#if you voted for celery fuck you

[tabirimisu]

Celery CELERY? that’s the ingredient y’all feel deserves hate. More that tomato who has her place on some but is a texture nightmare in others, Not corn who languishes hard and floating amongst superior veggies, but celery who with her sisters carrot bell pepper garlic and onions build the base of all broth. She doesn’t demand attention or to be chewed like spinach she is FOUNDATIONAL and I feel sorry for y’all and your lack of taste.

because I feel like it

[hazzabeeforlou]

i had a question and i hope that it doesn’t sound rude. do you feel ashamed being in the fandom and being a shipper at 32? i ask because i am 27, and have been in the fandom since 2012, off and on. i haven’t rly been in it actively for the last two years or so, but when i want to come back, i feel embarrassed. i also don’t think i could handle the stress of it tbh! lol. i hope you are well <3

I was going to answer this yesterday but then remembered I had a 7 hour drive today and didn’t want to stay up later than I already was. Because I’m an adult, with (now one) previous multiple jobs, a pet, rent, vehicle, three post high school diplomas, and student loans, and there are many things in my life I get ashamed of, like when I answer “you too” when a cashier tells me thanks for shopping or when I let a whole bag of celery go bad in my fridge without ever cleaning or eating it. Shame? At my tax dollars funding death weapons and family members voting for strong men? Sure. Latent homophobic internalized shame from my upbringing? Yeah, sometimes.

But life is too fucking short to be embarrassed or hold shame about a FANDOM. Listen, I “ship” Johnlock, or Merthur, but Larry wasn’t a ship for me it was a discovery of queer joy. Like I’m so sorry but baby Larry was real. 100%, actually, seriously legit, like how else do you fucking explain any or all of that. We watched two boys fall in love with each other and okay we don’t know the devil or the details but we have how many albums and interviews, jokes made by media personalities etc, plus the fact that now, this many years later, their solo stuff is still haunted by a nauseating back and forth, these odd lyrical choices that are echoed in the other?

Yeah it’s not a ship. It’s a thing that happened, that we witnessed, and by virtue of it happening and us witnessing it something about gay love became dreamable, reachable, attainable, soft and puppy and exciting and wild. Their secret sign language and mimed blow jobs and jealous looks and touches when they thought there were no cameras, all those things made queerness not just something you saw on Glee. Not just something your parents talked about while wrinkling their nose up about ‘those people.’ It’s a generational thing, the world has moved on, we don’t NEED Larry anymore. And that’s okay. But we don’t need it because it happened. Not to be a brat but you exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.

And yeah, we wrote fics about highly characterized and publicized versions of Larry, often inserting our own traumas or fantasies, creating a kind of gay mythos around this witnessed event from the periphery, from the lens of the consumer, the only lens we have. But I’m not ashamed of that. You think stories are only ever written about people that don’t exist? At some point you have to acknowledge that in our world, celebrities are the deities of our popular imagination. I could write a thesis, but before I get into the weeds, suffice to say Harry and Louis have created a world of what can be, unburdened by what has been.

Yk? Anyways. Hope this made you feel better. And hope you come back to visit from time to time. I’ll be here.

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt: M&S playing Cards Against Humanity with the Gunmen. Scully’s deal. The white cards (you pick the black card): Two midgets shitting into a box, Pixelated bukkake, Making the penises kiss, Meatloaf, the man.

She’s high.

She’s really fucking high, the way Agent Scully never could be but in the way Doctor Scully gets from time to time. Agent Scully doesn’t get to vote on these decisions anymore. She never had any fun.

Well, very little fun. She was sad a lot. She made questionable choices.

“Still way too weird,” Frohike says, eyeing her.

“Like that time in Vegas,” Langley says in his adenoidal voice, as he does every time she is stoned.

She remembers Vegas a bit, would absolutely murder someone for a cigarette right now, Christ.

“I would absolutely murder someone for a cigarette right now,” she says, cheerfully.

“Murder them later. Come on, Scully.”

“Meatloaf the man,” she murmurs, then cracks up, tears running down her cheeks.

Mulder groans. “That’s the third time you’ve read that one out loud! Pick a card.”

She frowns at him, wounded. Sticks her lip out with Shirley Temple verve. “I’m weighing my options.”

The Gunmen sigh in unison.

“Get your woman in line,” Frohike grouses.

Scully throws a corn chip at him, misses by a yard.

“I’m like a sniper,” she whispers loudly. “I snipe.”

“How high are you?” Mulder hisses at her.

“About 5’2,” she hisses back.

Mulder flicks her ear. “I’m counting to three. One -“

Scully chews her lower lip, then proudly lays “Making the penises kiss” on the table, face up. “A romantic, candlelit dinner would be incomplete without…” she reminds them. Helpfully.

“BYERS IS THE CARD CZAR!” everyone shouts at her.

Scully, unperturbed, pats Byers on the cheek. “You’re doing a good job,” she says. “I’m proud.”

Byers sighs and dips a piece of celery into the bean dip. “Thanks, Scully.”

She beams. “Two midgets shitting in a box, that’s…what’s it called if it isn’t racist but still very bad about specific people?”

Mulder considers this. “Offensive? Derogatory? Condescending?”

“Yes,” she says, solemn. “Those. Do we have any corn?”

“What was her last one?” Frohike asks. “She never read it.

“Pixelated bukkake.”

“Mulder!” she exclaims, scandalized. “That one isn’t appropriate.”

He guffaws. “For whom?”

She nods her chin towards the Nativity. “The baby Jesus.”

Langley cackles.

Scully frowns at him. “Even pixelated, Ringo. The Blessed Infant shouldn’t be exposed to oral sex. Kissing is G rated.”

Mulder puts his head on the table. “I quit.”

“No,” she says, aghast. “You retired! Skinner said so.”

There are tears of silent laughter running down Frohike’s cheeks. His shoulders are shaking.

“How long is Maggie keeping William,” Byers asks, watching as Scully makes a sandwich of two pieces of cheddar cheese and half of a strawberry.

“Noon at least,” Mulder says into the napkin holder.

“Meatloaf the man,” Scully squeaks, and laughs hysterically into Byers’s shoulder.

[cloverhighfive]

Returning the question. Is there something you really like about your country/culture that you would like to share? :D maybe a favorite food, that would be really interesting

Well, it's surely not all poutine and maple syrup over here, but yes I do love our staples, and I am damn proud poutine is ours. I get super protective and if someone DARES say poutine comes from Ontario, I get super angry. I'm ok with "it's a Canadian dish". But if you want to narrow it down, it's Québec. And please oh please would people on youtube stop putting all sorts of greenery on it???? It's fries. cheese curds. gravy. Not grated cheese, not cubed old cheddar. Cheese curds. No parsley wtf. No side of carrots and celery for vitamins. NO. Fries. Cheese curds. Gravy. ...and a small cardiac incident for dessert.

I'll take you on another route. I think winter has shaped us a lot.

Winter cools spirits down. Once you've cleaned up your car, shoveled your driveway, and changed mittens twice in the process cause they got wet and cold, you're exhausted. If you want to piss off your neighbour, here, you buy a bigger TV or a bigger snowblower.

We're pretty chill on very important issues. The last referendum we had, I was in uni. We had international students friends from warm countries where there's a lot of fighting. They were very anxious. After all, the vote was to decide to get out of Canada. They were worried for a full-blown civil war the day after (the results were 49%-51%). We were baffled. We said, oh no, we'll just carry on (very British of us haha).

And I also think we're like this because of our 4 seasons. We're BUSY. Spring : put away all winter stuff. Prep for summer. Summer : vacation. Home repairs. All the hobbies while it's summer. Fall : back to school/work, take out all the winter stuff. Winter : shovel. Watch series on that big TV.

I think also our insults are meant to work when you have a scarf on your face and your teeth clenched from the cold. Indeed, it's easier to understand a good "va chier" (piss off) through the fabric than "putain de con" (fucking twat), the p and the t making you eat the wool off your face cover lol

Most people whine about the cold (not me) but even they have to admit a nice soft snowfall at night is magical - albeit from inside LOL

I love winter. :) It makes us who we are.

Also, it's soup season.

[littleapocalypsekitten]

I'm a proudly childless old cat-lady. (Or would be, if my apartment would allow a clowder of cats). J.D. Vance just made me want to vote for Harris HARDER. I loved "Galavant" - I really did... but that whole arc where Richard was being followed around by a unicorn and everyone made fun of him for it and he was ashamed of it? Honked me off bigtime. I am 45 and have never fucked. It is not for lack of opportunity, either. I am partnered and pass for straight. We just never wanted that in our lives. Can't afford kids, let's not accidentally make any. Let's not complicate things with something we are not yearning for. Our relationship is loving. We have an intellectual and humor mind-to-mind love affair going on. Life is cake. I am an old asexual. I give no fucks. And, indeed, I am so tired of what sometimes seems to be a world of horny monkeys all around me (in advertising, in fiction, in my damn sister asking me bothersome questions about whether or not I've "had sex yet"). It's like... I'm not trying to kill anyone's fun. You do you. But let me be me. I don't know - it's like how everyone likes celery. Every vegetable tray contains celery. "It doesn't even have any flavor, just crunch! It's great with peanut-butter!" and I'm insisting that it does have a flavor and a smell and I don't like it at all. Or how can you not like pineapple? (I currently work cutting fruit and doing veggie trays in a produce room). No, I do not like those things. Happy that others like them. Stop insisting.

Legit i am tired of virginity being mocked even in progressive spaces and media. No means no until you say no one too many times, until they realize it’s going to be a no forever. Everyone understands pressuring people into having sex is bad until you’re pressuring someone to have sex just once, just to try it, because are you sure you don’t want it. How can you know if you’ve never tried it? It’s suddenly fine to pressure people into having sex as long as it’s not sex with you but someone else. If you’re a virgin it’s immediately assumed it’s because no one wants you; not because of individual choice; not because of your right to consent. You spend your adolescence being told being a virgin is bad by your peers and media depicting your age group is all about sex and dating. Books, fanfiction and tv all have a scene where the bestie mocks the main character for being a virgin, a problem that must be fixed. In kinder spaces you may be told it’s fine to be a virgin in your twenties - that it is normal. But what about your 30s? Your 40s? You’re a woman and a virgin-you’re repressed. You’re a man and you’re a virgin-there must be something wrong with you. Virgins are a tragedy, pathetic, sad, ugly, weird, and unwanted. Everyone you hate is a virgin.

edit- just in case since this keeps getting notes:

[sevdrag]

Voted very anxiously but on time lol. If you drink tea, tell me your favorite ways to take it, please. If you don't, what's the recipe to your favorite soup? <3

GOOD WORK!!!

I drink tea when it’s time to Calm The Fuck Down. That isn’t every night in this house - I’m a coffee gal - but it happens sometimes when my anxiety decides to spiral off into space, and I’ve trained my body to recognize that tea = Fucking Chill Time.

I mostly prefer fruity teas (SHUT) and maté or chai (yeah I’m American) and I often put in a splash of sugar or sweetener cause I’m a goddamn heathen. If it’s a black tea I occasionally do a splash of milk. I like bitter stuff (see: coffee) but the bitter of tea isn’t my thing so it’s often offset.

SOUP THO

FUCKIN SOUP

look. I love soup. I make soup at LEAST once a week. I make all kinds of different soups and I make them new every time and I just oh my GOSH i want to answer this with a DISSERTATION about SOUP cause it’s so good but I will limit myself to one:

My favorite thing to do is Fancy Midnight Noodles. This involves taking your favorite ramen and Jazzing It Up. Put some water on to boil, and throw in some concentrated bone broth, or Better Than Bouillon, and a big spoon of miso. Add garlic, soy sauce, fish sauce if you like it, a flash of sesame oil. Basil and Cilantro. Explore your fridge; if you’re got carrots, celery, onion, mushrooms, cabbage, leftover meats of any kind, etc: Into The Pot. Let this shit tool for at least ten minutes cause soup gotta blend and breathe. At the end, throw in your ramen noodle brick and that seasoning packet. Two min away, drop a goddamn egg. (EGG!) eggs make everything better. Do you like curry? Settle some curry powder in there. Maybe some more garlic powder, a bit of dried basil, some Sriracha.

Then you eat the goddamn thing at midnight and feel your health replenish. Bye bitches I’m off to make some ramen

[rawmeanderson]

bring you back to me ― part ix

ft. jeff skinner plot: when your high school sweetheart gets traded to the same city where you now live and work, your best friend just can’t mind her own business ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ warnings. swearing, drinking/drunkenness, all sorts of nsfw stuff 👏🏻 word count: 7.4k notes at the end! also, a maaaaasive shoutouts go to @ferraromarios​, @drunkduncs​, and @capobiancos​ for being such good, supportive friends 💖 visit my masterlist (there’s a link in the description!) to sign up for email alerts or to view the master document with all parts of the fic for easy binge reading!!

“God fucking dammit,” Lydia mutters after someone a few tables over called bingo, earning a dirty look from the older lady at the table ahead of you. You snort softly, reaching for your mimosa as Lydia continues to mutter under her breath.

“I don’t know why we keep coming here, you always end up so angry,” you tease, grinning as she rips of the top sheet of her cards.

“It’s boozy bingo, y/n, it’s worth the anger,” she says, looking at you like you should know that. Your only response is to finish off the rest of your drink, putting the empty glass down next to your cards to pick up your dauber. 

Saturday afternoon boozy bingo was a staple for you and Lydia, but it was the first time you’d been back in a while. The brunch was good, but you mostly showed up for $1 mimosas and bloody marys, while Lydia was there for the bingo. She got wildly competitive during the game, and her trash talking had almost gotten you thrown out on a couple occasions. Honestly, the entertainment watching Lydia’s frustration build and build as the games went on made it all worth it.

Peter was with you today, since he was in town for a few more days. Since it was between games, he went up to the bar to grab drinks, including another mimosa for you.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while,” you tell her, nudging her under the table as you pout at her. A quiet chatter had started between games, and you were glad to have a minute alone with your best friend.

“Yeah, I know,” she responds, sighing as she pushes her hair out of her face. “Since my sister’s been out of town a lot for work, I’ve been having to take Mom to her appointments and stuff, and I’ve just been absolutely drained from it.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you get a double dose of me today, right?” you ask, winking when she looks at you and you both laugh. The two of you were going to the game that night to see the Sabres play the Sharks. 

Peter returns a second later, putting two mimosas down in front of you and you shoot him a thumbs up.

“Good call, bud,” you tell him, already reaching for one.

“I figured you might need the extra to help drown out this one,” he responds, pointing at Lydia with a grin. Lydia gave him the finger as he puts a bloody mary down in front of her. “Watch it, or I’ll spit in the next one.” You grimace at his warning even though it wasn’t directed to you, and you straightening up in your seat as the next game starts.

Between numbers, you sip at your drink and glance at your phone, figuring that Jeff is probably taking his pre-game nap by now. Tipsy already, the thought of climbing into bed with him for a nap is very appealing, but not worth leaving Lydia and Peter.

You had stayed at your own place last night, watching Jeff’s game in Detroit from your couch. Jeff had to be up early for a work out and press stuff before the game, and you’d used your morning to clean up around the house and to catch up on laundry. You’d even dug your suitcase out of your closet, knowing you needed to start packing soon since you and Jeff were leaving for your brother’s wedding in four days.

After bumping into Peter a few nights earlier, the two of you and Lydia had been able to make plans for Saturday afternoon, and here you were. You had pushed your hardest to go putt-putt-ing, but you were out voted in favor of boozy bingo. 

Lydia is a number away from winning, nibbling on the end of the celery from her bloody mary as her eyes bounce over her cards. She’s murmuring the number she needs to herself and toying with the ends of her hair with tense shoulders.

“Is she always like this?” he asks when you look at him, voice low and almost concerned. Grinning, you nod, nearly laughing because you hadn’t realized he’d never been to bingo with her before.

“Yeah, she’s nearly got bingo down to an art form if you ask me,” you respond, sipping at your drink.

“I can hear you,” Lydia says with a grin, not even looking up from her cards.

In the end, none of you won anything, but you had more than your fair share of mimosas.You and Lydia had each been planning to rideshare home, but thankfully, Peter offered to play taxi driver since he hadn’t been drinking. Lydia was worse off than you and pissed that she hadn’t won anything, making her a damn near lethal combination. 

“I swear, those old bitches cheat somehow,” she mutters as you approach Peter’s rental car. You laugh, nodding to appease her as she climbs in the backseat. You take shotgun, and Peter grins at you as he starts up the car. 

“It’s like I never left, right?” he asks and you nod as Lydia continues to rant from the backseat. It was true though. Peter, never much of a drinker, had often played DD for you and Lydia in the time you’d known each other, and having him there again felt like nothing had changed. 

Lydia’s place was closer, so she was dropped off first. As she steps out of the car, you roll your window down, reminding her to set an alarm so she wouldn’t oversleep and miss dinner and the game later. She thanks you, calling you ‘mom’ teasingly. Considering you’re drunk, it’s extra funny and sends you into a fit of laughter. Lydia threw a peace sign up before turning to make her way to her building, and you and Peter stay put to make sure she gets to the door without tripping or managing to fall over.

Satisfied that Lydia was safely inside, Peter pulled away from the curb, glancing at you. “You’re gonna have to tell me where to go,” he tells you.

You snort, shaking your head. “Shit, you know I have no sense of direction, so let’s see how this goes,” you joke, sitting up in your seat a little more. “Turn left up here, head toward downtown.”

Peter laughs, turning on his blinker on as he nods. The two of you are quiet for a few moments aside from you giving the occasional direction before starting in with a bit of small talk. You ask about his new office, how he’s adjusting to being in a new city, and he says he’s enjoying it, that he’s happy he made the move even if it did put him far from family.

“Have you found friends to replace Lydia and me yet?” you ask, trying to decide which would be the best route to get to Jeff’s from where you were then. 

“Nah, impossible, really,” he admits, glancing at you with a grin.

“Well, shucks,” you tease, laughing as you push your hair back out of your face. Jeff still didn’t seem to be awake since he hadn’t answered any of your messages from earlier, and the thought of climbing into bed with him made you feel warm and soft all over. “Take a right up here, that way’s probably quicker.”

“The fuck do you mean, probably?” Peter questions, making you crack up all over again. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, but Jeff Skinner, the professional hockey player, is your boyfriend, and you didn’t even tell me about it?” 

“Yeah,” you respond, trying to look apologetic for not telling him but you just ended up grinning like an idiot at the mere mention of Jeff. “I’can’t believe Lydia didn’t tell you, this is the result of her handiwork.” 

Peter’s not even surprised by that. “So, are you going to tell me how all of this happened, or what?”

You snort then, shrugging as you continue to smile. “I’ve known Jeff for as long as I can remember really. He played hockey with my brother when we were little, our families are friends. We dated for a while in high school, then he got drafted and went to North Carolina. Now eight years later, he got traded here and Lydia tricked me into going to a game, and here we are.”

“Shut the fuck up, that’s some rom-com shit, honestly,” he says, glancing at you with a look of teasing disbelief. “He’s a good guy though?”

The question makes you smile. Peter had always been one to look after both you and Lydia, and you’re glad to see that the distance hadn’t changed that. “The best, really. He always has been,” you assure him and he nods. “We’ve probably moved kind of fast, but it’s been so easy, like we just picked up where we left off.”

“Good. You’re happy, I can tell. I’ve never seen you light up like that when you talk about someone,” he tells you, looking over at you quickly before changing lanes. 

Feeling your cheeks burn with a flush, you cross the subject. “Enough about me, what about you, huh? Have you been dating at all?” you question, raising an eyebrow as you glance over at him. 

Peter laughs, shaking his head immediately. “No, not at all, honestly. I just feel like I haven’t had any time to even try. I’m trying to make friends first, then go from there,” he admits, and you nodding in understanding.

“Yeah, I know what you mean, that was me a couple years ago,” you way with a sympathetic smile. You spot Jeff’s building and quickly point it out to Peter. “It’s that one! Just drop me off where you can, I guess.”

Peter pulls to the curb, and you unfasten your seatbelt before turning to hug him over the center console. He hugs you back tightly, and when you pull away, you’re smiling.

“Have a good trip home tomorrow, and please, let us know when you’re in town next!” you say, making sure you’ve got your phone and keys before opening the door. 

“Don’t worry, I will,” he promises as you climb out of the car. He waves as you close the door, and you do the same before heading toward the door.

In your drunken state, it takes a moment for you to figure out which key you need to use, then another to fit it into the lock to get into the lobby. You doubt Jeff is awake yet, but you text him to tell him you’re in the lobby anyway, and you press the up button on the elevator repeatedly in impatience.

You ran into the same delay with your keys outside Jeff’s door, and you nearly trip as you step into his apartment. It’s quiet and you hush yourself softly while toeing off your shows. Knowing you’d left a hamper of clean clothes in the laundry room, you stop there first to change into leggings and one of Jeff’s shirts, fully intent on being lazy and cozy until you had to leave for the game later.

Jeff’s bedroom door is partially open when you approach it a moment later, and you smile to yourself when you see him in bed. He’s shirtless, blankets pulled up to his chest and he’s sprawled out, looking so sweet and relaxed. You cross the room and slip under the sheets with him, the shifting of the bed making him sigh quietly in his sleep. Staying still for a moment, you listen to the even sound of his breathing before leaning over him enough to kiss his chest lightly. 

He stirred a little, grumbling as he brought a hand up to run over your hair. Smiling to yourself, you kiss higher, along his neck and he loops an arm around you as you finally kiss his mouth.

“Hi,” you murmur, pulling back to look down at him.

“Hey,” he responds, sounding groggy as he turns his head to yawn. “What time is it?”

“Almost 2,” you say, pressing another kiss to his mouth before shifting to straddle him. He looks up at with a sleepy grin as you drape your body over his. “Did you have a good nap?” Jeff nods, tilting his head up enough to kiss you again. You feel warm all over, absolutely giddy just to be there with him. 

“Did you have a good time gambling and day drinking?” he asks and you snort, laughing as you nod back at him. You reposition yourself just slightly, hips pressing down against his in a way that makes electricity shoot up your spine.

“Yeah, it was fun. Lydia drank more than I did, so she was all fired up about losing,” you tell him, moving down his body more and kissing his collarbone.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest. “Yeah, I’m sure she was,” he responds, bringing a hand up to push your hair back out of your face. He toys with the strands idly as you move lower again, kissing down his chest as you glance up at him. “What are you doing?” A crooked grin settles on his face that you mirror back to him. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” you murmur, kissing his stomach as you toy with the waist of his sweatpants. He chuckles softly, nodding and tucking a hand behind his head as he watches you. Looking up at him, you bite your lip while shifting to kneel between his knees.

“We’ve got a couple of hours to figure it out,” he teases, and you grin, humming in agreement as you kiss the line of his hip.

“Don’t think I’ll need that long,” you respond, bringing a hand up to brush your knuckles over the hardening line of his cock. Looking up at him through your lashes, you kiss just above the band of his pants. His abs tense at the light touch of your lips, making you smirk.

When his hand tightens into a fist at his side, you can’t help the soft chuckle that leaves you. Moving lower, your lips ghost over the obvious bludge of his cock and he swears under his breath, hips twitching with the effort to keep still as he watches you.

“Christ, are you trying to make me beg for it?” he asks, and you look up in time to see him practically squirming in place.

You bite your lip again in an attempt to hide the grin that spread across your face, shrugging as you tilt your head to one side. “I haven’t ruled it out,” you say in an attempt to sound coy. Jeff cursed then, letting his head fall back against the pillow, and you laugh quietly, shaking your head. “So impatient.” Your words come as you tsk softly, and he nods in response, exhaling a breath.

Jeff brings a hand up to push your hair out of your face so he can look at you, a tender motion that never fails to make you shiver. You glance up to make eye contact with him before giving in and starting to tugs his sweats down his hips. He lets out a relieved sigh, lifting his hips lazily to help you out, and your mouth follows the path of the fabric, kissing his newly exposed skin. 

With his cock free, your hand moves quickly, stroking him slowly from base to tip with a hum. He twitches against your palm, and he twists the sheets in his fist when your head tilts to trace the vein the runs up his shaft with your tongue. Your mouth is practically watering by the time your lips close enough the head of his cock, sucking lightly before pulling off. A sound of frustration leaves him and your grin reappears.

“You ready to beg yet, or should I keep teasing?” you ask, eyebrow raised as you stroke him again slowly. He hisses, hips rocking toward your hand as his brows knit together. His chest is flushed, the color rising higher and he whines your name so quietly that you can barely hear it.

“Fuuuck, y/n. Please, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low. He’s watching you intently, eyes on your hand that’s wrapped around his dick as it continues to move in lazy strokes. You raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue, loving the way he’s absolutely squirming. “Goddammit, I need your mouth, please.”

Jeff’s getting whinier with each passing second and it’s far too hot to say no to. You stroke him a few more times, loving the sound of him panting for you, cheeks flushed, before closing your lips around the head of his cock again. He makes a sound like the wind’s been knocked out of him, and it does wonders for your ego. 

“Holy shit, thank you,” he says, sounding breathless already as you take him deeper in your mouth. His hand leaves his side to come up to your hair, tangling in the strands as he pulls it away from your face. “You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth.” The words leave him so casually that it makes you moan, pulling back enough to soothe your tongue over the slit at the head of his dick.

You start bobbing your head in slow movements, taking him deep enough that your gag reflex is almost triggered. He groans, the sound leaving him slowly as his hips press up toward you. Your clit is throbbing between your thighs then, and you can feel how slick you are when you shift. Bringing a hand up to rest on his thigh, you let your nails drag over his skin lightly as you bob your head, taking your time to let him slip deeper down your throat. 

A slew of curses leaves him when you swallow around him, his hand tightening in your hair as his hips twitch toward your mouth again. You can taste pre-cum at the back of your tongue and you groan around him, relaxing your jaw as you take him deep enough that your nose is pressing against his pelvis. 

Jeff makes a punched out sound, murmuring that he loves you, and when you glance up at him, he’s still watching you closely. You nearly pull off him, taking a breath and teasing along a vein with the tip of your tongue. He’s tense, practically slack-jawed as he keeps his eyes on you.

You love when he’s like this, putty in your hands (or mouth to be more specific) like you’re the only thing in the world that he’s ever wanted. His flush has moved up his neck and he’s breathing heavily, groaning as you bob your head shallowly. The sounds he makes never fail to make your pussy throb, and when you lean over him more, you can tell that you’ve already soaked through your panties.

“Baby, unless you want me cumming down your throat, you should stop,” he warns before you’ve even let him slip down your throat again.

You pull off, lifting your head to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, I don’t hate the sound of that,” you tease, stroking his cock slowly in the absence of your mouth on him.

He curses softly, head falling back against the pillow while murmuring something about you trying to kill him and you laugh, leaning forward to kiss his stomach once before pulling back.

You get to your feet on shaky legs, grinning at him as you pull your shirt off over your head, unclipping your bra a second later and letting the fabric drop to the floor. Jeff manages to tear his eyes away from you long enough to nudge his sweats off and grab a condom while you slip out of your leggings. You nearly trip as you get your panties and leggings off completely, and you laugh as you catch your balance. 

“You okay?” Jeff asks, glancing at you with a wide smile on his face as he rips he condom open. 

“Yep, never better,” you respond, smiling as you push your hair out of your face. Returning to the bed, you lean over him, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth. You swing your leg over his hip as he rolls the condom down onto his length, his eyes taking in the sight of your body over his again. 

One of Jeff’s hand comes up to rest on your waist, leaning up enough to kiss you again, while the other slips between your legs. A low groan leaves you as his fingers slide through your folds, hips immediately canting down against his hand.

“Fuck, Jeff,” you breathe, a whimper catching in your throat. He hums in appreciation when your wetness coats his fingers, toying with your clit to make you squirm over him.

“God, you’re always so fucking wet after sucking my cock,” he murmurs, voice low as he looks up at you. His fingers are sliding through your folds effortlessly, teasing at your entrance, and you groan his name again, grinding against his hand eagerly. 

Making an impatient sound, you shift, hand slipping between your bodies to guide his cock to your entrance. Your touch makes him curse softly, his lips parting as his eyes drop down to watch his cock sink into you as your hips lower toward his.

“Shit, y/n,” he groans, head falling back against the pillow with a content sigh. His hands move to your hips, resting there as you sink onto him further. 

You’d forgotten how much you love riding him, how he makes you feel so full as he looks up at you like you’ll disappear if he looks away. Your thighs are tense and you bite your lip, your hands pressing against his chest as your hips lower a little more, and a moan catches in your throat. His thumb brushes idly over your skin, the other hand moving higher over your waist until he’s cupping your breast in his palm.

Leaning over him, hands resting on either side of his head, you kiss him as your hips roll down against his. He moans into your mouth, hand sliding from your hip to your ass, squeezing you there as his thumb drags over your nipple. You shiver, melting against him with a wanton groan as you try to settle into a rhythm. The head of his cock hits your g-spot with the next motion of your hips, making you tighten around him.

You’re doing your best as you try to keep focused on easy rhythm you’ve set, pussy throbbing around his length as you sit up again. Hands resting on his chest, you bite your lip playfully, grinning down at him as you grind against him rougher than before. A gasp slips from you, given the friction of your clit against his pelvic bone, and Jeff hums, eyes sliding over your frame as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

“Mm, sweetheart,” he breaths, squeezing your ass as your hips grind into his again, the friction too good to stop chasing. “Fuck, that’s good.” You nod quickly, panting out a curse as you tilt your head back to get your hair out of your face. 

It surprises you when Jeff fucks up into you, a whine slipping past your lips as your hips slam down to meet his. He curses loudly, the grip on you ass tightening and guiding your hips forward against his again. You can tell that you’re soaked, making the slide of his cock in and out of you easy and downright sinfully good. 

“Come here,” Jeff says, voice low as he pulls you down to him easily. You chuckle, grinning as you lean over him again, hips never slowing as you continue to rock against him. His hand slips into your hair, keeping it back from your face and tangling in the strands as he kisses you.

You moan, whining as his teeth catch on your bottom lip. Your clit is begging for attention and a jolt runs down your spine to your core as he tugs at your nipple. “Oh, fuck, I love you,” you pant, the words exhaled into his mouth before you’re kissing him again desperately. You’re close, toes curling as your hand slips between your bodies to help yourself along.

The extra friction makes you cry out, mouth leaving his as you try to catch your breath. His mouth moves to your neck, finding the spot that always takes your breath away, then moving down to your collarbone. He tugs at your hair, not enough to hurt but enough that you gasp, the sound fading into a whine as his mouth moves over your chest. Your movements have grown more erratic, searching for the perfect combination of friction to send you over the edge.

As good as it feels to have his mouth on you and to be kissing him, you sit up again, knowing the angle is just that much better. It only takes a few rocks of your hips to have you groaning in satisfaction, leaning back slightly and resting a hand on his thigh for support while still rubbing your clit. Jeff’s eyes are glued to you as his hand comes nudges yours out of the way toy with the swollen bundle of nerves himself. You don’t stop him, a smirk sliding onto your face briefly before your mouth falls open with a moan.

“God, Jeff, that’s so fucking good,” you whimper, thighs shaking as he fucks up into you and hitting your g-spot in a way that makes you gasp. The bed is squeaking slightly with the movement of you, mixing with the sounds you’re each making.

It didn’t surprise you when your orgasm washed over you a moment later, knowing how easy it was for him to just completely unravel you. You cried out, head falling back as you try to keep the motion of your hips going. It’s more difficult than you expected, moaning his name as you grind down against him roughly. 

He nods beneath you, brow creased in concentration as his thumb continues to rub firm circles against your clit. Leaning forward slightly, your hands press against his chest and you can tell from the look in his eye that he’s close as well. Your nails dig into skin, making him hiss and groan that he loves you. The rustling of fabric beneath you gives way to his pressing his foot into the mattress for leverage, as he grips your hip with one hand. 

Jeff fucks up into you at the perfect angle to make you go still, desperate for him to keep hitting that same spot. Reduced to whimpering, your eyes squeeze shut, body still as his hips slam up into yours. The sound of skin on skin, his heavy breathing, and your breathless whines filled the room, and you could feel that you’d each worked up a bit of a sweat. A chill runs through your body like electricity, making you shudder as your orgasm starts to fade.

Your pussy is still tight around him when his thumb leaves your clit before he’s tugging you down to him more. He pressed his face into your neck, breathing hot into your skin and groaning while kissing down to your breasts again. He sighs your name into your chest as he cums a short moment later, grunting roughly as his hips slow until he’s worn out. You move slowly, eager to drag out the last few seconds of pleasure.

Jeff melts into the mattress as he rests his head against the pillow. His eyes are closed and you imagine that if it weren’t for the hand rubbing over your thigh contently, you’d think he’d gone back to sleep already. You don’t pull away just yet, kissing down his chest as you try to catch your breath. He’s so relaxed and you can feel his heart pounding as his hand leaves your thigh.

When he pushes your hair out of your face you look up to see him grinning at you. “Have I told you that I love you recently?” he asks, the words coming slow. His voice was like warm honey and you smile back at him before leaning up enough to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.

“A few times, yeah,” you respond, hips resting down against his as you enjoy the fullness of having him inside you still.

“Mm, gotcha,” he says, toying with the ends of your hair and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You only came once, didn’t you?” His brow creases slightly when you nod.

“Yeah, but trust me, I am a very satisfied customer,” you assure him, only to hear him snort with laughter in response. He guides your mouth back to yours, and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. It’s slow at first, but when his tongue slides over yours, you feel your clit throb.

“Want me eat you out?” he asks, his mouth barely leaving yours. The words seem so casual and you groan, tightening around him enough that he cursed under his breath. It only takes another second before you’re nodding, moaning into his mouth as he starts to untangle himself from you.

Jeff turns you over onto your back easily and pulls out before kissing you hard before getting to his feet. Legs still open for him, you watch the muscles of his torso move as he discards the condom. Your hand slips between your thighs impatiently, and when he follows the motion of your hand, he smirks, tugging you an inch or two closer by the ankle. 

He climbs back onto the bed, getting settled on his stomach between your thighs. After moving your hand away from your clit, he sucks your fingers into his mouth briefly, smirk never leaving. Guiding your legs over his shoulders, he groaned loudly at the sight of you. You knew you were absolutely soaked, and when you felt his tongue sweep through your sensitive folds a second later, your hips twitched toward his mouth.

His mouth is hot against you and your hand moves to his hair, fingers tangling in his short curls. You tug at the strands, nails brushing over his scalp to make him hum in approval. It’s impossible to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs around his head as you whimper, hips rocking easily against his mouth. He swings an arm over you to keep you still, leaning into you more while he licks from your entrance, up to your clit, then back slowly. You realize he’s cleaning you up and you relax back into the mattress as your heel digs into the back of his shoulder.

Jeff’s tongue is still moving slowly through your folds, just taking his time and you watch him with heavy lidded eyes. The damp heat of his breath hitting your skin had you shivering while your legs shake. Your fingers curl in his hair as you inhale sharply, your other hand dropping to brush light circles against your nipple. 

He’s watching you with dark eyes, watching the way you tease at your breast. His pressure changes then, tongue going from slow and lazy to hungry and firm it sinks into you. You try to buck up against him but his arm keeps you in place. A wanton moan leaves you as his tongue fucks into you again before dragging slowly up to your clit again, with the same firmness that has you squeezing your thighs around his head again.

Your thumb brushes over your nipple just as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking against you quickly and you exhale a desperate sound. “Fuuck, Jeff,” you whine, his name cut short when you cry out as he sinks a finger into you. You can feel yourself shaking, already right there at the edge with how he’d fucked you earlier.

Meeting his eye, you nod weakly and he takes your cue to sink a second fingers into your pussy. Your head falls back against the sheets as your back arches, and when his digits curl against your g-spot, you let out a string of curses. He can tell that you’re getting close and he releases your clit, taking a second to breathe before teasing at your clit again. You had abandoned the idea of toying with your nipple, far too consumed by the soft sounds of his mouth working against you.

His fingers are deep inside you, scissoring slightly and always making sure to hit your g-spot, and your legs tighten around his shoulders. Squirming, you again find yourself trapped by his arm and you make a frustrated noise that makes him pull away from you slightly.

“Cum for me, baby,” he tells you, already leaning back to seal his lips around your clit again.

Your whines build and build, eyes squeezing shut as his fingers fuck into you, and you topple over the edge a second later. You cum with a sharp moan, pulsing tightly around his fingers as Jeff groans against you, fingers still curling inside you. The orgasm is hot and bright, and Jeff guides you through it, murmuring praise every time he’s pull back from you to take a breath.

When you float back down, your eyes are heavy and you finally loosen your grip on Jeff’s hair slightly. His fingers are gone and he’s back to lapping at your folds lazily, making it that much harder to keep yourself from shaking. After another moment, you have to push him away, gasping you try to wiggle away from him. 

Jeff chuckles softly, turning his head to rest against your thigh as he looks up at you. His cheeks are rosy, and when he grins, you can see that his mouth and chin are shiny with you’re wetness. 

“Thought you were drying to suffocate me there for a minute,” he teases, hand sliding along your thigh as he guides your leg off his shoulder. 

Laughing, you nudge him gently with your knee. “Shut up,” you respond, shaking your head as he leans up, pressing a kiss to your stomach. The light touch of his mouth makes you shiver, and you run a fingertip down his nose lightly. You’re trembling slightly, shivering as you try and catch your breath. 

Jeff noses at your ribs, kissing his way up your body. Your hand returns to his hair, smoothing it with a light touch. The longer you stay there, the more relaxed you feel, and you realize that it’d be very easy to doze off. As Jeff’s mouth moved higher, he shifted to lean over you, his body radiating warmth as he kisses you on the mouth. 

When he pulls away, it’s to settle back against the pillows, and he chuckles when you pout at him slightly. “C’mere, lazy,” he says, patting his chest before tugging at your hand to get you to move.

Sighing heavily, you move, curling into his side. Jeff pulls the blankets over both of you and your head settles on your chest.

tt’s easy to doze for the next hour or so, curled up with him. He had turned the TV at one point, but you weren’t conscious enough to really be sure what he was watching. Jeff ordered food, and when he went to open the door, you rolled into the warm spot he’d left behind, enjoying the smell of his shampoo and cologne clinging to the sheets. When he returned, you heard him scoff at the fact that you’d stolen his spot.

He decides to leave you be, turning around to go eat at the table and that’s when you fully drift off. Some time later, Jeff wakes you up by rubbing a hand over your back to tell you that he was leaving for the arena. 

With a warm, sleepy smile you roll onto your side, promising that you’ll see him soon. You kiss him a few times before he stands up and you get the chance to appreciate how good he looks in his suit before he leaves.

Hours later, you’re awake, dressed, and enjoying the game with Lydia. The score was tied by midway through the second period and Jeff had two assists. Sipping at your beer, your eyes are on the ice, but Lydia is practically vibrating next to you. 

There’s a stoppage in play a second later and you look at her with an eyebrow raised. “Go ahead,” you tell her, taking another drink. You’re wearing your jersey tonight with black jeans and booties, and Lydia’s in an Eichel jersey that you feel like you haven’t seen before. 

“What are you talking about?” Lydia asks, brow creasing as she glances up at the scoreboard. 

“You are clearly dying to tell me something, so go ahead,” you respond, laughing slightly. She rolls her eyes, hating that she makes things so obvious.

“I left my bag in Peter’s car, so he stopped by with it after dropping you off,” she says, pausing heavily. It doesn’t take you long to figure out what she’s implying, and you snort, shaking your head.

“Girl, look at you,” you tell her, laughing as you raise your beer to her. “Wait, did you leave your bag in his car on purpose?” 

She snorts, shrugging, and you both double over in laughter. It wasn’t the first time she’d used that move, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“Not like you can judge. I’d bet $50 that you went straight to Jeff’s to get busy,” she teases, and your response is to shrug, because it’s not like you’d take that bet.

The two of you continued to to chit-chat and drink, enjoying yourselves as the second period wound down. With a little over a minute to go in the period, Jeff took a hit that made you gasp, bringing you to your feet when he didn’t get up immediately. The arena was full of chatter and your heart was thundering in your chest, watching as Jeff finally got up with the help of his teammates. You dropped into your seat as he immediately went down the tunnel, and Lydia was quick to take your hand, holding it tightly. 

You didn’t know what to do, so you sat there, chewing on your lip and bouncing your leg idly. Lydia was quiet, still holding your hand because she wasn’t sure what else to do to help you feel better. Your stomach twists in knots, and you send Jeff a text, unsure of when he’d even have the chance to check his phone.

“Y/n, Twitter says he’s not coming back to the game,” Lydia tells you and you sigh, pushing your hair out of your face. Through most of intermission, you’re silent, staring at your phone and hoping for some sort of news.

It finally came a few minutes into the 3rd period, a text from Jeff, asking you come down to where you usually meet him. Lydia promises that she’ll be fine watching the rest of the game by herself, and you nod, taking off up the stairs just as the Sabres score.

When you see Jeff, seeing that he’s upright and grinning, you’re relieved, putting your arms around him when you’re close enough. He’s freshly showered, and he settles an arm around your shoulder, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m alright, I promise,” he tells you, giving your body a reassuring squeeze. “Knocked the wind out of me pretty bad, and my shoulder hurts like hell, but I’m alright. They don’t think I’ll be out at all.” You nod, finally pulling back to look up at him.

You drove Jeff home and just as you were parking in his garage, you got the notification that Casey scored an empty net goal to seal the win for the Sabres. He was moving a little slower than usual and in the elevator, he was leaning into you. Neither of you said much got in the door, and Jeff immediately headed toward his room. He had mentioned the the trainer had given him some meds, and you could tell he was frustrated about being out for the night, so you gave him some space. 

You busy yourself by tidying up the living room some. Folding a blanket, fluffing the pillows, and a few other meaningless tasks to pass a little bit of time. He had always been quiet after a bad game or something like this, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise.

When you come into the bedroom, he’s already in bed, on his back with one arm draped over his eyes. Jeff doesn’t move as you cross the room to go into the bathroom. You wash your face and brush your teeth before heading back into his room so you can change. After hanging up your jersey, you change into a pair of sweats and one of Jeff’s shirts, and when you turn around, he’s watching you with a sad look in his eye.

“Which side do you want me on?” you ask, giving him a sympathetic smile. He pats his left side and you climb into bed with him. It takes no time at all for him to roll toward you, settling himself under your arm to nuzzle into your collarbone. 

You hardly mind, loving how quickly he curled around you. His breath against you, and your fingers rub lightly of his back as you feel him relax. Turning your head slightly, you kiss the side of his head and he snuggles into your shoulder a little more.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, voice soft as you toy with his hair.

“M’okay,” he mumbles, so pitifully that you chuckle. He exhales a deep sigh before shifting onto his side a little more, but keeping his head where it was on your shoulder. “Just glad we got to 2 points.” You nod, enjoying the way he’s leaning into your touch as you continue to play with his short curls.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to watch something?” Your voice is quiet, just hoping there’s something you can do to help him feel better.

“Not hungry, but you can put something on if you want. Can’t promise I’ll stay up for long though, I’m already pretty drowsy,” he says, tipping his head up to look at you. He looks sleepy, and you nod, pressing an easy kiss to his mouth before you reach for the remote. 

“No preference what I put on then?” 

“Nah, not really,” he says, settling his head on your chest again as you start scrolling through Netflix. You’re both quiet for a moment as you start an episode of Derry Girls, and with the sound of Jeff’s even breathing, you think he’s asleep already, so it surprises you when he speaks again. “Are you ready for next weekend?”

You don’t answer right away, but a second later, you nod. “Yeah, I think so. I’m kind of nervous too, but I don’t really know why,” you admit, shrugging as you keep your eyes on the tv. Knowing you probably wouldn’t bother staying up much later, you turn off the lights, grateful for the fancy tech in Jeff’s room that allows you to do it from your phone. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, his arm tightening around your waist. “I’m excited though, for everyone to know about us.” You smile warmly to yourself and hum in agreement.

“Me too. I’m still a little nervous, but I know it’ll be a good weekend. It’ll be nice to see everybody.”

“Mhm. Just a few more days now. Are you still coming to the game Wednesday? Figured we could leave straight from the arena,” he says, words coming slower and slower.

“Works for me,” you tell him, starting to play with his hair again. He nods, yawning before settling into you even more. 

It’s no surprise that he dozes off shortly after, and you don’t stay up much later, just long enough to finish the episode you’d started. Once you turn off the tv, you lay there in the dark, enjoying the sound of Jeff’s breathing and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. It’s easy to get to sleep that night.

TA-DUH!!! I really like this chapter guys, and I hope you do as well!!! next chapter starts the 4 chapter long section of being at the wedding and i’m so excited to start working on those chapters! 

[borisbubbles]

ESC2019: Preshow: #32

32. UNITED KINGDOM Michael Rice - “Bigger than us” Autoqualifier

I am happy that years of following (and occasionally watching) BBUK prepared me to go into You Decide without being completely disappointed by the outcome. As soon as I saw Michael’s VT and he greeted us with a “Well av nevuh bin ter Telluh... Telleruh...wut? Telleraweave? I dunno how tuh say et? Nevuh bin teuh Eesrel!” in a juicy Geordie accent, I knew, without having heard a single note of “Bigger Than Us”, that he would win. “Lovable Dimwitted Young Men From The North” = kryptonite of the Great British Public Vote. They just cannot resist it. 

ENTRY ANALYSIS

A small caveat before I get underway: I sort of like Michael as a human? He seems lovely and yes, very, very much a gay-in-waiting, mhm. That rose tattoo, lmfao. 

Unfortunately, this isn’t *just* a mr. Congeniality contest, I also have to take into account the song and... It’s a bland gospel ballad that repeats the word “Bigger” in a moaning tone. A lot. 

Bigguh. 

Bigguh. 

Bigguh. 

OHHH YES IT’S BIGGUUUUUUH. 

Penis jokes aside, “Bigger than us” sounds like a Sam Smith knock-off and that’s where my ~Mehness~ resides. I just cannot relate to people who like Sam Smith’s songs, that’s like saying “Wow I would love another serving of celery.” or “Oh, I watch Eurovision because of the competent, radio-friendly pop”. Just don’t understand.

NF Corner:

You Decide is never not embarrassing, but there was ONE (more or less) SHINING LIGHT!!! And it wasn’t Michael :o. Meet, KERRIE-ANNE

Yes, the song was paper-thin, lying skin-to-skin with basicness but who caaaaares it deals in uptempo fun!!  ~Keep tellin’ me sweet-sweet lies~

Of course, being a Woman of Colour with a Trashbop, K-A’s chances were near impossible to begin with, ESPECIALLY against Quintessential BBUK Winner Michael Rice, but I’m happy she was there!!! She (or Holly Tandy, who I mostly love because she’s from Yorkshire and therefore has a top 1 English Accent) would have made adequate reps.  Oh well, I’m not too salty though Kerrie-Anne’s spirit lives on in ~ZENA~ whose song is better anyway. 🤭

AUTOQUALIFIER ODDS: Average

Lmfao, people seem to think “Bigger than us” will do really well and they’re fucking deluding themselves. The BBC just doesn’t give a shit and likewise, neither do the casuals. Michael will do slightly better than most UK entrants have in the past, sure, but like... do I need to remind you how shit the UK does in these ESC contests??? Better than 15th place is a fucking generous assumption, friend. 

Also, “Too Late For Love” is *literally* an upgraded, superior version of “Bigger than us” (um yeah Lundvik wrote BTU as well, that totally won’t result in a bevvy of "I Got Uncomfortable Question To You” moments) and it WILL be in the final, syphoning votes away from the UK. My ultimate read is that UK won’t embarrass themselves... much.

Projected Placement: 16th-20th in the Grand Final. 

Link to the masterpost

[bezazzled]

more quotes that nobody asked for

my friends are really dumb sometimes there’s some ns//fw in here, change pronouns to fit also sorry this one’s extremely long lmao, i’ve heard a lot since i last posted one of these. i’ll be nice and throw it in a readmore for dash convenience

“What if I don’t want extra bones?” “I got a backstack on I’ll still drop this ass what you doin’.” “The trap card is me! Fuck!” “Hey, how many voices do you have in your head?” “Hang on, lemme count how many skittles are in this bag and then I’ll tell you.” “Milk neutralizes the evil.” “Yo, that is piss accurate.” “Vote for me and maybe I won’t piss on your dick.” “That’s not Pepsi, that is straight carbonation water.” “If the word ‘toy’ was a person, it’d be that really annoying kid in your class that acts really fuckin’ dumb because he thinks it’s funny.” “No, listen, what if we only existed... on weekends?” “If you hard, you hard.” “This has been a public service announcement, brought to you by paper fuckers.” “Do you want weed lotion?” “This is why we pick apples, so they can’t touch our teeth.” “Do bees have souls?” “Don’t slurp the chocolate pudding. That’s not okay.” “You made me talk about my kinks again, damn it!” “Y’all eat your rice krispies all at once or one at a time?” “My face is two inches long.” “It’s in first person AND backwards.” “So you met H.P. Lovecraft as a hemispherical dresser?” “Things don’t last, but dick jokes are forever.” “How do you fight a man that’s a hundred percent nut?” “I am a really attractive salmon.” “All the weak chips are at the bottom.” “Choke on cotton candy, you amazing fucker.” “I’m offended by my own existence.” “I’m the wing boy!” “Are you telling me that tops deal with internalized homophobia?” “Just for that, I’m forcing you to kin me.” “You’re just a fish.” “We could always play youtube, youtube is multiplayer.” “He’s a burnt piece of toast with some peanut butter on it.” “What the fuck is a sport?” “I didn’t know his name so I’m the homophobe.” “Just spilled water all over me because I’m a dirty water whore.” “Oh dude, that’s a fuck good thought.” “My legs are made of meat.” “I can’t wait to die because Republicans.” “Your sexuality is heterphobia, you’re welcome.” “He is at least seventy-five percent done at all times.” “Apply at your local grocery store. They’re always hiring and don’t care if you’ve committed a crime.” “Oh, I forgot, you’re a napkin.” “Brains are wrong sometimes.” “If anyone’s a bad significant other, it’s me. Call me signif-I-can’t.” “I got paid to eat chicken, bitch!” “I am the god of your happiness.” “Go be unhappy in your unhappy pants.” “Oh look, now they’re offering existential dread meals.” “Welcome to the SS, here’s your shitty trash meme pistol.” “I would a hundred percent dedicate my entire life to the first person who buys me a subway sandwich right now.” “That’s my life. Just one big dab.” “We’ll be stroke twins.” “Time is fake, fuck you.” “I am a dribbling bag of sodium and carbon.” “Sorry for the flex, I’ll go.” “It’s not my birthday anymore, cowards.” “One thing I liked about becoming you is that I got to call everyone a coward and I didn’t have to feel bad about it.” “You thought it was over? Ha. The central time zone exists.” “I’m really not drunk enough to dance right now.” “I’m into... Animal Farm... That’s about... communism...” “His mouth is like a triangle.” “Black holes are the bisexual agenda.” “A man just needs to not exist sometimes.” “Good noodlin’, brother.” “I will take mayonnaise to get my mayonnaise.” “Why am I always up to something in your brain? Maybe sometimes I’m just stupid.” “Fucking spelling is stupid.” “You need triangles?” “I think celery tastes like the devil’s armpit, and you can fight me.” “You wanna join me in the bitchening?” “Don’t forget, your dad flossed today.” “It walks like it’s got a whole tree in its ass.” “My eyes are absolutely burning. The sun is an asshole.” “Oh, good! I wasn’t sure that the English language existed.” “Eat grapes with your duck!” “The seventies can suck my ass!” “Please don’t make me eat my sarcasm.” “Real allies let us shut the fuck up.” “Do you think love can bloom in a Taco Bell?” “I don’t need drugs because I already don’t make any sense as it is. I wish I was a breadstick.” “Yeah, I’m just not that passionate about soup.” “Unless something of minor inconvenience happens, I cannot cry.” “Who else tryin’a start beef with onion boy by calling him a Shrek offspring?” “Is this almost over? I’m gonna have stage four cancer.” “This movie is a fucking fake.” “The amount of gay I am is rising significantly, and that’s really saying something.” “Heterosexuality is stored in the boobs.” “Pepsi man is my polar opposite in these trying times.” “Everyone go to the nut house group chat, I’m about to post a link.” “One day I’ll be successful, and one day after that I’ll be able to write without going through all seven stages of gay after writing one word.” “Hey, wanna hear something controversial? I don’t care.” “Would you fistfight a kindergartner for fifty bucks?” “I’d fistfight a kindergartner for a dollar and a Reese’s cup.”

[thesinglesjukebox]

CHANCE THE RAPPER - I MIGHT NEED SECURITY

[4.64]

And we might need a better song.

Will Rivitz: Even two full years after its release, I still struggle with just how monumental a step back Coloring Book was for Chance The Rapper's artistic evolution. How could the man who characterized the convolutions and uncertainties of young adulthood so adroitly and poetically set all of those poignant observations aside in favor of an uncritical appreciation of the glories of fatherhood and a shallow nostalgia for how things used to be? I guess what got me was the album's unprecedented change of attitude: I would never in a million years have guessed that Acid Rap's nuanced self-criticism could have morphed into a Disneyfied version of itself not even three years later. In that regard, at least "I Might Need Security" does indeed have a precedent: this is the narcissistic and toxically insecure Chance we've all gotten to know since 2016. "I ain't no activist, I'm the protagonist" is consistent with the Chance who, when a poem he wrote for NPR's Tiny Desk last year was interrupted by the sound of an elevator, started again from the beginning, because the idea of continuing where he left off would have been inconceivable. "I donate to the schools next, they call me a deadbeat daddy" is consistent with the Chance who slid into a Twitter rando's DMs to tell them to "get off [his] dick" because the user had the nerve to say Chance's proposal to his baby mama may have come a few years too late to generate goodwill. "I'll make you fix your words like a typo suggestion / Pat me on the back too hard and Pat'll ask for your job" is consistent with the Chance who made MTV remove a review critical of Coloring Book because it wasn't well-suited to his tastes. (The review, which sums up my thoughts on the album better than most anything else I've seen, was reposted by the author on his Medium page.) At least he's being honest here. [2]

Maxwell Cavaseno: Interesting thing about Chance the Rapper's debut mixtape 10 Day: It wasn't good, it was fine. Besides songs like "Juke Juke" in which you could sort of see his more manic tendencies emerging, a lot of Chance's earliest material was mealy mouthed rappity rap that was adequate but ultimately boring. It's why Acid Rap, where he did find his voice, was so much more rightfully received and recognized. While Chance's excesses and tics have now become downright aggravating, it made sense that he went in that direction because as a straight rapper there's just nothing compelling to his plain lyrics and delivery. Apparently, you might need proof as well, and lucky for us Chance decided to provide such. [2]

Ryo Miyauchi: The Jamie Foxx sample is the only redeemable thing here with Chance throwing random fake-deep rhymes to a piano-led beat that vaguely channels The College Dropout in feel. It's a life update as a stopgap release between his album presumably in the works, and yet another reminder that Chance has been a hero to Chicago since Coloring Book. It's an exhausting point he keeps on reiterating. Will he lighten his sense of self-importance if we erect that statue he so craves to be built? [5]

Julian Axelrod: Chance's nice guy phase was never going to last. You can't be that rich and that famous for that long without a few compromises and some dirty laundry, and the distinctly Obama-era rap star has had a decidedly post-2016 descent. The Noname collabs gave way to DJ Khaled features; the label aversion morphed into Apple Music kowtowing; the social media savvy proved ineffectual in the face of fan criticism. So "I Might Need Security" presents a new Chance: bitter, prickly, his grin warped into an wary smirk. Luckily, this Chance is still a hell of a rapper, and even in the midst of a 45 degree heel turn he's bubbly enough to spit over a cheeky Jamie Foxx sample that makes no bones about his beef. I might actually like Chance 2.0 better than the original; he looks good with his back against the ropes and some dirt under his nails. But I'm predisposed to like any song that big ups Verne Troyer and clowns Rahm Emanuel, so take my opinion with a grain of celery salt. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: A mixed bag, just like everything Chance has done since mid-2016. Points in its favor: Chance announcing that he bought a news site in the second verse of a loosie, "I'm only 25 but I'm Motown 25," calling for Rahm to resign. Points against: all the woe is me, heavy is the crown shit, the Verne Troyer pun, half of his punchlines in general. And yet "I Might Need Security" still works, in spite of itself-- maybe it's just the Jamie Foxx sample, but Chance is channeling mid-2000s Kanye here at his most maddeningly likeable. [6]

Vikram Joseph: An airing of grievances and a settling of scores (some of them on a widescreen, political scale, and some which need Infinite Jest-level footnoting to comprehend), juxtaposed with Chance's laconic flow and a hazy, sun-bleached beat which almost drifts into "Drinking in L.A." at one point. The dreamy "fuck you" hook serves as microcosm for the song - there's anger here, but it's so palatable. [8]

Ian Mathers: Some of the content here is good, even possibly important. But I don't remember Chance sounding this outright halting in places before, and that sample really sounded like such a good idea they're just going to let it have the last 45 seconds of the track, huh? [3]

Alfred Soto: He's twenty-five ("Motown twenty-five"), expects to see a statue in his honor, and samples a Jamie Foxx routine's "fuck you." Relative to his modest talents, his ego annoys the hell out of me but not as much as his irregularly deployed sing-song: he can't decide whether to cram too many syllables per line or speak-sing the leaden moments. His good intentions scare me most. [4]

Stephen Eisermann: The problem with Chance is his commitment to telling us he's a good guy - the protagonist, even - without doing any of the work. He continues doing the same here, and even though he makes some good points while calling out some bad players (with shaky wordplay, at best), his lack of self-awareness is nearly as hard to swallow as his pride. [4]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The cover of this single is a rendering of the Arthur's fist meme and the song is held together by a chipmunk'd Jamie Foxx sample. These things make "I Might Need Security" a smart PR move of a song: there's a clear link made between his happy-go-lucky personality and what's present here. He sounds more self-conscious than ever, well-worn to the point of actual aggression. When he finally takes the sample's lead and declares "fuck you," it's clear that he doesn't want it to read as anything other than acerbic. While this may sculpt a more complete image of who Chance is, it unfortunately sounds more labored over and tedious than the majority of his catalogue. Hearing Chance's straightforward talk-rapping recalls his poetry slam past--especially since it's coupled with a beat as static as this--and it doesn't particularly play to his strengths. As listeners, we're asked to primarily revel in the lyrics. When I do, it sounds like a whole lot of boring whining. Which begs the question, why would I want to listen to this? [2]

Nortey Dowuona: Smooth, chipmunk curse coos echo in the back as they hit the slack, soft drums, as purring, bulging bass then drizzling. Deep piano is lathered over as Chance snarls thin threats that bulge out of the cotton candy wool of the production. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[old-red-word]

Sorry I don't like plant snot very much

Also who the FUCK is voting for celery

You wanna tell me how youre gonna make a good soup without celery???

[rock-and-roll-hoochie-ghoul]

Strange and yet true ways to describe me...

1) Not fat... thicc.  THICC I SAY!

2) Likes dem older boyz

3) Seriously... like 30 and up... I’m 23.

4) Would probably eat anything

5) Except celery.

6) #star wars wet dreams..... the fuck you lookin at!?

7) Old music or bust.  Fuck today’s pop bob flippity flop

8) Pink Floyd FTW

9) Voted most likely to sleep with Aaron Rodgers standee

10) cries easily

11) laughs easily

12) nothing in between

13) makes jokes when feeling uncomfortable

14) so like all the time?

15) have cold (literally) feet and idk why should probably get that looked at

16) always hungry (see #4)

17) still watches cartoons but don’t tell nobody

18) hey kids wanna see my vinyl record collection?

19) WHAT DO YOU MEAN “WHAT’S A RECORD?”

20) I wear glasses to be cool.

[xfirespritex]

Comeback

A Seth Rollins one shot

Summary: A barbecue at Roman’s house causes old flames to run into each other. There’s a lot to sort out before they can move forward.

Pairing: Seth Rollins X Reader

Warnings: NSFW later in the story.

As voted by  @wrestlingnoob @caramara3 @heelcharlie @blondekel77 @panda-girl1999​ @theholyfallenangel​ @tryingtofindaplaceinthisworld @66psychotic99​

And now for the usual suspects:

Tag List:

@wwesmutdonedirtcheap @thedeboniardevistation @xxnobodyshero13xx   @speedilyghostlycloud @fan-fiction-galore  @amaranthine-reign @lordoftheringsmyass  @justtheaverageblog1​  @alpha-american​ @aineslight​ @reigns420​ @deajm2116​

@redroseblackwolfpack96​  @shieldgirl95​ @gelinas22

@vebner37 @banrioncethlenn​  @moxtiel​ 

@fmlallthewayup​ @breezy14fan​ @secretagentfangirl​ @crowleysqueenofhell

@abominablestrowman279​ @laochbaineann @logandemico

@calwitch @sleeplessandcynical @sjwrites22 

It had been nearly three years since everything had changed in my life. I'd had a great group of friends and an amazing boyfriend in Seth Rollins. 

 However, when everything changed with the Shield things changed with Seth and me.

 It was a storyline, that I was aware of, but it did cause stress in all of Seth's relationships. He couldn't ride with Dean and Roman. He had to keep up appearances. That took a toll on our relationship too.

 Dean and Roman had become like family and the distance among them seemed to leak over to me and Seth. 

 He didn't call as much. His visits home were shorter, more time spent at the gym.

 I'd had enough about six months after the Shield ended. I'd asked Seth if "The Man" needed his woman anymore. 

 He took too long to respond. So, I left. But I couldn't erase him. Pictures of him on my phone went into a specific folder. Pictures of him in my apartment were stored away but not destroyed. His number was still in my phone, even though he hadn't contacted me since that night. 

 So when I had been invited to Wrestlemania by Dean and Roman I'd accepted, never expecting to see Seth outside of his match and promos that week.

 I'd remained a fan and saw the storyline progressing for him. I'd seen his injury and very cowardly sent him a get well basket of his favorite snacks but didn't sign the card, instead writing a quick get well soon message.

 He must have not figured out it was me since he didn't reach out and I was both thankful and disappointed. I missed him but it seemed he didn't miss me and much. I did my best to accept it. 

 So when I walked into Roman's house that Thursday night for a small gathering I didn't expect to see him. 

 The first two hours I spent catching up with the people I knew and I was sure I was in the clear. Then I heard shouts of greeting and when I turned to see who had arrived my stomach dropped as Seth, leaning on one crutch and his knee brace on, came into the backyard.

 Seth and Roman embraced. It hadn't even occurred to me to ask Roman if Seth was invited. I quickly assessed my outfit and cursed silently. The idea that when you saw your ex you should be dressed to kill wasn't bad advice.

 I, however, was dressed in torn up jeans, simple sandals and an old, worn out Metallica shirt that I was nearly certain had actually been Seth's at one point before he'd somehow shrunk it in the wash.

 I cursed and Renee looked at me. "You look fine," She said, taking a sip of her drink.

 I groaned and turned my back to the door, turning back to the fire pit. People greeted Seth and by the sound he was coming closer so, being adult I am, I walked away to the coolers, pretending that I needed to dig for my water bottle. Seth took up my post near Renee and I cursed him. She caught my eye and tried to motion me over.

 I shook my head and walked to the other side of the fire, taking up a chair recently vacated by Jey.

 I spent the rest of the evening talking with various other superstars, each of them taking an extra second to hug me, sensing I needed the support with Seth there. When Roman finally found me among the crowded barbecue attendees he lifted me in a bear hug.

"How ya doing?" He asked.

I smiled up at him, pretending that I hadn't been feeling nauseous and anxious all night. "I'm good. Nice party Rome, thanks for inviting me."

He eyed me suspiciously. "Don't lie, Y/N. How are you really doing?"

I sighed and shrugged. "Okay, all things considered."

"Has he talked to you yet?" I shook my head no. Roman laughed. "Is that cause he hasn't tried or you won't go near him?"

I looked away from Roman, feeling slightly ashamed and, unfortunately my eyes landed on Seth who was watching the pair of us.

"Fuck," I sighed, punching Roman on the arm as I walked past him and into the house. 

Roman always kept the fridge well stocked, especially when he was being a host. Galina was in the kitchen, cutting up more carrots and celery. I walked over and hugged her. She laughed and hugged me back.

"Have you been in the backyard at all tonight?"

She laughed. "Not too much, gotta feed the masses," she laughed.

I bumped her with my hip. "Go enjoy your guests. I can cut up vegetables," I said taking the knife from her hand. "Go spend time with your husband."

She smiled and kissed my cheek before heading outside, knowing she wouldn't win this argument.

I continued cutting the carrots and celery, going into the fridge for broccoli and when I turned back to island kitchen I jumped and nearly dropped the food.

Seth stood there, on the other side of the counter, leaning on his crutch. 

"I don't think I'm entitled to be offended by the avoiding game but it does kinda sting a little bit," he said, his voice even, despite the fire in his eyes.

I set the food down on the counter and began chopping, my eyes on the task and not him.

"Okay, that's blatant now," he said.

My eyes snapped back up to him and I hoped he could feel the anger that was already boiling up inside me. "What would like me to say, Seth?" I asked. "Did you expect me to be thrilled to see you?"

He winced slightly and shifted his weight and I wondered, briefly, if the wince was from my words or his leg.

"I don't know. Maybe not thrilled but not like this," he said.

"Like what? Did you expect me to not be angry? You picked everything and everyone else over me. Like I didn't even matter anymore."

Seth frowned and moved around the counter slowly, stopping a distance away from me and leaning more on the counter than the crutch. 

"You really think that?" he asked.

"What was I supposed to think? You were never home, when you were you went to the gym or had calls and work to do. You spent little to no time with me except for when I was in your bed and even then it wasn't much time together."

Seth's face formed into a deep frown. "That wasn't it...I just got...I don't know, caught up with everything going on."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? You were too caught up to be with me?"

He frowned and I went back to chopping the broccoli, refusing to look at him.

"Y/N," he started. I didn't even acknowledge him.

Sighing he gave up and hobbled out of the kitchen, into the back yard. I finished my task and brought the fresh vegetables out to the party. When my eyes found Seth he was downing a beer and talking to Jimmy, a sour look on his face. --

Hours passed and I was still there, helping clean up when I noticed Seth was the only one outside still, his leg propped on a cooler and a beer in his hand as he stared at the fire.

 Roman followed my gaze and sighed, shaking his head. 

 "Guess you'll have to call him a cab," I said.

 Roman sighed and went to talk to Seth. Galina frowned as she watched him go.

 "Seth's stubborn, you know," She said.

 "Yeah, well aware. Roman will get him into a cab." 

 She sighed again and I frowned. "What's wrong?" I asked. 

 "He asked Roman and I to talk to you for him. Roman told him he'd made his own mess. So Seth said he'd just stay outside all night until you spoke with him. We were hoping to wait him out but that's not working."

 I cursed under my breath, angry at Seth for imposing on his friends like that. I put the plate that'd I'd been drying down and started towards the door.

 I heard Galina stutter after me but waved her off, pushing through the doors and into the yard. Marching over the grass Roman heard me coming and got out of the way quickly.

 "Are you serious, Seth?" I asked.

 He looked up at me, his jaw set.

 "Roman gets no time at home. Now that he's home you're going to impose on him because you can't charm me like all your fangirls? Grow up."

 "I'd handle it better if you'd just fucking talk to me."

 I spread my arms wide, to indicate that's what we was doing. Roman glanced between us before stepping back inside, clearly deciding to let us get it off our chests.

 Seth scowled and stood, shakily, and leaned on his crutch to stare at me at eye level.

 "If you were acting like an adult and would talk to me instead of running away all night we wouldn't need to have this conversation now."

 "And what conversation are we having Seth? You haven't said anything new."

 He sighed, his breath coming out in a huff.

 "You really think that I chose everything else over you?" He asked, his voice low.

 "That's how it looks," I said. 

 "That's not how it was."

 I sighed and sat on one if the chairs. "Then tell me how it was, Seth. Explain it to me. Because all I saw was you putting your career, your money, your fame, ahead of me."

 Seth moved closer to me, standing over me. When I looked at him he looked angry.

 "It was for you," he said, his teeth clenched.

 I burst out laughing. "For me? That's bullshit. You were ignoring me for my own good? Is that it?" 

 Seth started and stopped speaking a few times and I could see his jaw clenching dangerously. He was really upset and struggling for words. 

 He turned away from me then and I could see his free hand shaking slightly. I frowned and stared at his back. His hands only shook when he was upset. Sad. Broken down. Not when he was angry.

 I stood and walked around him, standing in front of him and, without thinking took his shaking hand in mine. 

 "You never shake like this, why are you so worked up?" I asked, my voice soft.

 "Because it pisses me off that I messed us up. Because I didn't say anything you walked away."

 "What would you have said, Seth? It was three years ago."

 He laughed slightly. "I can't tell you now. That's asking for trouble."

 "Tell me. If me not understanding is why we're talking then explain it to me."

 Seth laughed bitterly again before his gaze met mine.

 He held my gaze before looking down at the ground. "This isn't fair, ya know? Asking me this when all I can do is stare because you look even better now than three years ago. And you're asking me to tell you the truth when I've been dying to tell you but also afraid to."

 "Just tell me."

 He paused and looked at me. 

 "Can I show you?"

 --

 An hour later, after me asking what he meant and not getting anything else out of him he asked if I'd drive him somewhere, so he can show me. 

 I frowned but agreed, telling him that after whatever it was I'd take him home and he'd have to sleep off his drinks. He laughed at that.

 So when I found myself driving through a somewhat familiar neighborhood I started getting suspicious. He directed me, his voice even but his hands shaking in his lap. 

 When we pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous house I remembered where we were. This was a house I had dragged Seth to all those years ago to look at, knowing I'd never afford it.

 "Seth, what are we doing here?"

 He didn't answer. Instead he got out of the car and started for the front door. 

 I ran after him. "Seth, stop, you're going to wake the people who live here up." As he reached the front door he pulled keys from his pocket and put them in the lock.

 "I'm already awake."

 -----

 "What?" I asked, staring between the now open door and him.

 "I was working so much for you. I was buying this house. I wasn't home cause I was meeting realtors, inspectors and signing the paperwork. I was having a decorator come in the day you left."

 "Why didn't you tell me? I asked, staring at him. 

 "I was scared. I was 27, had just bought a house and was about to ask my girlfriend to marry me and then you were mad at me, you were leaving me. And I couldn't speak.  I was so confused. So you left and that was it."

 "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked again.

 "I was fucking terrified to. You were so mad. It made me think that I'd never been good enough for you. So I just moved in and never said anything. "

 I stared at him, his words ringing in my head. He'd bought a house for us. He'd...

 "Seth, did you just say what I think you did? About why you were scared?"

 His eyes met mine as he thought over his words and when they widened I knew he realized what he'd said. 

 Seth had wanted to marry me. And I'd never seen it coming. And now, three years later, we stood at the front door of what would've been our house.

 He looked at the ground. "Not like it matters, what I said."

 "Why wouldn't it matter?"

 "Because I let you go, lost you. We had what everyone wanted, everyone thought we were perfect but I was a fuckup and I lost you. You've moved on and you're still a better person than me so I know, that even if by some chance in hell, I was enough for you now I wouldn't get to prove it."

 I laughed at the absurdity of this entire night, running a hand through my hair.

 "I don't know what's funny, Y/N," Seth said, his voice filling with hurt. 

 I turned back and stared at him. 

 "You think I've moved on?"

 He nodded, his eyes on mine.

 "I'm wearing your fucking t-shirt, Seth. I sent you a care package when you had your surgery. I still watch Raw and wince whenever you take a hit or bump."

 I held back the last bit of information that showed just how much I hadn't moved on. 

 I hadn't realized that in shouting at him I'd stepped closer. Seth saw it though and reached for me, grabbing the soft fabric of the well-worn t-shirt and pulling me even closer, so we were nearly touching.

 "You haven't moved on? Forgotten me?" He asked.

 "You don't forget someone you wanted to marry," I said.

 That made something flash in Seth's eyes. He closed them and leaned his forehead forward until it was touching mine.

 "I have to tell you something."

 "What?" I asked, my throat tight with anxiety. 

 "I knew the gift basket was from you. You didn't sign it but I'd know your handwriting anywhere."

 "Then how did you think I'd be over you?"

 He sighed. "I thought you were just being nice. Like you always were. You were always the better person."

 His hand, that had stayed fisted in the t-shirt, flattened over my abdomen and slid around to my side and around my back. 

 I shivered at his touch, my body waking up immediately. 

 "Come inside?"

 "Seth..." I started, my voice shaking.

 "Please? Just...fuck... I can't watch you go right now. We can just sit together but please don't just leave right now. I have to show you something else."

 I stared at him before nodding, my stomach in knots. We went inside and my breath left me. The inside was gorgeous, decorated to near perfection.

 "Sit, I'll be back," he said. I looked into the sitting room, flipped on a light switch and went to sit on the couch there, sinking in to the softness of the cushion.

 I heard him moving through the house and I waited. Looking around I saw photos over the fireplace. I stood and walked to them. 

 Photos of fellow wrestlers, his friends and family. My throat tightened when I saw one that happened to be my favorite from when we'd been dating. 

 We'd been at a barbecue with his family and we were taking a group photo but Seth had decided to look at me instead of the camera and I was caught mid laugh about something he must have said.

 My hand went to the frame of the photo but I jumped when I heard a crash from the other side of the house. 

 "Seth?" I called, turning and running towards the sound, upstairs.

 I found Seth in his bedroom, near the closet, having clearly toppled off the step ladder that laid beside him.

 "Shit, Seth what are you doing?" I went to him and carefully helped him stand enough to get to the bed.

 "Wanted to show you something. Like an asshole I thought I could reach the box but I put too much weight on my knee and it gave out."

 I frowned, thinking of his match on Sunday. "What box?" I asked.

 "Blue shoebox, top right." I turned and picked up the step ladder, moving it farther to the right before climbing up and grabbing the box. When I walked over to Seth I handed it to him and sat down on the bed, the box between us.

 I saw his hands shake as he took the top off. Then, I felt myself start to shake when I saw what was inside. 

 Pictures of us. On top of them was one of us dressed nicely, when we'd attended his cousin's wedding. We'd been dancing and laughing and the wedding photographer had caught the moment.

 "That's my favorite one," he said, his voice soft.

 "Mine is the one downstairs, at the barbecue."

 He nodded and reached into the corner of the box, under the mounds of photos before he pulled out a small box. A tiny, black, velvet ring box.

 I stopped breathing. 

 He opened it without saying anything and handed it to me. I took it in my shaking hands and stared at the ring inside. 

 It was...beautiful. Not too flashy or big. There was a twist pattern on the metal that held the largest diamond in the center in place.

 "Seth..." I said, staring at him.

 He laughed, sounding sad as he did so.

 "I know, I'm an asshole for showing you this. But I had to. I'm trying to fix everything now. My career, my friendships, my knee...but I need to fix us too."

 "Fix us?"

 "You're the only woman who ever understood me.  The only one who didn't laugh at my dreams, who wasn't with me for my money or my status. I'm not expecting you to pick up where we left off but I need to know if I have even a one percent chance at getting you back. If I do I'm going to fight like hell for you."

 My throat was tight and my eyes were watering. I thought everything over and kept my eyes on him until they fell back to the ring. 

 "I'm...still in love with you," I whispered.

 Seth stared at me and I saw him swallow and clench his jaw as he picked his words carefully.

 "You are?"

 "I never stopped," I admitted.

 Seth's hand reached out tentatively to cup my face and I sighed at the familiar warmth on my cheek.

  "I never stopped either," he said. I leaned into his hand, soaking up the feeling.

 "Y/N, can I ask something? I'm probably pushing my luck..."

 "Sure," I said, looking at him, seeing the nerves on his face. 

 "Can you...stay tonight? I bought this house for us and I can't stand another night here without you in it. The only upside to the schedule is I'm not home too much but when I was injured and doing rehab it was torture here, every day."

 I looked at him as my mind tried to make a decision. I wanted to stay, wanted Seth, but I was terrified it'd all fall apart again.

 "If you promise me something,” I said. "Well two somethings."

 He nodded eagerly, waiting.

 "Tomorrow, we figure out how to fix us. I want to try again but I'm scared. So we need to work on that."

 "Of course," he said. "What's the second part?"

 "I need you, Seth. It's been three years and I missed you too much."

 His eyes widened slightly when he got my meaning. "Now for my two somethings, before I answer."

 I nodded, waiting. "Are you sure?" He asked. When I nodded again he took a deep breath, relief and excitement on his face.

 "Okay so when you say three years...has there been anyone else?"

 I shook my head no, feeling my face growing red.

 Seth's other hand took the shoebox from between us and he leaned over, setting it on the side table, and then his hands were sliding along my shoulders to the nape of my neck.

 "No one?" He asked. His voice was deep, rough.

 I shook my head no. "I went on dates, kissed a few frogs but couldn't bring myself to be with anyone."

 Seth pulled me closer to him and brushed his lips over mine. I sighed and felt my hand shaking as I reached over and buried my hands in his hair. 

 "No one else?" He asked again.

 I shook my head no and a sound, closer to a growl than anything else, left Seth. 

 I pulled back to look at him and shivered at the look on his face. His eyes had darkened and his hair, now falling out of the ponytail he'd tied it into, was falling into his eyes.

 "I went nuts thinking about other guys touching you, I didn't like thinking about it but I couldn't help it," he said as his one hand slid slowly up my thigh, towards my core.

 I grabbed him and kissed him hard, biting at his lower lip before he bit back.

 "Fuck," he breathed before pulling me into his lap. I straddled him and our kisses grew deeper. I ground my hips down against his length that was straining against his jeans, making Seth moan.

 I slid off his lap and knelt on the floor in front of him, my fingers going to the straps of the knee brace he had on.

 Seth leaned back slightly to pull his own shirt over his head and once his brace was off I stood and placed it by the crutch he'd abandoned. 

 When I came back to him he grabbed me by the belt loop of my pants and pulled me until I was standing between his legs.

 "I missed you," he said, his voice shaking. 

 "I missed you too,” I said, my hands running over his now bare shoulders and over his pecs.

 He shivered but allowed my hands to wander as his slid up to the button of my jeans. He tugged the jeans down my legs and his hand slid right back up and rested against my heat, the thin layer of my underwear the only thing separating us. I gasped as his fingers drew lazy circles over the fabric.

 He smirked and pulled me into a deep kiss, his body shaking beneath my touch. When the kiss broke I crouched down and my hands found the button of his jeans and I tugged at them, Seth laying back on the bed and lifting his hips slightly so I could tug them down and off, being careful near his knee.

 When I stood again his hands were sliding under the shirt and he smiled up at me. “Wearing my shirt still, I didn’t realize it was the same one,” he said as his hands trailed over my abdomen to brush over my breasts and back down my sides.

 “It’s still my favorite thing to wear,” I said.

 “It looks better on you than it ever did on me and while I love seeing you in it,” he said, pushing up on the fabric and taking it off of me. “I like this view much more,” he finished, his hands going behind my back and undoing my bra. I slid it off of me and smiled down at Seth, loving how he looked at me despite feeling self-conscious.

 “Fucking beautiful,” he growled. I smiled but wouldn’t let him topple me next to him on the bed, shifting my weight so I didn’t fall to the mattress.

 “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice slightly uneven.

 “Your knee, Seth. I remember how you like things and none of that will be okay on your knee,” I said. He sighed, looking down at his leg as if he’d forgotten all about it.

 “Guess that means I get to be in control tonight,” I said, smirking. Seth, catching my meaning, moved backwards on the bed until he was laying near the head board, a smirk on his face. I laughed at the look he wore and crawled over to him, grabbing the boxers he wore and tugging them down and off of him.

 His cock sprang out between us and I took it in my hand, pumping him slowly. Seth groaned, low and deep in his throat as his eyes closed.  He hissed as I teased him, kissing the tip of his cock once before smirking up at him.

 “Tease,” he groaned.

 I laughed, once, my body humming at how easy it was to be with Seth. I didn’t feel self-conscious with him, I felt good. I slid from the bed and slid my underwear down my legs before joining him again, straddling him as I looked down at him.

 “I love you, you believe me, right?” He said, his voice soft as his hands gripped me to him, one of my hip and the other buried in my hair.

 I nodded. “I love you too,” I whispered.

 Seth looked like he was about to speak again but I slid back and his cock pressed at my entrance and he stopped. I stilled for a moment until he locked eyes with me and I could feel his heart beating under my hands on his chest.

 “What’s wrong?” he asked.

 “Figured you’d want to decide when, you always did,” I said, shifting my hips slightly and letting him press into me a little more but not close to enough.

 Seth let out a low growl sound and grabbed my hips, slamming me down onto him, making me gasp in both surprise and pleasure at how he filled me. I whimpered, gripping at his shoulders and Seth’s grip on my hips tightened.

 “Fuck,” he gasped. “So tight, holy shit,” he said, rolling his hips slowly against mine. I shivered and started to pick up a slow pace, watching as Seth groaned at every move I made.

 “Is this what you wanted in this house?” I asked, sitting back slightly and bouncing on him. Seth’s eyes were glued at the spot where our bodies met and his hands grabbed my ass tightly, pushing and pulling on me to keep the pace.

 “Fuck yes,” he groaned.

 “What did you want here? Tell me what we missed out on cause we’re stubborn,” I gasped as he hit the spot inside me. Three years and he still knew how to fuck me just right.

 “We missed on doing this every night,” he gasped, his hips thrusting to meet mine, his injured leg laid flat while I and his good leg did the work.

 I rolled my hips, feeling my orgasm build. “We missed lazy Sundays and holidays here. We missed waking up together.” He growled out. “I was too fucking afraid,” he added.

 “And I was too full of pride,” I whimpered as his hands grabbed at me, pulling me down to kiss him as I rode him, my orgasm nearing.

 “You had a right to be. I wasn’t fair to you. I’m gonna make up for it. You know why?” He asked, his voice cracking slightly.

 “Why?” I gasped before I cursed and gasped out his name, my body tensing.

 “Because I love you and I swear on everything I own I will call you my wife one day,” he said, his thumb finding my clit and pushing me over the edge.

 I screamed as I came, riding Seth until he shouted my name too and, after taking a minute to breathe, I rolled off of him and curled into his side, my legs carefully intertwined with his.

 “You still want that?” I asked, gasping slightly as my head came back into focus.

 “Yes,” he said.

“Good, me too,” I whispered against his chest. A short laugh escaped him as he held me to him.

  “I think…” he started, choosing his words carefully. “I think I’m making more than one comeback this year but this  is by far my favorite one.”

[joyfullyimportantyouth-blog]

Reportage: Why Cleansing is Totes Necessary // A Comedy // Bougie AF

So, this weekend I felt like being a mixture of regimented and “mindful” and I felt like a caricature of privilege. Despite the fact that I live with ten people and am unemployed, I am not impoverished. I have grown up with the privilege of Costco and homegrown radishes and Portuguese soap dishes. I’ve always felt a little bad (but not really) about my inclination towards the more nicely packaged/ more expensive items everywhere, although I usually write out budget lists that are realistically sketched out to include a $13 budget in entertainment. And intend on reading THICH NHAT HAHN and then quickly loop back to Wikipedia-ing and trolling celebrity gossip.

So while I was googling “how to really cleanse/simplify your life” yesterday, I had to have a moment of reprieve from my privileged ways. Why are we so obsessed with this word (”we” as in me and millions of lifestyle blogs) and why are there usually only the options of zen and moneybags reloaded into formulas for us to refer to? Just for humor’s sake, I created a list of stereotypes of my search results. There’s no answer on how to cleanse other than to purge what’s not needed, which is subjective-ish. 

Cleansing is perhaps just saying “no” a lot of the time... Just doing the minimum of what is necessary and picking two things that are important to you for each day. Because drinking miso soup and eating celery and drum circle-ing some subpar world music to reactivate your sexual organs are not the only ways to get rid of anything keeping ya down. 

-- CLEANSING: A MANUAL OF WHO NEEDS A CLEANSE--

“Cleansing” : The Rich Bitch Earth Mother

She carries her African woven basket full of farmers market carrots everywhere, because she loves Farm to Table! It helps her imagine the simpler times of vacationing in the South of France when she smells the freshly cut lavender on the West Elm birchwood counter engraved with affirmations to keep “elevated” as she breaks bread/macca. 

She beams with gratitude as she meets each person EVERY SINGLE DAY IN HER BUSY LIFE with a gaze as “sensually earthy” as amber candelabras. Of course, she made those last weekend at her glassblowing class - after her 5 AM ashtanga practice - because her next thing will be pottery and selling spirulina goji berry energy fragrance to Gwyneth at Goop.

Her Woodstock turned financier husband doesn’t pay attention to her even when she suggests tantric weekend getaways in Oregon wine country for a “cleanse” from the modern world. He always sighs at her after smoking some high-grade vape Sativa and buys her another turquoise ring from the Iroquois she “volunteers” her time for because she’s always been certain that she is Native American… or at least 1/16 Sacagawea.

She has made it her life path to realize her full potential as a Capricorn Sun / Aries Rising in the sweat lodges she invites herself to. She finagled her way into these sacred ceremonies by what she believes to be a “calling” but more accurately occurred after procuring a bankrolled friendship with a local Native American artist. She knew they were kindred spirits after buying his sacred geometry blankets at her best friend’s boutique “Gather.” A new one called “Savor” is going to sell her wrap dresses that she buys from her Guetemalan Shaman, who always forgets that she doesn’t drink regular milk only ALMOND MILK and no gluten when they trip together on $500 ayahuasca that keeps true to her frugal roots of growing up in Marin County. She just loves the “spirit” of Central American people because it makes her feel like she is in the Peace Corps when they smile back at her and offer her the opportunity to pose in photos next to a “saddening” market stand.

All of the Instagram photos of posing in collectivos with poor people will be framed at the cafe where she namaste-scolds the barista everyday for her stupidity in not knowing her clear distaste for regular hummus (acidic!). It’s always only going to be beet hummus until edamame hummus gets on the menu for godssakes. Here she always meets with her caftan-clad yoga friends who all used to be dancers and now have rich husbands who built them modern Adobe lairs to be bored in but pretend like blackberry sage tea gets them high from well being.

She feels forlorn that there is something discontenting about the “minimalism” she has so ambitiously set out to create/dump shitloads of money into, so in the only way she knows how, she will book an Iyasca retreat in Peru. Maybe poor Peruvian people can teach her the meaning of life so she can write a memoir about how life changing it all was. Holding hands with the street children… and never returning again because it makes her too sad, but the lessons of the third world will be tattooed literally and figuratively in a Quechua phrase for life on her wrist so she can talk about it to the young hot river guide men in Telluride…

“Cleansing” : The Twenty-Something Project

She has had way too much casual sex for her pressing emotional need to find someone who loves tequila and rock climbing and contemporary fiction just as much as she does. She drinks way too much tequila five days a week as well as wine during the day because she feels like she can’t access who she really is (that’s what a partner would help her discover in his egocentric artistic ways of being).  She spends eight hours on the computer writing shit that doesn’t matter to her (like emails) and trolling pointless social media sites that make her wonder if models really are people. This is usually the apex of her day, when she recounts how she is in charge of her own happiness but jesus how many genetically modified Victoria’s Secret models are there out there? These girls are now chronicled to be “anti-social-media-bullying” and are just “regular girls,” which she intellectually realizes. But she thinks and researches for a long time how they can be just so: how can they get someone to take their photo at just the right moment when they are writhing around in the water so that you can see that they are so in tune with and gently being kissed by their sexy actor boyfriend (bio in link for his new film with Harrison Ford!)? This is happening while being blessed by the Tahitian palm tree shading themselves, because they’re responsible so they use La Roche Posay SPF and feel #grateful that they are very hot people and have so many loyal followers.

She decides that becoming a massage therapist will likely zen her out all the time and make her like wheatgrass and never drink again and only date “spiritual” men with man buns. Maybe being a masseuse will train her to refuse being around “negative vibes” and only will be in the same room as people who make her feel “full.” And being a masseuse will likely get her laid because she’ll be a healer. So like the google-generation, she finds a massage training in Tulum. But it’s $5,000 over-budget. Instead, she thinks she will just clean her room and eat a mango from the bodega around the corner because it’s only $1. And only have 3 apps instead of 13.

“Cleansing” : The I-Came-of-Age-In-The-Rob-Lowe-Coked-Out-Power-Dressing-Glamor-of-The-1980’s-Workaholic 

EVERYTHING IS FALLING APART. She works so much that she has no life. She hates her pantsuits but started working in the age of Anita Hill and thought she had to break the glass ceiling more because her mom would quote Betty Friedan and preach to not be “ungrateful” to the women like Jane Fonda who paved the way (and the song “9-5,” too). She used to dream about working in transportation and logistics just so she could scan her government card everyday.

Now she hates the Boys Club. She even hates most of the women, who are such mechanical bores and all majored in “Political Science” like smart girls do at Dartmouth. They’re the sociopathic philanthropists who only “endorse” International causes that pay people to publicize the plight of poor people because it looks good in photos and they don’t actually want to help poor people. Unless you’re George and Amal Clooney, you can just show yourself the door.

So guess what? She QUITS HER JOB and decides that something must change... and also that she absolutely loathes Elizabeth Gilbert. This means that she doesn’t want to be BORED hanging out doing yoga in some fucking yurt pagoda thing and she doesn’t want to get FAT in Italy with some boy toy whose worshipping would be as aging feeling as a lifestyle blog… and she doesn’t want to SHUT THE FUCK UP in India in some ashram with annoying as fuck Californians who think using crystalized deoderant is as repenting as when they culturally appropriated Ganesh on their saggy backs.

So what does she want to “cleanse?” Anything committing or societally-fulfilling for women her age (like the constant suggestion of growing a damn garden to be happy…). The solution is to do whatever she damn well pleases from the comforts of her current home and maybe tell people what to do from her computer every once in a while “freelancing” and occasionally go on a few dates and walking out when they’re just blah blah blah. 

Perhaps trying to be “budget-y” but realizing she earned her accolades thirty years ago, so only voting with her dollar when she feels like reusing the same dishtowel or using up everything in the fridge. She learned long ago that you’re not better than others just because you “know how to be poor and sustainable” by eating pumpkins from the garbage … and living with a commune of people you kind of hate for judging you about not knowing the merits of free speech feminism and cleaning with vinegar absolutely everywhere (...everywhere).

She will damn well do as she pleases in purchasing a sugaring appointment or buying a $50 solo dinner. Or online shopping at FreePeople if she feels like she’s lagging a bit on her “cleanse” and wants to look a little like she had a love affair in Barcelona and went cray at the flea markets that apparently only sell pillow case dresses that are so bright and flouncy you have to dance in the streets when you wear them and look like you’re having an enlightening experience even when you drink “fresh mint water.”

“Cleansing”: The Legit Monk Woman

She GOT RID OF EVERYTHING to be noble to a million sutras she can’t quite name but she tries to, usually when she’s drinking a single cup of tea for four hours. She went to Ladakh in 1987 and comes back to Los Angeles in 2017 named Nag Champa and gets a job teaching at some liberal theology college in Orange County where Steven Spielbergh’s kids occasionally come to class. At least they link the school website in their online interviews with Vogue all the time. They are using the Tibetan sound bowls to create a new experimental electronic album that can maybe buy their way into Coachella and they may have her be their life coach while on tour to “combat the stressful perils of the industry.” 

She writes a few blog posts for Depak who is always trynna hit on her. She goes to Wanderlust and blesses the dreadlocked crowd with a hybrid Buddhist-Rastafarian-Katy Perry lyric blessing, throwing Whole Foods rosewater on their toned bodies that they got growing up skiing in Aspen. All of them say they want to be mentored by her in between their barista/yoga teaching/juice cleansing lifestyles, maybe when they’re done setting up their kombucha bar they can swing by and have like a $6,000 certifying sesh that has all inclusive vegan food? Or they can barter with nuts and berries that they brought back from their trip to INDIA.

Yes, she must capitalize on this moment of “wellness.” You can find her speaking and retreat information on LinkedIn that she’s still waiting to customize in a more boisonberry color for calming effects…

“Cleansing”: The-Doesn’t-Want-To-Give-A-Shit-But-Still-Kind-of-Does Woman

She needs to get her finances in order a bit and is somehow always “busy” so she gets rid of what’s not needed by saying: Yes, she needs her organic food. No, she doesn’t need her Argan oil face wash. Yes, she needs a drink at somewhere other than a dive bar every other Friday. No, she doesn’t need to go to Brazilian dance yoga with Shanti for $40 every day. Yes, she needs to go see a concert every once in a while. No, she doesn’t need five paid-for “music experience” apps that “customize” user experience depending on their ever-fluctuating mood and will bring you to “up and coming artists.” Because honestly, these musicians sound like they took a Xanax and hipsters just go to their shows because they’re insecure that they’re being called “hipsters” and hate “categorization of gender norms” but totally need reassurance that they’re doing life right by the Anthropologie curtain-esque crop tops and leg tattoos they appear bored in everywhere. So every grainy film Insta shot is in fact very intentional but they won’t admit it because they will always be pale-faced underdogs just like these up and coming artists who have long hair and little annoying vegan kids with no manners who have ginger hair and are gonna grow up to be soft-core racists because they intentionally want to have black friends (only with septum piercings and a denim jacket) so they can show how liberal they are because their parents were once underpaid touring musicians and they know what struggle is because they tried acid when they were 14 and they saw how we are all “the same.”  

Yes, she needs stupid email to make a living. No, she doesn’t need Snapchat because so much meh and overwhelming tapping all the time.

…DONE. Now she’s livin’.

[stylishanachronism]

Cool, we have a sheep vote, @brightwaterforarainyday thanks babe I love you, unfortunately this is still... mostly not about sheep? It is about food though, and there’s definitely a sheep tangent. Also an extremely terrible rainfall chart.

So @yanara126 brought up a really good point two? weeks ago, about butter in Eir Glanfath cooking, namely that there’s a fuck ton of it for a country that has no grazing pasture, basically, or any visible dairying tradition, and after a lot of fruitless searching for swamp based dairy (if you know of any let me know okay? something has to produce a useful amount of milk without grassland that’s not camels I’m sure), I actually sat down and opened the cookbook(1), which says that they import all their butter but my guys. my dudes. Dyrwodian cooking culture makes no fucking sense.

Last time around, I talked about the fact that there’s a very good argument to be made that the Dyrwood mostly produces textiles, and pretty much just enough food to get by. I would like to amend that statement to include a rich and deeply extensive dairying tradition (Obsidian why aren’t they all obsessed with cheese), including cow, sheep, and goat cheeses. (Also a lot of butter. Which they export. To Eir Glanfath. In large enough quantities to have fundamentally changed at least one tribe’s cooking culture(2). This is never once brought up in game.) I’m taking this from the fact that most if not all of the Dyrwodian recipes involve lots of dairy, from variously named sources (mostly goat, for some reason) and in various forms, and while the major protein is chicken, they also call for beef specifically, in a recipe canonical enough to make it into the game proper (one of five that do, two of which are supposedly of Rauataian origin), which leaves us with sheep as the only not explicitly confirmed dairy animal involved, but you already know my thoughts on that.

I also said, last time around, that your guess was as good as mine where their planting was concerned, as long as you didn’t pick corn, and I am apparently extremely wrong about that because the cookbook says everybody in the Dyrwood (and Eir Glanfath) loves cornbread (to the disgust of their Aedyran relatives)(3), which, on further thought, actually fits in with the game canon better than I’d thought, so strike that, corn is definitely one of their major grains.

Having (finally) looked into what little information there is about their planting schedule (literally three pages, one of which is about why this information is probably not useful from an in-universe perspective, thanks Obsidian, and one of which is actually the (not terribly helpful) rainfall chart), I am unfortunately required to rely mostly on real life sources, which means I am making this shit up out of whole cloth and may be wandering in the entirely wrong direction. Take the rest of this with an even larger grain of salt than usual.

Starting with what little canon information there is about Dyrwodan crops(4): there’s a 99% chance the winter wheat we see in Gilded Vale has Scabs, given what we’re told about it, (and we know it’s winter wheat because it’s past flowering when the game starts), there’s a mill that’s been around long enough to prove there’s been a need for it for a long time, so cereal grains aren’t a new thing in the Vale’s rotation, and they grow a great deal of ‘vegetables’ (“A varied collection of celery, carrots, and other common vegetables.”, in game description) and ‘fruit’ (”Dyrwoodan fruits include the imported sonnread, staple of Aedyran orchards, and the common pear, though Vailian figs are quite popular among the wealthy.” igd), and apparently they either grow or import rice (”Simple but effective, this stew contains a pleasing blend of meat, vegetables, and rice.” igd), with the bias on grow given where and how often it shows up (I’ve got... one reasonable location for it, but otherwise it makes like, no sense, but more on that later), and... that’s about it. I know more about the drugs they like than the food they eat, and I’m not even thinking about medicine in this context yet.

Pulling from non-game canon, we’ve got a tiny bit more. The cookbook is more specific about their grains (oats and corn to go with the wheat), and indicates at least three varieties of nuts, the almanac more specific about their vegetables (...but not in a particularly useful manner), plus it has a rainfall chart! Which, y’know, only has five entries(5). Again, that’s about it.

So here’s where I start making this up whole cloth. (Gilded Vale has the literal only field we get to see, so it’s the example I’m using.) Given that the wheat has scabs, the previous, probably cash, crop was corn, possibly with a cover crop of forage root vegetables or a legume of some sort over winter, depending on where they were in their cycle. (scabs are a much bigger danger after corn, because the fungus survives best on corn mulch.) Given where the wheat is in it’s growth cycle, that gives us a solid guess at that year’s crop rotation(6), namely a winter cereal (wheat), followed by a cash crop (corn), which is usually followed by a legume or a grass, (it’s entirely likely you might nurse the legume with the grass, as well), and then either a winterkilled cereal or some sort of forage tuber. They had a wet, warm winter and a dry spring, followed by a wet summer (but that last’s canon for plot reasons). Given the cookbook, they probably cycle their wheat with oats, rye, and barley, and they probably cycle beets, turnips, and maybe carrots as their forage. I would not be surprised with buckwheat as a short season cover crop, between the corn and the legume, tilled back into the soil when said legume is seeded, or a mustard let grow to seed. Their vegetable gardens probably have more legumes, both peas and beans, for kith consumption, as well as vine vegetables, like cucumbers and squash, maybe peppers, if it’s a warm year, cabbage, alums, and root vegetables, also for kith consumption, most likely beets, carrots, and turnips. Tomatoes may or may not be a thing, again, depending on how warm the year gets. (They’re tentatively a Dyrwodan staple, given they’re in two apocryphal sources, but also I’m not sure where the equator is, so I’m not sure where it would be warm enough for them. My gut says closer to Readceras, but who the hell knows.) As for fruit, a variety of apples, most of Aedyran import, most likely, as well as plums, pears, and probably apricots and possibly peaches, as well as pecans, almonds, and walnuts.

I would expect an equally extensive pickling tradition to go with their dairying tradition, though I’m undecided on the heat level involved (lots of spices are an absolute, though I’m not yet decided on what they are, outside of the basics.), and they pack a lot of their perishables in pie crust for transport. They also import so much cinnamon, but probably not a lot of sugar, given they’re exporting that to Eir Glanfath.

Next time: Let’s actually talk about sheep, hopefully, but also what’s up with their food culture, outside of what’s actually available.

-

1. This is a weird bit of esoterica for me, and I’m torn in how much I’d like to consider it part of my canon, so to speak. On one hand, the lore itself is pretty fun, and it’s a good augmentation to the lore we get in game, and the recipes themselves are uniformly excellent (except the pie crust, which is the Worst crust recipe I’ve ever seen in my life, and also much too involved for the period. Please ignore it even exists. Cut the page out of your copy and burn it.), but on the other hand, they’re Extremely Modern recipes, with little to no thought given to the foods available where they were supposedly invented (lemons in the Pearl Coast before the advent of a major farming industry? Unlikely to say the least, but more about citrus in a later essay.), and the lore is very clearly stapled on to the recipes that were picked to be included, which makes it Suspect.

2. “Glanfathan nut cookies are a relatively recent invention in the Eastern Reach. Not known for sweet foods, it took the Glanfathans generations of interaction with Aedyran settlers to begin incorporating sugar and copious amounts of butter into their recipes. Their early experiments were considered vile by both natives and settlers alike, but when the Guided Compass tribe began incorporating a variety of local nuts into butter-rich cookies, even discriminating Aedyrans agreed that the natives had succeeded. While the treats are now common throughout Eir Glanfath and the Dyrwood, locals consider cookies from east of the Bael River to be the most authentic.” (TCB, p. 19)

3. Disgust might be a strong word, but “In Aedyr, Wyflan cornbread is not well-liked by many outside of the Wyfla Valley. Because many of the Dyrwood’s early settlers were from Wyfla, the cornbread became a common sight at family tables in original colonies. Glanfathans also quickly took a liking to the settlers’ cornbread, so it has since achieved far more popularity in the Dyrwood than in Aedyr.” (TCB, p. 17)

4: We’re not covering animal husbandry in this part, despite the fact it was (still!) supposed to be about sheep, but it’s really a whole different topic, and anyways the relevant bit is this: I’ve got canon evidence of cows, goats, pigs, and chickens (and horses but nobody’s eating those), and then, of course, the sheep, plus I’ve got a good feeling about doves. All of those produce manure, that highly important fertilizer, and some of them can even be induced to produce it on the fields where it’s needed.

5: The rainfall chart is particularly not very useful because it only tells me things I pretty much already knew, based on the geography the map gives us. I did, however, transfer the information over and make a couple of educated guesses as a color-coded (unlabelled, sorry) map:

Dark is what’s listed, light is the guesses to go with it. As you can see, there’s a giant blank area where I have no information whatsoever. I’ll get around to doing extremely badly informed weather predictions at some point, but here’s what the map shows us so far: the rain’s coming in from the NW, getting squeezed out between the White March and whatever the hell the mountain range between the Republics and the Dyrwood is called (it is not labeled on the map), and then flowing back out mostly through Defiance Bay and the Bay of Crowns. The Bay of Crowns probably has some interesting finer grained geography, given it’s less of a bay and pretty much ends in a marsh, unlike Defiance Bay, but this is the only map I have so who knows.

6: An extremely basic primer on crop rotation: the idea is to both restore your soil between plantings of your cash crop (the thing that makes you money, or in this case, the thing that provides most of your food), and prevent it from eroding and/or being infested by weeds in the meantime, which will take all the nutrients you need and leave none for your next planting, by instead planting a cover crop (something that gets tilled straight back into the soil, either before it fruits or after it’s been harvested, depending. You also might grow something your animals can eat, and add their manure on the spot, tilling it and whatever they don’t eat back in instead). This is done on both an annual cycle (i.e. cereal, corn, legume, grass, repeat), and a longer one, typically five or ten years (i.e. you swap the grass for tubers, or winterkill another cereal before it flowers, or swap your cash crop for a different one), and it’s highly personalized, down to individual field if necessary.

Anyways it is once again Watcher Wednesday who wants more nonsense about sheep?

[maisonkuo-blog]

BYOBS - Shareholder Agreement (SHA)

Post #5

Disclaimer, this text is from the youtube video by The Rest Of Us, published on 12/7/2016. You can see it here.

- - - - - beginning of the video by The Rest Of Us - - - - -

The SHA is a document that is signed by all shareholders and effectively manages, how the  control of how the company is split amongst them. Usually the bigger company, the longer the SHA and the harder to understand for me and others who do not have a phd at all.

Anything that is written in the SHA is subject to negotiation. Therefore be careful to consider these five things before you sign.

1.  DILUTION

When a company raises cash from a new investor, existing shareholders get diluted. Meaning their percentage hold of the company diminish as the new investor receives the newly issued shares. If you have seen part one, watch it now. You might remember how I said that every shareholder that get diluted proportionally to their share in the company. So in our case, with a new investor coming in at 25% . if you own 40% you lose 10%, if you own 20% you lose 5%. Well I lied. Dilution is not ALWAYS proportional. The SHA might include an anti-dilution clause. Which exempts a certain shareholder from dilution completely, by simply granting him new shares when a capital raise takes place. And if a man is not diluted.. because of the way percentages work, then others must be diluted even further in his stead. One famous example, the FHA included a anti-dilution clause to all shareholder, with only one shareholder taking the hit.

To prevent this from happening to yo, always watchout for your dilution in your SHA.

2.  BOARD SEATS

The board of director is to a company, much like is the parliament to some democracies. It elects the CEO much like the german parliament elects the chancellor. And they can influence and or veto decisions made by the CEO. Note that the board is not involved into day-to-day operation, and not to be confused with the management or executive of the company, even if thought some of them will usually be board members. But in general who gets to determined the bard members much like voters determines who is in parliatment, shareholders determine who is in the board. And in the case of startup and private companies, these are usually the founders the invertors and others such as employees. Friends and family. And but not every vote bears equal weight, once again much like in a certain democracies. The number of board seat the share holder can determine is usually vaguely correlate to the number of shares they hold. But to also to their standing inside the company and their negotiation skills. For example, in the young private company with five board seat, the co founder and CEO might determine 2 of them while only holding 20% stake, beccaise, the CEO is so charismatic and important to the business, while another founder who also owns the same 20% gets only to determine none. Another big investor who holds 30% may determine another two, while another share holder… determines another two.  Boys and is out of the loop. Who can determine who can vote member and that’s what written in the SHA. Others may be out of the loop. And once it is signed the deal is sealed. So you better pay good attention, to the board of director’s section.

3.Tag Along

Say you invested some money into a friend’s start-up at an early stage, and now you hold a small stake in it. The lead investor is some famous guy who went all in in your friend’s company and holds a majority stake in your friend’s company, including a majority of board seats. Things have been going well and one of the big guys shows interest in the start up. So much so that they now want to buy control of the business. Good news for the big guy. The only one they have to talk to is Mr. majority over here. He can now exit is controlling stake for a sweet profit over his initial investment. And you and the other minority shareholder can go fuck yourself right? Not so! The tag along clause puts a big asterix on that deal. It gives the minority stake at the right to sell the same portion of their stake at the same price and conditions. And if the big guys just wants to buy control but not the whole company, then, they’re are buying from everyone equally. So if you are a minority shareholder of a company. Be especially sure to have your tag along right to be included before you sign.

4. Drag Along

Now may be you are one of the big investoryou’re your exit candidate wants to buy, not just control, but the entire company, you think it is a great deal but those naggy small investor don’t agree. And they tell you we won’t sell our shares, and, you tell them, yes you will, and they say, make us! Turns out you can, thanks to the drag along clause. The drag along give the majority shareholder the right to force minority shareholders to sell their shares at the same conditions as them. So if you happen to hold a big stake in a small company, the drag along clause will be important to you.

5. Option Pool

This is you, and this is your start up and these are your employees. Employees need incentive. And what better way to incentives them, then making them co-owner of the business. Here we go, knock yourself with half a ring of celery, and make you work harder. But where do these share first come from? Who gave away some of their participation? The answer to this question brings us full circle back to the first topic: DILUTION. A capital raise takes place, it is decided how many shares should be newly created and set aside. Justly distributed among the foot soldiers. The data crunchers, the sales guy. The managers. Where is the catch? Whenever shares a newly created from one end, dilution must occur on somewhere on another side. So if the share option pool is filled up to 10% then all existing shareholder will be diluted by those same 10% of their share. But it gets more tricky than that. As is customary, some shareholder may cover themselves against share option pool dilution, and the new investor for example made it a condition to include in his investment that he won’t take a hit from share option pool in this round! Bad luck for the rest of you. Oh look the co-founder also negotiated his way out of share option poo because he did not get any board seats after all… all of this haggling is part of the process which might be slipped by you, if you don’t know what to look for. But in the case of at lease these five things you now do.

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