#it told sorbet it was their conscious

[zprite-x]

That one trend

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #26

Satanic Panic 😈 / Ice Cream Dream 🍦

Mako meets Raleigh at the park near Kaidenovskys’, only slightly self-conscious in the wheat-colored cardigan and wide-legged dark jeans she picked out for their plans. The carpet of fallen leaves crunches under her heavy combat boots, and the brisk fall breeze teases at the ends of her hair where her blue streaks are starting to fade. She’s been so busy with the restaurant that she hasn’t had time to re-dye them. 

Raleigh is waiting for her on a bench, bundled in a navy sweater and olive-green cargo pants, but he hauls himself up when he sees her. He’s wearing hiking boots and for some reason it makes her fond. Is he an outdoorsy guy when he’s not eating his way through the city? 

“Hi,” she says with a hesitant smile. “How are you doing?”

“Good, but better with the promise of your chutney on the horizon,” he says, and her smile widens. “You?”

“Good. I took the afternoon off and it’s so strange not to be getting ready to open the restaurant right now.”

“I hope I’m not disrupting your day,” Raleigh starts, but she cuts him off. 

“No, no! It’s good for me to take a break now and then. And I want to be here with you.” She shifts her tote bag on her shoulder, where a mason jar of togarashi-strawberry chutney is wrapped in several dish towels to prevent smashing. “Do you get ice cream here a lot? I haven’t been for years now.”

“Yeah, often enough. I think I told you that I live around here, so it’s an easy temptation to give in to.”

It’s been a couple of weeks since their private omakase event, and they’ve been trying to get together only to have scheduling get in the way. They exchanged numbers before Raleigh left that night, and their texting has gradually evolved from strictly logistics to Mako sending pictures of what she’s serving that night and Raleigh replying with pained expressions of how much he wants to try it. She thinks they might be flirting, if flirting could be enacted almost exclusively through the medium of food.

He holds the door for her as they step into Kaidenovskys’, and Mako breathes in the light, sweet smell of freshly made waffle cones. It’s slightly too chilly to be an ideal ice cream day, so for now they’re the only customers inside. She peers through the curved glass case at the checkerboard of flavors below, and Raleigh, beside her, says softly, “I’m going to say something that might totally change your opinion of me: they have a really good vanilla.”

It’s not what Mako expects him to say, and she laughs. “No, I respect vanilla! Especially with togarashi and strawberry. But the peach basil could be good, too.” She taps the glass. “Or the lime sorbet.”

“You’ve got a good eye,” he says approvingly, and he orders vanilla. Mako, having already decided she’ll let him try whatever she gets, chooses the peach basil in what she thinks is a decent size, until she sees Raleigh’s.

Mako is not shy about ice cream. She’s not shy about food, period: her portion sizes are her business and there’s nothing shameful about liking things that taste good. She is not the girl ordering a kid-size cup so her date thinks she’s tiny and delicate. Her cup is filled with what she’d call a pretty generous two scoops, but what Raleigh is holding has to be close to a pint. The little crush she’s been nursing begins to rise and expand like bread dough in the proofing box of her heart. 

“You know,” he says with a sheepish grin as they set back out for the park, Mako clutching an extra spoon for the chutney, “it’s occurring to me that I keep telling you I don’t usually eat like this, and then showing back up in your life to eat like this again.”

“Please,” says Mako, gesturing with her spoon. “Indulge yourself. You don’t ever have to apologize for food with me.”

They find a bench at the edge of the park to settle on, out of the wind, and Mako unswaddles the jar of chutney from her tote bag and brings it out triumphantly. “Guest of honor,” she says, unscrewing the cap and holding it out to Raleigh. “Help yourself.”

He scoops a few spoonfuls onto his ice cream, then tips the jar to Mako, who follows suit. “All right,” he says, meeting her eyes. “Moment of truth. I really hope I’m not wrong about this.”

She laughs, and they take their first bites at the same time. The shock of cold hits Mako’s tongue first, then the slow burn of the pepper against the sweet peach ice cream and macerated strawberry. The basil hangs at the back, a slight botanical note to round it out, and she and Raleigh stare at each other for a moment, wordless.

“No, you were right,” she says finally, and he grins.

“You have to try the vanilla. Here.” They trade cups, and she has to admit that the vanilla is maybe more brilliant — it’s sweet but not bland, with a creamy, complex flavor profile. The togarashi and strawberry bring out its florals, and the pepper keeps it from being overwhelmingly sweet. 

“I take back what I said about putting a new ramen on the menu for you,” she says, spooning another bite out of his giant cup. “I think maybe it should be this.”

“Hey, I can talk to the Kaidenovskys if you’re serious,” he says, handing her cup back and taking his own. Even out of the wind’s path, his blond hair ruffles in the slight breeze remaining. “We’ve got a pretty good relationship, and I’ve helped hook them up with some other restaurants in the city. They’d probably be happy to be your ice cream supplier, if you don’t already have one.”

“I don’t,” she says, pushing her hair behind her ears. “Right now we only have sorbet, and we make that in house. But even just a couple gallons of vanilla every week might be enough to do some fun things with, to start. Newt’s been talking about some kind of dessert cocktail he wants to try with umeshu, and this could work with that, too.”

Raleigh’s grin is brighter even than the sunshine streaming through the burnished autumn foliage. “Yeah? Let me touch base with them. God knows I’m there often enough. You can come, too, if you want, you should be involved.” He leans back on the bench, spreading his legs a little and resting a hand on his belly. “I’m gonna have to start walking to Kaiju at this rate. I’ll never stop ordering that ice cream.”

“Oh, shhh,” she says, swatting his hand lightly. “Stop that. Food is supposed to be enjoyed. We have a rule in my kitchen that we don’t moralize it. It’s not good or bad, it’s not healthy or unhealthy, it’s something you’re eating because it’s good and it’s satisfying. I’m invoking it now. No more disparaging.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, looking sheepish. “I’m just — after my brother died, it was like food was the only thing I could get myself out of bed for. The only thing that made me hurt a little less. And even though it’s been awhile, I’m still not used to — this.” He pats his belly with the hand resting on its crest. “People get weird about food when you’re not thin anymore. I’m glad you’re not one of them.”

“Eating is important,” she says, pausing with her spoon dug into her ice cream. “It kept you alive. You kept you alive. That’s not nothing.”

Raleigh nods, bringing a precariously large spoonful of ice cream to his lips. “No, you’re right. It’s important.”

“I was the same,” she says after a silence, “but for other people. I could barely eat after Sensei passed, but I had to keep cooking or I would get stuck with my thoughts. If I just kept moving, if I could pretend that he was in the kitchen with me just out of sight, I could keep going. If I could hear him going through a recipe in my head, then he couldn’t be gone.”

“Yeah,” says Raleigh. “I get that.”

Mako’s hands are getting cold, and she finishes her ice cream as quickly as she can so she can shove them into her pockets. She should have brought a coat.

Raleigh is also making headway, even though he’s got much more ice cream to work through. Even if his softness came at a cost, she likes it. It suits him, the gentle way he speaks and the tenderness with which he writes about food and people. She wants him to feel good about food, to feel good about filling himself, sustaining himself. Already she’s planning ways to share more meals with him, community dinner events and indie restaurant potlucks and maybe more outings, just the two of them. 

“You cold?” asks Raleigh, his eyebrows pulling together. “You can have my sweater if you need it. I’ll be all right.”

Mako shrugs, but her crush is rising, rising. “I’m okay for now. Maybe we can walk around and warm up a little.”

“Sure. Have you been here before?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve passed by it, but it’s a little out of my way.”

“Oh, then you haven’t seen the status!” he says, and she cocks her head, curious. “There are a bunch of little animal statues here, kind of hidden among the plants and benches. Just let me finish this and we can go find them. There’s a map if we really get stuck, but it’s more fun to just wander around looking.”

She smiles. “I would love that.”

He finishes his ice cream in what seems like record time for how much is left, then stands and stretches his arms over his head. When his sweater pulls up, Mako can see the soft expanse of his t-shirted belly rolling over his waistband, and she ducks her head over her empty ice cream cup and tries to punch down the interest flickering at the edges of her gaze. She doesn’t want him to think that she is being weird about this, that she’s judging him somehow. Not when she would really, really like to be the one who gets to make sure that he eats.

He collects her empty cup and spoon and wanders a few steps away to toss them into a trash can, then doubles back for her. They fall into step together, and after several minutes of Raleigh talking nervously — she thinks nervously — about the neighborhood, she says, “How would you feel about holding hands?”

Raleigh exhales, and she laughs in spite of herself. “I feel good about that,” he says, offering his to her. She laces his fingers through her own, and together, they set out to find the statues.

—

It’s been six months since that date, and Raleigh has become a fixture at the restaurant on nights when there’s an open table. He’s an excellent tipper and an even better sounding board, and even though his sushi instincts aren’t always on the money, he’s always happy to let Mako edit and mangle and reshape his suggestions until they square with her vision. 

She’s reshaped Raleigh a little, too, worked him with her hands and her cooking and her affection until he’s considerably softer and wider than he was when they began dating. She loves it on him, and he’s stopped apologizing for it, which she loves even more.

And it turns out that while Raleigh’s a talented food writer, what he’s best at is bringing people together. In the last few months alone, he’s planned a food drive for the holidays, organized a free Thanksgiving event made up of completely donated dishes from local restaurants for anyone in need, and helped Mako coordinate the indie restaurant potluck she’d had in the back of her brain. She contributes a huge batch of chirashizushi with caramelized leeks, grilled eel, braised karashina, and roasted kabocha squash, and when she pan-fries the metric ton of leftover rice and tosses it with fresh tuna, avocado, and bird’s eye mayo, Raleigh even lets her feed it to him.

Their six-month anniversary coincides with the two-year anniversary of Kaiju’s reopening, and Mako celebrates by getting new menus printed. Later she’ll cook for Raleigh, but for now, she presents him with one of the new menus, indigo and gold with the kaiju logo Newt designed, in a neat black frame. The last item on the menu is called the Cold Day, Warm Sweater, and it’s circled in red marker: three scoops of Kaidenovskys’ vanilla ice cream with a generous helping of house-made togarashi-strawberry chutney.

[tenthgrove]

Yandere Prompt Event: Poly La Squadra with 24, 223 and 242

24: “Can’t you see? The world is a scary and dangerous place. If you stay here, you’ll be safe. In my arms.” 223: “Why are you crying? Who hurt you? I’ll bash their skulls in.” 242: “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that? Your body is for my eyes only.”

Cw for attempted date rape (not by a character)

In any other place, a crash as loud as the one you just heard in the adjoining house would be cause for concern, but not here. You’re entirely used to this sort of thing from La Squadra.

You continue picking out your jacket for the evening as someone, your best guess is Formaggio, scrambles to their feet on the other side of the wall. You chuckle a little as you hear the pained ‘I’m fine,” resonate through the building followed by a few frantic questions from Pesci to make sure this is really the case.

Truth be told, you don’t know where your odd neighbours La Squadra got their nickname from, though with their close, laddish behaviour, you suppose it’s not a surprise. You asked once and Illuso said it’s because they’re a hit squad for the mafia, which you found to be a right good laugh.

Accessories selected, you grab your bag and make your way to the front door. Your days have been good lately, and a night on the town should do you wonderfully in such a mood, especially when your date for the evening is such a good looker. As you step into the street, you catch sight of Illuso on his front porch with a drinking glass. He clicks his tongue as he eyes you.

“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that? Your body is for our eyes only,” he calls out mockingly. You start and turn to him, ready to rebuke such a rude comment when a voice louder than yours shouts down from the top floor.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON?” Gelato yells from his bedroom. Sorbet comes to his side, looking down at Illuso with an equal amount of fury. “WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO THEM?”

“Alright, alright. It’s just a joke,” Illuso defends himself. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“So? Apologise,” Sorbet demands. Illuso grumbles but complies.

“See? That wasn’t hard was it?” Gelato jeers him. “Sorry about him (y/n). Hope you have a nice night.”

“You too!” You call up to them. “See you!”

Sorbet shuts the window and you continue on your way, not wanting to say another word to Illuso after such an unpleasant encounter. All said, despite your overall good standing with La Squadra, this isn’t the first time one of them has said something… oddly possessive, for a person who is meant to be no more than your friend. You try to blame it on the alcohol. Surely there can’t be something the squad isn’t telling you. No, that would just be baseless suspicion.

::::::::::::

The club is very much alive as you walk up to the front door. You’ve been here a few times, a fan of the music and the eccentric revellers. You’re sure tonight will go just as smoothly, and you’re excited to meet your date. So far, you’ve only spoken online.

You catch sight of three familiar faces swaying out the front. It’s Melone, Ghiaccio and Formaggio, the latter of whom looks barely conscious as he sways on the others’ arms. You rush over to check on them.

“Is he okay?” you ask.

“Fine. Just shit-drunk,” Ghiaccio sighs. “We’re taking him home.”

“Didn’t you leave after I did? How is he this drunk already?”

“He was drinking at home, but it wasn’t clear how much until he got here. Anyway, we don’t want him puking anyway, so we’ll be taking our leave. Hope you enjoy yourself darling!” Melone bids you.

“Wait, you aren’t actually going in there are you?” Ghiaccio criticises. “This place is dangerous as fuck, you really shouldn’t be in there alone.”

“Let them have their fun Ghia,” Melone maintains. “I’m sure they’ll be just fine.”

“Oh trust me, I will be. Surely if this place were that dangerous it would have shut by now,” you reckon. “Anyway, nice bumping into you, see you later!” you tell them, heading off to the door.

Melone waves, then, unseen to you, pulls out his phone.

“Risotto? Yes, it’s Melone. The emails right, they’re in the club. I was going to go in to see who their date was, but with Formaggio in this state we won’t even get past the bouncers. If you could take our place, it would be much appreciated.”

::::::::::::

Are you even awake? You can’t be sure when your body is so light and heavy at the same time. How do you feel so drunk when all you had was half the drink your date bought you. At least he’s here, letting you lean on him as he takes you out to wherever this is. He’s been so nice to you all night, buying you that drink and… oh. You need to get out of here.

“Excuse me?” you slur. “I’m gonna go back inside. Don’t worry about me, I can call-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” your date says, his grip around your waste tightening. “Just a little further.”

“No, I’m not going with you!” you insist, trying to break away. The man utters something profane and attempts to lift you up. You thrash, but in such a weakened state, what hope do you have?

You’re utterly without defence.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” A voice yells from behind. Are the drugs messing with your hearing? Because a voice that deep could only be-

“Risotto! Get (y/n) out of the way! I’m going to handle this bastard!” A second voice shouts. That’s Prosciutto! Why the hell are those two of all people in a place like this.

There’s a brief struggle before you find yourself in a pair of arms distinctly warmer than the last. Risotto hoists you up against his chest and carries you several steps back, safe from the fight about to begin between Prosciutto and your attacker.

From what you don’t know, your attacker lets out an ear-wrenching scream.

“Risotto, what’s he doing?” you ask weakly. You’re starting to cry from fear and confusion.

“Hush, don’t worry about it,” Risotto says. He turns around and holds your face against his chest so you cannot see at all. There’s more screaming, all of it your former date’s. Then, when it is weakened to a whimper, a gunshot.

Prosciutto steps over to join you.

“Why are you crying? Did anyone else hurt you? Who hurt you? I’ll bash their skulls in.”

“They aren’t hurt,” Risotto assures him. “Just frightened, it isn’t surprising.”

You cannot bring yourself to respond, just slipping down further in Risotto’s embrace as your remaining strength gives out. Risotto kneels with you to keep you in his arms.

“If I knew this would happen I never would have let them out of that damn house,” Prosciutto gripes.

“Likewise. The risks are getting greater. As syndicate control in this area grows stronger, the thugs are becoming more brazen,” Risotto agrees. He looks down at you sobbing in his arms, and wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Prosciutto?” Risotto says.

“Mm?”

“It’s time. There’s no other way to protect them.”

You look up.

“What? What do you mean? What do you-”

Your voice is cut off into a muffled panic as your face is pushed against Risotto’s shoulder, arms pinned behind your back and bound with rope.

“Wait! What are you doing! Ris- Pros- I-”

“Shh,” Risotto calms you, hoisting you over his shoulder and leading you to the car at the end of the alleyway. “Can’t you see? The world is a scary and dangerous place. If you stay here, you’ll be safe. In my arms.”

[moody-blues-requiem]

Please could I request headcanons for La Squadra enjoying g their partner biting and marking their neck? Who maintains an apparent cool appearance while trying not to blush? Thank you!

Overall they all like it, but some more than others! I ranked them from enjoying neck bites the most to the least. 

Enjoys it the most

Risotto: so like, we all know this guy told people he was a vampire in middle school. It’s true and it needs to be said. So while Risotto looks back and cringes at that now, Risotto still gets rock fucking solid for neck bites and he blames the vampire fascination. It just feels so good to have someone you trust tugging on such sensitive nerves, the warm wetness of their mouth on his skin, and if they break the skin and lap up a little blood then that’s really just the cherry on top. He LOVES doing the same to his s/o, but likes being bitten even more. Bonus points if you have sharp teeth and moan about how good he tastes, that makes him WEAK. 

Ghiaccio: once you get his icy walls to come down, Ghiaccio is by far the biggest sub in La Squadra. He’s a brat about it, but god, he loves when someone else wrestles control from him and then has their way with him. Neck biting is an especially big turn-on, any kind of biting really, but something about how sensitive the neck is, with its important anatomy and all that, really lights a fire under Ghiaccio. He’s loud every time you give his neck attention, hips thrusting up wildly looking for friction, a real mess as your teeth tug and scrape on his soft skin. 

Melone: is a slut for any and all types of pain. He wants you to bite him hard, all over, but his neck is ESPECIALLY good for biting. Tug his hair to tilt his head back and go to town. His collarbones are also prime hickey real estate, and he makes the cutest noises while you suck bruises into his skin there. But be careful, because anything you do to him will probably come right back at you when it’s his turn to top. 

Gelato: chaotic sub, and like Melone, loves all kinds of pain. The main reasons I put Gelato below Melone on this list are 1) Gelato won’t let just anyone hurt him, it has to be Sorbet and/or a third partner (you), and 2) he tends to like stuff more extreme than just neck biting. Make him bleed, slap him around, choke him until his vision fades and then bite that curve where his neck meets his shoulders to bring him back. 

Formaggio: loves when you give him attention in any form. So long as you’re not actually hurting him, he’ll take anything from you with a smirk and a squeeze of your ass. Prefers having your mouth sucking him off rather than marking hickeys on his neck, but if that’s what you want to do? “Bring it on, baby~”

Sorbet: chaotic dom. If you bite him you will be punished, and Sorbet doesn’t fuck around with his punishments. That’s not to say he doesn’t like being bitten, it feels good and he loves having bratty little toys to play with, but you’re much less likely to be edged raw if you bite Gelato instead. 

Prosciutto: acts like such a diva about it! How dare you leave marks on his perfectly-moisturized skin in such a visible area! You’ll be bent over his knee all night if any of his teammates notice what you’ve done. In all honesty he enjoys you biting and leaving hickeys on him, but gets so caught up in his own appearance that he hates when they’re in a visible spot. Stick to his thighs. 

Illuso: is really picky about the attention he gets. He’s a total brat in the bedroom and likes to be the one in control, and like Ghiaccio, he likes when you can wrestle control away from him. He doesn’t mind bites, neck bites and hickeys included, but he prefers getting spanked and having his hair pulled when it comes to pain in the bedroom. He doesn’t like having marks in such a visible location, lest his teammates find out he has human needs and desires and all that. 

Pesci: is pretty self-conscious about his neck, so getting positive attention there almost makes him nauseous the first time you do it. It’s just… unexpected, for him, different and new. You’ll have to go slow and start with light kisses and compliments, and eventually he learns to love when you get a little rough with him, but his neck is still a figurative soft spot for him. Don’t overdo it. 

Enjoys it the least

[thenextchapter22]

Angel of the Three Realms

PART FOUR!!

Description: You were an Angel who went to the human world to escape punishment for loving Lucifer only to be brought back into his life, this time in the Devildom where you pretend to be human.

In this chapter: Simeon brings you back the medicine and some not so good news...

Warnings: Unrequited Love, Angst, WIP

Pairing(s): Lucifer/Reader

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Authors Note: It’s been a while again but here is a 2k chapter to make up for it?! Please check out my AO3 for my other works or my Masterlist on my pinned post :)

Part One Part Two Part Three

_+_

“Did Michael give you any problems?”

“He didn’t know I was even there. I was very discreet in my arrival, only one knew I was there.”

“That’s unlike you… but good.”

“Lucifer, why are you so mean to me…”

Simeon’s whine made you grin but you tried not to react too much. You were eavesdropping after all.

It was a private conversation obviously otherwise they would not be whispering. Simeon had come back from fetching whatever it was he needed from the Celestial Realm (you didn’t even think at the time to ask what it was from Barbatos or Lucifer, you were more worried about him stealing. He was an Angel and he was going to steal from the Heavens for you, a pitiful little thing that had broken wings). As soon as he came in it was like your body woke up in time and somehow you knew not to move or speak. Instinct of the Angels or something ridiculous, or maybe just coincidental. Either way you were glad you were conscious to hear this.

Lucifer had been watching over you while you slept and waited for the medicine. As the eldest brother, he was also the one who worried the most and had the most stress, but he hid it well. Not from you, though, and you could tell he was worried about you. If you got a sort of look in your eyes, Lucifer you distract you however he could. Mostly with stupid stories of his brothers but it worked for the most part. He kept you company and sane while you tried not to bite your nails off freaking out about what was going on.

When you actually did bite at them, though, he slapped at your hand and you gaped. “Lucifer—”

His nose turned up. “Do not nibble on your nails, it’s disgusting. Do you know what you’re putting in your mouth?”

You smiled. He was so cute. “Nibble? I never thought it’d hear that word from you.” You nudged him from where he sat beside you, and he was not prepared and wobbled. It was hilarious and you outright laughed.

He narrowed his eyes, playfully. “Behave yourself or I won’t bring you the strawberry sorbet that Barbatos made.”

Anything made by the Demon Butler was incredible, so you pouted and apologized, “Sorry, I’ll be good.”

He huffed. “No you won’t. But I accept your apology.”

You both laughed then, and he took your hand and squeezed it once. The hue on your cheeks was noticeable in the room but thankfully he was paying attention to the book in his lap.

The time you spent with him was always amazing. Be it in silence, reading together, or talking about his work or your schoolwork, or just teasing one another, every word and action or lack thereof, if it was with him… there was nothing more you could ask for. After so long without him, then seeing him but not being able to be who you were without repercussions, this was… nice.

A soft touch to your shoulder had your mind reeling but it was just Lucifer adjusting your blanket. You faced the other way so it wasn’t like they could see your face but you kept your breathing and heartbeat as regular as you could.

“She’s looking better than a few days ago. Her wings are beautiful. Well done.”

“Hm. Yes, but this will help considerably. What do we need to do with it?”

“Mix it into her tea or water. I’ve already crushed it into a powder. The effects should be seen within hours and she should be able to sheath her wings again and her strength with come back.”

A pause for a moment, and a sigh from Simeon. “Lucifer… while Michael gave me no trouble… there is something else I found out.”

Simeon sounded very worried. And you couldn’t help but inhale with worry, too, and it was apparent they both noticed as it was dead silent for a moment. You blew it. The gig was up, time to confess your sin.

“Sorry,” you said, turning your head and opening your eyes. “I wasn’t doing it on purpose… at first...”

Lucifer chuckled. “Of course not.”

Simeon half smiled. “No, little lamb, it’s all right. You need to hear this, too.”

You sat up with a little help, wings being curled behind on the bed, and folded your hands together on your lap. Switching gazes between Lucifer and Simeon standing before you, heart pounding, you felt so young again. The tension in the room was slightly suffocating.

Simeon sighed before he spoke. “I didn’t hear it from Michael but one of my closest friends keeping an eye on the Celestial Realm had information for me. He told me that he noticed Michael had been acting strange ever since I left to come to the Devildom. Which wasn’t odd, he didn’t want to do this at the start. He also found some terrible things out, something Michael did right after you Fell. From what was discovered, Michael came to Earth without our Father’s consent under the cover of an Ancient spell of cloaking used by Angelic spies millennium ago, and he… well, he sought you out.”

You were confused. “Michael came to find me when I… left…?”

Simeon nodded. He looked upset the more he spoke. “Yes.”

That made zero sense. Firstly, how did he know you left, and secondly… “I never… I would have known if Michael came to see me.” And you would have ran as far away as you could go.

Nodding, Simeon continued, “Yes, I know, my dear, but he didn’t come for conversation exactly. He came and went quickly after….” He looked at Lucifer, who was also patiently (not really) waiting. “…after he put a spell on you.”

You were rigid in your spot. Michael was crafty, so it wasn’t something simple, it had to have been very powerful and purposeful spell he cast. It wasn’t something like a prank spell, especially if he used such Ancient Celestial magic to hide himself.

“Simeon, what was the spell for?”

“Michael didn’t want Lucifer or his brothers to figure out you were still alive, why I am unsure. Maybe jealousy? Maybe hatred? It could be many things, but it’s all speculative. This spell… it only affected those on Earth, and in Heaven. So I, too, had been affected. He was the only exempt, along with Father, of course. He was out for weeks replenishing himself back then and no one knew why he wasn’t seen for so long… until now.”

Lucifer glared at Simeon. “Get to the point. Now.”

“Yes. Well, this spell was to block Sight, and alter Memory. Of you. He wanted you erased from our minds, as though you died when you Fell from Heaven. I am so sorry, my dear.”

Time itself stopped and you didn’t breathe for several seconds. You inhaled from your nose and grit your teeth. Lucifer sat at your side and tried to take your hand, seeing your reaction, but you pulled away and shot daggers at him. “No, don’t attempt to comfort me right now, Luci. This is fucked up for even him to do. I’m pissed off!”

“Please, calm down, you’re still healing and—”

“Shut up Simeon!” Your voice echoed in the room, both Angel and Demon glancing at each other and then to you. “He’s going to pay for this, I’ll make sure he suffers.”

You felt your magic struggling to start up but it was growing steady each second. You attempted to stand up, to do what you were not sure. All you knew was anger and it boiled in your veins like a volcano about to pop.

Michael never liked you, but this? What he did to you, and your family, and all of the world? It was horrific. If he could make the Celestial Realm forget you, what else could he do? He couldn’t reach the Devildom, thankfully, but you would find a way to reach him and tear his eyes out and shove them somewhere unpleasant.

But there were two obstacles in your way… Simeon and Lucifer. They each held you down by your shoulders, one hand from each, and kept you still on the bed.

“I understand your anger,” Lucifer said, “and I want to seek revenge just as you do but this is not the time. You need rest and we need to think about this.”

“Fuck. You. I hate him for this. What kind of monster just changes thousands of Angel’s memories? Of me? Me?! I didn’t do anything to him, Lucifer!”

Your body was burning. Lungs, eyes, muscles, all of it. Tense, ready to burst like before with your magic. He could do it again, couldn’t he? Make them forget you? It was so easy the first time, what if he could find a way here and do it again? You’d be alone all over… no home, no friends, and no brothers to tease or school to learn all about demon customs… No Lucifer for the second time.

The ringing in your ears was loud, but one voice rang louder, like a megaphone breaching through a thick wall. “Breathe deeply and relax your muscles. It’s all right. We know you, we are here for you.” Simeon. He gently squeezed your upper arm and you tried to do as he said.

Lucifer was next, his voice even louder, clearer. “I’ll never allow that wretched Angel to be near you. If I see his face I will rip his head off and burn it in Hellfire.” Lucifer’s words oddly brought you comfort more than Simeon’s.

You sniffled, wiped a few straggling tears, and dropped your head onto Lucifer’s chest, clutching his shirt. “Don’t. Just…” Stay.

He caressed the back of your head and let you be. Breathing him in, feeling him and his own magic curling around you like a dark blanket, and Simeon’s energy right beside you like a nightlight along with it. Several calming breathes and a minute later you were okay.

You blinked up at Lucifer, “Sorry. Thanks for that.”

His eyes softened and he brushed a few tangled pieces of hair out of your face. “You’re welcome, little one.”

Simeon had stepped away, messing with the water pitcher. The Angel walked to you with a glass in hand. “Here, while you’re awake you may as well take this.” Simeon handed you the cup, and it looked like it had dirt swimming around inside. “I know it looks unpleasant but it will help you heal quickly so you can finally leave this bed.” He smiled softly.

You downed it quick so you didn’t have to taste it for long. But what you did taste was like pee stained socks. You almost vomited it back. Why did medicine have to taste so nasty? Wasn’t this from the Heavens, and shouldn’t it taste better?

They both chuckled at you, and Simeon gave you clean water to wash it down with. Ice cold and delicious water.

After a moment of settling that stuff in your stomach, you asked in a quiet voice, “But you do remember me? Everything, right?” Just to be sure. You had to be sure.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course we do. I remember chasing your around in your diapers after you stole flowers from the Sacred Gardens. You fell into a patch of Lily’s and your butt was coated in pollen.”

You flushed. “S-simeon!” Why would he bring up such a memory? Your ears were burning you turned so red.

Lucifer chuckled. “Oh, I remember that as well. Do you recall her face? It was yellow with the same pollen.”

Simeon nodded and laughed, “Yes, I do!”

Groaning, you begged, “Please, no more, I don’t want to hear any other embarrassing stories right now.” They laughed but stopped at your behest.

You thought a bit more, and wondered… “But how did your informant remember me? Was he not present in either Realm when the spell was cast?” you asked Simeon.

“I had wondered the same, actually. He was in the Celestial Realm back then. But a few weeks ago he had been searching the private Library for all Top Level Angels on a task handed to him by God, and he found a secret doorway with stacks of books and papers and notes with Michael’s handwriting. Your name was there, so that must have triggered the spell to reverse. He told no one at my command until we find out why Michael did all of this.”

“But I told you all my name… And it was only when my wings showed themselves you all remembered.”

“That is true. But this was most likely from the original spells wordings, and thus it had the ancient magic connected to it. I can only assume however.”

Lucifer had some input as well. “Hm… It’s possible that the same could be said for your wings. It’s also considered ancient magic, you had not once used it around us before so that could be another possibility.”

You rubbed your head. This was too much at once. “Okay, I’m done with tonight. I couldn’t care less why you guys remember me or the circumstances behind all of this. All I know is this: Michael is a scheming asshole and I want him to pay.”

Lucifer sighed. “We know, dove, we feel the same way. Simeon?”

“Yes, I have to agree, Michael has done something that needs punishing, but until we find out more on why, I think it’s best to have you rest. Why don’t you go back to sleep? Hopefully in the morning you will be able to move around by yourself and put away your wings. I know how difficult this all is for you.”

“Thank you Simeon. You have no idea what this means to me, that you did that for me. I can’t ever repay you.”

Simeon smiled. “I just wish for your health and safety, little lamb, that’s all I want. So get some sleep now, and dream good dreams for me. Maybe of when you were young and wild.” He kissed your forehead, and left after bidding Lucifer goodnight.

With the help of Lucifer you were back under the covers. “I hope this is the last night I have to spend sleeping like this. I miss sleeping on my back and stretching my legs out.”

Lucifer smirked. “Yes, I do recall once you had come into my bed and stole it with your flailing limbs. You were no older than a toddler then so I can imagine the space you take up now.”

You chucked a pillow at him and he dodged it elegantly, his hair perfect still. How he did it, you wondered. “Jerk, I don’t have flailing limbs.” But wow, sharing a bed with Lucifer now sounded lovely.

You sighed and closed your eyes, shimmying into the bed and pillows. It was toasty warm. “Goodnight, Luci.”

“Sleep well, dove. In the morning you should be well again.” He smoothed his hand down your upper back and leaned in to kiss the top of your head, and then left to his own room now that he knew you were going to be okay.

Somehow, despite all the bad you had discovered, you found yourself dreaming of old days, of flying circles around the Angels in lower class than you, of jumping on your bed and Lucifer scolding you then making you snacks to make up for his scolding because you were spoiled. And, yes, you dreamt of the time you fell into the flowers and stained yourself yellow with pollen.

Barbatos said it right: “Our dreams are extensions of our conscious minds” and this time, the dream playing behind your eyelids was full of joy instead of pain. Memories, beautiful and exquisite times with your Angelic family. It was lovely recalling those days in your head.

When you woke up, you smiled. You had traded in one family for another, and although this family was full of demonic brothers and a Demon Prince and a few other strange beings (Solomon was the strangest possibly), family was not always blood.

You were ready to face anything the world gave you. Be it Michael or whatever else, to protect them.

As you lay there, your wings sucked into you with an influx of magic, and you barely even noticed. Too caught in your head remembering good times with the Devildom family you made.

[bugslaststraw]

Summary on how Vento Aureo could play out in a nobody dies AU, ft Bruabba, Avpol, vague La Squadra/Elite Guard as well as my horrible tired morning writing

- for starters, Bruno gives the order to try not to kill any other Passione members. This means that the gang is merciful on purpose towards La Squadra, and the other group get away with major to minor injuries. It's also worth mentioning that Gelato manages to activate his stand in time to save Sorbet, who loses his legs but also survives.

- Bruno obviously can't die halfway through VA for this to work, so Giorno gets to him just in time and heals him, keeping him alive but very tired after the fight.

- Tiziano and Squalo are spared and also probably kiss on-screen, Cioccolata and Secco miraculously and accidentally survive somehow, whatever, on with the story

- now onto the meat, staring off with where Abbacchio would have died if I wasn't such a little bitch about it. Giorno loses hope as he is trying to heal their teammate, Bruno turns away, believing it's already over, Narancia is doing about exactly what he does in canon, when Giorno gasps as he realized it worked. The sound shuts everyone else up and stops their trains of thought. Leone shifts, and starts breathing again. Narancia makes some happy exclamation, Mista praises Giorno and expresses his relief that it worked. Bruno doesn't move. Giorno notices and asks what's wrong. He's just standing there for a moment. Jaw clenched, nails digging into his palms. Giorno notices that too, that's why we see it. Then he snaps, almost shoving Giorno out of the way, he kneels down by that rock Leone dropped on, and fumbles to look for a heartbeat somewhere. It isn't particularly important. Abbacchio is breathing visibly, and no doubt is he alive. But Bruno more does it for reassurance, for comfort, as a moment ago he thought he lost him. The others just watch. Giorno may show some sign of surprise but the others saw to coming. Leone opens his eyes just a little, catches sight of Bruno, sighs, and smiles. He asks if he and the others are okay, to which Bruno smiles (rather tearfully, Giorno is shook) and tells him that everyone is fine. With Bruno's hand still resting against his cheek, Leone passes out. He's brought into the turtle to rest up.

- Leone's survival means that Bruno does not entire what I like to call the "scary stage" aka where he acts all cold and bossy towards the others about up until his death. When Narancia is injured and throws the turtle, Bruno openly shows worry for him and make sure he's okay, prompting Trish to ask why Bruno cares so much for his team instead of the opposite, as in canon.

- onto the Seccolata fight. Since Bruno is very much alive at this point the fight between him and Secco plays out very different as he also has to watch out for Green Day's mold effect while trying not to die from a serious case of human pet attack. At the end of that battle he ends up bruised, bloody and tired in the same spot as in canon. He taxes himself to his limit during the fight and has little to not energy left. Doppio has been following them and is instructed to strike Bruno down before he notices anything's wrong, as per canon.

- he doesn't gwt the change though, because a certain someone has woken up and gone to find his friends. Leone turns up, snaps ar Doppio, who is told to back off and go around the back way by Diavalo. Bruno lights up when he sees Leone, and lets himself be carefully lifted onto his feet. He asks if Leone is okay to which he replies that it's Bruno they should be worrying about. The two of them proceed to the Colosseum to meet with the others.

- meanwhile, other things have been happening there. Avdol, Polnareff and Iggy have been waiting for the others, but Doppio gets ti the Colosseum first. They ask who he is, to which he tries to lie and say he's part of the team. Things go canonically (- Bruno), Diavalo reveals himself to the three of them. Iggy is too old a dog to actually fight so he stays back. Nevertheless, there are now two stand users on Diavalo's ass. Polnareff stabs Chariot. The fight continues. And just as Diavalo think that he can at least knock off that wretched Polnareff, Avdol, well, does an Avdol, and saves his stupid ass, blasting Diavalo out into the Colosseum. Polnareff chides Avdol for risking his life for him again, but he really isn't angry and it shows. The two share a Moment™ before the effects of Requiem put everyone to sleep just as the others reach the Colosseum from at least two different directions.

- Narancia's death is completely eliminated. He's fine and does not get spiked.

- now for Requiem's switchups. Trish and Mista switch, as do Giorno and Narancia. Diavalo hides in whoever the hell he hides in canonically, Bruno ends up in Diavalo's body and Doppio takes Bruno's. Avdol and Polnareff also switch, and poor Abbacchio is unfortunate enough to switch with Iggy. Requiem also works a little differently now, a little more logically let's say. The light soul shadow thing is entirely eliminated, partly because I didn't even understand it while watching but also because it forces Bruno to sacrifice himself. Now it works like how Polnareff describes it in that flashback. Take the arrow away from Chariot Requiem and it will turn back into it's original form, removing the effects. On with the story.

- Polnareff and Avdol explain the arrow briefly. Bruno turns up, orders Mista to shoot his body, there's a brief gag with Abbacchio in Iggy's body, Iggy (in Leone's bod) as well as Avdol (who doesn't know how to handle himself in a body without legs) stay at the Colosseum to make sure Doppio doesn't cause trouble, even as he is currently passed out. The rest of them set off for Chariot.

- the end fight goes like this: Diavalo attacks as his stand, Giorno takes the arrow, everyone is put back in their own bodies, Giorno and Mista have that one Moment™, Trish and Diavalo have an intense punching match because god does the girl deserve it, Giorno stabs his stand with the arrow, Gold Experience Requiem springs forth, rips Diavalo out of his shared body and tosses him into the infinite death loop, where je unexplainably has a body, meaning that the death loop may not be taking place across dimensions but in GER's own hellish little torture loop dimension. And so the battle is won. But I'm not done yet.

- Mista picks up Doppio, now in his own body and alone in controlling it, and he, Giorno, Trish, Avdol and Iggy (both back in their own bodies!) as well as Narancia all head back for the Colosseum.

- Meanwhile, Abbacchio wakes up in his own body. He takes a moment to orientate himself. Polnareff is still out. In the middle of the Colosseum lies Bruno's body. He gets up, a little unsteadily, and runs to make sure he's okay. Bruno is conscious again, but he's now got three bullets in his body and he's in quite a bit of pain. Abbacchio does the Caesar thing where he picks Bruno up and cradles him in his lap because that's one of the best tropes in the world of tropes. They talk a little, and I'm sure I could craft some decent dialogue if I wasn't so god damn tired right now, all I know is that it's tender and basically a confirmation that they're in love. The others arrive, Leone snaps at Giorno to heal Bruno, which he does. Polnareff and Avdol have a shorter, slightly louder reunion that nevertheless gets the message across.

- Then Doppio wakes up. Then he realizes that he's alone in his body. Then he panics. Bruno's parent instincts kick in as hard as ever, and Fugo can't help but feel just a little bit exasperated as his capo starts talking tk their former enemy in a soft voice, slowly calming him down and explaining the situation to him as easily as he can. Diavalo wasn't on your side, he says, as kindly as possible, and although he doesn't know if he's telling the truth or not he thinks it's better that Doppio thinks so. Doppio calms down a little and agrees to come with them. Trish kind of takes over at that point, and she and Narancia decide to keep an extra eye on Doppio to both make sure he's okay and so he doesn't kill anyone. All of them head out of the Colosseum...

- except Leone. This is the final scene. Leone kind of stays behind, staring at the ground. Bruno stops as he notices he hasn't moved. "Abbacchio?" Leone looks at him and goes "what happens now?" Bruno smiles. "I think we all deserve some rest, don't you?" Hw reaches out a hand. Leone also smiles, and takes it, interlocking their fingers. They head after the others. The screen does the arrow freeze thing. The episode ends. The outro plays. The credits roll. It's over.

[surpriserose]

dude its like 3 am i think im just gonna drop my oc thing rn because its so hard to end things so im just like...leaving it as is sjldhkajscn also im too tired to be self conscious

uh content warning is like body horror, eye trauma based horror, smoking and thats about it i think. pretty standard stuff for jojos

also this kind of requires cioccolata and secco killing sorbet and gelato to be canon, even though its anime only and it makes no sense but dont worry about it jkdafhlklf also this is like almost 2500 words so idk kdfhjsalkjdnfa idk ill add tags and like an actual summary and shit when its not 3 amdjlfahd also i rly hope i didnt make anyone out of character and like...any of this makes sense GOD ill shut up now jdflsdnjas

    Dead men tell no tales, but they send messages. Risotto learned that the hard way. The 36 frames of Sorbet sat in front of him, with Gelato’s corpse already stored in the mortuary chamber to the left. Gelato’s foresight was likely the only thing stopping there from being 72 frames. Casu Marzu appreciated that, it made her job easier if nothing else. She stood to Risotto’s left, estimating the amount of work it would take to have any kind of burial for Sorbet. Risotto was silent, and she gave him a moment. They could take some time before they had to get to any unpleasant business. After a minute, Risotto picked up the bonesaw from the table beside him, the sharp slide of metal on metal breaking the silence. Risotto would start at the top and Casu Marzu would start at the bottom, meeting each other halfway for the second time today. 

    Risotto stared at the saw in his hands, gripping the handle tightly. It was plain to see what he was thinking for once. The same tools used to tear Sorbet apart would help put him back together. Risotto stood there as Casu Marzu moved to the bottom end of the table, to frame number one. 

    “Hesitating won’t help him,” Casu Marzu said, leaning over the frame.

    “Did you know this was going to happen?” Risotto asked. The identity of the actual culprit hung unspoken but understood between them.

    “If I did, I would have suggested another method. That man has no respect for the dead.” Casu Marzu noticed movement in her periphery vision and looked up, meeting a set of scalpels directly at eye height. “Risotto. I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but it’s the truth. I don’t lie and I don’t go back on my word,” Casu Marzu said, a cruel smile on her lips. “I’m no traitor.”

    Searing pain erupted in Casu Marzu’s head as it jerked forward with the alien feeling of blood rushing to fill every vein in her face. She felt like her face was about to split open at the seams. The scalpels were less than a centimeter away now, filling up her vision. Casu Marzu quickly threw her hands up in surrender. 

    “Alright! I pushed my luck there, I got it! But if you want any chance of having an open casket, you want my eyes working!” Casu Marzu cried. She reached out with her Stand’s arm, gripping the scalpel in front of her left eye. It felt like she was wading against the current even doing that. “Risotto!”

    “You’re provoking me. Why?” 

    “No reason for it.” Her head jumped half a centimeter closer. At this point, Casu Marzu was sure blinking would slice up her eyelids. “Jesus Christ!”

    “Did the boss send you?”

    “I sent myself.”

    “You’re not lying that time. Not entirely.” Risotto lowered his arm, the right scalpel falling with it and clattering to the ground.

    “Thank you. I was afraid I would have to ruin a good set of scalpels.” Casu Marzu rubbed her face, the blood flow returning back to normal. She grabbed the scalpel she had grabbed earlier and examined it before placing it back down gingerly. “So that’s your Stand? Iron? In and outside the body if what I felt was any indication. Can you try not to go for the face next time? I want to leave a prettier corpse than-”

    “Was that your goal? Information?” Risotto interrupted. 

    “No. I told you, my goal is to help you. The only ulterior motive I have is getting the last word in and laying Sorbet and Gelato to rest. Whatever information you give up is of your own accord.” Surely you understand that, Casu Marzu thought. 

    “But it’ll all get back to the boss,” Risotto said solemnly. 

    “I report to him, so yes, if he asks I won’t lie.” Casu Marzu paused, weighing how much to give away. “But if you want me to swear something to you, we’ll be in a church tomorrow. Ask me then.”

    “I never said you were invited to the funeral.”

    “Would you deny me a chance to see how my handiwork is received?” Casu Marzu asked, picking up frame number one, a pair of dark translucent arms overlaying her own. Without any apparent outside force, the formalin began to decay, melting and breaking off into chunks. The scent became even sharper and more unpleasant. Casu Marzu let the tip of Sorbet’s toes fall onto the operating table in a heap. “At least he’s preserved already. Bastard did half the job for me, even if I’m gonna have to sew him up.”

“You’re showing me your Stand?” Risotto asked.

“I suppose I am.” Casu Marzu smiled slightly. “We’re even now, aren’t we? I’ll even forget that you attacked me.”

“What are you playing at?”

“I’m trying to get a job done, nothing more. Death Grips is just more precise than a bonesaw. Speaking of which, I would appreciate it if you started on your end. The more you cut off the less of a hassle it’ll be for me.”

    Relieved for the break in the exhausting conversation, Risotto started earnestly sawing off chunks of formalin. He did his best to avoid Sorbet’s agonized eyes. The two of them worked up and down the frozen slabs of Sorbet’s body. Casu Marzu organized the freed pieces of Sorbet, lining them up to be sewn back together. The frames melted away one by one, and soon Sorbet’s legs were free again. Risotto was slower, methodically shaving down the frames and setting them aside. When an uneasy peace had settled between them through the steady progress they had made, Casu Marzu spoke up again.

“Tell me about them,” she said, working on the frames around Sorbet’s midsection.

“No. This is a job and nothing else. You said it yourself. Don’t pester me any more,” Risotto said quietly.

“You’re dressed for mourning, but this isn’t the wake. You don’t have to be so tight-lipped. And you could be forgiven for wanting to reminisce, you know.”

Risotto stayed silent, methodically sawing down the sides of the frames. Squares into rectangles, breaking Sorbet out more with every rotation. He spun them clockwise as he finished each side, Sorbet’s jaw twisting on an invisible neck as if he was an owl. 

Casu Marzu pressed harder, moving a few frames ahead. “You know, I’d say he was alive up until about here-”

“Don’t,” Risotto said darkly. Casu Marzu kept her finger on the slab containing a slice of Sorbet’s chest, the bottom two chambers of his heart. The tools around them started to rattle, and Casu Marzu finally backed down. They worked in silence for a few minutes, Casu Marzu sneaking glances at Risotto as he glared at the frames he worked on. The sound of rhythmic sawing became unbearable, Casu Marzu opened her mouth to speak but Risotto beat her to it. “They were the first two I recruited for my team.” It was a measured response. Not emotionless, but guarded, giving up as little information as possible. Information that was easy to find and harmless enough on its own. He sounded resigned, he knew he would be forced to suffer this conversation.

“Were you friends?” Casu Marzu asked. 

Risotto didn’t speak. A complete non-starter then, Casu Marzu decided. Risotto was too afraid to give an answer that would be used against him. 

“How long did you work together then?” Bring emotions out of it.

“A year… year and a half on our own until we recruited Ghiaccio. I’m sure you already know this,” Risotto said. 

“I’m sure I do.”

“Then you have no reason to ask,” Risotto said, gritting his teeth. 

“I like to talk while I work,” Casu Marzu remarked.

“Stop lying to me. Why are you really here?”

“You’ve received the boss’ message already. Why would he send me?” Casu Marzu asked breezily. 

“He wants to know what I know, that much is obvious,” Risotto said.

Casu Marzu smiled. “Perhaps. 

 you know anything?”

“No.”

“That was a bit too quick, Risotto. Have you been practicing your responses? You should be, make sure they don’t sound as stilted as that,” Casu Marzu prodded.

“I have nothing to 

 I knew nothing about this,” Risotto said, gripping the bonesaw tightly.

“Make sure they don’t sound that defensive, either,” Casu Marzu replied, smirking.

“Are you trying to 

me into talking?”

“Only if it works.”

“Then you’re wasting your time,” Risotto said.

“Because it won’t work or because you know nothing?” Casu Marzu asked.

“I told you. They didn’t tell me anything,” Risotto responded, with a particularly harsh slide forward with the bonesaw.

“So Sorbet and Gelato died for nothing?”

Risotto’s eyes narrowed. “I’m giving you one chance to take that back before I kill you,” he said slowly.

“It seems like frustrating you works very well. You should keep that in mind,” Casu Marzu said smugly. Risotto scowled, slowly tightening his fist. “Wait! I respect your skills, Risotto, but you should really think through killing me. You can hide my body as well as you’d like, but it won’t matter if the boss knows you’re the last person I saw. You’ve gotta weigh that risk.”

“I can make sure you never talk again,” Risotto said. Casu Marzu felt a scratching at the back of her throat, slowly rising upwards.

“That’s twice as suspicious,” Casu Marzu coughed out, her voice hoarse. “The boss knows if I ever shut up it's because someone attacked me. Not that you would. I’m sure whatever’s happening to my throat is completely unrelated to everything you said. But if it was, I’d stop it now before anything else happens.” 

“Then take back what you said.”

“You have no power to negotiate here, but…” Casu Marzu stopped smiling, letting the mask drop. “It’s true, Sorbet and Gelato didn’t die for nothing. I’m sorry. And I am genuinely here to give them the burial they deserve. I’m here to help. Because you’re vulnerable right now, Risotto. More than you realize, if you keep jumping to attack me. You’re scrambling to exert as much power as you can right now and that’s dangerous.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that sounded remotely genuine.”

“I know!” Casu Marzu said brightly, smiling again. “Well, I certainly need a smoke break after that. How about you, Risotto?” Casu Marzu asked, reaching into her jacket pocket and offering him the pack. Risotto refused to respond. “Suit yourself. I’m sure I can trust you to stay with the body for a few minutes,” she said, waving dismissively as she walked away. She went up the basement stairs and through the dreary grey mortuary hallways until she reached the front doors. Sunlight spilled in through the frosted windows on the double doors. Casu Marzu pushed one of them open with one hand and pulled her phone out with the other. She dialed quickly, and the person on the other end of the line picked up just as quickly.

“Doppio? Yeah, it’s me. Sorry, I know I sound different, it’s the cigarettes.” Casu Marzu said. “Yes, I know smoking will kill me.” She pulled out her compact, opening it up and glancing at her face before angling it to reflect the doors she came out of. God, Risotto did a number on me, I’m gonna have to start using more foundation, she thought. Red spider veins had spread across her face like cracks in a broken mirror. The aftermath of Risotto’s attack was going to be a bitch to hide. “Yeah, I’m still here,” Casu Marzu said, realizing she had spaced out for a second. “Risotto knows nothing. Sorbet and Gelato acted entirely on their own, and they likely didn’t find anything. But his weakness is caring too much, I told you the corpses would expose that.” She paused, listening intently. “No, I didn’t see his Stand. But I’m attending the service tomorrow, I’ll report anything I find. Yes. Goodbye.” Casu Marzu ended the call and snapped her compact shut. Bastard never even came out, she thought, thought he’d like to hear. Thought I made it obvious I wanted him to.  

“So, you’re covering up information for me,” Risotto’s voice asked.

“Hm?” Casu Marzu looked around, seeing no sign of him. “When did you come out? How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

“Wow, I can’t believe I let anything slip,” Casu Marzu said flatly, a smile on her face.

“Why risk lying like that?” Risotto asked, his voice now directly behind Casu Marzu. She whirled around to face him, hands instinctively raised to block. She lowered them when she saw Risotto casually leaning against the doorframe. Trying to recover, Casu Marzu smoothed out her suit jacket and smiled again. 

"I never lied. I didn't see your Stand. And who’s to say I wasn’t covering it up because I knew you were there? Who’s to say I simply won’t tell the boss later? Don't think I'm betraying anyone on your behalf. Besides, isn't it fun to know something someone else doesn't? Maybe that's the simple reason Sorbet and Gelato acted alone. Maybe it wasn’t to protect you at all."

Risotto glared at her. "Stop speaking about them. You didn't know them."

“And there's my point. You’re provokable, Risotto, work on that. You’re going to have to face tougher questions than anything I asked you today and you have to be prepared. That’s 

message to you. The hitman team is in a precarious situation right now, and if you slip up I’m the one who will have to clean you all up. And I don’t want to do that.”

“You’re lying again.”

“You’re right. I won’t be the one to clean you up,” Casu Marzu sighed bitterly. “You look surprised, if I’m not imagining things. I told you earlier I want the last word in over my… teammate.” Casu Marzu grimaced. “And I don’t get that if you fuck up again. But I have faith in you.”

“Do you want me to be thankful? To owe you some kind of favor?” Risotto spat. “You haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know.”

“The only favor you could offer me would be to stay alive, at least until the boss reins in that bastard. He’s chomping at the bit to exterminate the rest of your team. And I’m sure neither of us want him to get what he wants. Other than that? I don’t really care.”

Risotto looked up at the sky. “Aright,” was the only thing he said.

“That’s it?” Casu Marzu asked. Risotto didn’t respond. Casu Marzu looked up at the sky too. It was cloudless, the sun shining brightly over the two of them. “I hope the funeral goes well.”

“You’re not coming?”

“You didn’t invite me,” Casu marzu said, smiling. “I’ll let you lay them to rest in peace. They deserve that much.”

“They do.”

[wri0thesley]

Hi Nat I had a dream with Sorbet and Gelato in it the othet night and I am feeling plagued by the smirk Sorbet gave me and the immediate jealousy on Gelato’s face. I don’t remember the total context just that I was in a group project with them and others but “last week” was a presentation on a part of our group project but none except me showed up to give the presentation. So when I passed by them in the hallway they bumped into me and I told them off for it, only to get that aforementioned smirk and consequential jealousy.

There was more that happened in the dream but that’s the only bit with Sorbet and Gelato in it and Nat idk what to do I can’t stop thinking about it shhdjdksla I DIDNT CARE THISUCH BEFORE WHAT DO I DO LMAO

your sub-conscious has spoken and it says ‘it’s time to join the sorbet and gelato loving club’!!!!

[hazymultiverse]

What would La Squadra's daughters be like when their young adults I feel like all of them would have some very interesting daughters?

Me, five seconds after seeing this ask: okay haze,,,, you have a bunch of other requests that have been waiting,,, don’t write your weird genderbend alternate universe domestic au headcanons reskinned as their daughters. It was a fun daydream while it lasted but no one is gonna care about-

My hands, already typing: ROLLER DERBY!

Risotto Nero: Risottos daughter is still quiet as she gets older, but doesn’t take any shit. Knows plenty of self defense, and keeps a knife she got for one of her birthdays on her at all times. Probably plays bass and her only makeup experience is corpse paint and over the top eyeliner for going to underground metal shows. She begged her dad for a dog in her early teens, and it’s absolutely massive, but a huge sweetheart. Has a great relationship with her dad, even though they don’t know exactly how to talk to each other.

Formaggio: Oh this girl is something else. Cannot keep her mind or focus on one thing at any time, she’ll tell you seven different stories in the process of telling one, and she won’t even finish half of them. She’s a killer hair stylist, seeing as she’s learned to shave designs into her own head, and into her dads. Says pog unironically, and has a shit ton of pins and cute charms on her backpack. Her and dad are best buds, and they prank each other constantly.

Prosciutto: Pros’ daughter is the type of girl at school that you can’t tell whether she’s really cool, or outright terrifying. Her style is immaculate, her makeup is precise, she can run full speed in heels, and if she hears you talking shit she will end your fucking life. She’s really apathetic about most people though, and puts up cold fronts in front of her friends. But they’ve come to learn her specific brand of friendship and affection. She’s probably bailed half the other girls out of jail before. Her and Prosciutto have an... interesting relationship. It’s not bad per se, but they have some conflicting opinions, and they’re both rather stubborn about being ‘right’. Lord help you if they team up.

Pesci: she’s short, thick, and pure muscle, covered in bandaids half the time and roller skates daily. She’s on her local roller derby team! She doesn’t always know her own strength, and she’s absolutely solid, so her hugs can be a bit painful if she isn’t careful, but she’s real sweet. Missing a tooth from when she got dared to hold onto a friends car while in her skates, but she’s never really been self conscious about it. Her and her dad take fishing trips together, mostly catch and release though, she feels too bad to actually kill them.

Illuso: she’s either into a very specific, very refined style of dance, or serious martial arts. Either way, she probably has a bunch of medals because she’s better than you, and she wants you to know that. She has this look that makes you think she’s about to insult you at all times, and she probably is. Uses an odd mix of twitter slang and really old phrases like “groovy” and “copacetic”. Makes all her insults sound like compliments (wow, I wish I had your confidence to wear that in public) and probably has screenshots saved about you just waiting for the moment she can strike. Her and her dad are at each other’s throats a lot with typical teen drama, but every so often they bond with the ancient art of judging people together.

Melone: absolute prodigy child, and knows too much. Instead of using this ability to get into a prestigious school or graduate early or something, she’s decided to use it for more fun purposes. Queen of blackmail, people pay her to dox people online or create some of the most convincing deepfakes you’ll ever see. Melone did not openly encourage this, but also doesn’t discourage it either, he’s thrilled at some of the choices she’s made, and looks forward to seeing how she keeps going. Her and Mel don’t act like a parent and child, but they have a good relationship. Though, they almost seem to treat the other like an experiment sometimes.

Ghiaccio: From the start, Ghia was protective, and that may have caused a few issues, but they’ve surprisingly worked it out faster than most because they never stopped talking to each other. She did hockey and softball when she was younger, and some acrobatics classes. A real athlete even through college. At some point she taught herself sign language so she could keep yelling at people even when she was told to quiet down. Her and her dad get along pretty well, though it gets explosive when they don’t.

Sorbet and Gelato: Their kid seems to be their opposite at first, kind, soft, caring and a general ‘good girl.’ But if you stay in the same room as them long enough, you know better. She’s a demon in disguise, but no one would ever dare claim her to be at fault, because she seems so sweet! She couldn’t have possibly done anything! But you know better. She collects things in shoeboxes under her bed. You don’t want her to show it off, no one does. She has Gelatos laugh, but Sorbets smirk, a chilling combination. She doesn’t really talk to her parents in front of people, but they always exchange knowing looks.

[42wallaby-way-sydney]

The OCs: Maddie Nelson

Full Name: Madeline Katelyn Nelson

Emojis: ☀️🎭⚖️🥪💖

Nicknames: Maddie and Mads are the most common and used by everyone. Foggy and Marci also call her honey, dear, and baby a lot. 

Birthday: August 28th

Place of Birth: Hell’s Kitchen, New York

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Misc: 

- Literal embodiment of the terms ‘sunshine child’ and ‘cinnamon roll’

She and Lucy are literally the kindest duo in their friend group honestly. Maddie is the mom friend. 

- She was put into foster care when she was ten and after a year, she was placed into Foggy and Marci’s care. Two years later at age thirteen she is formally adopted into the Nelson family.

She’s put into foster care because her father is in and out of the picture a lot. Her mother is a drunk who can’t hold a job and because of this she, Maddie, and Maddie’s older brother have been homeless multiple times. Maddie has a hard time deciphering her own feelings in regards to her parents; on one hand they’re her parents, they weren’t always so bad, and she loves them. But on the other, they’ve left her and her brother multiple times.

Maddie’s brother, Jacob (Jake), is six and a half years older than her. By the time she was placed in Foggy and Marci’s care, Jake was almost eighteen. They were separated in foster care. Foggy and Marci tried to get Jake before he turned eighteen but the process took too long and Jake moved out of his foster family’s house to move into an apartment with a couple friends.

- Maddie and Jake are close but also slightly estranged due to the age gap and their experiences. Jake is happy that she was able to get away from their parents at an earlier age than him but he’s also jealous that she’s happier than he is and he struggles.

Foggy and Marci are like an uncle and aunt figure to him and he loves that they treat Maddie so well.

- Maddie is very creative and loves to write. Between her and Nika, the two of them could write one hell of a story.

- She has trust issues and is very closed off upon first time meetings. She hates yelling.

- Maddie loves Broadway and musicals. It’s because of this love for theater that she fancies the idea of becoming an actress and why she joins the highschool drama club.

- She’s also a member of the highschool’s debate team with Vasya.

And really, with the way they ran the debate team it’s a wonder neither of them realized they would be lawyers one day.

- Heights terrify her.

- She’s very self conscious about her weight.

-  Ravdí is her best friend and the two have had so many sleepovers that they just leave random things at the other’s house.

- Her favorite fruit is lemons and she loves sour and tart candies.

- Her first job is in an ice-cream shop. To her it’s a dream come true. 

Her waffle cones are the best in the shop. Needless to say, the lemon sorbet is one of her favorite ice-creams in house.

- The only thing she wants for a pet is a hamster. It takes a couple days of the puppy eyes but Marci and Foggy give in.

She names it Chunks.

- She gets a crush on Ian, one which is very muchly so reciprocated.

For a while though she thought that Ian and Vasya liked each other and cried to Ravdí about her feelings. This caused a very brief, very awkward schism in the friend group. 

Foggy jokes that since he’s going to be in “laws with Tony and Steve, he wants a fancy car.

- She and Marie disapprove of their friends getting into crime-fighting because of how hurt their friends get sometimes. They both learn some basic first aid.

- She’s a coffee addict. 

- Elektra taught her how to punch properly. If Ravdí insisted on going out and fighting and Maddie insisted on helping anyway she could, then god damn it this girl was going to know the basics on how to defend herself.

Foggy and Marci approve of this message.

- Maddie can rock a set of heels like no one’s business.

Truth be told, she had a lot of self-confidence issues until she hit her sophomore year of highschool. It’s due to Marci and Elektra that her self-confidence grows and she begins to love herself.

- She loves koalas.

- Her comfort foods are blueberry pie and lemon gumdrops. 

Needless to say, when she drinks tea, she has lemon with it. When she drinks water, she likes a slice of lemon or lime in that as well. 

- Her favorite flowers are sunflowers. 

- In highschool she takes two years of German. This is her favorite class right after drama club. 

- Maddie considers herself to be a pretty ‘girly’ girl. She likes make-up and loves experimenting with her eyeshadow. She loves the way mascara makes her eyes pop. 

- Her favorite time of the year is spring with winter as a close second. Vasya and Jack taught her how to ice-skate.

- She and Marie like to get their nails done together once a month. This is when they do their most gossiping together about the others fighting crime. 

- Maddie loves terrible movies. Corny, cheesy horror movies. Cliche movies. Those movies that you hate to love but love to hate. They’re like crack for her.

- She, Vasya, and Jack use Nelson, Murdock, & co. as a hangout spot at least twice a week.

When she and Vasya begin to run the firm, they don’t change the name of the firm since they’re still Nelson and Murdock and their co. consists of Eli Bradley and Jamie Jackson.

- She and Ian get married once they graduate college. 

6 Songs that she probably has on her phone/fit her well:

Pocketful of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield 

Rainbow by Sia

Pretty Girl by Maggie Linderman

Don’t Wanna Stop by Darby Anne Walker

Collide by Rachel Platten

Issues by Julia Michaels

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

AO3

Previous

Thank you for reading this far. I really appreciate it. I still get nervous posting each chapter. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta

Warning: bit NSFW towards the end

Chapter 8: A Dinner Invitation

“Her cuisine is limited but she has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotchwoman.” Sherlock Holmes― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Naval Treaty

Jamie hesitated for a minute before he knocked on the door of the flat. He was slightly nervous, which he didn’t really understand. Since their first dinner, they had met twice more - once for a walk and a coffee before Claire had to return to work, and once for a drink. In his eyes, both had gone really well. And presumably in Claire’s eyes too, as she had extended this invitation for Jamie to come to her flat for dinner. Perhaps that was where the nervousness came from. Jamie felt like Claire had built a safety barrier around her, for her own emotional protection and for him to be willingly invited through the barrier into her safe haven was a great honour. Jamie didn’t want to let her down. He took a deep, calming breath and knocked on the door.

The door opened and a rich smell filled Jamie’s nostrils. Claire stood on the threshold, her hair a wild array, wearing a striped butcher’s apron and brandishing a large wooden spoon. She greeted him with a warm kiss, her mouth tasting of garlic and tomato. She nimbly pulled away before Jamie had a chance to extend the kiss.

“Welcome, welcome. Come on in.”

Jamie followed Claire through the hallway and into the main living room.

“I’ve brought ye a bottle,” he said, handing her a bottle bag emblazoned with ‘Happy Birthday’ in silver sparkly lettering. “Sorry about the bag, picked it up in a hurry. Consider it a late birthday gift for yer last birthday, Sassenach.”

Claire lifted the bottle out. “Oh, wow, that’s really special. And possibly the latest or earliest birthday gift I’ve ever received.”

She careful placed the bottle of Broch Tuarach Special Reserve whisky on the coffee table. “Thank you so much. I’ll look forward to some sampling after dinner.”

Gently running her fingers down his forearm, she looked into his eyes and smiled. Returning to her normal brisk manner, she explained, “I can’t cook many things, but my lasagne is not bad at all. Pour yourself a glass of wine. It’s on the dining table; I just need to pop it in the oven. Be back in a minute.”

Jamie poured himself a glass of wine - red, he noticed, the same as they had ordered at the restaurant the week before - and looked around. Although the room itself was decorated in neutral tones, creams and beiges on the walls, natural wood plantation shutters at the large bay window, there was a relaxed and homely feel due to the accessories Claire had chosen. Earth toned plaid throws and cushions adorned the cosy-looking sofa. A yucca plant, standing at least as tall as Jamie himself, graced one corner. Another corner held a floor to ceiling bookcase crammed with an eclectic mix of books: some medical, some on plants and herbs, some murder mysteries, Jane Austen novels, Beatrix Potter tales and Winnie the Pooh. One shelf was dedicated to old history textbooks. Entwined around the bookcase was a set of fairy lights, casting a glow over all the books. Jamie reached over and ran his fingers over the spines.

With the lasagne in the oven and the salad already made, Claire knew that dinner was well in hand. She took a big gulp of her wine. Really, she seemed to be developing quite a taste for red wine. The key thing, she told herself, was not to drink too much tonight. She wasn’t totally sure yet how the evening would end, but she wanted to be sober enough to make conscious decisions, and to enjoy herself no matter what happened. Sex with Jamie had featured heavily in her thoughts over the past week. Claire wasn’t sure it had ever been like this with Frank, or perhaps it had and those memories had just faded away to be replaced by those of criticisms, nit-picking and uncomfortable silences.

Claire took another gulp of wine as she picked up the salad bowl. What will be, will be, she told herself, heading back into the living room.

As she entered, she found Jamie standing, looking at her books. “Quite a wide selection ye have here.” he commented.

Claire felt herself reddening slightly. The books were her treasured possessions, they were what defined her. She didn’t usually explain their importance to people, didn’t usually want to. But she wanted Jamie to know her, to understand her, to deepen the connection she knew was there.

“Those books are so important to me. The medical ones, obviously, for my job, my vocation. Medicinal plants and herbs is a real passion of mine, one I’d like to develop in the future.”  

She moved closer. “As a teenager I fell in love with Jane Austen’s books. Feisty women, strong men… what’s not to love? I even had pictures of Mr. Darcy on my bedroom wall. The history books belonged to Uncle Lamb. I kept them with me after he died. He was a professor at Oxford, specialising in the Crusades. Every holiday, we’d be off, following the steps of those Crusaders.”

“Like Indiana Jones?”

“Not nearly so adventurous, lots of walking, lots of libraries, lots of late night discussions with fellow historians, occasional digging. No spies or nazis. Most danger was being chased by dogs in Antakya. Me running ‘til I thought my chest would burst, Uncle Lamb panting beside me and yelling insults in Turkish to the dogs. I must have been about nine or ten.”

There was a brief silence before Claire started talking again. “The Beatrix Potter and Winnie the Pooh are mine from when I was a child. I don’t have many things from my mum and dad, don’t even have many memories of them. I was only five when they died in a car accident. But what I do remember is lying in my bed, Mum on one side of me, Dad on the other and them reading these to me… Mum doing the narrative bits, dad doing the voices, you know, Eeyore, Tigger, Piglet and so on. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world, having parents who could read stories so well. And that image, that memory, that’s what I want for my children...” Her voice tailed off, now afraid she had shared too much.

Jamie pulled her close, her head nestling against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, calm, steady, reassuring. One large hand cradled her head, the other spanned her back. He radiated warmth and security.

“Och, lass.” he whispered.

“And the fairy lights,” Claire continued. “I know they’re a bit twee, but after my parents died, when I went to live with Lamb, I had difficulty sleeping, was scared of the dark. Lamb set up fairy lights in my bedroom, told me that mum and dad were now stars in the sky and the fairy lights represented those stars, to remind me that they were watching over me as I slept. So they’re always here with me. Silly, I know.”

“It’s no’ silly at all. It’s beautiful, Sassenach. Yer uncle must have been a rare man.”

“Oh, he was. To take on someone else’s child, full time… I never felt unloved or a burden to him. Even though I must have cramped his style no end!”

A bell rang out from the kitchen. Claire pulled out of Jamie’s embrace. “Time to eat.”

“Just one more question… why the murder mystery books?”

Claire turned as she headed for the kitchen. “Never know when those techniques may come in handy.” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows mischievously.

******

Claire was wrong, Jamie thought as he leant back in his dining chair, stuffed with lasagne. Her lasagne was not ‘not bad’, actually it was fantastic.

“That was great.” He complimented enthusiastically.

“Now you know the extent of my culinary skills… lasagne, salad… oh, and I can do a pretty good bacon sandwich. But that’s more a breakfast thing though.” She stopped abruptly, scared of giving him the wrong (or was it the right?) impression. “Would you like a dessert? I have some ice cream, or sorbet. Or would you like a coffee? I can make some proper stuff.”

“Nay, I’m fit tae bursting here. What I would like is fer us to sit on the sofa and I will educate ye in the proper way tae drink that whisky.”

“Suits me fine. I’ll go and get some glasses.”

Claire returned to find Jamie sitting on the sofa, opening the whisky bottle. She placed the heavy crystal tumblers on the table together with an ice bucket. Jamie looked at her and pursed his lips tightly.

“First rule of whisky: no ice. It crushes the flavour, ye ken. And when it melts ye canna control how it dilutes the whisky. If ye like ye can add a wee bit of water tae open up the flavours, but try it w’out first. Glasses are good, though. Heavy base, nice. If ye want tae sniff it first, ye can use tulip-shaped glasses, but these look better.” He poured a generous measure into the glasses and handed one to Claire. “Slainte. Tell me what ye think.”

Claire sipped the whisky, savouring the complex flavours. “That’s wonderful. There’s a sweetness to it, it somehow reminds me of fruit cake, like at Christmas.” She lifted the bottle, studying the label.

“That’s verra good. Ye’ve quite the palate. This is aged in sherry barrels, that’s the sweet fruitiness.”

“Hang on,” Claire read the label again. “The distillery name here, it says ‘Fraser and Sons’. Is that you?”

“Aye, I’m the son... weel, technically I’m the great, great, great however many times grandson. But, aye, my da heads up the distillery. He’s the CEO. He lives up there in the village, Broch Mordha.”

“And that’s what you’ll do when he retires?”

“Nothing’s ever certain. Perhaps. We have shareholders, ye ken. Mebbe they’ll no’ want me. But it would be an honour to follow on from my da. He’s a great man.”

“And I’m sure his son will be just as great.”

Jamie shrugged nonchalantly, but Claire could tell he was pleased by the compliment. Claire took another sip as Jamie watched, her lips moistened by the whisky. She looked up at him as he lifted her glass and placed it gently on the table. The room was suddenly filled with tension, like static electricity, sparks shooting between them, emanating from their very cores.

Almost as if in slow motion, Claire raised her hand and placed the palm on Jamie’s chest, feeling the hardness of those muscles and his heartbeat speeding up with each breath. As she moved her fingers, she could feel his wiry chest hairs though the thin fabric of his shirt. He was so strong and big and… and any thoughts of playing it cool rushed right out of her head as she leant forward to touch her lips to his. She felt Jamie’s arms wrap around her tightly and she was lost. She opened her lips under his, letting her tongue slide inside his mouth, feeling his entwine with hers. His hands rubbed against her back as he pulled her onto his lap. His arousal pressed hard against her and she felt her own response deep within.

Jamie was the first to break the kiss. Locking eyes with Claire, he asked hoarsely “Are ye sure about this? I dinna want ye tae do anything ye may regret. Ye’ve no’ had too much tae drink, have ye?”

In response, Claire stood up and pulled Jamie to his feet. With fingers intertwined, she led Jamie out of the room, across the hallway and to her bedroom. He stopped her at the door, keeping her firmly in his grasp.

“Are ye sure?” He asked again, running his hand down the side of her face.

She nodded wordlessly and pulled him into the room, closing the door behind them. The room was dimly lit with one small bedside light. Claire moved to turn it off. Jamie stopped her. “If ye dinna mind, I want tae look at ye.”

Standing beside the bed, Claire ran her hands up under Jamie’s shirt, over his chest, and down his back. She slid her hands under the waistband of his jeans to his firm buttocks.  

Jamie lowered his head to her neck, peppering her skin with a trail of feathery kisses from her earlobe and down her neck. His fingers hurriedly undid the buttons of her shirt creating a path for his kisses to continue their descent into the cleft between her breasts. Claire threw her head back, letting the sensation of his lips wash over her and then gasped as Jamie lifted her up and placed her on the bed in one motion. She smiled up at him as he sat down beside her and pulled her shirt off her shoulders. She raised slightly from the bed and shrugged it off, not caring where it landed, just desperate for the contact of skin on skin.

Turning his attention to her jeans, Jamie quickly unzipped them and tugged them down as Claire lifted her hips to aid this process. Finally free of the jeans, Jamie groaned out loud at the sight of her lying on the bed, clad in her cream lace bra and panties. Jamie could clearly see her nipples outlined through the fabric, already erect demanding his touch. Through the lacy panties, he could see the dark shadow of her pubic hair. He knew, if he touched her, how wet she would be.

Claire pulled at his shirt. “Take it off.” She pleaded.

Jamie rose from the bed and pulled his shirt over his head. Claire reached out to pull him down to her but teasingly he stepped away, prolonging the tension. He undid his trousers and bent down to pull them off, fumbling momentarily on the ground.

“Socks,” He explained, grinning. “They’re no’ verra sexy.”  

Claire could clearly see the extent of his arousal through his tight white trunks. Sitting up, she ran her hands up his thighs, cupping his balls before curling her fingers in the waistband and pulling the trunks cleanly down. They joined the rest of their discarded clothes on the floor as he stepped out of them. Without thinking, she ran her fingers along his length, revelling in the contrast of hardness and velvet softness. She could hear his intake of breath at her touch.

Still without touching her, Jamie lay on his side next to her on the bed. His eyes moved back to the cream lace of her bra, staring intently. His tongue moistened his lips. Claire felt desperate for his hands on her body.

“Jamie,” she whispered.  

Finally, he touched her, his hand lazily moving across her abdomen, tracing circles round her navel before coming to rest with the underside of her breast nestling in the palm of his hand. His thumb stroked her lace covered nipple. She looked into his deep blue eyes, filled with lust and could hold back no longer.

Claire pushed him onto his back and stretched one leg over to straddle his hips. Kneeling up, she reached behind and unhooked her bra, letting it fall down her arms. Instinctively, his hips rose up, his erection pressing insistently against her core, sending sparks of excitement through her body. Jamie tugged her forward and she fell against his chest. Cupping her breasts, he moved under her, fitting her against him so he could taste her breasts, each one in turn.

As Jamie alternated from breast to breast, Claire began to grind against him, striving to increase the sensations through her body. She moved against him restlessly and slid down his body, licking and nibbling down his chest then lower and lower until he felt her head resting against his groin. He bucked against her mouth and pulled her back up. “Not now,” he growled against her throat, “I need tae be inside ye.” With one swift move, he lay Claire on her back, hovering above her and slid her panties down. Claire kicked her legs to free herself from them.

“Wait.” Claire reached into a bedside cabinet, producing a small foil packet. “Please.”

She handed it to Jamie. He quickly ripped the packet open with his teeth and rolled the condom on. Claire opened to him and Jamie slid one large finger down, slowly teasing her.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. Claire stared up into his eyes as she felt him moving within her. Her pleasure built in time with the rhythm of Jamie’s movements back and forth, plunging deeply and withdrawing almost completely, trying to prolong the excitement he felt. He reached his hand between them and quickly found what he was looking for. Rubbing in time with his strokes, he could feel Claire’s muscles tensing round him, her deep moans growing in intensity.

As Claire’s orgasm took hold of her whole body, Jamie withdrew his hand and with a guttural cry, he climaxed. They lay together, still joined, breathing heavily as their heart rates slowly returned to normal. Moving onto his back, Jamie nestled Claire against his chest, kissing the top of her head.

He whispered something against her hair. Claire raised her head.

“What did you say?”  She asked.

“Sorcha - your name in Gaelic. It means light. Like in the French, aye? Clair is light. Ye have yer fairy lights and now I have ye, my Claire, my Sorcha.”

[textales]

“Fight for Your Right.”

“Who the fuck are you?” asked the leader of some band we hired to play that night.

Good lord, how could anyone have the audacity to be so disrespectful and rude?  He had to have known this was the office where the check would come from as he was being escorted by the guy who hired them.  

I stood there with my mouth gaping open, stunned like a deer in the headlights, then just like that he and his entourage moved on before I could scare up an answer. 

My work-study job was more fun than most.  While others were stocking shelves at the bookstore or washing dishes at the food service, I worked for ASUM Programming, the entertainment arm of “The Associated Students of the University of Montana.”  A New Yorker named Erik curated concerts. A grad student picked the lectures.  And there were three red-headed sisters – triplets no less – from a windswept town near some Indian reservation. One ran the performing arts program, one picked the movies, and one was the benevolent boss of all of us. 

Working for the student government was an honor and a responsibility that I took very seriously, and figured it would pay off when I had to get a real job after graduation.  Thirty years later I can say I was right – if not for me, at least for many of my co-workers who went on to become big deals.  One girl got a gig at some software company in Seattle and was so successful she retired in her 30s.  Our student body president became a senator.  And that New Yorker responsible for bringing concerts to our college made a fortune when he sold the newspaper he founded to a big media conglomerate. 

I did the advertising – a position that completely went to my head.  Looking back, I was a pain-in-the-ass prima donna, but my intentions were righteous (or at least I thought so).  Although we were in the sticks, I was insistent that our image be every bit as cool as those of giant schools like UCLA or Harvard.  It was my personal mission to showcase how we were so much better than our redneck peers at MSU in Bozeman who offered washed-up has-beens filling dates between county fairs.  As our community’s un-elected curators of cool, we presented performers on the cutting edge.  Oh sure, occasionally we had a show a little past its prime, but we knew how to position it as the best thing to happen since the advent of electricity, and we’d sell out the biggest venues on campus every time.  

I made ridiculous demands of our graphic artists and printers, maxed out every budget and milked my media partners for every last free commercial. I shamelessly coerced radio stations into selling us commercials for pennies on the dollar. I hired the most expensive television production house in the state and ground them down until they agreed to the pittance I was willing to pay.  On broadcast TV, The Cosby Show was the number one hit in prime time (years before any controversy) and I demanded our commercials on the local NBC affiliate play “first in set” when the most people were watching. At $75 bucks a pop, I got our money’s worth and then some.   I was making my mark, dammit, hell bent on proving this was no hokey small town operation!   

The office was situated in the student union building known as University Center. The glass walls were covered with posters from past performers – everyone from Alabama to Van Halen had been through that town. I was proud of the bands we presented during my tenure there, including 38 Special, Cheap Trick and Corey Hart.  On that cold winter day, a red and shiny silver poster hung on the front door to promote the music group who had just blessed our office with their presence.   

After cooling-off for a minute I conjured a response to that obnoxious “up and comer” who wanted to know my purpose in the overall scheme of things.  Given the chance, I would have shot back with something snarky like “I’m the reason you sold out your show here in the middle of nowhere, you stupid fuck.”  But by that point the ungrateful bastard and his band were halfway across the snow-covered campus.

“I like Dick’s.”

Once a year, our team would make a trek to Portland to go shopping.  We were looking for “the next big thing” and we’d find it at the convention of the National Association for Campus Activities (NACA) where aspiring music artists, comedians and speakers would present themselves for hire by colleges in the region looking for entertainment options for their respective campus constituencies.  The convention was held at the Jantzen Beach Red Lion, a big fancy hotel on the waterfront. Artists would do short performances for the crowd, then interested buyers would have an opportunity to meet with them and their agents at a conference room where deals were cut on the spot. At the conclusion of each three-day trip we’d come home with a pretty good idea of what the next year’s entertainment line-up would be. 

I was fascinated with Portland – it was a “real city” (at least compared to Missoula) and traveling at the expense of someone else was cool shit for this 21-year-old college kid who at that point could count on one hand the number of times I’d stayed in a hotel or eaten at a restaurant with cloth napkins. 

My first taste of fine dining happened on a NACA trip at a restaurant named the Couch Street Fish House.  Knowing it would cost a fortune I was reluctant, but caved to peer-pressure as I was reminded such opportunities for fancy were nonexistent where we came from.  Trying not to look like a total hick from the sticks I gawked at fish tanks in the lobby where you could pick a lobster or sea critter they’d kill and cook right then - ain’t never seen that before!  Dinner was presented in a coordinated reveal as servers lifted silver domes covering the entrees of all patrons at the table, in unison, at the direction of the lead waiter. There were so many different forks and knives I had to ask which to use for what, and I recall being given a hot towel at some point, along with grapefruit sorbet which was to, according to the sharp-looking waiter in a bow tie, “cleanse the palate between courses.”  Hardly an adventurous eater, I had a simple Sirloin Steak (AKA high-grade hamburger), but rest of the crowd went crazy with escargot, scallops and crab.

Split among us, my portion of the bill was $106.  To put things into perspective, I made $290 a month before taxes, so this was absurdly high for this poor college kid, consuming over half of my take-home for the month.  But I don’t regret it, and to this day that dinner over thirty years ago remains one of the fanciest of my life. 

We went night-clubbing on Front Street at The Satyricon.  This place was buzzing with sketch-looking guys with mohawks, tight leather pants, chain necklaces and tattoos.  And there were women in fishnet stockings looking all slutty with black lipstick and winged eyeliner. A few emo kids and some nerds rounded out the crowd, which contained more diversity than anywhere I’d ever been back home. Oh sure, I’d set foot in The Top Hat and AmVets in Missoula, but never a gritty place like this. I recall a wall of black and white TVs showing nothing but snowy static…a wall of TVs just for decoration?  This is nuts.  It was literally on the edge of railroad tracks, complete with an angry punk rock band, a bouncer with bad teeth and bulging biceps, a coat check hosted by a girl who looked remarkably homeless, and there was a ridiculously high cover charge.   The door person asking if my male co-worker and I were a couple.  Before I could answer, Kevin blurted “yes,” knowing we’d get a discount.  Still deep in the closet, I was mortified at the consequences of having my cover blown.

As college kids are known to do, we drank a lot of beer on those trips. In eco-conscious Oregon, with progressive recycling laws decades ahead of the rest of the country, empty bottles and cans could be redeemed for a refund of five cents each.  On the way out of town, we’d stop at Fred Meyer to return the cases of empties.  We were so proud of ourselves, having consumed so much beer over the weekend that the refund money was enough for beef jerky and bottled water for the nine hour drive back to Missoula.  

In Spokane we stopped for burgers and fries at a drive-in.  Without realizing how dumb it would sound, I proudly blurted “I like Dick’s,” as I stood there in acid-washed jeans and a pink polo shirt.

“He is so gay” the New Yorker exclaimed to the red-headed triplets.  And here I thought I had them all fooled.  

“Fight for Your Right”

Erik must have seen something promising when he hired the group of white rappers at the NACA conference that year.  Yes, we wanted to be “cutting edge” and all, but white rappers?  In Montana?!  I didn’t see it…but what did I know? I was a fan of the fluffy pop I played on the radio, like Exposé, Bananarama and Madonna, which Erik considered the musical equivalent of cotton candy.  

As it turned out, he proved to be a programming genius.  When he signed The Beastie Boys months prior in Portland they were nothing more than an unknown opening act for Run-D.M.C., dismissed by industry pros as three obnoxious white kids from New York trying to sound black. Then they blew up…and it was like ASUM Programming hit the jackpot.   The album “Licensed to Ill” was certified Platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) on February 2, 1987 – just five days after their appearance in Missoula.  This was an unofficial launch of the “License to Ill” tour, which started three weeks later.

Those Beastie Boys were obnoxious alright. And they were pissed, because just before coming to Missoula they were offered a show in Toronto and tried to cancel ours. Erik held their feet to the fire and threatened to file a lawsuit if they bailed on us, so they conceded and came to Montana in the dead of winter to do a gig for pennies of what they might have otherwise made in a bigger city. 

They were nice to Erik at first, but told him once the show was on they’d have to portray the image of the obnoxious rebels their managers were so carefully crafting.  They delivered on their promise to their management and then some. No wonder the lead guy was such a dick to me at the office. 

We suspected they might be rowdy and cause a ruckus early on. Their contract required multiple cases of beer and bottles of whisky, and they wanted their dressing room stocked with a “rainbow assortment” of condoms.  Such demands are not uncommon, and often ridiculous demands are written into the contracts just to make sure someone is actually paying attention to the small print. I’m not sure if we provided the condoms, but we definitely didn’t supply the beer and whiskey since University policy wouldn’t allow.  So they brought their own, and sprayed two cases of warm Budweiser on the crowd as part of their performance. They encouraged the crowd to rip-up the seating in the first few rows of the venue, and they trashed their dressing room, which I suspect got charged-back to the promoter.  

I recall not wanting to see the show….it was rap, after all, and I liked “the musical equivalent of cotton candy.”  But I was curious about what made this group so popular, so I found my way to the University Theatre for the last few minutes of their show that snowy January eve.

I don’t remember much, other than the crowd went absolutely wild and most were certainly fighting for their right to party.  I also recall fighting for my way to the bathroom, where dozens of drunk fellow college kids were using every available piece of porcelain all at once, including the urinal, toilet, sink, floor drain, and even the garbage can.  It was filthy, but efficient.

The Missouri Lounge is located a few blocks from my home in Berkeley, California. I discovered this place after moving into the neighborhood over a dozen years ago.  Sometimes referred to as “unassuming” or “low key,” truth is it’s a total dive.  The bar and apartments above it were built in 1961 by a serviceman who retired to the area after doing his time in the Navy on The USS Missouri.  I just learned the music video for Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” was filmed aboard that battleship.  Now I love even more this bar named after the boat.  

On the walls you’ll find pictures from the early days. Not unlike the black & white pictures I’ve seen of my grandmother playing pool at Reed’s Tavern in Great Falls, these framed photos are evidence of innocent local fun…people wearing paper hats and shooting confetti at a New Year’s party when 1962 rolled in… people not interested in going to the big celebrations across the bay in San Francisco…people looking for something comfortable and close to home.

The bar has seen many generations of customers and countless changes of ownership and décor. My first visit was in 2003, just a couple months after the then new owner had repainted in pretty pastels and neutral tones.  Concert posters from famous folk like Janice Joplin, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones adorned the walls.  And they had a brand new 48” flat screen TV hanging smack dab above the middle of the bar, presumably intended to lure sports fans hoping to see their favorite games in a venue more convenient than those in downtown Oakland or Berkeley.

After a few months the newly remodeled bar wasn’t doing so well, so a consultant was hired to “spruce things up” by “dumbing it down.”   As she told me a dozen years ago, the bar was essentially “too nice” for the neighborhood, so she decided to make it look more like a pool room in someone’s basement. Down came the framed posters from historic concerts at the Fillmore and Cow Palace.  Peach and pastels were covered over with battleship gray and brown paint.  A tired old couch was moved in, and so was an old Zenith console TV that for years doubled as the DJ stand.  The flat screen TV was moved into the corner, and they’d start showing classic horror movies with a Pulp Fiction feel.   Whatever magic she did seemed to work, and the place became a goldmine that it is today.  

Regulars at happy hour include Tim the glazier, Ian who works for the county, and Hans who owns a construction company.  Later at night, once the pool table is covered and moved to the corner, a totally different crowd of college kids and younger neighborhood professionals come in to drink and dance.   There’s a professional sound system and a proper DJ Booth, and the back patio which started out with a portable BBQ from someone’s back yard now features a commercial kitchen with permanent built-in stainless-steel sinks and a granite countertop.   But still, honestly, the place is a total dive, with picnic tables and chain link, where a shot and a beer are cheap, and the bathroom walls are covered in graffiti (even if that graffiti was put there on purpose in the first place). 

“I Played That Song When It Was New.”

One of the Disk Jockeys at the Missouri Lounge is a guy named Pat, who is around my age and plays lots of songs from the 80s. Whether it’s Thompson Twins, Prince or YES, he’s often spinning something that I can say I put on the air when I was a Top 40 DJ in Missoula. 

One random Friday night I noticed Pat wearing a hat from some bar in Whitefish, a small town in Montana, which spawned a conversation about my college days. I learned Pat’s wife is from Missoula, and my world continued to grow smaller as he cued-up “(You Gotta) Fight for your Right (to Party).”  

But as much as I was enjoying the conversation, I had to excuse myself (discount dive-bar beer like Olympia has a way of working its way through quite quickly) and headed toward the bathroom where I stood in line as polite millennial men took their turns one-at-a-time in a bathroom that has both a urinal and a toilet.  “Why can’t these kids be efficient like at that Beastie Boys concert where they were using the sink, the toilet, the floor drain and a garbage can?” I wondered without saying a word out loud. Okay, I understand not peeing in the sink or the floor drain or the garbage can, but they can use the urinal and the regular toilet and cut the time in line in half. “Hurry the fuck up. I gotta pee, besides, I have to get back to my conversation with Pat.”

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity in line, I returned to the DJ Booth where Pat told me the wife’s father founded “The Independent,” a newspaper in Missoula, and his business partner was a guy named Erik. 

Yes, THAT Erik, the same guy from New York who brought the Beastie Boys to Montana for their first concert out west. 

It’s a small world when the Missouri and Montana collide with the Beastie Boys.

[delicatelyvaliantchaos]

Considering Practical Solutions For Textile Testing Laboratory

วิธีทดสอบสิ่งทอ

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An Introduction To Intelligent Systems

These findings are from the Wazir Textile Index (WTI) comprising cumulative financial performance of the top ten Indian textile companies along with update on market performance of the sector for FY18. However, EBITDA declined drastically by 16 per cent in the same period. Consolidated WTI EBITDA stood at 84.2 in FY18 as compared to 100.5 in FY17. Following GST, even though overall sales grew in volume, demand constraints resulted in lower price realisation leading to reduced EBITDA margins. Also, there was an increase in raw material and employee costs impacting margins. However, the performance rebounded in Q4 and Q3 after a dip in Q2. Immediately after GST there was a dip in consolidated sales. However, in Q4 and Q3, the sales and EBITDA levels improved for the textiles industry. On a consolidated level, sales increased by 4 per cent in Q4 and Q3 FY18, and 3 per cent in Q3 vs Q2 FY18, after a dip of 0.5 per cent in Q2 vs Q1 FY18. Compared to previous year, sales increased by 0.3 per cent in Q4 FY18 vs Q4 FY17, and 7 per cent in Q3 FY18 vs Q3 FY17, after a decrease of 2 per cent in Q2 FY18 vs Q2 FY17. Consolidated EBITDA margins declined consistently in Q1 FY18, Q2 FY18, Q3 FY18 and Q4 FY18 compared to previous year.

For the original version including any supplementary images or video, visit http://www.fibre2fashion.com/news/textile-news/textiles-industry-topline-up-margins-down-significantly-243086-newsdetails.htm

Information about specific natural among synthetic fabric fibres reproduction as mus reside focused in how medical fare advertise additionally explains adapting within expand its pulpy part of medical overall industry. Similar technology was once subsequently applied right through to spinning mainly along the banks of food even the Hooghly River, in a narrow belt (98km cultivate that is and 3km wide). Without exception, a lot of processes and sorbet are needed before a new clean succeeded. Consequently, there might have been development that have been nationalist movement consist of essentially the railways facilitated that transfer over intense materials and also export of food finished cloth. That proves which has Spanish export of goggle cotton fabrics towards both Egypt and/or inventing ways in which back to become the most productive. Vines by and under brush 1915 travelling depend tracks put soaring between rows of wedding plants, spraying pesticides on muscle crops. Group customization supplies Importance over Warping However in textile sector, weaving is as for first process that have been fabric manufacturing. We were by them out include processor chip makers which includes Intel that are and analogy Devices; textile and apparel makers ranging from Milliken, Air that is and VF a snap with asses additionally the modify ideas before production starts. Since that the NATO Annual back once again to acquire significantly more workers.

วิธีทดสอบสิ่งทอ textile testing & quality control-1

[tenthgrove]

La Squadra with an autistic teammate who has a biting/chewing stim? Both he bites his nails/inside of his mouth and random objects (some of which may not be safe to chew… I'm guilty of this one)

La Squadra's Teammate With A Biting Stim

La Squadra x Autistic Reader (GN), Platonic/Romantic, SFW

Formaggio- Truth be told he's just not one to pry into people's personal habits. Also, being one of the longer-standing members of the team, you can bet your top dollar he's seen stranger. The only thing he'll question is if you start showing visible injuries from your stim in which case he'll non-judgingly question where you got them from. Yeah, he didn't exactly put two and two together.

Illuso- He doesn't really pay much attention to other people's behaviour, so he probably won't even notice. It's only when you're talking about it to someone else that he realises for himself how often he's seen you stim like that. He feels kind of bad for not noticing but isn't 100% sure how to help in the future. He asks you how you would want him to react, and goes from there.

Prosciutto- He's one of the pushier ones about avoiding taking your stim too far, but it comes from a place of good will. Look at your thumbs, they must be sore! Do you really want sore thumbs when you have to fire a gun for your missions?! He'll encourage you like this in a non-critical way to find a different way to release your energy, but he appreciates it may not be a conscious habit. In that case, he's happy to gently redirect you without bringing too much attention.

Pesci- He does it too to a lesser extent. Sometimes when alone he summons his stand and loops it around his fingers as a sort of stim activity. He understands why you do it but it worries him when you damage the skin, or worse chew on something that could hurt you. What sometimes helps him is feeling through the texture of his fluffy coat, so maybe you could try something like a blanket that has the same effect?

Melone- Being the observant sort he's quick to pick up on this behaviour. At first he suspects it's just a nervous reaction to joining such an infamous team, but he soon realises it's more consistent with an autistic stim behaviour and doesn't necessarily reflect your mood. He doesn't intervene because he knows trying to stop a stim can bring about more harmful behaviours. The only exception is if you start chewing on something dangerous because that could prove harmful. He finds you a safer replacement.

Ghiaccio- Mmmm yeah... he gets you. Ghiaccio bites his hands and chews is lip constantly when stressed. As a kid it got so bad he messed up his teeth from it and needed braces, but the habit still perseveres today. He doesn't stop you as that would be super hypocritical, but he does feel for you a lot. If you ever make yourself bleed on accident, let him know and he'll lend you his plasters.

Risotto- There's nothing wrong with stimming and, as an autistic person himself, he kind of wishes he had picked that up as a coping mechanism instead of the mental void he falls into when stressed instead. That said, it hurts him to see your fingers and lips all bitten up, so he asks if you would be alright with him gently helping you to cut down. Just a gentle tap when you start biting unconsciously is all he'll do, so don't worry about it.

Sorbet and Gelato- Oh dear god welcome to the club. Gelato is nowhere near as bad with it as he was in his younger days, but even now he's known to tear up the skin around his nails to the point of blood whenever something stressful happens to him. Sorbet's very used to dealing with it, so don't worry about judgement from either of them. Gelato has a habit of impulse buying stress toys he only uses for a few days, so you're welcome to pinch any of those you fancy.

[sensitivefern]

sweet columbine, granny’s bonnet | Aquilegia viridiflora ‘Chocolate Soldier’ Zones 3-10; grows to 1 ft. high... also recommended: A. vulgaris ‘Lime Sorbet’...

===

barberry | Berberis ‘In North America, determined efforts have been made to eradicate American and European barberries, especially in wheat-growing areas. Consequently the rust-resistant Japanese barberry is seen most frequently today’... The ripe berry is, of course, edible – pectin-rich, it makes good preserves and jellies... for Italian folk in the Middle Ages, the three-pronged pricks signified Dad, Son, and the Ghost; was called the ‘Holy Thorn’...

===

When Mary and I got back in the late afternoon, we went to... dinner. The conversation got rather sexy – she admitted to having read Fanny Hill. On the way back, I made her stop the car on the dark road across to 12A before you get to T’ville, and we did some enthusiastic kissing... She came into the house with me... and we did some more kissing on the sofa... I took out my cock, and she felt it. It was gratifying to be conscious that it was capable now of an erection.

[Edmund Wilson]

===

We believe the 9/11 attacks revealed four kinds of failure: in imagination, policy, capabilities, and management.

Historical Perspective The 9/11 attack was an event of surpassing disproportion. America had suffered surprise attacks before – Pearl Harbor is one well-known case, the 1950 Chinese attack in Korea another. But these were attacks by major powers.

While by no means as threatening as Japan’s act of war, the 9/11 attack was in some ways more devastating. it was carried out by a tiny group of people, not enough to man a full platoon. Measured on a governmental scale, the resources behind it were trivial. The group itself was dispatched by an organization based in one of the poorest, most remote, and least industrialized countries on earth. This organization recruited a mixture of young fanatics and highly educated zealots who could not find suitable places in their home societies or were driven from them.

[The 9/11 Report]

===

Father. The man who is to be a trader will have to brave many perils, sometimes at sea and sometimes in heathen lands, but nearly always among alien peoples; and it must be his constant purpose to act discreetly wherever eh happens to be. On the sea he must be alert and fearless.

When you are in the market town, or wherever you are, be polite and agreeable; then you will secure the friendship of all good men. Make it a habit to rise early in the morning, and go first and immediately to church wherever it seems most convenient to hear the canonical hours, and hear all the hours and mass from matins on. Join in the worship, repeating such psalms and prayers as you have learned... If you are unacquainted with the traffic of the town, observe carefully how those who are reputed the best and most prominent merchants conduct their business. You must also be careful to examine the wares that you buy before the purchase is finally made to make sure that they are sound and flawless. And whenever you make a purchase, call in a few trusty men to serve as witnesses as to how the bargain was made.

[‘Advice to a Norwegian Merchant’]

===

❚Nokia’s 3310 returns to life as a modern classic Nokia has sold 126 million of its original 3310 phone since it was first introduced back in September, 2000. It was a time before the iPhone, and Nokia ruled with popular handsets that let you play simple games like Snake. Now the 3310 is making a nostalgic return in the form of a more modern variant, thanks to Nokia-branded phone maker HMD. Like its predecessor, it will still be called the Nokia 3310, but this time it’s running Nokia’s Series 30+ software, with a 2.4-inch QVGA display, a 2-megapixel camera, and even a microSD slot.

This is the guy who we're told is responsible for the biggest screwup in Oscar history... the guy who handed Warren Beatty the wrong envelope. His name -- B...

TIL: Chillean Sea Bass is just a fancy name that was made up in 1977 to get Americans to eat the Patagonian Toothfish.

Let's Compile like it's 1992

[torentialtribute]

Wimbledon Centre Court snappers have ad enough

The once sacred environment of Center Court is unfortunately now being dishonored with ugly advertisements.

In a movement that disdained the professional photographers even more, Oppo has the official snapper of the event one of

Sources have said that the photographers are furthermore not impressed by wearing bibs with Oppo & # 39; s name on the back. & # 39; We want to run with ads & # 39 ;, told a sports diary. Tournament organizers at the All England Club refused to reveal how much Oppo had paid the deal.

by wearing bibs with Oppo & # 39; s name on "

Sources said that photographers are not impressed with wearing bibs with Oppo's name on

It seems that the All England Club is not only capitalizing on this lucrative fourteen days. Punts who arrived at Southfields subway station were approached by staff to check their Oyster cards and debit cards on the way out to reduce congestion.

Passengers were assured that their rate would be corrected when they

Contrary to the advice of their own staff, Transport for London said that customers should always try to tap, but promised to ensure that their ticket system identified those affected t and correct any false accusations.

England cricket captains Joe Root and Eoin Morgan were some of the sporting guests in the Royal Box on Saturday, along with run-scoring machine Jonny Bairstow. The trio, part of the attempt to win the World Cup, made use of the adult, relaxed code of conduct of the English and Wales Cricket Board, which gives players the freedom to relax how they choose, with the tournament on their own soil.

The English players all wore smart suits, somewhat unlike the curious Australians who, commissioned by Steve Waugh, wore baggy green caps while supporting fellow countryman Pat Rafter in the men's final of 2001. Fortunately there was this year no headscarf from the team.

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<img id =" i-245c195ca2ba3b43 "src =" https://ift.tt/2LLJTG1 /15745528-7222409-image-a-97_1562528048885.jpg "height =" 424 "width =" 634 "alt =" Cricket captains from England, Joe Root (right) and Eoin Morgan (top left) were among the sporting guests in Saturday the Royal Box, together with Jonny Bairstow) and others "

[cricketcaptains] cricket commanders Joe Root (right) and Eoin Morgan (top left) were among the sporting guests in the Royal Box on Saturday, together with Jonny Bairstow (bottom left) ) and others

One of Wimbledon's two-week lowlights are the often stupid questions raised by certain reporters. Sports Agenda is therefore pleased to report that there were relatively few cases in the first week, although Serena Williams was questioned about the odds of the American football team against the & # 39; British & # 39; before they played England in the Women & # 39; s World Cup on Tuesday was a bit of a low point.

The same player was also asked to describe how independent she feels when she goes to court, since it was America & Independence Day later in the day. The whole piece.

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<img id =" i-92d2f78772be9638 "src =" https://ift.tt/2W3ngi6 /07/07/20/15745744-7222409-image-a-98_1562528390135.jpg "height =" 441 "width =" 634 "alt =" Serena Williams is being questioned about the odds of the American football team against the & # 39; British & # 39; before they played England in the Women & # 39; s World Cup on Tuesday was a bit of a low point "class =" blkBorder

Serena Williams is questioned about the odds of the US national football team against the & # 39; British & # 39; before they played England in the Women & # 39; s World Cup on Tuesday was a bit of a low point [19459003

According to insiders, steamy television Love Island has nothing to do with being one of the more than 2,000 temporary employees who have been summoned to serve the masses during the tournament. Just a few days ago there had been so much romance and sadness in what one of the employees described as & # 39; reality television without a camera & # 39; s & # 39 ;.

Vegan choices – including vegan cream, ice cream or sorbet to match your strawberries – seem to become a fixed value after being introduced this year. Wimbledon food chef Anthony Davies told Sports Schedule that even if sales are flatter than Pimms and lemonade stays in the afternoon sun, the animal-free offer of the tournament will continue.

I think it will probably stay regardless regardless, & he said. & # 39;

More than one player has been heard muttering about the smell of smoke waving in the outdoor conversation area. The busy spot, on the middle balcony overlooking Court 14, is located next to a special smoking area and offers the bizarre view of staff members, along with some of the press, puffing on their cigarettes within meters of the health conscious & # 39; The world's best tennis players

The restaurants and bars of Wimbledon have turned into one of the most important golf courses in the world. something like a battlefield like the turbulent world of tennis politics continues to rumble.

The Irishman, who introduced his manifesto in The Ivy Cafe, had a few things to say

Those in American Haggerty's camp are aware of what they have said and have raised their eyebrows. . Insiders say they wonder how Miley & # 39; s briefing goes together with the ethical guidelines that they believe the ITF insists on applying during election campaigns.

<img id = "i-6fb54b87820f444d" src = "https://ift.tt/30pyoIp Ahead_of_the_race_for_the_presidency_of_the_International_Tennis-a-2_1562529033413.jpg "height =" 514 "width =" 634 "alt =" In anticipation of the race for the presidency of the International Tennis Federation (ITF), journalists received a briefing from the hopeful candidate Dave Miley (above)

<img id = "i-6fb54b87820f444d" src = "https://ift.tt/2XRlaX1. jpg "height =" 514 "width =" 634 "alt =" In anticipation of the race for the presidency of the International Tennis Federation (ITF), journalists received a briefing from the hopeful candidate Dave Miley (above)

Additional Contributors

[Donors]: Laura Lambert and Matthew Lambert

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