#hot hunks ahoy

[darnellthefirestarter]

Man

[captainrexisboo]

Dumb Luck #3

Note: Heyoooooo two updates in one weekend, whaaaaat? No, actually a fun fact, this was started out as my part 2, but i liked my other idea of building the tension with Sweets seeing Rex with his helmet off for the first time better. There will be a part four, it just wont come as quick! I’m gonna have several more parts to this, I have plans y’all. This chapter has ~slight angst~ if you squint hard enough. Again, I’m open to criticism or Hot Takes TM, I’m still a novice writer! Both my asks and messages are open to everyone! Also... y’all, Jesse is a bro. He’s great.

a link to part two- https://captianrexisboo.tumblr.com/post/623995723815452672/dumb-luck-2

Warnings: suggestive language (the usual)

Tags: @persaloodles @starflyer-104 @imalovernotahater @holamor @000ayfh

~

“Hey, Sweets-“

“Not now, busy,” she threw over her shoulder, not even bothering to look at who was walking up to her corner of the hangar.

Y/N was greatly enjoying herself as an assistant to the head mechanic aboard the flagship. She quickly learned about not only the venator-class destroyer, but also about gunships, shuttles, frigates, landers, even more about her beloved droids, and her absolute favorite to work on, the starfighters. If she were alone in the hangars, she would walk over to the rows of starfighters and just study them, marvelling at every screw, panel, and wire and how it built something so amazing. And right now, she was actually able to work on one of these beautiful machines, and she’d be damned if she let anyone stop her workflow.

Rex lifted a brow at her mannerisms as he watched her dive elbow deep into a much older fighter model, one that hadn’t ever been repainted and typically was the last to be boarded and flown out by shinies who didn’t know any better. She was squatting low to the ground, a panel gone from the ship while she tinkered with its insides, hair barely secure, strands falling out of the haphazardly tied bun she had kept in place with only a single stylus. He was still conflicted at her presence on the ship. She had proven to be smart, quick witted, and of course was an absolute stunner, but she was also stubborn as hell, distracting, and always there. Always a mere moment away, in the hangar, in the generator room, in the mess, the repair bay, the armory- and he hasn’t known peace since.

Let’s be honest, he hasn’t known peace since he met General Skywalker, but he was able to have an illusion of what it was like whenever he was alone with his thoughts. Now he didn’t even have that, his internal narrative shaping into her curves before too long, even in his solitude. Things were different with her here, they were more on edge, like he was tiptoeing around her in a delicate dance to avoid a situation where either of them could build onto their practically visible tension. Kix had told him, ever the blunt medic, that he could cut their tension straight through the air with a scalpel it was so obvious. But he was a Captain, and had a job to do, so when he heard that she had been seen speeding down the halls to the hangars with her tools despite all the ships passing inspection just a few hours ago, he knew he had to be sure she wasn’t doing anything out of protocol. He had grabbed Jesse before making his way to the hangar, in case a mediator was needed, and was now grinding his teeth at the woman concentrating so intensely she didn’t even care to look who else was in the room. He shared a flat look with Jesse before clearing his throat to make his presence known, “You might want to take a break, Y/N.”

She paused what she was doing, her shoulders tightening. Only Rex ever used her actual name, especially when he was in one of his damn moods. This was weird, though, him seeking her out. Recently it seemed as if he had been avoiding her, or making sure they weren’t alone if they had to be in the same room. Try as she could to get his attention, get him all flustered, he’d always just be slightly out of reach, and she was getting increasingly frustrated. She rolled her eyes, summoning her signature bravado before she smoothly stood up to turn around, jutting a hip out and giving a lazy salute, “Ahoy, Captain.”

Jesse tried to mask his giggles under a cough, watching the two interact was his favorite pastime. Rex took note for later to ask a different intermediary for the next strife, before pointing his head to the ship, “What are you doing to that fighter?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” she smiled brightly, almost prideful, wiping her grease slicked hands on the pant leg of her GAR jumpsuit, “Messing with this lovely hunk of junk.”

“Messing with it?” Rex questioned, barely hiding his glance at the handprint now crudely placed on her thigh.

“Gave myself a project to work on,” she explained sauntering towards the pair of troopers with an arm outstretched to the ship, “Boys, meet my baby.”

“Your baby?” Rex slowly tore his gaze off her to look over the fighter blandly, “What a miracle of science.”

“Is Artoo the dad?” Jesse snickered, before receiving a light smack on the arm from the woman. She still chuckled at the quip, showing good humor to him. Despite being absolutely infuriating, Jesse was quickly becoming a good friend to her, like a brother she never wanted.

“Did you get permission before completely gutting the engine, at least?” Rex asked, looking around at the parts that lay on the floor, surrounding her workspace.

She sighed, “Yes, I did, just a bit ago. Ask Caine, he was the final sign off on it. Went through all the proper channels.”

Rex's jaw twitched, stiffening the hand holding his helmet, “It didn’t come through on my end.”

“Maybe it didn’t need to,” she shot, eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms, “I’m sure there are some things on this ship that don’t require your approval, sir.”

There it is. The way she said that word got him all riled up. It was one little word, one he got called by from every trooper on every hour of every rotation, but it was her honey-coated voice saying it that drove him to his limit. Every time she spoke the word to him it was like a challenge, daring him to expose his desirous aggression toward her, taunting his mask of composure. Every time she spoke, with a demanding storm in her glare and candy pink lips being teasingly assaulted by her own teeth, it stirred a fire in him he didn’t quite know how to quell. It was maddening, and got worse and burned deeper with every encounter. Before he could dig himself deeper into her trap, he simply pulled on his helmet with a slight growl, and turned on his heel to stalk away from the conversation, barely grumbling out a gruff, “I’m going to talk to Caine.”

“What crawled up his ass and died?” Y/N felt herself wilt a bit as she watched him go, taken aback by the retreat, and admittedly a little disappointed. Usually he’d last longer.

Jesse let out a stale bark of laughter, “Same thing that crawled up yours.”

“Jesse,” she warned, cold eyes coming up to focus on him, drawing out his name as she placed her hands on her hips.

“Sweets,” he mimicked her tone and stance, chuckling low, “Why don’t you just go after him? He’s all pent-up and frustrated, I don’t think the troops can take another feral sparring session. Hell, I don’t think I can take it. Think of the poor shinies.”

She shrugged at him, rolling her eyes as her head lolled to the side, “What can I say, I’m a self-destructive mess that likes to delay my own happiness and ultimate satisfaction.”

“Bantha shit,” Jesse rolled his own amber-hazel eyes at her, “I think you're just a brat.”

She laughed lowly, batting her lashes at him, “Same thing, trooper.”

She turned around, intent on continuing her work before she felt a gloved hand wrap itself around her elbow, turning her back to face the ARC, “I’m serious. Why are you dragging this out, adding to the pressure? If you keep this up, one of you will explode before too long, and then- whether it’s a good explosion, or a bad one- there’s gonna be one hell of a mess to clean up in its wake.”

She lifted a brow at his wording, “Was that innuendo literal, or-”

“Ew,” Jesse blanched, letting go of her arm and scrunching his face at the mental image., “That’s my ori’vod!”

Y/N threw her hands up in a mock surrender with a devilish smirk on her lips, “Look, you’re the one who said it.”

“Just answer the question, maker!”

She was silent for a minute, pursing her lips as she gathered her thoughts together. Jesse was staring intently at her, crossing his arms as he waited for her. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits in her focused state, and she exhaled slowly through her mouth, “I...I don’t know if he actually likes me or not. Sure, we banter, and I flirt, but I don’t know if he legitimately thinks of me the same way. I mean, today he just walked away from our conversation, and it made me feel kind of dejected. He seemed...I don’t know. Exasperated. Like he’s tired of me.”

Jesse had never seen her so vulnerable, so small. Sure, she was easily more than a head shorter than them, but her confidence and charisma always made her seem like she was eight feet tall. She twirled a lock of stray hair around her fingers, looking anywhere but Jesse as she continued, “His responses always vary, so I can’t pin down his exact feelings! He can either be cold and dismissive like today, or he can be actively matching my turn of phrase, there's no in between. So I always just...well, I tease him, you’ve seen it. I’m just testing the waters, seeing if he’s interested.”

“Sweets-“ Jesse cut himself off as he let a heavy hand fall onto her lithe shoulder, “Y/N, look at me.”

At the sound of her name, she blinked up at him, biting her lip to keep from pouting. Jesse was about to continue, barely opening his mouth to begin, when there was a greeting from behind them.

“There she is, right where you left her, Captain!”

Rex had come back, face unreadable as he looked between Jesse and Y/N. An older, brown man walked next to him, tall and lean with a salt and pepper fade, his smile as wide as his stride, “Sweets, lass! Making headway on that pile of scrap, huh?”

“Yes sir, Caine,” she greeted, standing upright and saluting him properly before turning offhandedly to Rex and crossing her arms, “Captain.”

Rex felt his jaw twitch at the sudden chill coming off of her, his brow furrowing at the sudden switch in her demeanor. Caine continued waving his arms, animatedly gesturing to the fighter, “This ship will run better than the day it was bought when you’re through with it, I know it. But, our most thorough Captain here has made it known to me that we did skip a step in approving your request.”

She looked Rex up and down, crossed arms tightening over her ribcage, “Oh really? And what step would that be?”

“Admiral Wulff Yularen,” Rex answered, tone even and cool to match her own, “You’re right in that it wouldn’t pass over my desk, however these are still Republic owned ships. He needs to approve...whatever you’re doing before you continue.”

She bit her lip and tightly squeezed her eyes shut, breathing deep through her nose, before responding, “Fine. I’ll clean up my station. Is there a time I can meet with the Admiral to discuss my mistake?”

Rex began to respond, before Jesse stepped in, “I’ll go explain the situation to him. Caine, would you mind tagging along?”

“Let’s stop by my office to get her approval request forms. Anything that makes this take longer, it gets me away from the repair reports,” Caine guffawed as he walked away with Jesse, leaving the Captain and mechanic on their own. He shifted as her burning stare held onto him for an extended moment after the two had left.

“What?” he growled out, growing aggravated at the silent attitude she was giving him.

“You’re a fucking tattle tale,” she spat out before turning on her heel to begin picking up her tools and various discarded parts of the fighter, “Going to my boss because a form didn’t come your way.”

“What are you, a youngling?” he shot back, but striding over to help her out, “I’m doing you a favor! If Admiral Yularen had found out one of his ships had been tampered with, without his permission, he’d blacklist you from the GAR and put you in a ship to drop you on that same dirt ball we found you on.”

Admiral Yularen was much more empathetic than that, and would not go as far as that for a punishment. But she didn’t need to know that right now.

“I’m not tampering with it- don’t touch my tools,” she looked over to see him dropping her wrenches and welders unceremoniously into her box, “I’m not tampering, I’m fixing. I’m a mechanic, it’s what I kriffin do, I’m sure he’d understand.”

He continued to pick up her scattered tools as she turned back to the disorganized pieces of metal with a roll of his eyes, “That may be so, but the GAR has a very strict way of doing things, and unfortunately the line of command doesn’t just stop at Caine for you. In fact-“

“I said don’t touch my tools!”

“Y/N, I’m trying to help you!” he nearly yelled at her, his voice booming in the high ceilings of the hangar, “Anything I’ve done today, is to help you!”

She scoffed, unmoved by his commanding demeanor, “Sure, help me. You didn’t even want me on this ship to begin with!”

“That’s-“

“You still don’t like me, do you? Is that why you don’t respond to my advances?” she was stalking toward him now, her mess and tools pushed to the farthest corner of her mind until they got this discussion over with. He stood his ground as she got closer, standing at his full height but looking her directly in the eyes nonetheless.

“Y/N-“

“I flirt and tease you all damn day and you just ignore me! Or worse, you respond and then leave when you realize you might’ve reacted a little too positively. I’d at least like a solid no from you, make yourself clear, please!”

“Hey!” he laid two strong hands on her shoulders, giving her a slight squeeze, “Shut. Up.”

She glared at him, but complied, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth as she stood defiantly to him, as tall as she could under his grip. He allowed himself a slow breath, inhale through his nose, hold, exhale through his mouth. He softened his hold, and let his deep honey eyes search her stormy glare, delving into the depths of her soul to make sure she understood, “I think I like you, Y/N. More than I ought to.”

He let that sink in, his cheeks flushing at his own sudden boldness but keeping a lock on her gaze. She raised her brows in surprise, eyes going wide as her agitation subsided, being replaced with something more delicate before sputtering out, “Oh. Okay. Uh, great. So...why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

He let out a dark chuckle, letting his eyelids get heavy, “Always one for tact.”

She shrugged under his grasp, a slight grin gracing her features at his amused expression, “Would you expect anything less?”

He shook his head, letting his lips twitch upwards as his thumbs absentmindedly rubbed circles into her shoulders, before clearing his throat, “If you had let me finish earlier, your chain of command doesn’t stop at Caine. It includes Yularen, Skywalker, and me. If I’m seen to be ‘romantically involved’ with a crewmember, I could be court martialed. And then you’d be-“

“Sent back to that rock you picked me up from,” she finished for him, letting a hand come up to rub gently at his right wrist, before sighing, “Maker, I hate it when you’re right.”

“It’s a miracle you still like me, then,” he let a cheeky smile pull through his face, causing her to let out a soft giggle. Somewhere between their dispute and his confession, his voice had shifted to a low, coarse whisper that made her want to hang onto every word. He let a hand off her shoulder, gripping her chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger, “Do you understand, cyar’ika?”

Her breath was stolen from her as she watched his eyes glance down to her lips, his thumb gently pulling at her skin to have her bottom lip pop out of it’s sharp hold. She shuddered, a pleasant quiver going down her spine as she nodded at him. She fluttered her lashes at him as he chuckled low at her response, “What does that mean?”

“Promise not to get mad?” he smirked at her, as a matching blush sweeping over both their cheeks.

“Rex,” she quirked a brow at him playfully, drawling out his name almost musically. He smiled wide at her, practically spellbound with how his name sounded on her lips.

“It’s Mando’a,” he paused for effect, looking around to make sure no out of place soldiers were looking over before dipping low, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “for sweetheart.”

She laughed, the sound warm and full, splaying a hand over his armored heart, the plastoid cool underneath her palm, “Fine. But only you are allowed to call me that.”

She pushed him lightly, having him let go of her shoulders. They stood there, smiling at each other, skin burning where the other’s hands had been, gazes soft with mutual ache. Y/N sighed, “So, what does this mean? For us.”

Rex thought for a minute, walking around her to continue where they had left off cleaning. After she had joined him, he hummed in response, “I think it’s a promise.”

“A promise?” she repeated, finishing up putting all the spares and discarded parts in an unlabelled crate next to the fighter. She leaned against the crate, arms crossing as she grinned at him, “What kind of a promise?”

“After the war is done,” Rex explained, tone surprisingly optimistic, “we can travel the galaxy together. No enemies to be on lookout for, not having to worry about getting caught by my nosy men-”

“Does it have to wait till after the war?” she whined, but still watching him as if he were hanging the stars as opposed to just picking up her tool box. He handed her the plasteel case, latching it closed with one deft hand.

“We can discuss that later,” he sent her a sly wink. She rolled her eyes, righting herself off the crate and looking up at him with the familiar teasing glint in her eyes that he’s come to find very charming.

“Just because you’ve finally confessed, don’t think this means I’ll stop toying with you, sir.”

All he could do was let his smile grow, just thinking about all the alluring ways she’ll drive him crazy, “I never wanted you to stop.”

[byler-n-harringrove]

Sailor boy || Harringrove Au

Hi xx I uploaded two days in a row!? Who am i !? Thank you so much for your love and I really hope you guys enjoy this! Please feel free to leave a comment and send in any requests for some works xx

Omegaverse Au

Warnings: none

———————

Baby omega Steve being the cutest boy - but sadly one of the 2 male omegas in Hawkins.

Everyone is practically after him -

Because fuck isnt he beautiful?

So he practically is now 18 and no Alpha partner in sight (which is largely frowned upon in society, his parents actually getting close to selling him off because of the deplenishment of his value so quickly)

His parents yea, practically Steve had to pay for everything of his if he wasn't going to be married so it meant he needed a job.

Okay? It wasn't his fault all the alpha’s in town sucked, he had been with a Beta called Nancy and he truly, truly thought they would last.

But, omega/ beta relationships were hard and rare, so when Nancy found the weird Alpha Jonathan Byers, the rest was history and Steve was left to fend for himself in the harsh world that looked down on omegas.

After all, they were just made to carry pups right?

So, yes, Steve got a job and was ready to show this close minded town he didn't need an Alpha (even if deep down he longed for one - honestly preferably male. After all, it didn't matter as long as he was an Omega, but if it was anything else but a male alpha and male Omega it would be against the law).

Steve worked at Scoops Ahoy with a lovely female Omega, Robin, who was taken by a lovely female Alpha Haley.

It was a slow day, the two omegas were goofing around and Robin was cheeky about the fact that her Alpha was going to be picking her up after work.

“She's the hottest thing to walk the earth, you know? Knows how to treat an omega right”

Steve would roll his eyes and get back to cleaning.

“Yea yea, shut up will you? Some of us don't need an alpha!”

“Are you so sure about that, pretty boy?”

Cue Steve jumping 10 feet high, because the cleaning products had clogged his nose, and he hadnt noticed the fucking god of a Alpha enter the icecream shop along side Haley.

(who went straight to her Omega and practically started to snog her senseless, those horny teens.)

The god smiled at the flushing Steve.

Billy was practically shirtless, abs rippling and glistening in his tight leather skinny jeans that showed a rather nice outline of that thick Alpha cock.

Steve felt quite stupid and childish wearing his little sailer boys outfit.

“Hiya there, the names Billy Hargrove. I just moved to town - I didn't expect to fight such a sexy little minx like you here in this shitty little town. No offence Haley.”

“Yea yea Hargrove, this is my omega Robin Buckley, and this rare arse male omega is Steve Harrington.”

Steve glared at her. He wasn't just an omega, he was a confident and amazing boy that could take care of himself.

Cue Steve puffing up his chest to seem tough.

“Steve hey? Well, Steve, why don't I take you out for a nice drink? My shout”

“Um, I can pay for myself. I'm not a little omega who can't do anything for herself”

Billy started to laugh at this.

Cue Steve also, yet again, nearly having a heart attack.

So. Fucking. Hot.

“So fucking cute. I like an Omega that can fend for themselves, its fucking hot. Why don't we go then?”

Steve was taken aback. When he had said that before, he was actually brawled on for not being your steroptypical dumb omega that was supposed to let their Alpha do everything and anything for them.

Okay, he totally was fucking falling for this hunk of an Alpha.

He could finally get a whiff of him, and the smell of nicotine, leather, oil and hair gel made him weak at the knees and want to show his neck in submission.

No one has ever had this effect on him before.

Billy was gentle, but strong, when he wrapped an arm around the males slim and child bearing waist.

“Shall we, Steve?”

Steve being a blushing mess, Robin sending him a thumbs up, as she mouthed she would close up so he could go with Billy.

With that, Billy scooped Steve off and they headed towards his beautiful Blue Camaro.

Steve was unbelievably smitten.

[ecotone99]

[HR] I Bought the Wrong Eggs

“Groceries?” my father called from the armchair. This was his way of asking if I had remembered to purchase groceries for the two of us on my walk home from school. A single word was all he could spare.

I watched a spiral of thick yellow cigarette smoke drift from his mouth and meld into the ceiling before replying.

“Yes papa, I have them.”

Two blonde women in bouncing bikinis were on the television. I hoped they would provide enough distraction for me to slip away.

“Bring them over,” my father said. One flabby finger clicked the off button on the remote, nearly swallowing the thing beneath folds of sweaty skin, and the girls disappeared.

My heart sank but I did as commanded. I crossed the short room and placed the overstuffed plastic bags at his feet. The grocery store was six blocks away and my shoulders ached something awful. My fingers had turned to flaming concrete and they did not straighten when I dropped the bags.

If the smell of cigarettes was bad, my father's breath was worse. Hot mucus. It flew into my face and up my nostrils. I sealed my lips, but did not dare flinch away. To look away from father whilst he addressed me meant certain punishment. For such a crime, I might have to wear a blindfold for the rest of the week.

“Coke.” he said, not a question.

I pointed out the two litre bottles of Coke-a-Cola. Three of them. Two was too few, four was too many. Buying too few bottles meant another trip to the grocery store at the very least. Too many bottles would mean having to drink the extra in one sitting.

“Cookies.”

I pointed them out. There were Chips-Ahoy, but cookies also meant Twinkies, Mr. Felix’s Buttercream Tarts, and a host of other baked goods. To name them all would require tremendous effort on my father’s part. ‘Cookies’ would have to do.

He considered my offering.

“No ice cream.”

Sweat broke on my forehead. This was the part I had been dreading since the moment I saw the empty freezer shelf.

My father weighed over three hundred pounds, and to rise from his chair required several seconds of intense effort. Only by heaving back and forth, using his own weight to catapult himself forward, was he able to rise from bed or stand out of his chair. The time it took him to stand was all the time I had to defend my actions. Once he was standing, a punishment was delivered without exception. Either for the crime of disobedience or for the crime of taking too long to explain.

“They were out,” I said.

The store was not completely out of ice cream, of course, but No Frills was out of triple chocolate fudge brownie with chunks of cookie dough. The cashier mentioned that she had just sold the last tub to the customer before me. Then she asked, as they often did, why I was shopping alone. I answered as I had been taught to: ‘My dad is sick and my mom ran out on us when I was a little kid’.

My father stopped his rocking, but did not settle back into his seat. I was not free yet.

“So what?” he said.

“I got extra Mr. Felix’s.”

I pulled one flap of the grocery bag away to reveal the extra box of sweets and my father relaxed. I was safe.

With the trouble of the ice cream out of the way, I breathed a sigh of relief. My father, perhaps noticing that I was no longer worried, hit a button on the remote control. The bikini girls were kissing.

“Eggs,” he said.

I showed him the eggs.

After a pause of inspection, the Tv clicked off. My heart skipped, then took off.

“These...,“ he said slowly, “are the wrong eggs.”

My blood went cold. I snatched the carton, careful not to break a single shell. I read the label frantically as my father restarted the heaving process.

“No,” I said, trying to interrupt the squeaking hinges of his chair. “No. These are right. These are…”

But they were the wrong eggs.

My father required twelve extra-large, free range, brown eggs from Campbell’s Farm. He required the expiration date to be no less than a week into the future, and for the price to be no more than $3.50 even though I was the one paying.

The eggs were white.

“No,” I moaned, “I’m sorry, I’ll go back. I’ll leave right now. Please.”

“These are the wrong eggs,” my father repeated. He managed to get his hulking frame out of the armchair and his mass was such that I was forced backward against the television.

I would go back to the store tonight, we both knew that, but not before being punished.

“Come,” he said, laying a heavy hand on my shoulder.

I was eleven years old, and all I had ever known was to obey the command of adults. I was as likely to consider disobeying my father was as I was to consider swallowing my Canadian History textbook.

He guided me to the kitchen. One hand was locked on my feeble shoulder, the other held the offending egg carton.

“Sit,” he said, directing me to a chair at the kitchen table.

I sat. I whimpered, and my whimpers became tears which became heaving sobs, but despite my fear I did not dare move. To move from the chair before being excused would mean being forced to sit there for a whole day, even if I had to go to the bathroom.

I did not know what punishment my father had in mind this time. This was a rule I had not broken before.

My father lumbered to the corner cupboard. Bending at the hip, a task of not inconsiderable difficulty for him, he retrieved a blue plastic bowl, a white dinner plate, and a worn frying pan. He put the frying pan on the stove, and the plate and bowl off to the side.

He removed one white egg from the carton, cracked it, fed the runny yolk into the pan, tossed the shells in the garbage bowl, then picked out another egg. He repeated this cycle a dozen times.

When all twelve eggs were in the pan, he turned the burner on medium and whisked the eggs with a fork. The result was a yellowy soup.

He did not so much as look at me while he prepared the dish.

“Please papa,” I cried. “Don’t punish me, I’m sorry. Please.”

I was ignored. A robin landed on the window sill outside and my father thumped the glass, scaring it away.

When the yellow soup had gone spongy, my father salted and peppered it, then took a bottle of ketchup from the fridge and applied a generous helping to the edge of the plate. Then he slid the tremendous omelet from the frying pan. It landed on the plate with a wet slap. The firm eggs looked like earwax but smelled fine enough. If father had added something to the omelette, something bad, it was odourless.

He sat in the chair opposite mine, the only other place at the table. It groaned in protest, as chairs often did when my father sat in them, but did not break.

“Eat,” he said.

But he did not present me with the titanic omelet.

He gave me the bowl of shells.

“Papa, please.”

He did not answer. Instead, my father carefully carved a generous slice of egg with his butter knife, drowned it in his pile of ketchup, and plunged the wedge into his mouth.

“If you don’t eat it all before I’m done,” he said, displaying a mouthful of yellow slush, “You’ll get another bowl when you come back with the right eggs.”

“Papa I can’t…”

He leaned across the table and slapped me. Then he belched, souring the air.

My cheek burned from the slap and my eyes stung with heavy tears. I chose a medium sized white shard and placed it on my tongue. It had no taste. I closed my mouth and swished it around a little. The shell was sharp, and cut my tongue.

“Ow,” I squealed, holding one hand to my cheek.

“Chew,” my father said through a second mouthful.

I chewed. It was like chomping down on glass. My blood mixed with the sharp fragments of shell to produce a coppery swill.

“Swallow.”

I swallowed. Ants bit my throat all the way down.

“Good boy,” he said.

He’s already a quarter done, I realized, staring at father’s plate. I better hurry.

My trembling hands selected another hunk of shell and as I stuffed it into my bleeding mouth my free hand was already picking another piece. It cut my finger tips, drawing more of my blood.

“Brown eggs,” my father said, and took another bite.

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