#commercial kitchen accidents

[townpostin]

Gas Leak Sparks Fire at Jamshedpur Hotel, Swift Action Prevents Major Disaster

Loose cylinder pipe causes blaze at Jai Maa Kali Hotel in Mango, damages estimated at ₹1 lakh Local residents and BJP leader Vikas Singh assist in controlling fire before fire brigade arrives. JAMSHEDPUR – A fire broke out at Jai Maa Kali Hotel near Dimna Chowk in Mango area on Tuesday evening due to a gas leak from a loose cylinder pipe. The incident occurred while a cook was preparing rotis in…

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 8

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 8/? 5.5k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Eddie goes to a Halloween party on business while you have a different sort of celebration. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: heavy grief, heavy angst, depictions of depression, sibling death mention, drunk driving accident mention, drugs, alcohol, bullying

Saturday, October 26th 1985

There was a shadow on your heart.

It was there from the moment you woke up. A fog that made you not want to leave your bed. Not want to do anything at all. 

You didn’t, not for a long while until your bladder forced you to. And when you did, you would move from room to room in a daze. Eyes unfocused, hair and teeth unbrushed. You would search for your motivation all day, what there was left of the day anyway.

You hoped that you would find it. Somewhere in the pile of dirty dishes or in the half eaten microwaved breakfast burrito that you could barely stomach, still sitting on your table getting stale and dry — waiting for you to come back. The quiet, hopeful part of you thought that maybe you would.

Maybe it was somewhere in the pile of papers you still had yet to grade, or in the laundry you still had yet to fold. Maybe if you sat in front of the TV long enough the right song would find you on MTV and you would feel something else besides numbness and self-loathing.

David Bowie couldn’t do it. Neither could Whitney Houston. Michael Jackson tried too, over and over. You were tempted to reach for the remote if you heard “Thriller” one more time.

You wanted to murder the sky. Grey and indifferent, the pale, cold light only amplifying the heaviness inside you. Was it mocking you? Casting down drizzle, unable to expend enough for rain?  

You knew what day it was. You figured after 17 years it would be just another one, but feared for the same all at once. 

Numb as you felt, your head was anything but empty. There was all sorts of noise in there. It was loudest when the commercials came on. There was one in particular — an ad for Pumpkintown, a local attraction at one of the many farms that surrounded Hawkins. Every half hour you would hear little voices sing the familiar jingle, see their bright puffy coats as they ran through corn mazes, see their little, uncoordinated hands painting pumpkins and eating kettle corn.

Grief, as you would come to know it, was loudest in the great what if. In the wondering what might have been if things had turned out differently. Would you have nieces or nephews? Would you be on your way to Pumpkintown with them instead of sitting alone on your couch wanting to cry? You would never know.

The phone rang. It cut through the air, shrill and intrusive. You sat there for a few rings, contemplating letting it go but you were afraid the noise would just return moments later. That it wouldn’t leave you alone. 

You peeled yourself off of the couch and slugged into the kitchen. The breath you took before picking the phone up off the receiver was ragged. 

“Hello?” you answered, your first word all day.

“Hi dear, it’s mom.”

“Hey mom.” You wondered if she could hear the difference between a feigned smile and a real one. 

She wasn’t really listening though. Not that there was much to listen to in the weak “Oh yeah?”s  and the handful of “That’s nice”s you had to offer. She would talk about her book club and the drama she overheard from a friend of hers. She would talk about canning vegetables and the pumpkin pie she made the other day, how you really ought to come over and have some before it’s all gone.

“Anyway, thought I would just catch up with you,” she said finally. “How are you?”

The question surprised you. You wondered for a moment if you should answer honestly. 

“Oh, you know,” you said with a sigh, twisting the cord around your finger. “Just thinking about Mickey.” 

It was a name that was rarely said anymore. It was met with silence, rare for her. 

“Yes, it is that day,” she said finally. 

You knew she couldn’t have forgotten. You wondered about the noise in her head too, if gossiping and canning vegetables helped quiet the great what if. She hardly ever spoke about it since it happened. That always bothered you.

“I miss him,” you said weakly.

Her sigh filled another pause. “I do too.”

______

Eddie flicked his lighter and ignited the end of his cigarette. He leaned up against his van in Gareth’s driveway and took a long drag, looking around the neighborhood at the carefully groomed lawns. The wet, fallen leaves brought down by the wind the only thing that littered the pristine sidewalk. 

He exhaled the smoke into the damp night air, watching as it wafted across the driveway, up toward the glowing street lamps. 

The garage door startled him when it opened. 

Gareth hobbled out, lugging an amp. “Hey man, sorry it took me so long. Jeff left this here for you, he got his fixed so he doesn’t need it anymore.”

Eddie tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette and slid open the side door of the van. “Thanks, uh, you can just slide it in behind the back seat.” 

Gareth waddled over and set the amp down with a heavy thud as Eddie opened the driver’s side door and crawled in. He took another drag of his cigarette as Gareth fussed with the amp, sliding it back in the cabin behind the long bench.

The movement paused for a moment. “Dude what’s up with all the napkins back here?”

Eddie whipped his head around. “Don’t touch those.”

Gareth looked at him — wary and wide-eyed as he slowly exited the side of the van, coming around to take the passenger’s seat like he was afraid to even ask.

Eddie held the cigarette between his lips as he dug through the pile of tapes in the center console. “Bingo,” he said, popping Motörhead’s Overkill into the tape player and slamming it shut. He flicked his wrist and the Chevy Nomad roared to life.

Eddie banged his head as Gareth air drummed the solo to the opening track. He cranked the shift stick and hit the gas to back out. They took off, cruising down the dark suburban street with a roar and a rumble. 

“I just stopped at Rick’s right before you so we’re gonna have to roll as we go,” Eddie shouted over the music, tapping his hands against the steering wheel to the beat.

“Sounds good man,” Gareth shouted back, hammering at the dashboard with his hands.

By the time they arrived, the party was already raging. People still arriving in droves, parked cars piling up in the woods and down the long street outside of Tina’s house. Typically Eddie liked to arrive fashionably late, but after he and Gareth had to wade through a sea of bodies just to find Tina, he was having regrets about that. The thing was, Eddie needed a place to be for his operation. A table and a place to sit and roll was not only preferable, but rather necessary considering the party size.

Thankfully she wasn’t wearing a wig or a mask or they might have never found her on the back porch. Instead her mousey brown hair was styled in a 60s bob and tied back in a headband, completing her go-go girl look.

She led them into the packed living room.

“Move, dealer needs the table,” she shouted over the music, nudging the guy in the toga parked on the loveseat with her white go-go boot.

Her demand was met with looks of annoyance, but Tina just stood there with her arms crossed until they resigned, leaving only wet rings behind on the glass coffee table.

“All yours, boys.”

Would people know where to find him? Should he put up a sign? He supposed the best he could do was Tina’s word of mouth and their ongoing operation for everyone to see in the middle of the living room.

It turns out that was all he needed. They would sell for $5 a pop. And probably quicker if Gareth wasn’t so shitty at rolling.

“Woah, woah, man that’s like way too much. Here—” He took the overflowing paper out of Gareth’s hands and demonstrated. “You gotta use the filter as a guide, and start with like half as much dude.” Eddie rolled it in his fingers until it evened out, then he tucked the paper behind the filter licked along the edge to seal it, twisting the end in a final flourish. “See? Like that.” 

 Gareth snorted and took a swig of beer. “Ok Edward, master of the roll.” 

Eddie gave him a look, doing a piss poor job at hiding his smirk. “I mean the point is to make money, man. If you roll them too fat it not only looks terrible but we’re just giving away weed.”

Gareth sighed and looked at him over the can at his lips. “Got it, sensei.”

“Good ‘cause we’re selling fast.” Eddie loaded up the grinder, feeling the grit of the resin as he twisted it in his hands. 

His mind wandered, as it always did, to you. He thought about you at a Halloween party. Wondered what sort of costume you would have. Probably something smart like Nancy Drew, or geekishly obscure like Jane Eyre, or maybe you would go the fantasy route and be Arwen, elf ears and all.

He wondered how you would be at a party. Pensively sipping your drink, making keen observations about the partygoers. Maybe you’d have fun too, after a few more. After a song you liked came on and he dragged you out of the corner to dance like fools. 

He wished that you could be here. Well, maybe not here watching him sell weed but maybe in another timeline. In the absence of the wall that was built between you long before either of you had any say in it. 

Eddie tapped the contents of the grinder out onto his rolling tray and got to work.

There were so many people that had come by his table that they were all starting to blend together. How many devils, ghosts, and cowboys would he see before the night was over? It was yet to be determined and the night was very young.

What was hard to miss was the gang of jocks in leather jackets and white t-shirts, hair slicked back like greasers. There were at least five of them, and they all came in at once together like some wannabe boy band, lead by none other than Jason Carver.

It was also hard to miss the angel standing next to him. Literally. Chrissy Cunningham in huge feather wings, a tight white dress, and a sparkling gold halo.

He was certain that his gaze would be lost in the sea of people. He hoped that it would be. Hoped that they would walk right past and never even see him. 

But Chrissy did. By some split second miracle, some sixth sense.

Her eyes found his from across the room. She smiled at him, bright and blinding.

______

The darkness in the room alarmed you when you opened your eyes, struggled to rather. Bleary and squinting against the white light from the television, you rubbed the sleep from them. 

You sat up on the couch and wiped the drool off your face, wondering what time it was. The clock on your wall said something like 8:30, but it was hard to tell and your eyes were still adjusting.

Your stomach growled and you thought about the breakfast burrito still sitting on your kitchen table. It was still the last thing you had eaten. You ran your tongue across your teeth, scummy and in need of brushing. The pile of laundry was still there too, sitting crumpled in a basket next to you. The papers still sitting in a pile on your coffee table, untouched.

“Thriller” was playing. Again. Your hand itched for the remote but it was buried somewhere in the couch so instead you just sat there. You sat there and watched like you had done half a dozen times already today. You watched as Michael Jackson danced around like a werewolf in his red suit, unable to peel your eyes from the screen.

You watched him and thought about Eddie Munson at a party. 

Thought about him in a darkened basement, the air thick with smoke and sound. Crowded with people like him who wanted to get away, muffled music coming through ceiling from upstairs. He would be there, strewn across a couch or leaning against a wall. Cigarette in one hand, beer in another. He would bring the bottle to his lips and look at you with those dark eyes. Lids heavy as the buzz washed over him, relaxing deeper into the space he occupied. He would drape his arm across the back of the couch, beckoning you to sit closer.

It was easy to imagine. How easy it would be to slide up next to him. To lean in a little too close. To feel the heat from his body as he talked about music, his bright voice filling the space between you, what little there was. To catch the scent of his clothing, of his skin as he leaned closer to talk over the noise, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. 

How easy it would be to turn your head and catch those lips in yours. Soft, plush, and needy. You imagined how his tongue would feel as it coaxed against yours. Smoke acrid, the taste of beer still lingering on it. 

It was easy to imagine those strong hands of his, how they would feel gripping your thigh or your hip as he pulled you closer. Those tendons and bones you recalled so vividly when he’d graced you with the chance to touch him. You could imagine how they would feel other places.

It was easy to imagine that just about any girl would see him and want the same thing.

And who would he be to say no? To some girl dressed as a cat or a rabbit barely wearing any clothes, looking at him like she wanted to take a bite. 

Your stomach lurched.

It would be easy. Easy for them to find a quiet place to take things further.

You imagined, for a moment, what it would be like to be her. To be in that darkened basement, amidst the laughing and shouting and chaos of others around you too wrapped up in their own world to notice how his hands are wandering. How his lips are wandering too. Dizzying as they track across your jaw, down your neck. How his tongue lathes at the skin there, the buzz from the drink in his other hand only amplifying the need you can feel in his teeth. 

He would look at you with those dark, lust-blown eyes and you would know exactly what he wants. He would mutter in your ear and let his palm slip from around your waist only to take your hand. To lead you out of the darkened basement to a bedroom, or out to his van. 

You imagined those strong shoulders of his. How they felt under his t-shirt and how they would feel without it. If he would even bother to remove it or if his need would render that too inconvenient.

It wouldn’t be that hard — to find a spot to sit in the back of his van. Dark and quiet save for the deep bass and muffled voices from the party raging on in the distance. To lose what little clothing you had on and crawl atop his lap. To wrap your arms around those solid shoulders as his curious fingers explored you below. 

How could he help himself? When you’re right there, wanting him so evidently. When it’s something he can feel with his fingers and taste on his tongue when those fingers leave your heat. Who would he be to stop himself from giving you what you want? 

And his voice. Would his voice still be as bright as he sunk himself into you or would it be colored differently — shaded with hoarseness as his heavy sighs filled the space between you? How would it color the thick night air as the pressure mounted inside of him? Would he use his words? Would he be able to when the pressure was too much? What new colors would there be then? 

It was easy to imagine. 

So easy that it made you sick. 

It sat in the pit of your stomach and gnawed at any fleeting hunger you might have had when you woke up. Like a tapeworm.

It whispered things to you. That he would be better off with a girl his own age anyway. That you were a short-lived fascination in his fast life. That he would grow tired of you too. Things that sounded truer the longer you sat with them in the darkness of your living room.

There was shame too. Shame for even letting yourself get to this point. For feeling this way about your student of all people. For having hope to begin with. After all, he had done so many things to give it to you.

You thought about all the parties you never went to. All the darkened basements you were never led away from. All the colors that you never got to hear, and taste, and touch in sacrifice for good behavior. 

It was an experience that you would give anything to have. 

You thought about Eddie Munson and his boyish smile. The way his hand felt when it took yours. The kindness in his eyes. The shame you saw in them too.

You thought about him coming home from the party. Cruising down a dark, winding road in his van, taking the curves and bends with a reckless abandon, fueled by the music pounding in his speakers and the vices in his veins. You thought about his wild hair catching the wind from the window he lowered to taste the rush of being alive.  

You thought about him taking one of those bends too tightly. How top-heavy vans could be. How slick the roads were. How easy it would be not to notice someone else coming around the corner.

And just like that you were in your pyjamas again, barefoot on the carpet of your childhood living room. Your heart pounding into your throat as you watched your parents from behind at the front door. The flashing of red, white, and blue from outside the big front window the only light in the darkness. It streaked across your family photos and painted the paneled walls. 

You wondered what they would say about him. What all the other teachers would say when he didn’t show up to school on Monday. What the whole town would say when their papers and televisions told them he would never show up to school again.

Would they change their tune or would it only make them sing it louder? That he was always trouble. That it was his own fault. That it was only a matter of time. That he had no future anyway. You could almost hear Ms. O’Donnell. Almost hear the half-hearted comments from the others about what a shame it was, the truth of their feelings masked with a weak display of sympathy for a day or two.

Would he amount to nothing more than a warning? A cautionary tale at school assemblies? An example of how not to be?  

Your hands gripped the couch, stomach churning. 

It was easy to imagine. As easy as it was to remember.

______

Eddie had never been to a house party that wasn’t obnoxious. Obnoxious was kind of the point.

He wasn’t sure if it was the shitty music, or the fact that people kept kicking the back of the loveseat he was stationed at, or the drunken caterwauling from the sexy inmate in the corner as she sloshed her drink all over the carpet. Maybe it was the kick drum that pounded in his chest and forced him to smell the beer on the breath of his buyers as they slurred their orders.

He brought his own can to his lips and took the last swig of the warm beer that remained in the bottom of it. His arms felt like jello. Even still, he wished that he was more numb than he was. His mouth was cotton dry and Gareth still had not returned with the drinks that he said he was going to get half an hour ago. He was well past the point of agitated. 

The whole room was packed shoulder to shoulder and smelled like cigarettes, beer, and sweat. He was cornered in it, but he couldn’t leave his goods sitting out without someone to watch them and he couldn’t leave either or he would forfeit his spot. Where was Gareth? He was going to strangle him. 

Eddie glanced around the packed room, his heart kicking up in a panic. Hindsight pierced his haze. He should have brought Jeff too, but he hated these kinds of house parties. Now that he was alone with a table full of drugs and a lunchbox full of money, he was starting to realize how dangerous that was.

That’s when he felt a dip in the seat next to him.

Chrissy Cunningham leaned back into the couch with a heavy sigh, crushing her feather wings behind her. Her gold garland halo sat crooked atop her head.

Eddie’s stomach dropped.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly, “Mind if I sit here? My feet are killing me.” She stretched her legs out, smooth and polished. The rhinestones on her stilettos caught the light as she kicked them off.

“Sure,” he said hesitantly, glancing around again. “You don’t think your boyfriend would mind?” He couldn’t hide the suspicion in his voice. 

Chrissy rolled her eyes and propped her plush cheek against her hand, her elbow resting on the back of the white leather couch. “He’s outside doing keg stands, I don’t think he even noticed I left.”

Eddie sat back a little in his seat, unconvinced. “I uh, brought a friend too but it seems like he ditched me.”

“Oh no,” she mumbled, scooting closer. “I can keep you company.”

He froze, noticing how dangerously close her red drink was to her white dress. The way her hand jerked as she struggled to keep it balanced. “You uh…you ok?”

“Yeah ‘m good, ‘m good,” she muttered, “Thanks for asking.”

Drunken hollering filled the silence between them as Eddie racked his brain over what to say next. The packed bodies in the dim living room swayed to Rockwell’s one hit wonder.

I always feel like

Somebody’s watching me

“Nice costume.” It was the best he could do.

“What are you dressed as?” she teased, playing with one of the pins on his vest. 

Eddie swallowed, glancing down at the pearl white nail polish on her delicate fingers as she twisted the pin. “Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer.” 

Chrissy batted her eyes at him. “Mm yeah, you are friendly,” she breathed, scooting even closer. She tucked her legs underneath her and rested her head against her arm on the back of the couch. 

He could feel the heat from her body. Smell the sugary drink on her breath as it ghosted over his face. He was close enough to notice the patches on her lips where the red had rubbed off onto the cup. Close enough to see how the redness in her eyes intensified the green irises under her hooded lids.

She was sitting so close that he failed to notice how many greasers were crowding around the table. In fact he didn’t until one of them said something.

“Hey,” Jason barked. He reached over the table to snatch one of the joints, his smile dripping with acid as he waved it in front of Eddie’s face. “How much to leave my fucking girlfriend alone?” 

Eddie felt his ghost leave his body.

“Jason—“ Chrissy balked.

“Get up.”

“I was just looking for a place to sit, these heels are—“

“I said get up,” Jason spat. 

Chrissy stumbled off the couch, pulling down the white, skin tight dress that had ridden up her thighs. She almost tripped over her shoes.

“Why do I keep catching you and my girlfriend together? Hm?” Jason rolled the joint around in his fingers. A few gelled strands of his slicked back hair had come as unhinged as he was.

Eddie rolled his eyes to mask his panic. “Calm down. She’s been sitting here for like two minutes. Jesus.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know,” he said, looking around, “There just aren’t any other seats in this whole goddamn house are there?” He laughed dryly. “Not a single one!”

Eddie’s eyes flashed to Chrissy. Would she say something? Did Jason know she invited him? Was it a secret?  

It was the panic in her eyes that told him. “Apparently not,” he said curtly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” He gestured to the joint in Jason’s hands. “That’ll be five dollars.”

“Oh I’m not finished with you, freak.”

“Jason—“

“Why don’t you go find a seat somewhere else, babe.” His words were a gentle venom.

“I’m fine,” Chrissy choked out.

“You know I’d really hate for those pretty feet of yours to get a blister,” he threatened. “Why don’t you go find Tina and have her get a chair for you, hm?”

Chrissy looked hesitant, eyes meeting Eddies for a split second before darting back over to Jason. Met with only daggers, she picked her heels up off the carpet and stormed off.

“Now then,” Jason said as he took her seat on the couch. The jocks in jackets crowded closer, closing off the table from the rest of the pulsing room. “Why don’t you tell me,” he started, grabbing Eddie’s lighter off the table to ignite the the joint in his fingers. “What makes you think you can talk to my girlfriend?”

Eddie seethed, his chest pounding, and not from the kick drum anymore. Where is the fuck is Gareth? 

“What makes you think you’re above paying for shit like everyone else?” He snapped back. “Your daddy teach you that?”

An audible ripple of shock emanated from the jocks in jackets.

“Wow look at that boys, he’s as funny as he is brilliant,” Jason retorted. “Let me ask you something else, freak.” He leaned in close enough for Eddie to smell the beer on his breath. “What the hell were you doing with our English teacher after school the other day?”

Eddie’s stomach dropped. “I—“ he steeled his face for the lie, “Jesus I just saw her in the hallway, man. We were both leaving, why the fuck does it matter?”

“See my buddy Donnie over here has a few questions for you too.” 

Eddie looked up. That’s when he recognized him. The athlete. The cigarette. 

“You a little hall monitor now, Munson? Huh?” Donnie uttered, earning jeers from the others.

“See I have a theory” Jason leaned even closer, blowing smoke in Eddie’s face. “That you’re turning into a teacher’s pet.” 

“Get the fuck out of my face,” Eddie spat. “You can keep the joint.”

“Ooh see that boys?” Jason laughed. “So defensive. You know what I think? I think the freak has a big fat crush.”

The crowd erupted, practically tripping over themselves now.

All Eddie could offer was dry laugh, shaking his head. His voice caught in his throat, face hot. Gripping the seat of the couch was all he could do to stop his hands from shaking. Where the fuck is Gareth?

“See look, he’s not denying it!” Jason announced to his cronies. The response was uproarious laughter. “You’re a real fuckin’ perv aren’t you?”

Eddie seethed. “You’re an entitled cocksucker in the way of my customers.” 

Then there was the commentary from the peanut gallery. Even over the music he could hear it.

“He can’t even get girls his own age,” Patrick muttered.

“Yeah he’s so old he’s going after the teachers now,” wheezed Donnie.  

Eddie felt the blood drain from his face. Felt a deep shame bubble up from the pit of his stomach. 

“You know what, I’m out. You can tell Tina who’s fault it was.” Eddie flipped open his black metal lunchbox with one hand and grabbed a handful of joints with the other, tossing them in unceremoniously.

“Woah woah who said we were finished?” Jason said through a crazed laugh. “You’re here to make deals right? Well I came here to make a deal too.”

Eddie offered him nothing more than a glance, packing away his grinder, his papers, his filters.

“Here’s the deal,” he said leaning in closer. “You stay the fuck away from my girlfriend, and I won’t make your life even more of a pathetic nightmare.” 

Eddie bit his lip. Better get her a collar then so she knows who she belongs to. 

It killed him not to say it. Physically hurt him not to. He wanted to spit it in his face but the lunchbox in front of him full of drugs and money kept his mouth buttoned. They could steal it all if they wanted. They could steal it all right now and get away with it too.

Jason grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, forcing Eddie to face him. “Do we have a deal, freak? I know you’re good at deals.”

“Deal,” Eddie spat,“Now get your fucking hands off me,” he said with a shove.

Jason sat back in his seat, smoothing his hand through his hair. “See? That wasn’t so hard was it?” 

______

Eddie stormed through the house. He surged through the kitchen, the dining room, the basement. He pushed through the sweaty bodies packing the stairwell and banged on all the bedroom doors, only to open them to half naked couples yelling at him from the darkness. He had been at this for twenty minutes now and still no sign of Gareth.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to just leave him. He was about to.

But then he thought about you. He thought about your brother. About how wasted everyone at this party was and how Gareth would find his way home. Eddie had sobered up plenty.

He thought about the looks on all their faces when they mentioned you. A familiar shame twisted in his gut. He knew the serpent well. Felt its sting since he could remember. The sting that came from bringing an ugly self-made peanut butter sandwich to middle school and unwrapping it in front of kids who’s moms packed notes.

Today the sting came from clean cut jocks at a normal party dressed in normal costumes looking down at him and his table full of drugs and saying that his heart was ugly too. That the flutters it felt when the kindness in your eyes soothed him like a balm were monstrous and disgusting. 

When he finally saw the glow of Gareth’s face by the fire pit he couldn’t tell if he was more relieved or enraged by the sight of him. Beer in hand, yucking it up with some chick dressed as Velma from Scooby Doo.

Eddie marched over to them, fuming. “We’re leaving. Now,” he barked.

“Dude what the fuck?”

“Thanks for leaving me back there for the past hour.” 

“Well I wasn’t gonna sit there all night, that was kind of the deal.”

“Oh yeah? Well you could have at least told me. At least come back and let me take a piss for fuck’s sake. You know I can’t exactly leave drugs and money unattended.”

Gareth sighed, glancing over at Velma with a wince. “Sorry man, I kind of got sidetracked. Cindy this is,” he gestured in annoyance, “Eddie by the way.”

Eddie, tight lipped, waved his hand unceremoniously.

“Come on, just sit and hang out with us.”

“I don’t wanna hang out, I just wanna go,” Eddie said, looking around anxiously.

Gareth looked him over, eyebrows knitting. “Did something… happen, man?”

Eddie glanced at Cindy, at the wary concern painting her face. He shifted his eyes toward the other people packed around the fire, laughing and drinking. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

Gareth met him with a wide-eyed mixture of disappointment and worry. “Come on, man. Give me like half an hour?”

In the waning of his rage, Eddie could feel the exhaustion setting in. Feel how thirsty he still was, how his ears were ringing from the noise, how his chest still rattled from the fear. His eyes turned to pleading. “Please.”

Gareth sighed, defeated. “Fine.”

______

A/N: Fun fact, I use a real calendar from 1985/86 to outline the story and I checked out of curiosity what day the Halloween party her brother attended would have been and it actually was Saturday, Oct 26th 1968. 1985 and 1968 use the exact same calendar. I wasn’t even planning on making it the exact anniversary but it just worked out that way. 

Another fun fact, Eddie dealing at Tina’s Halloween party as a plot point and the fact that Jason and the boys were dressed like greasers was inspired by one of my absolute favorite fics Oh, Baby by @inknopewetrust. Seriously, go read it. One of the best.

Thank you so much everyone, you know what to do — If you loved it, share it and let me know!

I really do try my best to respond to all your comments. 💋

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[unlikelyjapan]

s2e6 rewatch notes - part 1

I'm breaking this up over two days (for length, clarity, and my own mental health) - I pause and scribble my way through scenes as I go, so there may be a few repeats here and there.

Natalie's bereft face in the opening, attempting to disassociate but failing miserably because that's not her coping style. She obviously doesn't even smoke by the way she's holding the cigarette, she just does it because - much like working inside a commercial kitchen - it's the only legitimate excuse for a break from the chaos. Both she and Mikey act like they've just exited the fog of war (because they have) and - unlike Carmy - they've never had the emotional or material means to escape it.

Sugar's "No one can make anyone else act a certain way" comment to Mikey - it's very clear that they perceive mental illness from very different angles. Mikey admonishes Natalie for her check-ins as an attempt to blunt/control Donna's outbursts, and Sugar's skepticism of Mikey's strategy of just riding the lightning/ignoring the outburst (while acknowledging that he and Carmy have more success, but she attributes most of that to being the female middle child of a grievously ill female narcissist).

Carmy coming out = a hot mess of family dynamics. He asks Mikey (innocently enough) to come in and handle the crowd by being "fun cool guy" and Mikey assures him that he will, but with a vacant look in his eye (no wonder this man was on drugs, what other choices was he afforded?). Fak is literally yelling indistinctly inside, upping the chaos, as Richie bursts outdoors amidst the three siblings to ask if "there's any family shit going on that he should know about".

Along with just trying to be ok themselves, these three adult Berzattos are a magnet for every other wayward adult-child who needs a home to reckon with their own trauma, and their inclusion becomes their problem as well and only ups the frequency of the despair. Mikey literally makes space for the three of them by dismissing Richie "for a minute", and you can tell that's not normal protocol.

"Would it kill you to pick up the phone?" - Carmy is already wounded by Mikey more than 4 years before his death. You can immediately tell by Mikey's earnest response (along with his previous discussion with Sugar) that he was just keeping Carmy at arms length to ensure he never returned, to spare just one of them from a life of hardship. In spite of everything else we see about Mikey and how poorly he manages his trauma in this episode, he is an inherently good brother who started early in inciting loathing in the person he loves above all others just to save him.

I wanted to peek behind the "Our Mother of Victory, Pray for Us" bit, as you know damn well it wasn't selected by Storer by accident. The whole idea is that Mary, the Mother of Victory "pleads our cause with a mother’s heart and concern with whatever we bring her. Confident that Our Lady’s prayers are always heard we pray"

I may be reading too much into this, but that's a whole fuckton of power projected onto Donna. Even though it's said in jest, its maternal compassion and mercy that was never extended to the Berzatto kids. It could also be seen as "only Donna's prayers are heard and answered" (through the placating and emotional gymnastics performed by her children) so they utter this little prayer to her as much as they do to God - for control, for relative calm, for the day to simply be ok. They know better than to expect much more than that.

What is the actual point of Fak and Ted? I mean this narratively. I know that the Ricky actor who plays Ted originally worked on the set of The Bear in S1. Did the producers think they had an awesome "boys club" vibe and just plop them in as chauvinistic comic relief? Or is this part of a long-con? Do Fak and Teddy embezzle all of The Bear's money and retreat to Hawaii or something? Right now it's giving "Matty Matheson needs to sell more cookware" and I need a reason for this set-up, as the rest of the players offer more than enough relevant chaos to the episode.

Also, when they ask "Mrs. B, are our skateboards in here? Can we sleep over?" as Donna is cycling in the kitchen - Matty Matheson is in his 40's, so he time-traveled back to a rough-looking 35 to freeload off of his fake-besties Mom and aid in her spiral? I don't get the age timelines/ideas on what arrested development in this show are anymore....

"Say the fucking words" - ooof. I feel like a lot of ink has already been spilled on what the word "love" means in the Berzatto realm, but no wonder Carmy can't comprehend it even when it's right in front of him. Love to him is sacrifice and struggle, panic attacks, pacifying meltdowns, idealization and inevitable betrayal (hello other shoe!), and just saying the word because it diffuses an argument - not unlike rubbing one's chest.

So....what's the likelihood that the abusive chef at EMP is just a projection of Donna living rent-free in Carmy's head at this point? The way she lobs the ball at Carmy with all of the elements that need to be swapped when the timer goes off, the practical matters of running a high-pressure kitchen trailed with jests and insults and total emasculation. Yeah...I think it's pretty high up there.

The second Richie and Carmy trade off the homemade Sprite (before Carmy can grab the prosciutto and mortadella that his mom asked for 2 seconds ago) is just enough silence for Donna to feel abandoned and start unravelling again/start screaming about moving the pot. I can't quite place my finger on the weird amalgam of mental illnesses they gave this woman (hit me up, psych majors) but if its not over-scripted/acted, its a lot.....

Richie and Mikeys "Just take a break from being a mopey little fuck" - phew, these dudes really think that a high-school chick will be Carmy's salvation.

"I don't have a love of my life?" Carmy doesn't even flinch or show recognition of who they're talking about at first, and then it dawns on him that they've probably embarrassed him and he wants to crawl in a hole and die (which is the most honest feeling expressed this episode to date).

And wow. Donna intercepts the whole thing by throwing a spoon at Stevie and screaming "Richard, bring her the fucking pop!" - a.k.a the title of the previous episode with the house party. Those words ended the gang's harassment re: Claire, but then future Carmy willingly waded right back into the abyss of thoughtless conversations, bullying, projections, others' expectations, and the terrible Christmas.

Ok, that's it for now - I'll be back on my bullshit tomorrow.

[geralts-yenn]

Believe in me

Modern Vampire AU Melot (Tristan&Isolde) x OFC Aurora (third-person pov)

summary: Aurora desperately needs a job and her friend suggests something she wouldn't have thought of: working as a blood donor in the nightclub of the vampire king. Meeting the vampire Melot on the same day helped Aurora to make up her decision.

But things are getting complicated soon. Melot and Aurora have to deal with hateful humans, power-hungry vampires and even gods.

series warnings: 18+ Adult content! parental violence and abuse, blood and other vampire stuff, violence, sex in all kinds of forms. Probably need to add more as the series continues

chapter warnings: parental violence and abuse

word count: 1,8k

A/N: The first series I am starting on tumblr and to say that I am nervous would be an understatement. I am terrified. This is all very new to me, so please be gentle. Although every kind of interaction is highly appreciated as always. I'm taking nice words, gifs, keyboard smashes or supportive advice. Just reblog and add your thoughts to it to make me happy, please!

Part 1

Series Masterlist

Carefully, Aurora tiptoed down the stairs. She knew her father was already drunk and if he heard her, a new fight was inevitable. But she wasn’t careful enough, she didn’t even manage to get into the living room before she heard him yelling:

“Aurora, get your ass into the kitchen and make me dinner!” Aurora silently cursed and turned to the kitchen.

“Hey Dad! I was on my way to the library. I need to catch up on my classes. Would you mind some microwaved leftovers?” She didn’t dare to look at him so she just stared at her feet. 

“Yes, I do mind!” he shouted at her. “You know exactly that your mum isn’t here anymore to take care of me. And you know it’s your fault. She was driving your stupid ass to your soccer training. And yet, you stand here in front of me and your mum is gone. Two years! It’s been two years without her. And you still act like it isn’t all your fault, ungrateful bitch! You should have died, not her!”

So, it’s one of the days when he didn’t even try to hold back the hate. Aurora tried to blink the tears away that started gathering in the corner of her eyes. Without saying a word, she started to prepare a meal for her father. If she chopped some onions, maybe she could blame her tears on that.  

Her father watched her silently, but his eyes still gave away the pure hate that he felt for his daughter. He was never a loving dad like the ones Aurora knew from TV shows or commercials. He was always cold towards her, ignoring her as much as possible. Even when her mum was still alive. Back then, he didn’t make a difference in the way he treated Aurora and her sister Tara. 

But after the car accident that killed her mum and miraculously left Aurora without even a scratch, he changed. He was still ignoring Tara. But he transformed all his frustration and despair into hate and disdain towards his youngest daughter. 

After Aurora had finally finished cooking, she served a portion to her dad. He took one bite, grimaced and smashed the whole plate against the wall. "How are you not even able to be useful for something that simple as making me dinner? This tastes like shit!" he hollered. He shot up, knocking over his chair, and thrust towards Aurora. 

She took a sharp breath and held up her arms, trying to protect her face. Her dad quickly changed directions and his fists slammed hard into her rib cage. Aurora cried in pain and fled through the kitchen door. At least he was slow when he was drunk enough to beat her. 

Biting her lips to drown the pain in her chest, she grabbed her backpack, keys and shoes and ran out of the front door. She didn’t stop until she was a few blocks away. She needed to get as much distance as possible from her father. When she finally decided that she was at a safe distance, Aurora sat down on the sidewalk and brushed some gravel from her bare feet before she slipped into her sneakers. 

Sitting down was not a good idea. As she tried to get up again, the pain in her chest got so bad, Aurora couldn’t fight back new tears. So she decided to just stay there, sitting in the dirt. She didn’t have anywhere to go anyway. Slowly, she tried to calm herself, taking deep breaths and pressing her palms on her closed eyelids.

People were passing by, but Aurora didn’t care if they saw her like that. They probably didn’t even notice. But when she opened her eyes again, she was startled as there was a guy sitting right next to her. Aurora flinched with her eyes wide. 

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry! I didn’t want to scare you.” The voice of the stranger was deep and somehow soothing. “I saw you crying and was about to ask you if you needed help.”

Aurora carefully lifted her gaze to the man. He was breathtakingly handsome. His dark curls fell into his face, his sharp jawline was covered in stubble and his pale skin was flawless. And his eyes were glowing in a dark crimson.

“You… You’re a vampire!” Aurora stated the obvious. A smile swept over the face of the young man, revealing his perfectly white teeth, his fangs brushing over his lower lip.

“That I am.” he said, in a very friendly and casual way. He held out his hand. “Melot it is. I would say nice to meet you, but in the state you’re in, I think that wouldn’t be fitting.” Aurora took his hand, noticing that it was surprisingly soft and warm. But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. So Melot kept talking: 

“Is there anything I can do for you, dear? I can’t just ignore you sitting here crying.” His hand brushed over her back to sooth her, so carefully, Aurora hardly felt it. She felt stupid, but she just couldn’t bring herself to speak. His beauty was stunning, and yet he scared Aurora all the same. She had never seen a vampire that close to her. Although they were legalized ten years ago, most of them kept living among their own kind.

“Did someone hurt you?” Melot tried again. A small sob escaped Aurora, but then she shook her head. Finally, she replied to him:

“I’m fine! Thank you for checking in on me, but there’s no need to.” Melot frowned, obviously not convinced by Aurora’s words.

“Can you call someone to pick you up? Your parents, a friend? I don’t want to leave you here like that. You’re definitely not okay.” he insisted.

Aurora thought about what he said. She couldn’t call her parents, of course. But she probably should call Tara. She could be crashing her sister’s couch until she knew if she wanted to go back to her dad or what else she could do. 

“I’ll call my sister,” she told Melot. “I’m Aurora, by the way.” She offered him a small smile that he returned with a wide one that once again revealed his fangs.

Aurora took out her phone and called Tara. Her sister wasn’t quite happy that she had to get her, but in the end she told Aurora that she would be there within the next 20 minutes. Aurora brushed her tears away with the sleeve of her shirt and blinked curiously at Melot.

“You haven’t seen one of us yet, have you?” he asked. Aurora shook her head.

“No, I don’t go out a lot and my dad is not really fond of the idea of vampires living among us, to be honest.” To Aurora’s surprise, Melot didn’t seem to be offended. He chuckled softly.

“He’s not alone with that, and I understand. It must be a scary thought for humans. But I swear we’re not creeps. At least most of us.”

Now it was on Aurora to chuckle. “That’s exactly what every creep tells you, you know?” Both laughed at that. 

Melot thought about asking once again what had happened, but he was glad that Aurora had stopped crying so he decided to leave it to that. Though, he felt strangely upset to see her like this.

Instead, they talked about lighter topics. Aurora spoke about her classes and Melot told her that he was working for his uncle.  He wasn’t exactly Melot’s uncle but it was easier to call him that, considering that they lived like a family the last 500 years.

When her sister's car stopped next to them, Aurora had almost forgotten how upset she was when she left her home. And she also had forgotten about her broken ribs. She got up and cursed immediately at the pain that shot through her body. Melot was next to her out of thin air, steadying her steps. His arm was wrapped around her waist and he took the weight of her body onto his shoulders. 

Tara didn’t even get out of the car. She just opened the passenger door. 

“What happened this time?” she asked, though she didn’t seem to be honestly interested. Aurora got angry at the heartless reaction of her sister. Even a stranger, a vampire to be precise, was more invested in her than her family. 

“He broke my ribs. After he smashed his dinner against the wall. I can’t go back to him tonight.” Her sister just rolled her eyes. 

“So you want to come home with me? Fine, canceling my date then.” She couldn’t sound any more annoyed. Melot clenched his jaw. There was this sweet girl and someone had hurt her. And not even her sister did anything to help. He decided that he would keep an eye on Aurora. 

When she was finally seated in Tara’s car, Aurora turned to Melot. “Thank you! It was really nice to meet you!” Melot chuckled, remembering his own words at the beginning of their conversation. 

“Goodbye Aurora, take good care of yourself!” He looked down at her, a soft expression on his face, despite his extraordinary red eyes.

Tara drove off before she had to witness any more of that stupid conversation. 

“What was that, so you’re dating a vampire now, or what?” She spat the words into Aurora’s face. Aurora cowered back into the seat.

“No, he just stopped and asked me if I was alright. No human did that, by the way. I don’t know him and I won’t ever see him again, I guess. So you can stop hating me for another reason.”

Melot watched the car driving off, not without remembering the driver's plate. When he turned, Charlie was standing beside him.

“Melot, what are you up to again?” He was smiling deviously. Melot shook his head. “Don’t bother, cousin. It’s nothing of your interest.” Charles raised an eyebrow but didn’t press any further.

“August wants to see you. He’s pissed, I have to warn you, though I don’t have a clue why. So good luck!”

Melot gritted his teeth in frustration. He wanted to investigate what happened to Aurora. He needed to see her again. There was a bond he felt towards her that he just couldn’t explain. He didn’t have time for the stupid intrigues of his uncle. August was the fucking vampire king, he should be able to deal with his shit on his own. Or at least, if he needed Melot’s help, he should finally acknowledge Melot’s skills and give him more recognition.

Part 2

[smittenroses]

— To Adore

Carrd | Ko-fi | Patreon | Archive of Our Own Mirror

Fandom No Straight Roads Pairing 1010/reader Chapter Summary You've taken an interest in their music, Rin wants to fuel that flame

« Previous Chapter | Masterlist

To say Rin was a bit flustered was an understatement — he was overloaded with emotions that he couldn’t quite catch by himself. Having been forced from the situation more times than he wanted to, being dragged around to different events. He knew he was technically the face of the band, being the leader and the one that did most of the talking on and off the stage, but, every time he found himself in a place he couldn’t help but fake a smile, he found himself being more and more drained every time.

It was never-ending, the camera flashes that would mess with his vision, the people that would swarm him for photo opportunities, sometimes, it was just too much.

The door closed silently behind him as he reentered his home, the lights turning dim at his arrival, lining the way for him to get to his charger. His battery was low — he didn’t get much time between events to even charge himself up and so the cord in his bag just ended up as more weight he had to carry, sitting heavy in his bag and almost begging to be used with each alert he got; 50%, 30%, 20%, the numbers kept climbing down as he dragged his feet across the floor, running a hand down his face as he struggled to keep himself up right.

Was this how people felt when they took themselves to the limit, unable to do the things they wanted to and just wanting to sleep?

A flicker of abnormal light was picked up in his receptors, Rin turned on his heel to face the intruder, seeing the maid standing in the kitchen, wearing clothing that wasn’t hers.

“What are you doing here?” Rin was able to check his system clock, but, his eyes flickered to the analogue clock on the wall instead, seeing that it was two in the morning, well pass when the princess should have left to return home, yet, she stood there, holding a torch and a glass of water in hand.

Rin watched as the princess yawned, head tilting back as the pink flesh of the root of her mouth was shown off, sleep decorating her lashes as she took a sip.

“My car wouldn’t start,” She muttered, gaze focusing everywhere but him as she spoke. Maybe she was just as shocked as him, standing in the middle of her workplace, dressed in someone else’s clothes, but, as Rin pinched the bottom of her shirt, fixing it where it had caught on the pants, he noted how the temperature in her face rose with the action. “Zimelu and Neon J tried to fix it, but it just wouldn’t start.”

“Maybe it just couldn’t handle our charms.”

His battery was growing lower, he had to make the conversation quick, but, as he listened to the sleepy giggles of the woman in front of her, he wished somewhere in mind mind that he had a full battery just to hear her giggle like that over and over again.

“Funny enough,” She said, “I was listening to you guys on the way over; you came up on my streaming service.”

Streaming service? If Rin had the energy to do so, he knew that he would physically recoil at the concept, the idea of not being able to own the music you listen to so absurd in his mind, yet, it was overtaken by the fact she had begun to listen to the songs he sung. Tapping his fingers on the bag strap slung over his shoulder, he couldn’t stop the smile that grew on his face. “Knew we’d get you someday.”

The silence in the air was thick as material ran out, the two staring at each other until her eyes flickered down to his hand, noting the fabric wrapped around the fake flesh. It had been an accident when filming a commercial, one of the employees had a malfunction that resulted in a camera breaking. Rin had tried to help pick up the pieces but hadn’t realised how sharp they were until someone had pointed it out.

While he couldn’t feel it, the fabric stopped it from snagging on anything else and making it worse.

“Can I touch you?” The princess whispered and Rin couldn’t help but oblige, nodding his head once before she freed a hand to touch his, her fingers warm as she lifted his hand to her face, laying a gentle kiss to the cloth. “Try not to get hurt,” She smiled, Rin hearing the fans in his body begin to kick in as he warmed, “I’d hate to see you get decommissioned even for a day, I’d miss you.”

Rin really had a hard time deciding if the princess was playing with him or being genuine, excusing himself with the excuse of his battery being low as he began to walk towards the charging room, feeling the fans rumble within his skeleton with the effort to cool him off. He was the flirty one, he was the one that made the girls swoon, yet, the maid had been the one to flip the script and make him swoon.

And she had done so seamlessly without as much as a hesitance along the way. He could hear the guest room’s door shut even from his room, the silence of the world allowing for the noise to carry further as he opened the door, seeing the others in their own pods, asleep, charging.

Maybe he just wasn’t thinking straight, maybe he just needed to charge, but, writing down a note for himself on a sticky note and sticking it to his pod, he decided to deal with it tomorrow.

Along with that darned streaming service.

Rin knew that Neon J had always been someone who was sentimental of his work, so it wasn’t even a secret that he had a large collection of ways that they had published music that he wasn’t meant to walk into. Stepping into the storage room had been one thing, but attempting to carry out multiple heavy boxes was another as there was only so much that his skeleton could hold.

Was Rin going overboard with gifts because he wanted to catch up to the others? Maybe, he couldn’t deny that, but, as he tapped his foot on the ground, looking at the boxes that he had packed with music, a shadow overtook the light that streamed in from the door, Rin turning his head just enough to see Purl-hew standing in the middle of the doorway.

“Where are your glasses?” Rin couldn’t help but feel a bit unnerved at the sight of Purl-hew’s blue eyes as they scanned the room, yet, as they made eye contact with his again, he watched as the blue member shrugged.

“Eloni wanted to borrow them for a live stream. I’ve been watching him through the feed.” Rin pulled up the live feed in his HUD as Purl-hew talked, watching as the green version of themselves seemed to be having fun with opening the few letters he had, glasses firmly pressed into his hair as he read out each of the letters. It wasn’t something he usually got to see his friend do often. “He promised he wouldn’t break them.”

Pushing the live stream away from his view, Rin turned back to the boxes again, looking between them and Purl-hew, noting with each turn of his head that the blue 1010’s eyes were narrowing with each rotation.

“Did you get permission?”

“Please?”

With a sigh, Purl-hew joined his fellow band member, helping him pick up a few of the boxes as he hoisted them onto his shoulders. “You could ask for a skeleton upgrade so you can carry more, you know?”

“I could, but, I don’t want to re-calibrate myself to one.” Plus getting a new frame to fit his outer shell seemed more complicated than it was worth — he wasn’t going to be fighting in any wars any time soon, the reason behind most of their design choices, but, as they walked through the halls, Rin walked by the windows.

Sometimes, Rin wished he was able to feel the warmth on his skin just like the princess did.

A flash of red joined soon enough, Zimelu taking one of the boxes that Purl-hew carried under his arm, the hall becoming a bit more crowded as Zimelu inserted himself into the duo’s time alone.

“I thought you hated listening to yourself,” Zimelu finally commented after a bit of walking, though, it landed on death hearing processors as Rin turned the corner, the dear princess standing on a ladder to reach one of the ceiling fans in the lounge.

The light hit her perfectly, highlighting her in every way that made Rin’s fans whirl, not even the chattering of Eloni on the couch was able to knock him from his trance as he called her name, watching as her gaze settled on him and him only, flashing him a smile that was meant for him. It would have been perfect to stand in time and just watch her smile all day.

But things like that didn’t happen around here, especially when there were things hidden in the dark.

An explosion, a ball of streamers and confetti bursting out from behind the couch, Rin’s vision filled with a million warning signs about being under attack that screamed a bit too much like their creator.

And she was falling. The confetti and streamers hit the bottom of the ladder at the perfect angle to send it swinging out from underneath her feet, Rin heard the screams over the sound of the box he was holding crashing as it hit the ground, running forward with his arms outstretched.

Catch her.

Catch her.

Rin caught her.

The sudden weight on his frame had him twisting his body so that he took the impact, the soft silicon of his skin cushioning the fall as she landed on him, his arms secured around her waist as he rolled away from the ladder, the ladder bouncing off a wall before it crashed where they had been.

She was shaking.

The princess was shaking in his arms as he looked down at her, seeing her beautiful eyes so wide, fingers ensnaring his jacket as she eyed where they had been only moments before. “Hey, look at me,” Rin muttered, watching as those beautiful eyes met his, seeing the water that rimmed her lashes and it broke his heart, “You should warn me before I need to catch you, princess…” He knew that there was something in his coding that should shoot forth a predetermined line, but, deep within his consciousness, he knew that line came from himself instead, gently pulling the princess into a sitting position, feeling the back of her head for any sort of injury.

The laughter that came from her mouth was probably the shock that he shrugged away, yet, as her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him close, he… didn’t know what to do with his hands for once. “Thank you, my knight.”

Noise erupted as Haym and Neon J tore around the corner, the two of them wielding tools in their hands as they stood in the doorway. They must have heard the explosion from where they had been, but, once the danger was seen to be over… the yelling began.

“Eloni, is that your confetti gun?” Zimelu began, the red colliding with green as he grabbed Eloni by the shirt collar, beginning to shake him around, “What have we said about keeping your crap in safe places?”

“I genuinely lost it!”

“Get off of him!” Haym soon joined the struggle, the yellow’s hands attempting to free his best friend from the wrath of the ‘bad boy’, though, it only started a small fight, their hands flying at each other as there was a mixture of slaps and weak punches.

If they really wanted to hurt each other, Zimelu could have had Eloni’s head flying across the yard by now.

As the fighting grew louder and bolder, Rin couldn’t help but join in, attempting to get between each of them, though, the fighting returned into roughhousing, Rin finding himself remembering that even when he was the leader, he didn’t have as much control as he liked, his head being pinned under Eloni’s arm as he started to laugh.

“You’re all acting like male beetles attempting to woo a mate.” Even when he was speaking, Purl-hew came into the fray, beginning to push each of the boys away from each other.

Though the laughter that was heard from the only human in the room made everything pause, Rin turned his head to the princess as she doubled over laughing.

“I should’ve guessed this!” She giggled, “You’ve all got a crush on me.”

It was meant to be the other way around, she should be the one that was telling them that she had a crush on them, yet, as she pushed past them to go to where she kept her equipment, a crunch was heard as she stepped over something, Rin’s gaze dropping down to the mess on the floor which had once been music disks.

“Also, your live stream is still running, Eloni.”

The laptop that had been knocked away from the explosion lay next to the mess of music, Neon J stepped forth as he picked up the device, his screen dark as Rin assumed he read the chat as it rushed by.

With a quiet close of the laptop, Eloni and Zimelu were off first, Zimelu riding on Eloni’s shoulders before the rest followed.

They were in trouble now. At least if they got caught that was.

[fairytaleinagem]

Writing Share Tag

@saturnine-saturneight thanketh for the tag !!!

I've actually written something for the Aetherium that isn't a short story !!! enjoy :))

It was a quiet evening, or morning. Afternoon, perhaps. There was no telling how time worked when there was no sun to see set or rise. Either way, it was quiet, and everyone liked it that way. Akina sure did, at least. Nothing beats eating at some random time with only the sounds of eating, drinking, and a couple of laughs sprinkled in. She paused in her voracious eating to look around the room, mulling over what she would do after this.

Marcelo and Maerthro sat on the couch, watching something together while eating some snacks. Aeva was beside her, eating at a slower pace as she scrolled through the numerous messages she had gotten. The rest were probably still sleeping, or cooped up in their room to avoid interaction. Ansenn was probably the latter, as well as Andrei and Josynt. Couldn't blame the guys—the deep bags underneath the three's eyes told tales of their unhealthy sleeping habits. She should really do something about that… She tilted her head, spooning another bite of rice and eggs into her mouth. She could talk to them later about it. Speaking of later, what was she gonna do today? It was boring to train, especially on a break, and doing any of her three jobs felt too tedious for her. The wonders of a stressed out mind, huh? She sighed, chewing the last of her salad before sliding the plate into the sink for someone to wash later. It would probably be her.

"Anything interesting?" she turns to Aeva, hand on her hip as she reads over the shorter woman' shoulders. Despite the blur of words passing by, she could still make out the words 'commercial', 'trip', and 'months'. She had to narrow her eyes to read the rest, but thankfully Aeva lifted the screen up closer to her eye level.

"Nope. Mostly articles about our vacation, and when we're coming back. Few businesses still want us in some ads, though. Annoying…" Aeva replied, biting into her breakfast burrito. She lowered the screen, flicking upwards to skip the rest. Akina raised an eyebrow at the business ads.

"Even on our vacation? Yeesh, a bit greedy, aren't they?"

Aeva shrugs.

"Aren't a lot of people?"

The conversation was over once Aeva turned to throw away the buritto wrapper. Akina caught a flash of scarlet and seafoam green in the corner of her eye, lips curling up into a smile as she leaped over the kitchen counter.

"Ansenn! What's up with the early descent?" she asks, punching his shoulder lightly, though it seemed to send him into Josynt to the right of him. But that was purely by accident!

"Augh, Akina!" Ansenn shouted, stumbling over his own feet and Josynt's. The two eventually righted themselves, holding each other's arms as they glared at Akina with an intensity she was already shrugging off.

"What, what're you complaining about?" she scoffs, arms crossed as she leaned closer to his height. "It's not like this hasn't happened before, buddy."

He mirrors her pose, eyes narrowing as his normal straight line of a mouth turned downwards. She could see the details of his face much better now. A few faint scars across his cheeks and forehead, the ever-present eyebags that only seemed to darken each day, and even each eyelash that lined his pretty emerald green eyes. She could assume he could see the same for her, though not with the same details, of course.

"It's something that shouldn't take a minute to get over, you two. Now please move, I'd rather be back in my room than witness this any longer than I need to," Josynt chimes in, irritation painting his pale face, brows furrowed and lips pulled into a thin line. She sighed, backing off with her hands in the air.

"You're not very fun this morning. Did ya' stay up too long again? We've really gotta kick that habit out of you at some point, doctor!" she teases, watching as he rolls his eyes before walking past, shoulder-checking her along the way. Ansenn follows him without another word.

That was the last of conversation for a while. It once again got quiet, although a few more people emerged from their rooms. Ellya and Melana were chatting about something, pointing at whatever was moving on their holographic screen. She only caught a glimpse of Andrei's white lab coat before he disappeared upstairs again, probably sipping a cup of coffee while he works on…whatever new test he's working on. Fox and Cenlyne were now having their version of breakfast as well, coming out the moment Aeva left to go out into the Shopping District. It was nice.

Nice doesn't seem to last long though.

I cast tag upon @magscrane and @thatfunkylilfey !!! (I should start tagging more people hrm)

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 2

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 2: Blotter Acid Reflux Syndrome

Chapter Summary: You go to a party with your BFF and see a familiar face.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 8.8k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, car accident mention, drug use & addiction, flashbacks, alcohol use, grief, a dick named Glenn, blow job, LSD trip narrated, paparazzi

Notes: Chapter title from "Blotter Acid Reflux Syndrome" by Atmosphere. I can't possibly explain how fun this chapter was to write, or how excited I am to share it with you. I would apologize for how many times the word "WOW" is in here, but I feel like it holds true to the acid trip experience lmfaoooo.

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You finally did it. You cried today.

After sanitizing your essentially commercial-grade kitchen, you sat down on the couch and turned the TV on. You weren’t sure what to watch, but had a hankering for some trashy ass trash TV. So you turn to your favorite reality TV show: Jersey Shore.  

But while you were trying to sink into a state of pure escapism, all you could do was stare at the ugly giant black stain in your carpet.

The blackest ink in the city. Ethan went on and on about it one night. 

As should be obvious, “blackest ink in the city” means it’s really fucking saturated with pigment. Pigment that has spent the last few weeks settling deep into the fibers of your white carpet. The stain mocks you constantly, jeering, “He’s gone and I’ll be here forever. Isn’t that just the damndest thing?” 

With a huff, you decided to do something about it. You watched Jersey Shore with your legs splayed on either side of the blackhole and scrubbed. The soapy water started to foam black under the bristles of your scrub brush. 

You were looking up at the TV, watching the rowdy group of roommates fist bump and take shots, and all of a sudden you started thinking about the night you and Ethan met. 

Your coworker, Miranda, brought you to a party at her friend’s apartment. Some dude named T-Bone or something equally ridiculous sold you some molly. When it took effect, you planted yourself down on a couch and marveled at the colorful light show being projected onto the ceiling. You’re not sure if the gradient-shifting laser beams were actually moving to the music, or if the MDMA just made you feel like they were, but you were fucking entranced. 

The couch shifted as a stranger plopped down next to you and followed your lead, staring up at the lights, then gaped, “Wow, ok, I get it.” 

“Get what?” your head rolled on your shoulders to put a face to the voice. He had a hooked nose, only made more distinct by a receding chin. The corners of his full lips turned up in a smile. Your intense attention was completely shifted, and now you were marveling at him. 

“Why you’re sitting here like this,” he answered, then turned to you. Your eyes locked. His pupils were so dilated, you couldn’t even tell what color they were. All the air whooshed from his lungs as he breathed, “Holy shit, will you marry me?” 

You started giggling and your fingers twitched towards him as you asked, “Can… Can I touch your face?” 

He nodded, gaze flitting between your eyes and extended fingertips. You pressed the pad of your index finger flush to his hairline, then ran it down the middle of his face, smiling from ear-to-ear, gasping, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

“Can I kiss you?” he tucked your hair behind your ear. The touch made you shiver. His eyes, total eclipse irises, drifted to your parted lips. You nodded, and his hand slid to your chin. He reeled you in, and when he kissed you, his barbs were embedded in your heart. 

Totally and completely fucking hooked. 

You’re not sure how the two of you got back to his apartment, since you don’t recall your lips departing his, but eventually you were there. He was buried inside you within 10 seconds of entering the residence. 

Still leaning against the door, chests heaving, fuzzy from MDMA and post-orgasm bliss, he kissed you with his soft, alluring lips and then smiled against you, “My name is Ethan.” 

You couldn’t help but start laughing again at the absurdity of it all, because you were certain that you had fallen in love with this man without even knowing his name. 

He would tell you later that he did, too. It was like all those stupid songs and movies and romance novels describe: love at first sight. Your fingers raked through his short, prematurely gray hair, “Nice to meet you, Ethan. My name is Louella.” 

Ethan dug out some comfy clothes for you to wear, then the two of you alternated between getting to know each other, watching Jersey Shore, doing lines of coke, and having mind-blowing sex for the next 8 hours. 

Now, it’s true that you’ve been accused of being pretentious. And, whatever, maybe you are pretentious. So, as one could expect, you couldn’t stop your face from folding up into a sneer at some of the things the people on this reality TV show said and did. When you criticized one particular instance of ridiculous party monster antics, he called you on your bullshit. 

“What, are we so much better?” he asked you with a quirked brow, eyes searching your face, honey brown iris barely visible behind the blown-out pupils. You looked up into the mirror hanging opposite the bed and saw yourself, naked, coked up, rolling on ecstasy, cuddled up against this man who brought you home and fucked you before you even knew his name. 

“Shit, you’re right,” you laughed, “What the fuck do I know?” 

And then today, you were sitting there on your living room floor, thinking about him and his blown out pupils, and Jersey Shore, scrubbing the fucking stupid stain from the ink he went on and on about when he was coked out of his fucking skull two weeks before his birthday. 

Each time the black foam rose above the bristles and overflowed onto your knuckles, you dipped the scrub brush into a bucket of warm, soapy water at your side, and you began again. But the stain wasn’t lifting.

Those fucking blown out pupils as he narrowed his eyes at you after unwrapping your gift. The blackest ink in the city. He tilted his head and pursed his lips, “How did you know about the ink?” 

“You told me about it two weeks ago,” you told him. Chest caving in on itself. He was rigid, gripping the box with white knuckles. 

“I didn’t tell anyone about the ink, Lou.”

Fucking black eyes. Unblinking. Boring into you as if you had revealed yourself as an informant. Like he didn’t trust a fucking thing you’ve ever told him. 

And this fucking stain, it wasn’t lifting. Not even a little. Just foaming black until it touched your skin and you’d rinse and start again and again and again and your hands eventually stained black, too. Blackest ink in the city.

Anger flared in your chest and overrode your actions. A gravely scream rose in your throat, scraping it raw. You chucked the brush across the room, splattering a foamy, black ink mess across the wall as it hit. Fucking stain. Fucking ink. Goddamn motherfucking Jersey Shore.

You were enraged. It’s so unfair that here all these goddamn things were, existing, but he’s gone. A suppressed shriek burned your vocal chords and you yanked on your hair just to make it hurt, screeching in a broken voice, “Why did you fucking leave me here?” 

The agony circulated through your body, pumping thick and wet from the valves of your heart. Your black stained fingertips pressed against your face as you curled up into a ball and fell sideways. A lump surfaced in your throat. Tears pricked your eyes, just a few at first, and then a steady stream as a howl escaped your throat. 

Once it started, it was difficult to stop. Weeks worth of backlogged tears fighting their way from your aching chest, up your throat, out your eyes. 

A broken dam of grief. 

You cried so loud and hard and long, it’s any wonder none of your neighbors came knocking at your door. 

They were probably listening, telling their roommate or spouse or kid or whoever in hushed tones about the poor wretch whose husband lost it and drove them both into a telephone pole at 60 MPH. 

The poor wretch, who was writhing around on the stained living room carpet, finally releasing the pressure from her inflamed soul. 

Before you knew it, the sun had set. The tears were waning. The once hot, soapy water was cold and cloudy black. You picked yourself up and trudged your meatbag over to the bathroom mirror to survey the damage on your face. It was about what you expected. Swollen, wet, and hard to look at. 

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket. You sniffled as you pulled it out and unlocked the screen. As if he had sensed your distress, it was a message from your best friend. 

> PARKER:  > Need to get out of the house? Party in LES, I’m bringing Lucy. 

“What’s this chick’s name again?” Glenn asks when the elevator door slides open and he starts walking in-step with Dieter. At the end of the hallway, the indisputable bumpbumpbumpbump of a party sounds from behind the door of apartment 4B. 

“Katie,” Dieter answers, then turns to his companion, “She’s cool. Don’t be a dick.” 

Glenn scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air defensively, “Fuck you, I’m not a fuckin’ dick.” 

“I didn’t say you are a dick, I told you not to be a dick,” Dieter looks Glenn up and down as they come to a stop in front of 4B. 

Objectively, Glenn looks like a total dick. His signature pompadour, made possible thanks to brunette hair plugs, sticks an inch off his scalp. His body is spray tanned a bronzy orange two shades too deep. He used to obtain this freshly-vacationed “glow” from a tanning bed. It shows in the deep folds of his skin, no matter how many chemical peels or laser treatments he gets. 

If it wasn’t the douchebag hair, or the fake bake, or the way his teeth are the color of bleached white toilet bowl porcelain, or the way his face is always dripping in smugness, even in his goddamn sleep, Glenn would still look like a dick, because he dresses like a dick. Showing up to a fucking house party wearing an Armani suit, for fuck’s sake. 

And if it wasn’t all of the above? Even if Glenn wasn't the poster child for washed-up 90's sitcom actors? He would still probably look a dick, because that's what he is. 

A fucking dick. 

Dieter raises a hand and raps the thick, golden band of the ring on his index finger against the door that reads 4B. 

It swings open almost immediately, and they’re greeted by the hostess. Her curly ginger hair bounces as she jumps up and down, clapping, “Oh, you made it!” 

Dieter gives a quick nod of acknowledgment, pulling her in for a one-armed hug as he scans the room over her shoulder, “You look fucking stunning, sweetheart.”

Katie’s loft apartment looks like it was once a warehouse, but converted into overpriced housing. Industrial lighting dangles from the ceiling, casting a golden glow onto the party and its guests. From his vantage point at the door, Dieter can see the kitchen where people are huddled around, railing lines off the granite countertop, talking over each other. A brown leather couch, which looks like it’s normally a staple in Katie’s living room, is now only an awkward centerpiece on the crowded dance floor. 

“Aww, thank you, love,” as she pulls away, her lily pad eyes land on Glenn and a charming smile plays on her plump lips, brought to you in part by JUVÉDERM® Ultra XC, “Who did you bring?” 

“Glenn Evans,” Glenn brings his hand up to meet Katie’s, pairing a brief shake with his too-perfect, too-practiced, too-white smile.

“Katie Wainwright,” Katie looks between the two men, gaze settling on Dieter when she says, “Want me to show you around?” 

“If you don’t mind,” Dieter winks. Her freckled face flushes pink as she tucks hair behind her ear and starts off towards the kitchen. Dieter follows, watching the hem of her unseasonably short black dress sway just below her ass as she walks. 

Katie parades Dieter and Glenn around the loft, introducing them to everyone that crosses their path. Each new cluster of humans seems to include an aspiring actor, a waiter, and some kind of a niche content creator that Dieter can hardly comprehend. Many of them are familiar with Dieter, some of them are familiar with Glenn. 

As if mind-altering substances are the price of admission for a conversation, several people offer up tokes, drinks, and lines to Dieter and Glenn as they meet and make small talk. 

While Glenn is off talking to a captive audience about his defining role as Arnie Walker, a stranger, who introduces himself as Parker, approaches Dieter and gives him two tabs of acid.

He’s skinny and tall, wearing black, tight, ripped up jeans, a nondescript black t-shirt, and a pair of all-black chuck taylors. His coiled dark brown hair is buzzed close to his scalp in a fade, and his ears stick out wide from the sides of his head, proudly displaying a pair of large silver hooped earrings. 

The man’s dark sepia skin is littered with a series of small black tattoos that seem unrelated but are so similar in style that they work together cohesively. They’re all stylized like illustrations found in classic storybooks. Some of the art is pulled directly from the inspiration, like the mad hatter from Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland on his left forearm, carved in between tattoos of a head of broccoli and a disco ball. Fucking fascinating. 

“Those were the last I have, so don’t go telling everyone,” Parker explains with the wink of an amber brown eye, “And, no obligation to hang or anything, but my friend and I just took a few doses, too.” 

“Right on,” Dieter grins, then opens his mouth to press the two paper squares under his tongue. He bids Parker adieu when he spots Katie, alone, leaning back against the kitchen counter. She’s bobbing her head along to the music absentmindedly while supervising the partygoers dancing around her couch. 

As he approaches, she meets his gaze and smiles wide, “Hey! Having fun?” 

He sips bourbon from the glass in his hand, nodding, then inquires, “Did you hear anything back from the screen test yet?” 

With a heavy sigh, she glances down her glass of white wine, “Not yet, have you?” 

“Nothing,” his eyes dart around the room, then return to Katie with a suggestive quirk of his brow, “You know, if we both get the parts, we would be spending a lot of time together.” 

She bites her bottom lip and smirks, looking from his lips to his eyes, “I don’t think I would be too upset with that.”

The little flit of her gaze sends all the blood in Dieter’s body to his cock. He licks his lips and takes a step towards her, “Can’t say I would be, either.” 

“Is that right?” her eyelashes bat as she tilts her head. 

He takes another step forward, leaning in close enough to smell the notes of sweet pea and jasmine on her perfume when he breathes against her cheek, “So is there anywhere private in this apartment?” 

Katie bites her lip and nods, “Follow me.”

She pushes off the kitchen counter and leads him up the stairs to her loft bedroom, passing an empty bed, instead making a beeline up to what looks like a floor-to-ceiling mirror. She slides it open, revealing a walk-in closet. Stepping through the threshold is like being enclosed in a vacuum, only intensified when Katie slides the pocket door shut. The echoing noise of the loft apartment is almost completely silenced, and the colorful garments lining the walls make the space feel warm and insulated. 

Dieter turns around to face Katie, who’s only inches away now. She reaches up with an expertly manicured hand and drags her index finger along his jawline. A shudder rolls down his back. He aches for the touch of another against his skin. 

Enclosing her hand in his, he presses his lips to her wrist, then brings her warm palm to lay flush against his cheek. He holds it there, drinking in the heat of her skin that seems to only whet the thirst inside him. She pulls back from his grasp and, to his surprise, drops to her knees and starts to unbuckle his belt. 

“We don’t have to go right to-“ he starts, but by then, his jeans and boxer briefs are at his ankles, and Katie is holding his semi-hard cock in her palm, looking up at him through thick, black eyelashes. His mouth forms an o when she sticks out her tongue and flattens it against his frenulum. It slides back and forth, electrifying him from deep within. His cock jumps and he throws his head back. 

“That’s so good, sweetheart,” he groans when her mouth closes around his width and she swirls that sweet tongue around his head, “What a perfect fucking mouth. Lick me so fucking good.”

She hums enthusiastically at the praise, drawing her eyebrows together. Her green eyes are dark with lust, fluttering up to meet his gaze, bubblegum pink tongue sliding around the sensitive skin. He’s rock hard now, waves of pleasure climbing from his cock, to his core, up his spine, spreading through his body like the most delicious venom. He bites his fist to resist grabbing her hair. 

Her lips slide further down his shaft. She starts sucking him off, taking more of his length with each bob up and down. Her puffy pink lips are gaining more color, stretched thin and red around him, shiny with saliva. The weight of ecstasy mounting intensifies when he hits her gag reflex and her throat muscles twitch at his head. Her mouth produces hot, wet saliva that squelches around him when she recovers and takes his cock in her mouth again, and again, and again. It is fucking divine. 

His mouth agape, he stares down at her and hesitantly rubs his thumb against her freckled, rosy, hollowed out cheek, asking, “Can you take all of me, baby?” 

She hums around him and nods, pulling a moan from his throat, then adjusts her position and holy fuck, does she prove herself. When she drives her mouth onto him, his thick, swollen cock glides past her gag reflex, and the ridges of her throat squeeze him. Those lilypad eyes flutter up at him once he’s fully engulfed, as if to say “told ya so.” 

“Oh my- fuck, sweetheart, oh that’s fucking amazing, you take me so fucking good-“ 

She moans wantonly, vocal chords reverberating around him, and it almost knocks him on his ass. Her reddened lips slide up and and down his slick cock, slurping noises emitting from her pretty fucking drooling mouth. Dieter’s heart is pounding, and the sweet, dizzying tingle of ecstasy is intensifying. She halts with his cock buried deep in her throat and bobs with quick, short movements. 

They moan in unison as he closes his fist in her ginger locks. He’s breaking out into a sweat, meeting her watery eyes, groaning, “That pretty fucking mouth, holy fuck, Katie- so good- gonna make me fucking cum-“ 

She responds positively to this, moaning as she picks up her pace. This is when he notices that she has one hand between her legs. Flimsy teal underwear pushed to the side, exposing her sparse, wispy, red bush. Her pussy is glistening and she’s working her clit in tight, precise circles. 

“You’re so fucking hot, sweetheart, look at you- touching yourself while you suck my cock-“ he growls, grip on her hair tightening, “You gonna make yourself cum like that? Hmmm?”

A frantic whimper vibrates around him and pools hot in his belly, but he keeps his resolve, husking, “I want you to cum with my cock in your throat, baby, you can do it.” 

Her whimpers grow into moans, louder and more frequent, and her fingers work faster. She’s so fucking close. Dieter pushes her further, “Such a fucking good girl, taking care of both of us-“ 

Her eyelids flutter shut. He keeps going, holding back his own mounting pleasure, gritting his teeth, “Fuck, Katie, you can do it, let me see you cum, sweetheart.” 

With this, her high-pitched whines reach a fever pitch, and her whole body starts to shudder. She drips a wet spot onto the carpet of her closet and her watery eyes roll back. She’s gargling on his cock through her orgasm, drool running down her face. He coos, “Good girl, so good- fuck,” then his hips take over fucking the wet heat of her mouth, working at a needy pace. His eyes close and his head falls back as he chases the holy sensation of his hot, gooey center expanding. 

It grows and grows until it swallows him whole. His hips snap forward as he cums down her throat. She swallows around him, taking it straight to her belly, and he moans as her muscles contract around his sensitive cock. He pulls out and stumbles back, leaning against an unstable fabric wall made of her clothing. Some of the garments fall of the hangers onto the floor as he the waves of ecstasy start to peter out. 

He releases his death grip on Katie's hair and looks down at her, mouth gaping and chest heaving. She wipes her mouth innocently and smiles. His thumb rubs into a pool of spit still stagnant on the corner of her lips, and he mumbles, “You’re fucking amazing.” 

They find their way back downstairs after Katie cleans herself up in the en-suite bathroom connected to her closet. While she resumes hosting duties, bullshitting and such, Dieter starts to notice the world twisting around the edges. 

He takes a look around and sees Glenn mixing in with the kitchen folks, still rallied around a powdery granite countertop as he rambles out the stories on his “impress new people” rolodex. Dieter has heard them all to an exhaustive degree just within the past week, so he ambles around in a content haze, swaying gently to the suggestion of “Them Changes” by Thundercat blasting over the speakers planted around the apartment.  

Giggles and murmurs lilt down from Katie’s loft bedroom. The noises seem to take up a physical presence, floating from the source through the waves of music, settling on him like confetti. 

He didn’t realize he was following the beacon until he's standing at the foot of the staircase. Hushed laughter kisses his face and shoulders, growing louder with each step he takes. When he arrives at the top of the stairs, he finds the guy that gave him the acid, Parker, laying next to another person on Katie’s bed. All fuzzy and crystallized, both dressed in all black, starkly contrasting the cloud of white blankets and pillows they're floating atop. 

“Hey man,” Parker waves a fluid hand, “Wanna come lay with us?” 

“Who is… us?” Dieter giggles when the comic book word bubble appears over his head. 

Sixteenth notes from all over the chromatic scale erupt from the other figure's throat in a giggle. Dieter gasps softly at the familiar tune, trying to pinpoint the melody he knows has been stuck in his head for weeks. He blinks, then squints and steps closer, unable to believe his eyes.

The woman laying on the floating cloud extends her hands towards the ceiling, black short sleeved t-shirt exposing the crawling skin of her arms, one covered with tattoos and scar tissue. 

Orange Sunny D words spill from Parker’s lips. The pool spreads across the room, flooding their way into Dieter’s ears with a citrus tang, telling him, “Parker and Louella.” 

“Louella?” he whispers in italics. The name tastes like flaky puff pastry and warm apple filling. It beckons him the way a curl of steam wafts off a pie cooling in the windowsill entices a passing cartoon character. Apple pie. Apple Danish. Dieter licks his lips and swallows wet and he can taste the sweetness with a tart bite, folded in with warm hints of nutmeg and cinnamon. 

A wide smile spreads across his face as he floats onto the white, puffy, cumulus bed, sandwiching you between himself and Parker. His body sinks down. He sighs with relief when he feels surrounded by comfort. Inextricably, he feels connected to the cloud and it’s occupants. 

He looks up, breathing in time with the rippling ceiling, “Wow, this is fucking amazing.” 

“It is,” you agree, unable to take your eyes off the ceiling as the golden illumination from angular light fixtures shifts into exquisite patterns, wriggling to the beat of the music. The man next to you turns his head and you feel his eyes fixed on you, so you turn to face him. 

You each examine the other’s pulsing, blurry face as the freight train of recognition comes out of nowhere and hits you. The dimmer switch controlling his face lights all the way up at the same time yours does. 

“I know you!” you gasp, “Dieter?” 

Dieter nods with his mouth agape, eyes getting impossibly wide as a dimpled smile stretches across his features, “Of course it’s you.”

The way he says this occupies space in your body as Valentine’s Day clichés. You’re all red foil, heart-shaped Mylar balloons and Hallmark cards and bouquets of red roses.  

“Have you guys ever heard of the mycorrhizal networks?” Parker asks in a shiny, golden haze, pulling your attention away from Dieter. Parker's hands, a million little glowing organisms spinning and working together, leave ghost trails as his fingers dance in time with the waves of EDM undulating from the sound system, leaving you slack-jawed. 

Laughter flitters from your mouth in shiny iridescent bubbles. Your fingers and toes are buzzing with delight. 

Dieter’s words come out in a thick, chartreuse, polyester yarn, spooling into a ball, “The mushroom phones, right?” 

“Mushroom phones,” you whisper, then start giggling as you imagine cartoon mushrooms calling each other from their homes on the dewy forest floor.

“Yeah,” Parker exhales, “They like, um, they’re connected underground and tell each other things.” 

“Whaaaat? Really?” you raise your hands, still tinged black from the blackest ink the city, above your face now, watching in awe as the skin twists and turns, radiating euphoria down into your bones., “What do you think they talk about?” 

Dieter’s chartreuse ball of yarn starts to spin again, “They tell each other what’s going on in the forest, and what they need, like if they’re low on,” he pauses and holds his breath when a bass-heavy indie rap song starts vibrating through the air. You realize that you’re holding your breath, too. The music reverberates down your spine and your vision explodes fireworks when the beat drops. 

You both start breathing again with a gasp, “Wow.” 

The three of you lose all words, staring at the ceiling as you watch it dance in a rainbow kaleidoscope to the rhythm. When the song fades into another, Dieter starts giggling, “Holy shit, what was I just saying?” 

“Um, let’s see…” Parker sighs. His brainstorm rolls across the cloud, through you. 

“Mushroom phones!” you burst out, one hand reaching over to grab Dieter’s in excitement at your excellent memory in action. It feels soft and warm and fucking amazing. You marvel, “Oh my god, hold my hand, please.” 

He nods and a low, content hum rumbles from his throat when his fingers interlace with yours, locking in place with a squeeze that radiates across your body, dripping hot and wet down the middle of you, and a gasp floats from your lips, “That feels so good.” 

Your other hand finds Parker’s and you squeeze it, looking over at him with a wide grin. 

“Wow,” Parker giggles at the sensation, tightening his grip on your hand, then gasps a shimmering golden fog, “We’re like… we’re like a mycorrhizal network right now.”

The fog rolls into a haze that hovers over the three of you. It settles onto your bodies with weight, dew clinging to your skin as you sink into a bed of moss on the forest floor, pulling a collective wow from your lips. The synchronization makes you all start giggling an exhaust of sunshine and lemonade, glowing, twirling, bundling you in a warm summer embrace. 

As the laughter subsides, you theorize out loud, “If you think about it, our souls are like… connected like that. Like the um….” 

You roll your head towards Parker, looking at him for assistance with the world that rolled off his tongue so perfectly. He offers it up on a silver platter, “Mycorrhizal network.” 

You swallow big and nuzzle into the comforting heat of your best friend, “Yeah. That. When I died, I felt it. Like… We’re all from this big pool of humanity. But when we’re born we’re just like, in our own special containers.” 

That sense of belonging larger than yourself that you felt upon your death returns, and you picture the iridescent vessel you were hurled down moments after you floated from your body. Moments after you were hurled from the windshield of Ethan's car. For some reason, it feels like the vessel spit you back out right here on this cloud tonight. Like this is the first day of your new life. It takes your breath away. 

Dieter’s hand squeezes yours and you melt into putty, but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind how gooey and pliable you are in his grasp. You close your eyes and revel in the bliss that shivers across your skin. You feel his gaze on you, so you open your eyes and turn to him, and now he’s in the vessel, too. 

His big tootsie pop eyes meet yours and you smile as wide as your face can allow, then probably even wider. He whispers, “I died, too.” 

Your mouth gapes open in disbelief, but all that comes out is a sharp giggle. 

“Hang on-“ Dieter rolls on his side to face you, tucking your clasped hands under one of his cheeks, “I have to tell you something.”

Your fingers twitch and you feel compelled to let go of Parker so you can touch Dieter’s face. The heat from his grip and his cheek surrounds your hand, electromagnetic energy radiating from your fingertips to your heart. 

“Lua,” Dieter starts, chartreuse yarn rolling in the space between you, “Can I call you Lua?” 

“Yes absolutely,” you nod seriously, “Can I call you Dee?” 

“Yeah,” his face melds into a pleased smile, then he lays back and looks at the ceiling, “I died. And I felt that, too. Like, um, like uh, we’re all connected. All from the same. We don’t even know it. Then we return someday to the… what did you call it? Big pool?” 

“Like a sea?” Parker asks. 

“A sea, yeah,” you confirm, rolling onto your back. You let go of your partner's hands and wave your arms across your field of vision to create liquid trails of your patched up skin,  “A sea of love.”

“Sea of love,” Dieter repeats in awe as his gaze fixes on your hands, “Wow.”

The ceiling above starts to move in crests and troughs, wavelengths syncing to the music blasting from another world. Water. You try to swallow but it’s an arid desert. 

“I’m thirsty,” you declare. This is not good news. Thirsty means you need water, which means you have to get water, which means having to move from this safe space. 

“Oh no,” Parker giggles out nervous little vibrations that settle uncomfortably in your belly, “One of us has to go get water.” 

You sit up abruptly to survey the party below. Humans mull about in the open space, blending together in nondescript blobs, dancing, hollering, drinking booze, snorting lines. 

They don’t know about the mycorrhizal networks, or the cloud, or the sea of love. They don’t get it. A shudder rolls across your body and dissatisfaction tinges the world around you a stormy gray. You fall back into the warm embrace of the cloud and inform your friends breathlessly, “Don’t go up there, guys, it’s not the same.” 

Parker giggles nervously, the notes twisting at your guts when he chirps, “Oh no.” 

“Maybe Glenn is on the mushroom phone hang on,” Dieter appears to be thinking hard for a minute as he exerts psychic power downstairs. All movement on the cloud ceases except the magnified brain waves Dieter exerts downstairs. Nobody even breathes.  

After what feels like forever, Dieter exhales an opaque violet sigh, “He won’t pick up.” 

“Oh no,” you press your fingertips to your lips. The pressure shimmers down to your core with gravity like a rain stick flipped upside down. You begin to trace your lips, slowly. Beads clatter softly against your bones and organs and muscles as they fall from one end of you to the other, defying gravity. Your shoulders relax and you sink deeper into the cloud. What were you even fretting about? 

“WAIT!” Dieter gasps, sitting upright at a speed that makes his body lag behind a few frames. He looks from you to Parker with a brilliant smile, then stands up out of the bed, “I know a place. Perfect place. Follow me.”

You and Parker sit up and watch him. The new elevation makes your head spin. 

When Dieter starts towards the wall opposite Katie’s bed, a black terror claws its way through your gut. A mirror stretches from the carpeted floor up to the ceiling. You’re consumed by the gnawing desire to hide from its view. 

But you can’t look away. 

The mirror reflects an image of you and Parker on the cloud, but it appears dark and sinister. Your head tilts as the geometric patterns seem to bend and twist, outlining something behind your shoulder. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. A face. Ethan’s face. Hovering over your shoulder. He’s trying to trap all of you. 

Your hands fly over your mouth, and as Dieter steps closer to it, you yelp, “Don’t! Please don’t, Dee, don’t go by the mirror.” 

Dieter turns around and holds out a fluid hand to you, exerting a sky blue sureness that makes your hands fall from your face as he coos, “It’s ok, I promise, Lua.” 

Your hand finds Parker’s, and you lace your fingers together, watching Dieter with wide eyes as he floats across the room. Parker squeezes your hand, surrounding you with serene blue waters, assuring you, “I’m here, Lou. It’s ok.” 

Dieter pushes the mirror to the side, revealing a secret passage. 

This blows your fucking minds. It’s a whole new world. He flips the light on and reveals a tunnel lined with stripes of fabric in a rainbow of colors and textures. 

“Holy fuck, dude,” Parker laughs, letting go of your hand to throw both hands over his mouth in disbelief, “No fucking way, is that Narnia?” 

“Come on,” he waves the two of you to follow as he passes through the threshold into another world, a brave explorer, “There’s a bathroom in here with a sink. Water!” 

You cautiously stand up, but you can’t take your eyes off the mirror. It’s still watching you. Inky black terror coats your body. Ethan’s face swirls in the geometric patterns, and your head whips back and forth in a refusal to approach. You retreat to the bed, hugging your knees to your chest as you whimper, “I can’t. I can’t go by the mirror. He’s in there, guys. He’s stuck in there.” 

You clamp your eyes shut. Prisms in a spectrum of brilliant colors bounce around behind your eyelids, exploding into fireworks, twisting into swirling diamonds. The bed shifts and someone touches your face, brushing their thumb against your cheek. 

The muscles of your throat strain to swallow nothingness into the dried up well, then you crack one eye open cautiously, expecting to see Ethan coming back to take you to the next life. But instead, you see Dieter, and his soft touch against your cheek pulls you from the darkness. Parker puts his hand on your back from beside you and rubs it, warmth of his affection soothing the monster tearing up your insides. 

“We can do this, sweetheart, it'll be ok,” Dieter promises. His chartreuse spool of yarn swirls around your body and hugs you tight. 

You look to Parker, who nods in reassurance, “We’ll all go through together. It’ll be better in there. You can do it.” 

Their confidence and camaraderie uplifts your spirit. You close your eyes for a moment to take a deep breath in, then you slowly exhale the black ink stain. Blackest ink in the city. 

Then when you open your eyes again, you nod. They pry your white-knuckle grip from your knees and each hold one of your hands and pull you up to your feet. The grip is warm and comforting and your chest swells with fluttering pink butterflies and golden glitter. In this moment, you swear you love these two people more than you’ve ever loved before. 

It is everything. 

When you take a step towards the gateway and feel the mirror’s gaze, you shrink back. 

“I have an idea,” Dieter announces, then turns to you, commanding all of your attention. Your eyes lock on his and gasp. They’re warm, cocooning you in love. He asks, “Do you trust me?” 

You nod without thinking twice. 

“Ok, here we go, close your eyes.” 

Your eyes snap shut and it’s all rainbow fireworks and patterned prisms of light you follow behind closed eyelids. Dieter places one hand on your back, then the other sweeps you up by your knees into his arms. You link your arms around his neck and bury your face in his sweater, pressing your cheek against the feathery soft plumage of the angel. 

You feel like you’re flying as he takes a few steps forward, then calls back, “Come on, I need you to turn this one around,” then he directs his chartreuse yarn at you. It crawls into your ear and weaves a blanket inside you, “I’m gonna set you down, but don’t open your eyes until I say so.” 

“Ok,” you breathe. He lowers you down and your feet touch the ground, then take root. You leave your eyes closed, face pressed against Dieter’s angel wing sweater, hands linked behind his neck, watching the light show behind your eyelids. An intermission. Halftime show. 

“In the bathroom, too, put a, umm… a towel over it,” Dieter directs Parker. There’s a rummaging noise and you try to imagine what Parker is doing, but you keep getting distracted by millions of twisting and turning patterns that seem to occupy your consciousness as a whole. 

“Ok open your eyes,” Dieter instructs, his voice cutting through the thick film of geometric shapes. You follow his instruction slowly, cracking one eye open, then the other, then you look up at him. His dark chocolate eyes melt into you and you know that it will, in fact, be ok. 

The closet door slides open and Katie halts mid-stride to find you, Parker, and Dieter laying side-by-side, packed together like sardines on the floor of her walk-in closet, giggling. Instead of being in their rightful place hanging up, several of her clothes are draped across your friendship cluster. Your mycorrhizal network. Your little sea of love. 

The hallucinogenic side-effects of the LSD are wearing off, mostly just leaving you euphoric. You’re holding a sequin dress above your head, moving it to the beat of the music emitting from Parker’s phone. The brilliant gems reflect the light in a hazy kaleidoscope. 

“Um, hi…?” Katie tilts her head at the scene before her, “What’re you guys doing?” 

“Katie!” Dieter exclaims, a smile stretching across his face as he explains, “We’re exploring.” 

“You… turned my mirror around?” she frowns at the huge floor length mirror that’s now facing the wall. 

“Mm yeah, it was not good in there, had to close the portal,” you explain without looking away from the sparkling dress. 

Parker starts giggling and reaches out to touch the dress, informing her, “Bathroom mirror is covered, too.” 

“Oh,” her big green eyes search the closet, then the bathroom. She frowns and blinks in annoyance at the intrusion, “Well, party is over now. It’s time to go.” 

“Aw man,” Parker whines, then sits up and turns to you and Dieter, “You wanna go get breakfast? There’s a diner around the corner. They make the best pancakes.” 

“Is it cold outside?” Dieter asks, eyes widening as he looks from Parker to Katie. 

“Yeah,” Katie scoffs, rubbing her eyes with her palms as she yawns, “It’s February, of course it’s cold.” 

“How cold?” Parker asks Katie now.

She throws up her hands, “I don’t know, 10°?” 

You toss the sequin dress aside, shrugging as you look between Parker and Dieter, “That’s not so bad. We can walk."  

A smile extends across Dieter’s face, “Awesome." 

The streetlights are still on, reflecting shimmering rainbows off snow piles lining the sidewalk and the layer of frost that has accumulated overnight. You bury your hands deep in the pockets of your puffy, black winter coat. Brisk winter air licks the exposed skin of your face. You breathe it in and exhale a thick vapor. 

Parker and Dieter follow you outside, and both start giggling at the change of scenery and temperature, then simultaneously notice the shimmering layer of frost coating everything your eyes can see. A white plume of, “Woooooow,” emits from their mouths at the same time. The visual synchronicity of their brains pulls champagne bubbles of laughter from your throat. 

“Hang on, I got just the thing,” Dieter announces, then digs in the pockets of his tawny fleece jacket, pulling out a joint. He plugs it between his pillowy lips and lifts a lighter to the end. The glowing orange cherry flashes bright with each inhale as he puffs the intoxicating smoke. It produces an unmistakable skunky odor. He holds it out to Parker and says, “Lead the way.”

Parker plucks it from his comrade’s extended hand, and mutters, “Off we go,” before marching past you. He is the engine of your three person choo-choo train. You take turns leaving an exhaust trail of cannabis smoke as he moves full steam ahead. It feels like an Olympic event. All three contestants are silent in concentration as you navigate the iridescent, glittering sidewalks, passing a joint back and forth like it’s the torch that holds the Olympic flame. 

You’re following Parker’s wide strides with intensity, when all of a sudden he comes to a standstill. Unable to react to the cease movement fast enough, you run headfirst into his back, then Dieter slams into you, creating a pileup. All three of you curse and start giggling at the clumsy incident, then Parker turns and opens the door to an unassuming diner, chiming a bell inside.

You wipe the soles of your shoes on the black utility rug at the entry before stepping onto the black and white checkered linoleum, peering around the establishment as the feeling of another decade sinks into your bones. 

Chrome swivel stools with crimson seats are spaced equidistant apart on the receiving end of the long lunch counter. Crimson booths line the outer walls. The large picture windows faintly mirror the brightly lit scene inside. There’s a fucking jukebox playing “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by The Everly Brothers next to the restroom door. 

A memory surfaces from one night back in your childhood home. You were restless and unable to find sleep, then you heard one of your parents put a record on in the kitchen. Following the sound, you tiptoed out of your dark bedroom and peaked around the corner to see your mom and dad dancing in the middle of the kitchen. Your mom’s head was laid on her dancing partner’s chest as they swayed to the gentle doo-wop. Her face was wet with tears, and you didn’t understand why she was crying. 

That fucking song. 

A waitress whose black hair is done up in a beehive, because of course it is, approaches the three of you with plastic menus and shows you to a booth. 

“You were right,” Dieter declares as his fork cuts through the stack of maple-syrup soaked buttermilk flapjacks, “These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had in my fucking life.” 

The waves of LSD are weak and spaced far apart now, and you’re floating back to reality like a leaf falling from a tree in an autumn breeze. The sun is rising outside and melting the frost in increments. 

“Parker knows his shit when it comes to food,” you inform Dieter, “Did you know that he’s the head Pastry Chef at Antoinette’s?” 

“No shit?” Dieter raises his eyebrows at the unassuming adult goth sitting across from him. 

Parker nods as he swallows his mouthful, then looks at you for confirmation, “I’ve worked there since we graduated from CIA, what, fifteen years ago?” 

“Just about,” you grin, then look to Dieter, “I worked there for a while, too, ‘til Ethan and I started up our business.” 

“Do you guys ever have bake-offs?” Dieter wonders out loud, then tips his head to look over his sunglasses between you and Parker, “Because I would be happy to be the judge of that contest.” 

“I fucking bet,” you chuckle, “You have a sweet tooth, huh?”

Dieter nods and grins. 

“I was shocked when you ordered so much from me last month, but it’s starting to make sense now,” you wink. 

When you glance around the diner, you notice a red-headed man at the lunch counter holding his phone up at your table, obviously taking pictures. Your brow furrows and you nudge Parker, “Is that guy taking pictures of us?”

“Mm,” Dieter sounds as he swallows a mouthful of pancakes, then nods to the stranger, “Paparazzi.” 

“But… why?” 

“They’re on me like flies on shit lately,” Dieter explains, “With the divorce and all.” 

This perplexes you. What the fuck is he talking about? Paparazzi? The divorce? It dawns on you that, despite bonding with Dieter throughout the night, you have no idea who he is really. Your face scrunches up in confusion, “Are… are you famous or something?” 

Both Dieter and Parker lower their forks and stare at you with an equal amount of confusion. 

“I uh… yeah, yeah I am,” Dieter chuckles softly, looking from the paparazzi to you with a smirk, “You didn’t know that?”

You shake your head, “No.”

“Really, Lou?” Parker laughs, throwing his head back as he howls, “He like, he won an Oscar and everything.” 

Your mouth falls open and you gasp, “No fucking way!” 

“It’s true,” Dieter points his fork at Parker. The concept makes your head spin. It’s not like you thought he was a stockbroker or something, but you never would have guessed he’s a famous actor. 

“I don’t believe you guys,” you raise your eyebrows and poke at your food.

Parker laughs even harder and starts slapping his hands together. 

“Here,” Dieter tells you, then turns to the not-so-discreet man taking pictures of your table, “Hey, who am I?”

Void of shame, the plump, middle-aged man doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not immortalizing the moment on film, and thus, answers without moving the phone from its place, “Dieter Bravo.” 

Dieter’s eyebrows raise and a grin breaks out across his face as he points to the man and swivels his gaze back to yours. He shifts in his seat and pulls out his phone, tapping the screen a bit before he turns it around to face you. The top of the screen displays a tabloid headline: 

BRAVO V BRAVO: DIVORCE TURNS NASTY!

It’s a picture of Dieter, obviously taken by paparazzi. He’s walking down a sidewalk in what you guess is LA, wearing a loose gray t-shirt and sweatpants, face shielded by sunglasses, hair flying every which way, mouth clamped in a thin line. 

“What the fuck,” you blink, brow furrowed as you look from the phone screen to the man holding it, then sigh and shake your head, “I can’t deal with this. I’m gonna pretend you’re not.” 

“Fine by me,” Dieter mutters, then takes his phone back and tucks it into his jacket pocket. He runs his hands through his wild hair as he sighs, “What a way to find out my life is a fucking circus, huh?” 

“Mmm, well, my husband died in front of me like a month and a half ago if that makes you feel better,” you shrug, then nod to Parker, “Parker is dating a married guy. We all have our shit shows. Ours just aren’t published.” 

They’re both stunned by your frankness. 

“Wow, Lou, spill my secrets for me,” Parker scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“What?! It’s only fair, we’re all on neutral ground now,” you snort to yourself, “Pobody’s nerfect.” 

“Can’t believe you just skimmed over your husband dying again,” Dieter gapes. 

“Can’t believe you just said pobody’s nerfect,” Parker shakes his head, then starts giggling. All three of you turn your attention back to your food. You wiggle happily in your seat as you chew a fluffy, buttery, maple-syrup soaked mouthful of flapjacks. 

“So, uhh, Parker,” Dieter starts as he wipes his face with a napkin. His big, pretty brown eyes peer over the top of his sunglasses, “Married men?” 

Parker’s cheeks deepen in color and he groans, “Yeah.”

Dieter raises an eyebrow as a mischievous grin plays across his face. Parker clocks it immediately and chuckles, “Sorry, you’re not my type, love.” 

“Is it the pending divorce?” you joke at both of their expense, and you all break out in laughter. When it dies down, you shift in your seat and look down at your plate as you ask Dieter, “So are you gay, then?” 

He shakes his head, “Bi.” 

It’s irritating how relieved you are to hear this, but your face lights up and you exclaim, “Me too!” 

Dieter picks up the sweaty glass of ice water next to his plate, “Cheers, queers.” 

You and Parker hold your glasses up and they all clink together in celebration. 

“Holy fuck,” Parker groans as he lowers his cup to the table, then throws his fork down on his plate, “I’m so full. I can’t. Take me home, mommy,” he lays his head on your shoulder and closes his eyes, “I need a nap.” 

The words curl up inside you and your body slumps at the recognition of exhaustion. You rest your head on his and pout, “I don’t wanna take the subway again, though.” 

“Let me call a car,” Dieter digs his phone out of his pocket. Neither you, nor Parker deny the offer. It sounds infinitely better than the alternative. Dieter hovers above the phone, tapping the screen lazily as he yawns. 

Parker yawns next. Your nostrils flutter and mouth opens wide to take a sharp breath. The yawn expands your lungs and makes your eyes teary, “That shit is contagious.” 

"Hey, wake up. We're here," the timbre of Dieter's voice cuts through the REM sleep, yanking you from the passenger's seat of Ethan's car, where you were scrambling to connect the seatbelt before he runs another red light. 

Your eyes blink open and you take a sharp breath in as you stretch your hands and feet as far away from you as you can manage, warming the thinned out muscles into wakefulness. You whip your head around and are relieved to see it's daylight, and you're in the backseat of an SUV, seatbelt firmly holding you in place. 

Dieter is sitting right next to you in the middle seat, despite the empty seat next to the window. His brown eyes are peaking over the top of his sunglasses as he watches you regain your bearings. You swing your glance out the window at the entrance to your apartment building, then back to Dieter and croak, "Thank you for bringing me home." 

"Don't mention it," he smirks. The way his body is still lining yours, and the sad sort of look in his eyes like he doesn't really want you to go, it reeks of loneliness. 

“So are we really friends or is this going to be a one-night-stand kind of friendship?” you tilt your head to the side, meeting his gaze, not moving to get out of the vehicle quite yet. 

His tongue clicks on his teeth, then he frowns, “You wanna be friends with me?” 

“Obviously,” you scoff, then heat spreads across your cheeks as you stammer, “If you wanna be friends with me, too, that is.” 

“Obviously,” he mimics your scoff, "You have my number, yeah?" 

"Mmm, yeah, but you don't have mine," you chuckle, "Do you want it? The not-a-burner-phone number?" 

His face lights up and he nods. You give it to him and say goodbye, then go upstairs to your apartment and promptly collapse on your bed, sleeping until the sun goes down. When you wake, you have a text from Dieter. 

> DEE:  > Lovely Lua. Let's hang out again when I'm in town next?

[ Next Chapter ]

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I am so confused by this home in Gramercy Park, New York City, listed for a whopping $8M. According to the listing, “it’s inspired by the rawness and rustication of stone and brickwork and the contrast between old and new, the layering of history are all important dimensions of the design.”

It goes on: “Despite the perceived impracticality, the threshold is an important spatial concept for the architect who is drawn to the tension created by the juxtaposition of opposites.” WHAT? So, it’s only perceived impractical?

This looks like some kind of disaster happened.

What in the world? Floating bed, and it has a water fall under it.

Oh, snap! The swirly gray structure is a shower.

It’s suspended in the air. Look at the stones on the floor. (You can’t walk in socks or even slippers in here.)

There’s a water feature here with what seems to be stepping beams to cross it.

The lower level. Desc.: “ Throughout, one sees the old counterpoised with the new, the rustic with the smooth, lines with curves, and the organic with the rational. Aged materials and acquired patina, change, and accident.”

Industrial bath.

Commercial looking kitchen unit.

Nice fireplace in the dining area.

This is nice.

Like this bedroom.

New bath.

It comes with “roof rights.”

Studio with a kitchenette and laundry.

New bath.

Terrace off the studio.

The uppermost roof deck. Interesting place.

https://streeteasy.com/sale/1597558?fbclid=IwAR3VzMcmCXtC03InIkYk6n0xEnOLlHtDJ7cYoVT8CqTWPU6oI_JC-AcN0yQ

[memory-echo]

[Quarantine Marathon] "Independance Day" Part 2

Liz: Maria, I try to stay away, but I… I can't help myself. He obviously feels the same way.

— Yes, he obviously does. 😍 #Dreamer

Maria: Ok. Do you remember that commercial? When the girl takes the pan and bashes up the kitchen? Ok. This is your brain on Max.

— Boys are not drugs, Maria. 🤣 You're just angry that Michael doesn't look at you the way Max looks at Liz. It's OK, everybody wants a Max in their lives, but not everybody will get it.

Sheriff: I'll tell you what, Amy. If you make it, I'll eat it.

— Wow, how did this get past the censors at the WB? This is the greatest double entendre in season 1! 🤣

Max: Calm down, Isabel. I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone. Isabel: Then why did you tell me?

— This was a fun exchange. We all feel like Isabel here. We can't help being angry at this news. Who doesn't want to punch Hank in the nose for hurting Michael?

— Michael is more upset that Max broke the 'bros code' than about what Hank did to him. 🤔

Max: How are we gonna explain this to mom and dad? Isabel: I'll think of something. Max: Are you sure this is a good idea? Isabel: Yeah. In fact, I think it would be good for Michael to be part of the family.

— That was always the goal, wasn't it? It was an unfortunate accident that Michael got adopted by Hank.

— The dinner scene is perfect in showing the discomfort Michael feels with other people, even with his closest friends’ parents. Isabel's coddling is work against her, because that make him feel even worse about his situation. He may come off as a ‘caveman’ without manners, but he’s just embarrassed.

[sundove88]

The KupKake-Inator (The Maestro in The Hat)

You can find the casting Here.

Balan: So, kiddo, what do you want to do for fun?

Emma: I wanna make cupcakes!

Balan: Cupcakes? Oh, yeah! To the kitchen!

Announcer: Live from the kitchen, the following is a paid commercial announcement for Astounding Products.

Fortstopher IV: Hi! Welcome to Astounding Products. I'm your host, the king in the sweater who asks all the obvious questions. Now, here to tell us about his astounding product for making cupcakes, all the way, from Chesston, Wonderworld, please welcome...

Fortie: Me! Hello! Now... Hello! I'm so excited! Do you love making cupcakes, but hate all the hard cupcake work?

Fortstopher: I know I do!

Fortie: Well, forget everything you know about making cupcakes... (Shoves the ingredients aside) and say hello... to the amazing Kupkake-inator. I'm so excited!

Fortstopher: Cupcake-a-what?

Fortie: Kupkake-inator! Oh, this amazing device can instantly make cupcakes... out of anything that you have in the kitchen.

Fortstopher: Wait a minute. Did you say"anything"?

Fortie: Anything.

Fortstopher: Anything?

Fortie: Yes, anything.

Fortstopher: Anything?

Fortie: Anything.

Fortstopher: Anything?

Fortie: I'll get you, and it'll look like a bloody accident.

Fortstopher: *Gasps*

Fortie: Anything. Now, take off the lid. You can put in, I don't know, a carton of eggs.

Fortstopher: What?

Fortie: How about a pack ofhot dogs?

Fortstopher: That's incredible!

Fortie: Why not some ketchup?

Fortstopher: Yeah, why not?

Fortie: How about... I know what you're thinkin'. Even a fiire extinguisher. There we go.

Fortstopher: Hmm?

Fortie: Now, close the lid and Bob's your flippin' uncle!

Fortstopher: What an astounding product!

Balan: Oh, yeah!

Fortie: Open the drawer, Fiill the patented Kupkake-inator tray, Close the drawer, Then place it in a conventional oven. Delicious cupcakes are just minutes away.

Fortstopher: Did you just say "minutes away"? That’s impossible!

Fortie: You're not just wrong, you're stupid.

Fortstopher: Now, wait just a minute...

Fortie: And you're ugly, just like our mother.

Fortstopher: Did you just call our mother ugly?

Fortie; Shut up! I mean it! I will end you! (Takes out his sword and cuts his arm off)

All: *Gasp*

Emma: Um, Fortie. Your arm.

Fortie: What about it? Oh, I see! I've chopped it off. That's interesting, because- SON OF A- Timmu!!

(Hang in there, baby!)

[autotapfaucets]

Why Foot Pedal Faucets Are a Must-Have for Your Home or Business

As technology advances, even the most mundane fixtures in our homes and businesses are being reimagined. One such innovation is the foot pedal faucet, a hands-free solution that’s revolutionizing how we access water. Here are five compelling reasons to consider installing foot pedal faucets in your home or business.

1. Superior Hygiene and Cleanliness

Germ-Free Operation: The ability to operate a faucet without using your hands significantly reduces the spread of bacteria and viruses. This is especially crucial in environments like kitchens, bathrooms, hospitals, and restaurants, where maintaining high hygiene standards is essential.

Ideal for Public Spaces: In places with high foot traffic such as public restrooms, restaurants, and healthcare facilities, foot pedal faucets help ensure users don’t touch potentially contaminated surfaces, enhancing overall cleanliness.

2. Significant Water Conservation

Efficient Water Use: Foot pedal faucets provide precise control over water flow, allowing you to quickly turn the water on and off as needed. This efficiency helps prevent water wastage, making it ideal for high-traffic areas like commercial kitchens or busy households.

Automatic Shutoff: Many foot pedal faucets feature an automatic shutoff mechanism, which stops the water flow as soon as you release the pedal. This helps conserve water and can lead to noticeable savings on your water bills over time.

3. Unmatched Convenience

Hands-Free Multitasking: Whether you’re a busy chef juggling multiple tasks or a parent with your hands full, foot pedal faucets offer unparalleled convenience. You can wash your hands or rinse vegetables without manually turning the faucet on and off, freeing up your hands for other tasks.

Accessibility for All: These faucets are also an excellent choice for individuals with limited mobility or disabilities. The foot pedal mechanism makes it easy for everyone to access water without needing to use their hands.

4. Durability and Longevity

Reduced Wear and Tear: Traditional faucet handles can wear out or break over time due to frequent use. Foot pedal faucets, however, experience less physical stress because they are operated by foot, extending their lifespan and reducing maintenance costs.

Built to Withstand Heavy Use: Constructed with high-quality materials, foot pedal faucets are designed to handle heavy use in both residential and commercial settings, ensuring they remain functional and efficient for years to come.

5. Enhanced Safety

Minimize Accidents: In busy environments like commercial kitchens or homes with young children, foot pedal faucets add a layer of safety. The water stops flowing immediately when the pedal is released, minimizing the risk of overflows or slips due to wet floors.

Temperature Control: Many foot pedal faucets come with pre-set temperature controls, reducing the risk of scalding. This feature is particularly beneficial for homes with children or elderly individuals, providing a safer water access solution.

Conclusion

Foot pedal faucets are transforming both residential and commercial settings by offering a blend of hygiene, efficiency, convenience, durability, and safety that traditional faucets can’t match. Whether you’re looking to enhance the cleanliness of your kitchen, conserve water, or provide easier access to water for everyone, foot pedal faucets are a smart and innovative choice. Consider making the switch to experience the numerous benefits they bring to your daily routine.

To know more Visit : autotapfaucet.com

[rabbitcruiser]

National Chocolate Chip Day

We might not know which came first — the chicken, or the egg — but when it comes to chocolate chips and their namesake cookie, the history is well-documented, and it might not be what you think. Chocolate chips actually came after the chocolate chip cookie, and despite their ubiquity, are likely younger than your grandmother (they were first marketed in 1940!). Legend has it that the chocolate chip cookie was a happy accident, born when baker ran out of baker’s chocolate and opted for semi-sweet instead.

The recipe spread like wildfire, and after a few years of selling their semi-sweet chocolate bars with a chopping tool (for easy chunking of the bar), Nestlé went one step further by introducing chocolate “morsels” to the world. With such a history, and with so much mass appeal, it’s no surprise that this kitchen delight deserves celebration, and that’s why, on May 15, we’ve got National Chocolate Chip Day.

National Chocolate Chip Day timeline

1938 Creation of Chocolate Chips

Ruth Graves Wakefield creates the chocolate-chip cookie by accident.

1963 Going Commercial

Chips Ahoy! hits the shelves in U.S. supermarkets.

1991 A Sensation Like No Other

Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream creates waves of excitement around the globe.

1997 Official State Cookie

The chocolate-chip cookie is named and recognized as the official state cookie of Massachusetts.

National Chocolate Chip Day Activities

Hack The Kitchen: Chocolate For Dinner

How Big Can You Bake It?

Art You Can Eat

Most chefs know how to use tried-and-true flavor combinations to great effect, but the best chefs create new combinations altogether. Try using chocolate chips in a dinner recipe for a real challenge. If you’re looking for a place to start, you might consider trying the mole recipe in the section below!

You probably won’t approach the world record, but National Chocolate Chip Day is the perfect occasion to try your hand at baking the biggest chocolate chip cookie possible.

With a mix of chocolate chips, M&Ms, and some other similarly-sized chocolate candies, you’re well on your way to a kid-friendly edible art project! This can get messy, though, so it’s probably a project best suited for the kitchen!

Why We Love National Chocolate Chip Day

Chocolate Chips Are Everywhere!

The Choices … oh, so many choices!

Big Or Small — We'll Eat Them All!

They might have been created with one purpose in mind, but chocolate chips have branched out since their early days as cookie-fillers. Nowadays, it’s hard to think up a confection that hasn’t donned a chocolate chip cap, whether they be pancakes, muffins, or ice cream sundaes.

The chocolate chips that eventually found their way into the classic chocolate chip cookie are made of semi-sweet chocolate, but in keeping with the times, they now come in a plethora of options — ranging from white chocolate, to dark chocolate, and all the way to caramel — ensuring that, no matter what you’re baking, there’s a place for a chip!

Everyone loves chocolate chip cookies, no matter the size. They could be small (so long as there’s enough to have more than one!), or they could be massive, as in the case of Immaculate Baking’s 40,000 pound Guinness Record breaker, but regardless of size, they’re sure to draw a crowd. The fact that chocolate chips were used to break the record of world’s largest cookie is only a testament to their universality, and it’s safe to say that they’ll always have a space on the shelf of any baker.

Source

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I’m still pulling together all the notes from Bower and there are some inconsistencies between what Bower says happened and what Harry says happened. Just wanted to throw these out there in case anyone else is interested in some plot holes.

Plot hole #1: When did Harry and Meghan really get engaged?

Bower says that they became engaged much earlier than they said / announced. Bower’s sources / research says that Harry proposed while the Queen was at Balmoral and that the proposal happened before the Vanity Fair interview:

Jane Sarkin pitched to Graydon Carter, the magazine’s famous editor-in-chief, that Meghan should be offered not only an interview in the illustrious magazine but also a guarantee to feature on the front cover. Carter, famed as a man ahead of the curve, had never heard of Meghan or Suits. Nevertheless, he was persuaded that Harry’s latest girlfriend was destined to change the royal family. When the call came, Meghan was ecstatic.

[stuff about Sunshine Sachs]

Living with Harry had already transformed her life. The feature could even prompt Harry to announce their engagement - delayed, according to Harry, until the Queen’s formal approval on her return from Balmoral in the autumn.

[details about the proposal, the ring, and telling Thomas Markle]

The engagement was unknown to Keleigh Thomas Morgan as she gave a carefully measured response to Vanity Fair. Of course, Meghan would be delighted... 

[stuff about Suits and drama about commercial endorsement contracts, Harry’s instructions about what Meghan could/couldn’t talk about in the VF interview, and the VF author’s observations about Meghan’s house]

Meghan spoke, he [Sam Kashner, the VF author] realized, knowing that she had the winning ticket but avoiding giving an impression of triumphalism.

I don’t know a whole lot about magazine publishing, but the little I do know is that Vanity Fair would’ve needed at least 2 months’ lead time before publication to conduct the interview, source quotes from friends/family, do research and checks to verify claims about charity work, write the article, edit and fact-check the article, design the article and layout, send the issue for printing, and then publication and distribution. Then tack on another month for negotiations about the offer. Meaning that since Meghan was the September 2017 VF cover, she would have done the interview no later than July, with negotiations probably around May/June. Meaning that the proposal had to have been no later than June 2017. At least.

Now compare that to what Harry says in Spare:

One night, not long after Meg’s arrival in Britain, we were at home, making dinner, playing with Guy, and the kitchen of Nott Cott was as full of love as any room I’d ever been in.

[details about the proposal]

Oh, wait. Don’t you want to see the ring, my love?

She hadn’t even thought about it.

We hurried inside, finished our celebration in the warmth of the kitchen.

It was November 4. 

We managed to keep it secret for about two weeks.

So which is it? Were they engaged in June 2017? Or were they engaged on November 4, 2017?

I trust Bower’s research more than I trust Harry’s faulty memory. Not to mention...there’s been no lawsuits about Revenge. Clearly if Bower was wrong on any of his facts, we would’ve heard about it by now. And, well... *crickets*

Plot hole #2: Guy and his broken legs

In Spare, Harry says:

Days before Meg left Canada, Guy had run away from his minder. (Meg was at work.) He’d been found miles from Meg’s house, unable to walk. His legs were now in casts.

(then he goes into the proposal story and how he carried Guy in/out to be part of the proposal.)

Contrast that to the Daily Mail’s story about Guy. The Daily Mail article was published 23 December 2017 and says “Last night, sources close to the couple said Meghan was ‘distraught’ and ‘very upset’ about Guy’s condition,” suggesting that the accident happened on 22 December 2017, or around 22 Dec, and the level of medical detail in the article - specifically the vet specialist and the palace’s help - is too specific to be a lie. (And I feel like there was a palace communique about Guy’s accident, but I’m having trouble finding it.)

So which is it? Did Guy get injured in Canada in October? Or did he get injured in London in December?

My theory: Guy’s accident was in London, November / December timeframe. Harry and Meghan “recreated” their engagement some time later to have footage for the Netflix docuseries, but they did it when Guy had his casts on and then later changed the story about Guy’s accident to fit their “real” engagement story. (I do think Meghan wanted to change their engagement story because getting proposed to in the kitchen while making dinner wasn’t the candlelit romantic production she wanted.)

[creepilywatchingyou]

Memorable Things of 2022

- quit smoking and vaping again…

- bought my dream medium format camera

- at work, kevin and i kept hearing squeaking and we thought we were having auditory hallucinations from sleep deprivation. turns out there was a mouse on a glue trap.

- got a sick contax point and shoot for my birthday

- started competing in a denim competition

- bought my first car on my own without assistance (no co-signer)

- i ordered doritos flamin hot cool ranch, a loofah and several other things from target. the doritos burst during shipment. i had a doritos scented loofah for a while…

- formed a relationship and i ended up receiving boxes of fruits throughout the year from my “fruit daddy”

- drove to boston to be my brothers chauffeur for a week. sometime during that week i discovered my personal favorite brewery on the east coast: lord hobo brewing company

- my dad took care of my dog for a bit. every month when he gets his retirement check, he spends a portion of it on my dog

- blinded myself again. luckily it wasn’t both eyes but i got chemicals in one eye and couldn’t see out of one eye. ive learned that i am extremely accident prone

- tried growing out a mullet again

- “borrowed” only one street sign this year

- lead and organized a union. somewhere along there i ended up bringing my dog to a protest

- went hiking in washington state. i ended up with a mini cooper somewhere along that. also my brother managed to convince me to fly with 8 dry flower bouquets from seattle…

- visited an overall total of 7 different breweries

- my family member passed away. it took a toll especially since it was sudden... the thing that sucks about this is that that they died from covid and i constantly think about how it’s been 2 years since covid hit yet shit like this still happens...

- my gf moved in with me and she won’t stop burping into my food

- finally purchased land… from a cemetery….

- went hiking for the first time with my parents. my dad wanted to spend more time with me and this was a hobby he would like to pursue. a little after, i found out he bought a brand new pair of hiking boots so we can hike more.

- discovered the best burmese restaurant and it’s called “amayar kitchen”

- set up a darkroom in my home

- only went to 8 shows this year

- met michelle zauner and showed her a photo of my gf crying while she was reading “crying in hmart”

- got a mini fridge from brooklyn brewery that i use for film storage

- i religiously drink cold brew mixed with lemonade

- went to a wedding in connecticut primarily for the free reception food

- taught my gf how to develop and process film. the purpose of this is so that she’ll eventually have a desire to own a leica. hopefully, she’ll give up on photography and give me the leica

- i have attained a sugar momma

- signed up for commercial fishing in alaska

- saw my first broadway musical

[hvachelp]

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[16ruedelaverrerie]

Anon I love you passionately, never change. I want you to have this:

WE AS A SOCIETY KEEP CASTING NEIL NEWBON IN ROLES WHERE HE INEVITABLY, SOMEHOW, EVEN WHEN HE IS A CHARACTER IN A FUTURISTIC STORY ABOUT ANDROIDS SET IN A MAJOR METROPOLITAN CITY, GETS FUCKED BY A BEAR

You must be mistaking me for someone else... I never made anything of the sort.......... Thank you very much for sticking around, and for being so kind 🥹💓

There is NOTHING SWEETER TO MY EARS THAN THE RALLYING CRY OF "CANON DOESN'T EXIST"! COME LOVE RESTAURANTS WITH ME, ANON. JOIN THE COMMERCIAL KITCHEN FANDOM. BE IN THE FANDOM OF COOKING AS A CONCEPT. Gavin having a minor knife accident and the entire kitchen being thrown into an overblown frenzy of panic... Going on the road with a food truck as the restaurant gets renovated to put in wine storage... Nines realizing that he needs to study mixology and contacting a very confused Allen to demand tutoring... Gavin being hired out for a private catering gig in a mansion and getting run so ragged by the end of it that he just takes a three-hour nap on the parlor couch halfway in Nines's lap... Gavin later being mortified to discover that he has done so... R E S T A U R A N T S

💕💕💕I'm sorry for putting such a lovely message behind the cut, @bumblee-bee! But this is what comes of being so kind that looking upon you is like looking directly into the sun. I am too embarrassed to face you out in the open. I'm so so SO so glad that you are enjoying Les Mignardises! I don't think I'm even capable of truly conveying the full extent of my gratitude, but that fic means a lot to me (too much to me, really) and it genuinely moves me to hear that you are having fun with it. I still think of myself as someone who primarily contributes to fandom through fic; with each passing day, this becomes more and more untenable a self-concept -- if that's true, where the fuck is the writing to show for it? WHY DO YOUR FIC UPDATES TAKE LITERAL YEARS, NAT? -- but still, some stubborn part of me wants the fics to matter, you know. Thank you so much.

And of course it's fantastic that you've made your way back to the fandom!!! YISSSS BE ENFOLDED BACK INTO THE LOVING CLAWED EMBRACE OF THIS HELLPIT