’s running herself into the ground. She’s trying to do more than one person should take on.” 

“Just make sure she gets a lot of fluids and some rest, and she’ll be good as new,” Jared noted as he tapped Tom’s hand when he reached out to grab something from Shep’s plate. 

“I hope so…”

Y/n had no sooner lain her head on the throw pillow than passed out. Jensen had to shake her a little harder than usual to wake her when the family had finished brunch. Y/n had felt far better after her nap, the events of the morning all but forgotten once she got home, though she didn’t push her luck with eating anything that evening. Mosty she drank a lot of juice, her cure-all. 

****

Soft pop music played on from the lobby of her office. Mondays in her office were usually casual, filled with standard meetings and the answering of emails. Today was no different, well, besides the fact that she couldn’t keep her eyes open. The long paragraphs on her screen began to run together and she kept having to reread them over. It was when her eyelids eventually started to droop that she sighed in defeat. 

Y/n pushed her chair away from her desk and went to close her door. She leaned out the doorway quickly to speak to her assistant. “I’m taking an early lunch, field my calls for a few hours, please?” Abby nodded her head and Y/n closed the door behind her. She sauntered over to the stiff couch that sat along the far wall of her office. Plopping down on the decorative piece, she kicked off her heels and laid out across it. 

She was out as soon as her eyes closed.

The sharp trill of her cell phone jolted her awake. The sudden change in her position had her stomach flipping. Gingerly, she brought her hand up to her mouth and she paused to allow the bout of nausea to pass her. By the time she got her bearings, her phone had ceased ringing. Y/n slipped her heels back on her feet and made her way to her desk to retrieve her cell. The time across the screen indicated she had been out for two hours. She let out a huff, assuming she would get a thirty-minute cat nap before finishing her day. Now she felt bad about leaving Abby out there to answer all her calls during that time. 

The missed call indicated that it was from her husband. As she sat down behind her desk, she redialed his number. He answered on the second ring. 

“Hey honey,” she could practically see his smile through the phone. 

“Hey,” her voice was hoarse as she answered him.

“Babe, you okay?” The change in his tone had Y/n picturing him sitting up straight wherever he was. 

“Uh, I don’t really know. I just took a two-hour nap in my office, though,” Y/n’s eyes drifted shut again as she rubbed a hand over her face. 

“Are you still feeling sick?” Y/n grunted out a response. “Well, I was calling to ask what you wanted for dinner, but now I’m thinking maybe you should come home, you don’t sound too well. Take the day off.” 

“I think maybe you’re right.” There was nothing big happening today. They had survived the last two hours without her, they could make it through the rest of the day. “I’ll be home in ten, love you.” 

“Love you too, see you soon.” The line clicked as Jensen hung up the phone. Y/n collected her things and headed out of the office. She let Abby know she was taking a sick day on her way out, the woman wishing her well as she exited. 

She barely remembered the drive home, only registering that she was even in the car once she parked it in the garage. The smell of cooking chicken hit her nose as soon as she entered the house, sending waves through her stomach. Y/n dropped her purse in the hallway, booking it past Jensen, who stood in front of a large pot on the stove, and straight to the nearest bathroom, her hand over her mouth to keep from making a mess. 

Her knees hit the tile hard as she leaned over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into the bowl. Jensen was right behind her, pulling her hair back and holding it out of harm's way. Gently he rubbed small circles on her back until she was dry heaving, nothing left to come up. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and fell against the wall near the toilet. Her eyes were watering and her nose was running. Jensen stood and ran a washcloth under the tap before kneeling back in front of her to wipe her face. 

“I was going to make you some soup, but apparently that’s now out of the question.” He tried to smile for her, but it was tight and unconvincing. 

“Maybe just some crackers for now,” she rasped, smiling back at him so he knew that she appreciated the sentiment. Jensen snorted with a shake of his head. It was just like his wife, making jokes as she sat on the bathroom floor where she had just vomited her guts out. 

“Alright, what do you say we get you into bed?” He cocked his head at her as he continued to wipe away what makeup he could from her face. She nodded enthusiastically, allowing him to help her to her feet. She followed him through the house and to their bedroom. Jensen went to her dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas as she began to disrobe. He tossed the cotton garments her way before going to turn down the bed. 

“I’m going to finish the soup anyway, in case you’re up for it later,” he said, tossing their throw pillows across the room and pulling back the thick comforter. “Holler if you need me, yeah?” Y/n crawled into the open bed, the cool sheets feeling amazing against her heated skin. 

“Thank you.” The smile on her face was weak. 

“That’s what I’m here for. Get some rest.” Jensen leaned down and tucked her into the bed, placing a soft kiss against the clammy skin of her forehead. She watched as he sauntered out of the room, shutting off the light as he went. For the second time that day, she was asleep before she knew it. 

****

That week, Monday’s events had all but become her routine. Y/n had stopped eating breakfast before work, which tended to help her get through the day, though she was still opting for a quick nap during her lunch break seeing as she wasn’t eating anyway, a fact which she was skillfully keeping from her husband. He worried about her far too much, and if he knew she still wasn’t feeling well, he’d insist on her calling her doctor, which was the last thing she wanted to do. Y/n hated the doctor almost as much as she hated airports. 

It was harder to hide from him at night, even though she found once she was home from work she could keep food down for longer. As long as it was something light, her stomach handled it well. As far as she knew, he was not suspicious. 

She was wrong. 

Gen had called her asking if she wanted to go with her to the park with the kids, which Y/n would never turn down as it was an opportunity to be with her niece and nephews. What she didn’t know is Jensen had asked Gen to pump Y/n for information. He knew she wasn’t eating and sleeping a lot more than usual, and he was just being the concerned husband. 

“So, how have you been this week?” Gen asked as they sat down on the bench to watch the kids run amok. 

“Not, bad I guess.” 

“So you think you’re over whatever happened on Sunday?” Gen pushed, watching her kids on the playground. 

“Eh, whatever it is, I have it under control,” Y/n played off her concerns, not exactly worried about it herself. If she was being frank, she didn’t have time to be worried about it. Her skincare line was launching in a few weeks and there was still so much to get done. She had press releases to approve, and a pop-up event downtown that she was to attend when the brand premiered at Ulta. No, it wasn’t her concern right now. Everything was under control.

“That doesn’t sound convincing.” 

“It’s just some sort of bug. I’ll be fine. I’ve only gotten sick a couple of times.” Gen snapped her head to her sister-in-law, a frown etched on her features. 

“You’ve been getting sick all week?” 

“That’s not what I said,” Y/n groaned, knowing full well Gen was spiraling into mom-mode. 

“But you’ve been nauseous, yeah?” 

“I mean off and on, but I’ve been able to eat and keep it down most meals. It’s the ‘not being able to keep my eyes open’ that’s pissing me off. I know I’m probably overdoing it but I don’t have the luxury of thinking about that now. I can sleep when this line has launched.” 

“Sounds like when I was pregnant with Shep. All I did during the first trimester was sleep and puke. It was exhausting. Try sucking on lollipops, it helps.” Y/n nodded as Gen jumped up to reprimand Odette for going up the slide instead of down it. Her words rang around in Y/n’s head as she watched the small brunette grab her godchild and pull her off the slide. 

There was no way…

Y/n whipped her phone out of her pocket, quickly thumbing through her calendar, looking for an appointment. The further she went back in weeks the more nervous she became. She found it in the middle of May, the red indicating that it had been canceled after it already read that it was a makeup appointment. She hadn’t been back since the beginning of the year. Panic set in, which was not doing anything for the state of her stomach at the moment. She sat there, counting back the days since her last period, the hammering of her heart increasing as the number of days increased. Y/n had missed her period and not even noticed. She really was an idiot, she thought to herself 

For the rest of her visit, she tried to remain level headed. In reality, she wanted nothing more than to run to the nearest drug store, which was exactly what she did the second that Gen rounded up three tired kids to take home and put to bed. There was a store just two blocks out of her way home which she went straight for the second she turned over the ignition in her Jeep. Slipping inside the small store, she grabbed one of every brand of pregnancy test they sold there, and quietly slipped back out. 

Y/n rolled the brown paper bag up tightly in her fist as she raced inside the house. Every sense was heightened as she made her way through the house, keeping an eye out for her husband, but she found him nowhere as she entered, assuming that he was already in the bedroom. She stopped outside the bedroom door, shimmying off her jacket and rolling her secret up inside before entering. 

Jensen sat up as she entered, but she just muttered something about having to pee as she passed, which wasn’t exactly a lie. There wasn’t even enough time for him to say hello before she was catching the lock on the door behind her. 

The first thing she did was dump the contents of the paper bag onto the counter, organizing the tests on the counter as she skimmed over the instructions. The bottle of water she chugged on the drive over was starting to do its job, making her antsy as she read over what to do. Most of the tests had the same instructions inside, making things easier for her overall. Her shaky fingers ripped into the boxes, tossing the torn cardboard into the trash as she went. 

It took all of five minutes to find out whether or not she was, in fact, pregnant, but it was the longest five minutes of her life. She was sure Jensen was probably wondering if she was having more stomach issues with the amount of time she had spent behind the locked door. 

When the appropriate time had passed, Y/n flipped the tests over, her hands passing through each one quicker than the last, and all of them telling her the same thing. 

Y/n’s fingers gripped into the marble countertop, the five pregnancy tests sitting inside the sink. Their answer to her question was definite. There were no ‘maybes’ about it, no one and a half lines or ‘possibles’ etched into the screen. Each test was flashing back up at her like neon signs.

She was pregnant. 

Outside the bathroom door, her husband was unknowingly lounging in their bed. He was without a care and probably mindlessly scrolling through his Twitter feed like every other night before bed, and she was about to destroy that façade with two simple words. 

The nervous woman ran her hands through her hair before shaking out her limbs. She took a few deep breaths before steeling herself to go out and tell him. Dragging it out wouldn’t do anyone any good. Even though this wasn’t planned, both of them had made known their wishes for a family, and it was in this that fact that she was even able to muster up the courage to tell him she had fucked up. Because it was the truth, she had fucked up, major.

Plastering a smile on her face, she pulled open the door, making sure to shut it behind her to hide the tests until she could break the news. Y/n stalked over to where Jensen was lounging, his legs crossed at the ankle with one hand behind his head, the other scrolling through his phone. His brow was scrunched as he concentrated on whatever he was reading on the tiny screen. She climbed onto the bed and over to his side before stopping to sit back on her knees.

“Hey, babe,” his voice was soft and his eyes heavy. Jensen put the phone down and put his hand on her bare knee, rubbing soft circles there. 

“Jensen, I’ve got to tell you something.” It took everything in her to quell the shake in her voice as her heart rate picked up. But of course, him and his damn perceptiveness had to pick up on it in a millisecond.  

Jensen’s brows knit together and he sat up a little in the bed. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“I’m…” Her breath caught in her throat as the reality of their situation kept washing over her in droves. Jesus, Y/n, spit it out, she thought. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence fell over the room once she finally managed to get the words out. Y/n watched her husband as his tongue poked out between his teeth and his jaw clenched as he tried to figure out the words he wanted to say. The lack of reaction had her stomach flipping on itself, which, giving her current situation, was not helping anything. Y/n swallowed down nausea to push her husband into talking. 

“Jay, please say something.” 

“How did this happen?”

“With the insanity at work and the move I just... I missed a couple of appointments with my gynecologist. I missed my shot,” she explained, hoping he didn’t hate her. 

“Fuck, Y/n!” He fell back into the bed, the inflection in his words the worst possible thing she could hear. The sheer rumble of it in the quiet room was enough to make her flinch back from the man she loved. Jensen ran both of his large hands down his face before continuing. “This wasn’t supposed to happen now, I was supposed to have more time.”

“What?” His words made no sense to her. As far as she knew, Jensen wanted kids. It was something they had talked about before they were ever an item. Had she been wrong? Were the two of them somehow not on the same page about this? Y/n tried to rack her brain for a moment in time where that could have changed but she was coming up empty. 

“I was supposed to have more time with you. Just the two of us before we did this, before late-night feedings and diapers, before everything changes forever,” He explained further. His words calmed down her racing heart and mind, but only a little. Now she felt more guilty than she already was. All he wanted was to be with her and she had ruined his plans.

“I’m sorry,” Y/n whispered, casting her eyes down to where her fingers were fiddling with the hem of her shirt. The tears that had been threatening to fall this whole time had finally made a break for it, leaving shining tracks down her cheeks. 

“Oh, Y/n,” he sighed, taking her hand in his and pulling her to lay in his side. Y/n shoved her face into his chest, trying her hardest not to break into a full sob as he rubbed his hand into her back. After everything she did, she couldn’t believe that Jensen was the one that had to console her. It should be the other way around, right? It was her who had fucked up and ruined their plans for their future together, not him, after all. 

“I’m sorry,” she couldn’t stop the words that came out of her mouth this time. Y/n would tell him she was sorry until she was blue in the face. 

“I know, honey,” Jensen murmured into her hair before placing a kiss to the crown of her head. He continued to rub his hand along her back, waiting for her breathing to even before breaking the silence. 

“You’re really pregnant?” He asked, his voice much softer this time.

“If the five pregnancy tests in the sink have any say, then yes.” His chuckle shook his body and Y/n relished in the vibration of it against her cheek. 

“This isn’t how or when I picture this happening, I won’t lie about that, but honey, we’re having a baby, this is a good thing.” The way his voice rose at the end of his sentence had Y/n pulling out of her hiding space in his side, looking up to see him smiling down at her. 

“You’re not mad? You don’t hate me?” Her hope was threatening to spill out of her mouth like vomit as she rubbed the wetness from her cheeks.

“No,” Jensen shook his head. “I love you, more today than yesterday, and more tomorrow than today, and I will love this baby just as much.”

Y/n shook her head before diving into her husband, nuzzling her face into his neck. “I love you too.” 

“Y/n,” Jensen laughed, the sound breathy as it escaped his chest. “We’re having a baby!”

Part 3: 8 Weeks Pregnant 

Forevers: @22sarah08​ @akshi8278​ @anathewierdo​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @callmekda​ @dawnie1988​ @deanwanddamons​ @ellewritesfix05​ @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @janicho88​ @jensengirl83​ @katehuntington​ @lyarr24​ @malfoysqueen14​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​​ ​ ​ ​  @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @superfanficnatural​ @supraveng​ @talesmaniac89​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​

Continues: @ashleyrose0117 @austin-winchester67​ @colbyskoalas​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @deans-baby-momma​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @dvnmbabe​ @harryhook-lover​ @let-me-luve-you​ @lunarmoon8​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @parinarain​ @rebelemilu​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @spnfamily-j2​ @stoneyggirl​ @squirrelnotsam​ @traceyaudette​ @zpandaqueen​

[groggycascade]

Breaker Campus - Frosh Week, Pt. I

All credit to Sean D. 

Kelly and Sarah had a new best friend. After her nutting of that guy on the gymnasium floor, the girl, whose name they learned was Beth, had been transformed. She would replay it in her head and couldn't resist the urge to do it again. Kelly and Sarah loved talking about it with her. What did it feel like when his ball exploded under her foot? They couldn't wait for the day when they would be so lucky. Although the girls had more than enough activities to occupy their attention. They were still in frosh week and there was a carnival atmosphere around the school. So many events were being organized. It was a sunny day as Kelly, Sarah and Beth walked into the grassy field. The fresh faced 18 year old first-year girls and boys were congregating for the next activity. Dean Patricia wasn't at this one. It was Professor Smith, wearing short shorts, showing her long strong legs, and bright white running shoes and a white athletic top.

"Welcome ladies," she said, addressing the girls but ignoring the boys. "We're in for some fun today." The girls whooped and hollered excitement. There were yells of "let's smash some balls", and "let's crack some nuts", and Kelly's favourite, "let's make him wish he were born a girl!" She had no doubt the assembled boys, visibly trembling with fear, had had that thought many many times since the start of frosh week. She got butterflies in her belly thinking of her superiority over them, and their destiny to suffer incredible pain at her whim.

"Hold your kicks ladies, hold your kicks," said Professor Smith light heartedly. "You'll get your chance." Professor Smith explained there would be various stations. Kelly, Sarah and Beth decided to start with the "peanut butter challenge". A group of boys stood with form fitting spandex shorts, no shirts and walnuts hanging in front of their real nuts. They were contained in a sac and held in place with a strap around their waists, like a strap on. They would line up, one girl for one boy. A row of 10 at a time. The young men were strapped into X shaped devices that kept their legs spread eagles and unable to move or fall to the ground. There was no need for gags though. The girls wanted to hear their pleas for mercy and screams of fear and torment.

"Cry for me you nice boy," Kelly said slyly and winked at her soon to be victim. His blue eyes under his shaggy blonde hair went wide with fear.

This was a competition. The girls would each get 10 kicks. Full force as hard as they could. The objective was to be the one who most thoroughly turned a walnut into crushed nut. Sarah twirled her foot around playfully in front of her boy, smirking and looking down at it, bringing his attention to the steel tipped high heels she was wearing. They were white with a gold tip. "Should I start with the left one or the right one?" She teased.

Beth's boy couldn't miss her footwear. They were knee high platform boots as hard as they came. The toe was wide and rounded, with a two inch platform of hard wood. There would be no missing his balls. These were nut crushing machines. Kelly, a country girl at heart, opted for cowgirl boots. Maybe it was time for this steer to be castrated, she thought. Her guy trembled at the cold look in her eyes as she eyed his bulge and imagined crushing it into oblivion. "Ready... set..." The guys were all in decent shape and their abs became more defined as they all tenses their stomach muscles and held their breaths. The ladies pulled their kicking legs back, ready to fire like pistons. "... Crush!"

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, up and down the line came the distinct sound of nuts being cracked. Kelly heard the satisfying CRACK as her first kick hit home and brought her foot back down, lining up for the next. She took a step back and really let him have it. She opted for a brutal kick with the toe of her cowgirl boot. SMASH. One of the walnuts completely exploded. She could hear it. And rest assured the poor boy was feeling it. The walnuts provided enough protection to save their own nuts from exploding, perhaps, but that was little comfort and little noticed. In fact, the walnuts added a different dimension of pain as their nuts were mercilessly crushed between the hard and jagged bits of the walnuts being pushed upwards by the shoes, and their pelvic bones on the other side.

Sarah stopped for a moment, only a moment, to enjoy the screams, grunts and groans. She watched her boy writhe in agony, unable to curl up into the fetal position that he so desperately wanted. She landed a fourth well placed kick to the left walnut. THUD. "Eeeehhh" he screamed, his eyes rolling into his head. "We're getting there my boy. It sounds like there's not much left of the left one. How about one more to be sure?" She winked. The gold tipped toe glistened in the sunlight as it sailed upward yet again. There was little protection left now and he felt the merciless steel sink into his nutmeat, compressing it in the centre, causing it to bulge on the sides, and his eyes bulged outward as he felt his real nut on the verge of explosion. Just in time, the momentum of her kick stopped and she pulled her foot back down.

"Now onto the right, shall we?"

Beth grunted as she kicked as hard as she could with her knee high platform boots. There was no nuance needed with these. Brute force was all that was required. Her boy's muscles spasmed with pain as the next kick landed. His head bounced left and right wildly, like a rabid beast. There were no more cracking sounds with his walnuts either. They must be nearly pulverized, she thought, and laughed.

She lined up her next kick. He looked in horror in anticipation of the next brutal blow. She loved that part. The fear. He closed his eyes suddenly as he saw her boot shoot upwards. As if just shutting your eyes will make it go away, she thought. Haha, not for this poor boy. What she loved about them being strapped in is that their bodies were tied in place and barely moved upwards at all. You're not escaping any of this power, she thought. It's all going right there, between your legs. "Sooo glad I'm not a boy," she said wryly over to Sarah. They laughed. The girls all landed their final kicks, as hard as they could. The boys were so exhausted now that they no longer screamed but made pathetic whimpering sounds. It made Kelly think of what a dog must sound like as it's being de-balled.

And there it was. The girls finished their kicks. Professor Smith, with an air of authority but also a wry smile, approached the first boy. A long table was placed nearby. She took the nut sack off of him. She took no notice of his uncontrollable crying. She walked over to the table and undid the sack and poured its contents onto the table. Out came small nut pieces and walnut shells of various sizes. The girls all burst into cheering.

She moved into the next. She put it up to her and ear and jiggled it around, as a child does to know what's in a wrapped box. The girls laughed. This one had even smaller pieces. The girls cheered again. Down the line she went. Approaching Kelly's boy. Kelly held her breath as she opened the sack. She poured. "Whoo!" Kelly screamed, seeing the results of her work. There were no large pieces at all. It was all uniformly small pieces. She looked around triumphantly.

Next onto Sarah. She felt around the sack. "You did fine work with those pointy heels," said Professor Smith to Sarah. "It's clear your kicks landed with a high degree of accuracy." She poured the contents onto the table. The nuts were completely destroyed, but she had not done as good a job as Kelly's cowgirl boots. Sarah was dejected but she gave a high five to her friend, happy for her. "What have we here?" Professor Smith said, looking at the oversized bulge under the tight spandex of Sarah's boy. The girls looked excitedly. At Professor Smith's touch, the boy howled in pain. His long dark hair flying back and forth across his deep brown eyes, made all the deeper by his tears. "Aha," said Professor Smith, this time feeling around in the sac that was connected to his body. Then she quickly pulled his spandex down, exposing him to the world. Sarah looked shocked at her handy work, and smiled. His left nut was swollen to the size of a walnut from its original size, which was probably closer to a peanut. It was dark purple and misshapen. There was a clear stab mark where Sarah's pointy gold tip had penetrated. Professor Smith handled his agonizing orb without pity, moving it around and inspecting it, eliciting more cries. "Well, it feels whole. Not ruptured." The girls all sighed with disappointment. "But..." she emphasized. "You have done some permanent damage here." Sarah's face perked up, her eyes glowing.

"Really?" Excitement clear in her voice.

"Oh yes. Your well aimed kick flattened the centre of his testicle, causing his nutmeat to bulge out to the sides. Only a little more and it would have exploded." Sarah sighed again. "But this is no doubt incredibly painful." Sarah smiled. "He will have terrible swelling for days and I am of the opinion that his ball will be permanently misshapen and damaged. There's little doubt that it's now sterile." Sarah screamed with glee. Kelly and Beth both gave her high fives. Professor Smith remembered there was one more to assess. She came to Beth's boy. She took off the sack and pulled it open. All the girls looked on with anticipation. She poured. "Wow," said Professor Smith. It was a fine powder. As though the nuts had been ground with a mortar and pestle.

Beth smiled with a deep satisfaction. Looking at her boots, Professor Smith said "Well, there's no arguing with brute force and hard, heavy boots."

With a signal, the guys were released from their torture devices. Without fail they all immediately fell to the ground and began writhing. "You boys have 30 seconds to move it out of here or I'll tie you back up there and the only nuts left to kick will be yours. The girls laughed and mocked as the guys pitifully pulled themselves along the ground to leave, whimpering and moaning. It was clear that every move they made took supreme concentration and effort and caused so much additional pain. Some of the girls got down beside them, saying "Come on, let's have another round."

"Let me try with my real kicking leg this time," said another.

One girl pretended to be one of the boys, imitating his movements and crawling along the ground. However, basic human instinct motivated them to get away within the allotted time. Professor Smith looked over to another group of guys and ladies approaching. "All right, next group." "Alright!" Said Sarah as they turned their backs and walked away on the next group of males who were being tied to their torment devices. "What's next?"

"Handball," said Kelly. Sarah, Beth and Kelly all smiled. They couldn't wait to see what it was."

[ryan75054-blog]

Nicholas Nickleby

Mr. Godfrey Nickleby decided late in life to marry. Being neither rich nor young, he married an old girlfriend out of attachment. She married him for the same reasons.

 Mr. Nickleby’s income fluctuated between 60-80 pounds per year, and both looked for any opportunity to improve their earning capacity. He becomes more morose, for he is unsuccessful in finding a friend who might help him.

 Five years past, and the couple have two sons. Mr. Nickleby considers insuring his life and committing suicide. However, he receives news that his uncle has died and left him some property that is worth 5,000 pounds. Mr. Godfrey Nickleby cannot believe his uncle left him this inheritance, for he never fraternized with him much in life. All he ever did was send Godfrey’s eldest boy, which was named after the uncle, a silver spoon. However, this seemed done more out of spite, to rub it in that the boy wasn’t born with one.

Initially, Ralph Nickleby, Sr. (the uncle), had planned to leave his property to the Royal Humane Society. He changed his will when this society, much to his outrage, saved the life of a poor relation.

CHAPTER 2

 Of Mr Ralph Nickleby, and his Establishments, and his Undertakings,

and of a great Joint Stock Company of vast national Importance

  Mr Ralph Nickleby was not, strictly speaking, what you would call a

merchant, neither was he a banker, nor an attorney, nor a special

pleader, nor a notary. He was certainly not a tradesman, and still

less could he lay any claim to the title of a professional

gentleman; for it would have been impossible to mention any

recognised profession to which he belonged. Nevertheless, as he

lived in a spacious house in Golden Square, which, in addition to a

brass plate upon the street-door, had another brass plate two sizes

and a half smaller upon the left hand door-post, surrounding a brass

model of an infant's fist grasping a fragment of a skewer, and

displaying the word 'Office,' it was clear that Mr Ralph Nickleby

did, or pretended to do, business of some kind; and the fact, if it

required any further circumstantial evidence, was abundantly

demonstrated by the diurnal attendance, between the hours of half-

past nine and five, of a sallow-faced man in rusty brown, who sat

upon an uncommonly hard stool in a species of butler's pantry at the

end of the passage, and always had a pen behind his ear when he

answered the bell.

 Although a few members of the graver professions live about Golden

Square, it is not exactly in anybody's way to or from anywhere. It

is one of the squares that have been; a quarter of the town that has

gone down in the world, and taken to letting lodgings. Many of its

first and second floors are let, furnished, to single gentlemen; and

it takes boarders besides. It is a great resort of foreigners. The

dark-complexioned men who wear large rings, and heavy watch-guards,

and bushy whiskers, and who congregate under the Opera Colonnade,

and about the box-office in the season, between four and five in the

afternoon, when they give away the orders,--all live in Golden

Square, or within a street of it. Two or three violins and a wind

instrument from the Opera band reside within its precincts. Its

boarding-houses are musical, and the notes of pianos and harps float

in the evening time round the head of the mournful statue, the

guardian genius of a little wilderness of shrubs, in the centre of

the square. On a summer's night, windows are thrown open, and

groups of swarthy moustached men are seen by the passer-by, lounging

at the casements, and smoking fearfully. Sounds of gruff voices

practising vocal music invade the evening's silence; and the fumes

of choice tobacco scent the air. There, snuff and cigars, and

German pipes and flutes, and violins and violoncellos, divide the

supremacy between them. It is the region of song and smoke. Street

bands are on their mettle in Golden Square; and itinerant glee-

singers quaver involuntarily as they raise their voices within its

boundaries.

 This would not seem a spot very well adapted to the transaction of

business; but Mr Ralph Nickleby had lived there, notwithstanding,

for many years, and uttered no complaint on that score. He knew

nobody round about, and nobody knew him, although he enjoyed the

reputation of being immensely rich. The tradesmen held that he was

a sort of lawyer, and the other neighbours opined that he was a kind

of general agent; both of which guesses were as correct and definite

as guesses about other people's affairs usually are, or need to be.

 Mr Ralph Nickleby sat in his private office one morning, ready

dressed to walk abroad. He wore a bottle-green spencer over a blue

coat; a white waistcoat, grey mixture pantaloons, and Wellington

boots drawn over them. The corner of a small-plaited shirt-frill

struggled out, as if insisting to show itself, from between his chin

and the top button of his spencer; and the latter garment was not

made low enough to conceal a long gold watch-chain, composed of a

series of plain rings, which had its beginning at the handle of a

gold repeater in Mr Nickleby's pocket, and its termination in two

little keys: one belonging to the watch itself, and the other to

some patent padlock. He wore a sprinkling of powder upon his head,

as if to make himself look benevolent; but if that were his purpose,

he would perhaps have done better to powder his countenance also,

for there was something in its very wrinkles, and in his cold

restless eye, which seemed to tell of cunning that would announce

itself in spite of him. However this might be, there he was; and as

he was all alone, neither the powder, nor the wrinkles, nor the

eyes, had the smallest effect, good or bad, upon anybody just then,

and are consequently no business of ours just now.

 Mr Nickleby closed an account-book which lay on his desk, and,

throwing himself back in his chair, gazed with an air of abstraction

through the dirty window. Some London houses have a melancholy

little plot of ground behind them, usually fenced in by four high

whitewashed walls, and frowned upon by stacks of chimneys: in which

there withers on, from year to year, a crippled tree, that makes a

show of putting forth a few leaves late in autumn when other trees

shed theirs, and, drooping in the effort, lingers on, all crackled

and smoke-dried, till the following season, when it repeats the same

process, and perhaps, if the weather be particularly genial, even

tempts some rheumatic sparrow to chirrup in its branches. People

sometimes call these dark yards 'gardens'; it is not supposed that

they were ever planted, but rather that they are pieces of

unreclaimed land, with the withered vegetation of the original

brick-field. No man thinks of walking in this desolate place, or of

turning it to any account. A few hampers, half-a-dozen broken

bottles, and such-like rubbish, may be thrown there, when the tenant

first moves in, but nothing more; and there they remain until he

goes away again: the damp straw taking just as long to moulder as it

thinks proper: and mingling with the scanty box, and stunted

everbrowns, and broken flower-pots, that are scattered mournfully

about--a prey to 'blacks' and dirt.

 It was into a place of this kind that Mr Ralph Nickleby gazed, as he

sat with his hands in his pockets looking out of the window. He had

fixed his eyes upon a distorted fir tree, planted by some former

tenant in a tub that had once been green, and left there, years

before, to rot away piecemeal. There was nothing very inviting in

the object, but Mr Nickleby was wrapt in a brown study, and sat

contemplating it with far greater attention than, in a more

conscious mood, he would have deigned to bestow upon the rarest

exotic. At length, his eyes wandered to a little dirty window on

the left, through which the face of the clerk was dimly visible;

that worthy chancing to look up, he beckoned him to attend.

 In obedience to this summons the clerk got off the high stool (to

which he had communicated a high polish by countless gettings off

and on), and presented himself in Mr Nickleby's room. He was a tall

man of middle age, with two goggle eyes whereof one was a fixture, a

rubicund nose, a cadaverous face, and a suit of clothes (if the term

be allowable when they suited him not at all) much the worse for

wear, very much too small, and placed upon such a short allowance of

buttons that it was marvellous how he contrived to keep them on.

 'Was that half-past twelve, Noggs?' said Mr Nickleby, in a sharp and

grating voice.

 'Not more than five-and-twenty minutes by the--' Noggs was going to

add public-house clock, but recollecting himself, substituted

'regular time.'

 'My watch has stopped,' said Mr Nickleby; 'I don't know from what

cause.'

 'Not wound up,' said Noggs.

 'Yes it is,' said Mr Nickleby.

 'Over-wound then,' rejoined Noggs.

 'That can't very well be,' observed Mr Nickleby.

 'Must be,' said Noggs.

 'Well!' said Mr Nickleby, putting the repeater back in his pocket;

'perhaps it is.'

 Noggs gave a peculiar grunt, as was his custom at the end of all

disputes with his master, to imply that he (Noggs) triumphed; and

(as he rarely spoke to anybody unless somebody spoke to him) fell

into a grim silence, and rubbed his hands slowly over each other:

cracking the joints of his fingers, and squeezing them into all

possible distortions. The incessant performance of this routine on

every occasion, and the communication of a fixed and rigid look to

his unaffected eye, so as to make it uniform with the other, and to

render it impossible for anybody to determine where or at what he

was looking, were two among the numerous peculiarities of Mr Noggs,

which struck an inexperienced observer at first sight.

 'I am going to the London Tavern this morning,' said Mr Nickleby.

 'Public meeting?' inquired Noggs.

 Mr Nickleby nodded. 'I expect a letter from the solicitor

respecting that mortgage of Ruddle's. If it comes at all, it will

be here by the two o'clock delivery. I shall leave the city about

that time and walk to Charing Cross on the left-hand side of the

way; if there are any letters, come and meet me, and bring them with

you.'

 Noggs nodded; and as he nodded, there came a ring at the office

bell. The master looked up from his papers, and the clerk calmly

remained in a stationary position.

 'The bell,' said Noggs, as though in explanation. 'At home?'

 'Yes.'

 'To anybody?'

 'Yes.'

 'To the tax-gatherer?'

 'No! Let him call again.'

 Noggs gave vent to his usual grunt, as much as to say 'I thought

so!' and, the ring being repeated, went to the door, whence he

presently returned, ushering in, by the name of Mr Bonney, a pale

gentleman in a violent hurry, who, with his hair standing up in

great disorder all over his head, and a very narrow white cravat

tied loosely round his throat, looked as if he had been knocked up

in the night and had not dressed himself since.

 'My dear Nickleby,' said the gentleman, taking off a white hat which

was so full of papers that it would scarcely stick upon his head,

'there's not a moment to lose; I have a cab at the door. Sir

Matthew Pupker takes the chair, and three members of Parliament are

positively coming. I have seen two of them safely out of bed. The

third, who was at Crockford's all night, has just gone home to put a

clean shirt on, and take a bottle or two of soda water, and will

certainly be with us, in time to address the meeting. He is a

little excited by last night, but never mind that; he always speaks

the stronger for it.'

 'It seems to promise pretty well,' said Mr Ralph Nickleby, whose

deliberate manner was strongly opposed to the vivacity of the other

man of business.

 'Pretty well!' echoed Mr Bonney. 'It's the finest idea that was

ever started. "United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet

Baking and Punctual Delivery Company. Capital, five millions, in

five hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each." Why the very name

will get the shares up to a premium in ten days.'

 'And when they ARE at a premium,' said Mr Ralph Nickleby, smiling.

 'When they are, you know what to do with them as well as any man

alive, and how to back quietly out at the right time,' said Mr

Bonney, slapping the capitalist familiarly on the shoulder. 'By-

the-bye, what a VERY remarkable man that clerk of yours is.'

 'Yes, poor devil!' replied Ralph, drawing on his gloves. 'Though

Newman Noggs kept his horses and hounds once.'

 'Ay, ay?' said the other carelessly.

 'Yes,' continued Ralph, 'and not many years ago either; but he

squandered his money, invested it anyhow, borrowed at interest, and

in short made first a thorough fool of himself, and then a beggar.

He took to drinking, and had a touch of paralysis, and then came

here to borrow a pound, as in his better days I had--'

 'Done business with him,' said Mr Bonney with a meaning look.

 'Just so,' replied Ralph; 'I couldn't lend it, you know.'

 'Oh, of course not.'

 'But as I wanted a clerk just then, to open the door and so forth, I

took him out of charity, and he has remained with me ever since. He

is a little mad, I think,' said Mr Nickleby, calling up a charitable

look, 'but he is useful enough, poor creature--useful enough.'

 The kind-hearted gentleman omitted to add that Newman Noggs, being

utterly destitute, served him for rather less than the usual wages

of a boy of thirteen; and likewise failed to mention in his hasty

chronicle, that his eccentric taciturnity rendered him an especially

valuable person in a place where much business was done, of which it

was desirable no mention should be made out of doors. The other

gentleman was plainly impatient to be gone, however, and as they

hurried into the hackney cabriolet immediately afterwards, perhaps

Mr Nickleby forgot to mention circumstances so unimportant.

 There was a great bustle in Bishopsgate Street Within, as they drew

up, and (it being a windy day) half-a-dozen men were tacking across

the road under a press of paper, bearing gigantic announcements that

a Public Meeting would be holden at one o'clock precisely, to take

into consideration the propriety of petitioning Parliament in favour

of the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking

and Punctual Delivery Company, capital five millions, in five

hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each; which sums were duly set

forth in fat black figures of considerable size. Mr Bonney elbowed

his way briskly upstairs, receiving in his progress many low bows

from the waiters who stood on the landings to show the way; and,

followed by Mr Nickleby, dived into a suite of apartments behind the

great public room: in the second of which was a business-looking

table, and several business-looking people.

 'Hear!' cried a gentleman with a double chin, as Mr Bonney presented

himself. 'Chair, gentlemen, chair!'

 The new-comers were received with universal approbation, and Mr

Bonney bustled up to the top of the table, took off his hat, ran his

fingers through his hair, and knocked a hackney-coachman's knock on

the table with a little hammer: whereat several gentlemen cried

'Hear!' and nodded slightly to each other, as much as to say what

spirited conduct that was. Just at this moment, a waiter, feverish

with agitation, tore into the room, and throwing the door open with

a crash, shouted 'Sir Matthew Pupker!'

 The committee stood up and clapped their hands for joy, and while

they were clapping them, in came Sir Matthew Pupker, attended by two

live members of Parliament, one Irish and one Scotch, all smiling

and bowing, and looking so pleasant that it seemed a perfect marvel

how any man could have the heart to vote against them. Sir Matthew

Pupker especially, who had a little round head with a flaxen wig on

the top of it, fell into such a paroxysm of bows, that the wig

threatened to be jerked off, every instant. When these symptoms had

in some degree subsided, the gentlemen who were on speaking terms

with Sir Matthew Pupker, or the two other members, crowded round

them in three little groups, near one or other of which the

gentlemen who were NOT on speaking terms with Sir Matthew Pupker or

the two other members, stood lingering, and smiling, and rubbing

their hands, in the desperate hope of something turning up which

might bring them into notice. All this time, Sir Matthew Pupker and

the two other members were relating to their separate circles what

the intentions of government were, about taking up the bill; with a

full account of what the government had said in a whisper the last

time they dined with it, and how the government had been observed to

wink when it said so; from which premises they were at no loss to

draw the conclusion, that if the government had one object more at

heart than another, that one object was the welfare and advantage of

the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and

Punctual Delivery Company.

 Meanwhile, and pending the arrangement of the proceedings, and a

fair division of the speechifying, the public in the large room were

eyeing, by turns, the empty platform, and the ladies in the Music

Gallery. In these amusements the greater portion of them had been

occupied for a couple of hours before, and as the most agreeable

diversions pall upon the taste on a too protracted enjoyment of

them, the sterner spirits now began to hammer the floor with their

boot-heels, and to express their dissatisfaction by various hoots

and cries. These vocal exertions, emanating from the people who had

been there longest, naturally proceeded from those who were nearest

to the platform and furthest from the policemen in attendance, who

having no great mind to fight their way through the crowd, but

entertaining nevertheless a praiseworthy desire to do something to

quell the disturbance, immediately began to drag forth, by the coat

tails and collars, all the quiet people near the door; at the same

time dealing out various smart and tingling blows with their

truncheons, after the manner of that ingenious actor, Mr Punch:

whose brilliant example, both in the fashion of his weapons and

their use, this branch of the executive occasionally follows.

 Several very exciting skirmishes were in progress, when a loud shout

attracted the attention even of the belligerents, and then there

poured on to the platform, from a door at the side, a long line of

gentlemen with their hats off, all looking behind them, and uttering

vociferous cheers; the cause whereof was sufficiently explained when

Sir Matthew Pupker and the two other real members of Parliament came

to the front, amidst deafening shouts, and testified to each other

in dumb motions that they had never seen such a glorious sight as

that, in the whole course of thier public career.

 At length, and at last, the assembly left off shouting, but Sir

Matthew Pupker being voted into the chair, they underwent a relapse

which lasted five minutes. This over, Sir Matthew Pupker went on to

say what must be his feelings on that great occasion, and what must

be that occasion in the eyes of the world, and what must be the

intelligence of his fellow-countrymen before him, and what must be

the wealth and respectability of his honourable friends behind him,

and lastly, what must be the importance to the wealth, the

happiness, the comfort, the liberty, the very existence of a free

and great people, of such an Institution as the United Metropolitan

Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery

Company!

 Mr Bonney then presented himself to move the first resolution; and

having run his right hand through his hair, and planted his left, in

an easy manner, in his ribs, he consigned his hat to the care of the

gentleman with the double chin (who acted as a species of bottle-

holder to the orators generally), and said he would read to them the

first resolution--'That this meeting views with alarm and

apprehension, the existing state of the Muffin Trade in this

Metropolis and its neighbourhood; that it considers the Muffin Boys,

as at present constituted, wholly underserving the confidence of the

public; and that it deems the whole Muffin system alike prejudicial

to the health and morals of the people, and subversive of the best

interests of a great commercial and mercantile community.' The

honourable gentleman made a speech which drew tears from the eyes of

the ladies, and awakened the liveliest emotions in every individual

present. He had visited the houses of the poor in the various

districts of London, and had found them destitute of the slightest

vestige of a muffin, which there appeared too much reason to believe

some of these indigent persons did not taste from year's end to

year's end. He had found that among muffin-sellers there existed

drunkenness, debauchery, and profligacy, which he attributed to the

debasing nature of their employment as at present exercised; he had

found the same vices among the poorer class of people who ought to

be muffin consumers; and this he attributed to the despair

engendered by their being placed beyond the reach of that nutritious

article, which drove them to seek a false stimulant in intoxicating

liquors. He would undertake to prove before a committee of the

House of Commons, that there existed a combination to keep up the

price of muffins, and to give the bellmen a monopoly; he would prove

it by bellmen at the bar of that House; and he would also prove,

that these men corresponded with each other by secret words and

signs as 'Snooks,' 'Walker,' 'Ferguson,' 'Is Murphy right?' and many

others. It was this melancholy state of things that the Company

proposed to correct; firstly, by prohibiting, under heavy penalties,

all private muffin trading of every description; secondly, by

themselves supplying the public generally, and the poor at their own

homes, with muffins of first quality at reduced prices. It was with

this object that a bill had been introduced into Parliament by their

patriotic chairman Sir Matthew Pupker; it was this bill that they

had met to support; it was the supporters of this bill who would

confer undying brightness and splendour upon England, under the name

of the United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking

and Punctual Delivery Company; he would add, with a capital of Five

Millions, in five hundred thousand shares of ten pounds each.

 Mr Ralph Nickleby seconded the resolution, and another gentleman

having moved that it be amended by the insertion of the words 'and

crumpet' after the word 'muffin,' whenever it occurred, it was

carried triumphantly. Only one man in the crowd cried 'No!' and he

was promptly taken into custody, and straightway borne off.

 The second resolution, which recognised the expediency of

immediately abolishing 'all muffin (or crumpet) sellers, all traders

in muffins (or crumpets) of whatsoever description, whether male or

female, boys or men, ringing hand-bells or otherwise,' was moved by

a grievous gentleman of semi-clerical appearance, who went at once

into such deep pathetics, that he knocked the first speaker clean

out of the course in no time. You might have heard a pin fall--a

pin! a feather--as he described the cruelties inflicted on muffin

boys by their masters, which he very wisely urged were in themselves

a sufficient reason for the establishment of that inestimable

company. It seemed that the unhappy youths were nightly turned out

into the wet streets at the most inclement periods of the year, to

wander about, in darkness and rain--or it might be hail or snow--for

hours together, without shelter, food, or warmth; and let the public

never forget upon the latter point, that while the muffins were

provided with warm clothing and blankets, the boys were wholly

unprovided for, and left to their own miserable resources. (Shame!)

The honourable gentleman related one case of a muffin boy, who

having been exposed to this inhuman and barbarous system for no less

than five years, at length fell a victim to a cold in the head,

beneath which he gradually sunk until he fell into a perspiration

and recovered; this he could vouch for, on his own authority, but he

had heard (and he had no reason to doubt the fact) of a still more

heart-rending and appalling circumstance. He had heard of the case

of an orphan muffin boy, who, having been run over by a hackney

carriage, had been removed to the hospital, had undergone the

amputation of his leg below the knee, and was now actually pursuing

his occupation on crutches. Fountain of justice, were these things

to last!