#are shucked oysters alive

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (X)

Chapter 10 : [I] was angry that my trust could not repose in the clear light, like poetry or freedom leaning in from sea

Hi! Here is another chapter! Today: lots of misogyny, the academic world being what it is, and some time spent at the beach with our best boy Elwood!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4344

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Oysters

Our shells clacked on the plates. My tongue was a filling estuary, My palate hung with starlight: As I tasted the salty Pleiades Orion dipped his foot into the water.

Alive and violated, They lay on their bed of ice: Bivalves: the split bulb And philandering sigh of ocean Millions of them ripped and shucked and scattered.

We had driven to that coast Through flowers and limestone And there we were, toasting friendship, Laying down a perfect memory In the cool of thatch and crockery.

Over the Alps, packed deep in hay and snow, The Romans hauled their oysters south of Rome: I saw damp panniers disgorge The frond-lipped, brine-stung Glut of privilege

And was angry that my trust could not repose In the clear light, like poetry or freedom Leaning in from sea. I ate the day Deliberately, that its tang Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb.

Seamus Heaney, Field Work, 1979

Lunchtime with Andrew and Colm had turned into lunchtime with half the department somehow…

You were tired, you wanted to go home. A few weeks into teaching, you were already starting to feel the familiar tug of exhaustion. You had a thousand things to prepare for your research, books to read, articles to go through… And Andrew and you were still trying to fight against Sam and Frank’s marriage the best you could.

After the flower fiasco, out of which Andrew had managed to gain a moment of glory and a longing gaze from Sam, the two of you were working on a way to make you shine in Frank’s eyes. The perfect gift to offer the couple as they were moving in together seemed a good occasion. You had spent most of your evening the previous day browsing the internet with Andrew. He had come over to your place, had left well after midnight, didn’t want to disturb you by sleeping in the second bedroom. And you had fun, that was the strangest part of your evening. You had fun looking for gifts with Andrew, it had turned into finding the most ridiculous items available for purchase, and you had laughed until your eyes watered at his silly jokes. It was a sad thing to realise this had been the more you had laughed since Frank had left you…

You had stopped listening to the on-going conversation about a writer you didn’t know, your mind wandering away from your lunch to settle back on the previous evening. You were beginning to pick on some of his habits, noticing details about him. He hummed a lot, he tilted his head when thinking, ran his fingers through his hair when he was focused, he rubbed at his neck, his chin, his cheek when he was nervous or uncomfortable, pushed up his sleeves often too. Last night, when the conversation drifted away from your exes and onto the last museum you had visited, his head was tilted, his gaze stern and unwavering while he listened intently to you. It felt strange, to be near someone who listened to you so fully. Frank didn’t…

Your heart and chest grew warm at the memory of Andrew getting ready to leave. After midnight, he made a joke about the Gremlins when you offered him one last drink or bite to eat before he would leave, feeling guilty for your conversation and planning to have robbed the two of you of a decent dinner, your stomachs filled only with biscuits and coffee. He was putting on his coat when he joked about making a mess of your apartment if you fed him now, you both laughed at the silliness of it. You waited for him to wrap a warm scarf around his throat, to cover his ears with a beanie.

“Good night, Andrew.”

Simple words, and yet they made him look at you. You noticed the way his head bent a little, as if leaning towards you. His eyes were so green at such an ungodly hour, tiredness making the brown of his eyes recede. He offered you a shy smile, fidgeting with the sleeves of his warm grey coat.

“Andy.”

You stared at him in silence, surprised by his answer. His smile widened when he went on.

“Andy’s just fine, Y/N.”

You could only smile up at him then, you noticed the way his cheeks were flushed when you repeated his name.

He was so cute…

“That’s a little too much though, this whole thing about a feminist rewriting of history. To give classes about that… what a joke…”

Patterson’s words tore you away from your happy memory, pushed you right back in the present, in the reality you faced daily. University was not as progressive as it longed to be seen as, you were a painful witness of that…

You remembered the list of names Andrew had spontaneously given you during your first week. You reckoned his selection was spot on. Patterson was no exception. Mahoney was nodding enthusiastically, and you chose to ignore them. You were too tired, too emotionally exhausted to go through that kind of misogynistic conversation. You forced yourself not to listen to Andrew’s and Colm’s answers as they entered the debate, defending your side.

But then Andrew looked at you, spoke your name, and you were forced into reality again.

“Asking for help because you’ve run out of arguments?” Mahoney asked Andrew, and it was supposed to sound like mockery but it was too bitter for that.

“Y/N is literally an expert in what we’re discussing and a woman, don’t you think you should listen to her rather than your stupid biased views on such a matter?”

“I know plenty about the matter.”

“What a misogynistic answer… thank you for proving my point about your absolute ignorance.”

“And you’re an expert?”

“I’m not. That’s why I ask someone who’s dedicating her life to the voices of women and who is a woman when discussing something about women.”

Andrew’s breathing was heavy, his eyes stone cold and sharp. You had only seen him angry once before, that night you had learnt about your exes’ engagement. It made his voice deeper than usual, a low rumble that was scarier than the loud booming voice Frank used during arguments. His impressive stature wasn’t helping. And yet, when Andrew turned to you, his eyes were soft again, his voice back to its usual warmth, and he didn’t seem intimidating anymore.

“Do you want to add something?”

You didn’t, but the conversation was happening, and fleeing would only result in more violent views being expressed next time. So, you sharply looked over at your two mocking colleagues, and got to work.

You countered every argument, you offered numbers and examples even though you knew it would make no difference. After a while, you were getting angry more than annoyed. Colm and Andrew were backing you up every now and then, but the rest of your colleagues seemed uninterested by the debate at best, at worst they were enjoying the argument.

You let out a wry chuckle at Patterson, who was now not even trying to find arguments, but straight up rejecting your facts.

“How scientific of you to dismiss proven facts simply because they don’t fit your narrative…” you fought back with sarcasm, and he glowered at you. “And you call yourself an academic?”

“Hey! I’m not attacking your professionalism…”

“Are you not? As Andrew said, I’m the expert in this field. I am studying this issue and the impact of misogyny and patriarchy. And yet, you dismiss all my arguments without any proof whatsoever, without offering another explanation. You are only rejecting facts that do not fit your view of the world, or to be more precise, the world that brings you in a position of power over others. You enjoy the system that favours you instead of favouring everyone.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous, claiming to have arguments when all you have are thoughts and no facts or proof whatsoever. I do have those. You’re a misogynistic man who clings to his tiny bit of power and feels emasculated if anyone dares to contradict him. You’re pathetic.”

You shot up, standing in a hurry and grabbing your stuff before heading back to your office. You didn’t pay attention to the discontented grumble that followed you, nor the scratch of another chair being pushed away from the table. You didn’t notice Andrew was following you until you were outside the room, heading for the stairs to go back to your office. You turned to him with a surprised expression painted all over your features.

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

You stared at him in silence for a moment.

“You’re okay?” he asked with warmth in his voice and gaze.

“Yeah… I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

You didn’t like lying, but it was only half a lie. You were used to it, it happened more often than you had expected when you had chosen this career. You thought that the world of knowledge was a progressive one, a world filled with open minds. What a fool you had been… how naïve…

Now, you were growing numb to it, to some extent. The animosity was never far away. The attempts at slowing down, blocking, or even ending your career were a threat too. And you wished you could say you didn’t care at all by now, but you did. You did, and it drove you mad how frustrated you felt in front of such injustice, over the weight that was put onto your shoulders, over the exhaustion that came with constantly having to prove yourself, over the doubts that slithered there through your system even if you tried not to listen. It was the hardest part of your job, by far.

And then there were a few good ones like Andrew who gave you faith in humanity all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, rubbing at his neck.

“It’s not your fault. On the contrary… thank you, for taking my side.”

“Of course.”

“And thank you for asking me. For including me in the conversation. For recognising the need to put me at the centre of the argument, instead of a male voice.”

You let out a chuckle as you opened the door of your shared office.

“I bet your mam taught you well.”

He grinned, fondness evident in his eyes as he talked about his parents. You had noticed how love was always in his gaze when he spoke of his family.

“Yeah… trying to put in practice what she taught me.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll never have to thank me for something like this.”

You tried to ignore how much that fight had shaken you, but you could barely focus all afternoon, and Andrew seemed to notice. It was still early when he turned off his computer and grabbed his coat, then planted his tall frame in front of your desk.

“Come on, let’s go to the beach.”

You stared at him with a blank stare, blinking.

“The beach?”

“Lunch got me worked up… I can’t focus on anything. I need to clear my head, and to me, there’s no better place for that than the sea. So… come on! Let’s go to the beach!”

“I have work to do.”

“You’ll work tomorrow.”

“Andrew…”

“Andy,” he corrected you with a warm smile, and you couldn’t refrain your own grin.

“Andy,” you repeated. “I’ve got things to do!”

“Yes! And they include breathing the fresh air of the sea, listening to the waves and having fun!”

“And freezing to death? It’s November… in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten… I go swimming almost every morning.”

You stared at him with unfaltering eyes.

“You’re insane.”

“I need to go home first, but we can meet up by the coast? I know a nice spot.”

“Okay.”

“Do you like dogs?”

You raised a surprised eyebrow at his question, it was coming out of nowhere.

“Erm… yes… of course…”

“Good. I mean… I have to get my dog. He will never forgive me if I go to the beach without him.”

“You have a dog?! How cute! What kind of dog is he?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I don’t know… some kind of mix between a border collie and… something else. I have no clue.”

Your expression softened as you smiled. He looked away, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink under the darkness of his beard.

“Alright, I’ll text you the address of the nearest village, and I’ll guide you the rest of the way.”

“You’re not about to murder me and get rid of my body in some deserted creek, are you?”

He laughed at your joke, bright and loud, and you were quite proud of that, of being responsible for such a sound.

“No guarantees…”

“I should decline then…”

“Hey! You need to live a more adventurous kind of life! Take risks!”

“You could be planning on feeding me to your dog.”

“Now that you mention it, he hasn’t had his ration of human flesh this week.”

“See? That’s what I’m saying!”

You both laughed, Andrew shook his head fondly at you.

“Elwood is a good boy, don’t worry. I won’t be long.”

You were shutting off your computer as well when Andrew exited the room.

You had hurried to the tiny village, spotted a shop and were now motionless in the middle of the aisle, staring at rubber bones and colourful balls.

Andrew should have reached the village fifteen minutes ago, but you were starting to get used to his chronical lateness. He seemed to never be on time for anything. “Time blindness”, he called it. Whatever it was, there was no need to worry. He would show up eventually, apologise profusely, with a mix of guilt and embarrassment on his face, and then you would tell him it was alright because you couldn’t find it in you to be annoyed at him, and he would look at you again and smile…

You smiled as you reached for a squishy ball, with little flowers painted on it. Yellow and white. Daisies.

You bought the toy, went back to your car to wait for Andrew. He arrived almost thirty minutes late, hurried out of his car and secured his dog on a leash before walking over to you. The guilt and embarrassment you were expecting were painted all over his features, indeed.

“I’m sorry… it took me longer than I thought to pick this one up,” he explained with a nod towards his dog.

“That’s okay. And God, you’re adorable,” you said to the dog, crouching down to let the dog approach you. “What’s his name?”

“Elwood.”

The dog seemed to immediately like you, he let you pet his head, wiggling his tail in delight.

“Oh, yes… you’re a good boy!” you cooed. “Here, I’ve bought you something!”

You stood straighter again, offered the ball to Andrew.

He stared at you with bewilderment.

“You… you bought him a toy?”

“Yes! I love dogs! I hope I can have one, someday…”

“You… you shouldn’t have…”

“It makes me happy.”

Andrew couldn’t find any argument against that.

“Thank you.”

You headed towards the beach together. Elwood was obedient yet excited, clearly recognising where you were heading. It was sunny despite the cold weather, you readjusted your scarf a couple of times, put on your gloves after a while. And it was easy to find a topic of conversation with Andrew. First work, your classes, your research as you reached the beach. Then politics as you walked across the sand, sending the ball away for Elwood to catch and bring back. Then movies and art as you watched the waves roll towards you. And then your broken hearts when you were sitting in the sand, side by side, watching over Elwood who was running around by the edge of the water.

The sand was soft under your fingers, your gaze set on the horizon, an infinity of blues and greens, of white waves and the moving shapes of seagulls.

“Are you coming to the dinner next week?” Andrew asked, his deep voice breaking the quiet of the cold sea.

You heaved a sigh, closed your eyes for a second. Frank and Sam had invited both you and Andrew to have dinner in some expansive restaurant in Dublin. A way to ‘get a brand-new start’, Frank had called it. You thought it was rather a new way to get your heart broken, but you didn’t have a choice. If you wanted Frank back, you couldn’t miss any opportunity to see him.

“Of course, I’m coming.”

You opened your eyes to look at Andrew as he slowly nodded.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he confessed. “I was worried to go on my own.”

“Don’t worry. We’re a team for this! We said we would help each other out, and we will. We’ll get the people we love back.”

Andrew smiled, a gesture grateful, but tainted with sorrow. He set his green eyes on the horizon, you watched as the loose curls that had escaped his man-bun were floating in the wind. But then you followed his gaze, stared at the wildness of the sea, its everchanging shape, and you wondered if anything was meant to last in this world, if anything at all could be called permanent…

“What’s going to happen, then? If we fail, if we can’t get them back, if they really don’t love us anymore… what will happen then?”

Andrew was silent for a moment, staring at you now. You could feel his gaze set upon your face, but you couldn’t look at him. It was easier to search for where the sky met the sea.

“Then… we’ll go through hell.”

You let out a long exhale. His voice was quiet, barely there over the wind. Deep, calm, aching.

“We’ll suffer. A lot. And eventually, we’ll get over it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I don’t think that I could love anyone else the way I love Frank.”

“We don’t have to love them the same way we love Frank and Sam. On the contrary, I think every love we feel is unique. It’s shaped by the person we feel so intensely for. I’ll never love anyone the way I love Sam. But maybe I’ll be able to have a love that’s just as important. It will simply be… different.”

“Missing him feels like grieving.”

“Hmm… Missing her feels like grieving too. It’s the same kind of… void. The emptiness that’s left behind. The silence, the habit of opening your mouth to speak to them, but remembering they’re gone, that there’s no one left to listen to you now, and closing your mouth again… a mouth that’s rendered useless now, as there is nobody left to listen to you anyway.”

Slowly, you nodded, feeling your throat tightening at the pain in Andrew’s voice, at the way his thoughts echoed your own.

“I forget that he’s gone all the time,” you nodded, sniffling, although you weren’t crying. “I just… forget… and then I remember, and it hurts all over again.”

“Yeah… me too.”

The wind was so cold, it felt like knives entering the skin of your cheekbones. You readjusted your beanie so it would perfectly cover your ears. Every time either of you spoke, a tiny cloud was born from your lips, and died in the wind.

Andrew’s dog was unaware of your sadness, unaware of the hole that was gnawing a little bit more every day at your heart. He was happy running around the beach, chasing after birds, playing with the waves.

You smiled, soft and sad and filled with the want to forget again.

“I really like your dog a lot,” you chuckled.

Andrew looked at his pet as well, a tender smile on his lips.

“I’m glad,” was his only answer.

“He’s a good boy.”

He hummed softly, rubbing at his cold hands.

“I don’t think Sam likes him very much.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think she likes dogs in general all that much. She was always nice to him, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t think she loved him. When I do. I love him. He’s family.”

“Of course, he is,” you answered with an unmistakable fondness in your voice, one that made Andrew look at you again.

You could feel him shifting next to you, guessed that he hesitated to ask a question. You encouraged him to ask whatever he wanted. You were in a confessing mood, after all.

“What’s your dream?”

You looked up at him with a questioning look, surprised at his question coming out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a dream? Or… did you have one? When you were younger?”

You blinked up at him, feeling silly as you thought of an answer.

Of course you had dreams. You had tons of them.

“I’ve learnt a long time ago that dreams don’t come true.”

He frowned at your answer, his gaze saddened at your words.

“If you could make one true, what dream would it be?”

You blinked tears away, set your gaze on the sea again.

Blue. Blue and splashes of white. A thousand hues of those colours, as far as the eye could see. Such a beauty… And the sound of the waves reaching the shore, curling into white foam, regular like a pattern, soft like a melody.

“I really wanted to be loved for who I am. I just… I would really like for someone to love me. To care about what I think, to care about what I have to say, to hold me when I feel sad. I just… I would really like to feel safe, just once. To have someone… who would treat me as their equal, someone for whom I wouldn’t have to overthink each answer, someone with whom I wouldn’t have to fight to have a chance to be listened to. Sometimes I… It’s so hard to be a woman sometimes. It feels like I’m always fighting. Fighting for my rights, fighting for a chance to be who I want, fighting to be listened to, fighting to be taken seriously, fighting to get my life together, fighting to meet people’s expectation, fighting… for everything. I just… I want to have someone who would make me feel safe enough so I could stop fighting around them. It’s a lot to ask.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

You were surprised by his words, but when you looked at him, his stare was stern and unwavering.

“Did you feel like that with Frank? Did you feel safe enough to be yourself?”

You bit on your lip, hesitated on whether to lie or tell the truth. You didn’t feel like lying though…

“Not all the time.”

You let out a sad chuckle.

“But it’s just a dream, Andy. Dreams don’t come true. I can’t offer to stop fighting. If I do, I’ll just end up giving up… And I’ve done so much already to get my career, to be who I am today… I can’t rest, not when there’s no one to offer me a place to do so. And there will never be anyone to offer it to me. People are too flawed for that.”

You were surprised when Andrew reached for your hand, but you let him touch your skin, wrap his fingers around yours. His hand was so much larger than yours…

“I really wish you could have someone who would make you feel this way. I wish… I wish you didn’t have to fight in the first place.”

You looked up at him, blinking tears away.

“You’re so strong,” he whispered, and there was something close to awe in his expression, although you couldn’t believe that someone could have such feeling aimed at you. “I hope you know that, at least. That you’re unbelievably strong.”

You smiled, and so did Andrew. A genuine smile, that wasn’t so sad anymore.

“What about you? What was your dream?”

Andrew let go of your hand, rested his forearms on his knees as he looked at Elwood, checking that his dog was alright, but he was still busy running after seagulls.

“I wanted to be a musician, once.”

“A musician?”

“Yeah… I used to sing a lot. Played guitar too. I still do, with old friends.”

“What made you decide to be an academic then?”

A pause, filled with Elwood’s happy barks, the distant cries of seabirds, the regular whisper of the sea.

“There were sacrifices to be made. I didn’t want to make them. I thought I could, for a while. I had a few opportunities. But they were all… They were not me. There were talks for an album at one point, an opportunity for me to sing and be paid for it. But they wouldn’t have been my songs. They were pop hits in the making. They were aimed to please others. And I… I didn’t want to do that. I had things to say, and I wanted to tell them my way. It didn’t work out. And then my father…”

He blinked tears away, and you said nothing. He cleared his throat.

“My father had surgery when he was younger. He had some trouble again a few years ago. He’s fine now, and it wasn’t anything serious, but… I don’t know, I think… I thought about the cost that having a life on the road would have. If I wanted to make music the way I wanted to, it would cost me even more than a pop hit would. And I was in love with Sam, and my family needed me, and I thought… I thought it wasn’t worth it. At one point, I had to choose between studying or music. I changed majors from music to literature, finally had the opportunity to study things I was interested in. I didn’t drop out. Instead, I stayed in Dublin, I gave up on the hope of having a career as a musician.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “More so since Sam has left.”

You playfully nudged him.

“Hey! We wouldn’t have met had you become a rockstar! So, it’s not all that bad! I’m glad you chose a life where we could become friends.”

He looked at you, hazel turning fully green in the pale light of winter, cheeks pinkish in the cold. His nose was a little red, his gaze tender as it rested upon yours.

“I’m glad we could become friends too, Y/N. I’m really glad about that.”

You exchanged a smile, rested your head on his shoulder, wrapped your arm around his. You both remained silent for a long time, staring at the sea, the beach, the birds, Elwood still having the time of his life. And you were content to say nothing, to simply be there next to Andrew.

Your cheek felt warm while it rested against him.

[devondespresso]

little ficlet made from this writing game i made up!

G | 835 words | Steddie, fantasy/DnD au | open (but not sad) ending

Songs that inspired this (in order): The Chain (Fleetwood Mac 4:32), Barracuda (Heart 4:25), Crazy On You (Heart 4:54), Dont Fear the Reaper (Blue Oyster Cult 5:09), You Can Go Your Own Way (Fleetwood Mac 3:39), California Dreamin’ (The Mamas And The Papas 2:43), Love Alive (Heart 4:19), Moonage Daydream (David Bowie 4:40), Separate Ways (Journey 4:26), Hold The Line (Toto 3:59), Carry On My Wayward Son (Kansas 5:24)

<< dividers by the lovely @/saradika-graphics >>

They’d been traveling for days. 

Steve and his knights and the caravan they guarded, followed by Dustin and the other squires and a few more tagalongs just for good measure.

They wandered lands and fought many a beast in their time, Steve and Robin and Dustin and Erica together for the most of it, but all of them had fought side by side at some point in time. This quest was not supposed to be like those others. An escort, maybe some simple tussles with bandits, like practice at their very worst. That’s what they all expected.

None of them had seen it. Not even Nancy, keenest eyes in their party, not even Dustin, brightest mind amongst them.

One moment they were wandering the woods and the next the horses ran, broke out into a sprint with riders screaming from their backs and a few knights and squires chasing after them.

Steve and Robin drew their swords and braced back to back while the squires allerted the rest of their party. But the shadow flitted across Steve’s vision, quick and formless, before taking Dustin and diving off into the woods.

Steve screamed and directed Robin to stay before bolting after them, following Dustin’s calls into the woods. He chased and chased but the sounds got farther and farther, rustling dying down into the ambiance of the woods, Dustin’s voice only an echo in his mind, but Steve still ran. Desperate and wild through the undergrowth, hoping that trying just a little more, just a little harder, would get him closer.

It didn't. Steve lost all trace of the sounds, of where they went, of where he even was. 

Steve stopped at a tree, nearly collapsing into it as he caught his breath. 

Within moments he shucked off his helmet and stood again, looking around and listening more, but still all he caught was his own panting. 

Quiet. And panting.

His panting got heavier. Wetter. Stuttering and gaspy, until the only sound that filled the woods was his broken scream.

Steve let his helmet hit the ground next to him as he looked around again, desperate for any sign of them, not ready to accept that Dustin could be gone. He ran a hand over his face before looking back down at his sword, hanging limp from one hand, unused.

“Thank you.” said a voice from behind him, eerily familiar, and Steve jumped around to see–

“For coming for me,” Dustin said, smiling a closed, toothless smile, “But you don’t have to worry anymore.”

Steve stared at the not-Dustin in front of him for a moment longer before turning and looking around, scouting the trees around them for any more threats. But the woods were empty. Emptier than they had any right to be.

“What do you want?” Steve said, turning back to find not-Dustin looking exactly as he did before.

Not-Dustin blinked at him, smile unchanged, eyes stagnant.

“What do you want?” Steve gritted out, and not-Dustin didn’t move. “Where’s Dustin? What–”

“He’s back with the others.” a new voice said from behind him.

Steve jumped around to look at it, but found no one there. He turned back to Not-Dustin, just in time to watch the kid’s image go fuzzy and fade away.

“What the hell do you want!” Steve yelled, glaring at the woods all around him, clenching his sword tighter.

“Three strikes babe.” the voice said, to the left of him this time, and as Steve jumped to look at him, his eyes finally landed on a dark figure, leaning against a tree just a few too many paces out of reach. “You’d think with three unanswered tries that you’d start asking something different now.”

Steve stared down the figure, silhouette vague and almost liquid against the dark behind him, and said nothing.

The figure looked back for a moment, glints of eyes barely visible before the figure looked away, shaking his head.

“You’re not a very fun conversationalist, you know that?”

“I’m just returning the favor.”

The figure huffed, and wandered barely into the light.

Steve’s grip tightened around his sword again as inky black hair, heavy plum cloak, and long winding horns entered the sparse sunlight. But the figure stopped, still paces away, and held his hand up where they were visible, parting the cloak to reveal filthy bandages wrapped around his torso and the single glimmering stone hung from his neck.

“I have a job for you.” The man muttered, eyeing Steve just as carefully.

Steve stared at the stranger in shock for a moment before sighing and cautiously sheathing his sword.

“And you’ve never heard of a letter?”

“You ever hear of the Royal Guard? Or a sheriff?” The man bit back. “Or how about bandits? Your average nosy varlet?”

“Alright.” Steve huffed. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m Eddie,” The man said, taking a deep breath to steel himself before looking back up to meet Steve’s eyes. “And I just want my Uncle back.”

[electricalhuzzah]

What would happen if bill cut his hair?

CAN he cut his hair? Is it like a Rapunzel in tangled the series type situation? Is he just not allowed? Would it turn into a bunch of smaller snakes? What if he shaved it? What then?

I’ve thought about this quite a bit and I need to know Eva

oooo this is an interesting one. let’s see if i can answer it and not create new plotholes accidentally. actually,,, lemme answer in the form of a not-fic-canon drabble >:D well, not-canon as far as the story, canon as far as the mechanics.

taking place as a variant of chapter 5 after ford bandages the stupid oyster shucking wound. tl;dr at end. a little bit suggestive. enjoy, or don’t, this is a little fucking stupid

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The ex-deity sat upon the kitchen counter, legs crossed as he swirled his wine. Smiling in good humor, a bandaged cut on his hand, snakes atop his head slithering excitedly as though they, too, were laughing. The light of the sunset came in through the window and hit Bill’s face just right, illuminating his skin and smile a beautiful golden color.

It was then Ford thought to himself, how could something this beautiful possibly be a mistake?

Ford put the oysters into the oven and set an egg timer before moving back over to Bill, leaning on the island opposite the counter where Bill sat.

“You know, if we’re going to keep this a secret, those snakes are gonna give us away quick,” Ford stated. “Earlier today, we got lucky that I’d brushed them out right before Stanley saw us. If we were fighting and those damn snakes looked all happy, we’d be discovered quickly.”

Bill pondered for a moment. “You’re right. And it’s not like I can keep brushing them out all the damn time.”

The scientist tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Is… cutting them an option?”

“Huh. Guess I never thought about it,” Bill shrugged. He reached across the counter to the knife block, pulling out a pair of kitchen scissors which was immediately wrestled away from him.

“You’re not using sharp objects for a while,” Ford grumbled, putting the scissors back in the knife block. “Can’t you just ask your axolotl-therapist-guy anyhow?”

Bill pouted. “Awh, where’s the fun in that?” He hooked his leg around his partner’s knee. “Wouldn’t you rather find out for yourself?”

Ford couldn’t explain exactly why the action, or perhaps the way Bill said his words, made his heart stutter. “My muse, we’ve had enough problems with various parts of you getting cut already. If someone you can access already has the answer, it’d be much easier to—“

The blonde hummed quietly as he touched Ford’s chest, which managed to shut him up quickly. “Wasn’t it Gotthold Lessing who said something like—” He leaned in close to whisper in the scientist’s ear, “—If God were to hold all Truth concealed in his right hand, and in his left only the steady and diligent drive for Truth, albeit with the proviso that I would always and forever err in the process, and to offer me the choice, I would with all humility take the left hand. —?”

Ford refused to explain why that, also, made his heart stutter. “A-Are you trying… to quote philosophers… in order to get me to do something we both know would be stupid?”

Bill gave a little grin as he pulled away from Ford’s ear. “Is it turning you on a little bit?”

“I really don’t wanna answer that.”

The ex-deity handed his partner the kitchen scissors once more. “You can do the honors, smart guy.”

Ford snipped the scissors at thin air experimentally. “Should I just—“

“Yeah, just snip the head off one,” Bill said with a nod.

The scientist cringed at the suggestion. “That feels like decapitation.”

Bill rolled his eye. “They’re not alive, IQ. They’re made of hair. Just snip it!”

“No!” Ford protested. “At least brush them out first, so I don’t have to look in their eyes as I decapitate them!”

The ex-deity obliged, running a hand through his hair until the snakes disbanded into little strands of honey blond hair. “Happy?”

Ford gingerly took a lock of hair between two fingers, and snipped off what must’ve been five inches of Bill’s long hair. To his wonder, the lock appeared to spontaneously grow back at inhuman speeds, all the way to the length it was before he cut it.

“Astounding,” Ford marveled as the snakes began to reform in his very hand. One slithered up the side of Bill’s face to headbutt his forehead disapprovingly.

Just then, a chime rang from Bill’s prism watch. When he checked it, the message wasn’t anything like what he’d seen before.

DON’T DO THAT AGAIN.

“Hm, I suppose that settles it,” Ford conceded.

Bill looked up from the glowing face of his prism-watch. “Where are your clippers?”

Ford blinked with surprise. “Bill, the watch said—“

“Yeah, I know what the watch said, Sixer!” Bill exclaimed. “But goddamnit, I wanna have sex with you, and I do not want your brother to punch me in the face again! And getting rid of these damn telltale snakes is the only way to actually keep us a secret! So unless you have any better ideas, please, tell me— where are your clippers??”

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“For the record, I still think this is a terrible idea,” Ford said, clippers buzzing in his hand.

“Come on!” Bill pleaded. “Worst case scenario, they grow back, and we try fire next.”

“No, worst case scenario is finding out you’re not only bald, but you have a lumpy head,” Ford muttered. “And it would be a shame if I had to break up with you for such a petty reason.”

Not finding the joke nearly as funny as his partner did, Bill flicked Ford’s forehead disapprovingly. “Just start shaving, smart guy.”

Hesitantly, Ford pressed the blade of the clippers to Bill’s hairline and dragged them from the front of his head to the back. He made quick work, like ripping off a band-aid, hoping to get the pain of losing his partner’s gorgeous hair done and over with. When he was done, he turned off the clippers and tried to suppress a grimace at how Bill looked with his new buzz-cut.

“Are they growing back?” Bill asked.

Ford carded through the centimeter-short hair, trying not to grieve the blond locks on the kitchen floor. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Cool!” Bill replied, running his hands just across the top of his head. Ford withdrew his own hand, biting his tongue as to how much he disliked the new look.

Just as the scientist repressed his complaint, he saw something. The tiniest spark, coming from Bill’s control collar. Another tiny spark, and another.

Then, a not-so-tiny spark. One that made Bill jolt, then convulse, then scream. Ford could do nothing but watch as his partner’s every muscle forcibly contracted at the sudden electrocution. Between each flash of impossibly bright light, another few inches of Bill’s blonde hair grew back.

Only when Bill’s shirt began to smoke did the shocks stop coming. His hair, with newly reformed snakes, had grown back to their original length. Amidst panting and shaky breaths, the two heard another chime from Bill’s prism-watch.

I SAID NOT TO DO THAT. THE THERAPRISM HAS A BUDGET, YOU KNOW.

“Are you alright?” Ford asked, his hands clutching Bill’s shoulders like precious stones.

Bill let out a hiss of pain through his teeth. “Not exactly, ya genius.”

Ford bit the inside of his cheek, wincing at himself. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

“No, that’s… I was the one who…” Bill sighed, burying his head in Ford’s chest. “Y’know, for an all-knowing dream demon, and a genius with twelve PhD’s… we’re pretty stupid.”

The scientist chuckled, laughter running a little rumble down his pillowy chest that inexplicably soothed Bill.

“So, you said something about trying fire next?” Ford ribbed, burying his face in Bill’s newly regrown snake-hair.

Bill groaned at the mockery. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, absolutely not? But what about Lessing? What about the steady and diligent drive for truth?” Ford teased.

“You’re an ass.”

“I know, why don’t we try acid next!” Ford suggested sarcastically. “Surely that’s a good idea!”

Rolling an eye, Bill placed a peck on Ford’s crackled little lips. “Would it kill you to shut up?”

“It would, actually,” Ford crooned, going soft at the gentle kiss. “Keep kissing me, though, and it might ease the pain of death.”

As much as Bill wanted to give his lover a slow and painful death for being such an obnoxious asshole, he did not. He opted, instead, for the kiss.

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when the haircut so bad they electrocute u :(

^ me but yapping 😎

tl;dr— bill’s snake hair has set length and doesn’t grow beyond that, so no practical needs for haircuts. he is Greatly Discouraged from cutting it (read: electrocution). if it is cut, it magically regrows to its set length. if it’s shaved, ford pitches a fit and it is Greatly Discouraged (read, once again: electrocution).

[scenedenial]

“I’m not built like that, man. I, uh, I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. I had a stutter when I was a kid. I was scared to speak half the time. And, uh, I got shitty grades cause I couldn’t pay attention in school. I didn’t get into college. I didn’t have any girlfriends. I don’t think I’m funny. I always thought my brother was my best friend. Like, we just knew everything about each other. Except … everybody thought he was their best friend, you know, he was that, he was that magnetic. And, um. I didn’t know my brother was using drugs. What does that say? As we got older I realized I didn’t know anything about him, really. He stopped letting me into the restaurant a couple years ago. He just cut me off cold. And that, um, that hurt, you know? And I think that just, that flipped a switch in me where I was like, “okay, fuck you, watch this.” And because we had this connection through food and he had made me feel so rejected and lame and shitty and uncool, I made this plan where I was gonna go work in all the best restaurants in the world. You know, like, like, I’m gonna go work in real kitchens. Like, fuck mom and dad’s piece of shit, right? And it sounds ridiculous, you know, me saying that now, but that’s - that’s - that’s what I did. And I got the shit kicked out of me. And I separated herbs and I shucked oysters and clams and uni. And I cut myself and I got garlic and onions and peppers in my fingernails and in my eyes and my skin was dry and oily at the same time. I had calluses on my fingers from the knives and my stomach was fucked and it was … everything. And a couple years later this funny thing happened which is, like, for the first time in my life, I started to find this, uh, this station for myself. And I was fast. I wasn’t afraid. And it was clear. And I — I felt okay, you know? I knew which vegetables went together, proteins, temperatures, sauces, all that shit. And when somebody new came into the restaurant to stage I looked at them like they were competition, like I’m gonna smoke this motherfucker. I felt like I could speak through the food, like I could communicate through creativity, and that kind of confidence you know, like I was finally — I was good at something that was so new and that was so exciting and I just wanted him know that, and, fuck, I just wanted him to be, like, “good job!” And the more he wouldn’t respond and the more our relationship kinda strained the deeper into this I went and the better I got. And the more people I cut out the quieter my life got. And the routine of the kitchen was so consistent and exacting and busy and hard and alive and I lost track of time and he died.”

The Bear, Season 1, Episode 8: Braciole

[thelampisaflashlight]

The ghouls, but it's how I currently headcanon their personalities. Below the cut.

Aether: Overall, he's a giant goofball and loves a good night out with friends.

People tend to assign him a very "fatherly" role due to his appearance and his tendency to take care of his friends in little ways, but he certainly doesn't see that as strictly something a father, or any sort of guardian, would do.

Friends can take care of their friends and not be their parent!

That being said, if someone called him the "mom friend" he would wear it as a badge of honor, because that means his friends trust him.

Dewdrop: Comes off as a bit of a grump, though in an endearing sort of way.

Despite putting up a wall in front of others, when he's with his friends, he smiles easily and more often than he realizes. Very expressive when he's not trying to hide his emotions, and is known to be a bit of a crier when he's happy.

He's very used to people judging him based off of his appearance, for better or worse, so instead of dwelling on what others might think, he just does whatever he pleases.

Short hair, long hair, skirts, pants, dresses... The world is his oyster and he's here to tell people to "shuck" it.

Cumulus: Very independent and knows what she wants in life, actually getting it is another matter entirely.

She has a lot of interests and hobbies that she doesn't talk about a lot, because 1.) She's afraid people will judge her for them, and 2.) Sometimes enjoying something alone is the best way to experience it.

Due her her looks, she often finds herself being burdened with the problems of strangers who see her as easy to talk to/approachable, but this has lead to her learning a lot of... unfortunate/uncomfortable things about people she either just met or barely knows at all.

Although she's always happy to provide a listening ear to a person in need, she'd really rather just be able to eat her lunch in peace, thank you very much.

Sunshine: As curious and creative as the day is long.

She's always working on something new, be it music, art, or some other sort of craft, she's always got something in her hands... because, truthfully, she wouldn't know what to do with herself otherwise.

A very active, social creature, who feels the most alive around others, and when she's not? Well, that's why she has all those hobbies to keep her busy!

She has some self worth issues, and, if left alone for too long, will question whether or not she has value when she's not entertaining others.

A classic case of "Please check in on your funny friends." if there ever was one.

Swiss: Like if the weird uncle met another weird uncle and they got together and had a baby.

He's a charismatic sort who could light up a room with his smile alone... if only because they're so shiny. He's strange in cryptid sort of way, and, worse yet, he knows it.

Bold and adventurous, he's the sort that loves to take the lead, not for the fame or the glory, no. It's more so because he lives life by the rules of that one Cyndi Lauper song.

Ghouls just want to have fun, ya know?

However, in spite of this, he's not an extrovert. If anything, he's an introvert that's a bit too good at masking how much he's rather be at home right now. Ehn. C'est la vie.

Rain: Quiet, but not shy, no, and many a person has learned that the hard way.

Very fond of presenting himself as a demure, delicate gentlemanly sort, but he very much knows what he's doing when he's looking at you through his eyelashes and playing coy.

Still, there are times when his softer side is genuine, but that version of himself, the one that snorts when he laughs and gives the biggest, brightest smiles, is reserved for his friends.

He needs a lot of alone time, and it's clear when he hasn't gotten nearly enough.

When he's overwhelmed, he can be a bit abrasive, but he's always very open about when he's having a bad day or needs his space, so there's that at least.

Cirrus: The friend you go to when you've done something you don't want anyone else to know about, that helps you without asking too many questions.

The true ride or die.

A very blunt person who tells it like it is and doesn't sugarcoat things, even if a bit more tact would be appreciated.

She has a very broad sense of humor, and laughs easily at even the simplest of jokes, but, hey, farts are funny, okay?

Tends to be a bit bad at physically comforting others, and isn't sure how to initiate hugs.

Mountain: A lot of people see him as the calm, tranquil one, but he's also incredibly stubborn and uses beating the shit out of his drums as a healthy means of dealing with years of pent up frustrations and anger.

That's not to say he's always angry, but he does have a temper, and while he manages it well, he has been known to snap when pushed too far.

Very particular about who can be around him when he's having "quiet time" as some people have very different ideas of what that means.

Secretly thrives in chaos, and, because of this, is the perfect person to ask for help when shit has hit the fan.

Needs a nap, like, yesterday.

Aeon: Bright eyed and bushy tailed, and oh so ready to tear some shit up! But, also, like, only if that's okay? Please tell him it's okay.

No, really, he needs to be explicitly told he's allowed to do it.

He's confident in his skills as a musician, and he's not too worried about how he fits into the band, but socially? To be honest, he's not sure if he's doing anything right.

Has a bit of, "HEY, MOM! MOM! LOOK WHAT I'M DOING!" energy, but that's to be expected.

Not really a personality trait, but he can't say the word "macaroni" right.

Aurora: Like if the playlist you made when you were fourteen came back to haunt you as an adult, but in a good way?

She's so full of confidence and wonder, it's hard to believe that she can be so happy with everything going on in the world.

"Never a bad day." she'll say, even if the rain ruined her picnic, or someone's been mean to her.

Never a bad day.

Someone should really tell her it's okay to admit when something is wrong before squashing it all down causes her to break.

[suunfilled]

THE PEARL AND THE OCEAN.

ACT 1: SOFT BELLIED LOVE.

( or: the story of senju, and how she crossed paths with our favorite blue eyed samurai. will be split into different parts to reflect her backstory. the first act will focus on the truest part of herself, set in stone before anything else – her name. )

xuân sen is dead.

suppose that's a bit misleading .. that's not entirely the case. the girl from central vietnam, the daughter of the oyster shucker and the cloth merchant, is still very much alive.

her true name, her true face – that's what's dead.

‘con,’ she remembers her mother saying as she cracks open the shell of another oyster. they're sitting on crates stacked along the coastline, where other women and men sit and crack the tough things open. the air is damp, sticky with the smell of saltwater. ‘what do you reckon i'll see when i open this shell?’

‘a pearl, mẹ,’ she responds dutifully. after all, she's watched her mother shuck oysters for years – she may be only four, but she at least knows what to expect when her mother pops open the stubborn shells.

‘that's right,’ her mother nods as she finally cracks the shiny halves apart and reveals a tiny pearl the size of her pinky nail. ‘you see how tiny it is, how fragile? yet it would take the full strength of a man to crack it open. it's pretty and it's worth a lot of money, but what really matters is that it's resilient.’

her mother turns to her then, eyes unreadable – like two black stars staring back at her.

‘your father is .. soft-bellied,’ her mother sighs. ‘sensitive. he has left it up to me to be the man between the two of us. here i am, with callused hands and brittle nails and hair that reeks of fish, all because he alone cannot provide for us in these times.’

she sighs then, gazing off into the distance, and little xuân sen stares up at her and wonders what that look means. she imagines that there is something beyond the horizon that only her mother can see – something only visible to the eyes of a woman like her mother.

which is silly, because nobody is like her mother.

‘i used to have that same softness, too,’ her mother continues, shaking her out of her brief contemplation. ‘when he was courting me, i fell for him so quickly. how could i not? every day and night that i could not be with him was like a candle burning at the edges of my heart. i ached for him, con.’

the next oyster is snapped open, with all the force of a woman plagued with a special, seething type of rage only known to her and others like her. scorned women. bitter women. women who were robbed in some way.

‘and look where that got me.’

the words are bitter, acid rain leaking into the little girl's mind as she feels the tug of sympathy for her mother pull at her.

the next oyster her mother shucks is popped open unceremoniously, the knife held with a white-knuckled grip. ‘you have regrettably inherited this tenderness from your father. your heart bleeds to the point where it's all you can do. but con, if you want to survive, you must make your heart like this pearl. beautiful and valuable, but stern. strong. unfeeling.’

her mother finally turns to look at her then, her eyes steely – sharp like the branches that cast shadows over her bedroom wall at night. her voice is careful, slow in the way that xuân sen recognizes as the voice her mother uses when she tears her father apart and eats him alive behind closed doors. the idea of it being her that her mother picks out between her teeth this time terrifies her.

‘do not make the same mistake i did, con. do not allow your heart to ache so easily for tender men. it will never do you any good.’

and, be it through fear or some other irrational reason, senju quickly swore to it.

that had been twenty years ago.

now, senju looks at herself in her mirror with all the coldness and guarded poise that her mother had once feigned. she was a good girl, and so she did as her mother asked – hardening her heart to the whims of the world.

her father, the sensitive man her mother – his own wife – had warned her about, had been the one to pick her true name.

‘sen,’ he had repeated. ‘little lotus. fragile and delicate, only able to graze the surface of calmest waters. what a fitting name for a child so .. breakable.’

that syllable had been the only part of her true self that she had taken with her when she fled to japan, sequestered away to begin a new life – far away from the war-torn hellfire her motherland had become.

perhaps it had been an act of pity, to humor her father's sympathetic whims. perhaps it had been a reminder as to who she was before, how much she had fought to claw her way to her current position.

or maybe, just maybe, she wasn't the pearl in the oyster. perhaps she had kept that part of herself with her out of some filial duty to her home, to her family. to a mother and father who were long gone. as an act of honor, or of respect.

perhaps the days sitting with her mother as she shucked oysters had held some love within the memories she had. perhaps her father's hands, effortless at the loom, had been a source of comfort for her. perhaps she was still as soft bellied as him – with her heart beating to the tune of her mother's voice and her father's laugh.

then senju looks at the mirror again, and all illusions of the pitiable girl she used to be are gone.

xuân sen is dead. i made sure of it. i split her in half like an oyster.

looking at herself now, senju is almost unrecognizable. with face-whitening powder to conceal the darker pallor of her skin and traditional garbs from her homeland discarded in favor of the latest edo-japan fashions, she's crawled out of that oyster and revealed the pearl sitting inside.

senju. when written a certain way, the characters mean immortal pearl.

that's what she is. an immortal pearl, unable to die no matter how much the world seemed to want to gut her like the fish that permeated her childhood. not the sensitive, pink-cheeked little lotus her father had mistaken her for and her mother had feared she would become.

senju is a pearl, immortal and unbreakable. a stubborn heart guarded by .. something. whatever it is, she doesn't quite know yet. be it greed, spite, the drive to keep living when the world had once seemed content to try and rip her to shreds ..

well. whatever it was, it made her able to brave any roaring waves that would try and cut through her.

as she applies the rest of the face-whitening powder on her cheeks before getting ready to leave, she wonders if there will ever be a man or woman to court her.

someone strong, cold like she is, with little of the syrupy sweetness her father had once had. no, she would not become her mother. she had sworn against it, and that began with finding someone unlike her father in every feasible way.

maybe they would be a samurai. they were usually regarded as stern and harsh, unforgiving like the waves that crashed against each other just a little ways away from her home. nothing like her artisan father, so meek and simpering.

it would have to be someone she knows. someone who she would think twice about before eating alive. someone who wouldn't make her feel the same way her father made her mother feel – scorned and bitter, yearning for that long-lost taste of what could have been.

she hums contemplatively as she shuts the door behind her. no, she can't think of anyone in her life like that.

maybe soft-bellied love isn't for her. maybe she really will refrain from aching for tender men. maybe she really isn't a little lotus anymore.

oh, well.

anything to avoid becoming her mother's caricature or her father's ideals. anything to keep her head afloat now that she was out of calmer waters.

anything to be the pearl.

( aah .. would love some feedback on this. i've been writing for years, but i've never been confident enough to post anything here yet .. let me know what you think? o^_^o )

[nsomniacsdream]

I dont think you can overstate how much would change if we made an example. Like Elon Musk goes to comic con or something, dressed in an iron man costume because ego. But it's just a speak and spell taped to a leotard because someone ripped his ass off. And we shuck him out of that thing like an oyster and cook him alive right there in the main hall. Do you know how fast so many of our demands would be met? By the people who now know we were never just talking and we are deadly serious about not spending our lives as slaves?

[pulsdmedia]

The Week Ahead 9/10-9/16

Just when you thought you could never recover from the end-of-summer blues, you're introduced to the Fall of 2023's lineup. We're talking food festivals, endless drinks to warm you up, and sweater weather vibes. Let's do this...

$39 Ticket To Mezcal & Mixology: Tastings, Cocktails, & Delish Foods

Immerse yourself in culture & flavor as Casa Mezcal invites you to a Mezcal & Mexican Mixology Class, complete with sips, eats, and more. Just $39 includes A Tasting Of 3 Mezcals, Delicious Tostadas, an Instructor-Led Mixology Class, and a Crafted Cocktail to savor, made by your own two hands! Admire authentic yet modern Mexican decor, infused with the earthy aroma of mezcal, setting the stage for a journey into the world of this revered spirit. Olé, the mezcal way...

Women's Multi-Brand Sample Sale

As per usual, Clothingline strikes again with a fabulous Women's Multi-Brand Sample Sale, boasting new arrivals from Ramy Brook, Walter Baker, and Blank NYC! It's time for a fall wardrobe revival!

$49 Oktoberfest: 3 Hrs Of Unlimited Beers, Live Music, Great Eats

Welcome to Black Forest Smith Street in Brooklyn, where the spirit of Bavaria comes alive in a truly unique soirée! Their annual Oktoberfest extravaganza is back for its 10th year, complete with overflowing steins, hearty bratwurst and schnitzels - an epic German feast awaits! Savor the crisp autumn breeze with endless pours of HB Original beers, and dance to the sounds of a live traditional Oompah Band, taking a break to play your hand at some friendly competition in the Mugholding contest - outlast your opponents to receive fantastic prizes! Your crew, lots of brews, and Euro tunes - cheers!

Babs Boutique: Pop-Up

Babs is a new creative fashion brand. Using her photographs as the key element of her fabric designs, Babs translates the fabrics into gorgeous flowy limited run wearable art. Babs, aka Barbara Norman, is a professional photographer, artist, & now fashion designer. Her passion for photography & fashion has evolved into her newest adventure, Babs Boutique NYC. Exclusively designed & produced in New York City.

$45 Tickets To Enjoy 3 Hours Of Unlimited Oysters With Beers

A shucking good time awaits at The 2023 Long Beach Oyster Festival! Oyster enthusiasts will find their happy place in the diverse array of oyster varieties. From plump and briny to silky and sweet, Blue Island Oysters, Deep Water Oyster Company, and Peconic Gold Oysters have curated a selection that promises a tantalizing culinary journey. Shuckers will skillfully pry open these oceanic treasures, revealing the succulent delicacies concealed within. As you relish these oysters and immerse yourself in the vibrant atmosphere, enjoy craft beers from Blue Point & Kona, with additional beverages available for purchase if you want to mix things up. Your taste buds will be overjoyed, and your Saturday given a major upgrade...

Join art gurl at Showfields for an Exciting Tarot Night

Go celebrate the things that make your sign unique at Showfields Brooklyn's Astrofest. Explore their living room brands while accessing your inner truth and higher purpose through a guided tarot experience with Meagan Mahaffy of art gurl!

[henrythomsen-blog]

Taste of Cape Cod (Article 1)

Cape Cod's culinary scene comes alive during the summer months, offering a delightful blend of coastal flavors and farm-to-table dishes that are sure to please your taste buds.

No visit to Cape Cod is complete without savoring its world-famous seafood. I’ve been able to try several spots this summer with my favorites being The Lobster Pot in Provincetown and Baxter’s Boathouse in Hyannis. The lobster, freshly shucked oysters, and tender clams were amazing at both places.

For a more casual experience, Arnold's Lobster & Clam Bar in Eastham is a must-visit seafood shack. The fried seafood here tastes great after a long beach day, whether it be the calamari, shrimp, or scallops paired with marinara or cocktail sauce.

Despite how good it is, there is more to the Cape than seafood. Cape Cod's farm-to-table movement is a culinary treasure that emphasizes minimal, whole healthy foods. "The Glass Onion" in Falmouth exemplifies this trend, offering a menu that showcases seasonal items sourced from nearby farms. Their commitment to freshness and local produce was definitely noticeable after trying the food there.

For a quicker dining option, the Cape offers an impressive food truck scene, with a wide range of different types of food to try. The Local Scoop in Chatham features gourmet tacos and artisanal cupcakes. Big Daddy's Burritos in Hyannis is another excellent option, serving mouthwatering burritos as you may have guessed.

As for dessert, ice cream is always going to be a go-to option in the summertime. My all time favorite ice cream shop is Four Seas in Centerville. Established in 1934, it is an old school place that serves homemade ice cream, with quarts and pints also available for purchase to bring home.

With its abundant seafood, farm-fresh produce, and delicious ice cream, Cape Cod provides an incredible experience for food enthusiasts during the summer season. Whether you're relishing lobster by the harbor, picnicking on the beach, or exploring food trucks, Cape Cod's culinary treasures promise a taste of summer that will linger in your memories long after you leave.

[meisteralready]

An oval-shaped hole of a past heart

In this south Atlantic causeway

The bathtub is closed today,

It’s beach,

A mix match of human concrete and well-beat igneous rock

(One made by god and one not)

We see orange plastic cones

Separating you

Groom Mother Earth

Playing intermediary where there is not a single needed.

The tide and waves cut both ways

Roll into together

Yet break separate and apart

Much like you and I.

And I don’t know where you are,

If you have breath or not but you are

Engrained,

Entrenched

Into the bedrock of my being and

Much like this pumiced outreach earth

Here in this small cove

We are made of bits and paper eves,

Broken shells

And pounded bones,

Volcanic ash,

Alive once and flowed freely,

Yet set now - strong -

And taking whatever the sea

Had to throw at it.

It will survive any of these storms.

I want to know where you are,

Feebly and feverishly,

Selfish,

Like stealing away the last shucked oyster

When no one is noticing

And stealing away a 2-for1

When happy hour ends at 6

And we sit here nibbling on the end of the day

15 minutes after

I want to know if you are breathing easy

Either east of me now,

Sitting on a dock with the sun setting behind you,

Not regretting the day,

But looking forward to reign

Into the night

Perhaps we know a common friend

And the last of our conversations

Drew one of us toward them

And they’ve done well

And divested

Their current success into beachfront real estate,

But was adamantly assured

That it must face west

Because you get to have your mornings to sleep in

And you always catch

Where the sun will disappear.

You have shown dearly

That you need not to know

Where I am currently

And any care of my future

Will never rest

On your conscience.

I deserve that

And a part of me will always accept that,

I just felt the tinge of sorrow

When I realize my home

Will never again be

near your beach of a heart,

Where your waves cascade and catch light,

I’ll always have the orange plastic cones

Setting me away from there

While they try to desperately fill

My oval-shaped hole of a past heart.

[ruiruruiz]

shu model daammmmmmm

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Soft Hands -Part three

A continuation of the story of Ares and Aphrodite

General CW in case any of the text herein is upsetting.

I took my time to get ready, bathing and fixing my hair, wearing suitable robes and jewels as I would be asking for an audience from the king and queen.

I hope for a favorable answer or counsel where my marriage is concerned. Even a divorce and the stigma that would inevitably follow would be preferable.

I make my way to the doorway to the palace, only to be stopped by two guards.

"What is your business here?"

The way they leered. I am of a mind to curse them with love that will never be returned to them. Or perhaps, I should simply turn the both of them into wretched toads. "I am here to seek the counsel of the king and queen, nothing more."

Several moments of silence followed, and then they exchanged looks when I refused to leave. "Well?"

One sighed while the other went in to announce my arrival.

"You may enter, lady Aphrodite."

I put on a countenance of humbleness as I make my way to the dais, where both Zeus and Hera are seated on their thrones. Offending either with arrogance or pride greatly would hurt my cause.

"Daughter of Ouranos, welcome," Hera was studying me with curious eyes. I have heard talk of her jealous and vengeful nature, and I caution myself against angering her. She was Hephaestus's mother, after all. “Or should I say, welcome, daughter?”

I sink to my knees and lower my gaze. "My gracious lady, most benevolent lord, I have come bearing an urgent appeal."

I could feel two pairs of eyes on me. "Which is?"

"My marriage. I ask for your counsel where Hephaustes is concerned."

Hera sighed but said no more. "Go on," encouraged Zeus.

My courage was starting to fray, and I had barely begun talking to them. "Before I go on to my cause, I must let you know that Hephaustes is a loyal husband who thinks of nothing showering me with gifts."

"But?"

"But, he is neglectful in many other ways, my lady. He is hardly home. He is always in his smithy, while I am home all by myself. I ask if you, the both of you, would consider talking with him, to make him understand his duties towards me are just as important."

"If he refuses to listen?" asked Hera.

"Then I wish for the marriage to be put aside." They gasp but say nothing, so I pluck what courage I have left and continue. "Even the shame of being divorced is preferable to sleeping in a cold bed, as a neglected wife."

A long, awkward, silence followed. I wonder if I should just apologize for wasting their time and leave.

I understand more than anyone what it feels like, child, to be neglected by your spouse. By all the gods I do. 

Hera's thoughts stun me. Zeus looks confused, as he has no idea of what is being said between us.

Hephaestus has always been like this, and I am more sorry than I can say for what you are going through. Sadly, I do not have the power to undo the marriage, nor will my son listen to me. Only my husband has the power to bring any change into your life.

"This was the choice you made, Aphrodite, when you wed our son."

"But I never agreed, my lord," I retort. "It was decided by my father and yourself. Do not make it sound like I had any say in your poor choices of matchmaking."

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" 

It sounded as if Hera was smirking. 

Zeus, however, glared. "I will let your impertinence slide this time."

I sigh but keep my temper in check.

"I will not agree to the dissolution of the marriage."

I cling on to the hope that he will talk to his son.

"Nor will I counsel Hephaestus."

What? 

"You will go home and make peace with your lot in life from here on out. I will hear no more talk on this matter."

"My lord," My eyes were stinging. Is he saying he will do nothing to help? The so-called king of all the gods? The self-proclaimed father of the heavens? 

"You will do as you are told!" Hera and I both flinch when Zeus roared and stood to his full height. "You will go back home and think no more on this matter. I have better things to do with my time than to waste them on  the mere trifles of a silly girl."

He rushed back to his chambers.

I am so sorry, was all Hera could say before she had to follow Zeus. 

So much for help. I dry my eyes, pick myself off the floor and go back out.

The very thought of going back to an empty home appalled me. I took my time wandering in the gardens, lost in thought. So lost was I that I did not see where I was going until I slammed into someone's broad chest.

A strong pair of hands held onto me to stop me from falling. "Are you all right?"

I shake my head, waiting for the stars to stop dancing in front of my eyes. When I finally come back to my senses, I take in the person before me. It was Ares.

[lihikainanea]

Hi Lei! Today's my birthday so I was wondering, what would Bill organize for Tiger's bday? I don't know when is Tiger's special day, but I still got inspired because of my own.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUBBA! I hope you had an amazing day, dear Virgo. Libra season is upon us and ya girl Lei's birthday is a mere 2 weeks away :-P

Ohhhh, birthdays with these two. You know, I think tiger has to share so much of her dude that when it comes to her birthday, she wants him all to herself. She wants a cabin in the woods for a weekend. She wants to be cut off from the outside world. She wants good food and good sex and complete, total isolation. She wants to be able to walk from the house to the outdoor hot tub totally naked, because the nearest neighbour is 3 miles away. She wants no beep of cellphones, no notifications that she (or he) has to be anywhere. She wants deep woods, late mornings, later nights. She wants blankets and outdoor fires, and maybe at the end of it all--once she's had a few days of just her and him--maybe she wants a few friends, all the Skarsgard brothers, for a big birthday dinner.

And that's exactly what she gets, you know? Bill rents a cabin in the forest. A big one. He hauls in all the groceries--a case of wine, a case of champagne, all of tiger's favourites. A sneaky, beautiful new lingerie set that he might beg her to wear one night by leaving it on her pillow. Their cellphones are turned off the moment they step in the door. They spend a few days barely even wearing clothes--they go from the bed to the hot tub to the couch to the hot tub to the fireplace back to the hot tub and back to bed. There's no TV. They barely flick the lights on, just going about their evening in the soft candlelight. It's big breakfasts every day, and dinners are even more elaborate. Bill shucks oysters, cooks lobsters, makes bread from scratch--the whole time keeping tiger's glass of bubbly full, so she's giggly and flushed and just smiling that big, dopey smile at him.

On her birthday, he wants to bake her a cake--but for as good of a baker as he is, her favourite cake just cannot even be attempted. Tiger loves princess cake, a Swedish classic, and Bill doesn't have nearly the skillset required to even attempt it. Instead, he orders a high quality frozen one and surprises her with it--tiger nearly eats the whole thing.

And after a couple of days, the whole Skarsgard brood shows up--and they come with even more coolers packed full of food, more wine, more of everything. And the once quiet house is now alive with Swedish chatter, there's always at least two people in the kitchen, and tiger is continuously stuffed full of amazing food and late nights with gut laughs.

[whisperthatruns]

Oysters

Our shells clacked on the plates. My tongue was a filling estuary, My palate hung with starlight: As I tasted the salty Pleiades Orion dipped his foot into the water.

Alive and violated, They lay on their bed of ice: Bivalves: the split bulb and philandering sigh of ocean. Millions of them ripped and shucked and scattered.

We had driven to that coast Through flowers and limestone And there we were, toasting friendship, Laying down a perfect memory In the cool of thatch and crockery.

Over the Alps, packed deep in hay and snow, The Romans hauled their oysters south of Rome: I saw damp panniers disgorge The frond-lipped, brine-stung Glut of privilege

And was angry that my trust could not repose In the clear light, like poetry or freedom Leaning in from sea. I ate the day Deliberately, that its tang Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb.

Seamus Heaney

[imongouda]

Oysters

Our shells clacked on the plates. My tongue was a filling estuary, My palate hung with starlight: As I tasted the salty Pleiades Orion dipped his foot into the water.

Alive and violated They lay on their beds of ice: Bivalves: the split bulb And philandering sigh of ocean. Millions of them ripped and shucked and scattered.

We had driven to that coast Through flowers and limestone And there we were, toasting friendship, Laying down a perfect memory In the cool of thatch and crockery,

Over the Alps, packed deep in hay and snow, The Romans hauled their oysters south to Rome: I saw damp panniers disgorge The frond-lipped, brine-stung Glut of privilege,

And was angry that my trust could not repose In the clear light, like poetry or freedom Leaning in from sea. I ate the day Deliberately, that its tang Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb.

-from Field Work by Seamus Heaney

[the-hearth-and-the-wild]

Our shells clacked on the plates.

My tongue was a filling estuary,

My palate hung with starlight:

As I tasted the salty Pleiades

Orion dipped his foot into the water.

Alive and violated

They lay on their beds of ice:

Bivalves: the split bulb

And philandering sigh of ocean.

Millions of them ripped and shucked and scattered.

-Excerpt from “Oysters” by Seamus Heaney