#its like wet salami

[hellishgayliath]

Don't knock it till you try it Leo, it's organic~

[dogcollarpunk]

my dad got ham and its like genuinely good, which is fucked up bc I dont like ham

[fisherrprince]

aight

medium cheddar: extremely hit or miss. my favorite brand is tillamook and im not biased about it. great to just munch on though, it's not really a cheese that wants or needs anything else. good base ingredient for like a grilled cheese. perfectly average 6/10.

sharp cheddar: i love extra sharp cheddar i love you looong aged white sharp cheddar FANTASTIC snack and best with some sweet apples or something. Needs a cracker or bread or some sweeter snack on the side. coastal cheddar from costco is good but can be a bit too sharp with lots of crystallization. 9/10. 

mozzarella: ok i dont like tillamook for this one. too dry. mozzarella is really not a cheese i like to eat by itself, i'm not a cheese stick fan and i really dislike the texture of wet mozzarella balls, but when it's good melted ON stuff it's good on stuff. 7/10 grilled pizza cheese pull

pepperjack: this is THEEEE cheese to grate for a recipe and sneak like 20 bites of the grated cheese. little pepper bits in there. I don't enjoy eating slices of it though. 7/10

parmesan: you cant go wrong with a little parma jawn............. best as a little accent on top of stuff. just makes whatever you're cooking a lil tastier. Not my favorite when the whole thing tastes of just parmesan though, it's kinda bitey. 8/10

cottage cheese: i cant stand cottage cheese. The texture is nasty and the combo of the texture with the flavor is nastier. 1/10

gruyere: french. INCREDIBLE on potatoes and in fondue and in little bits to snack on. Not an eating by itself cheese often but it doesnt have to be. I'd eat this grated on top of kinda anything savory. 9/10

gouda: i get this mixed up with gruyere all the time, but gouda is a bit harder and sweeter. a good salami cheese for your charcuterie. you see smoked gouda a lot which if thats YOUR deal thats cool but i dislike the taste of smoked things. 7/10

blue cheese: really really good cheese that is stymied by not going with a lot of stuff and not being super good to just eat on its own. it's a SHARP taste that gets in your nose. gorgonzola specifically is so good with pears and arugula except I'm mildly allergic to pears. BEST with steak gimme dat blue cheese butter STEAK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! would be 9/10 if it were not so particular. 7/10.

feta: bit of a weird texture but it makes salads and gyros ROCK so. it gets a pass. not that fancy on its own but i really do like it in a salad. 6/10. 

cream cheese: YEAAAAHHHHH BAGELLLLSSSS 9/10 i love bagels. also makes other dishes creamy (best part of cheese)

manchego: best with salami. not that impressive on its own, but that's because it's a harder cheese you eat with salami. 5/10, elevates meat but the meat does not elevate it

brie: somehow airplane brie is better than normal brie??? i don't eat this cheese unless it's on an airplane meal fr. which means i hardly ever eat brie. kinda weird tasting. 4/10

camembert: miraculous ladybug hyped me up for this cheese and i bought some and must have done it wrong or something because it doesn't smell and hardly tasted different from brie. I want to try it again so bad because gooey cheeses are like drool-worthy to me. hesitant 3/10 for being a disappointment

asiago: yknow an asiago bread is pretty good but ive never had asiago cheese on its own! 6/10? umami

cotija: BIG FAN of cotija. pile that stuff on my tacos thank you. i dont have the same problems as i do with feta maybe because you grate or crumble cotija real small in comparison? havent had it on anything but a taco though. 8/10 

goat cheese: also a big fan of goat cheese. you can fry it and its good, and you can put it in pasta and its good, you can eat it with crackers and it's good... not really good with meat, but it's sharper so that makes sense to me. 8/10 again

swiss cheese: i never really liked swiss cheese. unless its on my sandwich. OR! unless it's like specifically emmentaler and it's in my fondue. 4/10

provolone: SAME goes for provo LONE. makes french dip really good though, and is one of the classic salami cheeses. this is because it needs salt. 5/10 better than swiss

edam: this is babybel cheese, right? it's fine. good for snacking not for eating a lot of. 7/10

colby jack: this is literally cheddar but not. id rather have cheddar 5/10

ricotta: controversially, i love ricotta... it doesnt have a lot of flavor which makes eating it by itself unpleasant. HOWEVER!!!!!!!!!! in lasagne..? on top of sourdough with salt and garlic? in a kolache with jam?? i lvoe ricotta. i wish it didn't go bad so fast. or maybe it came in smaller packages. 8/10

american cheese: the only place this thing shines is ON BURGER. where it SHOULD BE, KIND OF ALWAYS. or on a bacon egg and cheese. those are the two places you always want american. situationally 8/10 but usually 4/10 i dont want it anywhere else

muenster: the best part of eating muenster cheese is eating the little slice that always seems to come off the edge when you take it out the package. otherwise it's a perfectly serviceable mild cheese, melts well, 6/10.

pecorino romano: like, parmesan's sharper saltier more fashion-forward cousin. use this in moderation imo it really has a Big Taste to it, but it makes carbonara nummy, 7/10

paneer: i have not HAD... paneer... but it LOOKS like it would be tasty. withholding judgement. 

gournay: i love those little boursin rounds you can just get at the store with the garlic and herbs. soft, savory, good on crackers 9/10

infused flavor cheeses: these are usually fresh cows milk cheeses that have like some kinda flavor or spice on them or rolled into them. All depends on the flavoring. The base cheese itself is usually real mild and creamy though, and I have good experiences with it! Also goes bad a bit fast though. Variable/10

theres other cheeses out there but i just realized ive been talking about cheese for a LOOONG TIIIMMMEEE. i like cheese though. big fan of it. if u think of some other cheese you really want an opinion on i will readily tell you

[smokeys-house]

Saw some Italian dry salami at the store and when I picked it up I noticed it had some moisture in the bag and for that brief moment I entered a trance like state wherein I relived the >creepy or wet gym greentext in its entirety but salami themed

[blitzendoggo]

Spot in My Heart

Callisto finds a kitten on his way home, Prophis couldn’t be happier.

Prophis/Callisto (2097 words)

~~

Every year, Callisto swears he’s going to quit working at Bowenburg Academy, and every year, Prophis convinces him to stay, but this really might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. He stayed late grading papers and helping students with work as they came in and out of his office -having a strange admiration of the teacher that Callisto cannot for the life of him understand, but Prophis always laughs and shakes his head whenever the dark-haired man mentions it- and when he finally decided he should pack up and head home it was nearly 8:30 at night. And to top it all off, it was raining hard enough for the raindrops to sting as they struck Callisto’s skin.

He is power walking home as fast as his 6’5” legs will allow him which makes him look like a grey-and-black blur zipping through the town. Most of the world is simply white noise to him, the only noise being the pounding rain as everything else that is sensible is hiding somewhere dry.

Or at least, that’s what he thought.

As he rounds a corner, sharper and faster than is safe given the very slick concrete, he stumbles forward as his heel steps on something far too soft, and said soft thing begins yowling and crying loudly. Callisto spins around and sees a tiny black and white kitten, drenched to the bone, and, even to Callisto’s untrained eye, severely malnourished.

The man pauses before the guilt -and some of his animal-loving husband’s consciousness- overwhelms him, and he steps under a nearby awning and clicks for the kitten as he crouches down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to step on you,” he apologizes quietly, feeling a little ridiculous talking to the tiny creature as he digs into his bag and pulls out his half-eaten salami sandwich, offeringsome of it on his palm to the little thing. The kitten quickly eats it out of his hand before looking up at the tall man expectantly. Callisto gives him more with a small smile.

He offers everything he can to the kitten before standing up. He is beginning to shake with the cold and wants to get back to his husband. He nods to the kitten and turns to walk away before noticing that the kitten is still following him.

“Go on, go home,” He tells it sharply, trying to sound mean and drive it off, but instead he is given an honestly pitiful meow. “Oh, you’re quite cold, aren’t you…” he says quietly. He intends on taking another step away, but his legs don’t seem to be listening to his brain as they instead bring him closer to the sopping wet cat, and his arms seem to be listening even less as they reach to grab the kitten.

He feels around its neck for the collar, deciding that he can deliver the kitten back to his home before coming to the upsetting conclusion that there was no collar.

He straightens up and looks at it for a long moment before sighing heavily. “Alright, then, I suppose you’re coming with me.”

He gently picks up the black-and-white mess of fur. The kitten begins purring as hard as it’s shivering and Callisto can’t bring himself to put the kitten down. He gently wrings the excess water out of its fur and looks at him pensively before tucking him down the front of his grey sweater.

Though he was certainly walking fast before, he nearly doubles his speed as he barrels home, feeling the need to deliver this kitten to safety. He silently gives his thanks that their house is not that far from the campus, and he bursts through the door to their little home in only five minutes.

“Callisto!” Prophis yelps, jumping straight up from his seat. “What on Earth are you-?”

“Cat,” Callisto says bluntly, fishing the mewling thing from his sweater and holding it straight out.

The elf stares at him and the kitten for a long moment before quickly approaching and swiping it from his husband’s hands.

“Oh, Callisto, where did you find this poor little dear?” he asks, immediately fretting over the kitten.

“On my way home,” Callisto explains as he peels off his drenched jacket and drops his bag by the door. “I accidentally stepped on its tail.”

“You what?!” Prophis exclaims, turning sharply to look at his husband as if he had said that he had punted the cat.

“On accident,” Callisto rectifies quickly. “And I apologized, and fed it half my lunch.”

The elf inspects the kitten twice over and gives a satisfied nod. “Well, other than being a hungry little fellow, he seems unscathed.” He pauses and turns his gaze to his husband, and the dark-haired man knows that look.

“No, Prophis,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster in the face of his husband. “We cannot keep it.”

“Why not?” the elf pouts. “He’s perfectly fine and well-mannered!”

“Prophis,” Callisto all but pleads.

“Oh, come on, you can’t be as heartless as to cast the little one out into the rain!” Prophis doubles down, putting his bleeding heart on full display as he cradles the kitten closer to his chest. “He wouldn’t survive the night and winter is just around the corner and-”

“Alright,” the human says tiredly.

“Alright?” Prophis echoes, the hope edging into his voice.

“Yes, alright, we can keep it.” Before his husband can properly cheer he adds, “Just until we can find someone who can take care of it instead.”

Prophis has a look on his face for a moment, one that Callisto recognizes as his “I’m plotting something face” before he nods with a smile. “Well, if he’s going to stay he needs a name.”

“A name?” Callisto echoes.

“Yes, something to call him instead of just ‘the kitten,’” Prophis reasons.

The human considers it for a moment before he concedes with a nod. “I suppose that much can be true.”

The blonde holds up the black-and-white mess of still-soggy fur before saying, “Mr. Business.”

Callisto smiles at his husband’s choice of naming. “We can’t call it that, the Monopoly Man would steal it.”

Prophis sighs. “Fair point.” He walks into the living area and gently sets the kitten down on the table, looking at him intently as if the cat will tell them his name.

Callisto follows his husband after a moment. He looks at the kitten before thinking about his lesson on the Greek mythos this evening. “What about Clio, after the muse of history and heroic poetry, from the old tales?”

Prophis snickers. “That’s truly a you thing to say, but look at him.” He gestures at the cat. “That’s not a hero of old.” As if cued by his words, the cat tries to walk off the table.

The history professor watches with bemusement as his husband scrambles to save the kitten before considering his comment. “You may have a point.” He pauses, weighing his options before smiling as he says, “Dionysus then, the old god of intoxication, that seems to fit the cat’s,” he trails off, looking the tiny thing up and down before landing on, “Everything.”

“I still feel a god’s name is too clever for him,” Prophis points out.

Callisto nods, watching as the kitten tries to eat a strand of his husband’s long white hair. “I suppose you’re right,” he says slowly.

“What about,” he trails off before grinning. “Spot? After the three-headed dog.”

Callisto pauses for a long moment, looking at his husband before slowly saying, “Did you just-? Do you mean-?” But the hopeful look in Prophis’ eye causes him to stop. “Alright, love, Spot it is.”

“Yay! Spot!” He stands up with Spot and spins around. The cat, to his credit, is completely unbothered, just lazily looking around as the 6-foot elf twirls around with him.

Callisto chuckles. “I don’t know what I expected from you,” he says before shaking his head. “Scratch that, this is exactly what I expected from you”

Prophis doesn’t even respond as he stands there with the kitten, smiling and laughing. He is on cloud nine with this little thing in his arms because he loves animals, but that’s not the only reason. While Prophis may love animals, Callisto does not, and one of the compromises they made when getting married and moving in together is that they wouldn’t have any pets in the house.

His husband snickers before deciding to be dramatic. He sniffles and pulls his, still-wet, cardigan closer around him. “I was out in the cold rain too, you know. The kitten’s not the only one who needs cuddles.” He huffs and turns to walk towards the stairs. “I suppose I’ll just go curl up in bed under the blankets.”

Callisto barely finishes his sentence before Prophis wraps him in a tight, one-arm hug. He litters his face in kisses, muttering “I love you” between each one. In his other hand, he holds the kitten away from Callisto in an effort to not smash the tiny thing.

“I love you too, darling, but I really should go dry off.” Prophis huffs, but does not let go, causing Callisto to chuckle. “Let me dry off and then we can cuddle, sound good? Wouldn’t want you getting all wet, considering you’ve already had your bottom surgery,” he teases, tapping Prophis’ hip.

Prophis slowly blinks as he processes that Callisto is still dripping wet and slowly steps back. “I somehow missed that- yes, yes, go dry off. I’ll be here taking care of this little guy.” He kisses his husband's cheek.

“You were offered cuddles after a long day of being home alone, and dove for the opportunity, my fault really. I’ll be back in a moment, darling.” Callisto walks off to the bathroom, but a second later his head pops back into the room. “I’d like to point out that ‘Spot’ is also soaking wet.”

Prophis nods and follows him into the bathroom, sits down on the floor with a towel, and dries the kitten off while cooing at him while Callisto dries up.

Callisto tries to wring the water out of his hair and clothes before mumbling “To hell with it” and completely stripping and snatching Prophis’ fluffy pink robe off the wall. He carefully pulls it on before loosely tying it in the front and burying his nose in its soft sleeve. The exhustion of the day begins to catch up with him as his eyes droop and his shoulders sag.

Prophis sees him out of the corner of his eye. He slowly stands up, still cradling the kitten in one hand, and gently readjusts the robe on Callisto with the other.

“Pink is your color, love,” Prophis hums, mirth alive in his eyes.

“Shh,” he mumbles into the sleeve. He lifts his head just enough to see his husband. “It smells like you, okay?”

The blonde trails his hand up to Callisto’s face and gently twirls one of the strands of brown hair around his fingers. “Mhm,” he hums. “Is that why you steal all my clothes?” he questions. Spot meows and Prophis briefly redirects his attention to the kitten, curling it closer to himself and making sure he is still securely held before giving his attention back to his very suddenly sleepy husband.

“Yeah, you have a nice smell, and furthermore, it’s the smell of my husband. I’d love your smell if you smelled like rancid garbage, but luckily for me you smell like vanilla candles and warmth.” Callisto rests his head against Prophis’ chest, but the cat's tiny tail keeps smacking him in the nose. He makes a disgruntled expression while shifting to rest his head in the crook of his husband's neck.

Prophis snickers as he gently puts the cat down, and wraps his husband in a proper hug before swaying them there. “I still think I smell like stale food, but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless.”

Callisto scowls against his husband’s neck. “You do not smell like stale food, this is a hill I will die on.”

The elf laughs, squeezing his husband a little tighter. “I know, we ‘argue’ about it once a week.”

“Yes, yes, we do.”

Prophis sighs. “How about this, let’s call this argument a draw and go to bed for some proper cuddles?”

Callisto nods with a loopy smile, the need to sleep finally winning.

“I love you,” he says quietly as the blonde leads them to the bedroom.

Prophis smiles. “I love you too, pretty boy, and thank you for bringing home Spot.”

[wonderingnorthwards]

7/4/13 - Rakaia glow

Clearly getting tired as the energy left at the end of the day for these write ups in diminishing but let’s give this another go. Waking up in my tent from a night of rain and wind, just over the saddle, I knew I had a big day ahead of me before hitting the road to hitch into Methven to finish a 6 day, two section, 150km combined excursion. Climbing down from the saddle through the valley was a similar story to that a couple days ago on the Two thumb track, cris-crossing the river down. This time the water was ice cold, and I had to get the feet wet 55 times. Yes I counted. Special mentions out to #44 the Lewis Hamilton speed trail down the river and #13 the unlucky for some slip up. Making it to Comys hut with bricks for feet, a hearty lunch of wrap, cheese, all the salami I had left and a generous serving of aioli as i let my socks dry briefly providing enough energy for the next 10* kms of trail. The first 5 proving comparatively ordinary, however still outstanding I was treated to what ill call the best Nobo highlight of the walk so far, hiking up over the 1,200m Turtons saddle, somewhat unexpectedly given I was rushing to the road, put quite simply as The Best view. The magnificent Rakaia river and surrounding valleys commanded my attention. I wish I could share pictures of its beauty, but after 6 days bush my phone had died, so this one will live on in my memory alone. A moment I’ll cherish and reminds me of how lucky I am to live and walk such a beautiful country. The view blessed me the whole way down for the next hour and a half as I raced to the road to try get the 4:30pm Friday rush hour to the pub in Methven for my next resupply. Turns out the road was as dead as they come. Figuring my luck wouldn’t improve any by staying still, I started walking in the right direction, hoping I would cross more farms and improve my chances as I dreamt of a pub meal and a cold handle of Speights. A dreamy sunset over the river and mountains with all colours from golden hour up in the ranges melting into cotton candy mountains in the distance. Not single car for 2.5 hours drove those spirits well down, with next to no food left, I was 5 minutes away from setting camp on the side of the road and getting the last of my coscos on the boil when, like I always tell myself; things worked out for me. Some hunters returning from a day up in the valleys pulled up on their way back to Chch. Making it to the aptly named brown pub, not to be confused with the neighbouring blue pub about 7:30 I did in fact get my loaded chicken schnitzel and fries, cold handle of speights and a room for the night in what felt like some old school western, staying at the town tavern as I passed through. This town felt about the right size for all of us truth me told.

Wrap up

Journey: Clent Hills Sadle - Methven

Kms: 21.8 offical TA + 13kms road. Apple: 32.5kms

River crossings: 55

Offical KM: 750.4

[thefernmanner]

"The Thrust." From the Book of Sirach, "The Manner of the Fern" 3: 17-24.

Humility and reflection go hand in hand in the making of a Pslam. During the recitation of a Psalm, we chip away at a formless piece of rock to find the person that is hidden inside. When we read and recite a Pslam, we build a statue from the floor up, we unmelt the butter.

Reflection however cannot take place until after the Passover Seder is performed. There must be no delusion in the mind if one is to know what God hid inside the flesh waiting to be utilized in Judah, for the purposes of all.

We know now everything happens, not for a reason, but play its designated part. Nothing is made without a sacred place for it. The equation God uses to create the universe accounts for everything as it roots, trees, and branches down, up, and out into the world. Provided man provides the soil, water, and access to illumination the tree prospers.

To reflect, one must forsake all idols. A god is not an idol a god is a being God created to serve Yah. An idol does not serve God or the gods, however it serves itself. Worship of gods and idols is forbidden, only reverence, and only for the purposes named by the Torah and Tanakh. The Ruth Torah says one must worship a god after marriage, but success at this requires Shabbat and the Seder. Without humility the attempt will not be successful.

Sirach continues to explain:

Humility

17 My child, perform your tasks with humility;     then you will be loved more than a giver of gifts.[d] 18 The greater you are, the more you must humble yourself;     so you will find favor in the sight of the Lord.[e] 20 For great is the might of the Lord,     but by the humble he is glorified. 21 Neither seek what is too difficult for you     nor investigate what is beyond your power. 22 Reflect upon what you have been commanded,     for what is hidden is not your concern. 23 In matters greater than your own affairs, do not meddle,     for things beyond human understanding have been shown you. 24 For their conceit has led many astray,     and wrong opinion has impaired their judgment.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 17-18: Perform your tasks with humility. The Number is 14127, יד‎יבב‎ ‎, yad yabb, "the hand of God is a gangway."

The Torah says we have to leave the ego and temptation behind on the shore and go out onto the surface of the sea. This requires a boat. The boat is a trick called Kabbalah like the rest. Once the eyes are closed the mind is sails into the open ocean of darkness and there it discovers what it is, and what it is not.

One does not meditate for the purposes of magic or self-help, only to prove to the mind and the body it has no need to emote, desire, or contend with reality in any way other than the way the Spirit suggests. Man is not a trained lion, God is not a circus trainer with a whip and chair. We are in charge of our minds of this there is no doubt.

v. 20-21: Great is the might of the Lord...but for one thing. He cannot make man into a righteous being, that man must do on his own. I made sure to broadcast the Great Hillel through multiple channels before the US Election and still the people of this planet persist in being wicked. God can create galaxies and collapse stars with out moving a muscle, but he cannot reform us. We are lost if we do not recognize the problems we are creating for ourselves, by violating the Great Hillel, the sacred obligations.

The Number is 9880, ט‎חף, "the thrust or impulse."

Control of impulses is a desirable characteristic in children and adults. God told Adam and Evil first thing, do not hide the salami, no matter how tempting it is and then they hid the salami.

We can be taught not to wet or soil ourselves how to use a knife and fork and a napkin before we are twelve, who cares, but after semenarche and menarche, careful control of the impulses is necessary for the rest of one's life. A society that does not emphasize gun control has not passed the test of Eden and must revisit it:

v. 22-23: Reflect upon what you have been commanded. The Number is 11378, יאג‎זח, yagzah, ‎"yes or no?" Are we allowed to be violent or inhospitable or not? The Torah says no, we are not.

But your wrong opinions have led them astray...(v. 24). The Number is 4684, דו‎ח‎ד‎, "a report."

False reporters are persons who have reflected upon the scripture and then run amok in spite of what they have read. When we read certain laws contained in the actual legal system and then do whatevers, we are also making false reports about the lifestyles we have formally decided to allow or disallow.

So humility is a tacit agreement to read the Law and the laws and follow them without predilection. They are not impulse buys, they are requirements. Police and prosecuting attorneys are not window shoppers. Priests and Rabbis are supposed to emphasize this.

[special-food]

Detroit style pizza to die for

I love all forms of pizza. Here's a Detroit style one where you put the cheese first and cooked sauce on top. The cheese melts down the edges and caramelized making every bite crispy.

The dough

320 grams of wheat flour, the one milled really finely. Called “tipo 00” in Italian. Or unbleached bread flour in general.

6 grams of dry yeast (that’s about 12 grams of fresh yeast)

9 grams of salt.

250 grams of cold water

Dissolve the yeast in cold water. Yes, cold. It will still work, it just needs a bit longer and that will develop a better flavor.

Mix in all the rest of the ingredients. Yes, salt too. No, it won’t kill the yeast.

Kneed in a stand mixer or by hand, until it all comes together. It should be a really sticky and soft dough so don’t add extra flour.

Wet your hands in water, and drag the sides of the dough to its middle. So it becomes kind of a ball on the bottom of the bowl.

Cover. And let it proof until it doubles in size.

The Sauce

40 ml of extra-virgin olive oil (or, if you want to make this as cheaply as possible, use regular cheap ass oil. It won’t taste as good but good enough)

3 cloves of garlic

5 grams of dried oregano

5 grams of gotucharu red pepper flakes (or a dash of whatever hot pepper you like)

1 small onion

800 grams of canned whole tomatoes. That’s usually two regular cans.

5 grams of garlic powder (because it gives a different kind of garlic flavor that compliments the fresh one)

30 grams of sugar

15 grams of salt

Oil in a large pot and heat on medium

Mince the garlic and chop the onion

Fry onion and garlic together with chili flakes and garlic powder and oregano. Give it a minute or so.

Add canned tomatoes.

Sugar and salt.

Let it simmer on medium heat until a lot of liquid evaporates and you’re left with about half the amount of sauce, all thick and chunky.

The final steps for pizza

A deep oven pan, about 25x35 cm in size. Make sure it’s made of metal to get that crust going.

300 grams of white cheddar cheese, or anything that reminds you of Wisconsin block cheese. Well, if you’re in the US I guess Wisconsin block cheese is what you’ll have. For the rest of the world, you need to find a cheese that melts and becomes crunchy when melted, and that has a slight acidity to it. Like... a cheap white cheddar.

Your tomato sauce

About 30 g of olive oil (or shitty cooking oil, that will do if you want to save money but it doesn’t taste as good)

About 150 grams of thinly sliced salami. Or “pepperoni” as the Americans would call it (!).

Set the oven to 250 C.

Oil the inside of the pan all over the bottom and up the sides.

Put the dough in the pan and stretch it so it covers the bottom. It will take a while, but eventually you’ll manage.

Cover the pan and let the dough proof for 30 minutes. Meanwhile the oven will heat up so that’s perfect. And then...

Add slices of salami evenly over the dough.

Cut the cheese into dices and place them even over the pizza. Yes, cheese first. All the way to the edges. That’s the thing with Detroit style pizza, it makes the cheese melt down the sides and caramelized and get all crunchy.

Spread the sauce on top but not all the way to the edge. Leave the edges with cheese only.

Into the oven for about 20 minutes until the cheese is all crusty on the edges, like really really dark brown.

Push a spatula along the edges to separate them from the pan.

Lift the whole pizza out by using two spatulas. Or one really big one, I guess?

Cut into large squares.

Eat that crispy and chewy pizza!

[full-tiltboogiearc]

"Just me and the new kid. Carmy'll be in later tonight. Said he's soul-searching with Sydney or some dumb shit like that." Richie indulges in one more puff of smoke before dropping the cigarette on the gravel, clicking his tongue—a pack of Marlboro costs an arm and a leg these days, but he's got to head in—before stomping it out with his Adidas. Though he hates the fact that she hates salami now, he gives in and gestures her inside.

The Beef is a little quieter today, just a few days before Christmas. Maybe two or three people eating inside and a handful of drop-bys. In its heyday, The Beef used to make these big hams—Mikey used to swear by this pineapple-brown sugar glaze like he was some creative piece of shit for coming up with it, even though it's been a thing forever—and the days leading up to Christmas would be chaotic. But they've since done away with that, focused more on the mainstays. Richie doesn't mind it; in fact, he relishes in the fact that nobody's trying anything new. There'll be room for innovation once everybody's done grieving over ole Michael Berzatto, whenever that happens.

Richie sits Chessie over by the stools. "Wait here," he says, before disappearing to the back. The new kid is in the distance, messing with the arcade machine. A few minutes later, Richie's back out with two baskets of their Italian beef, wet, and fries. He sets them down in front of Chessie, but instead of taking a seat beside her, he steps behind the counter and leans over on his elbows. Chomping. He forgot to eat breakfast this morning.

"So where're you gonna be for this job?" he asks, mouth full. "Some bougie place, like Paris or Milan?"

Even her sister, who wasn't the biggest fan of her ex-husband, claimed that Chessie was a little too hard on him. Sure, there was a ton of room for improvement, but the man was trying. And actively wanted to see their daughter, unlike some deadbeat dads she had run across over the last few years. But that's who she was, and her way of thinking was if she wasn't hard on him, then who would be? Surely not Carmy, and definitely not Fak. Maybe Tina, or perhaps Sugar. But they weren't, so she had to be, because without someone pushing him like she did-

Thoughts are interrupted when he says that he can handle it. That their daughter enjoys being with him, and that he would be able to keep an eye on her while at the Bear. She shakes her head, knowing it was far from Chuck E. Cheese. The only thing it had in common with that children's playground was maybe the rats that hung out by the dumpster.

He offers every time she comes. Despite her answer always being no, he still asks. Chessie usually has some excuse as to why she can't stay, or claims that she's not hungry, even when she is. The woman liked to limit her interactions with her ex as much as she could. However, the chill in the air reminds her just how cold it is out here, and the growling of her stomach reminds her of the fact that she hadn't eaten anything for breakfast.

"Sure, Richie. Just no salami, alright?" Because the last time she had it she had nearly thrown up, not because of the food, but because of her pregnancy. It had turned her off from it for the rest of time. "Anyone else here, or is it just you?" // @full-tiltboogie

[meg-moira]

After a decent bit of real life turbulence, I'm back at it! I was inspired by this sentence prompt, and wrote a three part short story that's fun, scary, and a generally good time!

The first part (which can absolutely be read as a standalone) is all below the cut, and the other two parts will be going up on my Patreon :)

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Arnold was a firm believer in plans. He lived his life by calendars and alarms, and a good day was one that did not deviate from schedule. He awoke each morning at promptly 6AM, arrived to work at Johnson and Associates Law Offices at 7AM, used the restroom at 7:30AM and 11:15AM (after his first and second cups of coffee respectively), worked through lunch, and took a late afternoon break to walk to the Java Java cart to purchase a latte and a dry but edible salami sandwich.

On this particular trip to Java Java, Arnold walked with his phone out, fingers tapping the screen in an irritated flurry. He was in the throes of a heated text message exchange with his assistant, Mary. An otherwise competent employee, she had the unfortunate habit of volunteering Arnold for pro-bono work. He was in the middle of explaining that yes, it was very sad about the eviction of those orphans, but he simply didn’t have the time–

He was interrupted by a soft noise. A low, piteous whine.

In a nearby gutter, a lump of scarlet leaves shivered. Flicking down his sunglasses, Arnold squinted over the top of his phone. The miniature mass beneath the gutter detritus was moving, and leaves fell away to reveal a wet black nose, two round, glistening eyes, and a white rope of a tail thump thump thumping hopefully against concrete.

“Oh Christ,” he muttered.

The puppy howled.

Arnold’s gaze swept down the sidewalk in either direction. He was desperate to spot someone, anyone to foist this mangy problem upon. Arnold would even offer to record them saving the beast so they could get a whole ten minutes of fame on Tik-Tok.

The sidewalk was distressingly empty.

Holding his phone out like a shield, Arnold circled the sad, lost thing.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said, an admonishment.

In response, the creature leapt, sending a shower of leaves and grime in the air. Arnold hopped back, intent on protecting his newly polished Vince Camuto Oxfords. But the dog, who clearly had no respect whatsoever for expensive footwear, galloped at him. Just when Arnold was sure the tiny menace would strike at his knees, it yelped and fell, rolling head over tail, landing squarely upon Arnold’s designer shoes.

He fully intended on scolding the dirty creature. And he would have – if not for the red, swollen paw he glimpsed when the dog laid on its back, tongue lolling.

Arnold glanced up at the perfectly blue, utterly unhelpful sky before heaving a bone deep sigh. Shaking his head, he tapped a rapid message on his phone. The message informed Mary that yes, fine, he would take the pro-bono case, but absolutely no more. And he really meant it this time. Also–

Arnold spared a second glance at the sad creature on his shoe before heaving an even deeper sigh than before and texting Mary to please reschedule my upcoming meeting.

When Arnold plucked up the filthy dog, its tail wagged to and fro, an eager pendulum. It was a mess of white patchy fur and its drooping triangle ears were coated in a thin layer of mud.

To the dog, Arnold said, “You’re throwing off my whole schedule, I hope you know.”

In response, that rope of a tail drummed faster.

Cradling the dog under one arm, Arnold struggled with his apartment door. His suit jacket was covered in white, wiry fur, and Arnold could practically feel the fleas burrowing into the fabric. The dog was no help whatsoever, going so far as to lick Arnold’s knuckles when he attempted to shuffle the plastic bag stuffed with hastily purchased pet supplies between his hands.

Once inside, Arnold kicked the door closed, deposited the bag on his mahogany entryway table, and set the dog on the floor. Rather than sit and wait for direction, as Arnold expected any civilized dog would do, the fluffy beast charged across the formerly white carpet and took a stumbling leap onto his limited edition Poltrona Frau Kennedee sofa.

“Off! Off!” Frantically kicking off his shoes, Arnold leapt over his coffee table and snatched the dog from where it was in the process of leaving a muddy trail across the otherwise pristine fabric. Swinging the dog up, Arnold leveled it with the glare he reserved for impertinent interns.

The dog stared unapologetically back, eyes gleaming beneath thick tufts of white curls. It’s tongue lolled from the side of its mouth, and when Arnold narrowed his eyes, drawing the dog closer, it surged forward, tongue lapping over his unsuspecting mouth.

“Ugh!” He nearly dropped the creature. But didn’t – really, he was a lawyer, not a monster. Shuddering in revulsion, he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and marched the beast to the bathroom.

After a bath, flea treatment, and a very long thirty minutes spent trimming tiny nails that had no business being so sharp, Arnold set the little beast loose. He watched with a resigned sort of exhaustion as it flopped on its back, wiggling a path across the carpet. At least now the tiny disaster was clean. As Arnold watched, the dog rolled onto its feet and scampered back onto the couch, moving easily despite the wrapping around its paw.

During the bath, he’d found the cause of the swollen paw: a tiny shard of polished wood.

As the dog cavorted around the loft, Arnold turned the little piece of fractured wood over in his hand. Where it had come from, he had no idea.

Setting it on the bathroom counter, he grimaced at the mess the dog had made of his bathtub. A black line of filth encircled the porcelain, and when Arnold rubbed his finger across it, it smeared. Frowning, Arnold lifted his index finger, inspecting the black blotting his skin. It almost looked like soot. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught the last wiggling kick as the little menace squeezed entirely under the couch.

God help him. What had he done?

Later that night, after the dog had feasted on half of Arnold’s medium rare steak (the furball had refused all manner of dog food, upsetting the bowl every time Arnold refilled it), it finally slept, curled in a makeshift nest on the couch which consisted of Arnold’s suit jacket, his scarf, and a patchy teddy bear from Arnold’s childhood that he most assuredly did not keep for sentimental reasons.

Arnold sat in a lounge chair nearby, laptop open, catching up on the emails he’d missed while dealing with the tiny terror. His phone, which sat on the armrest, flashed with text messages. He’d made the critical error of sending pictures of the creature to Lana, his fifteen year-old sister.

He sent off an email before he drew a breath and reluctantly reached for the phone. If he didn’t reply soon, she’d resort to calling. His screen was a wall of texts.

No. No way!! You’re joking.

Are you serious?

You’re not serious.

Are you?

Arnold!!

Where did you get her???

Are you keeping her??

If you’re not, you HAVE to give her to me. YOU HAVE TO, ARNIE

Does she have a name???

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Arnold began tapping out his answers.

I’m always serious.

In a gutter.

I don’t know yet.

Oh, so dad figured out a miracle cure to his dog allergy? Remarkable.

I was thinking Little Terror. Or Thing.

Lana replied that Arnold was a big butt face and that she had a better name.

Grace.

Arnold laughed. The sound had the dog lifting its head and squinting open an inquisitive eye. That was not a Grace. It was a mess.

“You’re a Little Terror, aren’t you?”

The other eye blinked open, staring at Arnold unimpressed.

“Thing?”

Arnold sighed.

“Grace?”

Grace’s tail thudded damningly against the stained cushion.

When Arnold finally retired to bed, Grace howled at the door until Arnold gave in and marched back out in his plaid pajamas and slippers. As there was no way he was letting a creature that licked its own butt inside his freshly laundered bed, he trudged out to the couch and lay down. Arnold fell asleep with the jacket nested between his feet and Grace snoring upon it.

He woke an indeterminable amount of time later to a weight on his chest and breath that smelled inexplicably of rotten eggs and the sickly sweet scent of spoiled fruit. An eager tongue licked his nose.

Lifting a palm to protect his face, Arnold squinted around the dim apartment. The sprawling windows were dark, and the endless city glowed, lit by innumerable flickering streetlights. Arnold might have assumed he’d been woken by some long forgotten dream, if not for the way the dog’s eyes flashed strangely in the dark. Its white ears were perked toward the door. Then, the dog’s tiny chest rumbled.

From the door, came a soft knock.

“Who the hell…?” Pushing Grace off his chest, Arnold rose. The dog hopped along the sofa, gaze riveted on the door.

A glance at his phone confirmed it was as intolerable an hour as Arnold suspected.

3:10AM.

Arnold’s thumb hovered over the dial pad. He had the absurd urge to call Mary, though he hadn’t the faintest idea what his assistant would do about potential midnight intruders outside his door. He could, of course, call the police. But what would he tell them? He was frightened by a knock upon his door? What sort of intruder announced themselves with a knock anyway?

Steeling himself, Arnold crossed the room. Standing aside from the door (didn’t they say criminals sometimes shot through doors?), he activated the communication panel on the wall. A screen lit, and Arnold glimpsed a lone figure standing in the hall.

They were of average height and wore a black leather jacket over slouched shoulders. Their hair was either black or dark brown – it was difficult to tell over the live video feed – and was styled in a harsh undercut. The man had fine boned features, marred by shadows like bruises under his eyes. Pouting lips curled around a drooping cigarette.

He looked like he’d stepped out of the pages of The Outsiders, and Arnold, still shrugging off sleep, wondered tiredly why there was a greaser smoking a cigarette outside his door.

Before Arnold could make up his mind about what he should do, the man wrinkled his nose in apparent irritation and rapped his knuckles again against the door. This knock was louder than the first, and Arnold startled when the wood jolted so near to his shoulder.

Glancing back, Arnold noted that Grace sat upon the armrest, her beady black eyes fastened upon the door.

Well this was absurd. This – this – hooligan was disrupting Arnold’s valuable sleep! He shouldn’t even be in the building in the first place. Shoring up his confidence, Arnold jabbed his finger against the talk button and demanded, “Who are you? And why are you assaulting my door?”

The stranger startled, and Arnold gained a small measure of satisfaction from watching the man’s dark eyes narrow and dart from the door to the speaker box beside the doorbell.

Tugging the lapels of his leather jacket, the man tilted his head and lifted his chin toward the door. “You’ve got the hound, right?”

The hound?

“The dog? How do you know about– you know what, it’s three o'clock in the morning. Yes, yes I have a dog here. I found it. In a gutter, mind you. Dirty and hurt. Had to take the rest of the day off, and I missed two whole meetings just to-”

The man’s hand struck the door. His eyes, black rimmed (did he wear eyeliner, Arnold fleetingly wondered), were fastened upon the camera. Where Arnold stood before the video monitor, it felt uncannily as though he were being watched through the screen.

“I’m gonna need the dog,” the man said, voice low and edged with what Arnold thought might actually be malice. “Or my boss will not be happy.”

His boss? What, had Arnold picked up a mangy dog that belonged to the mafia or something? The man outside was really starting to seem threatening, and why shouldn’t Arnold give the dog to him? Even if the stranger was lying, Arnold had only had the mutt for a day. Less than that, even. And surely he wasn’t going to be able to keep it permanently.

Arnold made the mistake of looking over his shoulder. Grace had abandoned her post on the arm rest. Instead, she snuggled back into Arnold’s jacket, her contentedly wagging tail sprouting like a weed from the fabric.

He couldn’t give her up. At least, not to the people who’d left her in a gutter.

Arnold rubbed a palm over his face. He sincerely hoped this dog wasn’t about to get him murdered by a want to be greaser. Clearing his throat, Arnold bent down to the speaker. “I’m sorry, you can’t have Grace. I found her with no identification. And based on her sorry state, I presume she’s not microchipped?”

The man actually jerked back. “Grace? Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. And what the shit is a microchip?!”

“I’ll take that as a yes” Arnold replied. “You can go.”

If the man hadn’t looked agitated before, he certainly looked it now. Yanking the cigarette from between his lips, he flung it down, grinding it beneath his black heeled boot.

“That’s a fire haz-” Arnold began.

“Look man, you do not want to get on my boss’s bad side. And he’s not the only one who’s gonna want this hound. Just give her to me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“If your boss wants to take on the best lawyer to come out of Harvard in the last five years, then he can be my guest,” Arnold snapped.

“You – you think you can lawyer your way out of this, my dude?” The man outside tipped his head back, teeth glistening like fangs as he cackled. “This is too much.”

Arnold, who had never much liked being laughed at, bristled. “I can lawyer my way out of anything, you dick.”

The stranger jabbed his finger at the door camera. “No, no no, you’re the dick - dick!”

“No you,” Arnold absurdly replied.

Those teeth, still looking strangely sharp, grit together, and Arnold watched the stranger pace a tight circle and roughly scratch at his dark hair. Bracing hands on either side of the door, he leaned in toward the camera.

Arnold took two swift steps back from the monitor. It could only be a trick of the lighting, but from this angle, the man’s eyes looked black all the way through.

“Listen, man. I may be trying to save my own ass here – but I’m also trying to save yours. You have no idea of the shit you have in store if you hold onto that thing.”

Conveniently forgetting that he’d, only hours before, contemplating naming the dog just that, Arnold pressed the speaker and snapped back. “Her name is Grace, and she’s my dog. Goodnight!”

For a long moment, the man outside didn’t move, and Arnold, perhaps more tired than he realized, studied the lock of greased hair that had come out of place and was dangling over the man’s pale forehead. Then, all at once, the man straightened. Swift fingers raked the lock back into place. Pausing to draw a fresh cigarette out of a breast pocket, the man lit it with some trick of the hand, and wedged the burning nub between his lips.

“Fine.” The single word cut around the cigarette. “But when serious shit starts to go down – and mark my words, it will go down – don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took a step back from the door and stopped. Arnold watched a curl of smoke rise from the cigarette, and then the man tipped his chin and cursed a strange, barbed word at the floor. “When you inevitably regret being an idiot, give me a call. The name’s Abrim.” And with a final derisive look towards the door, he stalked away.

Arnold stood for a whole minute in front of the screen, half expecting the lunatic to come sprinting back into frame with a baseball bat, intent on knocking the door in. But the hall remained empty, save for the flattened cigarette smeared on the carpet. What an asshole. And what did he mean when he said give him a call? He hadn’t even left a number.

Equal parts baffled and disturbed, Arnold triple checked that his door was locked before returning to the couch. Deciding that the middle of the night antics warranted an extra half hour of sleep, he changed his alarm from 6:00AM to a generous 6:30 before laying back on the cushions. He’d barely closed his eyes when he felt a gentle shifting by his feet, followed inevitably by the press of tiny paws over his legs and up his chest. Grace circled once before flopping down with a whistling sigh.

Between half remembered dreams, Arnold saw, with bleary eyes, what looked like the red glow of embers, impossibly bright behind the dog’s slumbering lids. And then, lit by the green glow of Arnold’s gaming system, the outline of two curving horns. He blinked, and both horns and glow vanished. Arnold gave the wiry hair sprouting from Grace’s head a cursory pat. Of course there were no horns. The illusion was just a figment of a lost dream. His dreams had always been strange.

And so Arnold drifted back to sleep, blissfully unaware of the manner of beast which slumbered soundly upon his chest.

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You can check out my Patreon here!

Part 2 is here :)

(Any support is appreciated, but I totally, totally understand if that’s not possible. Things are hard right now!)

[dudeshusband]

Title: Heart of the Ocean

Ship: Mike x Anthony Hope

Words: 1.2k

Description: mikethony siren au

Warnings: death

There was endless blue in front of him. Nothing but the mysterious waters of the Atlantic for miles. He didn't care if they never reached land. His home was here among the waves.

It had been a long day of maintaining the ship and her course. The Bountiful was a trustworthy vessel and the only one Anthony had ever known. He leaned into the ship’s railing like one would into the crook of a lover’s neck.

The sun had long dipped out of the sky. Many of his fellow sailors had gone belowdecks already. For food, or for sleep, or to play cards. Anthony watched the waters, somehow restless despite the amount of work he'd done.

He shut his eyes and let himself feel the wind tossing his hair.

Just as his eyes closed, he began to hear a voice. He had never heard it before and its song was unknown to him. He felt a pull at his heart, as if he were being called into the ocean. His eyes snapped open.

He scanned the waves, and looked around the ship, hoping to find the source of the singing. This was silly though, as he knew the voice of everyone aboard The Bountiful, and this was unlike any voice he had ever heard. It was not quite beautiful but Anthony could not help but be charmed by it. His eyes return to the water.

He decided he was tired and had imagined it.

Anthony made his way belowdecks and to the quarters for the sailors. He undressed and slipped into bed.

Someone had gone missing in the night. One of the older sailors, an Irish man in his forties. The crew had looked everywhere. He had simply vanished. Deaths weren't uncommon on ships, but rarely did a man disappear without a trace. It left everyone on edge.

Anthony heard the voice again that evening. Its pull was stronger.

He slept and dreamed of a beautiful stranger.

Most of the ocean looked the same but it seemed as if the crew of The Bountiful had moved nowhere in the past two days.

Someone else had gone missing. This time a younger man, someone Anthony knew better. He wouldn't have ended his life. This unsettled the crew further.

Anthony heard the voice again, and swore he saw a golden tail rise above the waves then dive back into the water.

Two men disappeared the next night. Something was wrong. His fellow sailors started talking in hushed whispers about succubuses lingering in the dark waters below.

Anthony was an optimist, and doubted such horrible things were at work. Still, he couldn't help but be unsettled.

Anthony was awoken that night by a thunderous crash. Piercing cold water followed it.

The ship was going under.

Much of the crew was in hysterics. They frantically rushed about, trying to get themselves to safety. The hole in the hull was too large. There was no getting out alive, even Anthony’s optimism couldn't blind him from it.

The captain was found in his quarters, drinking the last bit of brandy from his stores. The cook was eating a chunk of salami as a last meal.

One by one, sailors fell into the icy waters of the Atlantic and drowned.

He climbed to the foremast of The Bountiful and gripped onto the wood, and onto his life, with all his might.

He looked from his fellow sailors, his family, and their desperate attempts to survive.

He watched the Union Jack that was attached near the figurehead flap in the wind.

He held his breath and waited for the ocean to take him to his grave.

He heard the voice again.

Unlike all the other times, its owner presented itself to him. The creature was half human, half fish. They had a golden tail and blue-grey eyes. Their hair had long been in the water but it wasn't wet. Anthony was enchanted by them.

They sang to him, and he had the thought to let go of the foremast and fall into the ocean.

Anthony had heard this story before.

He couldn't remember what they'd called the creature, the dark enchanter who lured sailors to their watery graves.

The ones who could harness the wind.

It became clear then. The ship had not moved. The creatures had made the wind patterns change so this would be so. Some of the men disappeared following their mystifying voices. The others had fallen victim to the vicious ocean.

Anthony looked down to the creature, who was smiling at him and beckoning him with their hand. They looked soft, friendly, and warm. The death they would lead him to would not be.

The creature continued to sing to him. He had the crazy idea to sing back.

The creature looked up at him curiously. Anthony supposed no one had thought to sing a reply as death loomed on the horizon.

Their song seemed to say:

Come, join me. It's lovely here. Don't you want to become one with the ocean?

“Tell me your name,” Anthony told the creature.

The creature replied, “I have no name.”

“Everyone has a name,” he said.

“Not me.”

“I will give you one, then.”

He looked at the creature. What name would suit such a beautiful merchant of death?

“I'll call you Mike,” decided Anthony. “Do you like it?”

“Why must death have a name?” Mike asked.

“All important things have names,” Anthony replied.

He hadn't meant it with any compassion but their was a change in Mike’s face. There was a softening of their features.

“You are unlike any man I have seen before.”

Despite the situation, Anthony felt his face warm. “Uh, thank you.”

“Take my hand,” Mike instructed.

“Where will you take me?” Anthony asked.

“That is yet to be seen,” Mike said vaguely.

Anthony looked into the creature's eyes and remembered its name.

It was a siren. A killer of men.

Anthony took its hand.

Mike pulled him into the depths of the ocean.

At least, I will be with my friends again, Anthony thought as water filled his lungs.

A child was laughing. A mother was scolding her sons. A father sang an old folk song.

The sun beat warmly on his face.

He took in a breath. He was alive. He had not died with the others.

“Why am I not dead?” he asked no one in particular.

“You should be,” Mike said, disappointed with themselves. “I couldn't bring myself to. You sang to me. You gave me a name. You are such a lovely man, unlike most others.”

“Humanity is beautiful,” Anthony said. “If you join me, you'll come to know that.”

“Join you?” Mike asked, incredulously.

“You saved my life.”

“I endangered it.”

“Then you changed your mind,” Anthony said firmly.

“You are incredibly unwise,” Mike said.

“I've heard that before.”

Anthony smiled at them. His smile was more alluring than any siren’s song.

“I am a sea creature. I cannot possibly leave.”

“I'll come to you,” Anthony said brightly. “I am a sailor, after all.”

Mike stared him for a long while, mesmerized by him. He was beautiful, yes. More importantly, he was a kind man with a good soul. He made Mike's darkened heart lighten.

“I'll be seeing you,” Mike said, and sank back into the ocean.

Anthony waved toward the water but Mike was long gone.

He kept his word, and when he found himself aboard a new ship, he found Mike again.

He sang out a song to them, and they sang back.

Mike and their kin no longer attacked a ship until they knew whether Anthony was on board.

tag list: @cozyships @qsionic @pucksfictionallovelife @bee-ships @glitched-ships @jellyfish-ships @thatslikesometaldude and since you guys specifically wanted to see this, @squips-ship @greghouse

[dumb-hat]

Prompt #7: "Speculate" - FFXIVWrite2021

Soft. Weak. Stupid. Ugly. This _thing_ continues this foul, pointless charade, this facsimile of life. Every day, it wanders aimlessly, squawking it's disgusting, fleshy food-hole, it's soft flat prehensile appendages flapping against each other, crudely articulate artless, thoughtless noises. Occasionally, it brings others like it, different sizes and shapes, but every bit as stupid and pointless. They wander aimlessly—forward, as fools do, and never to the side, as wise creatures would. I know not what they do, but I have no doubt that their lives are degenerate and morally indigent. I've never seen them care for young. I've never seen them hunt for a carcass or slow-moving prey, though they're always filling those disgusting gullets with _something_. Every single one of them lives a terrible, banal, trite and vapid life. Especially the one that claims this place as its home. It is especially ugly. It adorns itself with a similarly ugly ornament atop the hideous appendage that houses its stalkless eyes and idiotic, maxilae-free, mandibleless mouth. The ornament is floppy and stupid, and seems to cause both amusement and consternation when the paler, softer, smaller one takes it. I cannot fathom what purpose the ornament serves, except perhaps to highlight the pathetic uselessness that marrs this colossal monstrosity's daily existence. There is but one thing I envy of this titanic buffoon: its reach. It is far too large, making it as physically clumsy and ungainly as it assuredly is mentally, so I do not envy its _size_, but when I think of the things I could do if I could reach the places it could, my mind boggles. High shelves. Larger prey. I could nip and tear anything I wanted. perhaps, if I had such prodigious range. I could tear the gods limb for limb on my own. Perhaps I wouldn't need this horrid, mindless creature to achieve my ends. Perhaps I woul— The surprisingly, unfortunately wet salami landed in front of the smallshell with a surprisngly, unfortunately wet thud, and in a moment, the wavekin was on the moist smoked meat, randing and tearing it with it's nubby claws. Meanwhile, Evander reclined on his couch, pushing the half-empty charcuterie board he had been sharing with his guest away., letting it clatter haphazardly to the floor, a mess to be concerned about later. "I wonder what goes through his head," he mused. "Does he have a head?" Malika asked. Evander shrugged. "I guess, technically, he doesn't. He's kinda... All one bit, y'know? So, I guess, _technically_, I wonder what's going through his cephalothorax."

[julemmaes]

Pinky Promise - Chapter One

A/N: It’s currently midnight here and believe me when I tell you my brain is fried right now. I just wanted to finish this and post it. The real story starts with the next chapter and here we have a little more info dump cause yeah. Hope yall enjoy!

Fic Masterlist

Word count: 3,802

Rhysand had to stop by his house for a short break to change and take off that uncomfortable shirt he was always complaining about. Cassian had tried to tell him several times that being an elementary school teacher he could dress as he wanted and no one would ever tell him anything, but the youngest of the brothers didn't seem to get the message.

While they were waiting for him, Cassian had tried to start a conversation with the other two, but both had answered monosyllables and he had enough problems of his own without getting involved in whatever had happened between Elain and Azriel.

Despite all this, when they got to the Archeron house, the older had a lopsided smile on his face. The smile widened even more when they entered the apartment and saw his cousin gobbling a cracker with some cheese on it. Morrigan got up in a flash and went to greet them.

"Took you long enough." said the blonde, "We were waiting for you."

Cassian snorted, taking off his shoes and jacket so as not to wet every surface of the house, "I can tell."

"Don't be an asshole." he heard from the kitchen, Amren. She was also sitting at the kitchen table, where Nesta was chopping parsley and eating strangely long, fried things.

His girlfriend looked up at him and smiled. She had to be feeling better because she had a much more relaxed expression on her face than only an hour or so before.

He approached the table, followed by Rhys who was staring with a confused look at whatever that strange food was in front of their friend.

"What the hell is that?" Azriel asked once he had freed himself from Mor's hug.

Amren arched an eyebrow, taking another fried thing and eating it whole, "Frog legs."

Cassian, who was about to kiss Nesta, stopped, looking at her in shock, "Sorry, what?"

"Yeah, a new French restaurant opened on my street and I've been getting the weirdest stuff for a couple of weeks," said Amren smiling. "I even tasted the snails last Monday." the guys all seemed shocked.

Nesta made a confused grimace, "Actually they're not as bad as you'd think, they taste a lot like chicken."

"I'm not sure I want to kiss you anymore," murmured Cassian as he walked away slightly from the girl. Rhysand nodded beside him, pouring himself a glass of wine and passing one to Azriel.

"Oh, stop being a baby, it's just food." Amren muttered, casting a hard look at him.

He kissed Nesta on the cheek anyway while she finished cutting the onions and poured everything into a pot. The smell of meat that came out was enough to make Cassian fall in love a little more.

"I'm gonna go change," announced Elain, who had been particularly quiet the whole time.

Nesta lifted her head, looking in her sister's direction, who was already in the hallway, "Did you get my stuff?" she asked loudly.

Elain's reply didn't take long to come, "Yes, I'll bring it to your room."

Nesta shook her head, even though she couldn't see her, "No don't worry, I'll take care of it, just leave it in your room." a faint okay came from the other room and then the conversation resumed.

"One very important thing before I forget, next week Manon should come here," said Mor, clutching her shoulders, "I'd like to arrange a little something at my house, with everyone. If that's alright with you," she hesitantly concluded.

Mor and Manon had met that summer when the former went on vacation to the other continent alone. She'd stayed in Erilea for almost two whole months, going from city to city and stopping only when she deemed it necessary. Once she reached Orynth she immediately made friends with a large group of people there and when they introduced her to Manon it was hate at first sight.

More than hate, actually, Morrigan felt awkward.

Manon stared at her with that seductive look of hers that she couldn't really decipher and only when the other one had explicitly told her that hes was flirting with her, Mor understood that she could enjoy that vacation and have a summer fling with the white-haired goddess. One thing led to another and they ended up getting together at the end of August and after only a month of relationship no one had had the chance to meet her yet.

"Finally we get to know her." smiled Amren.

Cassian took a beer from the fridge and put two more on the table in case someone else wanted more than wine. "Where did you say she studies?" she asked for what was probably the millionth time.

"Oh, she attends the Academy of Fine Arts in Adarlan. Rifthold precisely." said proud Mor, smiling.

"Does she study art like Feyre?" Rhysand asked, taking another cracker and putting a slice of salami on it. Cassian saw Nesta shake her head in disbelief and had to hold back a laugh. It was impressive how he managed to squeeze Feyre into his every conversation.

Mor didn't give it much thought anyway, "Nono, she dances. She studies ballet. She has a- I always forget what they are called, but she has a group, with whom she always dances. They call themselves the Thirteen," she continued nodding, "They also have a channel on You Tube, if you're interested."

Elain walked into the kitchen at that moment, wearing only a pair of pajama pants and a VHS lacrosse team sweatshirt, with the name Vanserra on its back. She took a beer from the table, opened it and drained half of it in one long sip. She made a disgusted face and then took one of the fried frog's legs off Amren's plate, who was looking at her alarmed.

Nesta gave him a confused look, mentally asking him what had happened on the way here, Cassian shrugged.

"Hey Ellie everything's alright?" asked the older sister, turning off the stove.

Elain nodded, helping her set the table while everyone took their seat. "Everything's perfect."

Azriel laughed, not even looking at the girl, "As always." Elain's head snapped in his direction.

Elain gritted her teeth, "Maybe you should learn to mind your own business."

"And you should learn what self love is and stop letting others treat you like that," Azriel said to her in an equally harsh tone.

Cassian understood then, Lucien was involved.

Nesta sighed, placing both hands on the table and bowing her head, "Can we please have one dinner without arguing?" Elain sat down with abrupt gestures and nodded, apologizing. Azriel seemed to think about it for a second, looking at the middle sister, nodding in turn and sitting next to Rhysand.

They ate quietly between jokes, and the tense atmosphere that had created immediately dissolved. Elain and Azriel bickered so often that the group was used to it and they'd become good at pretending nothing had happened.

***

Nesta was sitting on the floor next to Cassian, practically lying on top of him, while he kept his arm around her waist. Whatever Morrigan was explaining she couldn't understand. Her brain was already clouded by alcohol. They had just finished the first game of the evening and she couldn't figure out how they were all still relatively sober after all the alcohol they had ingested. Or maybe it was just her impression and in reality they were all wasted.

She looked up at her boyfriend and put her hand on his cheek, making him turn towards her. Cassian smiled at her and gave her a peck. When she kept looking him in the eyes even after they had parted, he raised an eyebrow. What is it?

Nesta shrugged and kept following Mor's speech.

"And who draws the last king drinks the whole cup, got it?" the blonde looked around the room trying to figure out if everyone understood at least one word of what she had just said. Nesta took a sip from her glass and Mor groaned, "Come on Nesta, you don't have to drink now."

Azriel chuckled, almost as drunk as she was, "Stupid drunk."

"Fuck you, Az." she giggled, clinging closer to Cassian.

Elain nodded, raising her drink to the ceiling, "Yes, fuck you Az." she hiccupped and smiled in her best friend's direction, who gave her the middle finger. They all burst out laughing, knowing perfectly well that there was no grudge in those gestures.

She couldn't follow the game properly, but someone had just drawn a seven and Nesta knew that she had to raise her arms to the sky before the others or she would have to drink again, and although this evening was putting her in a good mood, she wasn't sure that her head would thank her in the morning. Elain ended up drinking.

When it was her turn, Nesta drew a nine and thanked every god present in that moment because if she had to find a rhyme for anything the others would say, she would surely throw up from the effort.

"I picked a nine," she said giggling, falling on Cassian, who laughed and helped her up, "and since I'm feeling rather nice tonight, I'll say orange," she slurred.

"You don't play like that," said Amren annoyed beside her, taking a sip from her soft drink. It was her turn to take everyone home that night.

Mor nodded, agreeing with the girl, "You can't take the one word that doesn't rhyme with anything."

Rhysand cleared his voice, "Sporange." he said at the same time that Elain screamed the same word. The boy brought his hand to his chest, opening his mouth wide, "I said it first."

Elain shook her head, pulling herself up and bending her legs underneath her, "No. That's not true." she said snickering, "I said it first."

Cassian burst out laughing, making Nesta's back flutter. She looked at him and winked, nothing sexy in that gesture at all and it only made the boy laugh more.

"Azriel tell him that I said it first." the girl complained, pouting. "Cassian tell him too."

"Nah ha, you have your family, they're with me." said Rhysand, getting up and staggering until he was between his two brothers. He circled both their shoulders and slapped Nesta in the face unintentionally.

"Ouch." she mumbled, pulling herself up and rubbing her nose.

Elain seemed on the verge of tears, "It's not right. I was faster than you." she practically screamed, "And I only have one sister here, it isn't fair."

Rhysand shrugged, "That's not my problem."

Their little argument went on for a few minutes before the boy surrendered and admitted that she was the one who said the word first, "But only because you don't have enough sisters for backup, otherwise we'd solve it physically," he concluded, winking at her. Elain giggled and Azriel muttered something about the physical part of the hypothetical fight that made Cassian laugh.

They all turned towards the entry of the apartment when they heard the door open.

"Speak of the devil," said Mor with a smile, "Feyruuh! Join us."

Rhysand had stood up and was smiling like an idiot, "Yes Fey-Fey join us," he repeated, approaching the small threshold.

Nesta saw the boy stiffening and immediately realized that something was wrong. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"Feyre," breathed Rhysand, "what happened?

From where she was sitting she couldn't see the hall, but even Amren, who had a perfect view of the whole room, had a hard look on her face. Perhaps she should have stood up.

The alcohol in her body did not allow her to stand up without the risk of falling. It was already much that she hadn't blacked out.

"Nothing, don't worry," said her sister, finally entering the room. Nesta could see her face and understood what Rhysand was referring to. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. She had been crying.

"Feyre..." she said, trying to pull herself up with Cassian's help.

Her younger sister raised her hand to stop her, "I didn't want to ruin your evening, I just came to say hi." she gave everyone a faint smile. Rhysand, next to her, held his breath. He suddenly seemed much more sober, more aware of what was happening. "I'm sorry... goodnight everyone." with this she turned around and walked out of the room. Mor moved to get up, but Amren placed her hand on her leg to stop her.

Elain was the first to break the silence, "That piece of shit." Nesta gasped hearing how much anger she uttered those words with. She turned towards her sister and before she could ask her, she had already started talking again, "I can't believe it." she stood up, swaying too much and falling on her knees.

Mor was immediately beside her, "Be careful."

"It's alright." she ran her hand over her legs and then looked towards Feyre's room sighing.

"Can someone explain what the heck just happened and why no one is going to see how she's doing?" asked Amren slightly annoyed. Rhysand was out of the living room before she could finish the sentence.

They all turned to Elain, who seemed to be thinking about what to say.

"I'm too drunk for this," whispered Nesta, massaging her temples, "Ellie can you please tell me if this is a life-or-death issue?" she asked again. She felt a hand on the small of her back and turned to Cassian, who looked at her with a sad smile on his lips.

Elain laughed without amusement, "No, of course she's not dying, it's always the same old arguments with Tamlin. She should just break up with him," replied Elain surprising everyone. It was very rare that her sister said something so sincere when it came to Tamlin. The only times she had done so she had risked ruining her relationship with Lucien.

"I don't think I should tell you the details, it's her business and I'm not here to gossip," said Elain after a few minutes in which everyone had started to clean up the mess they'd made, "All you need to know is that Tamlin is a piece of shit," she whispered the last part, as if she was afraid her boyfriend might hear her.

"Nothing new." Amren said, getting up and starting to pick up the cups scattered around the room.

They heard Feyre yelling something, but Nesta couldn't understand just what she said. They waited a few seconds, to see if they needed to intervene or not, when they heard nothing more Azriel spoke.

"Do you think we should tell her something?" he asked again, still sitting on the floor, tilting his head back so that it was resting on the couch. "I mean, it's already been a few weeks since I've seen her cheerful, I'm getting worried."

Nesta was surprised. It was nice to see how much Azriel cared for the youngest of them. Of course, she knew it was true, but it was rare for the boy to express his feelings so openly.

Cassian shook his head, reducing his lips to a thin line, "Not tonight," he said as he looked down the hall, "She's probably insulting Rhys in every possible way now. I guess it's a good way to cool off," he added when they heard Feyre screaming again. Rhysand answered equally loudly.

"Maybe we should get Rhys out, he is drunk after all," Azriel said standing up. Nesta did the same, following him into the corridor.

"They know that Rhys would never lay a hand on Feyre, don't they? Even if he is drunk. And angry." whispered Elain, even though they all heard very well. Nesta giggled and Azriel shook his head smiling. She was so drunk.

Cassian answered her, "No Ellie, it's not that. It's that drunk people tend to say things they don't really mean." they heard a whisper of agreement.

Azriel was about to knock on the door, Nesta right behind him, when it opened wide and Rhysand rushed out, shoving his older brother aside. Nesta couldn't see his face, but he must have been pretty upset because Azriel followed him right out of the apartment.

Nesta blinked a couple of times and then turned to her sister, who was pacing back and forth with her hands in her hair.

"Fuck!" cried Feyre. Nesta entered the room, closing the door behind her.

Feyre looked at her and grimaced, "What? Did you also come to tell me how to live?"

Nesta shook her head, crossing her arms, "I gotta be honest with you, I'm really drunk right now, so I'm struggling a little bit to understand things, but if you want to talk to me, I'm always there. You know." she said to her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, yes. I know." Feyre murmured, "But right now I just want to sleep and be alone."

Nesta glanced at her and saw that she had mascara smeared on her cheeks. She had cried again.

They could not face this conversation now.

She sighed, "Alright, if you need anything call me, I'm sleeping at Cass's, but if you need anything I can be here in twenty minutes." she cautioned her as she got up. Before leaving, she turned to her sister and left a kiss on her forehead. "Don't worry, everything will work out. I'll be back for lunch, okay?"

Feyre frowned, "Why do you always treat me like a child?" she suddenly asked her.

Nesta was caught off guard, "What do you mean?"

"I'll be back for lunch. I can be here in twenty minutes," she said imitating her voice, "I don't need you to tell me your schedule, I can cook pasta, I can take care of myself." she pointed out, looking Nesta straight in the eye.

"I don't- Feyre, I was just letting you know that I'll eat at home, I wasn't implying anything. We live together, it seems normal to me to tell you about my movements," she replied, being defensive, "I didn't call you a child."

"Get out."

"Feyre-"

"I said get out." sobbed the sister, "Please."

Nesta tried to get closer when she saw that Feyre was crying again.

"Go away!" cried the other one. Nesta stiffened and nodded just once, saying goodnight and leaving the room.

Cassian was staring at her from down the hall with a worried look. Throwing a quick glance inside Elain's room, she saw that Amren and Mor were helping her change and would put her to bed before leaving, as often happened during these evenings.

She reached her boyfriend and when he hugged her, she let out a deep sigh, resting her head against Cassian's chest. "I'm sorry," he said, kissing her hair and holding her tight.

"Don't worry, we both know she's not mad at us. She better than anyone else." she looked up to him. Cassian moved a strand of hair from her eyes, placing it behind one ear. "Maybe we made a mistake, though, letting Rhysand talk to her."

Cassian chuckled, "Maybe." He leaned over her and brushed his lips against hers.

Nesta yawned in the kiss and they both laughed.

"Okay lovebirds, it's time to go home," announced Amren, putting on her shoes and helping Mor tie hers. The blonde was also in terrible condition.

Cassian broke the hug, but followed Nesta to her room while she changed and took things so she could change the next day, and then followed her to the bathroom, where she took extra tampons in case the ones at his house had finished. She strongly doubted it, as Cassian always worried about having an endless supply every time, but it was better to prevent.

"You're such a lost puppy." Mor laughed, looking at them, "Disgusting."

"You're just jealous cause you can't be with Manon every day," replied Azriel, walking back into the house at the right time, followed by a quiet Rhysand.

Mor poutted in a way that would make a three-year-old child look a saint and her eyes filled with tears. Amren threw her arms in the air, "Was that really necessary?" she asked exasperated, turning to Azriel, who apologized to her friend.

They all left the house, leaving the kitchen and living room relatively tidy, nothing an hungover Elain couldn't handle.

When they reached Morrigan's house, only Azriel and Amren went to escort the blonde home and make sure she went to bed.

Nesta took the opportunity to say a few words to Rhysand.

"It's not your fault if she reacted in that way," she said, placing her hand on his arm. God, the drunk Nesta was so affectionate. Rhysand looked at her with a wrinkled forehead.

"I know." he sighed, running a hand over his face and looking older than he actually was, "I just wish she understood how much she's worth. That Tamlin doesn't deserve her." he looked out the window, waiting to see the other two appear so he could get home as soon as possible and pass out in bed. "There may have been a moment in their relationship where things worked, but now it's getting too much."

"I agree." Nesta simply said. Rhysand didn't need her to comfort him, no. He needed Feyre to realize how much the situation she was in no longer benefited anyone.

***

Cassian slipped into bed next to Nesta and laid his arm around her waist, pushing her flat against him. She immediately relaxed and intertwined their fingers, carrying his hand on her belly. Cassian started massaging circles on her stomach, applying a little more pressure at the bottom to help her with the pain.

"Better?" he asked her, placing his head in the niche of her neck.

Nesta nodded, "Much better."

They spent a few minutes in silence like this. If he managed to tell her that he wanted to enlist, if he managed to confess to her his plans for the future and she accepted him, there would no longer be so many times when he would cuddle her. They would no longer be granted.

When Cassian was on the brink of falling asleep, with a thousand questions in his head, she asked him something.

"Hmm?"

"Tomorrow, you wanna go out for dinner with me?" she repeated, turning around so she faced him.

Cassian opened only one eye, "Like a date?" he asked, smiling tiredly.

"Sure, like a date." she answered him, tilting her chin up so that she could kiss him.

"Yes, I'll go out for dinner with you," he said returning the kiss.

"Perfect."

"I love you." he whispered to her, hugging her.

Nesta did not answer and Cassian fell asleep shortly after, dreaming of the day when he would make Nesta his wife.

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[writes-eat-sleep-repeat]

Seeing Red

Prompt: PMS days

Pairing: Spooky x Reader

Warning/ notes: Major fluff. Not grammatically correct. Currently on my menses which inspired this one shot. Hope it can comfort other spooky lovers during their time of the month. Enjoy ;)

Summary: Spooky takes care of his girlfriend when she’s on her menses. Just him and her!

Word count: 2063

As you opened your eyes you peered through the curtains of your room and noticed it was a rainy day outside in LA. The sky was somewhere between a light gray and the cusp of a white. They kind of color that hurt your eyes if you stared at it to long. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes you rolled over on your back and instantaneously felt the stinging in our stomach. It was day two of your menses. They worst day of them all. often you thought about what it might feel like to get shot and came to the conclusion it couldn’t possibly be any worse than this. While you laid back staring up at the ceiling you heard your phone vibrate. Looking over all you could mutter was “shit” 8 miss calls and 15 text. You looked at the clock on the nightstand to your left 10:00 am. Opening the text you scroll to the top and began reading

‘Hey mama’-3:15 pm

Missed call 3:30 pm

‘Hello’-4:00pm

Missed call 5:00 pm

‘Y/N’-5:30 pm

Missed call 6:00 pm

‘Y/N pick up the phone’- 6:30 pm

The calls and messages entwined like this for the next couple of hours until you guess your boyfriend finally fell asleep. You cant believe you slept for basically 19 hours straight. Aside from a few bathroom and water breaks where you had to use all the power you could muster up to complete those task, you somehow forgot to check your phone. Throwing your arm over your face to block out what little light was peaking through the window you could hear your roommate/ best friend Rebecca getting ready for work. BUZZZZ someone rang the doorbell. You heard him before you saw him. Out in the living room talking with you bestie, ‘where is Y/N’ he asked her. Oh no. He sounds pissed.

You laid frozen with your hand over your arm wanting the earth to swallow you whole. ‘She’s not feeling well’ you heard Rebecca respond. You always avoided Oscar on days like this because you were afraid to get mad and finally scare him away with your crazy . He burst into your room bringing the bright light from the hallway with him. You felt the irritation slowly building. Removing your hand with a sigh you look over to your right at the door. ‘Couldn’t pick up your phone’ he asked with a particular edge to his voice that brought out your annoyance to what seemed to be instantaneously. ‘I was sleeping’ you said letting acid seep into your voice. ‘For a fucking day’ he yelled. That’s it, you thought sitting up it bed which was followed by a gush of blood below causing you further annoyance.

“I’m not dealing with your shit today. 1. I spoke to you yesterday afternoon and its only 10 am meaning it wasn’t a whole fucking day. 2. Becca told you I wasn’t feeling well and instead of coming in here and asking if I’m okay you choose too come in here and yell at me like your my daddy. 3. Your not my daddy 4. My hormones are all over the place and I literally feel like i am dying so unless you plan on helping and not being an ass I suggest you leave.’ Oscar who you never ever send away looked more hurt than even mad that you yelled at him. He never took that kind of disrespect from anyone being the gang leader he is. ‘Okay, well.. what’s wrong? ummm... how can I help?’ he asked. ‘ you cant’ you replied. “Y?N...” ‘I have to go to the store and get some stuff.’ You swung you legs of the bed and tried to stand up only to be meet with crippling pain. Before you could even fully bend over to hold your stomach Oscar was there pushing you back onto the bed. ‘Your not driving like this’ he said. ‘Tell me what you need and ill get it for you’ he finished. ‘ you cant, ok its personal girl stuff’ you replied shyly. ‘ I didn’t ask you what it was. I said to tell me what you need’ he sternly answered. After writing a list that and handing it to him he said he’ll be back in 15 minutes. You took this time to take some pain medication and crawl to the bathroom just barely managing to take a shower while he was gone. Rebecca poked her head in to let you know she was heading out so you knew it was time to leave the shower so you could let Oscar back in. Standing in your room trying to figure out what to wear you decided on a pair of black leggings and one of oscars hoodie that you stole from him. You just needed to be comfy. As you were pulling the hoodie down over your head you heard the door buzzz. Heading out the the front door you pulled it open to find Oscar with 4 shopping bags. He walked past you to the kitchen and put them on the counter. ‘What exactly did you buy Oscar I only asked for a pack of pads and a soda” you asked quizzically, with what you were sure was a confused look on your face.

‘Well you said always overnight but they had 2 different kinds and I didn’t want to call you so I got both and then i got you some Advil, i mean I don’t know if that works for that kind of pain’ he said gesturing towards your stomach ‘but, i got it anyway and the lady at the store said it was good and suggested i get you something sweet and I couldn’t decide on one, so i bought one of every candy and...’ he didn’t get to finish his rambling because you walked over to him and kissed him lovingly to interrupting, he responded by holding your neck firmly in place and meeting you with the same level of passion. Pulling away for oxygen you looked up into the liquid brown eyes of Oscar Diaz and all you could say is ‘I love You’. “Go sit down mama I’m making breakfast” was his response. “Ummmm...I kinda wanted ice cream for breakfast’ you said. ‘Ice cream is not breakfast. No wonder i cant get cesear to eat any real food’ he teased you. Knowing you looked after the younger Diaz while he was locked up. ‘Hey. I eat real food but today my a baby maker wants ice cream so, I eat ice cream’ you joked. Walking over to the couch in the living room knowing he will never let you eat the ice cream first.

Settling down under the black throw that was on the couch you began to flick through Netflix trying to find something to watch. Settling on a romantic comedy. It wasn’t t long before Oscar walked over with your plate in hand. You couldn’t help but laugh as he approached you in Rebecca’s -queen of the kitchen-apron. Your attention then turned on the intoxicating smell drifting off the plate in his hand and settling in your nose. Homemade fluffy pancakes, eggs and fried salami (Oscar knew you weren’t a bacon person). He handed you the plate and placed his on the coffee table before heading back to the kitchen to remove the apron and grab your drinks. By the time he returned you were already half way through your meal. As he sat down to begin his meal. You were full and much more happy, you still couldn’t escape what you could only assume to be a stabbing taking place in your stomach but this is as happy as you were gonna get. You were content. Watching Oscar eat you eyes drifted to the santos tattoo on is neck and dirty thoughts began popping into your head. Just filthy thoughts, scooting a little closer to your man you kissed it midway him bringing some eggs to his mouth. He paused looking at you from the side through those long eyelashes with a lifted eyebrow.

That put your hormones in overdrive, you wanted him now! ‘ I liked the breakfast’ was all you could manage. Shaking his head he returned to his meal. You kissed his tattoo again, then licked it and then began sucking it. You hadn’t realized Oscar had put his dish down when he lifted you onto his lap. You were face to face, sitting on his lap you noticed he was a little hard. Biting your lip and now staring at his lips thinking of all the possibilities you could do with his mouth he smiled. Damnit the dimples. At this point you couldn’t blame the full wetness on the blood. Ugh, why did you have to have a period. ‘Hi’ he said still smiling. “Hi” you smiled back, clearing your throat “ummm... I really, really liked the breakfast” you continued. “I appreciate the gratitude and the delivery of it but, I don’t think you should start something you cant finish right now in your current state” he replied. ‘Oh’ you answered climbing off of him bringing you knees to your chest. You know his rejection was well placed and he was right but with your hormones all over the place it hit you harder than you expected. ‘Hey, hey he said moving it closer to you. You know I would do absolutely terrible things to you Mi amor, but your not at 100 right now and I don’t want you feel like you have to have sex for me to stay. Okay? He asked. ‘Yeah, umm.. that wasn’t for you but, Okay.’ nodding you moved over to curl up next to him as he finished his meal. Peaking up at him every now ad then you started thinking about how you both had changed.

You knew Oscar essentially Your entire life. Your dad’s were cool and so Oscar spent a lot of time in your fathers auto shop learning, since your dad never had a son he welcomed the apprenticeship. You were no tomboy and completely against anything other than reading. It wasn’t that far fetched you and Oscar began dating in high school. You remembered the first time getting your period and trying to explain what was happening to him; you not even knowing yourself. ‘So your bleeding’ twelve year old Oscar asked. ‘Yes’ you replied. ‘From your Vagina’ he whispered. ‘ yes’ you whispered back. “So... why does this happen?’ He asked. ‘Well my mom said when you are growing up it happens when you don’t have a baby. I think’ you replied. ‘So, your body is hurting you because you don’t have a baby?’he asked. ‘Ummm... yeah, I guess’ you answered. ‘So why not just have a baby? Said Oscar ‘ I asked that too, my dad said because he’ll kill me. So I guess I’m suppose to just suffer in silence’ you answered.

The memory bought a smile to your face and a small giggle escaped your lips causing Oscar to glance down quizzically at you now cuddled up next to him with your head on his shoulders. “ I was just remembering the first time I got my period and you thought having a baby would be the answer to all my menses related problems” you answered his unspoken question. ‘It still could be’ was all he replied shaking his head’ Smiling, most likely remembering the memory too. ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier’ he continued. ‘It’s just being me...well people... its hard...-I know’ you cut him of. ‘Being you is hard and you not only have to think about you but the gang as well , Cesar....Me. I know you, your head goes to the worst possible scenario automatically. I know how worried you get. I should have checked my phone. I’m sorry too” you said pecking him on the cheek. With a quick nod of the head he returned his attention back to the screen. He wasn’t a man of many words. You two watched movies for the rest of the night. There were far and few instances when you had Oscar to yourself. When he was Oscar and not spooky. You relished these moments, these feelings and saved them for times when being is girlfriend seems less than ideal. For tonight, it’s enough to just cuddle up with your man and watch a movie.

[yespolkadotkitty]

Tinderbox, pt 13

Masterlist of prev chapters

“I sold one! I sold a canvas. Someone bought one of my canvases!” Rosie squealed when she saw Marshall at the end of the evening. A buzz sounded low in her ears and her heart pounded. “Someone paid money for my work!”

She’d already pinched her arm sore in the bathroom after Anthony had given her the news.

“That’s great!” Marshall enthused. He held out his arms in what she interpreted as an impulse gesture and she stepped into them. He smelled intoxicating, coffee and soap and cedarwood, and she breathed him in, her nose fitting into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling her forehead. We fit, she couldn’t help thinking, heart pounding. I’ve missed him.

“Congratulations,” he whispered, for her ears alone.

“Thank you,” she whispered back.

“So what’s next for famous artist Rosie Dawes?” he asked, a cheeky smile tugging at his mouth when they parted ways.

Rosie forced herself to keep her gaze on his face, although the way the dark curls of his chest hair flirted with the open neck of his shirt seriously tested her resolve. She knew how that crisp hair felt between her fingers. Knew how he smelled, damp from a shower. Knew the way he moaned when he came-

“Well, I think right now, a shower, food, and bed.” The buffet table had looked tempting, but the nerves roiling in her stomach had prevented her from indulging. Now, however, her body cried for food - specifically, dirty carbs. “And you?”

“Well, I’m off duty tonight.” He held her gaze, his blue eyes full of promise.

Butterflies roamed freely in Rosie’s stomach. She took a deep breath and jumped off the cliff. “Come home with me? I mean, that’s allowed, isn’t it, since you questioned me-”

“It’s allowed.” He cupped her cheek, the warm pad of his thumb running along her lower lip, and she darted her tongue out, tasting his skin, and watched the blue of his eyes go dark, dark and hot, and she thought: oh yes, please.

Marshall held her hand as they bid their goodbyes to Anthony, and as she personally thanked the well-dressed woman who’d bought the piece Rosie had called The Reach, spindly arms of winter trees stretching into a tumultuous grey sky, a single bright green leaf on the trunk the only splash of colour on the canvas.

Rosie called an Uber on her phone, her heart pounding, skin slick with anticipation as Marshall opened the door for her, helped her inside.

Rosie gave her address. He fit so well in her home, she’d not given it a second thought.

“Do you - is my place okay?” she asked as the driver pulled away from the curb.

“Your place is perfect.” He nuzzled her hair. “I’ve lived in my apartment for a year, but it still feels empty. Yours has… heart.”

“You fit there,” she murmured, without thinking.

“Fuck, Rosie.” He cupped her face again, gentled her closer, bent to kiss her. Rosie parted her lips to grant him access. The kiss started slow as the fire kindled and built, and their tongues danced. Smoothing her hands up his chest, Rosie unzipped his Winter parka and slid her palm over his chest, touching the triangle of skin exposed by the open neck of his crisp white shirt. His heart beat raggedly under her hand, and it only excited her more.

The cab pulled up outside her building, and the beep of the meter stopping broke their embrace. Marshall paid and thanked the driver as Rosie dug the key from her pocket. Still holding hands, they climbed the steps, unlocked the door, kissing as they wandered up the two flights of stairs, Rosie’s head swam pleasantly, full of his scent and taste, she felt bubbly, lively, happy.

Marshall waited patiently, his hands in his pockets like a nervous schoolboy, his eyes in full puppy-dog mode, as she unlocked her door, let him in. Closed it.

Then he pounced.

Backing her against the door, he ravished her mouth. Rosie kissed him back with all the hunger pent up since their last time together. She fisted a hand in the glorious fall of his hair, then let her head fall back when he left her mouth to explore her neck. He feasted on her skin as he unzipped her coat, letting it fall.

“Fuck, this dress.” He kissed the high neck, his lips ghosting over her collarbone, then down until he pressed a kiss to her heart, then over her breasts, down her stomach, until he knelt at her feet. Shoving off his parks, he let it pool with her coat on the floor, glancing up at her, his blue eyes dark in the soft light from the hallway lamp she kept on a timer.

“Marshall.” She combed a hand through his hair. “Do you prefer that to Walter?”

He smiled, deadly sexy in the lamp’s glow. “I prefer anything in your voice.” Then he slowly, slowly, rolled the hem of the dress up, kissing his way up her calves and thighs.

Rosie watched his head between her legs, her stomach somersaulting, feeling herself growing wetter with each breath.

“Please,” she whispered.

“I’m getting there,” he murmured against her knee, his breath tickling pleasantly, and she heard the smile in his voice. “Bossy now that you’ve sold a painting, aren’t you?”

Rosie half-laughed. “Just remember that turnabout is fair play.”

“Fighting talk,” he laughed back and then he pulled her panties down and put his mouth on her.

On a low groan, Rosie pressed herself into the soft heat of his mouth. Fuck, he was so, so good at this. Each tight curl of his tongue made her muscles contract greedily, her heart pounding for  more, more, more, please, more. He braced one hand on her thigh and slid one finger of the other inside her. She clenched her muscles around him, wishing the digit was a different part of him. “Oh, God, Walter.”

“Just like that,” he murmured, and went back to work with his tongue. It felt like he was writing his name on the most sensitive part of her, staking his claim. On the T she imploded, the orgasm flying through her like a shooting star, wringing her dry as she bucked against his face. Marshall stroked her through it, kept the lazy pressure of his tongue up until as she sobbed from the sensitivity, bracing her hands on his shoulders, her legs trembling in the heels she still wore.

He looked up at her, still on his knees, his lips shiny-wet from her orgasm, and Rosie’s heart turned over.

Marshall rested his cheek on her stomach, smoothing her panties and her dress back into place.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you at the gallery,” he confessed.

“Really,” she half-chuckled, breathless.

“Really.”

“How about something for you, now?”

She felt his smile. “That was for me.”

“Walter, I-” she stopped talking when the fierce growl of her stomach interrupted her. They both laughed.

Marshall stood, dropped a kiss on her hair. “How about I make something to eat, and then….?”

“And then,” she agreed.

Salami appeared in the hallway, head tilted as if to say are you done? Rosie held out her hand and the cat sashayed over, meowing.

Marshall bent to stroke him and the cat turned its back, tail swishing. “Wow. Cold.”

Rosie laughed. “He’ll come around.” She crossed to the bed, made up into a sofa currently, and sat to take off her heels.

She heard Marshall open the fridge, imagined him poking around.

“How do you feel about a cheese and bacon omelette?”

“I feel great about it.”

Thankyou @ly--canthrope for the beta!

Tagging: @littlefreya @mary-ann84​  @constip8merm8 @hopelessromanticspoonie @just-the-hiddles @dr-kayleigh-dh @wanderinglunarnights @brokenthelovely @peakygroupie @pinkzsugar @boiled-onionrings @the-jer-bear @captain-rogers-beard @rantsalon @omgkatinka @alyxkbrl @ravenpuff02 @ayamenimthiriel @manawhaat @screamingrennergasm @promptandpros @d-caryophyllus​ @xocali @chook007​

[tuscanwalker]

September 6, 2021: Lead Me Not Into Temptation 

19.5 km, 830m (2,700 ft) CUS

Given the amount of climb and the walking company’s estimate of 7.5 hours on the road I decide an 8:30 breakfast was a luxury I could not afford.  At best, after a river crossing, that puts me on the road at 9:30, arriving at 16:00-17:00. As Kim will tell you, we usually leave as early as possible to avoid the heat of the afternoon and allow for contingencies.  

So breakfast was a granola bar and no packed lunch from the hotel for me.  I took the ferry about 7:15 and luckily, in the first hundred meters, found a bakery that had just opened and provided a fresh croissant and a couple of salami on a bun for lunch later.  That plus granola bars and trail mix and I was good to go.  

The altitude profile for today looked like a three hump camel and the first hump seemed almost vertical.  The walking notes said it should only take about 15 minutes.  I don't know whose mountain goat they were riding, but I can tell you I was over the half hour when I collapsed at the top

I walked by a couple of Castles early, the first built by the Katzeneinbogens in 1360, Burg Katz (cats) for short.  Next came one built in 1385 by his neighbour, the Archbishop of Trier to protect his lands from Burg Katz.  Its nickname quickly became Burg Maus (mouse).  You guessed it, nothing but centuries of cat and mouse games.

The second hump of the camel was higher, but the trails leading up it were far more gradual.  I will take a long shallow hill over a short steep one any time. It also gave me a chance to enjoy the scenery a bit more as I was not always looking at my footing to avoid stumbling off a cliff.  

The other side of the second hump led down to 50-75m above the river.  After about 12 km and 600m CUS (2000) I was starting to flag.  All the way down I was considering whether to simply continue down to the river.  I then would have either walked the riverside bike trail or (if I had no shame at all) taken the train.  Integrity won out over common sense and I climbed back up the third hump where I was rewarded with a brief stop and a small beer at Uschi's Wanderstation surrounded by flowers and the charming Uschi. A second reward a bit later was a chocolate cornetto at a village Kiosk. It is funny how the littlest things can often become wonderful depending on the circumstances.

I did take one shortcut here to avoid a cliffside trail that was not recommended in wet weather and where you had to cross a step(steep?) ladder to get to a viewpoint.  This just seemed like a bad idea near the end of the day when I was tired and prone to stumble. While walking on the detour I came across this turnstyle in the forest. Doesn’t is just make you want to stand there and sell tickets to hikers to pass through and charge them to enter the forest?

Finally, I passed two adjacent castles with a large wall in between them (Sterrenberg & Liebenstein). The walking notes talk about two feuding brothers who had cheated their blind sister of her inheritance to build the castles. They hated each other so much they eventually built the wall. Then through a complicated twist of fate (would have to add another page to the blog) one accidentally shot and killed the other (arrow) and ended up on pilgrimage to the Holy Land where he died. Wow, and people through me and Don used to fight when we were teens.

Arrived at Hotel Becker in Kamp Bornhofen to discover my luggage had once again gone walkabout. It was eventually located back at my last hotel and delivered by taxi a couple of hours later. As I seem to have extra photo space today, thought I’d add a few more trolls from yesterday. Everybody loves trolls!