#i should definitely but a juicer

[peppermint-pimp]

So I'm on my juicing journey, trying to stay consistent and whatnot. I think I made the best juice I have ever tasted in my life. I wish I wrote down all the ingredients. I should make a juicing journal, come to think of it. But from what I remember I put Kale, celery, spinach, lemon juice, orange juice, apple, strawberries, 2 jalapeno peppers, and carrots. I might have added a mango. But this shit tasted so good. I thought it would be spicy cause of the jalapenos but complemented everything and added a bit of a kick to it. *Chef kiss* 10/10 I'm definitely keeping this in my juice repertoire.

Now can shrooms be infused in juice?🤔 Can it be broken down in an oil firm like weed? Let me go do my Googles cause let me find out I can. Shoot, I can drink healthy while also being able to have a conversation with my couch. My type of carrying on

[harlowsbby]

Chef Harlow 💘

Cooking wasn’t really your type of thing so when Jack decided he wanted to go live for his fans on Valentines Day and do a little cooking show you were a bit uneasy about it.

“Are you ready baby?” Jack grinned and wrapped the cooking apron around himself you couldn’t help but to laugh.

It was a little pink apron with white hearts around it and in the middle it said “kiss the chef.

“Wow kiss the chief? What if I’m trying to do more than just kiss the chef.” You grinned and giggled as Jack’s cheeks started to heat up.

“Baby, the live started like 5 minutes ago.” Your eye widened and you turned around slowing seeing about 7k plus people watching you.

“Oh hi guys I didn’t even know we started since Jack here didn’t say anything.” You said with a tight lip while shoving Jack back.

“I’m sorry baby but go put on your robe and your chef hat.” You stepped off to the side and put on your stuff before stepping back into the camera you gave the fans a quick wave and smile before pulling up the notes section in your phone.

Jack had asked if you could write up some questions for him to answer during the live and just ask some cute ones for Valentine’s Day.

“While I prep the cookie dough ima have Y/N ask me a few of her questions she made up.”

You pulled up your list of questions and smirked you forgot you had written down a lot of juicy questions and questions you wanted answers to.

“Oh this one okay actually let’s start off nice and easy before I get into the more detailed questions.” Jack’s lips turned upside down, what exactly did you mean by juicer questions.

“When was the first time you realized you actually liked me.”

“Damn when was the firs time I remembered I liked your big headed ass? Hmmm let’s see.” He joked, you glared at him and flipped him off making him chuckle.

“In all seriousness it was definitely during that time Druski was live remember?”

flashback to the live 💘

“Who’s that girl over there? The one on the stairs.” Jack asked Druski who wasn’t really paying him any mind nor attention.

“What? What girl I don’t know Jack, I don’t see any girl.” Ari rolled her eyes and looked at the stairs seeing you she smiled softly at you before looking back at Jack.

“That’s my friend Y/N, she’s definitely a sweetheart and has a heart of gold which means she don’t want you boy.” Ari barked at Jack.

“Well y’all should know me and you both should know that I don’t take a no for an answer so watch me do my thing.” He said cockily before strutting his way to the stairs. You looked up hearing the sound of footsteps walking up the wooden steps.

“Uh hi.” You said softly as Jack sat down beside you.

“I’m sorry if I come off creepy or something but I just had to let you know that I think you’re very beautiful.” Jack complemented you making you laugh nervously.

“Oh uh thank you Jack.” “You know my name?” You giggled and nodded. “Of course I do I mean I’ve been a fan since the longest.” He grinned making your stomach turn in a good way.

“Really? That’s so cool to meet someone who’s been apart of my journey since the very beginning.” Ari looked back towards the stairs wondering where Jack was since the fans on the screen kept asking where she was, but when she saw him sitting next you and watching how you giggled and slapped his shoulder playfully she couldn’t help but to relax and smile.

“Maybe he ain’t all that bad.” She mumbled and turned her attention back to the stream.

flashback over

“Awww that’s so sweet Jack I think I might honestly cry.” You teared up just a little bit. “Baby don’t cry you know you have an ugly cry.” He joked and you huffed before slapping his back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He joked, after a few more questions you eventually got to one of the main questions you wanted to ask.

“So for this one I need you to be really honest with me Jack.” He gulped and nodded his head his stomach starting to feel very uneasy.

“Alright… what’s the question?”

“Jack Harlow is it true you find me annoying and stubborn at times?” You held the paper above your mouth so he didn’t see you smile but you were honestly being honest you wanted to know if you ever gotten on his nerves.

“I mean.. well I mean babe look like sometimes you can be too much an-.” You cut him off. “Answer the damn question Jack, am I annoying just say yes or no.” He sighed deeply he might as well just tell the truth.

“Yes baby, sometimes you do annoy me.” Your moth instantly fell open you’d thought he’d at least lie or something but the fact that he just straight up told the truth honestly made you happy because that just told you that you could trust Jack.

“Please don’t be mad you told me tell you the truth and I told you the truth so technically you can’t even be mad at me s-.” You cut him off again by grabbing his face and smashing your lips onto his. He was caught off guard but none the less smashed his lips right onto yours, his hands immediately went to your ass and gripped it making you moan.

“Fuck baby hold on we’re still live.” “Shit I forgot.” You quickly ran off the camera and waited for Jack to end the live. “I’m sorry this cooking show was cut short y’all but I wanna have a treat that’s way juicier and sweet.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you making you snort.

“So let’s go finish what we started.” He grinned but just as he was about to get right back to it you stopped him. “Hmmm I think not since I’m so annoying we aren’t doing anything and I want my cookies so get to it chef harlow.” You stuck your tongue out before going to the living room to catch up on some much needed housewives of Atlanta.

“I should’ve known.” Jack mumbled to himself but none the less finished up your cookies. You giggled and sighed happily, a life like this was something you could definitely get use to. Jack was the goofiest and most sweetest men you’ve ever known and was the best gift you could ever receive for Valentines Day.

taglist

@hoodharlow @moody4world

@awhore4moree @heavyhitterheaux

@softtcurse @a-moment-captured

@lcandothisallday @jackharloww

@jackmans-poison @nattinatalia

@kalaharlow @toocriticalharlow

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Dear Academia, I guess you can die mad about the curtains, if it bothers you that much...?

Wow, I just watched... Wow.

(I didn't really just watch it. I saved this and sat on it to see if I cooled off and decided I was being too mean. Since then, I've tripped over another essay where someone ripped into a work because they didn't understand it well enough to see the curtains at all, and I didn't like that either. I've decided to post this, so later I can post my reaction to the other one like a matching bookend!)

I made you a graphic about it!

So, I just watched my High School AP English teacher transcend time and space, possess the body of an a YouTuber, and try to drag me for quitting my English major due to being sick of dissecting the work of other writers until it dies.

Also, they put text up on the screen that I was supposed to read, over a decorative text background, and if I could pull money out of their Patreon, much like Mark Twain with the collection plate, I would've taken a nickel. For spite.

So, I guess I'm gonna talk about the blue curtains?

First of all, don't go looking for the video to drag this person. At worst, they are a little self-important and over-emotional. At best, their brain got shredded by the same process mine rejected and they are recovering. Be kind. I don't wanna hurt them, I'm trying to fire over their head. And take this with a grain of silly.

This is the meme. I couldn't find the original, uncensored version, and I don't care all that much, so here ya go.

One of YTer's friends referenced this meme, and it offended their intelligence and ability to critique art. Instead of having a more typical reaction, like thinking, "Ah, yes, you are only expressing your frustration with the school system's unreasonable expectations. As a fellow sufferer, I shall express my solidarity, and henceforth we shall share a sensible chuckle," and then chuckling sensibly, they telegraphed their offence to a slur on Art itself and wrote an essay. Of course, it is Capitalism's fault.

Now, Capitalism is most definitely tearing up the school system and inflicting lasting trauma on everyone involved and hurting Art. There is a lot of meat to be had on this bone. I would've left money in the collection plate for an engaging essay on that!

What I got was: "Art exists for you to tear it to pieces and squeeze every last instance of poetic meaning out of it, like you're hucking an orange into a juicer, and if you don't do that, you're dumb. Capitalism has made you dumb, because your dumbness is more profitable. I, on the other hand, huck Art into the juicer that is my brain, as one should, because I'm smart. The curtains are never blue. Fight the Power."

And right away, I thought: Oh, Mrs. Hillburn, I know this is how you enjoy Art. I know you really love it. You full-body crashed into a filing cabinet while explaining the Canterbury Tales to us, so I know you really do love "close reading" and want to share your joy. You're allowed to do that! God love you! But sometimes the curtains are blue.

And that wouldn't be a problem - except your job is to judge everyone on their ability, not only to interpret the curtains as something other than blue, but also to cough up a "valid" interpretation. And your judgment will affect whether they can get a job that pays them enough money to live. Now, you are free to do that. When I write things, I give them to the world! But, I'm not doing that to help you sort the children into an appropriate pay grade by demanding that they enjoy my work in the same way you do. Why would I do that? That makes no fucking sense.

I am saying this as someone writing a long-ass story that has a lot to do with objects being a certain colour and numbers adding up to a certain sum. That's there for you if you want it! Pink things are safe, orange things are hazardous, yellow means despair, and green-and-orange together is something unpleasant, because Erik doesn't like carrots and the whole world revolves around him. (Don't tell him, he'll be very upset. The world is terrible.) Do I need you to get that in order to understand my work and be "smart"? Fuck no. It's an Easter Egg. Also, it amuses me. Sometimes you need to know the number or the colour for your immersion, so I generate one in a way that has meaning for me.

There is shit in that story that I know you'll never get, because I based it off shit I wrote as a teenager that you'll never read. (It was terrible. I fixed it. I think.) This is my own personal "Glass Onion" (the song, not so much the movie). I am not obliged to imbue everything with a meaning for you to find. I'm not secretly trying to tell you Paul is dead! I'm just a human being with a sense of humour who gets bored - and sloppy and confused too.

So maybe the curtains are blue because I'm cribbing the setting off this motel room I stayed at one time and the curtains were blue. Maybe I'm saying "Hi" to my dog. Or the Blue's Clues dog. Maybe, god help us, there were actual blue curtains at the time and place I set my story and you'd see them if you found a photo. But I'm not gonna tell you if it doesn't matter. And it's not your job to make it matter if you don't get it. You can still pick up what I'm laying down. And, dammit, if you spend too much time wrapped up in the curtains, you might miss the rest of it.

There seems to be some idea that Art is hard and artists (at least #Real_Artists) must be something more than human to do it. Oh. My. God. Literally! You created this thing? Everything is there because you put it there? Everything that exists here is a thought-child you birthed from your brain like Athena? With intent? I enjoy it so much! It feels so real! How do you DO that? And, for fuck's sake, it's the same way you make a yummy sandwich or pick out a ripe melon or trim the cat's nails without getting a wound that needs stitches. You decide you want to, and you keep at it until you get good at it. You don't need to ask permission or pay a fee. The world is a classroom. Go learn. Keep trying until you figure out a way that works for you, or you decide you'd rather learn something else - and then go learn that instead.

The pedestal is very flattering, but nobody belongs up here. The very idea of a pedestal is preventing people from picking up a tool and making a thing. Can you, a mere mortal, really create a new reality from scratch, where everything is intentional and full of meaning? FUCK no! Nobody can do that! Sometimes I am lovingly imbuing every facet of my creation with meaning, and sometimes I go, "I need something there. Huh. That looks good." This is where platypuses come from! And I love them! If you don't love a platypus, WTF is wrong with you?

See??

Look, Creationism has no place in our schools. Natural selection is a thing. If I'm drawing on a real experience that involved blue or blue curtains, you may get some blue curtains. That is a real thing that happens all the time. It's not fair to torpedo someone's earning potential because, wherever you're coming from, blue makes you feel sad. You shouldn't be in a position to do that, that is not a job that needs doing.

*sigh* And, I will let you in on a dirty little secret. Sometimes I drop a stitch when I'm working, and I notice it later, and I realize I can hook that thing and make something look really cool and intentional. But it wasn't. It's there because I needed something there and it looked good. Ah, but as I've been writing, I've generated a reason for it to be there, and I now I have an opportunity to grab that sucker. I have picked up some amazing dropped stitches. I'm thinking of one in particular, a long series of dropped stitches, and when I was able to pick them all up in one swoop, I pretty much leapt up and screamed, "THE UNIVERSE IS A HOLOGRAM! I LIVE IN THE MATRIX! SOMEBODY PUT THIS HERE AND I KNOW IT WASN'T ME!" (I haven't published it yet, it's gonna be a while.) Be that as it may, you live in the Matrix with me, and the Architect might leave something like that for you too. It's not 'cos I'm doing it on purpose.

If everything must have a purpose and you're not allowed to enjoy the work unless you find every last one like it's Wally/Waldo, you may find that you've lost some of the gestalt, and the virtuosity, and the feeling. That's what started happening to me when I went to college to "learn about literature." There was value in that. Comp. Lit. was fantastic! But, they are trying to sort you into an appropriate pay grade (mine is "Institutionalized and/or Housewife") , and they must judge something. The amount of Waldos you've found is quantifiable! And so, the academic need to huck Art into a juicer also has a basis in Capitalism. Man, that shit gets everywhere.

If you love it, like Mrs. Hillburn, go for it. We see you, and we leave things for you to find, like the dev team hides gag gifts in Dracula's castle for the completionists. But if it sucks all the life out of the work and makes it a joyless slog, like it did for me - stop. Please. Or go rip up some other artist's work that's already been sacrificed for the purpose and analyzed to death. It's almost impossible to read The Great Gatsby for its own sake anymore. Even if you're out of school, you're still gonna remember finding the Waldos and tick all the boxes every time. I hope like hell going into the Public Domain can fix that.

I will finish with a tortured metaphor, because that's what I do. That's fun for me. Let's say I'm God. (Because I am. Did I say "simile"? Right. I'm God and your prayers are keeping Me up at night. Cut that out.) I've made this frog*!

I made him because I love making things - and because I love making things, I made a lot of things, and I think I'm pretty good at that. But it's no fun for Me if I don't get to share him with someone who can love him just as much as I do - for whatever reasons of their own. Adam! Look! Look at the frog I made!

Yes, Adam, you can play with him however you like! Isn't it neat how everything about him fits together? See his little toesies? If you rub his tummy, his little legs kick. Ha. Uh, you might be stressing him out a little, there, Adam. But that's okay! I made him for you to LOVE and...

Adam, what are you doing with the scissors?

Ah. Well, yes. Yes. The insides of things are very interesting. Yes, everything about him fits together. Yes, if you hook him up to a battery, his little legs kick. Ah, but he's dead. You do know that you've killed him, right? OK. Well, look, if you really want to understand how frogs work that badly, I don't mind if you cut one up...

Or two...

ADAM, THAT IS NOT WHAT FROGS ARE FOR! I want them to LIVE, I...

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. No, if that's how you want to play with the frogs, I guess...

ADAM. WHY ARE YOU CREATING AN INSTITUTION THAT TEACHES ALL YOUR CHILDREN THAT'S WHAT FROGS ARE FOR?

What? No! Don't... Don't PUNISH them for refusing to cut up the frogs, WTF is WRONG with you? No, no, of course they must engage with the frogs to understand them - I DO want all of you to understand them! Please don't ever think I don't! - but there's a LIMIT to... No, of course I still love you, but you don't have to...

If you do that to every frog you see, there will not be any more frogs, are you hearing me? I WILL STOP MAKING THEM OUT OF SPITE.

*sigh* No. Of course I won't actually stop making frogs, but... Can we at least come to an understanding that sometimes the curtains are blue?

*I know it's a toad. I needed a Public Domain image of a frog cupped lovingly in human hands, and the best image on the first page happened to involve a toad. Paul lives (as of this writing), and the platypus exists because I thought it looked cool. Now put down the onion and go analyze something else.

[rjalker]

This is not what I was expecting from a story called Peoole Soup but I am not disappointed.

Is this part of a series, or just spontaneous absurdity?

Those are definitely their daemons, lol.

People Soup By Alan Arkin (public domain)

Bonnie came home from school and found her brother in the kitchen, doing something important at the sink. She knew it was important because he was making a mess and talking to himself. The sink drain was loaded down with open soda bottles, a sack of flour, corn meal, dog biscuits, molasses, Bromo-Seltzer, a tin of sardines and a box of soap chips. The floor was covered with drippings and every cupboard in the kitchen was open. At the moment, Bonnie's brother was putting all his energy into shaking a plastic juicer that was half-filled with an ominous-looking, frothy mixture.

Bonnie waited for a moment, keeping well out of range, and then said, "Hi, Bob."

"Lo," he answered, without looking up.

"Where's Mom?"

"Shopping."

Bonnie inched a little closer. "What are you doing, Bob?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"Can I watch?"

"No."

Bonnie took this as a cue to advance two cautious steps. She knew from experience how close she could approach her brother when he was being creative and still maintain a peaceful neutrality. Bob slopped a cupful of ketchup into the juicer, added a can of powdered mustard, a drop of milk, six aspirin and a piece of chewing gum, being careful to spill a part of each package used.

Bonnie moved in a bit closer. "Are you making another experiment?" she asked.

"Who wants to know?" Bob answered, in his mad-scientist voice, as he swaggered over to the refrigerator and took out an egg, some old bacon fat, a capsuled vitamin pill, yesterday's Jello and a bottle of clam juice.

"Me wants to know," said Bonnie, picking up an apple that had rolled out of the refrigerator and fallen on the floor.

"Why should I tell you?"

"I have a quarter."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Mom gave it to me."

"If you give it to me, I'll tell you what I'm doing."

"It's not worth it."

"I'll let you be my assistant, too."

"Still not worth it."

"For ten cents?"

"Okay, ten cents."

She counted out the money to her brother and put on an apron. "What should I do now, Bob?"

"Get the salt," Bob instructed.

He poured sardine oil from the can into the juicer, being very careful not to let the sardines fall in. When he had squeezed the last drop of oil out of the can, he ate all the sardines and tossed the can into the sink.

Bonnie went after the salt and, when she lifted out the box, she found a package containing two chocolate graham crackers.

"Mom has a new hiding place, Bob," she announced.

Bob looked up. "Where is it?"

"Behind the salt."

"What did you find there?"

"Two chocolate grahams."

Bobby held out his hand, accepted one of the crackers without thanks and proceeded to crumble the whole thing into his concoction, not even stopping to lick the chocolate off his hands.

Bonnie frowned in disbelief. She had never seen such self-sacrifice. The act made her aware, for the first time, of the immense significance of the experiment.

She dropped her quarrel completely and walked over to the sink to get a good look at what was being done. All she saw in the sink was a wadded, wet Corn Flake box, the empty sardine tin and spillings from the juicer, which by this time was beginning to take on a distinctive and unpleasant odor. Bob gave Bonnie the job of adding seven pinches of salt and some cocoa to the concoction.

"What's it going to be, Bob?" she asked, blending the cocoa on her hands into her yellow corduroy skirt.

"Stuff," Bob answered, unbending a little.

"Government stuff?"

"Nope."

"Spaceship stuff?"

"Nope."

"Medicine?"

"Nope."

"I give up."

"It's animal serum," Bob said, sliced his thumb on the sardine can, glanced unemotionally at the cut, ignored it.

"What's animal serum, Bob?"

"It's certain properties without which the universe in eternity regards for human beings."

"Oh," Bonnie said. She took off her apron and sat down at the other end of the kitchen. The smell from the juicer was beginning to reach her stomach.

Bobby combed the kitchen for something else to throw into his concoction and came up with some oregano and liquid garlic.

"I guess this is about it," he said.

He poured the garlic and oregano into his juicer, put the lid on, shook it furiously for a minute and then emptied the contents into a deep pot.

"What are you doing now, Bob?" Bonnie asked.

"You have to cook it for seven minutes."

Bobby lit the stove, put a cover on the pot, set the timer for ten minutes and left the room. Bonnie tagged after him and the two of them got involved in a rough game of basketball in the living room.

"BING!" said the timer.

Bob dropped the basketball on Bonnie's head and ran back into the kitchen.

"It's all done," he said, and took the cover off the pot. Only his dedication to his work kept him from showing the discomfort he felt with the smell that the pot gave forth.

"Fyew!" said Bonnie. "What do we do with it now? Throw it out?"

"No, stupid. We have to stir it till it cools and then drink it."

"Drink it?" Bonnie wrinkled her nose. "How come we have to drink it?"

Bobby said, "Because that's what you do with experiments, stupid."

"But, Bob, it smells like garbage."

"Medicine smells worse and it makes you healthy," Bob said, while stirring the pot with an old wooden spoon.

Bonnie held her nose, stood on tiptoe and looked in at the cooking solution. "Will this make us healthy?"

"Maybe." Bob kept stirring.

"What will it do?"

"You'll see." Bob took two clean dish towels, draped them around the pot and carried it over to the formica kitchen table. In the process, he managed to dip both towels in the mixture and burn his already sliced thumb. One plastic handle of the pot was still smoldering, from being too near the fire, but none of these things seemed to have the slightest effect on him. He put the pot down in the middle of the table and stared at it, chin in hand.

Bonnie plopped down opposite him, put her chin in her hands and asked, "We have to drink that stuff?"

"Yup."

"Who has to drink it first?" Bob made no sign of having heard. "I thought so," said Bonnie. Still no comment. "What if it kills me?"

Bobby spoke by raising his whole head and keeping his jaw stationary in his hands. "How can it hurt you? There's nothing but pure food in there."

Bonnie also sat and stared. "How much of that stuff do I have to drink?"

"Just a little bit. Stick one finger in it and lick it off."

Bonnie pointed a cautious finger at the tarry-looking brew and slowly immersed it, until it barely covered the nail. "Is that enough?"

"Plenty," said Bob in a judicious tone.

Bonnie took her finger out of the pot and stared at it for a moment. "What if I get sick?"

"You can't get sick. There's aspirin and vitamins in it, too."

Bonnie sighed and wrinkled her nose. "Well, here goes," she said. She licked off a little bit.

Bob watched her with his television version of a scientific look. "How do you feel?" he inquired.

Bonnie answered, "It's not so bad, once it goes down. You can taste the chocolate graham cracker." Bonnie was really enjoying the attention. "Hey," she said, "I'm starting to get a funny feeling in my—" and, before she could finish the sentence, there was a loud pop.

Bob's face registered extreme disappointment.

She sat quite still for a moment and then said, "What happened?"

"You've turned into a chicken."

The little bird lifted its wings and looked down at itself. "How come I'm a chicken, Bob?" it said, cocking its head to one side and staring at him with its left eye.

"Ah, nuts," he explained. "I expected you to be more of a pigeon thing." Bob mulled over the ingredients of his stew to see what went wrong.

The chicken hopped around the chair on one leg, flapped its wings experimentally and found itself on the kitchen table. It walked to the far corner and peered into a small mirror that hung on the side of the sink cabinet.

"I'm a pretty ugly chicken, boy," it said.

It inspected itself with its other eye and, finding no improvement, walked back to Bobby.

"I don't like to be a chicken, Bob," it said.

"Why not? What does it feel like?"

"It feels skinny and I can't see so good."

"How else does it feel?"

"That's all how it feels. Make me stop being it."

"First tell me better what it's like."

"I told you already. Make me stop being it."

"What are you afraid of? Why don't you see what it's like first, before you change back? This is a valuable experience."

The chicken tried to put its hands on its hips, but could find neither hips nor hands. "You better change me back, boy," it said, and gave Bob the left-eye glare.

"Will you stop being stupid and just see what it's like first?" Bob was finding it difficult to understand her lack of curiosity.

"Wait till Mom sees what an ugly mess I am, boy. Will you ever get it!" Bonnie was trying very hard to see Bob with both eyes at once, which was impossible.

"You're a sissy, Bonnie. You ruined the opportunity of a lifetime. I'm disgusted with you." Bob dipped his forefinger in the serum and held it toward the chicken. It pecked what it could from the finger and tilted its head back.

In an instant, the chicken was gone and Bonnie was back. She climbed down from the table, wiped her eyes and said, "It's a good thing you fixed me, boy. Would you ever have got it."

"Ah, you're nothing but a sissy," Bob said, and licked off a whole fingerful of his formula. "If I change into a horse, I won't let you ride me, and if I change into a leopard, I'll bite your head off." Once again, the loud pop was heard.

Bonnie stood up, wide-eyed. "Oh, Bob," she said, "you're beautiful!"

"What am I?" Bob asked.

"You're a bee-yoo-tee-full St. Bernard, Bob! Let's go show Melissa and Chuck."

"A St. Bernard?" The animal looked disgusted. "I don't want to be no dog. I want to be a leopard."

"But you're beautiful, Bob! Go look in the mirror."

"Naah." The dog paddled over to the table.

"What are you going to do, Bob?"

"I'm going to try it again."

The dog put its front paws on the table, knocked over the serum and lapped up some as it dripped on the floor. Pop went the serum, taking effect. Bobby remained on all fours and kept on lapping. Pop went the serum again.

"What am I now?" he asked.

"You're still a St. Bernard," said Bonnie.

"The devil with it then," said the dog. "Let's forget all about it."

The dog took one last lap of serum. Pop! Bobby got up from the floor and dejectedly started out the back door. Bonnie skipped after him.

"What'll we do now, Bob?" she asked.

"We'll go down to Thrifty's and get some ice cream."

They walked down the hill silently, Bobby brooding over not having been a leopard and Bonnie wishing he had stayed a St. Bernard. As they approached the main street of the small town, Bonnie turned to her brother.

"You want to make some more of that stuff tomorrow?"

"Not the same stuff," said Bob.

"What'll we make instead?"

"I ain't decided yet."

"You want to make an atomic bomb?"

"Maybe."

"Can we do it in the juicer?"

"Sure," Bob said, "only we'll have to get a couple of onions."

[cervicrazed]

I don't know if *you* have reblogged the duo ask game yet but if so bambi and her dad hog please 🐽 🎤

Can't wait to be evil once more 😈

How This Game Works: The following questions will be answered as if the characters are being interviewed about their opinions on each other

She's technically got 2 dads but I'll assume you meant Wilton (it's the juicer option since their relationship is a little rockier)

Additional clarification: Bambi refers to Wilton as 'Dad' & Walt as 'Jekat' (Jek in their natural forms are genderless ; there isn't really a distinction between 'mom' and 'dad' so Jekat refers to both 'and it helps me keep track of who's who)

Father-Daughter interview below:

😇 - What is their best trait?

Wilton: "Her self confidence. Definitely got that from Walt."

Bambi: "He's kinder than what most people think, if the rumors about my family are anything to go by."

😈 - What is their worst trait?

Wilton: "Too brash for her own good. Everything is like a fight to her; not every problem can be solved with biting! None should be!"

Bambi: "He's a total control freak! I'm still not allowed to go into town without him! Says he's worried I'll 'get lost in the feelings of the crowd' - yeah right. He just doesn't want me having any fun outside of home."

⚖️ - Are they a good person?

Wilton: "Of course! No matter what, I believe she'll stay that way."

Bambi: "I thought so; but I keep hearing these weird rumors from people I don't even know. I'm not sure if they're real but I really, really hope they're not. Dad won't talk to me about it either way."

👁️ - Do you really know them?

Wilton: "Yes..? Well..no, it hasn't felt like it. She feels so much more distant from me nowadays. Sometimes I worry one day she'll just... disappear."

Bambi: "No, but not for lack of trying! He refuses to tell me anything. I even tried asking Jekat and all I got were impossible riddles. It's always 'when you're older' but how old do I have to be?"

👥 - Who are they to you?

Wilton: "The brightest light in my life! My little Sprout..."

Bambi: "He's my dad, who else would he be?"

❤️ - Who are you to them?

Wilton: "Her father!"

Bambi: "A fragile little baby probably. That's how he treats me."

🐺 - What animal do they remind you of?

Wilton: "A bobcat. She hunts just like 'em."

Bambi: "I told him once that he reminded me of an elk and he really didn't like that so....I guess a beaver? Y'know, cus' of all the wood carving?"

😘 - Are they your type? Do you know who their love interest is? What do you think about them?

Wilton: "I think so..? The mermaid girl, right? She seems...nice...."

Bambi: "Anybody with eyes knows it's Jekat and I love him! He's a lot more fun than Dad is."

😨 - What's their greatest fear?

Wilton: "I know she hates being home all the time, she's not shy about saying it. Probably scared of missing out on something big, but I don't think she's ready to see what the world is really like."

Bambi: "I know what it is, I caught a whiff of it from one of his nightmares; He's afraid of losing us - me and Jekat. Knowing that doesn't make being stuck here any easier though."

🧠 - What's your best memory with them? Worst?

(Best) Wilton: "Our best memory... I'd say the first time she walked into my workshed. She was so small and so curious - asking about all the different tools, the best wood to use, how it all got put together...we spent half the day on whittling alone. I still have the totem she made on my desk, but she hates that I kept it. I don't know why, it's great quality for a first try!"

(Worst) Wilton: "I didn't have any real bad memories with Bambi until recently. It's always an argument about the same thing - that she feels trapped, smothered, that I'm 'stealing her life away' and 'forcing her to be alone'. In the heat of the moment I said some things I...I really shouldn't have. She hasn't looked at me the same since. I don't know how to fix it."

(Best) Bambi: "My best memory with dad? Easy. It was about three summers ago, when the leaves were starting to turn. Jekat had convinced him to spar with me for the first time ever. I didn't expect him to be so quick, especially cus' he's so old, but he was real tough to beat! I didn't even think he knew how to fight, but he beat me every time, no matter what angle I struck at. I've been wanting a rematch but he keeps sayin' no."

(Worst) Bambi: "Woof...the worst would definitely be my first experience with nightmares. Jekat told me they were delicious but also dangerous; I wasn't supposed to enter one alone, but of course I did it anyway. The smell was so strong it woke me up, so I followed it all the way to Dad's bed and....I don't know. It was...It was bad. Let's just leave it at that."

👣 - How long have you known each other?

Wilton: "Since she was just a sprout! Makes me feel old, watching her grow up so fast."

Bambi: "My entire life, basically. Feels like it goes without saying."

🫂 - How has your relationship changed recently?

Wilton: "She's....well, she's a teenager. Things have been a little tense between us lately, but I hope she knows I still love her."

Bambi: "It hasn't really, that's what's so frustrating. He still treats me like I'm a waddling toddler and I'm not allowed to do anything on my own! I sneak out at night when I can, but I think he's starting to catch on."

🫡 - Are they a good leader?

Wilton: "I can see the makings of one in her, she's just a bit too eager for violence. It worries me sometimes."

Bambi: "Maybe if he was teaching a woodworking class? I have a hard time imagining him leading anyone really, he's wayy too soft spoken."

[kasbaa-blog]

Buy Lemon ka khatta meetha achar from Kasbaa

Khatta Ka Ashari (Lemon Ka Khatta Meetha Achar) is one of the most popular and widely consumed foods in India. It is made of lemon ka khatta meetha achar and is available on Kasbaa. It is usually made from the fresh juice of the freshly squeezed lemon but you can also make it using the dry juice from lemon fruits. You can also make the khata using spices and fruit paste like raita, dasheesh etc. It is a delicious, freshly prepared dish that is popular across the country. If you love to enjoy a sweet and sour taste of lemon at the same time, then this dish is for you! And if you are looking to enjoy a rich, creamy taste of lemon ka khatta meetha achar, then you should definitely try it once!

 There are many different ways to make nimbu ka khatta meetha achar but here I will be telling you how you can make it in the most easy and traditional way! To make this dish you will need the following ingredients: Lemon ka khatta meetha achar or fresh lemon juice Olive oil Salt for garnishing This dish is very simple to make and it can be cooked very quickly. It will take you only a few minutes to prepare it and make this dish for the whole family. If you have a lemon tree in your garden then you can use the fresh fruit from it and make this dish yourself! If you have some fresh lemons at home then you can use it and make this dish in no time! To make the dish you will need to peel the lemons first and then you will need to squeeze the juice out of them using a squeezer or by using your hand. 

Then you will need to mix it with the oil in a saucepan and heat it on medium heat until it gets hot. Once it is hot you will need to add some salt and stir it to mix well. Then you will need to add the lemon ka khatta meetha achar and stir it continuously until it turns thick and runs clear when you add water. Finally you will need to take it off the heat and garnish it with some salt. Then you can serve it to your family and enjoy the fresh and delicious taste of this delicious dish! If you don't have a lemon tree at home then you can use the juice from the juice dispenser and also make this dish easily. You can also make this dish using some leftover lemons you have in your fridge and then add some water to it and make it again. There are several different ways to make this dish and the easiest way to make it is to use the juicer to make the nimbu ka khatta meetha achar. In case you don't have a juicer then you can also use a blender to make this dish. To make it, you will need to add the oil, nimbu ka khatta meetha achar, and salt into the blender

[powerliftingandpilates]

let’s go.

started cryo slimming to get rid of that spot that never goes away.  learned I’m 150 @ 5′7″ with 33% body fat. that literally makes me sick to think about.  so my next appointment (which will be less money and hopefully with better people) is in 2 weeks just like you’re supposed to do. we’re gonna finish my abdomen before moving on to my thighs.  so things i can control includes exercise and diet. this anti inflammatory diet has been much easier to follow than expected. i feel much less guilt around food lately which is pleasantly surprising.  but i definitely don’t feel like i’m doing enough exercise wise. which is not surprising. and then i’m worried about the whole hormones thing but maybe that’s just like. stupid. like if i feel like going hard tomorrow i probably should!  it’s like i completely forgot all the things i once knew. i need to get my heart rate up. that’s why this pilates isn’t doing anything for me. so i need to do her cardio and hiit classes. heart rate. so walking too.  i have 2 gyms nearby i’m going to try. if those don’t work i have my plan here. i can always return to nerd fitness too.  i’m just trying to be steady and consistent until spring. once spring comes i’m doing a 3 day juice cleanse. might be worth it to actually buy a juicer. or i could just make my own smoothies.  then i can reassess and see what else i need to do.  then before we leave for the boat i will do keto for the last 2 weeks, and either juice cleanse either at the beginning or end of that. 

i need to get back to being someone who moves every day. i would get overwhelmed because i would get caught up in that perfectionism of trying to be the most but i think like that a little less now. so i don’t have to worry about being the most flexible or having great hair (because i don’t right now). so i just need to burn calories and eat clean food. i think i’m good on that. i just need to move more. work be damned. and it’s getting warmer so we can start going on walks at the end of the night again. and i’m drinking way less. i have so much time. i’m going to be fine. i’m going to transform before my own eyes. 

[8973188]

Which is the Top rated juicer mixer?

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With all these features it makes the Fito Zapp 3.0 The Top rated juicer mixer. I would definitely rate The Fito Zapp 3.0 5 out of 5

[diary-of-an-onliner]

lifelines [g.w.]

hi! first fic, pls be nice!

word count: 2300

warnings: none

After Gryffindor turned the tides at the last second, winning the second most important game of the season after a massive setback in the first hour, the celebrations raged harder than ever. Since Hufflepuff had beaten Slytherin to the ground two days ago, the path towards the Cup was clear. Angelina was sitting on the couch, having passed the point of looking pleased long ago, and now seemed almost frazzled by the result. People came up to her periodically, clapping her shoulder or topping off her drink, directing the buzzing energy of the common room straight into her.

Truly, the atmosphere was phenomenal, the stolen food and drinks from the kitchens juicer and a little more spiked than usual. Or maybe it was the sunlight still streaming through the windows as strongly as ever despite the past gloomy week. Whatever it was that made the day so electrically happy for everyone, it showed no signs of stopping.

This type of unrestrained feeling you always imagined started from the back of your head as s little star-like scribble that cast a net over you and spread the intensity throughout. This week it was stronger than it has been in a while.

You felt electric in the stands as you yelled for your team, an invisible line ripping the words from your throat before you even knew you were saying them. You felt elated as your housemates put their hands around you in delight, screaming themselves sore when they announced the winner. And you were feeling the happiness in your hair now, in every single strand from root to end as it swayed along with the bottle in your hand.

This was happy. This was joyful. This was utterly buttery in your chest and electric in the air.

You idly looked around the red and orange common room, which burned with excitement, deciding how to best spend this time before it runs out on Umbridge's watch and she ruins it.

No. No wasting thoughts on her today. She sucked enough life out of you and your housemates this year, she won't be doing it off the clock too.

Your eyes settled on possibly one of the strongest sources of this warmth - George Weasley, sitting on the arm of the couch next to his brother. The window behind him silhouetted him in gold perfectly, like the sun offered him to you. It accented how attractive he was, even if he burned a little at the top.

You've connected eyes before, talked before, even bantered. One wittier than the other every odd day, you toed the line between acquaintances and friends perfectly. Seeing as he's very popular, catching him in-between conversations was a matter of luck.

You imagined a line going from the center of your chest to his as you approached him. He pensively looked to the side, observing some goings-on on the far end of the room as you interrupted him.

"That was a good game. You got some very nice shots in," you said.

He turned to you with a mild close-mouthed 'hm', a look, and then a grin.

"You sure it was me?" he cocked his eyebrow and look at Fred on the couch next to Angelina, bumping knees with her and accepting congratulations in both of their names.

"You wear different numbers, genius. I know how to count this time."

"And you have my number memorized," he said, his voice glad.

"That would've been a great line if you were a Muggle."

"Pity, I already chose a magical career." he took a sip of his butterbeer and eyed you up, "Maybe I should start using my magical lines on you. Would those work better?" his eyes widened and his tone turned innocent at the end.

"I think I know too much anti-jinxes for that."

He pursed his lips in amusement. "Alright. What would work on you then?"

"Oh, I find responsibility and appropriacy really hot." you shot back, twirling a piece of your happy, charged up hair.

"Contradiction too," he said, "since you're still here."

"I find contradiction a natural state of the human soul, thus if I wasn't contradicting myself, I wouldn't fully be here."

"Hm. Brainy." he chuckled.

"Judgy. If you need me to simplify you can just say so."

"I think I can handle your smart mouth just fine."

"Then why am I winning?"

"I didn't realize this was a competition."

"Rookie mistake." you shook your head dramatically.

"I'm pretty sure it's a rookier mistake to assume you're winning. Who's the judge?"

"My innate inner sense of whether I'm winning or not."

"If it's inside you, then how would one file a complaint concerning an unfair ruling?"

"They wouldn't. It's a noble and just system that decided I'm in the lead. You just need to accept the truth."

"Don't make me come in there," he said, smirking good-naturedly.

"In where?" you shot back.

"In you." his smirk held on for a second before he seemed to realize what he said and his face scrunched up in apologetic laughter.

Your mind slipped into the gutter the way new yorkers fall into sinkholes filled with rats - hilariously fast.

Albeit greatly amused, he started to correct himself, "I didn't mean-"

"No, of course not." you licked your lips, "I understood you the first time " Was karma going to bite you in the ass for that lie? Who knows, but you might even be into that. Everything seems possible when the sun is shining. So he shone.

He grinned with his happy mouth and you once again noted how the light from the window behind him silhouetted him in the golden lining that made him look like a cutout glued onto the scene of this funny collage. His hair was aflame and his face was darker from the shadows but just as loudly burning with laughter.

This was happy.

You drew the word in your mind, line by line. H, a smooth move from the bottom, a decorative loop, then a parallel stroke, and a transversal. A, a circle with a tail, sharp move upward, and an even sharper drop for the backbone of p. P's tummy? Bulge? Nope, your mind shouldn't slip there in the middle of Binns’ class, no matter how boring he was. Another p, as George's knee bumped into yours. He was moved from "Mr. Wester, Phillip." for being disruptive, so he engaged in an under-the-table kind of disruption with his new tablemate.

You smiled. A long diagonal line, and another shorter one that cut into it. Y.

Happy.

You were, truly, right now. It sounded upside down to be happy though, both overall and when stuck in a soul-suckingly draining class, but you were.

George read over your shoulder, then audaciously engaged in over-the-table elbow-bumping-disruption and a cocked eyebrow. You straightened up, feeling a warm line unfold from the back of your head to the core of your brain, through the center of your chest, and straight to your stomach. Your happy line.

I'm happy, you mouthed.

Really? He mouthed back sarcastically yet good-naturedly. I can definitely see why. His eyes darted toward the professor. I say go for it, he's a catch. You might even be his type.

You burst out laughing, then immediately bit your lip. A few students, including Philip, looked at you as you shook with laughter, but professor Binns carried on.

George, on the other hand, shrugged with his shit-eating grin, pretending he has no idea why you were laughing, thus letting everyone know why you were laughing.

You scribbled, I don't know. What if it goes badly. I'd hate to be ghosted.

George raised his eyebrows at the Muggle slang you explained before. His hand slipped next to yours on the table and you felt your happy line thrum in approval. His hand was warm as he gently pressed it to yours, slowly took your quill, and scribbled back: Need someone more physical, huh? And I thought you were the romantic type.

Strong words for someone who never bought me dinner, you replied.

Mhm, as soon as I find a good line get you to agree to it.

Keep writing like that and I'll start thinking you fancy me.

Keep your mind in the gutter and I'll start thinking you don't fancy me back. He accented that line with a wink and an overdramatic lip bite.

You pouted sarcastically at him. Of course not, I only want you for your knobby knees.

He chuckled, reminded of the short line of warmth that connected your knees under the table. He pressed his into yours a little stronger, then pulled away.

That's a funny way of flirting. I'd know, I'm an expert at funny.

Self-proclaimed.

Untrue.

And I'm not flirting. If I was, you'd know it.

Would you? your breath hitched. For reasons you very well knew but refused to sound out to yourself, this short sentence drove the air around you two from joking to serious at breakneck speed.

Know if you were flirting with me? your happy line felt jumbled up in your stomach. He smiled at you.

Would you know if you were flirting with me?

The following week was arduous.

Gryffindors had a record amount of detentions, and Snape tore into them any and every chance he could. Even McGonagall was one edge, meaning lousy or missed homework was a death sentence. You forgot how to read from tiredness, submitting essays patchworked of other people's thoughts without ever having any information pass through your head. Everything was dull, gray, and dragged out.

Despite that, outside the castle the sky was blue and sunlight streamed through the soft clouds and a sweet breeze would blow around aimlessly. It was both comforting and a little mocking. The sky should be as exhausted and as beaten down as you. Good to know stress made you compare yourself to a literal sky. But maybe that's a little cruel. Nevertheless, it sounded like nature itself was turning its nose up at you, saying you're selfish for wanting grey skies, she doesn't care, she's above puny human affairs. The world turns and you have to turn with it or stop, then spend the rest of the time catching up.

You haven't stopped yet, but by all that is holy, you wanted to sleep. As the sun finally descended on a Friday after dinner, you finished your essays in hope that the next week might be kinder if you do everything quickly. The common room was dark, most of the light coming from the fire in the fireplace. It was also oddly empty for nine-thirty in the evening. Apparently, everyone had the same week as you.

Your almost finished essay laid on the table as you dozed, swinging your legs back and forth over the edge of your armchair.

The creak of the portrait opening caught your attention, and George Weasley walked in a second later, rubbing his sore hand and cussing.

Truly everyone had a shitty week.

"Love?" you said teasingly.

He looked up at you with a tired grin.

"It's late."

"Not really. You okay?"

"Nothing I can't handle, love." he sighed, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"Can I see?" you crossed the room to stand in front of him. Again, the firelight licked at the lines of his face, clear and sharp. He had circles under his eyes and a heavily nibbled lip.

"It's nothing." still, George raised his hand. "Love." he added, distantly. He seemed to be staring right above your head. You looked at the middle line of his lips again. You imagined him biting it.

Was it him that bit it? That one hurt. You hoped it was him.

You took his hand in your and rubbed circles into his knuckles. His eye winced.

"I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault."

"What happened?" he closed his eyes.

"Two ickle firsties almost brought the wrath of Umbridge into themselves with some dungbombs. You know how it goes," he said, a corner of his lip tugging upwards. Your chest expanded looking at him being satisfied with himself. As he should be.

"How... responsible of you," you said.

His eyes snapped downwards to yours.

"Keep looking at me like that and I might also start being appropriate too, darling."

You stepped closer, your happy line thrumming against your chest like a quivering violin string.

"What if being responsible is enough?"

"Enough for what?" he breathed out before you pressed yourself against him.

At first, that's was it was - a press of two warm lips. Then he started to move slowly, almost gentlemanly. How appropriate.

As he touched you, you felt the daze of last week lift. The little star scribble on the back of your head lit up, pulsing with brightness rather than fogging your thought. This was clear, you felt his every stroke that made up his face and chest and hands. The scribble of happiness extended itself into a web, overtaking your brain - you could feel it and you wondered if he saw it too when he looked at you. You pulled away and lifted your head to check. Probably not, but his eyes were glassy and he gave you a dopey smile. He was glad you were there. You pressed your lips against his again. You were glad he was there too.

The web continued down your neck, arms and chest, into your legs until your toes buzzed with light coursing through you. You were more awake than you have been in a long time.

Your hands were the brightest of all, and as you touched his hands, connecting them fingertip to fingertip, things made sense. The web buzzed and his breath was warm against yours, hands pulsing with energy as your every lifeline connected into his.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In the Neighbourhood

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, very lightly edited

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After your grandmother breaks her hip, you volunteer to look after her as she recovers but her neighbour is a bit too friendly.

Note: @lokislastlove​ thinks I won’t call her out anymore but I’m calling her out and you should too. Always blame her.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your grandmother’s house never changed. Nestled between two larger homes and with grass as green as the next, it was as perfect as any along the suburban sprawl. Inside, the same framed pictures of your mother and your aunt and uncle, those of you, your siblings, and your cousins, and family members you only saw at reunions. All of them far away. All of them keeping her company only in the still images. None of them coming to care for her; none but you.

You didn’t mind so much. With two degrees under your belt, you were ready to start your novel as you pondered a third. Your online transcription job was easy enough to travel with and you loved your grandmother. The least you could do was help her out in her recovery. A broken hip but otherwise okay. She couldn’t do much from her wheelchair and you feared a worse injury if she tried.

You moved in on a Sunday. The family next door, the Barbers, were the perfect picture of a suburban clan. Andy introduced himself and his wife, Laurie, and their quiet son, Jacob. Then they asked if your grandmother, Lucille, was coming to their barbecue that afternoon and invited you along with her. Your grandmother confirmed that she didn’t want to miss out on Laurie’s potato salad because she’d tripped on a rug.

So you wheeled her over, careful as the grass slowed the chair, and you angled her through the open gate. You seemed to be the last to arrive. The air smelled of searing beef and swirled with the buzz of voices. You stood behind your grandmother’s chair as you looked around nervously and a plump woman with short curly white hair approached.

“Darla!” You grandmother greeted. “You’re back from your little getaway.”

“Arn was keen to come home,” The woman smiled up at you and back to your grandmother. “I heard you had a bit of an incident.”

“Oh, still spry, but the damn doctor has me ‘takin’ it easy’,” You grandma sneered. “I’ll be up at it before long. This is my granddaughter, you remember her, don’t you?”

“I do,” Darla smiled though you barely remembered her. “So sweet of you to come down to look after our Lucille.”

“It’s nothing,” You said. “I owe her. I spent too many holidays on campus.”

“That you did,” Your grandmother chided. “But do go on and socialise, dear. There must be someone here your own age. Or closer to. You can’t be lettin’ yourself get caught up with us old biddies.”

“I’m fine,” You chuckled. “Really.”

“You go. Get something to drink.” You grandmother snapped her fingers. “Mingle!”

You huffed but left her with Darla and another woman, you were certain her name was Betty, passed you on her way to join them. You looked around. The wives were in their clusters and the men drank from brown bottles as they laughed and talked about sports. You didn’t know about children or baseball. 

You went to the end of the table, just by the barbecue, a cooler open and waited as a young boy claimed a can of Orange Crush. You reached inside and took out a grape soda. The lid of the barbecue closed and you turned to face its master; Andy smiled as you blinked at him.

“That’s the kid’s cooler,” He said. “There’s a mini fridge in the garage if you want something stronger.”

“I’m good with this,” You cracked the can. 

“I thought you were a college girl,” He said as he set down his long spatula.

“Graduated.” You assured him. “Never was big on the scene though.”

“Really?” He lifted a brow. “I kinda miss it.” He stepped around the barbecue, closer to you. “It was a while ago now but it was fun. You know,” He put his hands on his hips as he looked across the yard. “I was in a frat with Carson over there,” He nodded to skinny man holding a bottle of water amid the sea of brown glass. “We got in quite a bit of trouble. Maybe I wrote a few of my exams drunk but didn’t do much harm.”

“Oh yeah?” You said dully. “What do you do now?”

“Law. Assistant district attorney.” He preened. “But don’t worry, I can still have fun.”

He winked and you squinted at him. He was an old man trying to relate to a youth. There was what, ten, fifteen years between you? Wasn’t that much, really, and yet it was.

“Legal fun,” You suggested.

“Well, the immoral isn’t always illegal,” He mused. “So… Miss Graduate, you have a job lined up?”

“I work online for now but I’m writing, too.” You shrugged. “Nothing fancy but it’ll do for the time being. Until my grandma’s better.”

“That’s a nice thing you’re doing,” He said. “You know, not a lot of people I know my age would drop everything to go care for family.”

“Least I can do,” You sipped from the can. “She always did make the best lemon meringue. It has its perks.”

He chuckled and backed up as he grabbed the spatula again and opened the barbecue.

“Offer stands,” He called over the smoke. “Beer’s in the garage.”

“Thanks,” You smiled and slowly walked away. This was like that party you’d spent hiding on the porch; awkward as hell.

🏡

The first two weeks passed swiftly. You woke up, made breakfast for your grandmother, her usual oatmeal and tea, then you spent a few hours working online, then lunch, an hour of writing, a walk through the neighbourhood, some alone time, dinner, and then some nightly crime dramas with your grandmother. Each day was identical to the last and you felt the vaunted slog of suburban life.

It was Saturday. You needed to get out. Your grandmother even encouraged it. A few hours at the bar, drinking, dancing, you returned with a guy, Gabe, you met there, hushing him as you snuck him in the front door. 

The house was dark as you climbed the stairs carefully and ushered Gabe into your bedroom. You closed the door and grabbed him as you stumbled to the bed. It was messy, hurried, and desperate. Entirely regrettable as you laid staring out the window at the sky after. You didn’t have time to ask him to leave before he started snoring.

You slept for a few hours and woke as the sun began to rise. You poked the stranger you knew as Gabe until he woke up and you threw his clothes at him before you dressed. You peeked into the hall and waved him out behind you. You led him down the stairs and to the front door. He left you with some empty nicety and you hid your wince. It wasn’t your first one night stand but it was definitely the worst.

“Fun night?” You turned as Andy descended the steps of his porch and opened his car door.

“You work on Sundays?” You grumbled. You hoped he hadn’t seen your regret walking away.

“Not usually but I got some hours to make up.” He dropped his briefcase in the back seat and closed the door. “I know that guy. Pretty sure he’s still on probation for the molly he was dealing at the mechanics.”

“Ugh, no.” You covered your face. “You saw?”

“I got a bit curious as I was finishing my coffee.” He pointed to the window with lacy curtains. “Great view just above the sink.”

“So you’re one of those neighbours?” You crossed your arms.

“I seem nosy but really I’m just looking out for you.” He opened the driver’s side door and planted his hand on the roof of the car. “Look, you don’t know the people around here. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, I won’t be seeing him again.” You retreated to the door and stopped there. “Boring, to say the least.”

“Heh,” Andy scoffed. “Really?”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” You rolled your eyes and stepped inside, closing the door with a snap. You went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. “Hey, grandma,” You called as you began to climb. “You ready to get up?”

🏡

At the end of the next week, you took your grandmother to her check up. Her recovery was on track but she had a long way to go. The doctor was optimistic that at her next appointment, she’d be ready to use her walker more often.

As you helped her out of the car and got her settled in her chair, you ignored the roar of the mower in the next yard. You’d seen Andy as you drove up. He was pushing the machine back and forth across his already perfectly manicured yard; shirtless. As you turned to push your grandmother up the walk, you couldn’t help but notice that he was in great shape for his age. For any age, really.

“Hey,” He yelled over the motor and shut it down. “How’s it going, ladies?”

“Andy,” Your grandmother chimed. “Great! Doc says I’m doing well.”

“Mmhmm,” You mumbled, still slightly embarrassed over your last interaction with the man.

“Well, seeing as I’m already out here and you already had such a busy day, I could do your lawn while I’m at it?” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and you quickly tore your eyes away from his chest. 

“Oh, you’re too sweet,” Your grandma giggled. “It’s so hot out here.”

“I don’t mind,” He insisted. “Laurie’s gone to see her parents with Jacob so I’m just trying to keep myself busy.”

“Twist my arm, why don’t ya?” Your grandmother shook her hand. “Fine! Sweetie,” She reached back and tapped your hand. “Let’s go make some lemonade for this young man so he doesn’t overheat.”

Andy smiled and you nodded at him awkwardly. You wheeled your grandmother up the newly installed ramp and inside. She ordered you to the kitchen and directed you to the lemons hidden in the crisper.

“The juicer is just under there.” She pointed to the cupboard, “And you’ll want to add some sugar.”

“I know how to make lemonade, grandma,” You said as you pulled out the pitcher.

“That Andy’s a nice man,” She said. “So helpful… handsome too. It’s too bad you’re so young… and he’s so married.”

“Stop,” You warned. “You said the same thing about your doctor.”

“Yes, but he’s a doctor. He’s rich.” She snickered. “And not married, just not into your type.”

“Grandma,” You snipped. “Really.”

“I don’t know how your mother ended up with you.” She said. “She was such a little troublemaker.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard,” You said as you washed the lemon juice from your hands and added water and sugar to the pitcher. “I think her stories were more a warning.”

“Too smart for your own good,” She tutted as you mixed the lemonade.

You went to the cupboard and grabbed some ice cubes from the freezer as you set a glass on the counter. You poured the lemonade and gave her a sour look. 

“You think you can look after yourself for a few minutes?” You asked dryly.

“Girlie, I was taking care of you while you were in diapers,” She narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, how the tables have turned.”

“I don’t wear diapers,” She hissed as you neared the door. “Yet.”

You went out the front door as Andy pushed the mower across the yard just along the walkway. He stopped and looked over at you. He shut down the motor again and neared you as you came down the steps to hold out the glass. He thanked you and took a big gulp before he handed it back.

“You know, I didn’t mean anything,” He said. “The other day. Sometimes… I say stuff without thinking.”

“It’s… whatever.” You shrugged and set the glass on the rail of the porch. “No hard feelings.”

“I just got a hot tub. Just gotta hook it up and it’s ready to go.” He said. “You should stop by later. Get a soak in.”

“No, I don’t think so.” You stood at the top of the steps. “I don’t wanna leave grandma all alone. She wants to watch Casablanca tonight. I promised we would.”

“Maybe another night.” He offered. “You work so hard. You deserve a break.”

“Maybe,” You said evasively as you turned and crossed the porch. You glanced back as you opened the door and he was still looking at you.

“Lemonade’s good.” He smiled. “Thanks.”

🏡

You finished lunch and left your grandmother to her puzzle at the dining room table. You went upstairs to change the shirt you’d spilled mustard down; it was all you could smell. You tore off your shirt and tossed it on the bed. You rounded the bed to the dresser that sat just below the window and opened the draw. Movement caught your eye and you looked up across the space between yards.

Andy’s eyes met yours through the windows. You’d never realised they were adjacent, let alone so easy to see through. He wore a towel around his waist, freshly showered and his gaze strayed for just a moment. You blanched and pulled out a shirt and covered yourself with it. He smirked and tilted his head. Then he winked and a shiver went through you.

You grabbed the curtain and closed it so forcefully you nearly bent the rod. You backed away and put the shirt on properly. Surely, he was being funny. A tense, awkward moment. What else could he do but make a joke? Well, it wasn’t a very good one.

🏡

You stayed inside for the better part of a week. Aside from your walks with your grandmother and a trip to the grocery store, you kept your curtains closed, and hid yourself away. Maybe you’d built it up in your mind but you were just set off-kilter by the wordless interaction. Since, you felt as though you’d been walking a tightrope, too afraid to look down.

But that night, your grandmother wanted to sit outside. It was warm and the nights were shorter; later. You wheeled her out, a book on her lap, and as you made to skirt back inside, he appeared. Andy had impeccable timing. It made you wonder if he was watching you; if he had been for much longer than you knew. Well, now you were just being paranoid.

“Hey,” He stood at the edge of the yard. “Beautiful night.”

“Sure is,” You grandma replied. “I’ve got a new book and I’m ready to enjoy the breeze.”

“Oh, a new book? What’s it about?” He asked as he neared tentatively.

“Another scary one.” She cracked the cover. “Or so I hear. Skinwalkers taking over a whole city.”

“Ah, spooky,” He commented and looked at you. “And you?”

“Writing. Inside.” You said evenly.

“I figured since it was so nice, I was finally gonna try out my new Jacuzzi,” He said. “I just… I did promise you a soak so I thought maybe--”

“Eh, I don’t know.” You neared the door. “I really should try to get some writing done.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Your grandmother intoned. “You’ve been on that computer all day. You should go, relax.”

“Really, I--”

“Laurie might join us. She’s inside doing some work.” He piped up. “She wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Go on! I’m getting sick of ya anyway,” Your grandmother snorted. “You could stand to loosen up.”

“Grandma,” You huffed.

“Go get changed,” She ordered and smiled at Andy. “She’ll be over shortly.”

You blinked and tried to hide your irritation. You went inside before Andy could notice and you stormed upstairs. You weren’t even sure you’d packed a suit. You searched through the dresser. The curtains were still drawn tight. You found your old pink bikini with the white flowers. Really? It had to be that one?

You changed, reluctantly. It couldn’t have covered less of you. You found a tee shirt and pulled it over. You descended the stairs again and stepped out on the porch.

“Thanks for that, grandma.” You scowled.

“I can see why you were never popular,” She laughed. “Go. Have fun. This old lady can handle herself.”

You stomped down the steps beside the ramp and stopped at the border of the yards. You sighed and went to the gate, it was open in expectation of you. You heard the whir of jets before you entered. Andy was just beside the hot tub, testing the temperature with his hand as you stood across from him. He looked up and gave a crooked smirk.

“Andy,” The back door opened and Laurie appeared. “Oh, hey.” She smiled at you before turning back to her husband. “I’m gonna pass. Gina’s not going to make it in tomorrow so looks like I’ll be up all night.”

“Damn, that’s too bad,” Andy said. “More tub for us I guess.”

“Yes, love you too,” She said dryly. “You enjoy yourself. And don’t leave that thing on all night.”

“Yes, honey,” He said before she shut the door. “Love you.”

You swallowed. Your mouth was dry. Maybe you had been a bit presumptuous. Andy climbed into the jacuzzi and lowered himself into the warm water with a sigh. You hesitated to get closer but you did. He watched you, expectantly. You grabbed the edge and tried to will yourself in.

“You’re wearing that?” He nodded to your tee.

“Yeah,” You lifted your leg over the side.

“You don’t gotta be shy,” He grinned.

You paused and frowned at him.

“I’m joking,” He said. “The other day. That was… funny. Bad timing.”

“Mhmm,” You drew your other leg over and carefully sat.

“You met any more cute guys?” He asked suddenly. You squinted.

“What?” 

“Not much to do around here, you know? Pretty boring.”

“No. I don’t--” You sputtered. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea. Once my grandma’s better, I’ll be going.”

“Still, it’s lonely.” He said softly. 

“What do you care?” You asked, harsher than intended. 

He was quiet. He leaned back and looked over at the house then back to you. He exhaled and spread his arms over the edge.

“So… that toy you hide in your night table? You always use it or you ever just… feel yourself?”

Your heart sank. You felt as if you would choke on air. Had you imagined his words?

“What did you just--”

“Took you long enough to catch on,” He said. “Got a good view of you when I can’t sleep but… not anymore. Too bad.”

“Andy,” You stood and the water splashed around you. “You-- You’re-- Laurie, she--”

“I haven’t fucked her in months. This is what she does.” He sat forward and caught your hand. “She works. All the time. I try and she… just doesn’t want to.”

“Let me go.” You struggled with him. “You’re disgusting. You’re married!”

“Me? Fucking awful some young girl strolls into town and tries to seduce a married man? What would grandma think? And Laurie? She’s not one to sit back and be humiliated.” He tugged on you. “I have a reputation around here. You’re just a stranger, and apparently one, who fucks strangers.”

“What are you talking about?” You nearly slipped as he spun you back to him. “You’ve been watching me and--”

“I’m just a neighbour looking out for you,” He pulled even harder and your feet slid across the bottom of the jacuzzi, forcing you to catch yourself on him. “Like I do all my neighbours. They would confirm as much.”

“Get--” You grabbed his arm as it snaked around you. “Andy! Laurie--”

“Doesn’t give a fuck and if she came out, well, she’d only realise what’s she’s pushed me to.” 

You wriggled as he held you to him. He drew your leg over his so that you straddled his lap. You pushed on his chest and grunted.

“You keep it up and everyone will hear. Even sweet old nana.” He snarled. “I saw you looking at me that day… when you brought me lemonade.”

“No, no,” You rasped.

“I’m old, not that old,” He purred. “As you can obviously see.”

“Let me go. Please.” You begged. He was too strong and your arms only ached from pushing against him. “Andy--”

“Shhh,” He grabbed your chin with his wet hand and pulled you close until your lips almost met his. “In this town, rumours travel. It might be old news that you left a bar with that dumb kid but now, it’s evidence.” His hand slipped down your neck and squeezed. “Such a bad girl.”

“No one would--”

“They have no reason not to believe me,” He rolled up your wet shirt with his other hand. “Annie across the street, she likes gossip. She’s seen you flirting with me, at least that’s how she told it to Laurie but you know, my wife just laughs it off. And now she’s no doubt seen you come into my backyard in just this.” He pulled your shirt higher. “And her mind is going wild.”

“I can’t--”

“How long did he last? A minute? Less?” He snarled and his other hand slipped down to draw your shirt up. You kept your arms down as you tried to resist. “Bet you could wait to use your little toy.”

“Stop,” You pleaded.

“Get your arms up.” His voice was deep and dangerous. “And stop your whining.”

You stopped and stared at him. His blue eyes burned into yours and sent a shiver through you. His fingertips pinched your hips as they crawled under your shirt and he pushed it higher.

“You don’t shut up and someone will hear, sweetie,” He warned. “Up.”

He tugged until you raised your arms. A wave of bile rose in your chest and you let him peel away your wet shirt and reveal the skimpy bikini beneath. He dropped the cotton over the side of the tub and his hands grazed the triangles of your top.

“Cute,” He hummed. “You hiding this from me?”

You were quiet, sickened. With him, with yourself. You knew you couldn’t fight, wouldn’t. You remembered the barbecue and how you’d been the odd one out. Recalled how Andy had talked to almost every person there. Everyone loved him and no one knew you.

“Mmm mm mm,” His fingertips walked around your neck and he picked at the knot behind your neck. The straps loosened and he let your top fall and expose your chest. 

He bent to bury his face against you and nibbled along your tits. You looked, startled, to the back door. It was still shut. A light glow from a bedroom above and the distant beat of music escaped through the slightly opened bedroom window. Another light died on the first floor and was replaced by a second on the top floor, reflecting against yours on the other side. 

You quivered as Andy took a nipple in his mouth and sucked. You felt it in your core as his hand cupped your other tit. He reached beneath you and played with the edge of your bottom. He drew you back as he leaned against the side of the tub and lifted his pelvis, and you with him. He tugged on his shorts and sat back down.

You felt hollow and a cloud of panic filled your stomach. You struggled against you and he bit you. You squeaked as his teeth threatened to break the skin and stilled. He parted and looked up at you.

“Be a good girl,” He felt beneath you and began to stroke himself.

“Please--”

“Shhh,” He turned his hand and hooked his fingers in your bottoms, pulling them aside. “It’s okay, sweetie.” He rubbed his tip against your folds. “It’ll be good.” He drew you to him and angled you over his dick. “Better than ever before.”

He forced you down and your lips formed an o as he entered you. You latched onto his shoulders without thinking and he pushed you to his limit. His lips and teeth returned to your chest as he once more began to toy with you. You quivered as he began to rock your hips.

The water swished around you, swirling and slapping against your skin. You held your breath as you tried not to cry out. You hissed as you dug your nails into his shoulders and let him guide you. Despite yourself, despite everything, it felt good. It felt wonderful. He was right and you were weak.

“You like that?” He nuzzled your throat. “Is this what you think of at night, huh?”

You bit your lip as he kneaded your hips and kept your moving.

“I think of it all the time,” He muttered. “All the time. Maybe…” His breath caught and he groaned. “Maybe I could offer to take you grocery shopping, hmm? We could have some fun in the car…”

“Andy…” You whimpered. “No, we can’t-- not again…”

You grasped his wrists and tried to push yourself off of him. A semblance of sanity returned to you as you looked him in the face. His eyes were dilated and dusky. He was entranced; incorrigible. You struggled as he held you down.

“This is wrong--”

He shoved you off him as his lip curled. You stumbled back and caught yourself on the other side of the tub. The water splashed as he stood behind you and grabbed your arm. He turned you over and pushed you over the siding, a jet blowing against your pelvis.

“Doesn’t feel wrong to me.” He growled.

He held you down with a large hand between your shoulders as he pushed your legs apart with his knee. He pressed against you and searched for your entrance, swiftly impaling you. You choked down a mewl as your hips crashed into the wall of the tub. He leaned his weight on you entirely as he rutted into you without relent. You were certain someone would hear the clapping of flesh or the stir of water all around.

“You’ll do what I want, when I want,” He sneered. “And from what I can tell, you’ll like it.”

“Andy--” Your voice fizzled as the pressure mixed with the steady stream of the jet as it hit your cunt. 

You held in a moan as you hung over the side of the tub, the blood pounding in your head as you panted wildly. You covered your mouth, afraid you would cry out as the coil inside you twisted and twisted. Your legs quaked as you orgasmed.

Andy’s hand gripped your hips and he pulled you back against him, again and again, using your body easily. You slid back and forth over the side and he bent over you, crushing you against the tub. He growled in your ear and his thrust jolted your body.

He pulled out suddenly, still looming over you as he stroked himself against your bikini and pressed his damp beard to your cheek as he shuddered. His hot cum spilled out onto the wet fabric and dripped down your thigh as he eased himself through his climax. He sighed and pushed himself from atop you, falling back into the water heavily.

You stayed as you were for a moment. Stunned. Shakily you stood and fixed your top and pulled your bottom straight. You couldn’t look at him. You climbed out of the tub and walked unsteadily across the grass.

“Ah, that was relaxing,” He said. “Come back anytime.”

You ignored him and continued onto the gate.

“Oh, and it’s supposed to be a cool night,” He called after you. “You should keep your window open.”

You slipped through and the gate creaked behind you and closed with a metallic click. You shivered as you kept to the side of your grandma’s house and entered through the back. You didn’t want anyone to see; you were certain they would know if they did.

[weirdfetishes123]

'Why is my Dick Blue' and other Pressing Questions - deviantart

Did your dom leave you with a blue stain that just won’t go away? Are you now waddling around even after hours in the juicing room? Are you now a giant blue ball that hasn’t seen the sun in months and wondering what a cute technician is doing putting this pamphlet in your face? If you answered yes to the first two questions there’s no need to worry, and if you answered yes to the last question, congratulations! You can still read! In this short guide you will find all the answers to your questions on becoming a Permaberry!

There are five levels of Permaberry. They are, in order of severity: Stained, Bloated, City, Chameleon, and Barrel. The first two are the most common and tend to happen on accident. These can occur when a caretaker waits too long to juice his berry, or they can be a planned result in order to “mark” a sub. Depending on the severity they may be able to leave the Studio, or they may be required to stay. City Permaberries are the rarest of the five. These men swell up randomly once a month or even just once a year. This used to require them to stay at the Studio, but now they can lead a normal life with some new lifestyle changes. Chameleon and Barrel Permaberries are only found at Studio 71 or at its other properties. While both are available to everyone, they carry a heavy cost in one way or another. Whichever way you choose to go, know that each Permaberry is only as permanent as you choose to be.

1) Stained.

What it is: This is the most common Permaberry. It is caused when a caretaker waits too long to juice their berry. The time frame, however, varies from person to person. Some have been juiced only after a couple of hours after swelling and have blue stains on their body, while others can wait up to a week to be juiced and come out completely clear.

What to look for: I hoped this would be self explanatory, but in case you didn’t catch on you’re looking for one (1) blue stain on you or your fuck boy’s body. The most common area to look is the groin, ass, and belly. Other places this may appear are the feet, chest, nose, or hands, although these are less common.

How it’s cured:

Well this may be hard for the affected party, but in order to get rid of the stain the affected has to remain celibate for up week at a time. This will allow the residual juices to be concentrated in the semen and make the stain disappear within a week or two. A chastity can be used here to great effect, and in fact this is usually why doms choose to make their subs Stained in the first place. If you didn’t go this route because you’re just an eighteen year old college freshman freaking out because this is the closest thing you have to ever gotten to an STI don’t worry. Even if you orgasm three times a day the stain always goes away on its own, but that would take months rather than weeks. There are no long term effects so calm down you gushy bottom.

2) Bloated

What it is: This is what happens when you leave your berry swollen for over a week. The juice becomes slightly congealed and pools in one part of the body. They may be completely blue, or just the swollen body part may be colored. In either case it’s gonna take a while to get rid of it. This is the second most common Permaberry and they almost always have to stay at the studio

What to look for: You’re looking for stained skin and large parts of the body that slosh when you touch them, other then the ones you’ve paid to see. It normally pools in the ass and belly, but it can also cause the genitals, face, and feet to swell as well. Here's the thing, if you or your date are still blue and sloshing after a 2 hour juicing session that was supposed to be 30 minutes that's a good sign that they or you are now Bloated.

How it’s cured: Buckle-up bucker-roo because you’re in for the long haul. It could take up to a month to get the swelling down. See the thing about a Bloated Berry’s juice is that is more like Jello than fruit juice. It's very stubborn, but it can be diluted with a lot water. And I mean a lot of water. Think ten gallons a day. Basically if you always feel you’re about to piss yourself that means it's working. Now that it is somewhat fluid it can be coaxed out with some basic yoga poses. Studio 71 does offer some classes that are filled with bloated berries so you’ll never be short of company. Don’t worry, the classrooms have plenty of drains on the floor. Everyone after a month or so makes a full recovery, but some lucky bastards get to keep a berry’s legendary flexibility.

3) City

What it is: Are you busy man on the go? Need a vacation? Do you feel so stressed you can just burst? Do you have a strange masochistic desire to make your God Awful existence an oddly sexual nightmare? Then you might, might, become a City Berry. This is the rarest of all the Permaberries and it only affects a baker's dozen around the globe. They have earned their name due to the fact that all of them came from major metropolitan areas before the Studio and continue to reside there. They lead average lives and being a Permaberry doesn’t affect their professional or private life at all. However, about once a month, their stomach starts to gurgle, turn blue and they start to grow. Once that happens they have about an hour to rush home to their Juicing Kit or risk being stuck as a blue ball in public.

What to look for: City Berries look just like anyone else really. There is no way to really separate them from the crowd. However in private, if you’re comfortable with violating their privacy you can look for their juicer, but this isn’t recommend as there is only 14 or so people in the whole world have them. Anyway if they were a City Berry they probably wouldn’t date someone who’s rummaging through their closest like a cracked out raccoon. Come to think of it that is just the response you should expect for everyone who has a working brain stem. Anyway at full size they aren’t any different from the berries at Studio 71. Their juice is slightly more potent however, and while a regular Studio berry might make you shade or so paler, a City Berries juice will definitely turn you blue. In the off chance you find yourself in this situation juice yourself as soon as you can to avoid becoming Stained.

How it’s cured: As of now there is no cure. Some City Berries have had this condition for years, but it hasn’t affected their life terribly. If you do find yourself in this situation you have no need to be nervous or scared.

4) Chameleon

What it is: This is it. The most Exclusive Berry drink at Studio 71. One shot can make you a berry indefinitely, but that's not all. One shot of Studio Elite gives you full control of you transformation. Do you want to be buff? Round? Blueberry? Cherry? A mix of all four? Go for it Champ! A Chameleon can change what shape and color they are at will. It is the ultimate experience of berry inflation, and most are willing to work at the studio for a year just to pay the $10,000 price tag for one shot. As it is nearly all of the staff at Studio 71 are Chameleon’s and are paying back their debt. However there are some lucky sons of bitches who win a monthly drawing to get it for free.

What to look for: Honestly anything. They could be short, tall, skinny, fat, and any color of the rainbow. Just assume that everyone who works at the Studio is one and you’re good to go. Observant guests can even spy one changing from one fruit to another if the pay attention.

How it’s cured: Asking a Chameleon if they want to be cured is like asking a lottery winner if they want to work at McDonald’s. Most don’t want it to end, but if it must there is a drinkable cure which remove the effects. What follows is a standard juicing practice and they are back to normal. As of now there has only been a couple who willingly ended to move on with their life, but more have had the privilege removed for punitive reasons.

5) Barrel

What it is: This is it. The Ride or Die Berry. The drink that turns you into a Barrel is only $20, but the price is in reality much steeper. Like the Chameleon Berry this one comes with its own separate contract. If buy this drink you have to remain in the studio for a minimum of six months. And no that can’t be negotiated down. If you drink the Barrel potion it will change your life forever, and maybe not for the best.

What to look for: You’re gonna look for a giant blue ball that has no idea where it is. That’s because barrels aren’t your run of the mill berry. Oh no, they are the closest to being permanent. See the human body isn’t exactly designed to carry two tons of fluid inside it, so the potion makes some changes. It actually weakens the skeleton in order to get the resources needed to form a cartilage sphere under the berries skin. This new flexible shell now carries the weight. This process removes most human characteristics from the berry’s skin. Their nipples, genitals, and body hair are all removed, in some cases even their hands and feet are absorbed into the body. What’s left is smooth, shiny surface that almost looks like latex. Once the juice passes the blood brain barrier it starts to effect the berry’s mind. First they lose all track of time. If you leave them alone in a room and come back an hour later they will think you only just left. Then comes amnesia. The won’t remember anything from their life before being a berry. Lastly the long term memory process shuts down. Now they believe their entire existence is what is going on around them, nothing more.

Due to the extremity of the treatment paying customers are limited to six months of this treatment. Rule breakers are another story. This is the fate of anyone who breaks Studio 71’s security or the privacy of the guests. They will be a barrel for at least a year, possible many more.

WARNING! All berries CAN and WILL become Barrels if they aren’t juiced in two weeks time! Remember to juice your Berry Boys before the two week mark or you will be forced to join them for their extended visit!

How it’s cured: One word: Juicing. Lots and lots of juicing. There is special machines made for it at Studio 71 that specialize in juicing as Barrels need a long slow juicing process. This ensures a gentle and painless process in which the cartilage sphere its dissolved by the action and the skeleton can reform. The entire process can take weeks, regardless of how long they were a Barrel. Out of all of the Permaberries only half return completely to normal. The rest have permanently stained skin and might even always carry juice in there bodies. The lest common side effects affect the brain. While 90% of all return to their normal selves, 5% gain significant intelligence, while the other 5% never fully recover from the ordeal. If you choose to go down this path think carefully. You may not come out the other end the same.

Well that's it berry boy. Feel better? No? Honestly that sounds like a “you” problem. Look there isn’t really a need to panic about a blue spot or a swollen gut, so sit down, shut up, and I hope you enjoy your stay at Studio 71. Stay Juicy!

[glowyjellyfish]

Turns out the Food Market screenshots didn’t disappear, they were saved in the general Storytelling folder and not the Neighborhood>Storytelling folder. Why? Who knows! My other community lot screenshots saved in the regular folder just fine! I got pretty frustrated with it, experiencing this plus a “crash for no reason during Change Appearance, and I really mean no reason I checked the CC the game just wanted to reload for half an hour” on two separate nights this week, but at least I figured that much out. I’m hoping that loading CAS before going into residential lots and changing appearance might make a difference, CAS might load everything better.

But the good news: I have pictures of the Food Market, the Baldwin home, and the Broke family!

Is there a good default for the community lot phone? Other than that, I like how you can see the aqueduct and the Church in the background!

Down here, we see another view on the meat stand, and there’s a cheese stand nearby.

The register table in the far corner, as well as a couple of benches, a pair of outhouses, and a jester stand to entertain the customers.

A couple of Vendor stalls--herbs and spices, and assorted fruits, crops, and foraged goods. I’m planning to reduce the number of vendors as the economy gets going and sims are able to supply their own grown products, but for now I just want to be sure they can buy the food they need.

And the far right, empty market stalls, intended for goods our grocers may purchase from other sims directly.

Whew! I’m so glad I found those. Although I had about a million shots of similar angles.

I’m pretty happy with the Baldwin home, although I do not consider it totally finished:

It’s a little bit similar to the Patel home in general layout, although with a strict theme and identical restrictions at the yeoman level that’s hard to avoid. I went with a darker wood tone on this lot, though, and wanted a striking contrast with white plaster.

The living room. I’m finding it really tough to figure out appropriate furniture for yeomen, which might be why I struggled to spend enough on the Patel home. I think this is satisfactory, though.

The kitchen, featuring the checkbook they’ll be using once they get the Hedge Tavern up and running. (I couldn’t find any guidelines on how much the hedge tavern is supposed to cost, so I will wing it. But they’ll have plenty with Carlos’ money, and send the rest to the church.)

Upstairs, in the common bedroom that’s for Carlos, Sofia, and Marcus when he ages up, and any future children once they’re out of toddlerhood.

The “private” bedroom, for a given value of private. This is for Isabel and Benjamin, and all babies and toddlers in the family.

Outside, a simple garden. They have radishes, leeks, cabbage, and carrots. Mostly I just wasn’t sure what to do with the outside, and figured it couldn’t hurt to have them try to sustain themselves. They will not be allowed to sell their produce, except maybe directly to a grocer. I... suspect I started them on too large a lot (it’s 2x3, and they don’t have a home business so it should probably be 2x2 instead), but it’s okay.

Because they own the hedge tavern, I gave them a few apple trees (and a juicer!) with the idea that it at least represents brewing their own cider. I may have made apples too common, but I don’t think sims care about supply and demand. Also pictured: the outhouse.

And a stash of extra kegs from the tavern. I’m planning to add more decor, mainly outside, if they have money left after constructing the tavern.

And at long last, the Broke family!

Brandi Broke, looking... fairly stunning if I say so myself. I wanted to keep her pink theme, and it worked out pretty well. She is going to want to secure herself a new husband as quickly as she can, but for now Dustin’s officially the man of the house.

Dustin Broke, mid-tantrum about being poor. Not coming off well regarding manliness, bud. It is unlikely he’ll be allowed to marry Angela--he’s a peasant, she’s a yeoman, and she’s first-born so prefers to marry up, but if they’re well suited for each other their parents might be willing to consider it.

And Beau Broke, with shaggy hair that may one day grow long, and a simple toddler shift outfit. I must say, I’m looking forward to remodeling the Broke house--eventually--as it’s already a pretty good shape for a peasant hovel. I just need to eliminate the foundation, make it only two rooms, and dress it up.

For a little more update, I have decided that the sensible thing to do with traits is start by passing them out to the sims who are obvious, (ie, make the Curious brother supernatural fans, make Cassandra a hopeless romantic, etc), and then randomize the rest, rather than try to research every sim’s personality or make wild guesses. I didn’t realize the randomizer is smart enough to take sims’ personalities and aspirations into account, so it should give good results.

...oh, and Loki is gonna be Evil. He might be the only premade sim that definitely qualifies for that.

I have seven more lots to build/remodel in Belladonna Cove, minimum, and 53 households to makeover before I can consider actually playing. Hooray?

[thornescratch]

🖊🌙 😐📝

What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

Late at night, more out of necessity than preference. It’s when I have the least amount of interruptions. Also, it’s a proven fact that the words flow best and hardest when you need to be sleeping or getting ready for bed. It’s just how it works in the universal scheme of things.

What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

When I realize that I’m projecting too much on a character or situation and making it obvious. Like, there are some tropes I don’t mind revisiting over and over, but I get twitchy when I realize, Oops, that’s my issue, not Character X’s, and it’s less realistic they’d feel that way. Or when I catch myself reusing a description or phrase too often. I need to stop limning people in gold; I do it way too often. Or focusing on sweat in weird places during sex scenes. Though, it’s my experience that you do always notice the sweat during sexytimes.

Sometimes it embarrasses me how appealing I find some really OOC or over the top trashy stuff, but everyone’s got their favorite woobie and tropes, so I’ve stopped feeling bad about that.

What is one growth area you have for your writing?

Pacing. I do outline, but for a couple of my stories that were written for exchanges, you can tell where I hit deadline and had to just get it done instead of having a few more scenes or length that might have improved it. (Or, conversely, I should have been more brutal and cut shit that I liked but which ultimately wasn’t necessary. But then again, it’s fanfic.)

Also, uh, just finishing shit. And feeling less silly about it. I don’t like posting WIPs because I like to finish them first, but then I get interested in something else or I think it’s not good enough to post, and it languishes on my hard drive for years.

Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Again, not sure what fandom you're from, so let's go back to hockey since I have it open right now.

"Hey, hi, so like, O and Backy turned into chickens, it's not my fault," Willy said, standing on his front step with a large cardboard box in his arms.

"It's his fault," Burky said from somewhere behind Willy.

"Totally Whip fault," someone else—Kuzy? said, also from behind Willy, who took up a lot of space on a normal basis and even more so when he was apparently hauling boxes around. One arm poked out from behind him and waved wildly, and then there was an unmistakable giggle, so it was definitely Kuzy. "Batya, let us in."

"Fuck you, it's not!" Willy said, and then hoisted the cardboard box up slightly. The box peeped at Brooks loudly, and he jerked back in surprise. "Here, let us in, lemme just explain," Willy added, and then Brooks had three—no, four, no, five, Djoos and Orlov were apparently quietly lurking at the back of the pack as well—teammates stampeding into his house like they were trying to outrun the cloud of youthful indiscretion that Brooks could just fucking see hanging over them.

"Curse my slow door-slamming skills," he said to his now-empty front step, and then closed the door and took a deep breath in order to prepare for whatever the hell was going on.

Most of them were all in his kitchen. Willy had put the box down on the kitchen table and he and Burky were in his pantry; Kuzy was looking in his fridge; he didn't see Djoos; and Snarls, bless his heart, was the only one being polite and standing near one of the chairs, clearly waiting for permission to sit down. Brooks made a mental note to tell Ovi about it, since Ovi believed in positive reinforcement when it came to nurturing the kids, and would probably buy Dima a new car or something.

The box on the table was still peeping. Before Brooks could deal with that, it was drowned out by an even louder noise, which was apparently directly related to Kuzy pawing through his vegetable crisper drawer.

"Batya! It's terrible!" Kuzy said, leaning out of the fridge and brandishing an eggplant at him.

"All of his crackers are wholegrain stuff," Burky called out from the pantry, muffled. "He doesn't have any chips."

"He's got two bags of Skinny Pop, though," Willy added. "Original and White Cheddar."

"Everything so healthy," Kuzy said, making a face. "It's terrible but I guess also good. I know we make best choice to come here."

Brooks took the eggplant away from Kuzy and slapped it against his palm once with a pleasantly solid noise. It had some good heft. "The last person who isn't sitting down at the table quietly in the next fifteen seconds gets to explain to Barry why they have to go on LTIR because someone beat them senseless with an eggplant."

"Like, a real eggplant, or is this a dick joke," Willy said, leaning out of the pantry before his eyes went wide. "Oh."

Kuzy was already opening his mouth with that glint in his eye again, so Brooks pointed the eggplant at him. "Sit. Down. Where's Juicer?"

"I was using the bathroom, please don't hit me," Djoos said meekly, slipping back into the kitchen and sitting down immediately, hands folded on top of the table neatly like a good little d-man. Brooks made another mental note to let Nicky know. Nicky had his own nurturing system for the kids, though that usually ran along the lines of a series of slightly less murderous than usual glares that he used for those currently in his favor.

"Can we bring some Skinny Pop?" Burky asked. "Actually, can we bring both bags?"

"I mean, actually you wouldn't really need to explain so much—" Willy said, and then Burky wiggled past him out of the narrow pantry doors with a bag stowed under each arm, and dove for the table, yelling out, "Hit him, Batya, hit him!"

"Hey!" Willy said indignantly, rushing after him and almost knocking Kuzy over in the process.

There was a briefly chaotic interval like a particularly violent game of musical chairs, but it ended with everyone sitting down in a chair, even if Burky and Djoos were sharing one. Less sharing, maybe, than Burky getting physically dumped out of two chairs in quick succession by Willy and Dima, and then Burky climbing into Djoos's lap, planting himself there, and winding his arms around Djoos's neck despite Djoos's wide-eyed expression of panic, but Brooks decided he couldn't afford to be too particular about it, and Djoos was just going to have to learn to desensitize himself to Burky-induced boners and personal space issues.

The box was still peeping.

Brooks eyed all of them, trying to decide who he had the best chance of getting the story out of the quickest, and then decided that he might as well give up on that and picked Willy, since he had a distinctly guilty expression that was only slightly marred by how he was currently shoving a double handful of Brooks's Skinny Pop into his mouth. "Willy. Explain. And no one else talk until I say they can."

Willy swallowed and licked his lips. "Okay, so. Magic."

After a minute when nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Brooks cleared his throat. "That's it? That's all you got?"

Willy glanced around the table where all of his teammates were successfully avoiding his gaze (Kuzy and Dima were both pretending to read the nutritional info on the back of the popcorn bag; Burky was actually hiding his face against Djoos's neck; accordingly, Djoos's panic looked like it had ratcheted up by several degrees, and he was staring off into the middle distance with a muscle twitching in his cheek) and when it seemed obvious that no help was forthcoming, he shrugged. "Kinda?"

[gemwel]

How to Make Fruit Butter (or Fruit Sauce)

This example is made using Brown Turkish Figs, but you can substitute any fruit you have lots of (apples, pears, loquats, etc.)

First harvest your fruit. The more, the better as it will cook down. You can store in the fridge/cool cellar at this point if you need to pool several days of harvests before proceeding.

Next, wash your fruit as you will be processing it whole. A few drops of fruit & veggie wash in a bowl works well.

The advantage of the fruit wash is that you can easily drain & rinse fruit without needing to scrub it (for the most part). Then put fruit on a towel to dry. You want clean fruit for canning, so this is a necessary step.

For the next part, I like to use an electric corkscrew juicer, but you could also use a food mill or strainer. If you don't use an electric juicer, you may need to pre-cook your fruit to make it soft enough to process. You want to separate pulp & juice from seeds & fiber at this stage. Photography on left is the fig juice, and on right is the seeds & fiber.

You won't be doing anything more with seeds & fiber, so you can feed that to your pets (chickens love it) or compost it. Now take the "juice" (which should have lots of pulp) & put it in a big pot or slow cooker. You want several inches between liquid & the top of the pot. Now you can add sugar if you want (it makes a huge difference in texture of the final product). For figs, I add 1 cup sugar per 4 cups fig juice. Do not use artificial sweeteners (if you need to use artificial sweeteners, add just before consuming). For fruit sauce only, the sugar is optional. For fruit butter, the sugar gives a more spreadable final product.

Now you need to cook it until it reduces to a thick paste. This can take hours, so definitely do it in a slow cooker with the lid off if possible. Try to remember to stir it as much as possible (every few hours in slow cooker. Once it is thick enough for your spoon to stand upright, it is done. If you are making fruit sauce, you only need to cook to your desired final consistency. You may get a fruit "cake" if you leave it overnight with stirring in the slow cooker, but just stir it down & all will be well.

Now get your canner/giant pot of boiling water ready with jars. You need to boil clean mason jars to sterilize for the next step. Once you have your mason jars starting to boil, add acid to your fruit butter. For something that resembles fig newton filling, I used lemon juice. But any 5% acid liquid works here. You can use lemon juice, lime juice, apple cider vinegar, wine vinegar, balsamic vinegar, etc. I add 1/4 cup acid liquid per 4 cups juice, you can go up to 1/2 cup to add more flavor. Add the acid liquid, stir well, and add hot to hot, clean, sterile mason jars. Add lids & bands & can in boiling water for 15 minutes. Let cool for 24 hours, then store in a cool, dry place until needed.

If you omit the sugar, you will get fruit sauce unless you cook the butter for days to caramelize the natural sugars. Never omit the acid liquid or the fruit butter/sauce will not be safe to store long term & must be refrigerated and consumed right away.

The only fruit that I have tried that didn't work well was prickly pears, because it changed to a weird orange color & tasted almost minty after the slow cooker stage.

You can spread fruit butter on bread, use as a cake filling, or mix with plain yogurt to make fruit flavored yogurt. You can also make it savory by adding a small amount to cheese & crackers, using as a meat sauce, or mixing into barbeque sauce.

[strawnarrries]

can i make a request? love ur writting so much, and i've been thinking about Niall and y/n being interviewed, playing the 'never have i ever' game when they ask if they sometime had faked an orgasm and y/n struggles about what to answer, and the host notices and says 'oh-oh she's strongly doubting' and everyone in the forum (including Niall) goes like 'wow... whaaat?' an Niall is kind of upset/pissed because of it, till they finally talk about it and turns out it was'nt with him. love you honey.

this is such a cute idea i literally loved writing this thank you for requesting love! warning: mentions of sex obvi //

you and niall were both asked to be on ellen together and you both were super excited. the show itself was amazing. you and niall sat next to each other on the couch in front of a studio audience, talking and laughing with ellen. when she said that she wanted to play never have i ever with you two, butterflies erupted in your stomach. you’ve watched ellen’s show for years and have gotten to know ellen from the past couple times you’ve met her so you know how ellen is and you know she will do anything to get you to admit the craziest things on the internet. she can also see straight through people’s lies. you can’t anything past her so you were super nervous about playing this game. 

ellen handed you and niall a popsicle stick with laminated colored paper that had “i have” and “i have not” on either side. she explained the game to the audience a little bit before jumping right into it. she read the questions off of a stack of cards in her hands. the first couple questions were innocent and easy to answer but soon the questions got juicer. 

“okay next one, never have i ever faked an orgasm” ellen read off the card and your stomach dropped and you could feel your entire body heat up because you have faked an orgasm before. that’s not something you want the world know so you debated whether or not you should lie about it. niall immediately turned his stick to the “i have not” side and you hesitated turning yours to the “i have” but decided last minute to lie and say you havent. 

“oh oh oh, y/n no i see you’ - no i saw you debate which side to pick don’t lie” 

your face burnt bright red as she called you out and you just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out bc now the whole world knows you’ve faked an orgasm. 

“oh my gosh, ellen shut up” you giggled covering your face with hands, trying to brush it off and go along with the ‘joke’.

she continued to tease you and the whole time just felt like a blur bc of how embarrassed you were, “okay whatever, lets move on, next question please!” the audience and ellen giggled at your reaction, you were giggling too, but out of pure embarrassment. but ellen listened to your plea and the game continued.

once the show was over and you and niall were in your dressing room alone together, he decided to ask you about it, “so when were ya gonna tell me ya faked an orgasm?”

“i dunno it just never came up. its not something you just say out of nowhere” you replied, not really wanting to talk about it. 

“were ya just gonna hide it forever?”

“no, i-i don’t know, niall, I don’t wanna talk about it right now” you spat, getting upset about the whole situation bc you know youre gonna wake up to tabloids about this tomorrow morning.

“y/n no this is serious, we’re talking about this” his voice got stern and you rolled your eyes slightly

“why? its in the past i dont wanna think about it, its embarrassing” 

“embarrassing for you? how do you think it makes me feel?” he replied

“why does it matter? it literally has nothing to do with y- wait no, you think i faked it with you” you suddenly realized how bad this whole situation looked on niall and on you as a couple. you didnt even think twice that it 100% sounds like you faked it with niall 

“what?” he asked confused at your reaction 

“oh my gosh, no i made it look like i faked with you!” you began to freak out because now the whole world thinks you faked an orgasm with niall.

“you didnt?” he asked

“no baby no, it was with my ex a couple years ago! definitely not you, ive never ever faked it with you.” you explained walking up to him and taking his hands into yours. you could feel and see the relief wash over him 

“oh thank god, i was so scared i felt like an awful boyfriend” he sighed 

“no it wasn’t you, i will never ever fake it with you, i never have to fake it with you!” you kept reassuring him, feeling awful about the whole situation, “oh gosh and now the whole world thinks i faked it with you” 

“nah its okay” he hummed even tho deep down he was super nervous about that bc that looks so bad on him and its so embarrassing

“ill fix this okay, I promise, ill make sure everyone knows it was with my ex and not you” you spoke to him, secretly dreading the awkward note youll post later on your socials

“i love ya” he whispered, pulling you into his arms

“i love you too. im sorry about this whole thing” you hummed, sighing as his arms engulfed you and made you feel safe

“no need to be sorry hun, im just glad it was yer ex ya faked it with and not me” 

SEND IN BLURB REQUESTS

[milkmadeicecream]

Key Lime Pie Ice Cream

I knew I was doing my job right at MilkMade when I could make a recipe for a flavor of ice cream that I didn’t like, but I still knew it was good. That’s what Key Lime Pie was for me. Though not MY favorite flavor, it definitely was one of yours. It’s one of the most lauded Seasonal ‘Screams we had and the second most requested recipe. 

The secret to our key lime pie ice cream is simple: Steve’s Authentic Key Lime Pies. If you know, you know. Steve’s is a Brooklyn-based producer of truly authentic key lime pies. Steve and his wife Victoria run a small operation at the very end of Van Dyke street, right on the water in Red Hook, Brooklyn. In front of their bakery they have a small (smaller than MilkMade small) take-out counter where you’re transported to the Florida Keys the moment you walk through the door. The decor is as authentic as their pies, which they make using only fresh squeezed key limes they source from Mexico (where most key limes are grown now, but Steve is trying to put some key limes back in the Keys). Since 2011, when I first released this flavor for Members, we’ve partnered with Steve’s to source not only their amazing pies, but also their fresh squeezed juice. They made it easy for us. 

Steve’s is open for takeout and soon will resume it’s online shipping across the US. Because I’ve just relocated to California to be near family, I couldn't get my hands on a pie so I made this flavor without the mix-in (but the recipe for Steve’s Key Lime Pie is included below). 

Definitely use key limes if you can get your hands on them - they are less acidic, a bit sweeter, and more aromatic than regular limes. And DEFINITELY juice your own limes either way (as annoying as it is with the tiny key limes!). As Steve says, “no bottled mystery juice.”  Here we go:

Ingredients:  2 c cream 1 c milk 1 c sugar 4 egg yolks ⅛ tsp salt ¼ c lime juice 2 tsp lime zest

Instructions:  1. Cook ¼ c of the sugar, the lime juice and zest over medium heat. Bring to a boil, stirring until sugar has dissolved. Transfer to a bowl and allow to cool.

2. In a separate medium saucepan, heat milk, cream, remaining sugar (¾ c), and salt over medium heat, stirring regularly until sugar is dissolved. 

3. Separately, whisk together the egg yolks in a small bowl. Once the cream mixture begins to simmer, gradually pour some (like ¼ cup) of the mixture into the egg yolks, whisking the yolks constantly as you pour. Then scrape the warmed yolks back into the saucepan, whisking constantly.

4. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly and scraping the bottom until the custard thickens enough to coat the spatula or it reaches 160°F.

5. Pour the custard through a strainer into the bowl of lime simple syrup. Pour a little at a time and whisk thoroughly until incorporated. Place bowl over an ice bath and stir until cool. Refrigerate to chill thoroughly (8 hrs or preferably overnight). 

6. Whisk then strain the custard to remove lime zest. Push the zest with your spatula to remove any excess liquid. Freeze the base in your ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions. 

7. Scoop ice cream into a freezer-safe container, adding chunks of frozen key lime pie (about 5 pieces per pint). Place in freezer to set (about 4 hours).

Mix-in: Steve’s Authentic Key Lime Pie Courtesy of Steve Tarpin via Food Network

Ingredients:  Crust:  8 oz graham crackers, crushed 4 oz butter, melted

Filling:  1 c canned sweetened condensed milk, chilled 4 egg yolks*, cold ½ c key lime juice, cold

Instructions:  1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. 

2. To make the crust, combine the ingredients in a bowl and mix well for 2 minutes. Mold the mixture into a greased, 10-inch pie shell and bake for 8 minutes or until golden brown. Remove the crust from the oven and allow to cool. 

3. To make the filling, combine the milk and the egg yolks and mix well. Slowly add the key lime juice and mix just until incorporated. Do not overmix or the pie will not set-up in the refrigerator. Pour the mix into the pre-baked pie shell and refrigerate until set. 

4. For the ice cream mix-in, place pie in freezer for at least an hour until hardened. Remove from freezer and cut into 1” cubes. Place in freezer until ready to mix-into ice cream.

*Consumption of raw or undercooked eggs, shellfish and meat may increase the risk of foodborne illness.

Some notes (and pics) from Diana:  * With my very old school juicer, it took about 15 key limes to yield 1/4c of juice (I ended up hand-squeezing them, check out this juicer). It took just shy of 3 key limes to yield 2 tsp of zest. 

* To zest your key limes, you’ll want to use a very fine grater - a microplane is perfect. Make sure you do not zest too hard to get to the rind. You want just the lime skin, the green part. Example of the right (left) and wrong (right) way is below.

* Making ice cream with fruit can be difficult because there is so much variability with every piece of fruit. When I made this recipe at home, I tasted the base after combining the lime simple syrup with the custard. It didn’t taste quite there (and I knew it wouldn’t get there - I’ve tasted lots of key lime bases!). So I ended up adding whatever zest I had left from my three zested key limes (an additional ~1/2 tsp whisked right into the base). It worked out great though was very close to being too bitter (because of too much zest). With fruity flavors, I recommend tasting as you go and adjusting your recipe based on taste. Keep in mind the base should always taste a little too sweet and a little too strong in flavor. Once frozen, the sweetness and the flavor will not be as strong.