#being spun around in this microwave i call a blog

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Vaughn watching all the shit going down in the RP multiverse right now from inside my head like

[d0youc0py]

Ummm I'm obsessed with your writing- I think I've gone through your blog more like a ravenous animal than a reader.. thank you for giving such beautiful angst to the starving ferals. A complete Soap stan but I definitely died over the Price extended fights and fast cars piece too shdfkajgf.

I'd love to see your take on Soap being himself and accidentally taking it too far. Not in a genuinely mean way- reader getting overstimulated/overwhelmed (just not in the mood) and it flying over his head. Accidental bully syndrome with a sad puppy combo? Can be a fluffy ending or angsty ending, whatever you feel is more accurate!

Anyways I will happily snort the alphabet in any order you deem appropriate and thank you for keeping us fed!!

Warnings: Soap being a butthead, reader gets their feelings hurt(totally valid), cursing, sad Soap, use of Y/N, GN reader

“Mac.” You groaned. You were currently trying to work your way out of a headlock. You usually didn’t hate being trapped by Johnny’s perfect arms but you just weren’t in a good mood today. You didn’t sleep good last night. You had been surviving off a piece of toast from this morning. You were late for training with Ghost causing him to rip you a new one. You wanted nothing more than to make a quick microwave meal and sleep for fifteen hours.

“Can’t even get out of a headlock? Bit of an embarrassment to SAS, kiddo.” Johnny teased, tightening his grip.

“If I wanted to I could kick your bubble butt.” You gasped, tapping out. He quickly let go, patting your shoulders. He tsked his tongue shaking his head in disagreement.

“Johnny eat your food.” Ghost grumbled, taking a bite out of his own food. You watched patiently as your food spun around in the microwave, ready to grab it as soon as the neon green read end. You probably should’ve just grabbed it and gone to your room, but you plopped down at the kitchen island. “You did good today Y/N.” Ghost broke the silence. You looked up at him with wide eyes. “When you finally did show up.” A small smirk across his face.

“How come Y/N always gets compliments?” Johnny interjected before you could thank your Lieutenant. “If I was late you’d write me up.”

“Because they’re improving and putting in work. The only thing you put work into is that landing strip on your head.” Ghost chuckled, pushing Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny gave a fake chuckle and slapped his hand away.

“I still don’t buy that.” Johnny continued through a full mouth. He hopped up from his seat, beginning to wash his plate. “If it wasn’t for that big brain Y/N would be as useful as a rock.” He quipped. Your stomach dropped. It’s true you weren’t the strongest on the field when it came to combat, but you were a modern day Sherlock Holmes - able to find a way to get the team through any mission no matter the circumstances.

The pit in your stomach caused you to toss your dinner in the trash, retreating into your room without a word.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ghost growled. Johnny set his dish on the drying rack, turning to face Ghost.

Then he realized you were gone.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Johnny stumbled quickly. A wave of guilt washed over him. You knew he was kidding right? Did he tease you- of course, but he always made it obvious he thought the world of you. Constantly spewing out compliments and praises your way.

“You called ‘em useless you arse.”

“As a joke.” Johnny pressed, cringing himself at his words. “Shite.” He growled. He took note of your barley eaten dinner in the trash, grabbing bread and cheese from the fridge. He hoped a grilled cheese would be a decent peace offering.

“Y/N?” Johnny tapped his knuckles against your door gently. He didn’t hear a response. He took it upon himself to slowly open your door. You threw the covers over your head, wanting to hide from him and the light seeping into your room. “I’m sorry for what I said Kiddo. Y’know I didn’t mean it that way.” He apologized softly. He placed the plate down on your nightstand, siting on the edge of your bed. “We both know I couldn’t do what you do. I’ve toasted too many brain cells for that.” He chuckled nervously. He scratched at the back of his neck, growing more and more worried as the silence grew. “I made you a sandwich.” He rambled. “Come out and eat it please. I know I wrecked your appetite but you need to eat, keep your strength up.”

“Strength for what. Rocks don’t need nutrients remember.” It wasn’t your best comeback but you didn’t care. Johnny cringed.

“I was a bastard.” He apologized again. “I’ll let you sleep now.” He sighed heading towards the door.

After Johnny closed the door you quickly drifted off to sleep not waking up until your alarm went off the next morning. You instinctively braced yourself for your door to slam open and a heavy body tumble through it but that never came. You shut your alarm off, groggily pulling yourself out of bed. The cold grilled cheese on your nightstand brought back the memories of last night.

“Oh Mac.” You mumbled sadly. You grabbed the plate and made your way out to the kitchen. There was no sign of Johnny. You continued your morning routine hoping to bump into the Scot. You had no such luck. You were finally able to track him down in the training room. “Tavy!”

He swiftly placed his weights back on the rack sitting up to look at you. His eyes were red.

“Hey kid.” He smiled. Your demeanor seemed more like yourself. “I’m sor”-

“I know Mac.” You interjected. “You wouldn’t try to hurt me on purpose. Yesterday just wasn’t my day.” You explained, picking at your fingers. He gripped your hands in his.

“I know, that’s the worst part. I should’ve backed off but I pushed you. I won’t do it again, I promise.” He spoke sincerely. “I don’t think your useless either. If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Probably?” You smirked. The familiar playful glint came back to his eyes.

“Definitely.” He corrected.

(Mac/Tavy)= nicknames for Soap. You can’t tell me that man wouldn’t gobble up any nickname thrown at him

I feel so bad this has been rotting in my drafts! Thank you for your kind words and love of angst🥰

[snelbz]

Life As We Know It {Chapter Five}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta’s time for mourning was up.

As she pulled into Elain’s driveway, reality set in. It would be her first day back at the restaurant since the accident, since her life was thrown completely upside down.

She wasn’t ready

But, she had no choice.

Elain was already smiling when she opened the door, reaching out to take Nyx. “Hi, my baby! Aunt Lainy and Seph are so excited to spend the day with you, yes we are.”

“I’m glad, because Aunt Nesta isn’t so excited to not be spending the day with him,” she said, sighing.

Elain gave her sister a wistful look. “I get that. How about Cass, how did he feel going back to work last night?”

Nesta snorted. “Don’t know. He never came back. They started inventory around two this morning after last call, according to the short text I woke up to. He says he’ll be there for most of the day.”

Elain lifted a brow. “Wow.”

Nesta blinked. “He’s a bartender, what do you expect?”

“No,” Elain chuckled. “I meant: wow, looks like you two are actually communicating. I’m shocked.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “We’ve been living together for three days. If we weren’t communicating, what exactly would we be doing instead?”

Elain carried Nyx into the living room, sitting him down in the playpen she’d set up in the corner. “I mean, honestly, Az and I just figured you were pretending each other didn’t exist.”

For all intents and purposes, they had been, but they had made sure to talk about important things. Like whether Nyx had been fed, when he needed to go down for his nap and what the schedule for the next day would look like.

To be totally honest, she hadn’t even realized Cassian had her number until she’d woken up to a text from one she didn’t have saved in her phone.

“We’re…adjusting,” she finally said, watching as Nyx crawled over to the pile of toys in the corner of the playpen. “I gave him a bath last night, and he said he would handle the next one, since he had to go to work. But… Gods, Elain, giving a one-year-old a bath is exhausting. I looked like I’d just left the pool, not to mention the entire bathroom was soaked.”

Elain chuckled and shook her head. “Seph loves baths, but we’re still having them in the sink right now. She’s not quite ready for the bathtub yet.”

The baby in question was asleep in a bouncer, resting on the floor by the couch.

Nesta glanced at her watch, whatever reply she had falling from her lips. “Shit, I have to go, I’ll be late.”

“Go,” Elain said, wrapping her sister up in a hug. “The day will fly by and you’ll be home with Nyx before you know it.”

Nesta nodded, even though her core was filled with dread.

Nonetheless, she was across town in fifteen minutes, hurrying into the café just before nine. She tossed her purse behind her desk after she unlocked the door to her office and looked around, only to find everything exactly where she had left it.

With a sigh, she pulled a bottle of water out of her mini-fridge, only to find it completely warm. They must have unplugged it when they were cleaning. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She didn’t have time to think on it too much, though, because there was a knock on her office door, her manager’s voice calling her name through the wood.

Her first day back had officially begun.

*

Cassian was exhausted.

For the past couple hours, he felt like he was lost somewhere in a dream. Now, as he continued to stare at the shelves of liquor in the back room, he debated curling up in the corner and falling asleep.

He’d messed up so many drink orders the night before, worrying about whether Nyx was okay or if Nesta had forgotten to do anything for him. He knew Nesta was perfectly capable of taking care of Nyx, had been doing so since Rhys and Feyre had died. But he still worried about him constantly.

He yawned as he shoved a box of tequila up onto the top shelf, turning to see how much was left.

Only to find the store room empty of boxes. He let over a relieved sigh, pulling out his phone.

10:37

He knew the opener would be in at eleven, a shift that was usually his, but as the manager, he preferred to ensure inventory was done correctly, and with such a big shipment, thanks to his unexpected time off, he told them he would work the night before.

His feet damn near shuffling across the floor, he made his way into the office and sat down at the desk, to wait for Kallias. He didn’t see a reason to lock the place up when Kal would be here five minutes later to start setting up.

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he heard a knocking on the office door and sat up quickly, his feet falling from where he’d propped them on top of the desk.

Cassian found Kallias standing in the doorway, a small smirk on his lips. “Baby keeping you up at night already?”

He yawned, dragging a hand down his face. “No. Well, sometimes, but not this time. Didn’t finish inventory until about fifteen minutes ago.”

Kallias whistled. “Damn. You should’ve called. I would’ve come help.” Cassian shrugged. “No use having both of us exhausted.”

Kallias just shook his head. “If you say so. Go home, Cass. Get some sleep. I’ve got everything under control.”

Cassian didn’t need to be told twice. He stood, clapped Kallias on the shoulder, and walked out to the parking lot. After hopping into his truck, Cassian dozed off.

And six hours later, he woke up, his head against his steering wall, his neck hurting like hell, and his chin glistening with his slobber.

It wasn’t an attractive sight.

After a curse, he looked at the clock on the dash, and swore again.

It was just after five.

The truck was in gear and he was speeding home seconds later. When he rounded the corner, Nesta’s car was already in the driveway.

He parked beside her, hopping out and hurrying to the back door. When he threw it open, he found her standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan. It smelled delicious.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, collapsing in the nearest chair at the kitchen table, his head dropped into his hands in exhaustion. Even after his impromptu nap in the truck, he still felt like he needed another eight hours sleep. “Inventory took way longer than usual and then I passed out in the truck.” He shook his head, letting his obvious exhaustion explain the rest to her.

“It’s fine.”

He looked up and glanced at her stiff back. She hadn’t turned back to look at him, was completely focused on whatever she cooked on the stove.

Her tone said it absolutely was not fine.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I’d been awake for over twenty-six hours.”

“Elain had to reschedule a shoot with a client tonight. She was expecting you to come pick up Nyx after you got off and got some sleep.”

He cringed. Nesta had texted him around ten, while he was still focused on inventory, asking him to get Nyx from Elain before three. He didn’t ask why, had honestly forgotten she’d even texted him.

“I’ll call her later, I’ll apologize,” he sighed.

Nesta turned abruptly and tossed the towel she was using to hold the warm handle on the counter. She was pissed, he’d seen that look in her eyes more than once. “I get that you worked and you were tired, but you have to be more responsible, Cassian.”

“I said I was fucking sorry,” he said, standing. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in my truck, but I did. I’m fucking sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, but turned back to the stove.

Cassian scoffed, and was nearly ready to bite her head off, but then Nyx’s soft cries came from the living room.

“He fell asleep in the pack and play,” Nesta said, continuing to stir what she had on the stove.

Cassian took that as his dismissal. He hurried into the living room and picked up Nyx, who was standing up in his pack and play, gripping the edge. When he saw Cassian, his hands shot straight in the air.

“Hey buddy,” he said, quietly, as he lifted Nyx out of his pack and play. Nyx instantly relaxed in his arms, laying his head on Cassian’s shoulder.

“He’s probably hungry,” Nesta said, as the boys made their way back into the kitchen.

“I’m aware,” Cassian snapped.

Nesta’s shoulders tensed.

Cassian said nothing more as he opened the fridge and took out some leftover mashed potatoes, Nyx’s favorite.

“He should have some kind of protein with that,” Nesta said, her back still to them.

Cassian spun around, exasperated. “Shit, anything else you’d like to add?”

She said nothing, pretending he didn’t even speak. Cassian didn’t say anything else, but he fixed him a bottle, and set Nyx in his high chair. As Cassian shook it, Nyx held out his hands, reaching for it. He gave it to him, turning to the microwave to heat up the potatoes.

He heard plates being set down at the table and found Nesta setting two plates full of stir fry on the table.

He hesitated, but moved Nyx’s high chair closer to the table. He took the already empty bottle from him and got a small spoonful of potatoes for him. He quietly said, “You didn’t need to cook for me,” as he fed Nyx.

“I made too much,” she replied, simply, sitting across from him. She didn’t meet his eyes as she took a bite.

He watched as her eyelashes fluttered in satisfaction.

As Nyx grabbed his bowl from the end of his high chair and stuck his face into it, Cassian looked down at his own plate, at the steak, broccoli, peppers, peeled carrots, and snap peas that sat before him.

It smelled delicious.

He hesitantly took a bite as Nyx clapped his hands and began to babble.

“Afraid I may poison you?” Nesta asked.

Cassian blinked, meeting her eyes. They remained like that for a moment, staring at one another, then Cassian took another bite. “It’s good. Thanks.”

“I made too much,” she repeated. “Cut Nyx up some of the steak. It’s tender enough for him to eat, just make sure the pieces are tiny. The broccoli, too. He likes broccoli.”

Cassian did as he was told without a word. He set the food in front of Nyx, who instantly had his chubby little hands on them.

“Don’t think I’ll be cooking every night,” Nesta said, in the middle of their otherwise silent meal.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Cassian said, then cleared his throat. “I can cook sometimes, too. I’m not bad in the kitchen.” A look crossed Nesta’s face that said she didn’t quite believe that statement.

“I make a mean breakfast,” he said, after chewing through another bite. “I’ll show you. We’ll do breakfast for dinner one night.”

Nesta nodded, but Cassian couldn’t tell if that was confirmation or just agreeing to shut him up. After a minute, she set down her fork and cleared her throat. “Speaking of breakfast, I’d prefer to not share the table with any friends you may bring home.”

Cassian’s brows lowered, not fully understanding. And then what she was saying clicked and he was coughing around the bite of food he’d been swallowing. He drank from the glass of water he’d grabbed, and cleared his throat, ensuring he could breathe. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“If I live here, it is my concern,” she said, going right back to eating, as if she hadn’t just brought up an extremely unexpected topic. “I don’t want Nyx to see a revolving door of women leaving either, he doesn’t need to get the wrong idea.”

Cassian could only stare at her, though when Nyx heard his name, he paused his eating to look up at her. He finally said, “He’s one, first of all, so he has no idea what that would even mean, and secondly, I can have whoever the hell I want here, and they can stay for breakfast. I live here, too.”

“Would you care to see an endless string of men coming out of my bedroom every morning?” Nesta asked, her tone light, but her eyes full of hellfire.

Cassian’s chewing slowed. No, he wouldn’t care to see that, but he’d never admit it. He wasn’t even one to bring women home...well, at least not often, but apparently she thought of him as some unhinged casanova.

“As long as you ask me to join, I don’t care who you bring home,” Cassian said.

Now it was Nesta’s turn to choke on the bite of steak she just took. Her cheeks turned a bright shade of red as her eyes watered. After catching her breath and taking a long drink of water, she said, “That’s inappropriate.”

Nyx giggled, his lips covered in mashed potatoes, as if Nesta had just said the most hilarious thing in the world.

He took one last bite of his food before standing and carrying his plate over to the sink. “You don’t bring up my sex life and I won’t bring up yours. Deal?”

“Fine,” she said, picking up her plate as well and dropping it next to his on the counter. “You take care of the dishes, I’ll give Nyx his bath.”

“Fine.” That seemed to be their word to end conversations, as most of them ended with one of them snapping the word at the other, and it being repeated right back to them.

He wanted to fling more insults at her, wanted to snap that he wasn’t the man-whore she apparently thought he was. He never had been, despite the obscene amount of those stupid condoms she’d seen in his glove box all those years ago. But he knew she wouldn’t believe him.

He heard her unclipping Nyx’s high chair and then she was carrying him upstairs. Cassian was already wrist deep in soapy water when he heard the bathtub running from upstairs.

It was then that he realized he had originally told Nesta that he would give Nyx a bath tonight.

He didn’t pick him up from Elain’s.

He didn’t give him a bath like he said he would.

Maybe Nesta was right.

Maybe he was just setting himself up for failure.

As he scrubbed at the dishes, Cassian felt that sense of failure wash over him and sent a thought to Rhysand, wherever he was, hoping that his oldest friend wasn’t as disappointed in him as he was.

[grapementos]

hey, i noticed that you were open for requests...

could you write something for oikawa slow dancing with his s/o in the kitchen? something light and fluffy?

thanks <3 ((:

worth the wait

a/n: ofc anything for u <3

warnings: post timeskip, kinda spoiler? anyways, FLUFF.

oikawa was a busy man. you knew that from the moment you agreed to leave japan with him. he couldn’t dedicate every moment to you, but when he could, those moments were perfect.

you weren’t lonely. you had reminders of him everywhere, from the lockscreen of your phone to the notes he left on the mirror for you to read while you brushed your teeth.

your love was tender and so, so worth every minute you got to watch him pursue his dream. pride swells up in your chest at every news report or excited phone call.

oikawa chose you to confide in. you to support him. you to be the one who receives everything back tenfold. he’s shown you the rawest version of himself because you’re the one he trusts and holds dearest, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

days like these, when he has practice that ends either just in time for dinner or long after you’ve already retired to bed, you curl up in bed with a book to pass the time. it’s your routine, and you’re fine with it.

some days, though, he gets out of practice early, and you can’t help but nearly jump with joy at the extra weekday time you get with him.

today is one of those days.

the front door quietly opens and then closes, alerting you of his presence. you all but jump out of bed, book long forgotten.

“tooru?”

padding into the hallway, you find the object of your affection sliding his shoes off to rest in their spot against the wall. his eyes immediately find yours, warm browns lighting up at the mere sight of you.

“hey, baby. surprise.” he’s just barely able to get his shoes off before you’re on him, arms wrapped tight around his torso.

“how was practice?”

you listen intently as he tells you the details of practice, and you certainly don’t miss the way his eyes light up when he brings up his new quick with his ace.

“enough about practice. how was your day?” he took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen.

“oh, just the same. i found a new traveler’s blog, which was really interesting.” you followed him, unable to fight your curiosity as he turned on the speaker on top of the microwave.

“oh yeah? where was their most recent escapade?” he hummed, showing that his full attention was still on you.

“perth. in australia.” you sighed dreamily, leaning against his arm.

“australia, huh? too many oversized insects.”

“you’re an oversized insect.”

he chuckled at that, a soft song beginning to play as he set his phone down.

“what does that make you, then?” he hummed inquisitively, quirking a brow as he gracefully spun you in a circle.

you didn’t respond, the domesticity of the moment settling on your shoulders in a satisfying moment of clarity. instead, you reached both arms up to wrap around his neck, gently fingering the little tendrils of hair that rested there.

and you stayed like that, scooting back and forth and around the kitchen floor as the hues of the sunset flooded into the window above the sink. there wasn’t too much of a rhythm, but there didn’t have to be. everything was perfect.

eventually, the two of you picked a spot and just rocked back and forth in each other’s arms, silent save for the music.

you broke it first, lifting your head to meet his eyes, “i’m so proud of you, tooru.” your words were so genuine and filled with the rawest emotion you were capable of feeling.

he chuckled wetly, his hand finding your cheek, “i’m so thankful. i’m thankful for you. you’ve never given up on me, y/n. even back in high school.”

you closed your eyes, leaning heavily into his touch, “because i’ve always believed in you, darling. more than anyone.”

and maybe it was the heat of the moment, or maybe it was the effect of the sun dipping just below the horizon that drove him to say what he said next.

“i want to marry you, y/n. you’re the only one i can imagine spending my life with.” he was serious, but his tone was still so soft and saccharine that you knew it took every ounce of courage he had to admit it.

“i feel the same, tooru. we’ve come so far together that i can’t imagine it being anyone but you.” you graze your thumb over a tear that rolled down his cheek, “you’re it for me.”

he kissed you that night, but it was different from any of the kisses you’d ever shared before. this one was a promise; it promised many more to come for the rest of the life you’d spend together. it was everything you wanted and more, every ounce of love inside you being poured into it.

you slow danced again with your husband seven months later, the same song supporting the shuffle of your feet and gentle sway of your bodies.

that’s when you knew, cheek pressed against his chest, that the wait was so worth it.

ajajajs i’m sorry if i went overboard, i got rlly soft. but anyways, as you can see this was requested by the amazing @sensitiveorange (my first request tysm) i hope you enjoyed it!! :)

i listened to perfect by ed sheeran on loop hah

[the-headbop-wraith]

1_11 Glass Anvils

The room is dimly lit when he awakens.  The lamp on the coffee table is on its lowest setting and the pale light builds a gold dome over the floor, before breaking around the numerous countertops left at odd angels around the room.  Order was an elusive concept in his mind, and translated to chaos when projected from his mind.  He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s either very late or very early judging by how still the air is.  He doesn’t recall when he turned in for the evening, but he does remember there is still too much work to do.

Arthur stretches, careful not to stir Vivi where she lays with her head on his lap.  He leans over sliding his arm under her folded arms and lifts her, so he could wriggle out from under her.  Arthur’s movements do momentarily rouse Mystery.  The dog, sleeping on the couch at Arthur’s feet, gives his companion an annoyed glare before curling back down into the lumpy cushion.  Arthur murmurs an apology, as he sets Vivi’s tangled arms and head down on the couch where he had lain.  He adjusts the blanket wrapped over her shoulders, before slipping off the sofa and locating his travel bag placed on the floor beside the couch.

The air was brisk on his bare skin and only a wrap of beige gauze has been fixed to the remains of his shoulder, above the connector chute of his prosthetic.  Arthur touches the medical wrapping and feels the faint sting of the injury beneath.  How did that happen?  Later he would remove the bandage and take a look, but he judged his hand must have slipped while he was groggy and making an adjustment in the connector for the new prosthetic.  This happened too often and he chided himself.  Arthur needed to be more careful, he didn’t have much arm left.

Arthur looked back over at Mystery on the sofa, content and sleeping beside Vivi’s head.  He didn’t know what they would do without that dog.

With his fingers and thumb, he wriggled the zipper of his bag along inch by inch, deftly with one hand until the sack was fully open.  Arthur plucks out one clean short sleeved shirt and fumbles hid hand around into the neck, until he finds the rough label with his thumb and twists the shirt around.  With the shirt adjusted proper, he takes the inside of the right sleeve and drags the shirt down over his shoulders.  He pushes his one arm free and reaches over to fix the empty left sleeve.

It didn’t really matter, Arthur reflects as he picked up his personal bag.  The stump would constantly slip in or out of the sleeve, but that didn’t bother him too much.  Only when he was frustrated and he needed some form of distraction, or some alternative outlet for his irritation.  Another reason he hated wearing his sleeves down, or long sleeved shirts for that matter.  He didn’t like pinning the remaining sleeve up, in the scenario he had to remove the prosthetic for whatever reason (sleep usually).  One time he did cut the sleeve off in a fit of frustration, but afterwards it just made him look more pathetic, in his opinion.  It was just easier….

Arthur paused as he moved towards the door.  That steady rhythm.  He hadn’t noticed it before, until there was the faint whisper of a page crinkling.  Arthur caught movement in the edge of his eye as he spun and saw a dark shape positioned at one of the work tables closets to the wall.  The bag made a sharp Pop! when it hit the floor, and Arthur recoils from both the sound and the shadow.  He doesn’t recognize the gloomy figure until vibrant magenta replaces the hair, and a hollow gap takes residence where the neck was a moment before.  His mind is still not at ease, though he is aware by the sudden jolt of the figure that it was startled by the random sound as well.  The only one unaffected was Vivi, buried under the blanket; and maybe Mystery, but the dog’s eyes had only cracked a portion to stare at Arthur with irritation.  The air hangs with the pause as the echo of the bag’s sudden acquaintance with the floor dims, under the sound of the subdued thrum of the locket.

“Arthur?”  Lewis says, voice below a rasp.  The answer doesn’t come right away, but Lewis vouches for no hasty movements until the other has adjusted.  He sets the book he was reading down among the clutter and scratched top of the table.  When only the silence holds residence, Lewis calls again, “Is that you?”

A quick farewell and retreat appeals to Arthur, but that just didn’t seem right.  “Yeah.  It’s me,” Arthur says.  He reaches down and takes up his bag.  “I didn’t know you… uh, had risen?  You okay?”  He hesitates.  “Well, you look fine now, but are you?  I got really worried.”

“Better,” Lewis says.  He ponders over Arthur’s presence and mood without looking back.  “About last night?” he began, pausing as he put the question together.  “What happened?  We found you, and you had collapsed.”

Arthur shifted his hand over, but he was still holding the bag.  “I collapsed?” he echoed.  He remembered vaguely wishing Lance a good night, but Arthur was too engrossed with work to look up.  Not long after that, Galahad had rolled off as he usually did to explore the empty garage.  But that was it.  He didn’t do anything else.  “I must’ve been working too hard.  There’s still a lot I have to get done.”  Even through the pale light, Arthur could pick up on a fog of discomfort ebbing at Lewis.  “Did… something happen?”

Lewis didn’t make a sound.  He thumbed at the book he set on the desk, trying to focus on pushing his thumb into the pages without sinking through their outline.  “I cleaned up the other work room.”

“Huh?”  Unease swam through Arthur.  “You didn’t try to organize anything, did you?”  He wasn’t even halfway done with the prosthetic, and it took a while for him to get all the parts he could carry with one arm.

“No,” Lewis answered.  “I just picked up the floor a bit.”

Arthur exhaled a tight breath.  “Good, thanks… I guess.  I mean, you didn’t have to.”

“I know.”  The skull bobbed in a nod.  Without a sound Lewis slipped from the chair, glided though it as he drifts to raise himself upright and faced Arthur.  “Would you like me to heat something up for you?”

Arthur made a meditative sound in his throat.  He set the bag down and fished around in his pants pocket for his pocket watch.  The lounge had the small fridge and microwave, as well as the coffee makers for the staff.  Lance would expect him to get the coffee going since Arthur was up, but Lance would also be arriving in less than thirty minutes to get the garage itself opened up and ready to receive customers.  But Lewis was probably hunting for something productive to do, even if it was microwaved meals.

“A pepperoni hot pocket,” Arthur says.  “And can you get the coffee makers going?” He pockets his watch and grabs the bag again, before turning away.

“I think so.”  Lewis pushes the chair out of his way as he follows Arthur to the door, careful to keep his distance from the other.  Before he steps out Lewis takes one glimpse of Vivi and Mystery, and ducks out of the room.  “Everything’s in the cabinets in the break room?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, hurrying to the steps.  It struck him odd momentarily that Lewis would follow him, when he could theoretically go through walls and float.  But he said nothing.  Instead, he reminds,  “And don’t let Uncle Lance see ya.”

When Lance arrived later to open shop and check in with Arthur and company, fresh coffee was brewing in the lounge.  Suspiciously good coffee.  He questioned if Arthur had gotten any sleep the night before, and Arthur endured some mild suspicion from his uncle before Lance let him be.  Galahad was on the solder table assisting Arthur in fixing pieces in place when one hand was too little, the hamster’s cooperation a sure sign that Arthur had taken pause in his work.

The following days, Kingsman Mechanics developed a reputation for being ‘spooked.’  It was no shock that the mechanics Lance had employed, burly or sweaty men from varied backgrounds, would be superstitious people.  None of the staff mentioned it to Lance directly, but the conversations began to float around within noon of the first day, and by the second day even the customers were seeing shadows at the corners of their eyes or shapes in the mirrors around the shop.

Lance was not as superstitious as his hired hands, and not as into the paranormal as Arthur’s crew was, but he managed to keep his jumpiest mechanics soothed with the prospect that they were willing to lose a good job over words.  Besides that, business had increased due to curious patrons dropping by to verify the rumors, or in hopes of catching sight of the shadow people.  For certain Lance didn’t give a damn the motives of his customers, as long as they paid for legitimate services and were respectable people.

Right on the first day Vivi managed to catch Lewis in one of the upper work rooms and gave him a firm talking to about the issue, but Lewis insisted it was none of his doing.  Tentatively, Lewis did suggest that the rooms could be salted, just in case.  Vivi denied this would be necessary, and settled instead to drag Lewis away from the shop whenever possible to adjust him to being around People while projecting his Alive appearance.  The van was left to Lance for its maintenance check, and Mystery stayed with Arthur to make sure he didn’t suffer another breakdown.

They started slow, a quick trip over to Vivi’s station of employment at the Tome Tomb comic store.  Vivi had some books that she had acquired on their recent trip, and she had another check to pick up.  Vivi managed a heavy amount of the online sales and purchases, while also picking up rare or interesting books sold by private dealers online.  Aside from sales and inventory control, Vivi could keep track of the paranormal market and promote the Tome Tomb on blog spots.  This kept the shop from falling too far behind big name competitors, by offering loyal customers rarity items.  And if a certain book could be found nowhere online, Vivi had a knack for finding physical copies during their various travels.

Lewis still struggled to shrug off his death suit, and the fact he couldn’t decide how it was he projected his living appearance fueled his aggravation.  As always, Vivi was a stern but patient coach.  Often they had to stop at some store or some shady alley for Lewis to take a moment and collect himself.  Vivi had purchased him a wool sweater, alpaca she insisted, and some gloves to further mask him for the time.  Lewis’ shadow was also… wrong, but not as noticeable as his first encounter with a mirror.  His head and legs were a pale shade of gray, the sun flittering through his shape and cutting over the solid fabric of the clothing he wore.  Vivi never mentioned it, since Lewis had too much to work on as it was.  But he was determined to master the skill (ghostly abilities), which was why she pushed him so hard.  Otherwise, she’d still be in those ice skates tiptoeing over china.

Vivi spent a few minutes in the comic store for the usual review, drop off of the books, and catch up with co-workers.  Even if Lewis knew he could go in, he couldn’t.  The Tome Tomb had problems some time back with hostile spirits, and Vivi had pretty much solidified her employment with barrier charms hung by the shops door.  Tough luck, but as Vivi put it, Lewis could have some time on his own and stray a bit out of his comfort zone.

For the first time, Vivi took note of a framed newspaper clipping that was on the wall behind the glass counter that stretched out near the front of the store.  She asked to see it right quick.  The employee currently on shift spun around to take the picture and with a tight face, he set the frame clipping beside the stack of books Vivi had brought in.  Vivi read through the newspaper article in silence.  An abrupt giggle jumped from her throat and Vivi had to cover her mouth, in response to the grimace her coworker had taken.

“Sorry,” Vivi said, and dabbed at her eye with her scarf.  “Something funny.  It’s sweet.”  She would tease Lewis later.

“Do you…” the employee, a young guy still in high school with an ear piercing, began, “You remember him?  They said not to say anything, but….”  He let his voice tapper off when Vivi leaned back and shook her head.

Vivi would TEASE Lewis relentlessly, later.  “No.  But I feel like I’m starting to remember him.”  She took note the date on the clipping, her smile faded some.  “Did you ever meet him?”

The employee shrugged his shoulders and fumbled with the edge of the frame.  “Not really.  We talked once, but that was not long before….”  He sighed and let his shoulders slump, as he pressed his elbows to the glass counter.  “I said it before, but you were kind of oblivious?  But I give my condolences.  He seemed like a real chill guy.”  He looked up when Vivi set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“It’s okay, really,” Vivi said.  “Things get better.”  To those encouraging words the employee nods, and he takes the framed clipping to return it to the wall.

Afterwards, Vivi said a goodbye, and left to rejoin Lewis a few shops down at a café.  She would wait until later to tease him, Lewis needed to stay focused.

__

The eventual did happen, and Arthur was putting the last touches on the first completed arm.  He was fidgeting, in part that he had a tendency to nitpick personal projects into the dirt.  It was late in the evening, the shop now closed and Uncle Lance had gone back to his and Arthur’s home.  As per his nature, Arthur had stayed at the shop and was fixing the last points at the base of the arm, where it would attach into the connector chute in his arm.  Vivi was on the sofa giving Mystery some much needed praise and attention, while Lewis had taken post at the work desk beside the wall.  The Closed hours were the only time when the group could sit together, void of the distracting worries that someone would stumble onto them.

Arthur was filing down some over-welded seams on the arm, when Vivi brought up the subject.  “Have you been seeing the shadows, Arthur?” she asked, while rubbing Mystery’s ears between her palms to warm the velvety dog radars.  “You’re usually sensitive to those sort of things.”

“Naw,” he said.  “No, not really.  I thought about salting my room just in case, but of course I’m too busy.”  Arthur picked up a screwdriver and motioned to Lewis ‘seated’ at the messy table.  “And that would be uncool.”

Lewis glanced over but decided not to answer.  A long time ago he had set his book down to address his new companion on the table.  “I honestly don’t know why anyone would be seeing shadow people,” Lewis, again, defends.  “It’s usually when I’m not around, isn’t it?”

“No,” Arthur said.  “I have noticed, it’s only when you’re around.  I asked about it when I went down for the other jobs, and the guys can’t shut up about it.  They must think we brought something back with us?” Arthur turns the handle of the clamp, tightening the jaws hold of the metal prosthetic.  “I guess that is what we’ve done— Or, it’s what I did.”

“I have no regrets over the matter,” Lewis admitted.  “But I think things will go back to normal here once we get a move on.”

Vivi had lain down behind Mystery and was rubbing the dog’s shoulders, as he sat perched on the edge of the sofa beside here.  “I have a route set, some places we can think about stopping along the way,” Vivi says.  “We’ve got nothing immediate planned.”

“Cool.  Cool,” Arthur hummed.  “No forever road or late night driving will daunt our way.” Arthur stands up as he adjusts the clamp and moves the light on the table.  He’s a little more distracted than he’d like to be, only because he knows now where Galahad had gotten to.  “I was thinking of a resonance,” he says, in a way to change the subject’s direction.  “You didn’t really make the mansion, it just sort of came.  Maybe you’re still doing it, or trying.  Like a habit?”

Vivi shifts on her side to peer over the arm of the sofa as much as she could, to where Lewis was.  “And Arthur’s over analytical mind of physics and engineering rears itself again,” she enthused, and slumps back down.  “Could be something you were compelled to do with no effort, sort like,” Vivi thought to say breathing, but quickly worked out a more appropriate allegory, “Thoughts.  Just thinking, and the compulsion to think.”

“Could be,” Lewis hummed.  “I did inspire the architecture, the layout of the halls and rooms.  Once I knew what I wanted, little by little it became.  But it doesn’t feel the same now.  Now, I don’t feel like I’m doing much of anything, save for my appearance.”

“We don’t really feel thoughts either,” Vivi says.  She’s focused on rubbing her hands gently down Mystery’s shoulders, and kneads at the tense muscle under the soft white coat until the dog surrenders and melts onto the couch beside her.  “What are they even?  A voice in our head.  And if we can’t deal with it, we talk aloud.”  Vivi keeps an eye on Arthur, clinking at the metal and the sporadic flicker of the lamplight on the desk he works as he adjusts the light to view the prosthetic arms open end.  “This was something I thought of,” she said, voice soft, “but the deadbeats may have been drawn to you because of that.  The mansion.  They couldn’t find their own way, but your home was probably the closest they could find.”

Lewis raises his shoulders in a shrug.  “They just sort of… were,” he says.  “There suddenly.  I don’t remember a specific day or time.”  The tone of his voice thinned, as he stared at his hands upon the table and the orange ball of fluff there.  “I can’t even recall if they came because the mansion, or if I had seen them before.”  He looked away from the table, over to the top of Vivi’s blue head partially hidden behind the sofa’s arm.  “But they were welcome there,” Lewis voice rattles, with a resonance akin to fondness.  “They helped.”

Arthur paused to watch Lewis gently scratch under Galahad’s chin.  The hamster didn’t seem bothered by the spirit, but Galahad was always a fearless little dude.  Lewis glanced over at Arthur, and Arthur jarred out of his staring to resume his work.  “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, with a huff.  “Nearly done.  I might get around to making some progress on the second one, but I doubt it.”

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Lewis warns.  He glides away from the table leaving Galahad stranded where he is on the cluttered work top, and Lewis moves around the room to stand beside the sofa.  Vivi is curled up on her side, eyes shutting blearily until her eyes close altogether and her breathing becomes steady.  Mystery remains tangled in her arms but as always has no complaint, though Mystery does watch Lewis as he drifts by to perch on the opposite arm of the sofa.  “You’re nearly done.  Even I, a person no longer tethered by the natural laws of physics, can make out that much by your work.”

As Arthur readjusted the arm in the clamp, he lets out a heavy sigh.  “I’d like to have my balance restored,” Arthur says.  “People don’t stare as much, y’know?  They see something attached to your shoulder, and automatically their mind fills in the blanks.  Symmetry.  They don’t see a problem first, they see an outline.  Then the stares are mild curiosity, sometimes fascination.  But not much pity.  I’m different, but not broken.  I cope, but I don’t struggle.”  Arthur sets the screwdriver aside and grips the handle of the clamp, but pauses.  “Sometimes you’re the only one that can put yourself back together.”

A soft peeping came from below, and Lewis turned to look down and see that somehow Galahad had managed off the table and was beside the couch.  Galahad wheeled around and over his shoes peeping for attention, and would peer up at Lewis with his large black eyes.  It was endearing, but Lewis felt ripples of concern if he became too attached to the hamster.

“Hey Galaham, don’t pester the guy,” Arthur said.  “If he doesn’t wanna pet you, then let him be.”  Arthur fumbled to undo the gauze wrapping on his upper arm.  He had seen the injury a few times when he was forced to shower, but it still mystified him.

“We found you passed out,” Lewis offered.  “Vivi dressed your wound.”

Arthur nodded silently, still staring at the ugly red burn.  He took a mirror from his table and set it beside him, then took a sharp tool from the numerous scattered over the table and fiddled with a prong inside the connectors housing.  “My arm must’ve slipped when I was repairing the chute, it was smashed and bent bad,” Arthur murmured.  “It happens too often ‘cause of the awkward angle I have to work with.”  Lewis gripped the sofa arm that he was perched upon; he felt that more than often that injury wasn’t inflicted by a careless hand.  “Ask Vivi,” Arthur went on.  “Wait, is she asleep?  Can you just… not look like yourself?  I am happy you can do that, trust me but— Fuck.”  He reached over and set his hand down on the metal wrist of the prosthetic resting on the worktable, and tilts his head back to stare at the dark bars and cables of the ceiling above.

Lewis made a soft crackle sound as he moved to his feet, his attention placed on the floor where Galahad scooted about.  Of course he wasn’t walking, but he was still conscious of the little hamster wheeling around and waiting for some attention.  Lewis looked at Vivi and felt the doubt suffocating the remorse for his erratic deed, lessen by some amount.  It had not ceased to unsettle Lewis at any point when he was evicted from his searing bitterness, and he could never deny that he had committed a hideous crime, but Vivi could look at him now and smile, void of those memories haunting the areas behind her eyes.  Mystery looked to be deep amid slumber as well, so Lewis was able to take the glasses off Vivi and set them on the coffee table.  He pulled up the blanket left crumpled up in the corner of the sofa and covered the two sleepers.

“If Vivi wakes up,” Lewis says, as he steps away, “tell her I went to rest in the van for a bit.”

“I didn’t tell you to leave,” Arthur snapped.  “I don’t want you to leave.  I need you to stay.”  His fingers fumbled with the metal fingers of the prosthetic, and he could almost feel the device attached to his arm and that familiar sense of pressure he had developed in the prosthetics interactions.  “Just stay,” he whispered.  “I need someone here.  Someone that knows how terrible I am.  I don’t—” Arthur drew up his fist to his brow and shrank down under his skin.  “I don’t want to be left alone.”  He shuddered at the chilly air, and looked up when he detected a sudden presence.  He was a little startled by Lewis close proximity, skull bleached and pink fire burning in the depths of his eye sockets.

“C’mon,” Lewis says, as he takes Arthur by the shoulders.  “You’re getting some rest now.”  Arthur doesn’t protest as Lewis guides him over to the sofa, and makes Arthur lay down in the corner opposite of Vivi and Mystery.  Lewis tugs a section of the blanket free from Vivi and covers Arthur.

Arthur snuggled down, and watched as Lewis ducked away only to reappear from behind the sofa with Galahad in hand.  Arthur stared at the little hamster as he was set on the blanket, and reached up his hand to stroke one of the wheels Galahad wore.  Arthur sighed.  “Why is life so shitty?” he asks.

Lewis folded one arm under him, over the back of the sofa, and perched his skull upon the crook of his arm.  “Good things tend to break,” says the ghost.  “Perfection is a lunatics dream.  Flaws are natural, they help us see what we normally wouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, and a small painful sound was caught in his throat.  “But why—” He winced when he looked up and saw Lewis’ outstretched hand, just before the dark palm settled on his forehead.

“Shut up.  Just get some rest.”  Lewis gently coaxed the heavy eyelids shut and pressed his palm to Arthur’s face.  Arthur relaxes and feels himself diving, falling, into a black void as dark as Lewis’ hands.  In this place as deep and endless as midnight, nothing exists but a null of presence, comfort, and perpetual rest.  “No nightmares for you,” Lewis hums.  “Not tonight.”

Once Arthur’s breathing became placid, Lewis lowered his hand and gave Galahad a gentle scratch.  Lewis then turns his gaze onto Vivi and Mystery.  He reached his free arm over and strokes Vivi’s cheek, and hummed a soft tune that spun on the empty air that hung within the small room.  Lewis decides it was lonely to be the cause of so much pain.  He missed his mansion, and he missed the deadbeats always present and mischievous, always curious.  He missed the sequential waiting and reflection, and inexorable vehemence that fueled his passion for his current existence. But most of all, he missed his friends.

__

They packed and left the following morning.  Arthur finished up one arm to satisfactory condition, and packed the additional parts and motors he foresaw would be needed for eventual repairs.  While Lance took Arthur by their home to pick up extra clothing and essentials, Vivi took Lewis and Mystery to pick up additional supplies for the long hours of road between stops.  In all the rush Vivi did manage by her own home to visit with her family and apologize for being so busy, before she whisked away as always.  With formalities and preparation concluded, the group loaded up newly acquired goods, supplies, and a cooler for the road that had patiently awaited their return.

That had been late morning, nearly three hours ago.

Voices drifted across the busy thoroughfare, jovial patrons coming and going.  Engines roared as vehicles entered the parking lot and fade, while others bellowed to life in the constant cycle, coming and going.  Never slowing even during the low hours of the day; always busy, the restaurant buzzing with unruly activity.  Lewis concentrated, and could almost feel the interior of the building.  The cacophony of voices bouncing between the walls, the sweet scent of food cooking, dough baking, and meat frying.  He felt it somewhere within him, where he usually felt himself — the odd scent of stale water, the delicate aroma of freshly chopped vegetables, and spicy peppers bubbling in his sinuses.  People yelling with urgency as steam gushed, voices commanding, sometimes laughing.  Warmth.  Belonging.  Memories.

Cold air moved through him, and he came back to the present.  He focused once more on the parking lot, as more cars came and others went.  A steady stream of content people, whom took the simplicity of their world for granted.  Lewis reached a hand up to clasp the locket gently thumping at his chest, and let himself fade more into the shadow of the tree he stood under.  He didn’t want someone to glance out a window and catch his figure waiting, watching.  He couldn’t bear to think what his family might take of his appearance.  It was too soon.  Maybe they would take it as a good omen, but that didn’t settle right in him.  They would be reminded.  He didn’t want them to remember, and Lewis didn’t want to remember.  He wanted closure.

Vivi had brought it up.  She waited until Arthur was about to start the engine of the van and made sure to ask before he could grip the drive shift.  As expected Arthur froze, and Vivi was uncertain if he’d be able to drive.  Lewis, occupying the passenger seat, had turned slowly to give her a stare she could not make out through the dark sunglasses.  She regretted the question, but honestly Vivi had almost forgotten about her own family upon returning to their home town.  They came by for Arthur’s sake, pretty much.  That’s what she told herself.

“I just wanted you to consider it,” Vivi said.  She began to lean away, returning to the back of the van.  “I didn’t know if it would be something you would have thought of.  They’re your family, Lew.  I can’t stand thinking we’re stealing you away from them again.”

Here he stood now, a hollow languid shape.  Desire burned in him, hotter than vengeance and rage.  Lewis yearned to race across the road and burst through those doors, see his family.  Greet his siblings, embrace his Mamma and Pappa.  Tell them that everything was okay, he was doing well and was ready for another adventure on the wild and open road.

Lies.  He wasn’t okay, he hadn’t survived.  Lewis’ state of presence had altered, he had been exiled from the plain of the living.  There was no amending the issue with a smile and some comforting words.  Only something so unmovable and indiscriminate in action could smooth out the fine scars left behind.

Time.

Lewis lost track of time.  It was getting late and no one, Vivi, Arthur, or Mystery, had come to collect him.  They let him have his brief pause of existence to absolve a piece of himself, but even that had interwoven grief into his musings.  The part of him that was none physical, the vapor and core essence of himself that was more crucial than blood and bone, brain or heart.  He didn’t belong here anymore, yet he was compelled and sentimental.  His sense of adoration drove a thick spike through Lewis’ metaphorical heart, urging him to save his family, protect them from lies and false hopes.

Without a second glance, without regret, Lewis turns away and made his slow journey along the road.  It is never cowardice to withdraw from the unconditional love of family, when one is already so well versed with how much pain is inflicted through goodbyes.

[ultimatesoupfan]

Introduction to “I Rate Progresso Soup”

I love soup. I really do. Whenever I want an easy meal, my mind drifts towards the siren’s call of those funky little cans-- the cans of tomato soup filled with the tomato slime that you need to add water to; the cans of beef stew, soft vegetables, vibrant in color, oranges and yellows of carrots and corn stark against the brown, savory broth. A lucid dream, bombarding my senses in the best way possible. I knew I had to start this blog. It’s my life’s calling, my passion, my raison d’etre. 

When I’m on a call with my friends, dispersed across the United States like wayward specks of seasoning within a most delectable soup, I say, “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna grab something to eat,” and they’ll say, “What’re you getting?” I respond, of course, “Some soup,” and they laugh. Of course it’s soup. I’m the soup boy. I eat soup. It’s what I do! 

After I concluded I needed to blog all of my reactions on the great Tumblr, famous for eccentricity and homosexuality, both of which are characteristics I happen to possess, I raced to Discord to consult my inner circle, the very same people who indulge in my soupy antics. With frantic haste, I typed out the question, “how do you guys feel about me starting a blog where i rate progresso soups?” It wasn’t long before my web of support in this endeavor was presented to me:

“honestly, with the state of this world; the political and economic climate, i think that would be life changing”

“rating progresso soups was the one thing my great grandfather wanted to do during the cold war, alas he never got to see the day, as he was killed in action. This progresso soup rating blog feels like it's carrying on his legacy.”

I was beaming with joy. Of course my friends would support me in this! I knew I could count on my friends! And then I heard the notification. The once sweet, comforting sound of my Discord notifications were twisted by a group of friends who dissuaded me, telling me my dreams weren’t worth it, and that it was a fool’s errand. 

“that sounds worse than an unsalted pretzel”

“Rating soup is as pointless and time wasting as sweeping an unused field, I just can't see this being useful to anyone.”

My heart was shattered. Absolutely crushed to pieces, like an antique baby doll being run over by a semi. The driver, of course, would only feel a bump. They wouldn’t know the pricelessness of the artifact they just destroyed with their brutish carelessness, like how these “friends” wouldn’t understand the extent of their words piercing my delicate-- oh, so delicate!-- heart. I love my friends with every fiber of my being; each one is so unique and funny and so, so lovely to be around. How could they do me like this? 

In an instant, my wallowing suddenly turned into a raging inferno of passion and perseverance. I needed to prove those haters wrong. I’ll show them wrong. I’ll get so many followers on Tumblr, and I’ll become rich and famous off of my soupy passion! I love soup so much, I love them more than those fake friends who hate my betrothed-- my soup. I needed to prove those haters wrong! I’ll show them! I’ll show all of them! I will eat every single Progresso soup, and I’ll rate each and every one! It’s with great pleasure and excitement that I present to you, the fine gentlepeople of this website, my discoveries and displays of raw, soup hubris:

 Chapter One - Tomato Basil

Red sauce. That was the first thing that came to mind when I wafted the savory, herbed scent of tomato soup towards myself. I could slather this soup on a pizza crust and top it with the finest cheeses and meats, and then stick that bad boy in the oven for a while, and voila, a whole damn pizza. From the scent alone, I knew Progresso wasn’t lying when they printed “TOMATO BASIL” on their crisp-sea soupcan. This bad boy was stuffed with basil!

I lifted my bowl over the sink to avoid any scattered splotches of deep orangish-red in case of spillage, and carefully lifted my can to pour that pre-cooked goodness into my bowl. This was the moment of truth, the hour of reckoning, the very moment my life would be changed forever with this blog. I couldn’t help but feel a passing serenity over the course of the following few seconds as I slowly let the soup cascade down into my bowl, and then I placed it into the microwave, letting it cook for a couple of minutes.

I couldn’t help but feel anxious excitement as the bowl gradually spun and spun in its few minutes away from my hungry hands, and this anticipation would only ramp up further and further as the soup cooked. I paced around my kitchen, occasionally glancing towards the ever-falling timer to see how much longer I had to wait for my wet and wild treasure, my sweet and savory delight.  

The microwave yelped upon hitting 0:00 and I tore off a few sheets of paper towel to wrap the bowl in; I’d do much for soup, but to scorch my hands would be a folly of the moment. Carefully, I set the soup down on the counter next to a couple spires of Lysol wipes and cleaning supplies foolishly left out from the day before. I quickly snapped a picture, for you, my loving fellow soupfans, and ran upstairs with my prize and a spoon to eat in the comfort of my computer and write as I dived headfirst into the joys of Tomato Basil.

As I sat in the artificial glow of my computer monitor, white with the sheen of Google Docs, I swirled my soup to scout out its consistency. Quite creamy, I thought, as I felt the slightest bit of resistance within the soup, though it still let the spoon pass through with relative ease. The red sauce-scent filled my room as I waited longer and longer to take my first bite. It was a moment, and a soup, I needed to savor, every single part of it. 

The soup itself was speckled with the tiniest blotches of forest green, bits which I could only assume to be the titular basil. He complimented the red tomato blend well; it was a glorious sight to behold. I stirred the soup once more, just for good measure, and raised the spoon up above the savory ocean beneath. Some of it clung to the metallic underside, and even more waterfalled off from the gleaming edge like a heavenly paradise. 

It was now or never, I thought as the distance between the spoon and I shrunk. I took my first bite, and needless to say, it was magical, with such vivid taste that words would aspire to describe. This soup was more than palatable, it left me pining for more. More soup. Again, I took another bite. Again, it was another explosion of taste spread across my brain. It tasted almost exactly how it smelled: savory, saucy, with a hint of sweetness brought out by the name of the game. I couldn’t stop eating.

Halfway through my soup, I felt an onset craving of cheese. I knew this would happen. I have a storied history of craving cheese to pair with my tomato soup. The soup was simply too savory to slurp on its own; I wanted something more. However, I couldn’t let the purity of this soup-tasting be corrupted by the external factor of the cheese. I stayed my cheese brain and kept eating; I kept eating and eating.

At last, my soup was finished. A cloud of lingering soup formed a ring around where it once peaked. The sun sunk beneath the horizon, and the moon rose to celebrate this accomplishment: the first soup devoured, the first soup ranked. So savory, so delicious. How I wish for the next soup to be this grand! Until next time, Tumblr, goodbye! Goodbye! And I hope your next soup is as good as mine! I love you all.

21/25 - This soup is magical!

[oldguy56-world]

The Invention of Lying

Sound familiar? I actually mentioned this briefly in a previous blog. I have also used titles with the word lie in several forms before.  

July 18 2018 True Lies- talking about how lying is the new truth

March 19. 2018 Liar. Liar. Politicians and how they lie.

April 27, 2020, Jakob the Liar about what if all professions lied.

Guess what? This blog is not about lying. It is about inventions we should have, and I am working on them. Lying is a great example. Whoever came up with that idea should have patented it. His descendants would make Jeff Bezos look like a pauper. It was probably a man who was out late with the boys and just spun a tale to get out of trouble. Because it had never been done before, his wife bought it.  If only he knew what Pandora’s box he opened, and how much he could have made off of the concept.

Sorry, I got off topic. This is not about lying. It is about inventions I am working on. They are already registered with a patent office, so I have no fear that you will steal the ideas.

1) A button you hook up to your TV. It allows you to press it and give an electrical shock to someone currently being shown on your set. Think of the applications. Sports- you can help your team greatly. News- imagine pressing it constantly when you are upset with someone on the air. There are currently kinks. It only works when what is happening is live. This forces you to stay in front of your TV for the opportunity to zap the ones you want.

2) Reverse Microwave oven, or macrowave fridge as I like to call it. Instead of heating things up, you can cool them down or freeze them. There is a hitch in the process. You can’t be in the room when it is turned on, so I have to come up with a remote control. My assistant, Igor, accidentally froze his fingers while touching the panel.We thought gloves would work, but now he is a eunuch. Good thing I had an assistant.

3) The idiot meter. It will tell you if there is an absolute moron within ten feet of it so you can avoid them. Must be a problem in the design. Every time I turn it on, even when I am alone, it goes off. 

4) An app for your phone that whenever you get a spam or scam call, you press it and it causes the person on the other end to pee their pants and quit their job. The current glitch is that when I press it I pee my pants and I quit my job. I need these inventions to go through because now I need the cash.

5) A pill that makes every food taste like your favorite. No more forcing kids to eat their vegetables if it tastes like pizza. Two glitches here. It doesn’t work on kale (Aargh) and within 1 year the average person will weigh 300 lbs. Maybe I can build in a laxative to counter the effects.

I have several more that i cannot get a patent on. Something about human rights violations and a danger to society. Nonsense like that.

THOUGHT OF THE WEEK: Never discount an original thought you have. Whoever thought of making the top half of a square of paper sticky is sailing around the world in their yacht.

[raynebowrayne]

New project I'm toying with. Whacha think, folks?

I'm tagging this with Reylo tags because that's the main focus of my blog and people there read my Ao3 Reylo Fanfic.

Here is an original story I'm working on.

***

He's like a male Molly Ringwald.

That was my first impression of Ben Johnson when he completed his first season on my favorite television show. In his rookie year as a celebrity his character had come on the show as the slightly odd and geeky but still charming and rather attractive in an unusual way that you could spend hours pondering without ever being able to explain the how or why of.

The next year he finished the season by winning the heart of the beautiful Esmeralda Crain, the central "beautiful young focal character" of the ensemble driven primetime drama that I watch with an almost religious fervor.

The show, "Finding Me" is an hour every week from June to September of pure unadulterated drama about a dozen just out of college, young people finding their way in the world. It's shot like a 'reality' show, but it's fully scripted and jam packed with amazingly talented actors and actresses. I can't get enough of it.

By season three I was blogging about it on three different social media websites, spending every second of my free time obsessing over the show. In truth, I spent my unfree time obsessing quietly while I check bags and wave a metal detector wand around people at my local airport.

Season 7 has just wrapped up and somewhere along the way, I fell head over heels for the character Miles Adams. I tuned in every week after season three just to see Miles. The other 10 people on the show were great, but Miles and Esmeralda stole the show in season three… and for me, in my obsessive frenzy, they became the pair I loved the absolute most. They were perfect together.

The actors who played them - Ben Johnson and Emmy Star (no, that's really her birth name, I googled her) were superb. By season 4 they were each making four times more money per episode than anyone else in the cast.

Of course, when they flew to vegas during the season four finale and got married during the airing of Miles and Esmeralda's own vegas elopement the internet exploded with the impact of an atom bomb.

Some people were flat out convinced that it had been a sham, a publicity stunt, a way to make the show more money so that it could afford Season five's pay raises for the entire cast, including doubling Ben and Emmy's already impressive salaries.

I never believed that. No way. Ben and Emmy, or Bemmy as I call them, have waaaay too much chemistry onscreen and off to be faking it. No, the show making more money was a natural consequence of having the most talented young cast ever assembled in one show. Period. End of discussion. Fin. I will not hear another word about it.

Of course, in every fandom you find trolls… With six couples, a lot of cross-relationship sexual tension, and a highly diverse cast season seven Finding Me's social media following is a breeding ground for fandom trolls. We real fans call them "antis." They whine endlessly about the show but for some reason wont just stop watching it. I do not get those people. They annoy me.

So here I am, in my cheap polyester uniform with my shiney little badge and clunky black patton leather steal toed boots, daydreaming about Miles' gorgeous, fiery, brown-eyed smoulder while I wave through a pretty blond that towered over me by a good six inches.

Mile's eyes have the most intense quality about them. He can literally boil freezing water with a single stare. I'm not sure at exactly what point he went from "geeky" to "omfg I totally would trade my soul for just one night with him" but I think it might have been the season two smouldering hot ten second stare down while stalking toward Esmeralda with pure unfiltered, unbridaled lust rippling off of him like heat waves off desert sand. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was the moment.

Just the thought of that moment is enough to make me blush as I blink away the image. I glance up at the guy who'd just set off the metal detector as I pass the wand across his chest. I freeze. My brain crashes against my skull and I stand there gaping like a fish out of water as Miles Adams stares back at me in annoyance.

I blink.

No, not Miles Adams.

Ben Johnson.

Ben "omfg" Johnson is scowling at me. In the flesh. At MY airport! In Real Life!

I watched in fascination as the annoyed look melted off his face and alarm flashed ahead of concern that gave way to amusement and finally turned to exasperation.

"Breathe." He rolled his eyes and said, half mockingly - half coaxingly with a slight grin on his lips.

In Dolby Digital his voice caresses you like tattered silk, in real life, it's more like a cat's tongue.

His eyes widen and he half reaches for me. "No, really, you need to breathe."

Oh, god. His voice... is talking to me!

"Shit!" He hissed as his face, that incredibly expressive face of his, swam before my eyes.

I blinked and found myself looking up into his frowning face.

"Dear god, not again." Came an annoyed female voice. "They're never going to stop doing that if you keep catching them."

Ben turned a quick scowl toward someone above my head then looked back and asked me, "Are you alright?"

That's when three things hit me at once.

One, I'm cradled in his arms, across his lap as he squats down in front of the metal detectors.

Two, his eyes are prismatic, a totally different shade, ranging from black to amber-yellow depending on how the light hits them.

Three, I'm making a total ass of myself by continuing to stare at him - dumbstruck and drooling.

Reality set in with the suddenness and force of a high speed mid-air collision.

I apologized profusely as I fought my way through 10 tons of humiliation and panic to get to my feet. My mortification could not have been more complete… until I chanced a glance upward and spotted a trickle of blood oozing down his chin.

I have never wanted to cry so badly in my life.

Without another word I took off at a dead run for the nearest ladies room where I immediately screamed "Fuck!" at the top of my lungs. That didn't help much so I did it a few more times before I began ugly-crying my eyes out.

It took me a good hour to get control of myself enough to clock out amidst pitying glances and some snickering from my fellow security guards. I kept my eyes straight ahead as I walked briskly out to my car.

I'd been at Bluegrass for five years. I'd seen celebrities before. Admittedly, not many… but some! Johnny Depp once came through my line! I was calm, cool and professional. No sweat. Under no circumstances have I ever lost my shit over anything or anyone like I did with Ben Johnson. Not even close.

I called in and talked my supervisor into arranging two weeks worth of my accrued vacation for the immediate future. It was too easy. He had obviously been appraised of my blunder.

I hung up and cried myself to sleep at four o'clock in the afternoon.

The next two weeks were more of the same. Log in to check my blogs, weep as soon as I see a picture of him, log out and cry myself to sleep. Wake up, go pee, see myself in the mirror and burst into tears. Pull a burrito out of the microwave, set it on a paper plate, burst into tears.

About midway through the second week I got rip roaring drunk... at home… alone… with a half gallon tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a half gallon bottle of Smirnoff.

It tasted terrible when it made an encore appearance later on.

As I lay there next to the toilet, in the fetal position, my hair wet from both sweat and vomit, I pondered my life and it's recent trials and tribulations.

The most comforting thought came to me as the room spun like a drunken tilt-a-whirl. It doesn't actually matter what happened when Ben Johnson unexpectedly jumped out of my fantacy and into my reality… I'd never see him again.

Another highly comforting thought was that my co-workers will surely have moved back to their favorite gossip topic, Shirleen Dabney's love life, and forgotten all about me fainting and then splitting the lip of my favorite celebrity by now. Surely. It's not like they're blogging about it. Shirleen's love life is way more interesting than lil ole me.

Shirleen is a tall, leggy, redhead with surgically enhanced ta tas and an ass like a fetishist porn star. She's been picked up and dropped off to work by twelve different men in the three months she's been at Bluegrass. Twelve! Different! Men! That works out to one a week. The security room is abuzz with gossip about her every second that she's not in it… and dead silent when she is.

With two more Shir-boys to gossip about, no doubt my little incedent with a t.v. star is long forgotten.

[tagsecretsanta]

From Such-a-randon-rambler

to @lightning1999​

I do not own this piece of art/fiction. @such-a-random-ramber  is the original creator and has agreed to this being posted on this blog for Secret Santa 2017. 

As usual, when they were in the midst of a situation, up against the clock, stakes high, it was John who was coordinating.

"Thunderbird One, what's your status?" He called out.

"I'm almost done John, 30 seconds maximum." Came Scott's reply, calm under pressure as always.

"Great, Thunderbird 3?" He made sure everyone could hear – it would be crucial that everyone knew what was going on, they didn't have much time.

"I'm trying John, but this is really tricky." Alan's voice was muffled, legs only visible sticking out the tight space he was trying to maneuver in.

"Keep at it Alan, we're relying on you for this – you're the only one small enough to fit." John bolstered the youngest Tracy, trying to hide his worry. If Alan couldn't manage this, if he took too long..... well it didn't bear thinking about.

"Will do." Alan had picked up on none of John's concern and remained chipper and determined, focused on his task. Alan could always be relied upon to keep at it: it seldom entered his head that they might ever be unsuccessful, now least of all.

"Thunderbird Shadow, I need an update from you."

"Starting the last sweep now." Kayo was steady and efficient, she was very seldom phased by anything.

"Brains, how are you doing?" John turned his attention to the engineer.

"My algorithm is ready to go John." Brains sounded confident, as well he should. What they needed from him was a walk in the park really, but it was vital.

"Grandma, are you ready?" Everyone had a part to play here.

"Don't worry about me, just focus on the job in front of you." Wise words indeed.

"Thunderbird Four, are..... Gordon, where are you? We need you in place!" The first cracks of panic were starting to show in John's voice when he couldn't immediately locate their aquanaut.

But there was no need to worry –  as Gordon quickly replied "Relax, John, sheesh! I'm ready, I'm here. I'm just waiting for Virgil to get on with it."

"Thunderbird Two?" The last piece in the puzzle.

"Nearly done, this is heavier than it looks." Virgils' voice was strained from effort and concentration.

"Do you need some equipment, something from the pods maybe?" John began thinking of contingency plans and alternative strategies. They didn't have time for any more delays.

"No, what I need is for you to pipe down for a minute 5. I just need to adjust my grip, and...... got it! Give me 30 seconds."

The next half minute passed in tense silence, no-one daring to speak while Virgil was doing the careful bit of maneuvering that their hope rested on.

At last Virgil was able to give the all clear: "I'm in position."

John looked around the room, making eye contact with each person there, all of them ready to play their part. "Operation lights out is go! Now Virgil's got the table out the way, Gordon, get those blankets and cushions on the floor. We want it nice and comfy. Scott, stand by with the popcorn. Kayo, when you are done clearing up the mess Scott made in the kitchen please help Grandma get settled. Alan have you got the lights plugged in yet?"

There was a rush of movement, the plan falling into place. Gordon arranged the bedding on the floor where the coffee table had been just minutes before. Now the circle of sofas formed a secure nest - this room was halfway to a tent fort at the best of times so it didn't take too long to finish the conversion. They didn't need the warmth  of the blankets  and pillows here of course, but it was part of the tradition. And it was very comfortable. The family piled in, Grandma at the centre. Scott made sure that the snacks and drinks were evenly distributed so everyone had something within reach.

"Got it!" Came Alan's triumphant cry, wiggling out from under the Christmas tree where he had been trying plug in the lights, and joined the others on the floor.

They were going to make it after all! This had been a tradition since any of the Tracy brothers could remember, started by their mom when Scott was born, and they carried it on though she was long gone. Perhaps because she was gone.

The first part was the food, everyone's favourite snacks and drinks and lots of them. It was important to have a cosy nest on the floor, and the main room on the island was perfect for this, the couches marking the boundary between them and the outside world.

It was vital, absolutely vital that this was done on Christmas eve, and had to be ready before the calendar turned to Christmas day. They had nearly missed it this year due to a rescue, but they had made it with minutes to spare. They wouldn't have made it in time if it hadn't been for EOS, as her bit usually took ages and often resulted in squabbles and cross words.

"EOS run programme lights out please." John called out when everyone in place. In years past they had to spend hours covering lights with bits of tape. They always missed some, and someone would be dispatched at the last minute to cover up the dreadful intrusion.  They would then have to spend even more hours peeling the tape off again afterwards. But now EOS had imbedded herself in their lives and systems she spun herself into every bit of technology on the island so she turned off the lights. Every status light, display, blinking LED was turned off. Anything that emitted even a glow was off - from the microwave to the launch lights. Everything still worked and EOS was monitoring – just in case – but now the room was dark.

The eight people in the room stopped their shuffling in the absolute darkness. Stillness spread from them into the room and beyond. There were now no lights on Tracy island, not in that room, not in the launch bays. There was nothing lighting paths, nothing on the docks. Due to their position in the middle of the island there was no light for hundreds of miles.

No artificial light anyway, for a wash of starlight gently illuminated the family as they sat close to one another in a way that they don't often get a chance to. The nature of their work meant there were seldom days when they were all together, but they had all gone to extraordinary efforts to have these hours together. Thanks to some improvements to Thunderbird 5 and with EOS's help even John could be there.

With the lights out it seemed that the background sounds of the island were louder: the wind susurrating through the trees, the call and chirrup of crickets. And fainter, but still there, the rustle of wave on shoreline that surrounded the island – gave them isolation and safety.

[megansescape]

Frying pans?!

This came to me after an amazing anon came and told me about a dream involving Lucifer, Castiel, Chuck and frying pans. I literally got this idea in my head straight away and had to write it. Tags are from the tag lists from SPN Fanfic pond and @mrswhozeewhatsis. 

Summary: Lucifer is annoying you and demands a duel from Cas for your honor.

Warnings: Fluff.

Pairing: Reader x Lucifer? Reader X Castiel? Reader X Chuck? Gotta read to find out :D

Word count: 793.

“Get away from me you weirdo.” You shouted at Lucifer. He had been following you around the Bunker for days. Just yesterday, he popped into your room as you were in the middle of a Disney marathon and he hadn’t stopped going on about it since.

“Really Y/N? I’m the weirdo.” Lucifer scoffed. “You’re a grown woman who watched Disney crap.”

You spun on your heel, jabbing your finger into his face. “Listen here you hell spawn. I enjoy the films. Lots of people watch them at all ages. Besides do you really have a leg to stand on? You go strop into your room like a teenager whenever you throw a tantrum and you are one of the oldest beings in creation.” You were panting by the end of your rant but you were furious with him. The sooner your brothers came back the better.

“Hm, Y/N if you have a crush on me, you just have to say.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

“Urgh AS IF!” You pulled away from him, laughter escaping him as you quickly entered the kitchen.

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” Cas had popped into the kitchen in front of you, making you scream in fright. “I’m sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No. Everything's not okay.” Cas looked at you with concern on his face. “Your stupid archangel brother won’t leave me alone.”

“You can’t deny the attraction between us.” Lucifer walked up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Why won’t you get the hint?” You walked over to the microwave.

“Leave her alone Lucifer.” Cas threatened Lucifer.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Lucifer chuckled. “You can’t hurt me. I can hurt you.”

You fixed an evil glare on Lucifer. “You won’t harm him Lucifer or I swear to Chuck…”

Lucifer was staring at something on the counter. “Alright.” He left his hand and clicked his fingers. The three of you were suddenly transported into a different kitchen.

“Where the hell are we, Lucifer?” You demanded, the kitchen looked empty but someone could come in at any moment.

“Well I couldn’t fight him in a bunker kitchen. I’m Lucifer, i have more class than that. This is a five star kitchen.” He shrugged.

“Why do you need to be in a kitchen anyways?”

“For this reason.” Lucifer picked up a nearby frying pan and threw it to Castiel, before grabbing another and pointing it to him. “En garde.”

“What are supposed to do with these?” Cas looked at the frying pan in his hand. “I am afraid I am not a very proficient cook.”

Lucifer sighed. “No, you idiot. We are going to fight with them for Y/N’s honour.”

“Excuse me! I can fight for myself thank you.”

“Quiet, Wench!” Lucifer called out, still staring at Cas.

“She is no wench.” Cas growled out.

“Well come on then. Teach me a lesson.” Lucifer smirked. Cas roared and the two began to sword fight with the pans.

All you could see was the two angels fighting, going back and forth as the pans clashed together again and again. You were in shock, you were actually watching angels fight with frying pans, what the hell?

At this point you were just sending out an open pray for it all to be over. Suddenly Lucifer grabbed a spatula and threw it at Cas. “Hey!”

He kept grabbing utensils, throwing them as he continued to fight with Cas. Just as he grabbed an extra pan to throw, Cas ducked and the pan went flying. The door opened and the pan collided with someone’s head. “Dammit! What was that for?”

“Chuck? Thank goodness you're here. Will you please stop these two?” You begged him as you ran over to him.

“Why are you two fighting?” Chuck stared at his two sons, disapproval clear on his face.

“I was defending her honour. Lucifer believes she has a crush on him.” Cas explained.

“So you decided to fight with pans?” Chuck shook his head. He looked down at you as you rested against his side. “Sorry Lucifer but she’s taken.” He leant down and kissed you. You kissed him back happily, reaching a hand up to tangle in his hair. “Let’s get outta here.” He winked at you, after pulling away. You giggled and nodded, wrapping your arms around you as he clicked the two of you away.

Lucifer and Castiel stood side by side, staring at the empty spot where the two of you had stood, their mouths hanging open. Lucifer struck out once more with the frying pan, hitting Cas in  the face, sending him flying onto his back.

“Frying pans...who knew?”

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