#ham loaf dinner

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss (Minnesota State Fair edition)

Nothing better for the Hair Bears than tradition

And more specifically, culinary tradition. As in the Hamline Church Dining Hsll, as in their ham loaf dinner even ... which our own little party decided to sample for ourselves. Especially Huckleberry Hound, my travelling compadre, and the Southern ursine romantics of Emmy Lou and Jenny Lee. And who couldn't resist as much the ham loaf (with rather treacly sweet sauce topping same) as mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, ciabatta roll, bread pudding for dessert ... and iced tea as well?

Asked by yours truly what attracted the Hair Bear Bunch every fair to the ham loaf dinner, all Hair Bear could admit to was that "it was just out of curiosity a few years back ... and how else could it be resisted when all was said and done?"

As for Emmy Lou and Jenny Lee ... "I do have to admit that this is rather interesting, especially for a little ol' Southern gal like myself," Emmy Lou remarked. "Though it'd be interesting if they had those baking powder biscuits."

"You mean," Huckleberry asked, "like those used in the ham biscuits down south?"

"That's an interesting way of puttin' it there, Huckleberry!"

"Quite pleased to hear as much from you, Emmy Lou."

"And has anybody ever mentioned where my cousin Emmy Lou makes perhaps the best ham biscuits around?" chimed in Jenny Lee, with Emmy Lou acknowledging as much, adding that she prefers biscuit-cut ham. Call it a weakness, even after probably thr third or fourth substantial glass of iced tea ...

=============

As for the recipe for said ham loaf, should anybody be asking for it--

Preheat oven to 325° F/165° C/Gas Mark 3. Combine loaf and sauce ingredients separately:

FOR THE LOAF:

1½ lbs. each ground ham (NOT ground pork) and ground beef, chicken or turkey 3 cups dry breadcrumbs 1 medium onion, chopped ½ tsp. each salt, pepper, curry powder, ground sage and allspice 2 cups milk 3 eggs, slightly beaten, OR ¾ cup liquid egg

FOR THE SAUCE:

2 cups packed brown sugar ⅔ cup vinegar ¼ cup prepared mustard

Pack the loaf mixture into a large loaf pan; spoon half the sauce over the loaf. Bake for 90 minutes; drain grease from pan, spoon remaining sauce mixture over the loaf and bake 30-45 minutes more.

(Worth trying when fixing the sauce: Apple cider vinegar and, for the mustard, Dijon or Dusseldorf stylee. Stone ground, even....)

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @passionateclown @multi-fandom-girl-451 @indigo-corvus @groovybribri @moonrock1973 @stuffaboutminnesota @archive-archives @hanna-barbera-blog @thylordshipofbutts @thebigdingle @hanna-barberians @themineralyoucrave @screamingtoosoftly @hanna-barbera-land @warnerbros-blog1 @iheartgod175 @ultrakeencollectionbreadfan @funtasticworld @leftover-hotcheetos @aquablock68 @warnerbrosent-blog

[softspiderling]

picture of you in an invisible locket | j.v

summary:

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion.

OR; loving jacaerys velayron means more than loving just him, something that you are painfully aware of

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: none :)

word count: 2,5k

author's note: my first jacaerys fic! ngl it was super hard to jump from obx to hotd bc i wanted my writing to feel authentic to the fandom/show??? yeah obx and hotd could NOT be any more different tbf. i have a bunch of ideas for jace but if you want you can send me some requests! also tagging @zyafics and @sunderlust bc they've been encouraging me to write for jace ily guys. happy reading and pls leave some feedback/comments/nice words!!! <3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The light of the torches were flickering as you walked down the hallway, your shoes clicking against the marble stones that lined the ground. It was nearly midnight and a lady of your rank shouldn’t be awake at this hour, much less out of her chambers by herself, roaming the halls.

But you were hungry.

You hadn’t had much to eat during dinner, trying to avoid him as much as possible, which is getting increasingly more difficult. Usually, he wasn’t so persistent, opting to stay close to your father during dinner, exchanging information about their culture, or drinking with your brother. Tonight, however, it seemed like he was on quest to find you whenever you were standing idly by, asking for a dance. And of course, you couldn’t decline for no reason, as it would appear rude or even slight, so you busied yourself with other - much less distracting - dance partners. By the time he was approached by one of your guards, inquiring about his training, and you saw your chance to sit down and eat in peace, the table had been cleared for the last course. While you did love cake, your hunger couldn’t be stilled by a mere dessert and you spent the remainder of the night famished, longing for some hearty food.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled of hunger again, and you picked up the skirt of your night dress, hastening along to the kitchen. When you finally reached the stair case that led down to the kitchens, you hurried down the steps, letting yourself into the kitchen, the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind you.

The kitchen was dimly lit, and you headed to the pantry, searching for bread and butter and if you were lucky, some smoked ham. You were so focused on your search, you didn’t even notice another presence lingering in the doorway of the pantry.

You heart nearly stopped when you finally did see him, your gasp echoing in the empty kitchen.

“Prince Jacaerys!”

The crown prince of the Seven Realms was standing in front of you, arms behind his back and brows raised. You forced your heartbeat so calm down, hand still clutching your chest.

“You gave me a fright,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“I have been waiting for your arrival. You took quite some time, I was certain you would be here an hour past.”

Your eyes narrowed in slits, growing wary at his words. “And how did you know that I would come to the kitchens at this hour? I do not make it a habit to skulk around the keep at night.”

Jacaerys chuckled dryly, his beautiful dark curls bouncing as he shook his head, as if in disbelief.

“Given how you occupied the dance floor with various dance partners earlier, I did not see you sit down for supper once. You were certain to still your hunger somewhere.”

So he did notice.

You acted nonchalant, turning away from him eyes searching shelves in the pantry.

“Searching for this?”

Jacaerys brought a loaf of bread from behind his back, wrapped in a cloth. Your eyes gleamed, taking a step forward to reach for it, nearly bumping into him as he took a step forward as well, breaching into your personal space. Your heart stopped, feeling his hot breath fanning on your cheeks and the prince’s lips tugged into a grin.

“Ah ah,” he tutted, moving the bread out of your reach. “You do not expect me to give this away without a price now, do you my lady?”

You took a moment’s pause, considering his words with caution.

“… What sort of price do you speak of?”

“How about…” Jacaerys begun. “A kiss?”

With a small breath, you faltered, looking up at him through your lashes, your shoulders slumping.

“Jace.”

“Ah, now we are back to Jace?”

Snatching the small piece of ham and the butter that sat in a small marble bell from the shelves, you walk back into the kitchen, knowing Jacaerys would follow you. Making a stop at the counter, you spread your findings on it, waiting until Jacaerys stopped next you, loaf of bread still in his hand.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“You danced with every single man at your brother’s name day celebration except for me,” Jacaerys pointed out. You shrugged with your shoulders, an act you would never do in front of other people, but this was Jace.

“I was merely being a good host.”

“Don’t insult me, my lady. I saw your grimace when Lord Ren twirled you over the dance floor while stepping all over your feet with his barbaric dance moves.”

Seven hells, he got you there. You never were able to keep your real feelings hidden when it came to Lord Ren. He was just too insufferable. Pursing your lips, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were still a lady after all, you had some manners.

“Will you give me the bread when I admit you’re right?”

“I should not,” Jacaerys sniffed. “Because I know I am right, I do not need a confession. I just want to know your reasons.”

With a huff, you snatched the loaf of bread out of his hands, reaching for knife in the wooden block. You cut out several slices, maybe with more force than necessary.

“You know my reasons.”

Jacaery is quiet next to you and you dropped the knife on the counter, wrapping the rest of the loaf up again. You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread the butter on the bread slices, knowing he was waiting for you to elaborate, and after a few more moments, you broke, the knife clattering against the wooden surface.

“Jace, you know I… Have a deep affection for you.”

“As do I for you.”

The two of you both skirted around the big word, not quite bold enough to say it yet.

“I do not wish to give my father the expectation to marry me off to you.”

“I’m the crown prince, surely your father would not have any grievances against a match.”

“It is not my father who is against the match.”

“What?”

Jacaerys’ eyes widened in surprise at the implication, and you sighed quietly. You weren’t planning on telling him, knowing it would hurt his feelings greatly, but did you have any other choice?

“You say you have a deep affection for me, and then say that you’re against a match,” Jacaerys said, his brows knitted in confusion. “I don’t understand. Isn’t a match born out of affection and not duty what you have been wanting?”

“Jace, this is more complicated than me harboring any affections for you-” you started, but your words were cut shot by Jacaerys speaking your name.

“If it’s about leaving home, I promise King’s Landing is not as bad as it seems. And on dragonback, it is only a three day journey. When I first left, I got terribly homesick as well, but-“

“I do not wish to be Queen!” you exploded, falling into Jacaerys’ words and he took a step back at your outburst, surprise flickering over his face. You let out a long, deep, breath, hand clutching at your chest, calming yourself down.

The kitchen is eerily calm, neither of you spoke, the only sound is the fire crackling in the hearth. Your voice is quiet when you finally spoke again.

“I am the youngest child of my father, Jace. His only daughter. My oldest brother is betrothed and to be wed in less than a year’s time, the second oldest is courting his partner to be betrothed. I was not trained to rule, to have any responsibility or to represent my house. You are the crown prince, set to inherit the Iron Throne, to rule over seven kingdoms. Seven, Jace. How exactly do you expect me to fulfill the role of a Queen consort?”

Jacaerys’ mouth was parted, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Which you understood. You have never shared your feelings about his position as heir before, how you resented it a little for it was the only reason you couldn’t let yourself be matched with him.

“I’m not fit to be Queen.”

“I… Didn’t know that you felt this way,” he said, his voice tight. “I can’t shirk my duties.”

“And I am not asking you to,” you assured him. “I just can’t… Be the wife you need.”

“What if-”

“Jacaerys, please.”

Your voice was pleading, knowing discussing this any further was no use. You weren’t fit for a Queen. Jacaerys’ face shut down, and he put his mask up, before nodding, ever the understanding prince, much to your luck. “Of course. Whatever you wish for, my love.”

His love.

“I will see you on the morrow.”

Reaching for your hand, he grasped it gently with his, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, before stepping back, letting go of you. As he departed from the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, your breath shaky. You knew you hurt him, disappointed him, but this was so much bigger than the two of you.

You breathed out deeply, hoping the sorrow would leave, but it didn’t. Reaching for the bread, your appetite had gone, but leaving it would be wasting it, so you bit into your dinner. And as you ate, you couldn’t help but think that the bread tasted like ashes in your mouth.

The next few days, Jacaerys seemed to respect your wishes to keep his distance. You still saw him around the keep, occasionally walking with your father, mostly though you saw him accompanying your brother as they conversed quietly, but intently. You wondered what they were talking about. Whenever you saw him, you noticed that Jacaerys kept his gaze away from took, and you couldn’t help but feel saddened, even though this was what you asked him for in the first place.

You missed his company. Especially at night. Despite the fact that you had never crossed any lines, or did anything improper - spending the dark hours at the library talking, exchanging stories about your childhood, maybe coming very close to a kiss - you were still a maiden. Of course you spending time with him alone was unseemly, and your father would betroth you immediately would he find out. It might be better for you, that Jacaerys kept away.

It was the end of the week when you saw him again. You were sat in the dining hall, at another feast your father had called for. It was the night of the departure of the representatives of House Blackwood, though even if it weren’t, you didn’t doubt that there would still be a feast. Your father didn’t need an occasion celebrate.

Your demeanor was polite, bht curt, hoping that it would deter any lords from asking for a dance, but of course Lord Ren was keen on offering you his hand.

Giving him a polite smile, you let him lead you around the dance floor, already forming some sort of excuse in your head when someone stepped to you, offering you his hand.

It was Jacaerys.

“May I, Lord Ren?”

“Of course, my prince.”

Lord Ren bowed to Jacaerys and you bowed your head out of respect before Jacaery placed a hand on your waist, his other finding your hand. You couldn’t help but feel relief that Jacaerys had freed you from Lord Ren, but you tried to keep your composure.

“I thought we talked about this, Jacaerys,” you muttered out between gritted teeth, as to uphold the image of a happy lady, dancing with her guest.

“We have.”

Jacaerys replied easily, never missing a step as he spoke, despite keeping his eyes on you. Ever the perfect prince.

You turned away, not being able to hold his eyes on you, your stomach churning.

“I am sorry if I hurt your feelings, Jace,” you said quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear you talking to the crown prince in such a familiar way. “I wish things were different- That I was different.”

Jacaerys’ hand tightened on your waist, and he used that to pull you closer.

“I spoke to your father, and he gave his blessing for our betrothal.”

Your eyes widened at his words, as you hadn’t expected them, the shock evident on your face. You had told him about your fears of being Queen consort and he just disregarded them.

“What?”

“I know you’re afraid that you won’t be able to fulfill your duties as Queen, my Queen consort. My mother will teach you, I will be by your side. My mother is set to live a long life and by the time I will inherit the throne, you will be properly trained. And I swear on my life, you will make the best Queen consort the realm will ever see.”

Stunned, you blinked your eyes at him, as if this all was a dream. Never before had you experience someone being so stubborn to prove you of your own worth.

“It hurt me greatly when you told of your reluctance of our match, because I cannot fathom that you see yourself anything less than you are.”

As he spoke, Jacaerys kept his gaze ahead, but he finally he turned to look at you, his eyes softening.

“I will not force you. This is your choice. If you do not wish to marry me, you won’t have to. Just know that I believe in you and what you will be able to do as Queen consort.”

You were trying so hard to find the right words, your feet stopped working for a second and you stumbled, but Jacaerys was quick to tighten his grip around you, keeping you upright.

“I- don’t know what to say,” you admitted.

“Say yes?”

Jacaerys looked down at you, his eyes hopeful and you felt your resolve melt away, especially because it looked he had planned it down to the last detail.

“Yes, okay.”

Jacaerys smiled at you before turning to the side, giving a curt nod and that was all it took for your father thrust his jug into the air, the ale spilling over the rim.

“I am thrilled to announce that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen of the Seven Realms, has asked my daughter for her hand in marriage… And she has accepted!”

The raucuos cheers that followed after nearly deafened your ears and you hid your face in Jacaerys’ chest - an act of affection you allowed yourself now that the two of you were betrothed.

“This couldn’t wait until we were in closed chambers?” you whispered, pink tinging your cheeks. Jacaerys shook his head, lifting your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles.

“There’s no backing out of it now, my love.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: thoughts?? :)

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I don’t know what to do w this thought bc there is no plot but I’ve been thinking a lot abt stucky Wandavision au w belly kink and it’s just all sweet and innocent at first yk 1950s all pg and sweet and it just dives into an absolutely kinky hellfest of Bucky stuffing Steve making him burst out of his suit each decade with just a fatter Steve with different popular foods of the era and is KSBDKD ekem anyways -🐮

This is gonna be another case of me admitting that I am not a good Marvel fan because... I didn't watch WandaVision 🫣🫣 BUT you're a goddamn genius because that concept is so hot.

With every decade, Steve gets fatter. Fatter and fatter and fatter. Testing the limits of all these different styles of clothes. Finding new favorite types of food. Each morning, Steve leaves their home a little larger and a little slower until... maybe he won't be leaving at all 😳

Warning for stucky belly kink, (probably) historical inaccuratacies, weight gain, stuffing, clothes destruction/tight clothes, immobility, some name calling (pig, whale, etc.), and all that kinky goodness below.

1950s

I'm thinking about the excess that was the 1950s in America.

The post-WWII booming economy lends itself to this picture-perfect life that is seemingly within reach (if you were white, middle class, and heterosexual). A house, a car, a dog, children, etc. And all this overflow - this excess speeds up Steve's gain like nothing else. Bucky is a stay-at-home house husband, while Steve goes out to work; so, that also speeds Steve's gain because Bucky has to keep himself busy, he's got to do something other than clean, launder clothes, pay bills, or whatever. Cooking and grocery shopping fills most of his time in a way he enjoys.

Bucky always ends up cooking too much - making too much food for just the two of them. Then, because he's made too much, he overuses ingredients, and he has to go back to the store to get more... maybe he should get more when he's there? Right? He needs to buy more ingredients so he doesn't have to come as often. Steve ate everything Bucky cooked anyway, so it's not like it was actually too much, right?

Right?

So, at the start of the decade, Steve is nice and strapping. Under his pressed shirt, suit jacket, suspenders, and trousers, he's got a full fucking six pack, tight, high pecs, and broad as hell shoulders with legs that go on for days. But Bucky is getting good at building a soft husband. With every dish he perfects, every meal he cooks, he gets closer and closer to a chubby husband. Every day.

Hamburger, tuna fish, and chicken casseroles; meat loaf; fried chicken and deep-fried vegetables; mac and cheese; spam and canned ham; spareribs and salisbury steak; hot dogs; buttery mashed potatoes; banana cream pies, cherry angel food cake, and pineapple upside-down cake... all popular foods that Steve readily eats. And eats.

No matter how much Bucky makes, Steve will try to finish it all. He deeply appreciates being cooked for and he wants to show his appreciation. Even if, at the start, not everything is perfect.

If Steve doesn't finish it all by dessert, Bucky knows it will be gone by the time he wakes up with Steve in the morning. Steve gets up for work, Bucky gets up to make his hardworking husband breakfast, sending him off with a full belly (nevermind the fact that Steve is still gurgling through his dinner from the day prior and his midnight snack turned midnight feast).

Anyway-

Steve becomes accustomed to coming come from a long day at work to delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. It's never long before Bucky comes out, full frilly apron and all, and steers Steve into their dining room, sitting him down and serving up all the different dishes he's made for that day in a seemingly endless stream.

Steve compliments and moans his way through all of the dishes. Trying every single one. Not just trying a bite of each, but eating the lion's share of every dish. He makes sure Bucky has his fill, but everything else goes toward Steve. He can't help it. He's a stubborn, determined guy. Even if it didn't taste good (which it does, Steve could be convinced he's in heaven), Steve would be eating it all. But it does taste good. And he wants his husband to know he's doing good. So... down it all goes.

Until, by the time dessert is rolled own, Steve has his hands flat on the table over top of his knife and fork where they rest on his placemat. His glass is empty for now, he's gulped down glass after glass of milk with his meal, and he'll have a few more before he's done - the fatty drink bloating him by filling in all the cracks that fold can't fit into. Steve's got his head bowed, and his chest is heaving. Eyes squeezed shut.

Full.

"F-full," Steve puffs out, his lips slick. But, he's not done.

As he's stuffed his face, his tie has shifted to the side, exposing his shirt buttons. A while ago, Bucky helped him messily roll up his shirt sleeves as to not get them (more) dirty. He looks disheveled. Every shallow breath leaves his stretched stomach expanding more, truly testing the limits of his previously nicely starched shirt. Now his shirt is stained. He isn't a messy eater, but with all he's eating, there's no way that he wouldn't drop something on his swelling belly, beginning to split his suspenders apart and crush his belted slacks down.

The more often they do this, the more they settle into this time period, the more the buttons of Steve's shirts gape - little diamonds growing between each button, exposing more and more of his ribbed undershirt.

Someday, they're gonna bust. Coming off one by one. Pop. Pop. Pop. Bucky's toes curl just thinking about it. The release of each one, too tight, Steve's pot belly - his swelling gut, a beer gut under construction - forcing them to come flying off. Then, his belly rounding out. Expanding into the new space. Happy to be released and ready for more with the added space and freedom.

1960s

Bucky mourns the loss of visible straining buttons with the change of fashion following the decade. Or, actually, he mours the loss right up until he gets to stuff his heavier husband again. In his new clothes.

Then, when he does stuff him in this new style (with new foods, of course), Bucky is suddenly much happier. Not just from stuffing him. He's much happier because, as it turns out, the buttons being hidden isn't that bad. Not at all 🤤

With his stuffy little sweater over his dress shirt, covering his tie and gaping buttons and struggling, worn-out belt, Bucky suddenly gains a whole new level of appreciation for sweaters - the sweater makes him look even chunkier. A layer of softness over his softness. Rounding him out even more. Padding him just that little bit more.

The sweater balloons out and out, showing the indents of each straining button underneath until...

His belly gets to be too much, too big, and his sweater creeps up, showing off the bottom of his button-up shirt where it's getting tugged out of his unbearably tightly belted pants.

That little sliver of his shirt. Exposed. It makes Bucky crazy.

And, oh, there's the waist band of his pants (not for long, his belly will start hanging over before long), too. A little bit.

Just a peak.

A tease that leaves Bucky unable to do anything but feed Steve a whole course by hand, packing food into him with the goal to push the hem of his sweater up higher and higher on the dome of his gut. He wants that dress shirt to come untucked from the stretch he's putting Steve's tummy through, too.

He wants it.

He wants to see the slow, drawn-out progression. The tease. Up and up and up; rounder and rounder and rounder.

Another perk of the sweater is the heat it brings. Steve's a big, growing boy, so he already gets hot fast. But, it only gets worse with his fat and added sweater insulation. Now when he stuffs himself - or when Bucky stuffs him - he turns the prettiest pink then red. Glistening with sweat. 🥵

Overtaxed.

Overheated.

Overfed.

More and more every day, more and more every year, Steve looks more overfed. Fatter. Heavier. Rounder.

(That might be the part about time, how it blends into a montage of growth.)

Sweaters and vests aren't Bucky's favorite 60s trend, though. Far from it. Bucky's favorite thing about the 60s is how suddenly everyone is into finger foods.

Deviled eggs, skewered meatballs in sweet-and-sour sauce, celery stuffed with cream cheese, cheese balls, etc. Anything you can eat with your hands, no silverware. Also, with the finger food comes dips. Clam dip, onion dip, and many more that Bucky would've never thought to make on his own. Dips for dipping little bits of food gripped between fingers.

And finger foods are fucking awesome because Steve eats then messily. At first, he shoves them inhumanly fast into his face, moaning and gasping and sighing. He comes home feeling starved (re: after not being stuffed to the brim, hardly able to move, during the workday), and seeing all the little pieces of food turn him into a monster. A hungry beast. He plows through the little morsels. Never getting enough. Steve uses one hand to settle his swelling gut, and his other hand blurs as he rapidly goes between trays of food and his mouth. Again, eating like an animal. An animal of Bucky's making - he trained him to eat like a pig after all.

When Steve finally slows down, rubbing his tummy and patting it, trying to get his belly to digest faster so he can have more, Bucky gets to swoop in. Another reason finger foods are fucking great. He picks up the little foods delicately and tucks them into Steve's still watering mouth.

With every mouthful, Steve's lips and tongue brush his fingers. It's electric, the wet, hot, slick feeling of his mouth. Pure sin.

Bucky's hands are close enough to Steve to feel it when he moans or when he burps, the hot rush of desperate air. Steve only burps around Bucky's fingers when it comes up so suddenly that Steve can't turn his head to the side to burp more politely. Privately, that gives Bucky quite the thrill, his dirty, hungry pig. Burping uncontrollably. Sure, moaning is hot as hell, but there's something extra about his burps.

Also, about the gurgling of his gut.

His gut under that fucking sweater, dress shirt, and tie. Now he's not just bloated anymore, though... not after a decade of stuffing, now he's got fat. His gut is bloated all the time, glutted fully, but he's also fat. He's soft.

He's never been more handsome, but he's only going to get more handsome as he gets fatter.

1970s

With the turn of the decades, Bucky buys himself more clothes and gets himself familiar with rising food trends, and he also does as he always does, buying Steve new clothes, too. Usually, though, he buys what he knows Steve will wear. Just underwear for sleeping. Blue jeans and t-shirts for non work clothes. And formal work clothes. Boring and simple because Steve's never really cared about his body or looks, uncaring so long as he keeps functioning, but he's so handsome it doesn't matter that he doesn't care so much about fashion. This time, though, Bucky also buys what he hopes Steve will wear. Because something catches his eye.

He can't help himself.

He hopes with everything in him, that Steve will wear some of the tiny, little shorts that have come into fashion for men.

He desperately wants to see Steve in tiny shorts.

So, he buys a few pairs. Some jean shorts that look unforgiving and might cut his doughy waist in delicious halves, some softer more sweatpants-like shorts that will be easier on his sensitive, overstuffed body, and a pair that are modeled like women's athletic shorts, just for the shits and giggles of seeing Steve in something designed for athleticism.

Despite buying them with the intention to get Steve in them, Bucky's still not prepared for it when it happens. He doesn't even have to use his puppy dog eyes or have to wait to ask Steve until he's stuffed and pliable! Steve just shrugs and agrees to it. He's gotten more and more pliable (more domesticated) the larger he's gotten. Maybe it's the fat slowing his body and mind down. Maybe it's making him dumber to be full and indulged all the time. Maybe be stuffed satiates him, leaving him without any room to be stubborn or argue.

Either way, Bucky gets Steve into them. And he is unprepared.

Steve is poured into the little shorts. Not only is there no space between his pale, bare thighs, his thighs squish together, trying to find more space - they're so soft, wide, and excessive - and not getting any. His massive ass hangs out the back of the shorts. Dimpled and round. Like cake. Soft, soft cake that Bucky wants to bite.

His poor husband works up a sweat, waddling from one side of the room to the other and back again and again when Bucky tells him to. He wants to see that ass move.

He's. chunked. up.

Also, also, there's his hips. Those trim, little hips are nowhere to be seen. Instead, his tiny waist has expanded. His love handles hang out of his undershirt - a ribbed, white tank top - and lap over the waist of the shorts. His tummy has really, really started hanging recently; it's just as exposed as his fat sides. It's so heavy and large. Swollen like a fat tear drop.

He looks edible.

As compensation for being forced to strut his overweight, plush, pale body around their living room, Bucky feeds him his entire dinner by hand. And he does it from the couch. TV trays have been popular since their inception in the 50s, but Bucky has always gotten more of a kick out of feeding Steve at the table. Progressively watching his belly approach the table, then push over the edge of the table and spill onto his placemat as he's gotten bigger; progressively watching his hips fill his dining chair; progressively watching Steve struggle harder and harder to walk out of the dining room when he's finally finished, stuffed full.

Now, Bucky breaks out the (slightly out of fashion) trays.

He sets up the feast, course by course. Some of it is actual food: pineapple chicken, quiche, stuffed veggies, and cheese logs. Some of it is snacks, more and more processed crap becoming more common: cereal, crackers, chips, etc. And some of it is dessert: carrot cake and pudding.

Before he eats any of it, though, those little shorts are swallowed by Steve's heft. The scrap of fabric is hidden under his massive muffin top. Bucky digs his fingers into those pudgy love handles and groans.

"Gonna feed you outta these," he promises, voice gone all breathy.

Steve bats his eyelashes and lets his mouth drop open, expectant, and so outrageously hot. After the first bite, he speaks, though, chewing, then licking his lips, "you always do."

"Mmm-hmm, you wouldn't know how hard I had to look to find these in your size."

Steve makes a sound, but his mouth is stuffed fill.

"It was so hard. I wonder if they're gonna stop making anything big enough for you soon."

Stee swallows thickly, "they wouldn't."

Bucky stuffs a heaped fork into his mouth. Making a noise of consideration.

"You hear the news, people are just gettin' fatter. Year after year."

"You're getting fatter."

"Uh-huh."

"Gonna get so fat for me."

"I already am. 'M huge."

"Gonna make you fatter. Huger."

"Yeah," Steve moans, his eyes shut, entirely trusting Bucky, "Gonna get too fat for fat America to even keep up with me."

(I know obesity was actually declared an epidemic in the 80s, but shhhh)

1980s

The 80s brings pasta salad, beef stroganoff, sloppy joes, pudding pops, 7-layer dip, blackened meat, bread bowls, cool ranch Doritos, and Hot Pockets. And Steve tackles it all looking like the hottest, fattest bad boy. Maybe like a mobster boss with his light wash jeans that look like they're painted on and his black leather jacket that he can't zip up. He could zip it up around his gut for, like, a week. Then, he outgrew it. Like everything. That gut.

God.

His gut has grown obscenely round. Like a ball. A beach ball. Maybe a small yoga ball. It forces his legs to spread when he walks, even if he isn't full, and it makes his back arch, too.

It's heavy. He complains about it. It's hard to lug around. He gets embarrassed when he's forced to sit down and then get up because he has to put so much effort into getting up. Heaving himself to his feet. Grunting. Bracing his back as if he's expecting. Getting up from the bed in the morning, getting up from the table after breakfast, getting into and out of his car to get to work, getting out of his office chair for lunch, getting out of his lunch chair, and on and on.

He has a hard time moving.

Bucky can tell.

Steve puts on his leather jacket and jeans on the weekend and then parks his ass in his recliner. He only moves when he has to go to the bathroom. Otherwise, he sits all day. Eating. Watching TV. Letting Bucky lower his recliner into a 180° line so Bucky actually has room to ride him. (One of the only ways to have sex now, with how large Steve has grown). There ain't no way Bucky would be able to get to his dick with that fat, thick belly in the way. There isn't even any room on his lap anymore. The monster of always-hungry gut has it monopolized. And his thighs are nearly too wide, too fat for Bucky to comfortably straddle.

But...

Bucky is a little obsessed with his leather jacket.

Sometimes, when he's half riding him, taking his cock, half feeding him a sloppy joe that makes him look like a pig, smeared over his mouth and chin, he will slap Steve's gut until he sucks in with a pained groan. Then, Bucky'll use all his strength to pull the sides of his leather jacket together, and he will wiggle the zipper up as far as it can go.

Steve grunts and moans and burps.

If he has the air, his lungs compressed by his gut, Steve will moan, "it hurts! Buck! I- I can't! M' too full!" But usually he can't even complain. He just has to take it.

When he stops sucking in, the zipper flies down.

Or, it usually does.

One afternoon, the pressure of his fat is too much for his jacket. Steve is bubbly and drunk and burping and Bucky is so close, writhing on top of him. And Steve's gut surprises them both by breaking the zipper.

It bursts open.

Instantly, Bucky's hands are all over that gut, and he's coming. All Steve can do is moan. Blinded with the release. His belly is stretched. Tight. Hanging off of his body. He's gonna fucking pop. Too much.

When did he get this fat?

Why does it make him so horny?

God.

He whines, almost choking out a sob, grabbing for Bucky's still slim hips with fat fingers, as he cries, "more, more, moremoremoremore."

1990s

Steve may spend all of the 90s on a sugar high because he eats like a fucking kid throughout the years. All the sugar. All the processed crap. It's addictive. He swears. They have to put something in it. He smashes through boxes and boxes of snacks. All at once. The amount he goes through in just a week is unbelievable. He's a fucking black hole, well, not exactly... because Bucky knows exactly where all the food goes. His ever-swelling husband.

Steve eats it all, lunchables, hot pockets, bagel bites, pizza rolls, gushers, string cheese, fish sticks, fruit by the foot, toaster strudel, etc.

All literal junk. Junk food.

Bucky feeds him real food, too, of course. But Steve swears it feels like he can't get enough. Not enough food. Not enough of the fake, processed shit. Even when he's fighting his body's physical ability to fit more inside of himself, he can't have enough. He needs more. More sugar that his brain needs. More rich, homemade food that he will always eat, and will especially eat if Bucky gives him those puppy dog eyes, too.

So, what is he supposed to do but eat?

Admittedly, throughout the decades, Steve's never felt this out of control. He is, though. He's so out of control. And it feels so good.

He doesn't want control back. He only wants more.

Despite his vivacious hunger, Steve still can't believe how fast he's piling on the pounds. It's like he can feel himself blowing up. Like, if he leaves a hand on his gut, it'll expand visibly under his palm. Hot, gurgly, and only tight when he's at his absolute maximum. Most of the time, he's officially too fat to know when he's packed to the brim.

Nothing feels better.

Nothing fucks his mind more than thinking when he puts his hands on his body, he'll find a rock hard, bloated tummy only to sink his fingers into jiggly waves of fat; an ocean of fat. And it's all him.

His belly.

His fat.

Steve can, for a little, hide the bloat the shitty food leaves him with with the oversized, still bad-boy, grunge-like clothing of the decade, but he outgrows it so fast that he never can hide it for too long.

Even those JNCO jeans and baggy flannels can't contain his massive body. His belly. His love handles. His ass. His thighs. His rolls. He's too big. Too big for anything to be oversized on him.

Bucky buys him clothes more often throughout this decade than any other. It's not just in Steve's head. He is speeding through the pounds. Day in, day out, he's growing.

He's always eating. Always sweating. Always moaning.

If his mouth isn't full of food, he's sleeping, showering, using his mouth on Bucky, or he's chugging teeth-rotting soda. The carbination makes him burp so easily, and the burps shift all that food inside him around, allowing his belly to create just a little more room. Room that Steve instantly has to fill.

It's kinda like his body is finally taking after his hunger. When there's any tiny amount of space in his belly, his mind tells him he's starving and he has to fill it; if there's a tiny amount of slack in his clothes, his body expands to fill it. With so much fat and so much food, Steve's eyes are heavily lidded constantly. He feels drunk all the time when he's pigged out. Slow and lazy and uncoordinated. All he can do is let Bucky feed him and let Bucky take pleasure in his blubbery, irresistible body.

2000s

Diets, raw diets, explode in the 2000s, but Bucky won't let Steve hear a word of it. He skips the fruit smoothies and salads and replaces them for Steve with more junk food. Pepsi. Energy drinks. Cupcakes. Cake pops. Pizza. There's also, again, meatloaf and mac 'n cheese. Chicken pot pie, too.

Steve keeps going. He keeps stuffing down junk on top of all the actual food. He keeps gaining and gaining and gaining. It's a barrage, constantly, of food.

"Buck," Steve's loose lips slur, "'m-I'm fat."

"You're not just fat, Stevie. You're huge. A hog. Massive. Enormous. A whale. Immense. A fucking yoga ball of blubber, baby."

"Yeah," Steve whines, rubbing the bloated sides of his gut that he can reach. "Fat."

"No, baby, you're more than fat. You're massive. Say it-" Bucky commands, jiggling his heavy belly.

"I'm m-massive."

"So fucking fat that I can't believe it. Need more words to tell you how huge you are."

Steve just shivers, looking as if he's suspended in orgasm. Getting off on being told how unbelievably big he has grown to be, and how much more bigger he is going to get.

Regardless of his size, Bucky isn't so sure that Steve is aware of the change in style. He's pretty sure he's just aware of his inflating body and the food. The new foods. The returning foods.

Into the Future

When he's not working, Bucky swears Steve is constantly in a food coma. Even when his eyes are open, he's all dopey. Zoned out and happier than Bucky has ever seen him so long as he's eaten within the last 30 minutes.

What a big, fat dumbass.

The perfect husband.

I don't even know what alternative universe this is; I didn't think this far because this is just a mess of horny, but I would like to imagine that by this point (the 2010s, 2020s, etc.), they have more than enough money to retire, OR maybe Steve is still working for a while, but he starts being able to work from home with computers becoming better and more common, so he doesn't have to leave. No more calories wasted by needing to walk or spend lunch away from his feeder husband.

But, just because he can, he still forces himself into clothes. At first. He doesn't need to because he's not seeing anyone else, he may as well be naked all day every day, exposing his white, soft fat that's striped with stretch marks from decades of indulgence, ballooning like biscuit dough from a little cardboard tube.

Still, he keeps forcing himself into clothes for some time.

He does it until he can't.

It happens seemingly overnight.

Suddenly, he's too fat. Too big. Even his shirts large enough to look like a tent on a normal sized human are too small. He can hardly walk by himself, so, of course, dressing himself is out of the question. His body is just too big. Round. Heavy. All he's good for is eating.

He's overqualified for stuffing himself. It's all he's been focusing on for decades, after all. Steve always ate like it was his job, packing down delicious, fatty calories by inhaling food until he was on the cusp of bursting, forming new stretch marks before Bucky's very eyes, but now it is his job.

"Grow for me," Bucky whispers worshipfully, "that's all you gotta do, baby. Grow." Crawling all over his overflowing body.

And grow Steve does.

Until he's bigger than he could've ever imagined being.

Steve's stomach is massive - a huge, round, plush ocean of fat attached to his front. Thick and blubbery. His ass is dimpled and just as massive with thighs to match. His heavy body leaves him lumbering and waddling whenever he does manage to get up. Awkward but also so fucking hot with the way he jiggles all over as he manages one foot in front of the other.

Meanwhile, Bucky spends his time still cooking but also loving on his massive husband. He's always worshipping all that fat, massaging and groping and fucking it. He's irresistible. Unbelievably attractive in his truest form - a show winning hog.

As Bucky feeds and fucks his rolls, Steve just lies there, his head tipped back, food in his plush mouth, panting. Chest heaving; moobs wobbling. Splattering come somewhere deep in his rolls as his fat rubs and moves against him just right - that's all the stimulation he gets these days, his dick has been swallowed by his lard.

There isn't a time when Steve isn't stuffed to feeling as if he's gonna pop. Even though it takes so much more to fill his stretched-out tummy these days. Even in the middle of the night (because Bucky wakes him up to funnel shakes or melted ice cream straight into his ever-expanding gut).

By this point in their long lives, Steve's the size of their mattress.

A full, huge glutton.

And Steve doesn't want to stop. Neither does Bucky. With every mouthful of food, Steve moans just as loud as he always has, praising Bucky's cooking like he's a God (and he practically is at this point, he's spent so many years perfecting his craft). Plus, Steve's just as eager to try new foods. Still, Steve's just as pleased to add pounds, stretch marks, and rolls to his oversized body. The only difference is that now, popping buttons or bursting seams are not bench marks for his gain. Now, the signs of his growth come from the creaking, then the cracking of the slats underneath his massive body.

One day, the bed is going to give out. And he's only going to groan for more food - not for it to be fixed where he lies in the middle of the shattered bed frame, unable to do anything about his predicament. He can't even think about it. All he can think about is how hungry he is. His stomach is packed, and he doesn't know where any food is going to go, but he needs it. He needs to keep chewing, to keep growing, to keep feeding. Please. Please. Please. It's all he needs. He's addicted.

In conclusion:

[blizzard202]

Standing Still - Reuploaded to Tumblr: Chapters 1-4

Chapters 5-8

Chapter One - Archie

It feels like only moments ago when Archie and Ashton Larkson’s parents passed. The two children never received the details on how it happened. The police never care enough about anything when it comes to poor people. And just like that the 15 and 13 year old boys were kicked to the streets. All they can do to get by now is beg and steal.

4 years later, it’s late, Archie knows that as he’s dragged by his brother through the streets. All he can register is that his brother has stolen a loaf of bread and now they’re being chased by around eight scary-looking men. 

“Get back here, you rat-bastards!” One of them shouts. Archie’s feet drag against the cobblestone and ache terribly. Shops and people fly by in a blur. He thinks he can feel tears sting at his eyes, but he fights them back. Don’t be a sissy. Ashton’s voice echoes in his mind.

They turn a few corners. He can hear his brother swear under his breath. The grip on his wrist disappears before… he hits the ground. Hard. There’s a sharp, ringing pain in his head. He blinks up at the scary men. They grab his arms, though a few others continue to chase Ashton. Before Archie can do anything, his vision fades to black.

When Archie wakes, he’s in some sort of cell. Alone. Everything aches. He can feel dried, crusty blood on the back of his neck, on his shoulders and clothes and… where is he? He shivers. It’s cold. His stomach grumbles madly. How long has it been since he’s eaten? How long was he knocked out for? His head hurts. Everything does.

He looks around once more. There doesn’t seem to be a way out. There’s no toilet. He thinks he can see something move in the shadows. Archie inches towards whatever it is. It is, in fact, a rat. He lets out a yelp and it immediately scurries back off into the shadows. 

All Archie can do is tuck himself into the corner of this cold, dark room, curl up on his side like a dog and close his eyes. He fights back tears. What did I do wrong? Why did all of this have to happen? First ma and pa are gone and now… Archie doesn’t fall asleep for a long, long time. When he does, it’s a light, dreamless sleep, often interrupted by the scurrying of rats or the footsteps of more scary men like the ones that took him here. But he sleeps. Barely.

Chapter Two - Raymond

Raymond is sitting in the break room of his job, eating his dinner. He works as a cleaner at a tailor’s shop down the street from Jacobi’s Deli, where he bought a ham sandwich with the 3 cents he made on his job that day. Almost 9:00. He thinks, glancing at the clock on the wall every couple of seconds. 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2… He springs up from his seat, locks up the doors of the shop, and makes his way down the road, dodging carriages and newsboys walking back to their lodging houses. He accidentally nicks a kid’s hat off when shooting his wrapper into the garbage can.

“Ay’ whaddya think you’re doin’?” The kid seems much too old to be a newsie, probably in his 20s at that point. “Look, I’m sorry, you don��t gotta make a big deal about it.” Raymond says. The new face is slightly shorter than him, red hair, he looks tougher than Raymond though. “It is MY first day on my job wit’ The Bronx newsies, and I don’t need you ruinin’ it, dipwad!” The guy takes a swing, Raymond dodges and trips him, making him fall flat on his back. He starts running. Wasn’t planning on dyin’ today. 

Raymond looks back to see that he isn’t being chased, but he doesn’t look where he’s going, and bumps into an old woman, knocking her over. Luckily, he catches her and puts her back on her feet. “Oh my goodness! I am so sorry! Are you alright ma’am?” “Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking. I know it was an accident, it’s ok, things happen.” The two chat for a bit, then go their separate ways. That could’ve been way worse. 

Suddenly, a man dressed in clothes not seeming to fit the streets of Manhattan. “Excuse me child, do you not see what you just did?” The mysterious man asked. “Yes? I was runnin’ too fast and I accidentally bumped into a lady. Luckily I picked her up before she could hit the ground! She’s alright, I made sure-” “That isn’t what I saw.” The man tells Raymond. “Whaddya mean?” Raymond asks. “What I think just happened was an attempted murder. Don’t you know how old that woman is? If she hit the ground, she would have perished the second she came face-to-face with that concrete. Luckily, you noticed that people were around, and played it off as some kind of accident.” “What? You’re bein’ ridiculous! Why would I try to kill some poor old lady?” Raymond is flabbergasted, confused about what is entering his ears. “I don’t know, why would you? OFFICERS! TAKE HIM AWAY!”

“What? What are you doin’!? I- Get offa me! Stop! I didn’t do nothin’!” 

“Exactly kid. You didn’t do nothing, a double negative.” 

“What did I do to you to deserve this? Why are you being so mean?!” 

“Because I can. Wow! Two new inmates in one hour! We’re going to have a drink tonight boys!”

Great. Now I’m gonna rot in a cell because some ass thinks that capturing kids to put in your jail is just a fun game. He sits in a holding cell, feeling hopeless, until he looks to his side, and spots something in the corner. Another boy, about his age, maybe a year younger, curled up. He’s asleep. His curly, copper hair is tainted with a bit of blood, and there’s a small sort of gash in his head that’s barely visible through the thick curls.

Chapter Three - Archie

When Archie wakes again, a pair of dark eyes are peering back at him. He uncurls himself and presses against the cold wall of the strange, small room. The dull ache in his head is still there. His eyes take a moment to focus on the other boy. 

“Wha… who?” Archie’s speech is barely comprehensible as he slowly regains his senses. The other boy greets him.

“Hello? Are you ok?” The brown-haired boy’s concerned voice rings through the small room. It takes a few moments for Archie to even register what he said.

“I’m.. fine. Who- Who are you?” Archie tilts his head slightly and squints. It occurs to him that maybe he should introduce himself. 

Be polite, like Ma always said. “I’m Archie.” He offers a small, weak smile in an attempt to come off as friendly despite his situation.

The other boy blinks. “My name’s Raymond. You in here for somethin’ stupid too?” 

Archie winces. Something stupid? Sort of. He’d have to explain everything to this stranger, and from experience Archie knows it’s hard for him to stop talking once he starts. It’d be embarrassing to just spill his guts right here.

Don’t overthink. “Yeah, I guess so… do ya know where ‘here’ is?” Archie’s voice waivers a bit more than he’d prefer. He doesn’t want to seem weak. Raymond glances around.

“Seems like a prison? Dunno. I didn’t do anythin’ besides bump inta an old lady.” Raymond’s eyes land on the blood. 

“Are you ok? You’re definitely hurt… C’mere.” Archie hesitates before inching closer. Raymond pulls him the rest of the way and uses a hand to tilt Archie’s head downwards and to the side. It’s an awkward but not uncomfortable angle.

Raymond lets out a concerned “hm,” Archie can feel gentle fingers against his hair, seemingly clearing the way so his wound is more visible. Raymond’s fingers graze the raw, injured skin, which prompts Archie to suck in a sharp breath. He hasn’t been treated so gently since… well, since before his parents died. He’d received no such treatment from his brother.

Archie finds himself so lost in his thoughts that when Raymond pulls away, he takes a moment to open his eyes. He hadn’t even realized they were closed in the first place. 

“How bad does it hurt?” Raymond asks. It takes a short moment for Archie to reply. 

“Not… horribly? I’m bad with words. It’s like background noise but pain. Background pain.” Raymond laughs wryly, though he still looks concerned.

“What if you have a concussion or somethin’?” Ashton would have replied with a snarky, sarcastic reply. Archie doesn’t want to be like his brother, he’s realized that now. 

“I’m not sure… I’ll be fine, though. Uhm.. are you hurt at all?” Archie tilts his head. His eyes gleam with concern.

Raymond shakes his head. “I’m ok.” Archie is thankful Raymond hasn’t asked anything more about how he got here. As much as Archie would like the relief of crying into someone’s arms, he doesn’t want to scare this boy off. An awkward yet peaceful silence envelops the two. Archie ponders what Raymond could be thinking, and who Raymond is outside of this cold, dark cell. 

Chapter Four - Raymond

After a while, Archie starts explaining his story while Raymond creates a makeshift bandage by ripping off a piece of Archie’s shirt. Raymond has tried, and failed, to convince Archie to let him use his own shirt. 

“Thanks.” He says quietly. Raymond paces his way around, kicking a pebble around the cell, until he gets bored and slumps down against the wall next to Pup.

The two are sitting next to each other against the wall of the cell. A black, furry rat darts towards them but skitters the other way when it gets too close. Archie yelps loudly. Raymond snickers faintly, it’s a bit funny how timid Archie is, even if Raymond is concerned for the other boy. Raymond looks over to his left. 

“They’re just rats...” He says gently. There is a hint of amusement in his voice. Archie glances away and folds his arms. 

“But theys gonna bite me and I’ll get a disease!” He retorts. Raymond thinks he can see a hint of a smile on his face, though. 

“Just don’t bother them. They’re probably more afraid of you than you are of them.” Raymond places a hand on Archie’s shoulder. Archie smiles and looks back at Raymond, but his eyes still flicker back to the shadows every once and a while. 

After a few minutes, footsteps can be heard down what could be a hallway. The door opens. “Hey kids, you fellas gotta get in the room, boss says so.” A guard that seemed way too tired to work tells the two. He leads the two to a large room with about twenty sets of bunk beds. “There, that’s where you’re gonna sleep.” The man points at a bottom bunk. 

“…Which one?” Pup asks. 

The guard chuckles. “Are ya serious? Just be glad you aren’t in a three-kid bed!” The officer walks away, still chuckling to himself. 

“LIGHTS OUT!” The warden yells an hour later. 

Alrighty… Raymond thinks to himself. The two find themselves over to their bed after a while, they get affiliated with a couple other kids in the block: James, a young teen who didn't have a pinky finger, and Clippers, who said he does haircuts for kids who can’t afford them. Raymond feels a little uncomfortable in the rock-solid mattress, but after a while, he eventually falls asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Original characters and story were created in collaboration with @no-i-wanna-go-down (Owner of Archie and Ashton) Any other characters (Excluding Raymond) are the product of dual creativity between the two authors, which entails equal ownership of the characters.

This doesn't need to be the end of your reading! There are much more chapters than these, but they are being reuploaded for the sake of promotion. If you would like to read on, please keep reading on AO3. There is a LOT more where that came from! (Spoiler alert: It's really gay)

[ohsoulymoons]

Scott + Duncan + Courtney + Geoff + Brody + Bridgette + Gwen + Dj + Leshawna Sandwiches

One early afternoon came to find her two boyfriend Scott and Duncan being children again...

Brody was wearing loaf of bread somehow on his whole face like a mask so was Geoff.

Scott face was covered in ham so much ham like mask.

Gwen was lettuce from what she can tell and see from Dj's face he was tomatoes?!

Bridgette was just there filming their nonsense like always along with Leshawna.

Duncan had Swiss cheese all over his face...

You see the place she's leading you in.

Well at least they made an early dinner and thought it be fun time for such things like making sandwiches with their faces like children.

They wanted to feel the sandwiches said Geoff. As Brody snorts saying Yeah, right!

After friendly conversation and playfully fights.

Courtney found out they had a debate if anything can be a facial mask if you really wanted to and tried hard enough!

[pathologising]

i told gf i wanted peasant dinner tonight (rotisserie chicken, block of cheese, loaf of bread) and she convinced me to have shark cochie board instead :) we got ham, salami, 2 soft cheeses and some fresh bread dipped in butter. it was yummy!! but now im wanting banana muffin from your post x_x

I still have my banana muffin I forgot to eat it :( so I will eat it today for brekkie yummmm

[mostlyonthefloor]

June of Jesper 1: Whisper

"So ...", Dell asks, "How's it going? Aside from the ... y'know."

Jesper sighs. His failure in the race still weighed on him. Hal had trusted him - he'd had a chance to do his leader proud, and he'd failed. Resoundingly. And although all the other Herons, including Stig, surprisingly enough, had congratulated him anyway, his guilt remained like lead in his gut.

Dell hums through a mouthful of bread. "I wouldn't worry about it. Henjak's the fastest guy I know, and Tursgurd's got the height advantage. Those legs, y'know. Long and strong. Very athletic, he is"

Jesper snorts. "Kindly never talk about Tursgurd's legs ever again."

"Hmm. Only if you pass me the cheese."

Jesper reaches into his bag and throws the cloth parcel at his friend's head. Dell dodges it with a chuckle, and it slams into the wall behind him. They both freeze for a second but the hum of chatter floating from the cracked window above continues unconcerned, and they return to their humble meal.

Jesper's brought a loaf of bread, warm and charcoal-stained from the hearth he snatched it from, and a hunk of cheese. Dell's contributed a lump of salted meat (ham would imply a degree of refinement that is rather definitively not present) and a bottle of watery wine - not enough to get either of them drunk, but enough to put a pleasant slant on their dinner.

This is a time-honoured tradition of theirs - grab whatever articles of food they can and pool them in the warmth behind Hallasholm's most infamous drinking house. When Dell's sister snarls at his approach and Jesper's stepfather conveniently forgets to prepare enough food for him, it's an easy source of food and company. The two boys an unlikely pair, but a solid one. Born and bred on the seedy northern edge of Hallasholm, they understand one another in ways that don't need to be spoken aloud.

"How's the Wolves going?", Jesper asks. "Rollond doing well? He seems like he is."

Dell laughs, launching into an anecdote from the other day involving Sigurd, Rollond, and a deer that wandered into their camp. Jesper settles in to listen.

Nobody really knows they're friends - Dell mostly likes to hang out with Rollond and his social circle, all sons of well-to-do wolfship captains and artisans. You'd think Dell, a wily but good-natured son of an invalid weaver and an absent Iberian sailor, short and dark against Skandian golden blonde, would stick out like a sore thumb, but he makes it work. Very well, in fact. Jesper tells himself that he's not jealous - really, he's not! It's not like he and Dell are particularly close, and Dell's entitled to his own friends, and Rollond's really too morally creditable for Jesper to get along well with.

But still. He envies the closeness Dell has with his unlikely friends.

Dell's still talking, "-and I know that's just how he is, but you should've seen it, I mean we always knew he was going to be good but by Lothi some days I feel like I don't need to contribute anything at all, and I feel like it's doing him good being in charge for real since-", he cuts off under Jesper's mischievous stare.

"No, go on. Keep talking." Dell could talk about Rollond forever. It's pretty funny.

"No-one else is this mean to me," Dell grumbles, "They say things like, Yeah Dell, he is pretty cool isn't he. And You're right Dell, that was impressive what he did."

"Yeah Dell, he is so strong and brave and smart, isn't he. Yeah Dell, his hair does shine like ripe wheat. You're right Dell, he is as bright and beautiful as the sun."

Dell throws the cheesecloth at him. Then, he straightens up from his slouch against the wall and fixes Jesper with a gaze that can only mean trouble.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I heard - a little bird told me, heard it around, whispers on the street, if you will, that you've got yourself a blond of your own."

Jesper snatches the wine and takes a good long drink in lieu of an answer. Dell breaks out into delighted giggles.

Damnit.

[fatty-bandmates]

Katy Kats gluttonous daily meal plan

Breakfast: 10 plates of French toast. Fourteen eggs with ham and cheese. Pile of bacon and pile of sausage. An entire bread loafs worth of toast, five bowls of cereal and two gallons of orange juice.

Lunch: six XXXL ultra meaty pizza burgers. Five ten ounce steaks. Four of everything at the local fast food joint, and a large chocolate frosty.

Dinner: The local buffets inventory.

[londubhgaeilge]

Stór Focal below the cut !

Dinnéar na Nollag - Christmas Dinner

Turcaí - Turkey

Liamhás - Ham

Builín ilchnónna - Nut loaf / Nut roast

Maide milis - Candy Cane

Maróg - Pudding

Pióg mhionra - Mince Pie

Brioscaí - Biscuits

Scailtín fíona - Mulled wine

Arán sinséir - Gingerbread

Císte na Nollag - Christmas Cake

Maisiúcháin Nollag - Christmas decorations

Soilse Nollag - Christmas Lights

Crann Nollag - Christmas Tree

Fleasc Nollag - Christmas Wreath

Cuillean - Holly

Tinsil - Tinsel

Cloigíní - Bells

Drualus - Mistletoe

Fear Sneachta - Snowman

Pléascóg Nollag - Christmas Cracker

Focail Eile :

Cárta Nollag - Christmas Card

Bronntanais - Presents

Stoca Nollag - Christmas Stocking

Lá Nollag - Christmas Day

Nollaigiúil - Christmassy

Lá Fhéile Stiofáin - St Stephens Day

Daidí na Nollag - Santa Claus

Síofraí - Elves

Carr Sleamhnáin - Sleigh

Réinfhia - Reindeer

Aingil - Angels

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss (Minnesota State Fair edition)

So what's the interest in ham loaf all of a sudden?!

This evening's particular stop for Huck and I: The Hamline Church Dining Hall, a Minnesota State Fair staple going back to 1894 ... and serving rather tasty ham loaf dinners since at least the 1930's, itself something of a State Fair culinary legend.

Which, as it happens, has attracted especially such close chums as the Hair Bear Bunch (Hair, Square and Bubi) as much as walkabout and wondering if many a Minnesota State Fair visitor will recognise them after quite awhile off the air. Though this time, they've pretty much wrapped their summer road trip tradition of being part and parcel of bear mating season up in the North Woods.

"Yeah," Square Bear remarked in that rather rich voice of his, "what could come more relaxing and more stress relieving to us bears when summer comes around?"

"Of course, Snag and Huck, mating does play quite a part of our mating season road trip," Hair Bear was quick to add over bites of mashed potatoes and brown gravy. "Could anything be more refreshing, setting aside the mating component obviously, than some swimming and diving in the morning following quite an overnight's orgy?"

I couldn't help but be stunned (howbeit moderately) at the Hair Bears having some swimming and diving skill themselves; "I assume," Huck was quick to note, "such must come naturally to a bear."

Bubi, ever the excitable, over-the-top one, was quick to note where "just the sheer excitement of getting cooler and cooler in the early morning, just diving with nothing on but yourself, just feeling all the more interesting between the legs for some reason--" (Whereupon Square, sensing Bubi was probably going a little too over-the-top, went into that routine of shutting Bubi up with his forepaw, and asking Hair Bear "What exactly was Bubi just saying now?")

Certainly bringing a laugh there.

And not that far off--at the next table across the way, even--was Top Cat's clowder also tucking into ham loaf dinner themselves.

"So," Huckleberry Hound asked, "who recommended the ham loaf dinner here to your crew?"

To which TC remarked, "I have to acknowledge where, having trampled our hind paws quite the bit across the Fairgrounds all day, and enjoying quite our fill of corn dogs, the notion was bound to come along for some worthwhile, decent old-school home cooking as the highlight of our day at the Fair!"

Brain, the somewhat dopey one of the clowder, pointed out that "it's not often you can still get decent home cooking in the midst of cookie-cutter predictability!"

"Brain's probably right," Choo-Choo, otherwise a master of witty charm and sophistication which is rivalled only by Fancy-Fancy, was quick to add. "Especially absent any girlie shows that I would have certainly found enjoyable!"

"Girlie shows, as you put them, Chooch, are well in the past here," TC responded; "besides, you have plenty of other interesting stuff to take in at a fair--like 4-H."

"Oh, most definitely the 4-H stuff!" Huckleberry Hound responded almost excitedly. "Putting paid to the notion of country youth not having much worthwhile to do anyway, to begin with ... in fact, my wife, Clementine, was assisting with setting up a 4-H canning demonstration just the other day, even offering some advice to a few of the participants about sealing the lids on properly and tightly to make sure the whole came out properly."

"I never knew that Clementine was your wife now after singing about her all this time," chimed in Benny the Ball, TC's top leftennant.

"Indeed she is, Benny," was how Huckleberry responded.

And what ham loaf there was!

=============

Now, for such of you curious as to the recipe for said ham loaf, 'tis:

Preheat oven to 325° F/160° C/Gas Mark 3. Combine loaf and sauce ingredients separately:

FOR THE LOAF: 1½ lbs. each ground ham (NOT ground pork) AND ground beef, chicken OR turkey 1 cup dry breadcrumbs 1 small onion, chopped ½ tsp. each salt, pepper, curry powder, ground sage and allspice 2 cups milk 3 eggs, slightly beaten, OR ¾ cup liquid egg

FOR THE SAUCE: 2 cups packed brown sugar ⅔ cup white vinegar ¼ cup prepared mustard

Pack the loaf mixture into a large baking pan, then spoon half the prepared sauce on top of the loaf. Bake for 90 minutes: drain grease to the extent feasable, spoon remaining sauce over the loaf, return to the oven and bake 30-45 minutes more.

(Oh, and one more thing: Those of you who have tried this receipt may want to leave behind some comment and let us all know how the experience turned out on your Hanna-Barbera-loving end.)

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @stuffaboutminnesota @a-gang-of-silly-bananas @jellystone-enjoyer @ultrakeencollectionbreadfan @archive-archives @thebigdingle @screamingtoosoftly @princessgalaxy505 @themineralyoucrave @thylordshipofbutts @warnerbros-blog1 @indigo-corvus @theweekenddigest @iheartgod175 @warnerbrosent-blog

[askwhatsforlunch]

Goat’s Cheese, Fig and Ham Sandwich

It turns out planning a trip all the way across the world is rather time-consuming (and a little nerve-racking for I haven’t been on a plane since 2019 and one gets rusty!) Thus, my lunches, which I already have rather late at the moment, tend to now happen at other people’s dinner time --although I could never dine at 6pm myself-- and then I have a supper before bed, as if I’d been to the theatre or whatnot! But whatever the time I get to sit and eat, I’ll always eat something good and tasty, if un-fussy. A sarnie is un-fussy enough, although this Goat’s Cheese, Fig and Ham Sandwich with its Autumn flavours, is proper good!

Ingredients (serves 1):

2 large slices Wholemeal Loaf

1/2 tablespoon butter, softened

1/2 teaspoon Dijon Mustard

1 slice deli ham

60 grams/2 ounces good soft goat’s cheese (like Selles-sur-Cher)

1 heaped tablespoon cream cheese

half a plump, ripe fig, rinsed

1 heaped teaspoon Ginger-Plum Jam 

Toast Wholemeal Loaf slices, and let them cool slightly.

Spread butter onto one of the Bread slices. Spread Dijon Mustard all over. Fold deli ham, and arrange onto the Bread. Top ham with chunks of goat’s cheese.

Cut fig into quarters, and then into slices, and arrange on top of the goat’s cheese.

Spread cream cheese generously onto the other Wholemeal Loaf slice. Spread Ginger-Plum Jam on top.

Sandwich both laden Bread slices together, and cut diagonally.

Enjoy Goat’s Cheese, Fig and Ham Sandwich immediately, with a cup of tea or coffee.

[rosavulpes]

Swiping left on his phone to prevent his morning alarm from going off and potentially disturbing either Belle or Guilmon , for as tempted as he was to lay his head back down on the arm of their couch and sleep in for just a few more minutes ? There was work that needed to be done , breakfast that needed to be cooked , and the Video Store was still set to open within a few hours .

The only way to make sure that he could get everything ready was by starting now , rather than later .

Yawning as he rose from the couch , his blanket would be laid over Guilmon instead . The red digimon still soundly asleep on the other end of the couch .

Switching the TV off before leaving the room , he'd head on upstairs to the bathroom . Going through his daily motions , and most importantly ? Fixing his bedhead before Belle could see that he'd become a partial Super Saiyan in his sleep with how messy it looked , but it was nothing that some shampoo , conditioner , and styling gel couldn't fix . Did he maybe use a bit of hers ? Maybe .

Heading on downstairs , the first agenda of the day ? Checking their inter-knot account while he started prepping the kitchen for breakfast . Opening up a nearby shelf window to make sure everything aired out properly . The sound , and sight of the rain outside now really making him wish he'd stayed asleep but , there'd be time to sleep later on .

Wrapping an apron around his waist , again , part of the benefit of being an early bird ? Belle would never see him wearing it .

Milk , eggs , some dry yeast , sugar , a pinch of salt and flour would soon become the basis of Belle's breakfast bread . Set aside to allow to rise once he'd sprinkled in some milk chocolate chips to suit Belle's tastes . The next dough , would be more suited to Guilmon's tastes , and even shaped like him too . Once all the dough had risen , Guilmon's would be rolled , cut , and kneaded into a rough shape made to resemble them . Stuffed with some ham and cheese slices to be more filling for them . Set to bake in the oven first as he turned his attention back to Belle's breakfast bread .

A square loaf pan lightly oiled to ensure it wouldn't stick as the dough was placed into the pan . Another light sprinkling of chocolate chips to decorate the top would be the final piece , slipped inside of the oven . Wise setting a timer on his phone to check back on it as another set of eggs was cracked on an oiled pan . Sunny side up for Belle , scrambled for Guilmon .

Despite the costs he'd paid for them before they lost their main account, the cooking classes he'd been taking at night with some extra help from online video tutorials had really helped to cut down on at least some of their costs now that they were starting over as supposed " new " proxy . There was still the matter of dealing with bills past , and present that would require budgeting but that was a problem for them to tackle later on together . Not now . Though a few ideas were already coming to mind on what they could do to bring in some more dennies at the end of each week .

Adding two strips of bacon to the pan to round out Belle's breakfast , once the eggs were finished and plated . His own breakfast , would consist of a peanut butter , and banana sandwich using some leftover bread from the other day that hadn't gone stale yet . It would keep him full for the majority of the day before it'd be time to start cooking lunch , and dinner for them .

With his timer going off , the breads would be taken out of the oven , treated with a bit of egg wash to ensure a golden crust formed on the tops of each one , they'd be placed back in for another fifteen minutes to finish rising as he focused more of his attention on their inter-knot profile to see what commissions were popping up . Some , not worth their attention due to the low pay . Others , he'd screenshot , sending the images to Belle's phone to see which one's she'd like for them to take on .

Taking out ethereals , locating missing supplies , nothing too crazy . Or at least , nothing like before ... the thought of which caused him to sigh softly to himself as he gazed out the window towards the rain soaking their car .

Hearing the sound of footsteps from upstairs once time had passed , and from their living room , he'd snap himself back to reality with a light shake of his head . Downing his breakfast quickly to ensure that Belle wouldn't scold him for skimping dennies for his own meals to ensure they could have theirs . Untying his cooking apron , and stuffing it inside of a drawer . Finishing in plating their breakfasts .

Coffee . He needed Coffee .

" G'morning sis . You sleep well ? Hope you're hungry "

@phaethonblue

[adultswim2021]

Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job #44: “Choices” | March 22, 2010 - 12:30AM | S05E04

Choices is another fairly mediocre episode of the show, but there are a few good moments in the weaker sketches, and there’s a couple of sketches I think are solid. Hey, let’s get into them now! Okay?

SKETCH #1 (COLD OPEN): Brules Rules. Steve Brule simply delivers some bad news that his aunt Joanne just died. It’s brief, and I like it.  

SKETCH #2: All Dolled Up. Barry Stem and Frank Slaten sit at a couple of makeup tables while being “dolled up” in ridiculous, nonsensical make-up. They have a straight-faced conversation about their pedigrees in show business, bragging about working on this show or that, lightly challenging each other’s legitimacy. They come off as insufferable blowhards, and at times they speak directly over one another to filibuster about their time on Manimal or whatever shows they said they worked on. This one’s slightly mean-spirited, but it’s very funny. 

I recall Tim showing this on Howie Mandell’s video podcast and saying that he vetted the footage with the guys involved, and that they had a good sense of humor about it. He revealed what I’ve always assumed; these were unguarded moments during the lead-up to a supposed scripted sketch, but was just a set-up to capture their dick-measuring contest on video.

To come lightly to their defense; the footage IS manipulated. If you look at the mirror you can see the one guy sitting quietly while the other guy talks, while his non-mirrored counterpart is flapping his gums, which means they combined different moments into one shot like George Lucas in the Star Wars prequels. 

SKETCH #3: DLH sings a song about being in love with an insect woman. This is more typical DLH stuff. I didn’t think this one was the worst, but DLH has probably worn out his welcome with most viewers at this point. Still, I liked when he answers his puppet’s question about his love life by tersely stating “I met a nice lady and it’s taken care of”. This one’s just okay, but it ain't no Salome.

SKETCH #4: Next up is H’amb, which starts out as a psycho-drama involving a man nearly driven to suicide after losing all of his money, which he learns on his handsome leather-bound landline telephone. His woes are owed entirely to him refusing to get a job (I can relate!). His family is waiting for him at dinner, and he angrily brandishes a gun when he thinks his wife has indecently purchased lamb for the family, despite their money woes. Turns out it’s Cinco H’amb, and this is just a tacky ad for the economical ham-based imitation lamb-loaf. This one features an elderly Karen Black, who has very irresponsibly mothered two young children at her advanced age. This one joins Dolled up as one of the solid bits on the episode. 

The wraparound is a mixed bag that I’d also describe as “mostly listless”. The plot is that Tim has written an incendiary tell-all about Eric that is completely fabricated. Eric is reasonably furious with Tim and makes a scene at his congratulatory party. Tim, realizing the follies of his ways, chases after Eric and, as a gesture of friendship, rips each page out of his own book to demonstrate that he’d rather keep his valuable friendship with Eric. 

I’d describe these scenes as the worst kind of wraparound: Tim & Eric are on autopilot and falling back on their usual bag of tricks. Random, unfocused silliness. One gets the feeling that they just did this in one or two takes and moved on, cynically writing off their audience of stoners as easily impressed simpletons. You ever make a movie with a camcorder (or a more modern device), and you cast your friend whose really funny, but he has no idea how to act so he just does funny business to crack up the people in the room and doesn't give a shit about how it's gonna look on video? It kinda feels like that, except our class clowns are running the show.

Not that I’m too upset about this; occasionally they happen to fall into a bit of business that makes me smile, and while their lack of care is a little insulting, I don’t tend to take it too personally. Tim’s line read of “I gotta put in some kinda trash” to Eric gets me. I guess I can’t stay too mad at these guys.

This one ends with Eric dramatically slicing and dicing Tim. He stabs him in the gut and creepily whispers to him: “I don’t forgive you!”. I do like this bit, but I couldn't help but feel like it would feel a little stronger if anything else they did before it was treated with care.

[blizzard202]

Standing Still

Hi reader, welcome to Standing Still!

This story is the complete narrative of the two characters created by Blizzard (@blizzard202) and Axol (@alien8tdd/@no-i-wanna-go-down)

The protagonists of this story are two Newsies named Raymond (Nicknamed Blizzard) and Archie (Nicknamed Pup).

Raymond was created by Blizzard, and Archie was created by Axol. We both write chapters together as co-writers.

Chapter One - Archie

It feels like only moments ago when Archie and Ashton Larkson’s parents passed. The two children never received the details on how it happened. The police never care enough about anything when it comes to poor people. And just like that the 15 and 13 year old boys were kicked to the streets. All they can do to get by now is beg and steal.

It’s late, Archie knows that as he’s dragged by his brother through the streets. All he can register is that his brother has stolen a loaf of bread and now they’re being chased by around eight scary-looking men. 

“Get back here, you rat-bastards!” One of them shouts. Archie’s feet drag against the cobblestone and ache terribly. Shops and people fly by in a blur. He thinks he can feel tears sting at his eyes, but he fights them back. Don’t be a sissy. Ashton’s voice echoes in his mind.

They turn a few corners. He can hear his brother swear under his breath. The grip on his wrist disappears before he hits the ground. Hard. There’s a sharp, ringing pain in his head. He blinks up at the scary men. They grab his arms, though a few others continue to chase Ashton. Before Archie can do anything, his vision fades to black.

When Archie wakes, he’s in some sort of cell. Alone. Everything aches. He can feel dried, crusty blood on the back of his neck, on his shoulders and clothes and… where is he? He shivers. It’s cold. His stomach grumbles madly. How long has it been since he’s eaten? How long was he knocked out for? His head hurts. Everything does.

He looks around once more. There doesn’t seem to be a way out. There’s no toilet. He thinks he can see something move in the shadows. Archie inches towards whatever it is. It is, in fact, a rat. He lets out a yelp and it immediately scurries back off into the shadows. 

All Archie can do is tuck himself into the corner of this cold, dark room, curl up on his side like a dog and close his eyes. He fights back tears.

What did I do wrong? Why did all of this have to happen? First ma and pa are gone and now…Archie doesn’t fall asleep for a long, long time. When he does, it’s a light, dreamless sleep, often interrupted by the scurrying of rats or the footsteps of more scary men like the ones that took him here. But he sleeps. Barely.

Chapter Two - Raymond

Raymond is sitting in the break room of his job, eating his dinner. He works as a cleaner at a tailor’s shop down the street from Jacobi’s Deli, where he bought a ham sandwich with the 3 cents he made on his job that day. Almost 9:00. He thinks, glancing at the clock on the wall every couple of seconds.

12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2… He springs up from his seat, locks up the doors of the shop, and makes his way down the road, dodging carriages and newsboys walking back to their lodging houses. He accidentally nicks a kid’s hat off when shooting his wrapper into the garbage can.

“Ay’ whaddya think you’re doin’?” The kid seems much too old to be a newsie, probably in his 20s at that point.

“Look, I’m sorry, you don’t gotta make a big deal about it.” Raymond says. The new face is slightly shorter than him, red hair, he looks tougher than Raymond though.

“It is MY first day on my job wit’ The Bronx newsies, and I don’t need you ruinin’ it, dipwad!” The guy takes a swing, Raymond dodges and trips him, making him fall flat on his back. He starts running. Wasn’t planning on dyin’ today. 

Raymond looks back to see that he isn’t being chased, but he doesn’t look where he’s going, and bumps into an old woman, knocking her over. Luckily, he catches her and puts her back on her feet.

“Oh my goodness! I am so sorry! Are you alright ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking. I know it was an accident, it’s ok, things happen.” The two chat for a bit, then go their separate ways. That could’ve been way worse. 

Suddenly, a man dressed in clothes not seeming to fit the streets of Manhattan. “Excuse me child, do you not see what you just did?” The mysterious man asked.

“Yes? I was runnin’ too fast and I accidentally bumped into a lady. Luckily I picked her up before she could hit the ground! She’s alright, I made sure-”

“That isn’t what I saw.” The man tells Raymond.

“Whaddya mean?” Raymond asks.

“What I think just happened was an attempted murder. Don’t you know how old that woman is? If she hit the ground, she would have perished the second she came face-to-face with that concrete. Luckily, you noticed that people were around, and played it off as some kind of accident.”

“What? You’re bein’ ridiculous! Why would I try to kill some poor old lady?” Raymond is flabbergasted, confused about what is entering his ears.

“I don’t know, why would you? OFFICERS! TAKE HIM AWAY!”

“What? What are you doin’!? I- Get offa me! Stop! I didn’t do nothin’!” 

“Exactly kid. You didn’t do nothing, a double negative.” 

“What did I do to you to deserve this? Why are you being so mean?!” 

“Because I can. Wow! Two new inmates in one hour! We’re going to have a drink tonight boys!”

Great. Now I’m gonna rot in a cell because some ass thinks that capturing kids to put in your jail is just a fun game. He sits in a holding cell, feeling hopeless, until he looks to his side, and spots something in the corner. Another boy, about his age, maybe a year younger, curled up. He’s asleep. His curly, copper hair is tainted with a bit of blood, and there’s a small sort of gash in his head that’s barely visible through the thick curls.

Chapter 3 - Archie

When Archie wakes again, a pair of dark eyes are peering back at him. He uncurls himself and presses against the cold wall of the strange, small room. The dull ache in his head is still there. His eyes take a moment to focus on the other boy. 

“Wha… who?” Archie’s speech is barely comprehensible as he slowly regains his senses. The other boy greets him.

“Hello? Are you ok?” The brown-haired boy’s concerned voice rings through the small room. It takes a few moments for Archie to even register what he said.

“I’m.. fine. Who- Who are you?” Archie tilts his head slightly and squints. It occurs to him that maybe he should introduce himself. 

Be polite, like Ma always said. “I’m Archie.” He offers a small, weak smile in an attempt to come off as friendly despite his situation.

The other boy blinks. “My name’s Raymond. You in here for somethin’ stupid too?” 

Archie winces. Something stupid? Sort of. He’d have to explain everything to this stranger, and from experience Archie knows it’s hard for him to stop talking once he starts. It’d be embarrassing to just spill his guts right here.

Don’t overthink. “Yeah, I guess so… do ya know where ‘here’ is?” Archie’s voice waivers a bit more than he’d prefer. He doesn’t want to seem weak. Raymond glances around.

“Seems like a prison? Dunno. I didn’t do anythin’ besides bump inta an old lady.” Raymond’s eyes land on the blood. 

“Are you ok? You’re definitely hurt… C’mere.” Archie hesitates before inching closer. Raymond pulls him the rest of the way and uses a hand to tilt Archie’s head downwards and to the side. It’s an awkward but not uncomfortable angle.

Raymond lets out a concerned “hm,” Archie can feel gentle fingers against his hair, seemingly clearing the way so his wound is more visible. Raymond’s fingers graze the raw, injured skin, which prompts Archie to suck in a sharp breath. He hasn’t been treated so gently since… well, since before his parents died. He’d received no such treatment from his brother.

Archie finds himself so lost in his thoughts that when Raymond pulls away, he takes a moment to open his eyes. He hadn’t even realized they were closed in the first place. 

“How bad does it hurt?” Raymond asks. It takes a short moment for Archie to reply. 

“Not… horribly? I’m bad with words. It’s like background noise but pain. Background pain.” Raymond laughs wryly, though he still looks concerned.

“What if you have a concussion or somethin’?” Ashton would have replied with a snarky, sarcastic reply. Archie doesn’t want to be like his brother, he’s realized that now. 

“I’m not sure… I’ll be fine, though. Uhm.. are you hurt at all?” Archie tilts his head. His eyes gleam with concern.

Raymond shakes his head. “I’m ok.” Archie is thankful Raymond hasn’t asked anything more about how he got here. As much as Archie would like the relief of crying into someone’s arms, he doesn’t want to scare this boy off. An awkward yet peaceful silence envelops the two. Archie ponders what Raymond could be thinking, and who Raymond is outside of this cold, dark cell. 

Chapter 4 - Raymond

After a while, Archie starts explaining his story while Raymond creates a makeshift bandage by ripping off a piece of Archie’s shirt. Raymond has tried, and failed, to convince Archie to let him use his own shirt. 

“Thanks.” He says quietly. Raymond paces his way around, kicking a pebble around the cell, until he gets bored and slumps down against the wall next to Pup.

The two are sitting next to each other against the wall of the cell. A black, furry rat darts towards them but skitters the other way when it gets too close. Archie yelps loudly. Raymond snickers faintly, it’s a bit funny how timid Archie is, even if Raymond is concerned for the other boy. Raymond looks over to his left. 

“They’re just rats...” He says gently. There is a hint of amusement in his voice. Archie glances away and folds his arms. 

“But theys gonna bite me and I’ll get a disease!” He retorts. Raymond thinks he can see a hint of a smile on his face, though. 

“Just don’t bother them. They’re probably more afraid of you than you are of them.” Raymond places a hand on Archie’s shoulder. Archie smiles and looks back at Raymond, but his eyes still flicker back to the shadows every once and a while. 

After a few minutes, footsteps can be heard down what could be a hallway. The door opens. “Hey kids, you fellas gotta get in the room, boss says so.” A guard that seemed way too tired to work tells the two. He leads the two to a large room with about twenty sets of bunk beds. “There, that’s where you’re gonna sleep.” The man points at a bottom bunk. 

“…Which one?” Pup asks. 

The guard chuckles. “Are ya serious? Just be glad you aren’t in a three-kid bed!” The officer walks away, still chuckling to himself. 

“LIGHTS OUT!” The warden yells an hour later. 

Alrighty… Raymond thinks to himself. The two find themselves over to their bed after a while, they get affiliated with a couple other kids in the block: James, a young teen who didn't have a pinky finger, and Clippers, who said he does haircuts for kids who can’t afford them. Blizzard feels a little uncomfortable in the rock-solid mattress, but after a while, he eventually falls asleep.

[sparrowrfinch]

Today, I was making myself a nice, hearty sandwich for dinner and all was good. I had my ingredients: butter, ham, pickle, bbq sauce, lettuce. You get it. When suddenly---I grabbed the loaf of bread to get my two slices of white bread and something HORRIBLE happened.

The end piece was gone.

I have no clue who has done this, or why they would in any universe take the crust---but I remember what my mother taught me when I was a young boy, to never take the end piece of bread.

There are currently two suspects, my dad and my grandpa, but if any of you see a man holding the crust of a bread loaf---please tell me ASAP because I will need that back.

[dustin-the-great-ii-blog]

20 August 2023

Breakfast: rice cereal (100), one small banana (80), half a cup 1% lactaid milk (65) - 245 cal

Lunch: skipped

Dinner: 2 slices of Italian loaf (120), 4 slices carved ham (80), cheese (160), mayo (100), spicy mustard (0) - 460 cal

Snack: a bite of ice cream (30), a glass of 2% lactaid milk (100) with butterscotch syrup (50) -180

Current Total: 885 cal