#firing myself as interior designer

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

outtakes: mad about dodo/simply lilac (set after this lol)

DODO: (likely woken from the nicest most pleasant dream not involving those piles of laundry the Watcher is using to try and get him to switch to the NEAT trait)

DODO: Wha’?

ARAMINTA: ‘This is about you, not me’. Oh, really now. The self-awareness is astounding. And how dare she? I’m glad however that she has one friend - she certainly made so many on the show…

DODO: Minta.

ARAMINTA: And to imply that I would ever treat someone unfairly simply because they were friends with a person I didn’t take to? She’s certainly colouring me with her own view of the world. Perhaps if she’s so concerned, she should gatecrash and interrupt me at my job and take up my time - and everyone else’s - with her astoundingly well-timed bursts of paranoia-

DODO: Minta, you’re adorable. But the island was the first time you lived away from home and you’ve never played a team sport before. Or had a job with colleagues who you had to cooperate with, whether you got along with them or not. And right now, I can totally tell?

ARAMINTA: (pauses) How so?

DODO: You don’t know how to reconcile it when you don’t like a sim who doesn’t have the ‘EVIL’ or ‘MEAN’ trait. Sometimes two sims just don’t like each other, and it doesn’t mean that one of them is ‘good’ or the other is ‘bad.’ Shay’s not ‘bad’. She’s just, to you it seems anyway, annoying. 

ARAMINTA: (dry chuckle) You could say that.

DODO: Also you can go out, do your horsey thing, and leave it all in the stadium. Not everyone can separate things that easily. There’s a leftback on Britechester who, like, hardly anyone who knows him away from football has a bad word to say about him. And rationally I know that he’s a decent guy. But as an opponent he’s really uncompromising, he deliberately gets beneath your skin, messes with your head - and he pushes the rules to their limit. To me he’s just a fucking dick.

ARAMINTA: You mean J. Huntington Jr? But he’s always so polite.

DODO: And I’m sure he is. To people who aren’t Foxbury players and who don’t play on opposition teams. But you see what I mean? Maybe Shay can’t be someone’s friend and compete against them at the same time. Maybe she didn’t want to make any other attachments because she didn’t want to hurt a friend.

ARAMINTA: That makes sense. I just wish things were different.

DODO: It doesn’t mean you’ve failed if you don’t like everyone you meet. Or if not everyone likes you. You know that you haven’t forgotten about me and it’s not like you’re going around hitting on all the contestants, so what does it matter what anyone else thinks?

ARAMINTA: I think - sometimes I worry that I’m nice to people not just for the sake of being nice, but because I want them to like me. I mean, it’s important to me to treat others well in and of itself. So why isn’t it enough?

DODO: Welcome to the world of being a pixel person with complexities, Minta. Being liked is just a natural thing to want. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Anyway, I think that someone needs a hug.

ARAMINTA: (straightens expectantly)

DODO: Yeah, the butler was looking kind of down earlier?

ARAMINTA: You’re a scamp.

DODO: You like it, c’mon. Also, that’s kind of why I’ve been leaving the toilet seat up all the time. Just so you won’t forget about me and flirt with all the contestants.

ARAMINTA: Sure, Dodo. Sure…

dodo harper by @akitasimblr. also shay i love you, promise - ginger solidarity (shay by @changingplumbob)

[nevisiity]

FAMA (408)

Fama Definition: Fama(408) means to be popular or well known, having reputation FAME!!! Personal interpretations of Fama in the houses below!! Please let me know if you relate or care to share anything else! Thx for reading <3 post 1/4 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 1ST HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 1st house is LITERALLY the house of your physical body, how you look, how you are seen by the general public, self image surface level identity. Approach to life, this can also represent early childhood. So, In my own personal interp of this sign I have concluded that girl… YOU ARE THE MAIN CHARACTER. Like BIG star energy, You might have been popular in childhood, if not then you have no problem getting attention. It may come to you naturally, even if you don’t want it…you have it.. And here they come “I never get attention 🥺” PUT. YOURSELF. OUT. THERE. Cause you got it! Don’t be afraid to flaunt it ;) This also reads to me as a natural star, actors, musicians, artists even just big personalities. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 2ND HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 2nd house relates to personal finances, money, mula, green. It also reminds me of the earth…”natural energy” mother nature. Anything green. The second house also contains personal possessions(jewels, cars, houses, etc) and emotions. Fama in the second house gives off “that girl”(IFYKYK) vibes. Natural earthy beauty. Maybe you prefer less makeup and may get complimented more because of that. But a way you can achieve fame is through hard work, getting money and showing off jewels. Showing off cars. Flaunting your wealth may not be a bad thing after all…Kind of Glamorous if you ask me. If I had this placement I would adorn myself in jewels…try a more natural style, you are beautiful just the way you are…enjoy getting that attention.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 3RD HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 3rd house is COMMUNICATION. Writing, speaking, conversing, editing, and translation. Perhaps you are excellent at communicating, Your voice is most likely really nice. Fama here to me indicates a good songwriter…maybe even a poet. You could probably write a nice script as well. Fluency in languages. You can get famous for these skills. Maybe you can even sing! Wouldn’t  surprise me :) Go on and let your voice shine then! 🌟Let your writing speak…you never know who could be listening! If you have this placement and want to write a book..write and publish poetry, music, any of that. Do everyone a favor and WRITE IT or SPEAK IT!! Your words are your superpower. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 4TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 4th house represents family, roots, old age but also physical structures, our homes (houses, real estate). Fama in the 4th house could mean your whole family is popular or well known where you live, especially if it's in a smaller place. Maybe some of you could get famous from where you come from… how you grew up, childhood, etc. This could also mean a family business that could get you fame or recognition. Reminds me of Tabitha Brown and her daughter (Tik Tok). Or you could get famous later in life. Maybe you could create a future of fame for your family. Maybe you could be a famous interior designer as well. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 5TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 5th house rules creativity,(The house of PLEASURE)  hobbies. something you enjoy doing! This can be anything from painting, music, sketching, tattooing, crocheting, any-damn-thing!!  Your hobbies are where you shine. If it puts a smile on your face and a fire in your belly DO IT!! And post it on social media! I didn’t want to mention zodiac signs yet but hun…this is the house of leo…and what is leo known for?? BEING SEEN!!The sun shines bright and you can’t miss it…The attention-getter of all the signs. Just remember to post it online! Especially if you are passionate about it. This is really the all encompassing house. Fama SHINES here. It takes a little work, but not too much..enjoy what  you are doing first though. To add, if you enjoy working with kids, want to start a business having to do with children you are sure to succeed. You could really just do your own thing and shine though.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 6TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆The 6th house represents health, wellness, daily routines and odd jobs. Now FAMA in the 6th house reads to me as a health influencer, Your daily routine will help you shine. Maybe you pretend to have a youtube channel in the mirror, showing your routine. Whether that be skincare, a day in my life, makeup tutorial. Maybe some of you are gym-bros or are really into fitness, maybe you will have a famous social media based on fitness, or healthier meals. You may even be into clean beauty, no real leather, vegan, etc. Your health is your strong suit and maybe people even ask you what they can do to be healthier. Maybe you are more on the fit side and people inquire about this too. You could be really well known personal trainer! Or chef 🧑‍🍳 Reminds me of famous chefs Gordon ramsey and Raechel Ray. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 7TH HOUSE.. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 7th house represents partnerships, beauty, fairness, legalities and even enemies!! If you have FAMA here, You could be a very famous model one day!! Probably very beautiful, whether that's unique or conventional. Besides physical beauty, I feel this also relates to art. I feel we have some amazing artists here. You could also be a great judge, family or relationship type therapist. Just anything ruling beauty and fairness. Maybe you are even a muse for some people. They want to paint you, write about you, etc…this can bring you fame. Famous fashion designer as well, beauty influencer, jewelry maker, etc! 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 8TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 8th house represents taboos, death, debt, other people's resources, sex. I read that it can also rule over legacies and wills! FAMA in the 8th house means you would get very famous doing astrology, tarot, spiritual guidance. Some of you may even be witches and could get popular doing that. Some of you may be into sex work….could get very famous that way! Whether that's stripping, only fans, DOMINATRIX. May be a good accountant or personal financer (idk what the profession would be called sorry).  Some good tarot accounts to look into if you’re interested would be (kino tarot, firefly tarot, lexi the leo, The gem goddess) You remind me of them a bit…

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 9TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆The 9th house rules over philosophy, religion, higher education, I also feel good careers for this asteroid in 9th are psychics, export/import business. Just a search for the truth. You could be a very popular philosopher, this reminds me of all the greek philosophers (socrates, plato, apollodorus of athens, aristotle) Religion! You could get very famous being some type of pastor or spiritual guru. Maybe a very famous, sought after teacher. You could be a travel influencer. Love to learn about different cultures and could get very famous doing that. Very smart people here and that is your starshine. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 10TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 10th house is at the peak of your birth chart, it rules over professional career image, Public image, business relations and career achievements. I feel you could be a very famous business man/woman. You could even own a company one day!! Giving boss energy. The 10th house also rules over positions of power/authority. FAMA here could mean you even start your own business from square 1! From nothing! CEO’s with this placement. Directors, photographers, superintendent, managers. ALL things BOSS. Maybe even popular overseas due to business relations, lavish lifestyle because of riches here. Could be very popular for work ethic. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 11TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 11th house rules over The friendship of the collective, social media, friendships and groups, and HOPE. as well as idealism. FAMA in this house can indicate big social media fame. You just shine on social media. Like I said with the first house. PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE. Giving alien vibes. Reminds me of the theme of Beyonce's latest “renaissance”. Very modern, maybe even futuristic, Reminds me of fit checks I see on my TL and they have thousands of views. Maybe you yourself represent things people can’t understand, maybe with the way you present yourself. You def keep up on all the trends and memes. Maybe you could get very famous with a commentary type channel, expressing your opinions especially on pop culture. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 12TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 12th house rules over dreams, rest, BIG SPIRITUALITY, traumas, addictions, all that is below the surface.  FAMA here I think is very beneficial for people who want to speak about things that happened to them. Best spiritual gurus, psychics. You could CHANGE LIVES with this FAMA placement.Reminds me of FKA twigs song “Cellophane”. Most of you here could write a novel about things that happened to you. Or how you connect with god(s), spirit, whatever you believe in. You are magical, like a crystal ball.  Also may be gifted with clairaudience, channeling, mediumship, etc. Maybe you could see dead people/talk with them. You are stardust ☄️

Thank you for reading!! FAMA in the signs is next. Stay tuned <3

[thelemonsnek]

graphic interior design is my passion

[image id: an aerial floorplan of Ingo and Emmet's apartment. It is relatively small and not overly fancy. There are only two bedrooms, Ingo's and Emmet's, with a pullout couch to make up for the lack of a spare room. Most of the house is carpeted with a navy blue carpet. Off to the side, a tiny Ingo and Emmet look over at the apartment. End id]

additional ramblings under the cut for reasoning about some of this!!

ingo typically takes night shifts, so he took the room without the window so he could sleep better during the day. emmet preferred the room with the window bc the sunrise helps him wake up easier

their bed colors are based off their ex outfits in masters. emmet's is lighter and ingo's is darker to match the white/black theme

if you happened to notice, ingo's trashcan is beside his desk. emmet's isn't shown because it's under his desk. ingo also has one of those desks with built in shelves, both because it makes up for him not having a bookshelf, and also because i just think he'd enjoy the efficiency of it

for all of the chairs, they're out from the tables to demonstrate the space they would take up if in use. the twins do in fact push in their chairs. the exception is ingo's desk chair, which he leaves pushed out on purpose. freak

the dark carpet helps to hide dirt - important for trainers with so many pokemon in the house!!

speaking of pokemon, the hallway is intentionally larger than i'd expect of real life houses, in order to accommodate large final evolutions

the couch is a pullout, since they don't have a spare room

the rug isn't plain white i'd just rather die than actually design the pattern

there's also a lot of clutter/decorative stuff that i didn't include

the laundry room is sparse for easy access to the fire exit! safety first :)!

there are "floating" cabinets over the counters, i just couldn't figure out an effective way to draw that. the microwave is above the stove

i think that they're a higher up floor in the apartment, but not the highest. maybe like,,,,3 out of 5 or 6 floors?

space for ghosts was originally a little joke comment i wrote for myself when drafting the layout, then kept in. i could've extended the kitchen down and given them more room but the space for ghosts is important to me now. chandelure needs her alone time

[survivalove]

Air Temple Island, the Water Tribes & the Real Life Influences that bring them together

I was gonna screenshot a post I saw and add it to my post but I don’t feel like giving that individual attention (and the 300+ notes they got), so I just decided to make my own standalone post debunking this narrative that air temple island is this fully air nomad brothel (yes they said this) with ZERO water tribe motifs which katara is forced to live in until aang passed away.

frankly it just reminded me of how little people in this fandom actually bother to analyze the actual content, instead preferring to write entirely made up scenarios of katara being reduced to an air nomad incubator along with dozens other female acolytes (yes they also said this lmao. also them acting like both male AND female acolytes weren’t living on the whole other side of the island 😭)

when in truth, i’ve come to find a lot of elements of both water tribes as well as traditional inuit elements across air temple island:

1. the paifang

a traditionally chinese element that for some reason is exclusively found in the northern water tribe (why do they have a gate inside a throne room, you ask? ask the white people that made this show). the one on the left is actually one of two aang BUILT, at the main entrance and another at the temple entrance. this is just one example of water tribe design on the island.

2. the bagua mosaic

another structure is the bagua mosaic on the training grounds. bagua is a set of traditional chinese symbols of the cosmology, taoism. the bagua composes of 8 sets of broken or unbroken lines that represent yin and yang. where have we seen yin and yang in the original series? oh yeah, as tui and la of the water tribe! (because atla is a mess of asiatic and indigenous motifs joined together and spread out across each nation, mainly traditionally chinese elements at that.) aang building this right next to the air nomad training grounds is a symbol of the dual bending heritage their children will have.

3. gold and blue accents

now, gold and blue are the main colors of the exterior structures but is also very strong inside the air temple itself. note, the massive air nomad symbol designed fully in blue in the center and the blue banners and rugs throughout the temple. this is no doubt, for me, a visual depiction of both katara and aang’s representative cultures, but of course this is not limited to color only.

4. cloud carvings

now, this is a slight detour since clouds aren’t a significant part of either of their individual cultures (that we know) but i love the kataang monopoly they have on clouds as a couple so i’m talking about it. if you look at these images very closely what do you see? CLOUD CARVINGS!! specifically near the ceiling of the pavilion (left) and the arches and walls of the temple (right) just imagining aang painting and etching these very consistent swirls, like he’ll never be the selfish inconsiderate unromantic loser you people want him to be, but let’s get more into the southern water tribe style interior.

5. interior design

so here is a southern water tribe white lotus outpost vs the air temple island main dining room. first thing, the seat cushions and rug! while we don’t see air nomad eating quarters we do get to see enough SWT customs both in atla and lok, to know this is how they traditionally eat compared to the north (limiting myself on pics cuz mobile).

another thing is the dining table itself. both have what i believe to be built in fire pits (i couldn’t actually tell for the air temple island one cuz of the quality but if you zoom in you can see the lines go in the table plus the hanging kettle on it makes it obvious to me idk). the southern water tribe one however is clear and likely a more traditional version of what aang and katara have.

thirdly, the exposed timber on the ceiling. i actually looked it up and found this is a common element of these two inuit structures: left is an aasiaat peat house and right is an igloolik turf house. all this for me to believe not only did aang build air temple island to be a haven for the TWO of them but also that katara herself had a lot of input on the interior than people care to notice lol.

maybe instead of projecting these loser fantasies of katara being some unwilling air nomad baby making machine so you can feel better about your fantasies of katara living in a red palace with people that tried to wipe her out for a whole century, you all can go study the actual canon you were shown and the real life cultures the franchise takes from.

6. lastly, some of my own headcanons/stuff i want to see in the movie

the bathroom because I LIVE for a white marble tiled bathroom. i just know katara has to have a HUGE tub and they have one of those insane glass showers that can fit like 3 people, with cloud swirls everywhere because aang clearly got it like that

the KITCHEN, i imagine it being timber like the dining room and is probably on the other side behind the built-in shelf (get into the details like hello). in a perfect world, it would be open plan but hey

the bedroom, now we saw it in lok a bit but i wanna see it in the gaang movie too. i’m on pic limit but there’s a lot of artwork and flowers throughout the whole house which i give katara credit for because I can. like the desk, the bookshelf, that fancy looking vase thing? these two clearly have taste like don’t talk to me rn

I also didn’t show the rooms and aang’s study but there’s a lot of blue decor in those places which makes me think katara decorated the whole house, even the acolytes’ hall has blue sitting cushions and columns which i think is such a nice detail.

if you guys have any air temple island headcanons of your own please reply with some i’m feening lol

big shoutout to this user:

atla-annotated (their page is so great and filled with a lot of incredible information if you guys like this sort of stuff)

[twstunes]

(slight spoilers for Book 7, tho i take it a lot of us have seen Hornton's overblot form + mama Draconia's design at this point lmao. also i'm calling her Draconimom until we get a confirmed eng spelling for her name)

Overblot mask analysis – Malleus + Dark Mirror v2

it's probably been brought up already but i'm gonna be annoyed w/ myself if i leave overblot hornton out of my overblot mask analyses, it's pretty straightforward overall but STILL

Similar to Vil, the main body of Malleus' mask takes on the shape of a cowl, echoing that of Maleficent's own headgear. This widow's peak-esque shape was already present in the design of Malleus' forehead scales (which aren't normally visible), but the mask better emulates Maleficent by bringing the point down closer to the brow line.

The central V of the mask has a fiery exterior trim; on closer inspection, the "flames" appear to be made solely of shapes based on Malleus' (and Maleficent's) horns. In comparison, the motifs on the further edges of the mask seem to be just basic fire patterns.

Arcs of spikes & scales make up both the interior trim of the mask and the portion connecting to Malleus' eyes. These directly mimic the spines and purple underbelly of Maleficent's dragon form. (The scales on his cheekbones don't correlate to any part of Maleficent's face, humanoid or dragon, and are likely there just to complement this part of the mask.)

Of note is the spiked line extending from the peak of the mask down over Malleus' nasal bone. Rather than representing part of Maleficent's face design, it appears to take after a different source–

–the main body of the mask is literally his mom's crown. which hurts a bit! own it tho ig, like hey if he's gonna be under so much pressure due to being prince then he might as well get an overblot mask to represent that. "heavy is the head that wears the crown," etc

Anyway this is like a field day for me bc Draconimom's design is literally so fantastic to analyze. I'm getting hit with the urge to make diagrams. Do u realize how rarely this happens

1. The horns? The horns. I don't think I have to go over this one again. However, the little bumps near the horns on the mask could signify the two…ear guards(?) of the crown.

2. The upper two curved prongs lined w/ dots and spikes on the Dark Mirror's mask match up strikingly well with Draconimom's pauldrons! The lower two prongs bend in the opposite direction, and seem to be there just to balance out the top pair.

3. Like the tattered edges of Maleficent's robes, the lacy edges of her cape could easily be compared to the fiery edges on the upper half of the mask. Comparatively, the frills along the bottom of the mask are distinctly rounder and less flame-like, which matches up well with the softer, almost fluffy-looking edges of Draconimom's skirt. The netting on the mask could then, logically, represent the fabric of the cape/skirt as though they're being dramatically flared out.

(Off-topic, but: if you look closely at the lace cape, you'll see roses worked into the design! This isn't part of the analysis, I just think it's neat owo)

4. Just under the mask's central 4-pointed star, there are 2 small extrusions on each side. These bear an uncanny resemblance to the 2 main lines used in the flow of the embellishments on Draconimom's bodice(?), with the upper one curling upwards while the lower one is just slightly curved.

5. I cannot stress this enough. I'm putting this in image format just so you can see how much I'm not joking. The central line of the mask is not just repeatedly utilized in Draconimom's outfit, it's literally integral to her overall character design. (It's a little hard to see due to her default pose unfortunately, as it interrupts the linear flow)

tl;dr get in losers we're getting hornton's mom out of that mirror

[redhairedwolfwitch]

Photograph of A World on Fire (4) - Andy Herrera x DeLuca!Sister!Reader - Station 19/Grey's Anatomy

Summary: The world might be on fire with a pandemic happening, and you and Andy face loss after loss, but the two of you stick together and become even closer through it all.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Request: hey 💓 could you write a deluca!sister x amelia fic where r is a cheeky italian which puts amelia in gay panic mode x

A/n: this diverts from canon like a curly wurly chocolate bar, also mentions a one night stand, there's no smut but it's alluded to, so, read at your own risk, and don't ask me where this happens in canon, because that will give me another headache:) (i gave myself that headache and followed canon slightly... ooof, warning, canon character death incoming)

A/n: to whoever reads this, you are important.

Andy found out her mother was alive, and then three weeks later, a pandemic set the world on fire.

Andy's mother left, and her father told her that her mother had died, rather than her mother had abandoned her due to mental illness.

Your brother and sister were determined to quarantine away from you, and with Andy in a bubble at the firehouse, you were isolated from everyone.

Andy had enlisted herself in distracting herself about her mother by going to an art store, masked up with a list of supplies for you so you could keep making your art from home. Andy didn't know you had gotten out of the car, sitting on the bonnet with your camera, photographing the empty streets.

You didn't know it was the start of one of two projects during the pandemic that would make your career flourish, as you sat in your black attire, watching the funeral of Pruitt Herrera, that due to the pandemic had to be done online. Watching as Andy spoke, you couldn't hide the love in your eyes for this woman. This woman of fire. Your fiamma.

///

Your brother sat on your porch as you sat in the hallway, talking to each other through an open door.

"I found inspiration, for two big projects."

"Two big projects? Wow, that's amazing, angioletta. I hope I get to see them before Carina." Andrew smiled, the pride in his eyes obvious.

"Oh she'd be so mad!" You laughed, remembering the last time Andrew had seen your artwork before Carina did, and how jealous she got despite trying to hide it.

"How's your girlfriend?" Andrew threw you off, almost dropping your snack on the carpet in surprise at his question, but you took a moment before replying.

"She is at a family picnic for the first time in twenty years, and I didn't want to impose y'know. Plus, everyone is so determined to quarantine, I'm isolated from everyone and everything, but my art." You admitted, spotting the sad look on your big brother's face at your confession. You were feeling lonely.

///

"It probably won't help if I tell them that I have a girlfriend too." Andy admitted to her cousin Michelle, whose eyes lit up at Andy's admittance.

"You do? Tell me everything!"

"She's an artist, with two older siblings, who are both doctors, but she is my saving grace in this, this cruel world." Andy confessed, getting her phone out to show her cousin a photo of you, and some photos of your art.

///

Your phone buzzed as Vic sent you a video, getting your brother's attention as you gasped.

"There, there was a tiger, in the firehouse... a tiger... that's not totally terrifying!" forwarding the video to your brother, who checked his phone.

///

Fiamma: you don't have any vagina art, do you?

Cariño: that's more my sister's interior design style...

Cariño: good luck to Maya

///

"You know, on the nights we don't have dinner together. I eat canned green beans for dinner, out of the can." Andy confessed as she watched you stand over the hob, stirring your wooden spoon into something that smelt amazing.

"Fiamma, that's disgusting."

///

Andrew's text sent horror through your body as you read it. He and Carina were following a human trafficker. And nobody was answering their phone. Not Andrew, not Carina, not Andy, and not even Maya. Miranda and Ben weren't answering either, so you ran out of your house, tracking your big sister's phone as you got in your car.

Your brother was good, he was stable, taking his meds, getting sleep. Your sister had moved in with Maya, she was happy as she could be without missing Italy and stressing over your father.

Warren and Maya began to call you as Ben read your message, realising you were going after your big siblings.

///

"Announcement! Uh, Carina and her brother Andrew are... well... they're following one of the kidnappers, and uh, Y/n is going after her siblings apparently so..." Maya nervously explained, about to tell Andy off for hurriedly getting her phone but Warren shook his head.

"Probably going to call Y/n. They're, they're friends."

///

"Carina, Andrew, there's something you should know. Y/n is on her way to you, I'm guessing nobody's kept your little sister in the loop."

"Angioletta? No, she could get hurt. How does she know where we are?" Carina began to panic, hearing what Maya said.

"She's probably tracking our phones." Andrew deadpanned, knowing it was too late to stop you.

///

You knew they were at the Seattle Transit Station, running as you spotted Carina heading through the doors of the station. Speed-walking after your siblings, you barely made it onto the train before the doors shut, quickly making your way up the carriage until you landed in the seat next to Andrew, sandwiching him in the middle of you and Carina.

"What are you doing-"

"You both scared me. Plus nobody knows who I am so..." you trailed off, whispering in Italian to obscure your words to any non-Italian speakers.

The three of you watched as another passenger stood up and moved away from the three of you.

"My first time being profiled as an Italian."

///

"Stay back, angioletta." Carina whispered, as your siblings stood up to follow the human trafficker off of the train.

"Go find Ben and the police, I'm not losing her again." Andrew instructed, leaving Carina to nod and get out her phone. That was Carina's mistake as she took her eyes off of you, who ran after her big brother like she did when she was a toddler.

But Carina lost sight of you both, stuck rallying the first responders. She didn't see what you saw. The man barge into your big brother, and stab him.

"NO! Help! Help! Call 911!" You screamed loud enough that Carina heard you, hurrying over to see you putting pressure on a stab wound. A stab wound in your big brother's chest.

"We're here, we're here!" you sobbed, as Warren got your brother on a gurney, Maya holding back Carina as you curled up on the floor, hands covered in your brother's blood.

Carina cleaned your hands as you sat numbly in the back of the aid car, Maya and Ben treating your brother, and Carina recalling songs from your childhoods to soothe your brother's pain.

///

Sitting in the Grey Sloan outdoor waiting room, you were numb as you saw the look in the approaching doctor's eyes.

Your brother was dead.

///

In grieving, Carina shut down, but you threw yourself into your art projects. Carina had Maya to keep an eye on her, but you...

Andy was there for you. Andy was there when you didn't sleep at night, staring at a blank canvas until you started to paint, she sat and watched you. You didn't want to talk, your big brother was your lifeline.

"Okay, I know your French toast is better, and so is Carina's, but it's the only thing I know how to make for breakfast." Andy explained, bringing a tray into your spare room aka your art room at this point.

"Looks delicious." You managed to smile, but Andy was taken off guard as you pulled her into a hug, burying your face in her neck and not letting go.

"I'm acting captain today... are you sure you'll be okay alone?" Andy asked, her fingernails running gently over your scalp as she cradled your head.

"I have food and water. I just want to paint my grief, because I don't know how else to express it. Talking doesn't work, talking makes me miss him, even if he's with our mama now." You replied, but Andy saw the look on your face when you spotted the red paint on the palette. She didn't see how it reminded you of your brother's blood on your hands as you sat in the aid car, numb and hoping it wasn't his time.

Your siblings may have called you angioletta, little angel, but your brother was the angel among you now.

Your mother called Andrew and Carina two halves of a whole, but you needed both of them. You were away from Carina for so long growing up, all you had was your brother.

Now he was gone, Carina was stuck with the paperwork, and you buried yourself in your art. Minus any red paint, which Andy had removed after seeing the far away look on your face at the sight of it.

///

Carina called you hours later, asking if you had spoken to your father at all. You hadn't, but somehow he had heard two days ago that your brother died, and he didn't call either of you.

Andy found you sitting on your porch on her return home, in the spot where your brother had once sat, with a portfolio she hadn't seen before in your hands.

"Andrew was supposed to be the first person to see my projects, but he's..." you trailed off, opening the first page to reveal the photographs you had taken of empty Seattle streets.

"I've never seen Seattle so empty."

"Exactly." You let out a wet chuckle, holding back your tears until Andy met your gaze with a faltering smile at your crying.

///

Maya Bishop: A Doctor Gabriella Aurora just turned up here

Y/n DeLuca: you'll be okay, it's been a long time since medical school, trust me.

Maya Bishop: Come over and help me?

Y/n DeLuca: i'm having dinner with my girlfriend tonight. i'm cooking too.

Maya Bishop: Girlfriend?

*left on read 4:21pm*

///

"You know your sister has a girlfriend?" Maya enquired as she walked through the Grey Sloan car park with Carina, hand in hand.

"I assumed she had someone living with her. She had two mugs out when I surprised her one morning, and someone gave her a neck bruise."

"A hickey?" Maya raised an eyebrow, wondering how long you and whoever it was had been dating.

"Yes, a hickey. My sister is not a fan of double dates though." Carina added before Maya could get any ideas.

///

"I still haven't met your girlfriend. I even met your ex-roommate before I met her." Andy's cousin Michelle pointed out, after pointing out how Andy had gone to every barbecue and not brought you with her.

"My girlfriend lost her brother and her sister is very protective and doesn't want her getting the virus... and we still haven't told her sister we're dating, or that I moved in so..." Andy trailed off as Michelle's eyes widened.

"Oh so it's serious?"

"She's my saving grace."

///

"My visa expires next month." Carina explained to you, making you flinch. You and Andrew had citizenship, but Carina was here on a visa for her study.

"You have to go back to Italy? They shut down the immigration offices... Carina..."

"Angioletta..." Carina whispered, letting out a squeak as you pulled her into a tight hug, fear setting in that you would lose the only family you had left in America.

///

Carina and Maya were unaware of how well you really knew Andy, until it came to your brother's memorial in the Grey Sloan car park.

Amelia wasn't there, even if she had mentored your brother for a time. You hadn't thought of the neurosurgeon in a long time, having removed all traces of her from your portfolio, your life and your memory.

Whilst Maya held Carina in the car park, you sat on the ground, holding your knees to your chest until arms wrapped around you, and Andy was almost cooing in Spanish, calming you as you clung to her, mask soaked with tears.

Neither of them had any time to judge, but both were unaware you and Andy really knew each other as more than friends. Any assumption they had was wrong. Andy and yourself were well acquainted.

You didn't hide your relationship with Andy. She was at the firehouse a lot, not wanting to bring covid home back to you, since Maya and Carina were further along in their relationship and when Andy had moved in with you, she tried her best to keep you safe.

Everyone wanted to protect you, but they were isolating themselves from you to try keep you safe.

One of your art projects had been inspired by frontline workers, gaining attention online as people wanted to buy the works, the money going to charities to support people during the pandemic... you were flourishing, and your big brother couldn't see it from anywhere but above, whilst your sister and your girlfriend could see it, and you, but chose not to as often.

Your second project reflected another side to the pandemic, photography of the empty streets, void of all life. Almost apocalyptic in a sense.

Andy spent more time with you than Carina did, but you and your sister handled grief differently.

The fire between you and Andy burned brighter than anything else. An eternal flame.

"What are you painting this time? Is that a heart on fire?" Andy peeked over your shoulder, her chin resting on it as her hands hovered over your waist, hesitant to touch in case she messed up your brushstrokes.

"It was supposed to be symbolic, fires of love? Eternal flame? I think I'm better at realism... the portraits reflect that." You shrugged, gesturing to the paintings on the other side of the room.

"You are the sweetest but your sister and Maya should be here in an hour, and you are wearing more paint than clothes." Andy pointed out, her eyes widening as you smirked, walking backwards to guide her to the shower.

"Maybe you should join me, to make sure I get all the paint off."

"I would like that very much, but we need to-" Andy began to point out the lack of time, but you shushed her as you leaned in, waiting until she met you halfway, the hour countdown until Maya and Carina's arrival forgotten about...

///

[fishwithtitz]

The Five Times I Hooked Up with Mary Goore (and the One Time I Couldn’t) - Chapter 4

stunning artwork of a scene from chapter 1 by @dominaarts that I've been dying to share!

Summary: A miscommunication between Thomas and Des results in a night of Dahlia and Mary dog sitting together. When a record breaking storm rolls in, Dahlia's faced with the decision on exactly how much vulnerability she wants to reveal. Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI Mary Goore x OFC / 15.4k words Warnings: language, thigh-riding, p in v sex, mentions of recreational drug use, alcohol, storms, thunder, slight angst

A/N: Thank you for your patience and support as I've taken the time to write this. This was a difficult chapter to write as it starts building the foundation for the turning point of the story and I wanted to get it just right. Leave a comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist 🥰 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

ao3 link

Hook-up #4: Thomas’ Room

Codependency was something I tried really, really hard to avoid. I’d long prided myself on my 

feral independent streak and would be damned if anyone, man or woman, made me reliant.

But I had to admit, I really missed Des. 

This was the shitty part of relationships. It seemed that when the people you love found someone that they wanted to devote themselves to, their time seemed to be sucked along with it. I understood where she was coming from. The novelty of a budding relationship is a unique and addictive feeling. I don’t blame her for chasing the high. 

While she tended the fire that she and Thomas were building, she was opting for spurts of lighter fluid rather than bits of soul-sourced kindling. And now her fire was growing and spreading, sometimes out of control, and it seemed like all of her time and resources were devoted to managing it. Which meant that some of her other relationships had to be put on the backburner until the flames could be brought to a dull roar. 

As if a sign from the universe, the stars finally aligned (or perhaps just our schedules), and Des and I were able to spend the afternoon together. It was exactly what I needed: some time with my best friend.��

After grabbing a couple of iced coffees from the boutique coffee shop downtown (at her insistence, of course, because the higher price was reflected in the quality of the roast, or something like that), we walked to one of our favorite thrift stores to pillage through the inventory. I felt a certain warmth creep through my chest as we entered the store. The smell was a bit musty, perfume-like, a permeating oxymoron of both dirt and cleanliness. It reminded me of our friendship: unlikely, brutally opposite at times, but unique and complimentary. 

The shop worker greeted us with a nod and a smile from the front counter and went back to browsing through her magazine as she sat on her high-rise stool, painted fingertips skimming over something about interior design. Des and I beelined to the back racks in the furthest room from the front of the shop. We knew that this was usually where they kept the good stuff. 

Thrifting was an exercise of equal parts skill and patience. It was best to go in with zero expectations of both finding anything or looking for a specific piece. My most successful trips had been ones where I’d happened upon things I didn’t even know I’d wanted (or like, for that matter). In fact, I’d long ago learned not to become discouraged when a trip turned out to be a bust. Busts were to be expected. The goldmines, however, outweighed the insolvencies. 

“It feels like forever since we’ve gotten to do this,” Des said as she stopped in front of a circular rack of short-sleeve knit shirts. She began sliding the hangers across the scraped metal, pausing to glance over each shirt as she did so. 

“It has been,” I replied. It wasn’t said with malice; more so, my tone conveyed a neutral honesty that I knew we’d come to appreciate about each other. Despite this, I could tell I’d struck a cord at the slight fall of her facial features. 

Des took a half-step back and turned to me with a sad smile. “I know I haven’t been around as much. I’m sorry.” 

“I understand.” And I did. She knew I did. But the morose feeling was still etched into her features in soft hatched lines and so I quickly added, “Not everyone can be a hot musician with Heraculan biceps. I’ll take my spot in line.” I gave her a wink, which seemed to soften her expression. 

I turned back to the rack and started thumbing through the medium-sized graphic tees. Quite a few were worn crewnecks of casinos or bars from around the state, though a couple school spirit shirts were peppered in. I nearly shuddered at the smiling beaver mascot that reminded me of puberty. 

Des broke my focus. “What about this one?” She held up a small white t-shirt with an image of Strawberry Shortcake on it. “Your muse!”

“One time I tell you about my obsession with Strawberry Shortcake and the Big Apple City as a child…” I mumbled, rolling my eyes as I continued culling through the rack. Des laughed and set the shirt back. 

“I don’t think your tits would fit in a small, anyway. Plus, it had a stain.” She pushed a couple more shirts to the side before turning her torso to me. “Speaking of cake, I heard you and Mary had a get together last week.”

A week had passed since I’d last seen Mary. I’d received another text a few days after our night of baking telling me that the cake was killer and his mom was impressed, but it’d been radio silence since. In any other situation with any other person, I’d probably feel irritation or some sort of anger; an inward creeping as to why this guy wasn’t at all interested in seeing me after a weirdly uncharacteristic close-knit evening. But this was Mary. He wasn’t known for punctuality or routine. On the contrary, Mary was a bit of an enigma, coming and going as he pleased, with zero rhyme or reason to his decision making. He seemed to do what felt right to him in the moment — whatever that may be. Or at least that’s how things appeared. 

The hanger I was sliding across the rack stilted, the fabric of the shirt still pinched between my fingers. My eyes widened slightly, and I failed to control the blush that crept into my cheeks. I refused to meet her stare, but knowing Des, she was giving me an all-knowing look. 

“You know, when I suggested that you make a cake for his mom’s birthday, I didn’t think that meant that you’d be doing it together,” she teased.

“Neither did I!” I said. Although I’d meant for it to come out nonchalantly, I’d sounded more defensive than intended. I tried to brush it off by swirling the iced coffee in my hand, ice cubes clinking and clashing as I brought the straw to my lips to take a sip.

“I didn’t know you and Mary were that close,” she speculated. 

I choked on the watery coffee that had been midway down my throat and brought a hand up to wipe at my mouth, coughing a little into my palm.

 Before I had a chance to respond, she cut me off, wide-eyed, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Wait, no. Doll, you didn’t!”

I looked over at her with a surprised defensiveness that completely gave away the truth. Shit. Time for damage control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Des’ smile only widened. “Dahlia, did you sleep with him?”

I didn’t know how to answer. It wasn’t as if I was ashamed to admit it. Mary was attractive. Sure, his reputation was a bit strange and extreme, but to those in the metal scene, it wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. But there was something that I liked about keeping Mary and I’s friendship hidden. Or were we friends with benefits?  Was it even a friendship? 

“You totally did!” Des said in response to my silent rabbit hole. I sighed and started to aimlessly shuffle through some sweaters on the next rack. Des began to laugh and looked at me coyly.

She walked over to the same rack that I was currently stationed at and rested her hand against the metal bar, leaning into it. “I swore I saw you two making out on the couch a while back at Thomas’, but he told me I was seeing shit,” she added, shaking her head in disbelief. 

I hummed a noise in response, barely audible. My fingertips traced along a loose thread of a knit sweater and I rolled it between them, trying to focus on the scratchy acrylic yarn instead of the beet red burning in my face. 

“That WAS you two! How long has this been going on?” I didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to get any bigger. They reminded me of saucers. Or satellite dishes. Maybe of the middle-aged woman at my work that thrived on office gossip and smelled like cat piss. 

I rolled my eyes and pulled a sweater off the rack to pretend to check the tag. “Nothing is going on,” I said. 80% Polyester, 20% Cotton.  “We’ve just hooked up a few times. That’s it.” 

Des cocked a curious brow. “A few? Wow, add that to my list of shit I didn’t expect.” She brought her half-drank iced coffee to her pink lips and took a slurp of the drink. I couldn’t tell if I was more annoyed at the sound or at her. 

 “So, what’s he like?” She grabbed a cardigan from the small section and pulled it up to inspect it, holding it to her thin frame to gauge the fit. “I bet he’s into some spooky, dark shit, like bloodletting or autoerotic asphyxiation or something. Oh! Or a piss kink!”

The garment I was holding was slammed back into the rack with more force than I’d meant. “Des! What the fuck?” I whispered loudly, trying to make a point that this was not something I wanted to talk about in public. Sure, no one else was in the back of the store, but that was besides the point. 

She held up a hand in defense. “Sorry! He looks like the kind of guy that’d be into that stuff.”

I brought the hand to my face that wasn’t holding the slippery, condensation-covered cup of coffee. With a sigh, I rubbed my left eye. “I am not having this conversation.”

Des brought her hands down and tilted her head with a look of disagreement. “Oh, come on! Why are you always so uptight about talking about this stuff?”

I took a step towards her and lowered my voice just slightly. “Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to advertise my sex life, thank you.”

“I don’t advertise it, I just…reflect on it. It’s what normal girlfriends do — talk about the guys they’re with.” She turned to the next rack that was uncomfortably close to the one we had been rifling through and pulled a pair of corduroys out to give them a look over. “Who else would I talk to about it?”

She had a point. I breathed out a sigh and set my cup on the display atop the circular rack. “I guess you’re right.”

I looked up at her to see her sporting her signature smirk. “I’m always right. Now tell me, what’s he got hiding in those tight jeans?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis and I let out a chuckle, shaking my head.

“You are the last person I need to explain the intricacies of the male anatomy to.”

“Come on, Doll. I need details!” She whined, tossing the corduroys back onto the rack. 

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Good thing cats have nine lives.” She stuck out her tongue at me and I reached over to make a swipe at grabbing it, earning me a chuckle and a shove. 

I laughed too, and if I was honest, I felt a semblance of relief that the weight of my secret had been lifted from my shoulders, even if just minutely. 

She took another annoyingly loud slurp of her iced coffee, the drink now edging the bottom line of the cup. Peering at me from above the lid, she broke contact with the straw. 

“Now, spill.”

🜏🜏🜏

It was early evening on a Friday. I’d managed to get off of work a little earlier than expected — a relief given that I’d worked overtime these past few weeks to try to save up enough money for an unexpected car repair. The extra time turned out to be just what I needed to pack some last minute items in my backpack for the weekend. 

Des had asked — practically begged — for me to “do her a solid” and pet sit for her for a couple days over the weekend. My confusion rang heavy in the air when I realized that one, she didn’t have any pets, and two, neither did Thomas. 

“It’s his parents’ dog. He’s supposed to watch it this weekend, but he was able to book a couple last minute shows out of town that would be really good for the band,” she’d explained. Then, in almost overly characteristic Des-fashion, she gave me the eyes. The fucking Puss in Boots look. 

And those damn Dreamworks eyes had me hesitantly agreeing to watch the pawned pooch at Thomas’ place.  

It didn’t sit well with me. He was supposed to be watching his parents’ dog. But instead, he was having a friend of his girlfriend stay at his place to watch a dog she’d never met. I’d just hoped the dog was nice. 

After walking my bike to the back porch to lean it against the siding hidden from view from the street, I rounded back to the front door and gave it a few cursory knocks. As if on cue, loud barks began to sound — distant at first, but louder as the seconds went on — and I could just make out the scuffle of feet and claws against the hard floor. 

The door swung open and Des was restraining a black blur of tail and tongue and teeth. He wasn’t overly big, per se, but from what I could tell from his overexcited movements, he had to be at least forty or fifty pounds. 

“Hey! Come in—” she strained, holding the excited dog back as it wagged and wiggled in her arms. 

I slipped past the dog and kicked off my shoes on the hinged side of the door as she slammed it shut. “Brutus!” Des grunted as she tried to crouch over him and use her body weight as leverage. 

I straightened up and watched with choked giggles as she tried, and nearly failed, to keep him from charging me. “He’s — umph — he loves people —” said grumbled as the dog, presumably named Brutus, broke from her grasp and hounded over to me with a tail so violently wagging that I was afraid his hips would fly right off. He knocked into me with surprising force for his size and I toppled over to the ground. A slimy, velvety tongue began to attack my face and neck and I shrieked out in laughter as we rolled around on the floor. 

“Brutie! Brutus, off!” Des yelled. I could barely hear her over my screeches and giggles. 

A couple of moments passed and the dog calmed, crawling comically into my lap before curling up and looking at me with a panting smile. I ran my hand along the top of its head, scratching behind his pointed black ears. 

“Sorry, he really, really likes people. Not much of a watchdog,” Des said.

“It’s fine. He’s cute,” I replied, moving to scratch under his chin. “What breed is he?”

Des snorted. “Fuck if I know. Thomas says he’s a mutt. I think he’s a rescue.”

“Those are always the best ones,” I countered, earning a nuzzle into my hand from the furry canine nearly falling out of my lap. 

After a while of chit chat and petting the mammoth-sized wannabe cat splayed in my lap, I peeled my backpack off and set it against the wall and stood up  to follow Des into the kitchen. She explained Brutus’ feeding schedule (“He will try to convince you that he’s starving to death. Do not fall for it.”) and his typical routine, then showed me where Thomas’ parents had left the vet info in case of emergencies. It seemed pretty straightforward (easier than I’d expected, honestly), and I felt grateful that Thomas’ backyard was fenced off. A lost dog was the last thing I needed in life right now. 

Just as Des was setting the written feeding instructions back down on the counter, the door leading to the garage opened from down the hallway, and a pair of heavy footsteps came thunking toward us. 

Thomas came into view. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the locks a little as he glanced around the kitchen and dining area, turning a bit in his spot as if running through an imaginary list in his brain. By now, I’d seen Thomas in a variety of moods: ecstatic, embarrassed, exhausted, angry, piss drunk, and of course, the moments where he was absolutely enamored with Des, but I’d never seen him look so stressed before. His eyes looked tired yet his pupils were wide, countering the lines that were settling in around the corners of his eyelids. I’m not sure that he even noticed his shirt was inside out. 

“We found the pedalboard at the guys’ apartment. Some asshole put it on top of the fridge,” he sighed and put his hands on his hips as he looked up at the ceiling as if he were trying to visualize what he needed to do next. After a beat, he looked back down and his eyes met Des’ quizzical look. 

“Don’t ask. I don’t even fucking know.” He seemed to finally register that it wasn’t just his girlfriend in front of him and his demeanor changed a little. He straightened, almost toughened, and gave me a confused quirk of the eyebrows. “…Dahlia, what are you doing here?”

I mirrored his look. “Uh, Des said you needed me to house sit?”

Thomas looked between myself and Des, his face moving from a look of confusion to a look of what could be argued as annoyance. “Really?” he asked, taking another step closer to Des. “I thought I mentioned I’d figured all that out, babe.”

Desiree looked up at him with an innocent smile and rolled her lips between her teeth. “Whoops. Must have slipped my mind.”

He sized her reaction, clearly unconvinced. “Okay. Sure.” I was certain he was going to add something, but his potential dialogue with Des was cut off when the garage door opened again and the telltale sound of clunking boots against hard flooring cut through the air. I felt my heart simultaneously drop and expand in my chest. I had come to know that sound. 

“Everything is tied and tarped. I feel like fucking Patrick Bateman sans nailgun and Huey Lewis and the News.”

I had really come to know that voice. 

Mary rounded Thomas and Des and joined the impromptu party in the dining area. I shoved my hands into my pockets and rocked back and forth on my feet as I felt his stare bore into me from feet away. It was clear there had been a mix up, and although I couldn’t be certain that Des had something to do with it, I had a pretty good idea of what had happened. 

“What’s going on?” Mary asked as he looked around the uneven circle of his friends. Brutus trotted over and began to sniff at his pant legs and Mary reached down to scratch the hound’s forehead. Mary’s long hair hung around him in strands, the ends clumped together in damp sections as it fell from around his shoulders and back. 

“Why is your hair wet?” Des asked him. I was sure it was her way of breaking the awkwardness. 

Mary looked at her with an air of obviousness. “Shower,” he replied. 

“Oh…weird,” she said, and I had to stifle a giggle by turning it into a cough. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “He’s full of shit. It’s raining outside and he’s been helping me load and tarp equipment in the truck.” Thomas reached out and clasped a hand to Mary’s shoulder, which to be fair, was dotted with what appeared to be wet raindrop marks. “We all know you hate bathing,” he added. 

Mary scoffed and shoved Thomas. “Fuck you guys.”

The air turned uncomfortable again, bordering sour, and it was Thomas who broke the silence. 

“Well, it looks like there’s been a miscommunication on who’s looking after this asshole,” Thomas started, looking directly at Des as he spoke although it was clear he was referring to the dog. She continued flashing her innocent smile, eyes still large as if concurrently seeking forgiveness and feigning ignorance. 

I felt compelled to speak up. I hated awkward silences, and I especially hated being the butt of one. “It’s not a big deal. I can head out if Mary’s got this,” I said with a shrug. 

“—It’s pouring out there!” Des quickly countered, looking between Thomas and I. 

Her defensive quip caused me to crinkle my eyebrows in response. “Bullshit, I was just outside and it was fine.”

I looked over at the sliding glass door to my left and sure as shit, the glass was coated in fine droplets sliding down to puddle at the deck below. The sky hadn’t been much more than overcast on my ride over, but it now swirled with tones of ash and charcoal. A storm was approaching. 

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Shit, well…I rode my bike over here.”

I could tell that the cogs were turning in Des’ mind as she tried to decide if she’d respond with comfort and support of her best friend or her boyfriend: the ever present dilemma. I felt a pang of guilt plague my stomach. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out. You guys go,” I offered with a small smile. Forced, of course, because now I was stranded at someone else’s house with someone else’s dog and of course a particular…someone else. 

“You sure?” she asked. I could see Thomas eyeing me from behind her, his own expression mirroring her words. It was clear this was just as much of a surprise to him as it was to Mary and I. 

My gut told me to stay focused on the couple ahead of me, but my impulsiveness won over, and I glanced at Mary. He was watching with a look of amusement, arms crossed over his chest as his head batted to and fro between speakers. I swallowed lightly.

“Yeah, go. Go! It’s fine.” The voice was mine, but the words were clearly not my own.

A few uncomfortable and quick words were shared, and both Des and Thomas grabbed their overnight bags and popped them into the cab of the truck before driving off down the quiet residential street towards the gig a few towns over. And I was stuck in the ranch-style home with Mary Goore, an overexcited rescue dog, and an approaching storm. 

🜏🜏🜏

After piling into the car and sloshing down the road en route to the gig a few cities over, Des and Thomas were mid conversation about the situation that had happened just moments before. 

“Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing.” Thomas started, fingertips tapping against the wheel as they sped down the interstate. 

Des rolled her eyes. “They’ve been fucking!” Her voice was defensive. She quickly added, “Did you know that?”

Thomas kept his eyes on the road and drummed his fingers along to the song playing in the background. “No, and I don’t—” he sighed, removing one hand from the wheel to grasp at the back of his neck, “Jesus Christ, Desiree, you can’t play matchmaker on this one.”

Des crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not? Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

Thomas briefly turned his head and gave her a serious look, sternness that nearly reminded her of her father. “Don’t stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong,” he said. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Des shot him a look that dripped in sass. Any other time it would have spurred a different set of emotions in him, but not this time. He held his ground. 

“Just — fuck, baby, I’ve known Mary for a long time and he’s not really one to settle.”

Des scoffed. “You think getting with Dahlia would be settling?”

“No, not like that.” Thomas sighed again in frustration. “He’s not big into commitment. Doesn’t like to be tied down. Mary’s…not a relationship kind of guy.”

It was quiet for a few seconds as Des pondered his response. “Well, I’m not saying they need to get married or anything,” she reasoned, “I’m just giving them a little push, is all. A weekend together, alone, no one to barge in and no expectations. It’s the perfect recipe for them to realize what they have going on.”

Another silence filled the cab of the truck. The sound of steady rain pelted against the windshield, only for the squeaky wipers to flick it off rhythmically, creating its own song and dance that counteracted the punk tune on the stereo system.  

After a moment, Thomas relented. “Don’t come crawling to me with those big, sad eyes when this ploy of yours blows up in your face.”

“What big eyes?!” Des craned her neck over and stared him down, though it was clear she couldn’t hide the smile bursting through her tough facade. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, babe.”

Des winked in his direction and the tension seemed to melt away. She reached over to grasp at his hand — the one that had fallen to his lap after drumming on the steering wheel —  and laced their fingers together. 

He let out a long breath and relaxed into the touch before grumbling, “They better not fuck on my bed.”

🜏🜏🜏

When Des and Thomas left, it was like they sucked what little comfort there had been straight out of the room. Sure, the house was occupied by two people and a dog (which some would even consider to be too crowded; three’s company and four’s a party and all that), but there was a timidness that I felt that seemed to have grown since my other outings with Mary. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it all. Or perhaps it was my own lack of control in the situation. Regardless, I’d planned on staying a couple of days anyway — what was so bad about waiting out the storm to ride home?

I stood there, hands in my pockets as I continued to rock on my heels, before deciding to break the tension. “I should probably pick up my stuff,” I motioned to the general area my backpack was in and then quickly turned to retrieve my things. 

Backpack in hand, I headed to the bathroom to unpack. I’d packed light (because in all honesty, who did I have to impress), but I was searching for any and all excuses to put some distance between myself and the awkward situation I’d been thrust into. I pulled a toothbrush and toothpaste out of a plastic bag I’d jammed into the front pocket of my rucksack, mirroring the action with my face wash, moisturizer, and small bag of makeup essentials. I futzed for too long with the placement of the items, moving them from sinkside to against the wall and back again, before I gave up and sat back against the wall opposite the vanity. 

A few minutes went by and I felt a low growl erupt in my stomach. It was nearly six o’clock and I’d had yet to eat anything. I pulled out my phone, deciding to order takeout, and scrolled through the suggested nearby restaurants before settling on a well-rated Chinese place down the street. 

I was ready to press send on my order, but I remembered the elephant in the room and groaned, heaving myself up and making my way out to the main area of the home. Mary was nowhere to be seen. I turned around and upon noticing the garage door was ajar, I walked the short distance down the hallway and slipped into the adjoining garage. 

Mary was sitting in a camper chair in the empty space, lit cigarette between his fingers, with Brutus at his side. He was tossing a rope toy to the dog somewhat lazily, taking drags of the lit stick every so often. The garage was partially opened, just enough to let in the cool, damp air of the storm, and raindrops pittered in at the edge of the threshold. 

As soon as I shut the door to the house, his eyes shot up to meet my own and he nodded in greeting before tossing the toy to the opposite end of the garage for Brutus. 

“I’m ordering Chinese — you want anything?” I eventually spoke, body still against the steps connecting the sunken garage to the house. 

Mary let out an exhale of smoke and tapped the cigarette into a coffee can on the ground. “Whatever’s fine. I’m easy to please.” His telltale smirk painted his lips and I could see the mischief swirling behind his eyes. “But you already know that,” he added. 

I felt my eyes nearly roll out of my head and hopped down off the step, rounding him to sit in another nearby chair. As uncomfortable as his digs were supposed to be, they had the opposite effect. I didn’t do “awkward” with Mary that well. Sexual tension was another story. 

I added a few more items to the order and typed in my card information from memory before submitting the order, quickly clicking my phone off and stashing it in my pocket. My focus was broken when Mary interrupted the silence. 

“How’d you get roped into this?” he asked, head turning to glance at me. 

I sighed and rubbed the side of my face, showing my slight annoyance. “Desiree.”

Mary laughed, a warm chuckle that I’d grown to appreciate, and he ashed the cigarette into the can below him. “You’d think they’d learn to communicate with how they fucking act around each other.”

I stretched out my legs, sinking back into the camper chair. “Oh, I’m sure it was communicated…” I remarked.

Mary looked at me quizzically, head turned towards me again to flash those phthalocyanine eyes that somehow looked brighter in the odd lighting of the garage. I brushed off his look, not wanting to get into the specifics of the conversation I had with Desiree or the fact that she knew about our history. “The dog seems to like you.”

“Brutus and I go way back,” he said. 

“Really?” I said with raised brows.

Mary laughed out again in response, that ever-present balmy giggle that pulled at the corners of his lips sending a wave of warmth through my body. “No, I’m just fucking with you. I’m good with animals,” he paused and his lips curled into a grin, ”when I’m not microwaving them, of course.”

My mind raced back to our first encounter together. The streetlights on the walk towards the abandoned warehouse. Paper bags with shaved ice and forties. Shitty gas station snacks. And our conversation about reputation. Namely, his reputation. “Oh, of course.” My tone was one of mock seriousness, and I couldn’t help but giggle at the memory.

I watched as he took another drag from the dwindling cigarette and then turned to look out at the half-closed garage door. The raindrops pelting against the shingled roof and cracked concrete driveway were the only audio that suffused the space, with the occasional exhale of pillowy smoke from the musician next to me. 

It was Mary that broke the silence again. He always seemed to be the one to do that. “Thanks again,” he started, hand waving around aimlessly as he spoke, “y’know, for the cake and shit.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m glad your mom liked it.” I spoke earnestly and my expression was one of sincerity. It felt foreign.

“She fucking loved it. She was surprised I had anything to do with making it,” he laughed and tapped his cigarette into the can. 

“Oh come on, you can’t be that bad of a cook,” I replied.

He raised an eyebrow at me as he turned to face me. “I’ve burned water.”

My jaw dropped just enough that I was sure it looked like I’d catch flies. “I…didn’t think that was possible.”

He shrugged and turned back to face forward, the cigarette now a stubby, crinkled nub between his middle and pointer fingers. “You should know by now that I’m full of impossible surprises.”

I leaned forward, turning my torso to point towards him while I pulled my legs criss-cross into the camper chair. “How on earth do you woo a woman if you can’t even cook fucking Kraft Mac n’ Cheese?”

“Women aren’t typically after my cooking skills. Or lack thereof,” he flicked the remaining ash of the cigarette down and it missed the can. He didn’t notice. “I’ve got other talents,” he paused, “Wooing isn’t really my style.”

I let his admission ring in the dampened air. It wasn’t surprising. From what I’d heard, he’d never had trouble landing women — particularly after gigs. “The life of a musician…” I trailed off. 

Another silence built as the rain colored the absence of our conversation. I could hear Brutus’ slight snores as he lay curled at Mary’s feet, seemingly tired from their earlier game of fetch. A breeze broke through the cracked garage door and swirled around us, bringing a chill into the otherwise comfortable space. I pulled my hoodie a little closer, feeling the cool air dance across my cheeks and the skin peeking through the jacket. 

“I think I’m gonna head in. I’ll let you know when the food is here.”

Mary didn’t say anything in response — merely nodding and taking out another cigarette from the worn Marlboro carton — and I made my way back inside with a heavier mind than I’d come out with. 

🜏🜏🜏

I’d puttered around the house for what had seemed like ages, but in reality was likely only a handful of minutes. As familiar as I was with some of the rooms at Thomas’, I had to admit that there were areas I’d never been to,  namely his room or the basement. As rude as it might have been, I’d given myself a self-directed tour of the place, noting the half-completed projects he seemed to be working on to fix up the house. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign of Des domesticating him or if the house really was a secret pride-and-joy. 

Eventually, I found myself in the den, sinking into the worn plaid couch that already held too many memories. I pushed them down and reached for the remote to the TV, opting just to hold it as my thoughts zoomed. I could probably put on a movie to kill some time until dinner arrived. It wouldn’t be long and it would serve as a nice distraction. 

I got up and thumbed through the impressive number of DVDs stacked next to the TV. Most of them were action or horror (no surprise there), and I settled on a film I’d never seen before: The Amityville Horror. I told myself that the fact that a young Ryan Reynolds was on the cover had absolutely nothing to do with the choice. 

After some cajoling, I figured out how Thomas’ TV and DVD player were set up and popped in the disc, pressing play on the machine before sinking back into the couch. The blue screen transformed to darkness as the credits played and I waited to be taken to the home screen. 

Mere seconds into the film, I heard a knock at the door and I paused the movie to jog up and out of the sunken den to the front door. I was met with an absolutely drenched delivery driver holding out a large brown bag in one hand and a soaked receipt and pen in the other. I shot him a look of apology and took the receipt, signing and adding on a much more generous tip than I’d originally intended, before trading him for the food. His eyes lit up when he saw the receipt and he dashed back to his clunker parked out front. 

I ended up parking the heavy bag of Chinese on the kitchen table. My thoughts were broken when I heard Mary coming in from the garage, heavy footsteps once again thunking down the hallway.  A pitter of claws trotted behind him. 

“Food’s here,” I said, already opening the bag to take out the various containers. 

We grabbed our respective containers and utensils and made our way to the den, me sitting on the couch while Mary sat on the floor, his back against the edge of the couch with his legs spread out wide. I opened up my container of sweet and sour pork and doused it in sweet and sour sauce, mixing it up with the cheap excuse for chopsticks that they provided before settling into the back corner of the couch and pressing play. 

“You’re watching this trash?” Mary said, words muffled by a mouthful of Beijing beef. 

I rolled my eyes, though he couldn’t see it from his position on the floor. “I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s a shit remake.”

I grabbed a piece of pork between my chopsticks and lathered it in sauce before popping it into my mouth. “Well,” I said while chewing, “no one’s making you watch it.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said with a hint of facetiousness. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he all but grumbled, reaching in the container to grab a piece of beef with his fingers.“You knew what I meant.”

I shuddered as I watched him pop the piece of meat into his mouth with his fingers. “Are you…eating that with your bare hands?” I asked with a surprised chuckle. 

He shrugged his shoulders again. “Chopsticks are frustrating. Why use those when I have built in chopsticks right here?” He pinched his fingers in the air, just high enough that I could see them from my spot on the sofa. 

I paused, reaching into the takeout container to fish around for some sort of accompanying vegetable. “I…don’t know how I feel about that, to be honest.”

“You didn’t seem to mind my fingers the last time you were on that couch,” he retorted, tone dripping with cheekiness that I knew was accompanied by a smirk I couldn’t see from my vantage point. 

I sighed, trying to pay no mind to his constant coquettishness. “Well, they weren’t covered in Chinese food when that happened.”

“They could have been.”

I reached over and grabbed one of Thomas’ throw pillows from across the sofa and tossed it down directly at his head. Mary yowled and grabbed at the back of his head. 

“Hey, ow- fuck, you almost made me spill!”

I waved my chopstick dismissively. “Shh, I’m missing what’s happening.”

“Not missing much…” he grumbled, grabbing another piece of beef with his fingers. I looked down and dug into my food again, picking at some snow peas, and took a bite to keep me from my desire to respond with something sarcastic. 

I watched the screen as the beginning of the movie continued to unfold with the dreary undertone of music and darkened filter plastered over shots of the house and rainfall outside. 

I knew that in fiction, rain was often used to signal something darker, uncontrollable, and innately scary. While a gentle storm could symbolize rebirth or the washing away of something unclean to show a new beginning, a thunderstorm was different. Thunderstorms were brash, explosive, and undeniably cacophonous — a symbol of power, wrath, danger, and darkness. As the scene cut to a shot of the rainy setting, I couldn’t help but liken it to the rain pelting the windowpanes of the window behind the couch. They were both intense storms and I wondered what symbolism life could be trying to show me, if any at all. 

We watched mostly in silence, with the occasional jolt from me during a poorly timed jumpscare or a shake of the head and grumble from Mary (which after the third shove of my foot into his shoulder, he got the message that he was being obnoxious). 

Unbeknownst to me, the movie had a quick sex scene, which with anyone else would have been a non-issue watching. But with Mary, I felt oddly different. I found myself wondering what he was thinking as we watched the main characters move intimately against one another. Because, if my memory served me right, the last movie we watched together had something similar, and he had reacted in very specific—

 My thoughts were interrupted by yet another jumpscare and I squeaked in surprise, nearly dropping my empty takeout container. Mary chuckled and turned around with a smug smile.

 “Everything okay back there?” he asked. 

“Just fine. ‘Surprised me…” I grumbled, pretending to dig around in the empty container for more food. I was sure he could see right through me. I was easy to spook.

Eventually, I set my empty container on the side table and reclined back into the couch again. It felt weirdly quiet, and I noticed that Mary had gotten up at some point and left. 

“Seems he found something better to do with his time,” I thought. Not that it mattered, anyway. I hated the kind of people that talked constantly during movies, and I could tell Mary was doing his best not to criticize nearly every piece of dialogue and every scene. 

“Here.” The voice snapped me from my thoughts and my eyes refocused to the space in front of me, noticing an uncapped beer just in my line of sight. I took it with a thank you, noticing Mary had one of his own as he decided to sit opposite to me on the edge of the couch instead of on the floor. I tried not to think anything of the change and cast my eyes towards the movie. 

“Did….did she just put a whole ass bong into her purse?” I asked after watching the babysitter in the film try to hide her bong after smoking in the bathroom. I took a swig of the beer Mary gifted me and looked over at him. 

He laughed. “I’m telling you — this movie is idiotic at best.”

“I hate that I’m invested enough that I want to see how it ends,” I replied after a minute, adjusting my position on the couch to spread out a leg, my foot barely missing the side of Mary’s thigh. 

“I’m happy to tell you how it ends,” Mary countered, taking a pull from his own bottle.

I shook my head in reply. “Might as well finish it. In your words, we’ve ‘got nothing better to do,’” I grinned at him with a chuckle and set my eyes back on the screen. 

After the movie finished, we both stretched out our limbs, and I stood to collect the empty containers. 

“That’s 90 minutes of my life I’ll never get back,” Mary grunted with a sigh. 

I rolled my eyes. With how things were going, I’d be surprised if they didn’t roll straight out of my head and onto the shitty shag carpet on the floor. “Oh come on,” I began, “It wasn’t THAT bad…”

“Well, it sure as shit wasn’t good,” he chuckled sarcastically.

I let out a defeated breath. “Okay, I’ll admit that it wasn’t the best movie I’ve seen.”

“Clear from it,” he postured, lounging back a little as he took a swig from his beer “The original does a much better job of staying true to the book and creating that building suspense th—”

His words were cut off by another loud crack of lightning. This one sounded close, and by the looks of the fulmination that painted the windows, it was. 

I let out a shriek when the lightning and its ancillary crash cracked through the den and beyond. My hand flew to my mouth in surprise and I soon rubbed it over my eyes bashfully. 

“Shit, I didn’t know you could make that noise,” Mary chuckled, eyebrows raised in an expression of slight surprise. I looked over and flashed him the middle finger, a scowl on my face, which only increased his laughter. 

“How about we put on another movie,” he suggested, then added quickly “—but I pick.” I thought about it, pondering the many choices of movies that Mary could choose on a night like tonight, and shook my head. 

“Maybe music is a better idea?” I replied. I walked to the edge of the den and started up the few stairs that connected it to the hallway. “I’ll toss these while you get it set up,” I called over my shoulder. 

When I returned, Mary was finished messing with the stereo system and Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation was playing softly through the speakers. I took a seat on the floor, copying Mary’s earlier posture with my back against the front of the plush furniture, and spread my legs out and crossed them at the ankles. 

“Didn’t take you as a Sonic Youth fan,” I said as I settled into the space. 

Mary smiled and turned his head towards me. “I told you I’m full of interesting surprises.”

I suppressed a giggle. “I was thinking of other types of surprises when you said that.”

“What kinds of things were you thinking of?” he asked, brow quirked.

I felt my cheeks flush at the coy look on his face and looked away, trying to figure out a way to change the conversation. Mary just laughed. 

“Wow, doll face, I didn’t expect to take up that much real estate in your mind. I’m flattered.” He put a hand to his chest and stared over me with a broad smile. 

“Stop it.”

He cast me a look of confusion. “Stop what?”

“That thing you do!” I began. My voice raised a little in volume and pitch. “The thing where you act all smug and ooze sex appeal!”

This seemed to intrigue him and he turned to face me from his spot in front of the entertainment system. I knew that if his shirt was off, I’d be able to see the flexion of the muscles in his abdomen. I mentally kicked myself for even thinking that. 

“Sex appeal? I didn’t know you were so pious.”

I felt myself bristle and sat up a little straighter. “What? No, it’s not about piety.” I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “You just don’t have to make everything an innuendo!”

At this, the crusty metalhead in front of me had the audacity to laugh. “Wow,” he chuckled, “way to act like a total prude.” 

“I am not!” My eyes shot daggers at him and I’d hope they’d materialize and hit him straight in his smirking face. 

“I’m surprised you made it through that sex scene…” he looked up at me from under a raised brow.

I huffed. “You of all people should know that sex doesn’t bother m—” I cut myself off as I felt fire heat my cheeks. 

“You were saying?” he snickered. 

“Oh, fuck off Goore.”

“Sure thing. Wanna watch?”

“I’ll leave that to Brutus.”

As soon as his name was said, Brutus’ ears perked up and he let out a whine. I realized it had probably been hours since he’d been outside.

“We should probably let the dog out,” I said. As soon as he heard the word ‘out,’ Brutus sprung up and began trotting to the sliding glass door in the kitchen. I got up with a slight groan, muscles stiff from sitting on the floor, and Mary followed. 

“I can take the dog out by myself, y’know,”

“Yeah, but the view is so much better if I come with.”

I felt frustration pool in my chest at this and he seemed to sense it as well, adding, “Chill out, I was just  grabbing a couple more beers.”

After coaxing Brutus outside with some choice words said in the nicest voice I could muster (and maybe a push on the bum), I waited at the sliding glass door for him to return from doing his business. A towel was thrown by slider and I grabbed it to wipe down the dog on his re-entry. 

I watched through the window as the storm really began to rage. Fat water droplets ricocheted off the glass pane like rubber bullets and thunder rumbled a low death rattle. Mary came up behind me and put the two bottles on the kitchen table. He fished around in his pockets for his bottle opener on his key chain. 

A loud, booming sound followed by a high pitched crack and a monstrous thud rattled the foundation of the house. I let out an embarrassingly loud scream and jumped back from the sliding door. My body collided with Mary’s more solid one behind me, and immediately his hands found my upper arms to steady the both of us. I leaned back into him, not caring enough about self-restraint as my head tipped back against his shoulder. 

My chest heaved as my adrenaline dissipated, and I could feel Mary’s hands rubbing up and down the lengths of my arms. I swallowed thickly, then clenched my eyes tight. I felt his breath arm against my ear as he leaned in. 

“You good, Doll?”

His voice was smooth, oddly soothing, and the reverberations that pulsed through my ear and into my chest were much different than the shaking of the foundation from the subsonic boom moments prior. 

I nodded and looked out the window. A mature tree limb, one measuring at least 15 feet long, had fallen to the ground in the backyard from the force of the thunderstorm. My immediate thought went to Brutus and I feared for the worst, but as if on cue, his body came running towards the door like a bullet. His little black body began pawing at the door and yet, I felt frozen in my spot to Mary. His body stayed pressed against the back of mine, hands still rubbing little circles against my triceps. Neither of us moved to open the door. 

Brutus’ bark seemed to jolt us both from the haze. I slid the door open and immediately wrapped the medium-sized dog in the towel to dry him off. The little black mutt followed me as I walked back into the wood-paneled den and I sunk down on the couch next to Mary with a sigh. 

Mary handed me another beer and I graciously accepted. “You know,” he started after taking a sip of his own, “I’m not used to women screaming around me unless my name is involved somehow.”

“Is it usually preceded by ‘fuck off’ or ‘get the fuck away from me’?”

“I was thinking it comes after ‘harder’ or ‘fuck me,’ actually,” he said, pausing a beat before casting a look of cautious puzzlement. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

I chewed on my cheek as I picked at the label of the beer bottle. “I hate storms,” I admitted with a sigh.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

The squall of the storm caused the windows behind the weathered old sofa to vellicate. Stills from the movie of torrential downpour around the boathouse flashed into thought. I recalled the swirling blackened sky from the sliding glass door from moments before and found myself comparing the dread from the film to my stomach sinking the moment the tree limb fell heavy against the hard ground. What if it had fallen on the house, or the dog? What if it had been a consequence of a lightning strike and started a fire?

I shook myself from spiraling. “I’m not afraid of a lot of things,” I pointed out, “but storms...they freak me out. They have ever since I was little. Loud noises and all.”

Mary chuckled at this. “You listen to thrash metal,” he countered. 

“That’s different!” I ran my hand through my hair, gripping at the back of my scalp in frustration. “Storms are destructive. One minute it’s a normal day and the next - bam - people lose their homes, their jobs, their communities…decades and centuries of history even. It’s chaotic and terrible and…unpredictable. It’s fucking armageddon.”

Mary had turned to face me from his spot on the couch, one leg semi-crossed over the other. “Big bad metal chick like you afraid of some thunder and lightning? Color me surprised, dollface.”

The asshole had the audacity to smirk at me. So, I reached out and smacked him in the shoulder. 

“Ow! I was being serious!” His tone was playful as rubbed at the spot on his shoulder. “You’re not the kind of person to let a lot of emotion show.”

I felt myself bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “I dunno…you just don’t seem afraid of anything. Kinda just ‘go with the flow’. It’s weird to see ya all panicked and shit.”

I scoffed and clicked my tongue. “You obviously don’t know me very well.”

“Oh, I know you inside and out, dollface,” he grinned. 

My cheeks blushed garnet. “Only some of me,” I grumbled.

“Really? What else you got hiding?” he chided, sitting up a little straighter, a little closer. “Got any secret pockets in those pants?”

Now, it felt like my whole face was on fire. I remembered the cargo pants he made fun of me for on our first excursion, and the tongue-in-cheek wording was absolutely purposeful. I rolled my eyes. 

Any other time I would have had a quick quip or nonverbal response lined up to banter with him, but another crackle of thunder roared through the sky, and instead, my body physically flung itself up an inch off the cushions in a reactive jolt. My hands gripped onto whatever was near me — which in this case, was the right arm of the couch and coincidentally, the right arm of Mary. 

The sound of the thunder was replaced with the onslaught of water against the windows behind the sofa and I let out a breath I didn’t remember inhaling. I looked down at my hand gripping onto Mary’s forearm, fingers digging into the demon ink staring up at me across otherwise pale flesh, and I quickly retreated. 

I cleared my throat. “S-sorry,” I choked, “Reflex.”

Mary didn’t seem phased at all. He turned towards me, his upper torso craning to meet mine perpendicularly, and a hand came to my knee. “What helps?” he asked plainly.

“I…what?” 

“What helps?” he repeated, his tone still matter-of-fact. 

“Oh. Um…” I swallowed and looked down at his hand resting on my left knee, right over the fabric of my pants. I wracked my brain in a feeble attempt to think of something that had aided my fear in the past.

But I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe properly as the heat from his hand sunk through to my covered skin. I imagined that hand six inches higher, resting on my thigh as he spread them apart on the rooftop all those weeks ago—

“Distraction!” I blurted out. I hardly even recognize my voice as I did so. I finally looked over to meet the stare I’d felt carving into my irrationally fearful form and saw those fucking eyes, green and honey and framed with brows that were pursed in a way that conveyed allure. I finished letting out my caged breath. “Something to keep my mind off things and give me another sense to focus on. My parents used to, uh, read to me. Make up stories. When I was old enough, I’d hum songs or picture scenes from movies…”

Embarrassment flooded my bones. I felt childish, weakened, exposed like a raw nerve or a root scabbing from crisp air. We didn’t talk much about our pasts and he wasn’t somewhat I typically indulged with this kind of vulnerability. But as I searched his eyes for a crinkle of amusement or a flash of judgment, I found none. Instead, I found focused pupils and a heady stare. 

He broke the pregnant pause. “Maybe I could distract you with something different.”

I rolled my lips in and stilted the air in my lungs. His hand weighed heavily on my leg. 

“We’ve tried music. And movies,” he began, briefly casting his glance towards the middle of the living room where the TV sat against the wall and we’d sat and listened to Sonic Youth. “We drank shitty beer and ate shitty Chinese—”

“—I liked the Chinese—” I interrupted in a murmur, still watching as he soaked in the visual of my legs pressed together, his hand firm and steady. 

“—so in my eyes, we’ve used sight, hearing, taste, and by association, scent. Which means, we’re missing one…”

Touch, I thought to myself. A shiver whispered down my spine. While his words trailed off, he mimicked the action with his hand. The firm hand that once sat solid on my knee began to travel up the expanse of my left leg. His fingertips ghosted my inner thigh with just enough pressure to make a point. 

I gathered up the courage to look up at him again and this time, the verdant hue of his eyes was overtaken by wide pupils that bore into me like he was clawing his way to comfort. 

I’m not exactly sure what happened next. The haze in my brain matched the low visibility from the storm outside. But before I knew it, I could feel the warmth of his proximity, the grip of his hand tightening on my leg as his other one gripped the nape of my neck, tugging and pulling me into him like a life preserver. 

His kiss was exactly as I had remembered. Soft yet slightly chapped, starting as a fervent pressing of lips on lips that moved into tilted heads and the drag of a tongue against my own parted mouth. I reveled in the feeling and gripped onto his shirt with both hands, fisting it like he’d float away if I let go.

Had I been more cognizant, I’d have laughed at the fact that his action was much more than touch. It was scent (cheap cologne and leather and musk) and it was taste (cheap beer and filmy cigarette residue that I was surprised I could crave) and sight (technicolor behind my eyelids that erupted against dark) and it was sound (of the smacking of lips on lips and the occasional clang of teeth, the rustle of fabric and the springs of the couch as we shifted to accommodate one another). 

And down we fell, my twisted torso mirroring his own as I lay plush against the flat seat of the couch. Mary moved to encapsulate my form with his own, knees brushing the worn plaid upholstery as I parted my legs to gift him space. My hands found the tops of his shoulders and as I gripped, his own hand moved from its entrapment on the nape of my neck to cup my jaw, thumb bruising against bone. I fought the urge to wrap my legs around his body and hold him in like he was to me. Touch. I didn’t care.

But before I could, he slotted one of his legs between my own, the other digging between my left thigh and the seam of the couch. I let out a groan as he pressed the meat of his thigh against my center and he smiled against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. 

Touch. I craved that movement as heat built deep within my abdomen and pooled down past my navel. Shamelessly, I rocked my hips against his leg to chase the feeling of pressure, of grazed fabric on fabric. Testing the proverbial waters. 

Again, a smirk against my lips. His free hand gripped squarely onto my hip. But instead of a teasing nip or squeeze, he pulled away just barely, breath ghosting against my face. 

“That feel good, Doll?” 

I couldn’t begin to think of how to respond. Instead, I canted my hips up again, slower this time, enjoying the friction of denim against my own clothed core. I suppose that was enough of an answer, because he held his leg firm and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. 

He hummed. “You gonna use me to get yourself off, dollface?” he breathed in question. His voice was lust-dipped and low, barely above a whisper yet it rang so heavy in my chest that I could swear it was deeper than the thunder. 

I let out a noise in response (something like a mix between a whimper and a hum) and again rocked up into the muscle of his leg as I pressed my forehead to his, eyes squeezing shut to focus on the sensation blooming between my thighs. 

“Use your words,” Mary all but tutted, voice still low in timbre. 

“Yes,” I sputtered. Fuck dignity.

He hummed in response and captured my lips with his again, pressing hard as he kissed me with purpose. His hand on my jaw moved to grab my other hip and he let his body fall into mine as he pulled my body up into his leg in time with my own movements. “Keep going,” he murmured against my mouth. Touch. Sound.

Unabashedly, I moved my hips into his thigh with the help of his strong grasp. The friction changed as I felt my own arousal begin to dampen the fabric of my panties and I groaned into the kiss at the feel of the cotton gliding over my clit with each quickening movement. 

Mary’s mouth moved across my jaw and down to the crook of my neck and shoulder, and he began to work at the skin there, biting and sucking along the sensitive areas he’d been cataloging since our last time on this couch. My eyes fluttered open half-lidded in the darkness and I raked my hand through his long hair, gripping it against the scalp as I moved senselessly against him, chasing a release I knew he could provide me. 

“Fuck, you’re so eager,” he growled out against my skin. I swear I could feel the pounding of his pulse through our mashed chests and his words only increased a need that I’d been suppressing since he’d fucked me breathless against my kitchen countertop.

Mary’s distinct scent clouded me, wet-straw colored hair hung in my peripherals, cigarettes and cheap beer and the taste of his kiss covered my lips and tongue, fabric rubbed against fabric and wet mouths primed heated skin, and every explosion of his body rocked and pulled and ground against mine into a sensory explosion. Smell. Sight. Taste. Sound. Touch.

No more storm. No more thunder. No more rain. We made our own natural disaster. 

And I was distracted. Fully distracted in that I didn’t recognize it was my voice that let out a breathy ‘so good’. So successfully distracted that the beeping of the notification on my phone was easily discounted. In fact, the subsequent beeping that followed seconds later was also minimized. And the one after that. I could feel the fuzzy feeling building deep below my navel and I chased it with every movement of my body against Mary’s, and the feeling of his own hardness growing against my thigh made me that much more desperate. He was clearly getting something out of this, too. 

“Take what you need,” Mary’s muffled voice sounded against my clavicle. “Take whatever —fuck— take whatever you want, babydoll.”

So, I did. I ground furiously against him and reached for the peak of my climb, oblivious to the buzzing and chiming of my phone on the coffee table beside us. Except, we’d forgotten we weren’t alone, and not everyone was able to ignore the phone’s noises. 

Brutus’ deep, loud barking rang through the sunken den unexpectedly, causing both Mary and I to jump in surprise, Mary’s head knocking against the side of my jaw. He rose up on his forearms instantaneously and gripped his forehead with a loud ‘fuck’ and I matched his reaction as I cupped my jaw and let out a slew of expletives. 

The light from my screen illuminated the once sleeping dog’s face and I groaned out as I haphazardly reached an arm towards the table to feel for my phone. I unlocked the device and was met with a litany of notifications from Des. I groaned and slammed my head back against the couch cushion. For working so hard to get Mary and I alone together, Desiree sure knew how to cock block. 

I brought the phone up and with squinted eyes, I read over the text messages that had gathered over the last hour. 

Des: how’s it going over there? 

Des: i heard the storm is supposed to get even worse

Des: is brutie doing okay? He gets whiny with loud noises sometimes

Des: shit someone on instagram posted that the power is out for like 5,000 people. you still okay?

Des: wow. okay. don’t answer me. you guys must be really busy 😏

Des: there are condoms in the bedside drawer 😘 cum stains wash out best with cold water ❤

Des: you still never told me about his dick btw

By now, Mary had sat back on his haunches and the pressure of his thigh was completely gone from where I most wanted it to be. “Who is it?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead. 

“Desiree,” I replied in a neutral tone.

Mary let out a sarcastic laugh. “What does she want?” He leaned down to try to get a peek at the phone screen and I snapped it to my chest tightly. 

“Just checking in to see how we’re faring the storm!” I said a little too quickly. I cleared my throat to try to force down the nervous lump that was forming. “And wanted to see how Brutus is doing with the thunder.”

I expected Mary to eye me suspiciously, but if he had caught on to anything, he surely didn’t show it. I typed out a quick response to Des, explaining that yes, we were okay, and no, Brutus wasn’t being a handful, before adding a quick ‘fuck you’ and an eyeroll emoji to her later comments. 

I set the phone down on the table and looked up at the man currently straddling my body. My heart began to speed up again as I took in my surroundings. It was dark in the room, but the light from the storm outside and the glow of the kitchen nearby illuminated him with chiaroscuro that any Renaissance painter would envy. Judging by the bulge in his jeans, the interruption wasn’t enough to sully his erection, and he looked down at me as if he was waiting for me to say the words to continue. 

I felt my chest tighten and another crackle of lightning peppered the room in flushed white. What was I doing? This was Mary: resident bad boy, metal enthusiast, best friend of my best friend’s boyfriend, and come to think of it, a guy who never seemed to show up with the same girl at his side. I didn’t sleep around purely from the fact that it was impossible for me to avoid catching feelings. Blame it on the oxytocin release.

But nothing we had done was wrong and nothing had been the result of deeper feelings, right? We were two consenting adults, two friends that enjoyed each other’s company. Couldn’t that be enough? Sex didn’t have to equal commitment or a deeper connection. It could be loose, free, fun. It was what Des always encouraged me to explore, anyway. Right? 

Despite my reasoning, I felt a weight pressing on my sternum and threatening to rise up my throat. His stare was piercing, and all I could smell was leather and cologne and cigarettes, and the taste of him on my bottom lip, and his weight on my legs, and my breath felt like it was going to rip my lungs open and—

“We should turn in for the night,” I blurted out.

I searched his face for any sort of reaction and was met with a split second of confusion before his demeanor went calm. 

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

Take what you want rang heavy in my ears from just moments before. 

“Y-yeah, it’s getting late and I worked today, so…”

He stood up from his position over me and I sat up against the arm of the sofa. I chewed my lip, battling the decision I’d just made for the both of us. 

“I’ll take the couch, you can have Tommy’s bed,” Mary said nonchalantly as he took a swig from the forgotten beer bottle on the coffee table. Oddly chivalrous. 

I shook my head almost immediately. “No, I’ll take the couch.” Mary opened his mouth to protest, but I held firm. “I am not sleeping in Thomas’ bed. That sounds like the 7th circle of hell. My best friend is frequently naked in that bed and who knows when those sheets were last washed.”

Mary laughed at this. A deep chuckle and a shake of his head as he motioned towards me with the beer bottle between pointer finger and thumb. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never seen her naked.”

Embarrassed, flustered, and wholly unsatisfied from practically humping the metalhead in front of me, I scoffed. “Not like that and not by choice.”

Mary grinned in enjoyment of my response. “Stay up late and play with each others’ tits after a pillow fight?”

A frustrated groan breached my lips. “You’ve been watching way too much porn, Goore,” I said. I reached for one of the long discarded throw pillows and lobbed it at him, feeling a hint of disappointment when he dodged it easily.

He held up both hands, one still holding the bottle. “Suit yourself,” he began, backing up while still facing me, then adding with a smirk, “don’t get too scared with the storm.”

I watched as he turned and made his way down the hallway, beer in hand as he ventured to Thomas’ room. Leaning back into the cushions of the couch, I sighed. 

🜏🜏🜏

My fingers curled around the stiff microfiber blanket that I’d lazily thrown over myself as I’d sunk into Thomas’ well-worn plaid couch.

I tried to coat myself in the scratchy throw to avoid the feeling of the couch cushions on the exposed skin of my legs and arms. It was a touch-memory that brought me back to flying high in the same den, legs straddling the man that now slept peacefully down the hallway in the master bedroom. 

As much as I didn’t want to reconcile with the feelings of fear, I was on edge. The movie set my panic into motion, but the worsening storm was what lit the engine. It had progressed from the percussive pelting drops against the windows and siding to roars of wind and sprays of harsh rain that sounded like fire hoses. Thunder boomed every so often and I heard its fallout whip through the trees with horrid whistles — true cries of the damned. 

I let out a shaky breath and reached my hand down to pet the dog curled on the bed on the floor. Focus on the fur. Soft. Spindle it between your fingertips. Smooth. Warm. My heartbeat started to calm and my lizard brain crept back into its recesses. 

My eyes relaxed in their shut state and I nuzzled a bit harder into the pillow. I felt my exhaustion begin to take hold. And just as I began to float into the downward spiral of sleep, a boisterous crack sliced through the sky. It reminded me of the jet planes that flew at the air shows when I was little - the ones that broke the sound barrier - and my shriek that followed rivaled in volume. 

Bright white lightning strobed through the windows of the house. A quick succession of flashes flickered like a searchlight on the fritz. The house went dark again. 

The dog's ears perked as he sat up and I followed suit, blanket bunched around my knees and clutched with firm fists to my chest. Just like after a blinding camera flash, my eyes were shot. I could just barely make out the shapes of the furniture and walls. 

“You okay?” a voice asked mere feet away from me.

Startled, I let out another quick scream before slamming my palm tight against my mouth. My eyes continued to adjust and I noticed the figure turned from swirling black mass to humanoid to Mary within a split second.

“I’m fine,” I breathed out. I brought my hands down to grip onto the couch cushions. Mary stood before me in his boxers. Messy hair tousled around his shoulders and chest in waves a la 1980s glam rock (though I was certain that bedhead was a more likely culprit) and willed myself not to search through the inky black of the den to determine if he was wearing a shirt or not. 

“Do you usually scream like a banshee when you’re fine?” he quipped as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

No shirt I noted. 

I rubbed my hands against my face, pressing my fingertips into the sockets of my eyes. “Just not a fan of storms.”

“Yeah, so you said.” A moment passed. The only sound in the air was the howling wind from outside until he broke the quiet. “You sure you’re good out here?”

“I’ve got Brutie.”

“Alright,” he sighed. After a moment, I could feel he’d left again, and I willed myself back into the couch cocoon I’d built myself. 

I must have fallen asleep. Be it the adrenaline crash or the exhaustion, I wasn’t sure how I’d finally managed. It was in vain, however, when another loud burst of lightning and thunder rumbled through the house. The same strobe of light pulsated briefly, and in the distance, a booming crash. Before I knew it, I was on my feet. 

Fuck this fuck this fuck this I whispered to myself as I sped through the house. My hands reached out in front of me as bumpers to the still unfamiliar landscape, and after padding down the hallway in bare feet, I reached around for the doorknob to Thomas’ room. 

His room was better lit than the living room. The orange-y glow of the one working street lamp in the distance painted the walls with a near apocalyptic hue and illuminated Mary’s sleeping form on the bed. He was facing away from me, but I could tell he was out (shocking considering the resonance of the lightning and thunder). 

I bit my lip and crossed my arms over my shoulders as I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I didn’t even know what I was doing here. I sure as hell didn’t want to sleep in Thomas’ bed, and the thought of sleeping next to Mary made me more anxious than anything. Well, except the storm. What was I thinking? I felt like a child standing at the foot of their parents’ bed after having a nightmare, waiting with fearful eyes and too-small pajamas for them to invite me in for the night. 

Duller thunder hummed outside and I was reminded of the fear that had clenched my chest just minutes prior. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt having another person with me, could it? Clearly, the dog wasn’t enough.

I slowly sank onto the opposite edge of the bed, making myself featherlight, and lifted one leg up along the mattress as my other foot held firm against the floor. Mary didn’t move. I swung the other leg up onto the bed and pulled the covers down before sliding under, the shifting sheets whisper silent, and leaned back against the pillow. 

I lay board stiff, hand on my chest, and watched as the tree branches dappled the streetlight in whooshing patterns across the ceiling. Like dark sparkles, it lulled me into a sense of calm, and I let my eyes fall shut again. The bed shifted and I felt Mary turn over, arm flopping out towards the middle of the bed to land hand first into my arm. His eyebrows crinkled in his sleep and his eyelids fluttered wearily at the feeling of his skin against my own. 

“Doll?” he asked, eyes stained with sleep. 

I turned my head to face him, hands still clasped against my chest. “Sorry, I—” I began, taking a moment to let out a shaky breath, “ — I freaked out.”

I braced for a chuckle, eyeroll, anything that was typical of Mary, but it never came. Instead, he lifted up the blankets as if to silently beckon me over. “C’mere,” he croaked, voice clearly still lethargic. 

In any other situation, I’d take pause, but this wasn’t any situation. I scrambled over like a child. He tucked his arm around me and brought me to his bare chest. I could smell the fragrance 

of the shampoo he used as I rested my head in the crook of his neck (I guess he’d been telling the truth about that shower), and my own arms came up to curl against his skin. An arm flopped around my middle, pulling me impossibly close, and our knees brushed under the blanket. 

Surprisingly, I felt calmness wash over me. I likened it to the bear-like embrace, skin-on-skin, some sort of instinctual response to the comfort of another human. But his heartbeat pumped strongly beneath my fingertips and I could feel his steady breath floating across the top of my hair and down my neck, and in that moment, I wondered if it was a little more than just human instinct. 

A beat percussed in time. I traced my fingertips along the skin of his arm, ghost-light, dipping down the valleys and peaks of muscle that I knew flexed taut when he strummed his Epiphone SG. Goosebumps appeared under my digits and he shifted under the sheet. 

“Tickles,” he murmured atop my head.

“Sorry,” I whispered, bringing my hands back to rest against his torso. Sandwiching them between the cotton of my oversized tee and the smooth skin of his pecs would have to do. 

It was quiet — so quiet that I assumed he had fallen asleep again. But his soft breaths were broken by his even softer voice. “You’re cute when you’re scared,” he said. 

I let out a chuckle. “Gee, thanks.”

He hummed and although I couldn’t see it, I could hear his tongue wet his lips, jaw pressing against the top of my head from the movement. “It’s different from the typical Dahlia.”

My mind raced back to our earlier conversation, the one where he’d accused me of hiding my emotions. Is this what he meant? Was fear what he considered transparency? I looked up at him quizzically, breaking the connection of his chin using my crown as an actual headrest. 

His eyes were open, and despite the foreglow of the streetlights and darkness, I could better feel his stare than see it. His hair was still a step down from a rat’s nest, tangled from sleep, and strands hung down around his angular face. His cheeks were beginning to stubble with five o’clock shadow. Breaths pushed past his lips steadily, even, but beneath the pads of my fingers, I could sense his heart pumping solidly in his chest. Only a hairline fracture separated our faces. 

Outside, a whistle of strong wind thwipped against the siding of the house like a widow’s cry and my body instinctively tensed. His arm that had lethargically slung across my waist impulsively tightened and he pulled me even closer. 

“Hey…” he soothed. His brows were drawn in concern, and his hand traveled from the c-bout of my waist and up, up, up my tricep. It was less of a greeting and more of a reminder to land back in the present, to focus on my senses (touch, taste, smell, sight, sound), to remember I was right here, right in this moment, and I wasn’t alone. 

The mortar holding the bricks built around my heart began to disintegrate. Every block melded in a bond pattern to cage in my overcommitting self, to protect from obsession, from the inevitable swoon that I had felt with Brody and had ripped out from under me — they began to fall, piece by piece. 

It was the both of us that drew our mouths to meet. The kiss was lazy, sleepy, languid at first, morphing into prolonged pecks that added a harmony to the pattering rain, gusts of wind, and bouts of thunder rumbling the outside earth. His hand continued to rub against my upper arm and beat by beat, the kiss heightened, and slowly, surely, lips met tongue, and then teeth, and I was angling my neck to the right to keep him from digging into the pillow. 

Mary shifted. His fingers gripped my arm as he moved to lay halfway on top of me. Our legs tangled together, and as he slid his own against my calf, barely stilling, I was certain he’d just discovered that my nightwear consisted of only an oversized t-shirt and panties. 

I could sense his erection pressing through the thin cotton of his boxers against my thigh. My brain zapped back to hours prior when he had boxed me in on the couch and let me take pleasure from his strong quads. A fire raged within me that rivaled my hair spilling across Thomas’ pillows like a red sea.

Mary’s hand moved to skim under the hem of my shirt, tracing against my hip bone before it, too, went up, up, up, hovering just over the curve of my breast before cupping it. His finger traced the outline of my nipple. Once again, surroundings faded. Nothing else existed at this moment, here, right now. 

I exhaled shakily against him. Our lips were still passionately pendulating in a rhythm that the both of us had mastered by now. I took a leap of faith and pressed my thigh to his crotch, earning me a squeeze to my chest and his own shaky exhale. 

Releasing my breast, Mary swept his hand to the waistband of my panties. His fingers, rough and calloused from frets and strings, dipped underneath. He sat up slightly and broke the kiss. The smooth cotton was seesawed down my legs in a series of yanks from the free hand, and he quickly repeated the action on his own boxers, tossing them aside before returning his hand back to my chest. 

“Mary,” I breathed out.

“What?” he echoed. His eyes searched for something as he drank in my expression. 

I swallowed lightly. “I-” I began, not knowing exactly what I was saying.

But he did. “I’ve got you,” he said. His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my eyes. 

He kissed me again and fully framed my body with his own. I relaxed back into the pillow and he sat back to dip his hands underneath my shirt, pushing it up and off with a temporary break in our lips’ union. As he slotted himself between my legs, I looked up at him, body completely bare. I felt the anxiety creep into my chest and I was certain I looked visibly unsure — not at the prospect of what was to happen, no, but what would follow. How this would, or could, change things. 

“So goddamn pretty when you’re spread out like this,” he murmured as his hands roamed up and down my torso. I took the moment to soak up the image in front of me. His lean torso was flexed as he ran his hands along my breasts and stomach, and his cock stood heavy against his pelvis, bobbing with every movement of his touch.

He gripped himself with a soft moan, stroking slowly, methodically, and his eyes raked over my form. This wasn’t our first encounter, no, but I felt truly naked for the first time. 

With oddly found confidence, I reached forward to grasp at the junction of his shoulder and neck. I pulled him towards me and his other hand shot out to brace himself against the squeaking mattress. His stroking continued and I jolted when his knuckles came in contact with the ache between my legs. Without any spoken words, he lined himself up and then embraced me, hand on my shoulder as we met chest to chest, covering me like a blanket. 

His pause was obvious — an unspoken ask of consent to proceed which I answered with a soft kiss. I trusted him, and I assumed he trusted me. We both craved the connection, to complete the incomplete. 

As Mary pushed in, I melted beneath him. His tip pushed past and he groaned and buried his face in the curve of my neck. My hands darted out to grip onto his back and pull him close. I wanted to feel him take up space in my ribs. 

Inch by inch he sank before canting steadily. I could feel every bit of him as he rocked in and out, pulling and pushing as my heat gripped him, and for some reason it felt different. Not just raw, but whole. I took in every bit of him physically, but as we moved together in the nightglow, I also consumed the parts he’d been dressing up in leather and denim and metal and dissolved it into my flesh. I took him. 

And through my euphoria of connection, I barely registered my small eruptions of noises that highlighted each stroke of his cock to my core. I focused on the sensation of sprinkled electricity spreading from my cunt outwards, and his hot breath on my neck that I drank in like I was oxygen-starved. 

Mary’s hips began to stutter as he thrusted a little harder into my own and my legs moved to wrap instinctively around him. I keened out louder, and he lifted his head to look at me again. 

The eye contact was searing. Hot. It charred my retinas, but this time, I didn’t care. He must have sensed the vulnerability because his hand cupped my jaw and he ran his thumb across my cheekbone before our foreheads met together. 

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, “Fuck, I’ve got you.”

Like his own hail Mary. I believed him. He had me now — I was in his clutches, both literally and figuratively. 

His pace increased to match my ever-racing pulse. It was still steadied, sleepily focused, and I dug my fingers into the flesh of his back as I clenched down against the movement of his length, nearly trembling at the pull at my navel as each drag of him spurred fire. It was building, and I let it. My breath began to stutter and I felt tears at my waterline. The sensory overload was rhapsody and the simple, obvious connection was juxtaposed by the chaotic climax lapping at my center. I was so close it almost hurt. 

I moaned his name in a half-whimper and he must have felt my urgency and desperation and the increased slick coating our joined union because he crushed his lips to mine. His thumb dug into the side of my chin as he drove firmly into my aching need. But the jerking of his hips was almost too much and I could tell he wasn’t far behind me. 

As my thighs began to tremble at his sides, he broke the kiss. I looked at him with desperate longing. 

“Let it go, Doll,” he murmured to me. 

And unlike every other situation in life where I found myself stubbornly resisting direction, I obeyed. I followed his demand and allowed the fuzzy heat of my release to unfurl around him. I cried out in rapture and he swallowed the sound with an opened mouth kiss at the moment of impact. I tensed around him and my pussy spasmed with every lunge of his hard cock.

“Good girl,” Mary praised as gripped hard onto my shoulder and pressed his head to mine, lips separated, and I was enveloped in a curtain of golden-brown tangled strands. He began to move faster against me and I knew my orgasm had spurred something deep within him as he moaned out, “So good for me, taking me so damn well.”

His thumb brushed the breadth of my lip and dipped into my mouth, pulling down just barely against my tongue and teeth. I looked up at him with full eyes, grey hues drowned by pupils swimming from release, and I inwardly begged him to complete me as aftershocks of a violent orgasm short circuited. 

“So tight,” he grunted in response. “Fuck— feel so good around me, babydoll.” His hands moved to grip my hips and with a few more jolts of his hips, his cock twitched and he groaned, features melting as he spilled inside of me. His body jerked with each spurt and his fingers dug into the flesh covering my pelvic bone as he rode out his high.

Mary collapsed into me and I allowed my eyes to close as we savored the aftermath. I’m not sure how long it was, minutes, maybe more, but eventually he pulled his softened dick from me and I let out a long breath of satisfaction. My hand moved to rest against my chest as I digested the gnawing deep within me that questioned what this was. 

Mary fell to his side and pressed a quick peck to my lips before rolling onto his back and mimicking my sigh. A brief silence filled the sweat-scented air, and I moved my hand to grasp at his, squeezing it, only to receive a slight squeeze back.

Our ragged breaths eventually calmed and I opened my eyes to the textured plaster of the ceiling. 

“You good?” Mary asked after a minute. I rolled my lips inward as I thought about the weight of those two words. 

“Yeah, I’m…I’m good— I’m great,” I replied.  It was the truth. 

He hummed in response and pulled the flat sheet over himself. 

“Glad I could distract you,” He said as he nestled into the right side of the bed. Before turning, he added, “get some sleep.”

My eyes searched for patterns in the swirls of the painted gypsum of the ceiling as stillness settled in. Mary’s quiet breathing turned to soft snores. Despite the calm, serene relief from a shared orgasm, my chest was tight from the inward battle of how unbelievably intimate that experience was and how deeply I was freefalling into a mess of adoration for the man next to me.

I wondered how he could so easily turn to the side and fall asleep.

🜏🜏🜏

Despite the after effects of the record-breaking storm, Des and Thomas were able to make it home a couple of days after they’d left, right on schedule. 

They greeted Mary with their normal affections (a pat on the back from Thomas and a warm wave from Des), and the conversation immediately turned from a Brutus report to a play-by-play of Thomas’ shows out of town. 

Des noted there was no sign of her best friend, which wasn’t a surprise. She’d received my text the day before that I was heading home and that Mary was fine staying the additional time. And despite her prodding, I’d remained tightlipped.

Both she and Thomas were unaware of the telltale morning after where I’d woken up to sunbeams instead of lightning, choosing to pack up my belongings and head out early to check on my own pet at home. 

They were also unaware of the brief goodbye between Mary and I as I readied to leave — him, acting cool, aloof, and casual, as if nothing had changed, while I tried my best to mirror his demeanor with little success. Because as much as I tried to build the bricks back up, I’d let him in the night before, and he’d taken root inside the boundaries of my chest. 

I suppose that just like a day spent thrifting, I’d gone into every interaction with Mary with no expectations, and each time I’d come out with something I didn’t anticipate. The goldmines outweighed the insolvencies. I didn’t know if I wanted him to be aware of this.

Above all, I was happy for my momentary blissful unawareness (at least until later during a phone call with Des) of Thomas’ outburst upon entering his bedroom after Mary had left. His exclamation of “god damn it!” rang as loud as the thunder two nights previous, causing Des to dart in with a “what?” on her lips and the expectation of disaster. 

Thomas sighed, stained top sheet in hand. “They fucked on my bed.”

taglist: @soup-14 @copiasghoulfriend @thew0man @na1ven3vy @portaltothevoid @copias-juicebox @the-lisechen @anamelessfool @discountdemonwarehouse @oaksdottir

[shunin-gumis]

As Master Joe Wishes - Track 06

Seasonal Team Event - L4mps

Location: Manor – Large Parlor

Joe: Oh my, tomorrow morning? This is the first I’m hearing of this.

Yodaka: Tomorrow morning… This really is short notice.

Samejima: Sorry about this. It’s not that we don’t trust you, but we were taking precautions against any information leak. As it is, we’re limiting the discussion of the situation with involved parties only.

Toi: Um… If the transfer has already been confirmed, does that mean our orders have changed as well…?

Samejima: I’m glad you’re quick on the uptake. As you guessed, the next 12 hours will be the most dangerous yet.

Samejima: Our troops are stationed in the gardens, as well as the surrounding houses, but– 

Samejima: As we are aiming to lure in the target to arrest them, we’ve decided to deploy only the bare minimum within the manor, so as to not arouse suspicion. That would include a couple of us from command, and all of you. 

Hiramei: If we pack too many folks in here, they’d figure us out immediately and get away… 

Ryui: Wha–

Ryui: (Ain’t no fuckin’ way, it’s way too dangerous. That said, might be worse if we try to get outta here now…) 

Samejima: I suppose it’d be too much to ask for you to spend the next 12 hours doing the same as usual… But of course, I hope you avoid doing anything dangerous. 

Ryui: (They’re aiming for that spoiled brat of a bear. If I can just keep Toi away from her, I should be able to protect him even if they come down on us…)

Nagi: In a development like this, they’re all but guaranteed to come to us.

Nagi: Maybe we should set up some traps to drive away the intruders, like in that one famous Christmas movie.*

Joe: Oh my~ What a splendid idea! I am quite fond of that film myself~

Toi: I love it too! Although, I do feel bad for the robbers at the end of it… 

Daniel: If yer gonna do it, make sure ya don’t half-ass it and have your allies end up in the cross-fire instead. 

Daniel: Anyways, I’m gonna go lie down. Back’s still sore and all. 

Yodaka: He’s got a point. While there’s some appeal to setting up classic traps, I’m worried about being unarmed against a group of thieves… 

Ryui: Oi, old man. Tell ‘em they oughta give us a proper guard, or at least give us somethin’ to protect ourselves with. 

Samejima: Hmm… Maybe I could get permission to get us some batons… 

Daniel: Batons… Well, better than nothin’ I guess. We don’t have much time, so you should—

Netaro: Ask and you shall receive~ ! Drumroll please! There is no need to worry your little heads~ A kawaii and cool arms dealer has arrived~ 

Netarobot: Yes indeedy we have weapons indeed~

Nagi: That scared me… weapons?

Netaro: Tada!

Ryui: T-This is… 

Yodaka: From handguns to rifles… There’s even a grenade launcher… These are all elaborately crafted airsoft guns, aren’t they?

Toi: So cool! Just like in an action movie…! Did you design all these yourself, Netaro-san?

Netaro: Roh’s the one who designed the exterior~

Yodaka: Oh? Sakujiro did?

Netaro: Remember when Ryui oh-so-cruelly rejected the servant clothing that Roh had designed? Well, he said we should at least have some weapons on us and came up with these designs one after the other! 

Yodaka: I see. Now that you’ve said it, I can tell these weapon designs were made in mind to match the butler and maid uniforms he had shared before… Put them together, and the design would leave a deep impression on a certain subgroup of people… 

Nagi: Could I use this one as a blunt weapon?

Netaro: Gii, if you mess with that, you’ll get blown away, along with the entire manor.

Nagi: Eh… 

Netaro: Roh may have designed the exterior, but the interior execution was done by yours truly~ They’re equipped to overkill any band of thieves (or anyone, really)!

Toi: So, they’re like the real deal? 

Netaro: I am an arms dealer after all~

Ryui, you can have this one.

Ryui: Woah, aight.

Daniel: –An assault rifle huh. A mid-ranged weapon that can be used in both offensive and defensive formations. From the looks of it, it’s semi-automatic too, perfect for beginners to use.

Netaro: I’ve adjusted the recoil so it won’t shatter Ryui’s shoulder. Once you’ve strapped on the ammo belt over both shoulders, you may shoot to your heart’s content like Ramboo!*

Ryui: Got it.

Netaro: This one’s for Toi!

Toi: W-woah! It looks really cool but, can someone like me even use it…? 

Daniel: Sniper rifles are long distance, meaning you won’t be targeted as easily. It’s plenty enough if you can just calmly assist your allies from out of sight.

Toi: I can protect Ani-sama with this!

Netaro: Gii gets hand grenades!

Nagi: Thank you… I don’t get a gun, huh. 

Daniel: The hand grenade is considered one of the most powerful weapons because it can reduce a wide area to ashes in an instant. Nagi doesn’t have much of a presence, and he’s real fast. Might be surprisingly suited for a vanguard. 

Nagi: I should be careful not to pull the pin on accident… 

Ryui: (Not sure if we should trust him with that thing… )

Netaro: Yoda can have this one~

Yodaka: A revolver, huh.

Yodaka: (Hm… How strange, feels like it fits right in my hands… )

Daniel: Revolvers are standard equipment for JPN police. Although the bullet count is limited, it’s the easiest to maneuver in close combat, right after the assault rifle. 

Nagi: Buchi-san, how come you know so much about these?

Daniel: … Who knows. 

Netaro: And finally, I get to have everyone’s favorite grenade launcher! The grenades come in seven different colors and seven different abilities and pop out one after the other for great efficiency~ That’s all!

Daniel: … What about me?

Nagi: You’ve got your muscles, Buchi-san.

Netaro: If you must have one, here.

Daniel: A magnum? 

Netaro: I considered scrapping this extra-large caliber gun since it would dislocate the shoulder of any of the other weaker-bodied humans but… Your dynamite muscular frame should be able to handle it no problem~

Samejima: Um, I’m technically still a police officer here, so seeing this blatant violation of the Firearm and Swords Control Law right in front of me is a bit… Well, I’ll still grant you permission, of course.

Hiramei: I’ve been recording the whole thing so, if push comes to shove, it’ll only be Samejima-san’s neck on the line!

Joe: Being middle management must be quite the difficult job indeed~

Samejima: Yeah... Please take me in if I get fired for this.

Samejima: With that being said… I’m sorry to ask this of you after all you’ve done to help already, but until the transfer is complete, please be–

Toi: Um, this is only a suggestion, but… Could we hold a farewell party for Joe-sama now?

Joe: Toi…!

Samejima: Be–

Toi: I’d like to make some more memories with Joe-sama! I can’t believe we’re parting in just 12 hours… 

Joe: Oh my, I am so very happy to hear you say that~!

Samejima: –Be on your guard and as we prepare a wonderful party.

Toi: Yay! It’s decided then!

Note:

The famous Christmas movie Nagi is referring to is the 1990 film Home Alone.

Ramboo is a reference to Rambo.

[vladdyissues]

There is a real-life goth castle in Wisconsin; however, the new houseowner gave it a Barbiecore makeover. Some of the black gothic furniture is still being used. Imagine Vlad getting excited for the Barbie movie and just paint his entire castle pink.

I had to see this for myself and...

Anon, I had no idea that Wisconsin Castles are, like... a Thing. Must be something in the beer up there.

But you're right. I can see Vlad going through design phases. Maybe when he first bought his castle he went with a gaudy gilded Louis XIV style that came with the place. Then perhaps he got tired of smashing his kneecaps to smithereens on claustrophobia-inducing Baroque furniture and tore it all down to fill it with modern things, and when he became sick of flat surfaces, primary colors, and 90-degree angles, he went full Gothic, gargoyles and spires and everything. Maybe he saved one or two things from each phase and ended up with this Frankensteinian hodgepodge, and after repeated dissatisfaction he just decided to fire his interior decorator(s) and do things his own way.

Vlad certainly decorates according to his whims, and canon supports this theory. (What is it with rich people and tasteless décor?) I'm sure Barbie is just the excuse he needs to vault back to his Aqua-seasoned Barbie Girl days of the mid/late 90s when things like inflatable furniture and glitter and fuzzy pink everything was in vogue.

[froguemorgue]

@caleb-management asked:

and so I spent this morning drawing a layout myself (grossly underestimating how much time I'd spend on it... also I had to do math, also I'm not ted moseby) but it beats learning how to use an interior design program! actually, seeing it again makes me feel proud because this is the original mockup from memory done in my Notes app:

NO WAIT COME BACK!!! 

below is the finished product:

dude, calculating the square footage of the general living area, because it was two rectangles put together, truly brought me back to high school geometry. i have not been in an "I Lowkey Enjoy Math!" era since before covid but this was actually fun. Thanks!!

I should add that they are on the 6th floor. and there is no elevator. this is evil, i hope you understand what it's like going up that many flights. (this doesn't sound like proper grammar?? am i dumb).

the building is like entirely exposed brick, high ceilings, old, wide-cut hardwood floors, and huge old windows that predate the 1920s and have to be propped up, and are horribly drafty in the winter. The seams of the floorboards don't really line up because the rooms have changed a lot since the building was originally constructed, which means the interior walls are also different than the exterior brick, and are mostly plaster with wallpaper. A lot of the plumbing is exposed because it was added later. electrical is way outdated and not the safest, but hey. they're sooo blessed to be on a corner of the building so they get more windows than average! The bedroom side faces an alleyway and there is a fire escape accessible by both bedroom windows. The windows in the living room face the street and not explicity writen is that the sills are deep enough to sit in, giving them book nook potential but mostly they're just used for extra seating if there was a tiny gathering (it would be so cramped) and also, there is a one in 4 chance it will simply be littered with beer cans. they may be classy boys but they're still college boys. well, they were college boys, but as Rob is graduating in '77 (four year bachelor's) Alex actually finished his in three (graduated in '76) and is now in law school. the lease ended on December 31st so Rob literally JUST moved out a month prior when Alex first "arrives".

Troup and Alex moved here after rooming together in a dorm for two years because at the time it was fairly cheap, utilities all included, but rent keeps rising so dramatically that, on a peaceful night, especially during the winter, if you listen very closely, you can actually hear Mark Cohen and Roger Davis growling about it. . they are in the walls

[fault-classic]

May and June were pretty busy for me, so I didn't have as much time to work on game dev. I'll condense what I've done over those two months into one post.

May and June's work was focused on building a CAMP area. This is where the party gathers outside of the dungeon, and where Ashley can save the game, switch out party members, and rest to restore HP and MP.

It all started with this mockup image here. Originally the Camp and the entrance to the dungeon were supposed to be two separate rooms with a fade-to-black in between them, but that idea didn't make it past the initial concept stage.

The idea for the trees to form this black barrier around the room perimeter was also thrown out - I couldn't use the same principles for designing interiors as I did for outdoor areas. It would take a different approach.

Getting the look right was an involved process. My first blueprints for the entrance made it out to be this enormous megastructure when I actually constructed it in-engine.

Gluing the trees together like A Link to the Past was a good idea though.

Attempts to pare the map down into something more manageable resulted in this awkward half-way step. There were still too many repeated textures for my liking, it was still too big, and it kind of looked like it was under construction instead of being in ruins.

This is the last mockup I went with before I collected the assets and actually built the thing in engine.

I found it useful from a technical perspective to start with a very blown-out, saturated colour palette, and then work "subtractively" from there, dialing down the colours using the in-engine tools as appropriate.

Have I shown off the diagonal stair movement before? That was something I coded myself. The tops and bottoms of the stairs act as little triggers that change the outputs of the movement keys as appropriate. You don't have to zig zag down the stairs like I've seen in some RPG Maker games.

Party members who aren't currently following Ashley will hang back at the campsite. Ashley can swap them out like so - but the assets for everyone aren't quite done yet. Yolei doesn't have a walking sprite!

I did a lot of experimenting to figure out the range of different palettes I could get without making changes to the tileset assets themselves.

I coded an in-game clock that ticks down when Ashley walks around outside of camp. The weather conditions and lighting change depending on when the party returns to camp - this would be late in the day, around sunset.

If the Ashley returns to camp after dark, the remaining party members will have a little fire set up.

The effects to make this fire work right are really elaborate. I might make a second post to explain everything that went into it.

[the0retically]

Monster Control Service:

……..I can’t keep these thoughts to myself but oh my god that was an absolute fever dream

Part 1:

- Rip Condi, lost in a fire, transported away in a bubble, damn

- This is already insane, how did Grizz and Charlie just forget to design their characters

- Charlie what is your character???? HUH??

- Their voices are so—

- THEY ARENT EVEN AT HOME??

- “Just a changeling wearing a hat” oh my god

- GRIZZ PLEASE THAT LAUGH IS SO WEIRD

- ……..is this just monsters inc? Is bizly describing Roz right now?

- CHASE HAS A LITTLE PROPELLER HAT?? AWWWW

- “Every man shits himself at least once in his life” ok grizz

- The banter between Grizz and Charlie is so so fun

- “Why would you do this to me father?” “Because I love you, son”

- POISON DAMAGE????

- THE CREEPS ARE LEGIT CREEPS WHAT IS HAPPENING?? Just father son bonding day at work!

- The music is just so cheery right now

- “You know we actually have six monster balls and I look at my pants” RICHARD PLEASE DONT SAY THAT

- Charlie playing a changeling is so so cursed

- Chase just unscrewing the lightbulbs??

- Chase keeps going to bite people Richard should’ve given him those eggs before this

- I love how Condi is there but just hanging out off camera and watching them play

- “That is my baby” “what? No I am your baby father” Chase just wants his father’s love

- Can the bubble be popped?—YEAH THANK YOU CHARLIE

- Chase is just Goobleck but able to talk more and is a little boy

- “I told you papa, if I go to church I will burst into fire”

- Bizly looks so upset by everything that Chase does and honestly me too. I love Chase but he’s horrific

- They are spending so much time at this drive thru pleaseeeee, bizly is just dying slowly

- GRIZZ JUST LOOKING AT DAD SAYINGS AND ONLY FINDING “working hard or hardly working”

- COWS DONT EXIST “father what the fuck is a cow?”

- Richard just telling dad jokes is Everything

- “Alright, son, attack!” OH GOD

- Chase is a druid changeling?? That’s so so cool

- Black sand!! It’s canon across universes!!

- Oh god he just shot this gun in this town please bebo don’t let there be repercussions to that

- Yay!! Charlie got his attack of opportunity!!

- I’m so—this is devolving so fast why is Chase saying— OH HI DAKOTA??

- I’m just watching in awe?? I just don’t even understand what’s fully happening

- Charlie has lost his mind, Chase what are you even saying right now

- Bizly is just Disgusted

- “Oh no I ate him” “YOU ATE THE OLD MAN???” Bizly proceeds to just stare at Charlie in horror

Part 2:

- The disclaimer at the start……..I’m scared

- Why does Charlie want to become a hollow animal—so he can turn into a meat car??

- ……….Chase is the interior?? This is a horrifying ability of his

- And now this is sad, Richard just accept your son!!

- Charlie really makes all of his characters be a fucked up little guy who’s told he’s different and will never fit in

- ……..Richard What, good for Charlie for not justifying that with a response

- I like can’t even process what is fully happening

- Richard takes his shirt off??? I guess that’s smart to distract while Chase is chasing down the mayor

- 18 POISON DAMAGE TO THE MAYOR????? HE WANTS TO REPLACE HIM

- “Performance to eat his ass?” OH GOD?? “As soon as I’m the mayor I’m gonna kiss him on the mouth…4!” CHARLIE NO

- Chase being the mayor but just being upset that he was placed in time out is SO FUNNY??

- Mom lore now?? After all of this??

- RICHARD SAYS HE HAS A MONSTER COCK???? WHAT IS HAPPENING GRIZZ WHAT THE HELL

- ok now it’s mom lore—I’m so so confused

- “However old you are, years, months, days” Yeahh Chase is just 10

- WHY IS HE EXPLAINING HOW BABIES ARE MADE TO CHASE RIGHT NOW

- “How do I explain this and not get demonetized” “it’s patreon go for it” “…it’s patreon :) guys :)” GRIZZ DONT LOOK AT THE CAMERA AND SAY THAT IM HORRIFIED NOW

- :( oh chase is going in to hug his dad!!! WAIT I LOVE THIS THIS IS SO SWEET

- ROLLING TO BECOME FURRIES?? I MISSED A CHAPTER HOLD UP

- Tizen note: “this is awesome” TIZEN!!!!

- DICK OUT???? RICHARD WHAT THE FUCK

- Charlie and Grizz are having too much fun with this oh my god

- “I start whimpering” “WHY??” Oh my god they’re losing it, they’re just genuinely losing it

- “That note came straight from the mayor” “oh” holy shit??

- Can’t believe they killed the mayor and he had all the answers

- “Like I do with monsters, fuck the house” PLEASE

- THE IMMEDIATE BACKTRACK FROM CHARLIE “fucking monsters is ok but I’m making furries illegal” IM CRYING

- This is chaotic I’m gonna lose it what on earth is happening

- I have still over an hour left and my brain feels like it’s turned into mush

- SANTA IS A MONSTER IN THIS WORLD??

- Grizz please don’t roll a 20 for this man to have a monster fetish WHAT GRIZZ ROLLED IT BUT IT WAS AFTER THE TWO ROLLS NOOOOOO NOW I FEEL BAD GRIZZ SHOULDVE GOTTEN THAT 20

- Chase plays fortnight? He really is just a boy monster, love him

- And now he’s just playing among us

- Why are they all rolling for among us “if I die in among us then do I die in real life?” “Yes” HUH?

- I literally forgot about the secret room oh my god

- This is insanity, I honestly love it, the vibes are just crazy, peak friends just playing dnd and messing around

- “so you can’t find any monster smut” never mind I hate this, I forgot Richard was looking for that

- Bizly did not just say that

- He just sounds like Goobleck during this mayor speech oh my god

- Thank you for the apology Grizz cause this is so—“you have a spiked cock” “…yeah”

- “Instead of yellow, walk up and say jello :)” “…jello :)”

- “Chase is engulfed….and he’s gonna engulf back” OH GOD?

- The glasses are off, yeah that makes sense

- Oh god Bizly talking about how he and his girlfriend created this world that was supposed to be sweet and cute as animal control pretty much but they’re monsters and then this is how it devolved to is so—bebo im so sorry

- Bizly’s face is how I feel right now

- But they’re right I do like the Creep family, they’re just goofy!

- …….I hate them

- What on earth is happening

- Oh god chase is going through puberty???

- Bizly is losing it and so I am

- “My balls light on fire…I don’t know they’re on fire” HUH?

- Why is Charlie whispering to Grizz right now, what are they planning-OH MY GOD

- I hate this???? Grizz please

- I just, I don’t even know how to react to this

- “Son, I’m proud of you” how dare they make an emotional moment right now, hold up this conversation is sweet

- ……I don’t know how to act

- CONDI HIIIIIIII

- Charlie pleaseeee everyone is just so done

- What an incredible fever dream

[elsewhereuniversity]

I gave myself the sight and someone who I thought I could trust wasn’t human. Somehow they found out my name. I’m scared but I don’t want to leave them behind. Groundskeeper, please tell me of a safe spot to hide and another name to hide behind?

A name for you - Sylvieza - and a charm that comes with it: a silver cuff, bearing the interwoven and eye-twisting designs of the courts, set with one red stone blazing with interior fire. The cuff is a gift from one who loved the first bearer of the name, offering some protection to the wearer of the name and cuff for the sake of their beloved’s memory.

I hope, though, that your faith is rewarded - that you have no betrayal to fear.

[darkdollyumi]

was talking to @lalnawiki about these Rythian journal pages and figured i might as well post them.

day 3 post-war

i knew it was coming but i have no one to blame but myself for not being more prepared. call it optimism, naivety or just plain stupidity- but there you have it.

their little pranks turned into full-scale war, and we all paid the price for it. SMRT Corp, The Rail Bros and Zoey and her mushroom forest all burned in the fires of full-scale nuclear aggression. I will not allow this to happen again. If necessary I will shoulder the responsibility of what needs to be done They will not thank me. They will not like me. They will call it aggression, villainy, warmongering... I call it retribution. Justice.

day 33 post-war

She's gone. It's my fault. I drove her away. I shouldn't have reacted that way - but why would she lie to me? Why would she keep that hidden? How could I have been so blind? She made me soft. Simple. Stupid. I spent more time looking at interior design or planning a pool project than what's important. So she's gone. Fine. I work better alone anyway. I need to be ready. I need to show them where the limits are. With every day that passes we get closer to another nuclear event. I can stop them. As for her... I don't care.

Wherever she is and whoever she is with, it's no longer my concern. I have more important things to worry about.

[cina-full-moon-xanadium]

Kamen Rider J is a solid Tokusatsu movie, but I’ve never been quite sure on it as a Kamen Rider story?

I like it, to be sure -- and I found myself a lot more interested in everything it had to offer on this rewatch. But especially coming off of Shin and ZO’s retellings of the core Kamen Rider story, J as a movie seems to avoid the usual tropes as much as it possibly can; and that’s especially evident that I’ve now seen all of Showa Kamen Rider. Rather than a story about a man consigned to a tragic battle after being changed by evil or escaping evil, altered against his will; J is a miracle -- a power granted to our protagonist for his kind heart by agents of nature and the planet itself. For sure, Kouji Segawa straight up dies and has surgery done on him to bring him back to life, but there’s no loss or darker side involved with becoming J that usually marks a Kamen Rider story; certainly not at this point in time. What we’re left with is a very general Tokusatsu hero story about a nature-empowered superhero fighting to rescue a child and save the world from evil invaders; just he happens to be called Kamen Rider, looks like a grasshopper and has a transformation belt and motorbike. That’s like two out of four for this actor’s previous Tokusatsu role though, so y’know.

It’s just very difficult for me to talk about this movie, because often when I dig into an Ishinomori story now - especially a Kamen Rider one - there’s certain story elements you learn to look for and are kind of surprised when at least one of them isn’t there. No cross of fire, no real tragedy, no rise of fascism; I want to talk about this as a Kamen Rider story but I really can’t, because it just doesn’t feel like one, even next to the likes of Amazon and RX. If I can get at absolutely anything thematically, it’s the embracing of Kamen Rider as a being of nature; leaning into it even more after ZO; but it’s difficult to fully realise -- there’s certainly lip service paid to environmentalism in this movie, but it’s hardly like J’s extraterrestial enemies represent pollution or the like in any meaningful way. J is a warrior of the planet, and that’s clear in his captivating multiple green tones on his body and his receiving of miracles from the Earth... but I don’t think it all comes together in the way it should.

What I can talk about instead, then, is simply what the movie presents us with - and what most notably stands out is, just like the previous movies; a beautiful array of set design and effects. Compared to the darker tones of Shin and ZO though, this is much more wondrous; as if you’re expecting Spielberg to pop up as the Director credit -- so many nice nature shots contrasted with the glaring reds and blacks of the Fog Mother ship interior; which are all so intricate and convincing that you forget momentarily it isn’t real! That convincing nature continues onto the miniature set design inhabited by the giant Fog Mother and J fight at the end, with so many little touches like the concrete crushing beneath J’s feet, the moving treads and many machinery of Fog Mother; just the way everything is destroyed around them and covered by mist, even the final Rider Jump and Kick of J is... it’s magical, and I dare call it one of the best giant fights I’ve ever seen in Tokusatsu. It deserves to be watched just for that.

That’s it, then! I think J has a lot of interesting things to offer, but ultimately isn’t as fully realised as Shin and ZO are. Those are movies that know exactly what they want to do and achieve them to varying degrees of success, but J is unfortunately a little more middling with how many concepts it’s caught between and what exactly they were trying to do with it. I’d still recommend a watch for one of the most gorgeous Kamen Rider movies out there if nothing else.

[loorain]

Sims 4 Fontenot Legacy - The Big Date

After another long day putting in work at the restaurant, Sabrina's date night finally comes around. They meet Beau at a Western-style bar for good drinks, good food, and good company.

Beau: ...I just don't get it.

Sabrina: I know it's confusing, it was confusing for me too-

Beau: I mean, broiling just doesn't seem like a good use of the oven when you can just fire up the grill!

Sabrina: It has its purposes, but I don't use the function much myself either.

Beau: No one likes having to turn the oven on if they don't have to. I think there are just better ways to do it.

The evening progresses as the two talk about anything and everything.

And Sabrina keeps the drinks flowing...

Which eventually leads them to the dance floor...

Which escalates before they even have a moment to even think about it.

Sabrina hardly recalls the moment they and Beau ended up back at his place. "Still living in that townhouse" they muse, but the thought disappears as they sit on his bed — an upgrade from his college years — and feel his lips against their own.

Soon enough, the sun begins rising on a fresh day. It's safe to assume neither slept much that night, the sun reminding them of that fact.

Sabrina: Well... that was fun.

Beau: Yeah. It was.

The two stare long and hard at each other, milking in every moment. In this moment, all the struggles they've gone through, miscommunications and misunderstandings, they all seem like leaves in the wind, fleeting and growing ever-so distant. It prompts Sabrina to speak up again.

Sabrina: Being here with you again... it brings back a lot of memories. Mainly good ones.

Beau: Same goes for me.

Sabrina: Of course, you had a cheap single-person bed then. Quite the little upgrade you've managed in here. Still reeks of a bachelor pad though.

Beau chuckles.

Beau: You know me, never had much of an eye for interior design.

Sabrina: Yet, this place still always felt homey even despite that.

Sabrina scoots a little closer and wraps their arms around Beau.

Sabrina: I really meant it when I said I wanted to build back to what we once had. And after tonight, I think we're gradually getting there.

Beau: I would have to agree with that sentiment.

Sabrina: I know I've been wishy-washy in the past, and I'm sorry. I hope you can understand where I was coming from. I've gone through a lot. Now that the restaurant is up and running, and Juno is aging up, I'm feeling like I'm finally getting ahold of my life. I have room for you now. And I want to make you a priority alongside everything else. Beau... I want to end our break. Is that... something you want too?

Beau: I won't ever lie and say I wasn't hurt by you. You've managed to break my heart twice already.

Sabrina's face falls a little, guilt etching into their features.

Beau: But even despite that, we've had so many good times. No one makes me laugh like you do, or grin from ear to ear hearing them talk about flambés and beef wellingtons. I've watched you blossom from a wild 20-something college student to a business owner and parent. Your devotion to your family and, most importantly, yourself is honestly inspiring. So even though there have been some bad times, we have a true bond, and with effort and awareness, we can fix things. Let's try again. For real this time.

Sabrina excitedly grabs his hand.

Sabrina: You really mean that?

Beau: I definitely do. I love you, Sabrina. Always have.

Sabrina: I love you too, Beau. I'm sorry I haven't always shown you that.

Beau: Water under the bridge. Let's just move forward with each other from this point forward, yeah?

Sabrina nods enthusiastically.

Sabrina: Yeah. I'd like that.