#like titch is me I am titch

[youling-the-ghost]

Y'all hear me out: autistic Ditch.

Derek is the extroverted autistic who has no idea how social cues work but still loves talking to people so he ends up accidentally overstepping boundaries and can come across as overbearing. Meanwhile, Titch is the introverted autistic who has a bad case of Doesn't Know How Facial Expressions Work, so he can appear as standoffish and a little intimidating. He's also not very good at identifying and expressing his feelings (*cough cough* Alexithymia *cough cough*), so it can be difficult for him to maintain relationships.

Luckily, Derek "I Will Befriend You" No-Last-Name-Given doesn't give a shit about that and talks to him anyway. He's one of few who can read past Titch's cryptic facial expressions, so when they go out together Derek becomes a Titch Visage Translator of sorts. And since Titch is very love-deprived, he's comfortable with Derek's affectionate nature and can talk to him for hours without even realising.

It's a very lovely symbiotic relationship that they have :]

[curiosity-killed]

this is a reminder to myself that that one story that started as an RP of a daemon AU of tcp should be dragons

[isdalinarhot]

dalinar and sadeas. press their coochies together and frot/scissor with such a fucking vengeance. like the thrill is glowing in their eyes. and the end result is a little coupon that says. dalinar you are so good at being an absent father. sadeas you are a bonus code but maybe just maybe you can be an absent father too. depending on how things work out. god imagine if adolin and renarin were sadalinar kids and they had to deal with 2 absent fathers and 0 mothers growing up. theyd be so fucked up

[tracle0]

I’m having trouble with TCD in terms of there’s about 6 characters I need to Know and have fleshed out but I just don’t and my brain is not willing to spit many out.

These characters will be antagonistic and need to bicker and argue with each other quite often. I know some of them will die in due time. I could probably pull the number down to four without too much grief. So…

[popcorn8784]

Gold Quota Passed!!

...on my first round! Welp, pack it up folks, I'm done here.

[thenightshadowqueen]

Top ten SFTH character couples

(in my biased opinion)

Okay, first of all I’m so sorry to anyone who followed me for anything other than Shoot from the Hip content; I swear I’ll put in more variety. Someday. (Also go check out Shoot from the Hip.) Second of all, I did not join Tumblr with the intention of making a bunch of lists, but they’re fun to write and people seem to enjoy them, so here goes.

10. Justin x the Beetroots MC (headcanon)

Listen, I do NOT condone the whole “if they’re bullying you, that means they like you” bullshit. That being said, years and years later, after both of them have grown as people, I think they could have a really sweet relationship, at least after they work through everything.

9. André Beetroot x Xavier (canon, somehow)

I kind of ship this in a joking way, but also kind of not? They make sense together in a really weird, fucked-up way, and I’m so here for it. (I cannot believe that they’ve canonically hooked up. Multiple times. I love AJ so much for giving us this.)

8. Andrew x Nigel (headcanon)

It’s so toxic. It’s so toxic, and I know that, and it would never be okay in real life, but some dark part of me is really fascinated by the possibilities. (I cannot emphasise enough how much I am intrigued by this in FICTION ONLY.)

7. Jack and Jackie (canon)

Complete turnaround from the last two, but these two are genuinely so sweet. I honestly don’t even have much to say about them, but I love them. So much.

6. François x Mimi (canon)

They are so toxic. They’re horrible people, and they only make each other worse. And I love it. (You know, making this list did make me worry about my mental health slightly. Just slightly.)

5. Toby x the meth wife (canon)

First of all, this is the gayest straight-presenting relationship I’ve ever seen, and I love it. (I totally headcanon them both as bi/pan/queer/etc., but that’s not the point of this post.) And honestly, they’re so supportive of each other. They’re, like, genuinely a healthy couple (in a SFTH play? Can you imagine?). They have so much love for each other, and I could talk about them all day, but I’m fairly sure no one needs that, so I’ll stop.

4. Andrews x Betruva (headcanon)

Listen, I might be a little biased because they’re new, but they kind of have everything I look for in a ship. They have millennia of history, which is always a good start. They’re ancient nemeses. They founded a church named after them both???? Honestly how much more gay can you get?

3. Esmerelda x the vampire slayer (canon)

I like to imagine that Esmeralda survived, and they fall in love, and they have to work through the trauma of the slayer (I think I saw the fanon name Samantha? But I’m not sure) trying to kill Esmeralda. There’s just so much angst potential, and oh, now I want to write a fanfic.

2. Bubba x Jeramiah (canon)

They’re a fucking classic, okay, and they’re a classic for a reason. They are the best gay cowboys, and I love them so much. I know I should have more to say, but I feel like it would just be incoherent screaming.

1. Derek x Titch (canon)

Listen, who else could it be? They are so fundamentally amazing. It’s a classic case of “he fell first, he fell harder” (even if we don’t get to see a lot of the “he fell harder” part, I believe it with all my heart). I love Titch working though his issues and learning to open up, and I love Derek being so helplessly in love with him. I love them so much, and they deserve the top spot.

[albertasunrise]

Reality Check - Oops Baby

Masterlist

Summary: Being best friends with Frankie meant movie nights, drinks with the guys and a shoulder to cry on when you got your hear broken. He is head over heels for you but you don’t feel the same… yet a drunken mistake will tie your lives together forever!

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+ (So... I am trying to update my other pics but the reaction I getting from this ones really giving me the motivation to continue it... so thank you and I hope you enjoy this update! ♥️ It's not a super long one but everything gonna become clear I promise!)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

“What do you mean I can’t see him right now?” You demanded, glancing down at Emse as you awaited a response from the doctor. 

“He has been in a natural coma for a month and a half. It's going to take him a while before he’s even a little coherent. We also want to monitor him closely over the next few hours. He might be awake but he’s not out of the woods yet!” The doctor stated plainly “I know you want to see him but overwhelming him this soon after he’s woken up and suffered a cardiac arrest is not going to help with his recovery.” The doctor continued, giving your arm a gentle squeeze “If all goes well, you can see him tomorrow.” 

You nodded to show your understanding and then looked at Ben. He looked as frustrated as you felt but you didn’t want to do anything that could risk his recovery. This was all just so difficult to get your head around. 

Your near-death from Esme’s birth, to waking up to learn Frankie had had another major heart attack and was on life support until a heart came available, had been hard to come to terms with. It had been hard to navigate parenthood without him but then it had probably been the same for him at first. 

But, as hard as this had been for you. How desperate you’d been for him to get better and wake up. It had hit Ben the hardest. 

6 weeks earlier…

Ben opened the front door to Frank’s house and was immediately greeted by Emse’s screams. 

“Fish?” He called out as stepped into the dimly lit house. 

When he had received a text from Frankie earlier to say he’s broken up with Mary, Ben had initially been over the moon. But after he’d finished his celebrations, he thought he should probably check on Frankie. The man had cared for Mary after all. So that’s what led Ben to come over. And after knocking a few times a receiving no answer, he let himself in. Not something that was overly unusual. 

What was unusual was to receive no answer from the pilot and to hear Esme screaming. Fish had been a dedicated father from the moment he had brought her home. Something was wrong. 

“Fish?” He called again as he scaled the stairs, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of his friend. 

He came to a stop outside Frankie’s door, Esme’s screams were the loudest from inside and he didn’t even bother knocking. Either Frank was dead asleep or… 

He didn’t wanna consider the alternative. 

“FISH!!” He yelled upon finding his friend on the floor. 

Frankie was sprawled on the floor, on his front with his head to one side. Eyes barely open. Esmerelda was on the floor beside him however looked to be unharmed. Clearly, Frank had managed to put her down gently as he collapsed. 

Ben felt for a pulse and found one. It was weak but it was there. So, he scooped the baby up and lay her in the Moses basket in the corner before returning his attention to Fish, moving him so that he was laying on his back before pulling out his phone and dialling 911. 

He spoke as calmly to the operator as he could whilst monitoring the pilot’s pulse and breathing. Putting the phone on loudspeaker and starting compressions the moment Frankie stopped breathing. 

“Come on man… don’t do this to me.” Ben sobbed as he worked tirelessly to get his friend breathing again “Don’t leave Titch and Esme man…” Benny begged, “Don’t leave me!” 

Finally, just as the paramedics arrived, Frank took a weak breath and then the rest was a blur. Ben called Will and told him to get to the hospital before attending to the crying baby beside him. He didn’t go in the ambulance. He knew he needed to get Esme fed and changed first. But as soon as that was done he had the baby bag packed and he was gone. Praying he wouldn’t be greeted by the news that he’d lost his best friend. 

Present day… 

Benny chewed nervously at his thumbnail as he waited for his friend to wake up. The doctors had lightly sedated him when he had grown more confused as he'd come to. That had been a little over twelve hours ago. Ben had waited at the hospital, sending you home with Esme and promising to ring you the moment he woke up. 

Then three hours ago he was finally allowed to see Fish. The doctors had decided that it would be good for him to see a friendly face as he came to. So He sat and waited patiently for his best friend to come to. His nails taking a beating from how on end his nerves were. 

A soft whimper grabbed his attention and Ben was on his feet in an instant, clutching Frankie's hand as he smiled sweetly at his waking companion. 

"You with my Fishcake?" He asked softly, grinning like a loon when Frank weakly nodded, his eyes cracking open and revealing slivers of those brown orbs Ben had missed so much "Take it easy buddy. I'm here."

Frankie lugged his way to consciousness. It felt like he was walking through treacle. His limbs were heavy and his head filled with cottonwool yet slowly but surely, things got lighter and clearer. Ben waited patiently at his side. Watching as he grew more and more aware as each minute slugged by. 

"Welcome back brother." He said as Frankie finally cracked his eyes open fully and rolled his head to look at him "You gave us a scare." 

"I..." Frankie trailed off as his brows drew together, the memories of what happened slithering back through. 

You, standing there smiling with your outstretched hand. Pleading for him to return to you. Then the lights. The blinding lights and the pain as the car struck him. He was going to see you again. He was supposed to die. 

The sound of his heart rate increasing made Benny call out for help, tears in his eyes as he feared that his friend might code again. 

"Mr Morales, you need to calm down." Urged the doctor as they noted his vitals "This isn't good for you." 

"Why." Frankie sobbed as he started to thrash in the bed "I should have died." 

"Fish, what do you-" 

"I was going to see her again." He sobbed. 

"Who, Mel?" Benny asked as he stepped to his friend's side and clutched his hand, hoping to ground his friend "Frankie, Mel's gone." 

"I was going to see Titch." He all but whispered "I was going back to her." 

This made Benny pause. His brows pulled together in confusion at what his friend had just said. What did he mean he was 'going back to her'?

"What do you mean Fish?" 

"Sir, I think you need to leave." The doctor urged, a nurse then pulling the man from the room so that the doctors could do their work. But he didn't leave the doorway of Frank's room. 

"Mr Morales, do you know where you are?" The doctor asked but Frankie didn't answer, he just continued to sob and his heart monitor continued to chime "Mr Morales, you're in the hospital." The doctor stated "You suffered a massive heart attack. You had a heart transplant but fell into a coma. You have been out for almost two months." 

"No... No, I was hit by a car." Frankie choked "I should have died... I... I wanted to see her again." 

Benny's heart broke as he listened to his friend. 

"You weren't hit by a car Mr Morales." The doctor urged, his head snapped to the nurse to his left and giving her a nod.

"You're lying." 

The nurse then injected something into Frankie's IV and the man's thrashing grew sluggish. Ben could see from where he was standing that his friend's eyes were starting to grow heavy and in a manner of seconds, the room was all most silent again. Slowly but surely the medical staff started to file out, the doctor stopping beside Ben with an unreadable expression on his face. 

Ben waited patiently for the man to speak, his heart pounding against his ribs as his eyes flitted between Fish and his doctor. 

"What happened Doc?" Ben asked, his voice soft and vulnerable. 

"He appears to be confused.' The doctor started "He... It seems that he experienced some sort of vivid dream when he was in his coma. He is convinced he was hit by a car." 

"What can we do?" 

"I think the best thing to do is keep him mildly sedated for now. Just to keep him calm until he gets his head around what actually happened to him." The man said as he scrapped a large hand over his stubbled jaw "He can't afford to get worked up like that again. His heart is still in a fragile state." 

"Do you think seeing his daughter might help?" Benny asked and the doctor nodded. 

"Sure. Anything positive like that should help him relax." 

Benny nodded, giving the doctor a weak smile as his eyes zoned in on his friend. 

"Thanks, doc."

"He'll be out for a few hours." The man said as he placed a friendly hand on Ben's arm "Get a coffee and something to eat. You're no good to him if you're not taking care of yourself." 

...

Your heart leapt out of your chest as your phone started to ring loudly from the table beside you. Noting Ben's name on the screen, you answered it immediately as your pulsed raced. 

"Ben?" 

"He woke up." 

"He did?" You choked as you covered your mouth with a shaky hand, trying to smother the sob that threatened to escape your lips. 

"He was all confused and shit. Got a bit worked up and they had to sedate him again." Ben said, his voice wobbling as he spoke "They wanna keep him mildly sedated for now. Something about keeping him calm as he comes around. I guess being on pause for nearly two months can screw your brain up a little." 

You chuckled at that. Your coma hasn't quite gone on that long but you had certainly been a little confused when you'd woken up. 

Six weeks earlier... 

Your sensations returned in waves but everything sounded muffled and felt heavy. Your limbs seemed to be made of lead, your fingers were all that seemed to want to obey your commands. The sounds around you were distorted. Almost like you were hearing them from underwater. 

You managed to moan, hoping that it would give you a little more control over your body but alas you remained somewhat pinned in place, so you drifted to sleep again in the hopes that when you woke again things would be a little clearer. 

...

Benny had wanted to shout from the rooftops when you'd started to show signs of waking up. The past few days had been hell for him. He and Will had split their time between your room and Frankie's. Neither of them wanted to leave either party on their own and when you started to twitch and moan, Benny finally started to feel a semblance of hope. So he clung to that, along with your hand as he waited for you to open your eyes. 

That happened three hours later. 

"Ben?" Your question was more of a whisper but he heard it all the same. 

He placed Esme in her Pram and practically sprinted to your side, smiling sweetly at you as you blinked up at him. 

"Hey, you." He said sweetly "Have a nice nap?" 

"What happened?" You asked, your voice getting a little stronger but still scratching from weeks of disuse. 

Benny grabbed the water bottle from the side table and popped in the straw that had been sitting beside it. Then bringing it to you your lips, he cupped your head and helped you lift it so that you could take soothing sips of the tepid liquid. You held your hand up when you'd had your fill and Benny placed the bottle down with one hand as his other gently lay your head back against the pillow. 

"What happened?" You repeated and he sighed, how brow pulling together as he searched for the words.

"You uh... You haemorrhaged." He stated plainly "Pretty bad. It was touch and go for a bit but you fought... Small but mighty." He chuckled as his hand started to stroke your hair "You have been out for a few weeks but you needed the rest."

"Frankie and the baby okay?" This question made Ben's heart shatter. Standing he turned to the pram that was just out of your eye line and scooped up Esme, kissing her little nose when she started to fuss. 

"I got little Esme right here." Ben stated as he brought your daughter into view and you sobbed at the sight of her. A head of brown hair and the cutest little plump cheeks. 

"Oh, my angel." You choked as you press the button on your bed so that you were more upright, accepting your daughter into your waiting arms with a smile "Oh look at you." You cooed, memorising everything about her "You look just like your Papi." You chuckled as you looked at Ben and beamed "Where is Fish?" 

Ben's expression grew solemn again and there was no hiding it from you now. 

"Ben?... Where is Francisco?" You pushed and he sobbed. 

"He's um... He's here." 

"Where?" 

"Titch?" He pleaded but you needed an answer. 

"Benny... Tell me where he is!"

"He uh... He suffered a massive heart attack." Ben started, his eyes settling on Esme as she slept in your arms "They uh... They got him on life support. Waitin' for a heart." 

"No..." You trailed off, tears flowing freely as you looked down you your daughter, envious of how clueless she was to all this. 

"He'll die without one." 

"No." You sobbed harder, your head dropping as you screwed your eyes shut and let yourself fall apart "We were supposed to do this together." You cried "We were supposed to be a family." 

Present day... 

You arrived at the hospital as soon as you could. You'd thrown a bag together for Esme, grabbed her pram and left, desperate to see Frankie awake. 

His room was empty when you arrived. You looked around, trying to catch sight of him but coming up blank. He must've gone to get coffee. You pushed Esme's pram into Franks's room, tucking it in the corner so it didn't get in the way and then you took your place at Frankie's side. You didn't have to wait long for him to wake. 

He was sluggish, his eyes fluttering open and closed for a while. The sedatives were making it hard for him to surface. 

"That's it, Frankie." You said softly as you squeezed his hand and smiled sweetly at him "Come back to me." 

This statement was like a bucket of ice water over Frankie's head. His head snapped towards you and his eyes filled with tears as he seemed to study every inch of your face. 

"Titch." He choked, blinking furiously in an attempt to keep himself awake and you nodded. 

"That's right, just come back to me my Frankie." 

"I tried." He choked and you grew confused "I'm so sorry Titch." He sobbed and you stepped back as a hand pulled you away from him "Why won't you leave me be." 

"Frankie-"

"Just leave me alone." He cried "Please..." 

You turned on your heel and practically sprinted towards the door, colliding with Ben's solid chest. He scooped Esme up with practised ease with one arm and led you out the room with the other, leaving the doctors and nurses to work Franky.

"He... I don't..." You can't find the words, too heartbroken to string a coherent sentence together so Ben just holds you till you calm down. Giving himself a chance to figure out how was going to tell you what he needed to. 

"Titch... There's uh... Well, there's something you should know." He said when your cries finally quietened "Fish he uh... Well, it seems like he experienced a pretty vivid dream in his coma." 

You looked up at him with a bemused expression, head tilting to one side as you waited for him to continue. 

"When he woke up, he was rambling about getting hit by a car." He continued "I guess that's what he'd dreamt just before he woke up." 

"What are you trying to tell me, Ben?" You pushed and Ben let out a long sigh as he looked down at Esme in his arm. 

"Frankie thinks you're uh... Well, he-"

"Spit it out, Ben." You grumbled, unable to take the suspense any longer. 

"He thinks you're dead." 

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[venelona]

hello! It's been a while since I visited your blog and I missing your art😢💔

What I am going to say now sounds strange and funny but last night i had a dream that you made an undertale fan-game that have your artstyle that have multiple sanses but they are embodiment of 7 deadly sins and i think frisk date/befriending them (i don't remember everything about the dream apart 7 deadly sanses and there was multiple flowers,also i was playing obey me a lot lately so maybe that's explain the dream 😅) so that's why I came here, i kinda forgot about you and this strange dream I had reminded me of you so I thought of sharing it with you.

Haha hello and thanks for stopping by and sharing! Check February for some frans week stuff, the frans has not stopped

I had a blast with obey me and the game concept sounds amazing 😂💖 In MY artstyle?? The fact that someone would dream in it is wild to me, but very flattering!

Fun (?) fact - I did start working on an undertale frans-centric game at some point. And the thing about it - I finished WRITING it and finished making the main core PROGRAMMING for it... and the thing I could not bring myself to finish was art.

It wasn't a LOT of art, but it was a tall order for one person who struggles with perfectionism... I think I managed to do sketching for 24 parts of it and made like 4 backgrounds and that was that. In retrospect I really should've assembled a team (I asked one of my friend to go over the writing part, but nothing on the art), but it was such a small project and I thought I could titch it together...

Alas, it didn't happen, but it was fun tinkering with it back in the days. Discovered some fun coding quirks! Never cracked the timer tho.

[finnritter]

Rog's evening off

@mckellerton I am so sorry this prompt took me a million years to finish, I still don't know why?? I needed like three attempts of getting Rog's POV right, but I'm pretty happy with it, now! Hope you see this and still enjoy it!

Also idk how Egalmoth managed to smuggle himself into this so prominently?? I wanted him to just quickly stop by, but he was being clingy and just… stayed. But I love their friendship a lot so it’s okay. Hope you don’t mind!

...

Only when Rog let the huge hammer sink down to place it on the floor and consequently felt his arms shake in strain did he register that it was urgent time for a break. He still took care to set down the heavy tool lightly, its contact with the stone floor only producing a quiet clink that was immediately swallowed by the familiar roaring of a forge amid busy activity.

He stretched his arms above his head and while the pull eased some of the tension in his strained muscles, he winced as the movement shot a sharp thrill of pain through his spine. 

It was definitely time for a break.

He wrapped up his work, taking care to orderly put his tools away and clear his workstation before calling out goodbyes to the few who heard him over the clanking of metal and their own razor-sharp focus.

Then he stepped outside, gratefully breathing in the fresh air of a mild, early evening and let the gentle breeze cool off his still forge-heated skin. Maybe not only time for a break but to retire for the day. He was so quick to lose track of time while encapsulated in work like he had been.

Not far from the entrance of the forge a fountain was placed, not one of the fancy ones artfully spraying sparkling water over several platforms like they could be found all over the city, just a small one that allowed tired blacksmiths to wash their hands and face in after a long day between metal cuttings and furnaces.

And so he did right now, splashing the cool, fresh water all over his face and shoulders and trying to carefully stretch his crooked back into an upright position that didn’t hurt again. He could feel the old scars that were ridging his back pull at the strain. He was grateful, every day, that he was still able to move, to walk, to work mostly unimpedent, a fate not all of his fellow former thralls shared. And yet, moments like this one, when he wished his body to be flexible and strong enough to easily abide a couple hours of slight overextention, made it hard, sometimes, to keep his positive mindset.

He felt the water run down his back, focused on the cold trickle and determined to not let his mind slip into darker places, when a voice, cheerful but mellow, and very familiar, brought him the relief of distraction.

“Working hard, my dear Lord?”

Rog slowly turned to find Egalmoth standing halfway across the narrow forecourt of the forge, equipped with a huge bag, a gentle smile, and a wave. He was hard to look at, as usual, if only because his fine robes and the elaborate headpiece he wore were both weaved through with tiny bright jewels that glittered blindingly in the sharp evening sun.

Rog smirked and lifted a hand in greeting.

“I’m actually just done”, he replied, when he had crossed over to him.

“Oh good”, Egalmoth said with a genuine smile and then very lightly poked his shoulder. “You are slouching again.”

“How else am I supposed to look a titch like you in the eye?”

Egalmoth laughed at that, always mindful to reassure him that his playful teasing did not accidentally strike a nerve, but his brows drew in in a more serious way after that.

“Are you hurting?”

“Not much. I might have overworked myself a little, but the festival preparations are not going to finish up by themselves.”

Egalmoth nodded sagely at that, the spark of concern overshadowed by a gleam of overacted annoyance, as he began to effortlessly rope him into light conversation.

“I feel you, my good Lord. I have been drowning in administrative work all day, and would still be, hadn’t I fled the scene half an hour ago. I’m dreading coming back to the mess I left, but if I have to put my signature under one more request for diamond cladded strings of tree decoration, my hand will fall off.”

He shook both of his hands in a demonstrating gesture and slowly began taking steps into the direction of one of the bigger streets leading further into the core of the city, giving Rog the chance to follow his guide.

Rog hummed in amused sympathy and stretched once again; the sensation painful but not as demotivating this time. Then he easily fell into step with his friend, who seemed to lead him somewhere, purpose in every one of his long, light-footed strides. 

“And what does the Lord of the Heavenly Arch plan to do with his so valiantly earned free time?”

“Simple. Go to the market, stock up gratuitously on the best ingredients this blessed city has to offer and kidnap my best friend to cook me a meal worthy to make me forget about my work until tomorrow morning.”

Rog raised his brows in mocked offense. “So here you come and pry me from my work claiming I need a break, just to let me slave away in your kitchen? What a sensible best friend you make.”

Egalmoth, whose almost childlike excitement every time Rog cooked or baked for him was one of the most pleasant social interactions he had ever encountered, pressed a hand to his heart dramatically.

“Naturally you would be gratefully invited to share aforementioned meal with me after”, he clarified. “And additionally, I will make sure you are rewarded generously with the pleasure of my company and conversation making skills.”

Rog gave a quick laugh and Egalmoth let his hand sink and smiled, his exaggerated countenance slipping into a more genuine expression.

“I was thinking it might help both of us clear our heads a little. Naturally you don’t have to come if you would rather rest.”

Again, that lighthearted reassurance that Rog would have hardly needed after decades of friendship and knowledge of Egalmoth’s bantering playfulness. And yet, exactly those tokens of mindful care were what he liked so much about his friend. Of course, he wouldn’t choose hardly necessary solitude over dinner and jovial conversations with him – although his past self from two ages ago would never have imagined to ever reach a point of such lighthearted trust again.

So he smiled and attempted a shallow bow, ignoring once more the stiffness in his back, that already felt more tolerable again.

“It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

…

Gondolin had two marketplaces, the Great Market near the city’s eastern borders, and a smaller one in the South.

The former was home of the busy, bustling week market on most mornings, but able to transform into a festival ground, meeting place or the stage of an equally busy jumble sale at will. If the palace and the impressing height of the King’s Tower was the core of the city, the Great Market was its heart and soul, for royalty and common folk alike.

This late into the evening, it must have already glowed with hundreds of lanterns, and filled with the chatter of everyone sitting down at the numbers of tables and benches spread over the place, or just plain on the stone of the great steps that led up to some of the elevated rostras. It was a common place to gather for elves of all ages, who, often wine or pastries in hand, enjoyed letting their day come to a well-deserved peaceful end among their fellow citizen’s joy and laughter.

The two of them were, however, clearly headed towards the Lesser market, as they directly crossed over into the city’s Southern half.

Being a true marketplace first and foremost always made its name ring out a little unfittingly, in Rog’s opinion, even though it was notoriously a much smaller space.

It was home to a farmer’s market that lived up to its name with ease, the stalls of Gondolin’s agricultists alternating day-by-day in a well-thought-out rotation plan that allowed them to sell their wares directly, accept orders of greater quantity in an orderly fashion, and enable a stunning variety of ingredients and delicacies.

By this time of evening, there was not much fresh product ecpected to be left, but it was the perfect time to buy all sorts of cheeses, pasties, pickled or brined vegetables, endless varieties of sweet or sour fruit jams, jars of honey ranging from herbal and dark golden in colour to the almost white, mildly sweet clover honey, and much else that any elven stomach could desire. And famously, the late afternoon and early evening hours were also when all of Gondolin’s best vintners were touting their wares, often enabling the one or other spontaneous impulse buy from people who made the mistake of crossing the market later in the day.

Not so Egalmoth and Rog, who arrived at the narrow but invitingly crowded square with full intentions of going on a spending spree.

They did not stop until Egalmoth’s bag could not carry much else, by which time they had also made conversations with at least half of the vendors, as they were both well known (as Lords of the city) and well liked (as famous enthusiastic costumers as well as easy to rope into small talk) amongst the farmers.

Egalmoth was beaming on the way back, his smile brighter than his clothing, even, and he was quickly caught in speculations of what kind of dinner they might conjure out of their findings.

Rog gladly let himself be pulled along the conversation, keeping it light-hearted and full of laughter, although he realised, not by any means for the first time, how often evenings like this one still felt like a very precious, very fragile gift.

The luxury of being able to buy good food that he would be allowed to cook with what he wanted. The friendly words and smiles exchanged, the peaceful air of the evening behind safe, protective walls. The friend at his side, who chose to spend time with him just for his sake.

He had come a long way from the whips and fires of the Enemy, a long way even from spending time among people who even after escaping did not believe themselves safe, a long way from not believing he himself was safe, either.

But this evening was his, just like any other day of his future life would be, and if it took a good meal and a friend to remind him of that, sometimes, well, he was lucky that he could count on both.

[trashmenace]

Reading Rumble Round 28

Richard Matheson returns to the TFC ring

Buried Talents by Richard Matheson Masques II, 1987

A guy wins a lot at a carny game. If there was a sinister twist it was too subtle for me to notice.

Dust Devils by Ron Kelly 2 AM, Summer 1989

A girl seeks refuge from her abusive stepfather with desert dust devils.

Outsteppin' Fetchit by Charles Saunders Masques II, 1987

Peanut Posey, a rival of Stepin' Fetchit, is in a nursing home, haunted by the memory of his revolutionary son. Good premise but ends before it could go anywhere.

Hydra by Henry Kuttner Weird Tales, April 1939

A mixture of drugs opens a dimensional gateway to release head eating Hydras. Similarities to From Beyond, and feels like the Stuart Gordon film drew from it. I like most other writers' Lovecraft better than Lovecraft's own, though perhaps explains a titch too much.

Saunders and Matheson go over the ropes

[whumpookies]

What's your secret for making so many gifs? I don't know if I'm just slow or my computer is but it can take me up to a whole day to just make one set XD. Anyway, very impressive how you manage to post so many wonderful gifs 👌. Do you know the exact total you've posted? I always look forward to your daily posts :). Have a nice day pal! Peace out ❤

Anoni

My secret? Ohhhh now that'll be telling..okay I'll tell you!

First: a cat that's determined to wake me at 5 am helps because he just can't wait a couple of hours! Nope, he seems to think 5 am is a suitable time to use my head as a diving board to wake me up for his milk, slice of ham and food only to then request to go out!

Second: imgflip is a brilliant application that works pretty smoothly (I've only broken it twice 🤣) it helps clean up my gifs and sort out lighting etc.

Third: coffee, my life is coffee...and Whump cookies but still coffee helps sooooo much.

Fourth: I plan out my gifs, find the clips I want (never do a full episode if you can help it, for some reason the system works slower) to gif, and pile them up, today I'm up to ten gifs sets in my drafts, that's joining the other 8 🙈

It's just determination really, I get a few days to make them (with no distractions) so I kinda reserve a day to just gif.

Like today..it's pouring down outside, a weekend, my daughter is Minecraft-ing her cat world (don't ask 🤣) so I'm free to chill out, drink coffee and gif away as dinner cooks and the damn cat sleeps.

As for my total sets err last year I posted over 460 gifs.

This year I'm not so sure about the numbers, one set a day since 2023 started so..80ish so far? Wonder if I'll get to 365 🤣 good aim I think 🤔

Innocent looking cat ain't he? I tell you Titch is the devil himself in cat form.

[roamingtigress]

The Merry Misadventures of Hosea and The Mustached Idiot

RoamingTigress

Chapter Four:

Touching You, Loving You

A lot of people get Dutch wrong. One of the things they say is that he's 'evil.'

Yes, he looks so evil as he closes his eyes while I trace a finger along the cleft of his chin. He used to hate that thing; he was self-conscious about it. That was until I touched it, and kissed it, and he found out it was a sweet spot; one of many we'd discover together.

Dutch is lying with his head in my lap, both of us wearing only what nature intended for us to wear. I feel that skin-to-skin contact would have more of an emphasis on what I am trying to tell than skin-on clothing. My free hand is in his, as we both listen to the sound of the warm rain pattering on the top of our tent. He despises being out in the rain; he hates the feeling of his clothes sticking to his skin, and how cold it makes him feel. As a younger boy, I enjoyed the warm rain; I loved the smell of it, and and had to jump in every mud puddle. I still love the smell of rain, but when you get to my age you can feel the rain creep into your joints. We've put together some tonics to help with this issue and it helps to a good degree.

Another thing they say is that he's 'crazy', and truth be told his choo-choo may have jumped the tracks, but we're crazy together. We have to be to survive in this world. He has what one could call separation anxiety; his attachment to me is to such a strong degree that he fears losing me; I reassure him it wouldn't happen. He doesn't even need to say a word to tip me off that his separation anxiety creeping up, I can just tell from his eyes; that separation anxiety doesn't just show itself in anxiety in him, but also sadness. He will give me personal space, of course, and when I get back he'll shower me with affection, though initially, he'll pretend to snub me but his eyes betray him.

Dutch tilts his head as I move my touch along his jawline, just lightly dragging a nail along his skin. He smiles, not a titch of anxiety nor sadness in those dark eyes, who glisten with happiness. I love seeing him smile, how that mustache twists and turns and I'll do things, say things on purpose to get him to smile and if he's already smiling, I'll make that smile widen more.

Each of the places that we touch, particularly those sweet spots, has a message and a meaning behind it, and this, and disserting the perception of my love and our relationship as I touch those spots on him, is what this chapter is about.

Touches to the jaw, silent speech. You can argue the same for lips, but it's the jaw that ultimately makes the speech. We say so much to each other without saying a word. A look here, a look there, a head tilt, little subtle gestures. This morning, even before he opened his eyes I knew he was going to feel sullen today if I didn't intervene; I woke up to the smell of the incoming rain. I averted that crisis with a back rub as he was once again using me as a glorified mattress. I ended up waking him up doing so, but he woke up in a good mood and remained so.

"I could stay like this all day . . . " Dutch murmurs, his eyes closing for a moment as he squeezes my hand, and gives a whisper of a kiss on my knuckles.

I just smile and trace a finger along his cheek, a spark in my eyes to match his. "I know you can. And for a good while we can. Sometime today though we have to do the trade run. We both know what Cripps is like about not having the product sit for long."

There was a camp raid the other day when I wasn't around, but Dutch was. Unfortunately, his arm went, and . . . Well, he had a limited capacity to defend. He knifed a few, pistol-whipped a few others, Cripps brought down a few with one shot of his Carbine Repeater but outnumbered, the rest got away with much of the goods. He felt ashamed but put on a brave face. I know he tried.

Dutch rolls his eyes. "He was short of one item for a full run. The turkey feather was right on the table!"

Oh, how that man makes me smile as much as he makes me want to rip my hair at times, and it grows even more as his kisses move from my hands up to my arm. I consider for a moment, and just lightly, lightly take hold of his nose, and run a finger along its length. He was distracting me! While I'm there though, touching the nose represents security; a strange sort of thing to perhaps symbolize, but when one was once self-conscious about it in the early years of dating, it means the difference.

People think he's manipulative; the man knows what he wants and knows he is adorable, and will run with it. As you know, he's a master of the puppy face and all those little gestures to get things out of me; I admit, I'm too soft when it comes to that. Alternately, he is also easy to manipulate as well; a touch here, a touch there, even when he's putting on a front can get him to where I want him to be. Words can also be a weapon; the right words can help talk him down, get him grounded and put in his place, soothe, amuse, to make him feel special. Likewise, he can be a word master. Right now he's looking at me with that expression, combined with a pout, because he's not getting his way.

"You are just trying to derail my thoughts again, are you?"

Dutch feigns innocence, as if he's not known to try and distract me. "No . . . "

We lock eyes for a long moment. I know he's telling a little white lie, I'm trying to bring you this meaningful dialogue, but how could I be frustrated? I let my hand drift over to his chest, specifically over his heart. He brings a hand over to place it on top of mine, forming a physical connection. Now this one is a logical one; a touch over the heart, heart-to-heart.

"My favourite part on you, 'Sea." Dutch spoke almost in a growl, reaching up a little to lean his head against my heart for a moment; I close my eyes for a moment as I love it when he rests his head against my chest; the feeling of his gorgeous inky hair hair against my skin, the feeling of connection. I gently hold him there for the moment.

"Though your hands are there too . . . " Dutch takes hold of one again, and gives it a kiss; I'm convinced the man is addicted to touching them, kissing them, holding them, watching them, doing things that put him in the position to be touched by them.

I laugh, though enjoying it. "You're not going to let me do this thing are you?"

A knowing smile from Dutch gives me the answer. Yes, he's trying to distract me. Again.

Hands represent connection. We're constantly using them in everyday life, from the most mundane tasks of passing whatever bit of material to Cripps to fighting off O'Driscolls. We're always touching each other, holding each other, bridging communication with them. Now and then we give *those* gestures to each other, all part of our marriage.

I hear some call him ugly. An absurd accusation! I look down and see laugh lines in his eyes, that stupid smile, that nose . . . I only see a hopelessly adorable man who is now nibbling on one of my knuckles, complete with the same soft eyes as a spaniel puppy. Yes, how hideous.

And then there are those who do think he's a bit of a stud. Naturally, I agree. With that swagger, he likes to think he's showing me off around town, but in reality, it's just as much of a time to show him off. I see the looks he gets when he's dressed in his best from both ladies and gentlemen and it fills me with pride. Some even think he looks just as good dressed down, and I'd agree. Some call him babygirl and, well, I do too. If you really want to get him to blush, call him Babygirl Kitten Whiskers.

"You are irresistible!" I grin and tap his nose.

Dutch just outright grins, nipping at my finger. I love seeing this playful side to him, I love bringing it out, as he does with me. We're two old fools in love who often act like we're back in our earlier years together and I love it. May it never change.

"I've been called worse."

I've heard the words from bounties who have the face of a potato to some of his study subjects, many of which I have a hard time distinguishing; good on Dutch to know who from who. So many of them wear similar outfits, similar hairstyles, and some even sound like each other. I think he's a gorgeous man and his unique features make him stand out among the rest.

I've heard he is stupid. While I do consider myself the brains of our relationship, and he has many of those moments where I think his brain was left on the side of the road somewhere between Van Horn and Tumbleweed, there's a strange brilliance to him. He does much of his studies when his study subjects aren't aware he's studying them; he'll walk into a bar and watch them interact in the corner of his eyes, on a verandah, on a walkway as he smokes a cigar or plays the harmonica. He'll dress down to blend in with the townsfolk, to mixed results; some recognize him right away with those unique features of his and other times he slips through the cracks.

I've been told our relationship isn't real and only exists in the minds of those with a 'creative imagination'. I heard this has been happening in some strange circles I've never heard of before. In all likelihood, *they*, the deniers, don't exist.

I let my hand slip down to Dutch's belly, which I start to rub over in slow, gentle strokes; I know that the whole region is ticklish but my intent is just to rub. He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh, his head tilting back. With the proximity to so many vital areas, this is a vulnerable spot for most living beings and to be allowed to touch it on some certain species, especially cats, is the highest honour, as means total trust. We have to admit he has some catlike tendencies; so an ultimate symbol of trust it is for us. I got him to 'purr' for you a little earlier, and he's starting up again as I trace a finger along the shape of his navel. Utter and complete trust in such a sweet and willingly vulnerable moment.

With the reactions I am getting out of him, who could deny we aren't a real couple? Who can deny the deep love that we have for another, and who are they to deny us? Pass the bucket, sponge and mop, I think he's melting on me, and maybe I'm melting with him into a puddle on the ground.

I've been told our relationship is 'toxic', nothing can be further from the truth. Soulmates are meant to be and soulmates we are. I am the head of the relationship -- a purely consensual decision which also happened naturally -- but in no way do I view Dutch as inferior, nor does he feel it. The love, respect and trust we have for each other is unquestioned, and I need him as much as he needs me.

"You tryin' to get me back to sleep, 'Sea?" Dutch murmured, one eye half open, sneaking a kiss on my belly and caught by surprise, I let out an unexpected squeak. I dare not react further as it'd only encourage him or give him ideas. I'm not a particularly ticklish individual as this idiot here is (do as you wish with this disclosed information about him, he deserves it), but there's something about the feeling of that mustache (which is softer than it might look), on your skin.

Some say he is charming and I am in full agreeance with them. Perhaps he is being more silly and adorable right now than what you'd typically consider charming, but charming nonetheless. He certainly knows how to work his charms; as you know, he enjoys getting me jealous and possessive. He knows what words to use when I'm mad with him, feeling down about whatever.

I maintain a large personal space when I'm particularly angry at him and he respects it and doesn't dare cross over that invisible barrier. Doing so means I won't hear those words, so I won't see the pleading in his eyes . . . And also means he won't be cuddling me much like how a child hugs a teddy bear when they need comfort, holding my hand to console. It's an incredibly hard moment for us both.

Right now though, I'm far from angry at him.

"No, not done yet!" I smirk and move my hand over to his waist; that spot over that sweet spot right hip that makes him squirm and he moves up into my touch like a giant cat. I love making him move, making him squirm and he knows it but never truly fights it.

Dutch grins a lopsided grin, that stupid, silly grin. "Nor do I want it to be done."

That slutty little waist that he has is perfect for dancing, particularly as he's gotten a bit soft in the middle; I'd wager to say he's an even better dancer now. A touch to the waist represents movement on the physical level, but also on the mental level. If he is feeling down, we often take hold of each other by the waist, pull each other against ourselves, and just hold each other like that for a long while. Maybe one arm would be over our torso but one would always remain at our hip. A particular adorable thing Dutch often does when I take hold of his waist is that he'll lift one leg off the ground, and balance his weight a bit against me when I least expect it as if trying to tip me over. I then proceed to tickle him or send him on his way with a smack on the ass if he does knock me off balance or nearly so, as he deserves it, the shit.

My next destination on Dutch is his face once more; I missed a spot. Along the way though I dance my fingers back up his torso again. He lightly places a hand over mine as if he is following me on my journey over his body, something I catch him doing from time to time. He seems to do it a bit absentmindedly.

"I want . . . I want what you've been done to me to be done to you." His voice is . . . Soft, asking. Maybe he thinks he's been neglecting me; truth be told he's nearly smothering me but . . .

I tap him lightly on the nose. "When I'm done here we can trade places."

I drift my finger over his mustache, and I lightly trace the shape of it that he trims to perfection. He gives me a nip; there's a spark in his eyes and he holds my finger in his teeth for a moment, as if it was one of his cigars, before he lets go after I give him another light boop to the tip of his nose.

"You are a pain in the ass!" I scoff, and my idiot companion just grins.

"You knew what you weres getting into."

I huff, but ruffle up that lovely hair of his. "Don't remind me. I got that all that and more."

Dutch lets out a hearty chuckle, absent-mindedly playing with one of my hands again. He just can't keep his hands off of them, even as we sleep he has to hold onto one. "I thought It'd be fun to throw in a few surprises!"

"Smartass!"

I know I shouldn't encourage him, but I grin and return to my duties before he tries to distract me again. I apologize for the interruptions I'm getting here; with Dutch, rarely does anything involving go right to plan.

I trace along the edge of Dutch's trademark mustache, which he twitches. In a moment he'll take a nip at my fingers; the playful glisten in his eyes tells me that time is coming very soon. As if on cue, he does take a nip but just misses my finger. The back of a finger strokes over that soft mustache, but instead of nipping at it, he gives it a kiss. From the mustache, I move my touch over to that silly soul patch; it's a silly, tufty thing. I give it a light tug. A touch to the lips means love; with them, we try to say all the right things with them, and we kiss with them. The thing with his head in my lap has a thing for having his mustache stroked.

I'm convinced there's not a place on Dutch's body where doesn't love being touched, and I find it charming. Even at our nightly readings, we'll be reading our paragraphs to each other, and he'll be touching one foot against mine, just for the contact. Or maybe to be just slightly annoying, or both.

"Sure you want to change positions?" I ask, warmly looking down at my love with his head in my hands; he looks so comfortable, and beautiful in such a state of bliss. He still looks willingly vulnerable.

Dutch nods and after a long moment, no words, just soft eye contact, he slowly sits up. He kisses me softly on the lips and I just as sotly return it, before he gently guides me onto his lap as I did with him. It's strange to have him being this quiet but he can say a lot without saying a thing just by his expressions.

He takes his time exploring my face with a finger, as he did all those many years ago. We were watching the clouds one day. We need to do another cloud-watching; right now it's raining so not great, but maybe when the rain stops, and the sun comes out.

"Eyes . . . " Dutch murmurs, tracing a finger along a cheekbone. "Windows into the soul . . . "

I almost cry at that. He'd been vocally quiet thus far today, as he often is when it rains, but it wasn't just the words, there was something about the tone in which he spoke them which went right into my soul with that statement. I hold onto one of his hands and give it a squeeze as he does often with me. My breathing is hitched and I feel a finger brush away a tear. I leaked a bit, I suppose.

"God, you're beautiful . . . " I whisper, and reposition slowly so that I can reach up and touch his face as it feels as if he is looking lovingly into my soul. "I don't say it enough but you are. You frustrate me, you know that, but then you catch me off guard like this, and . . . "

Dutch chuckles a bit at being called frustrating but he gets it. "I guess I'm doin' my job." He winks.

I smile and kiss his finger. Dutch is a man of many hats, quite literally. He's an outlaw who'll rustle livestock and has once or twice cleared out Emerald Ranch of its stock on some occasions and can clean houses of its valuables. He's a bootlegger, a bounty hunter, a market hunter, a gambler, a collector of tarot cards and purloined family heirlooms . . . And a purveyor of my heart.

"Yes, yes you are, Duchess, yes you are."

I smirk a bit as I want to demonstrate how that nickname affects him. "Duchess Babygirl Kitten Whiskers . . ." And sure enough, he blushes and coyly tucks his chin in.

Big bad tough Dutch Van der Linde, ladies and gentlemen.

He gets even tougher when I nuzzle my face against his tummy, and sneak a kiss in. He reacts with a squirm and outright *giggles*, a sound I'm sure you wouldn't expect to hear from him. I love how ticklish he is; it's an adorable trade secret I'm willing to let out of the bag and let you use as you wish; that's an honour (just return him towards the end of the day; he's a nice intimidation factor on those long trading routes). I often sneak it in as 'punishment' to 'reign him in' and just because. And this time it was 'punishment'; it seems only fair as well that he distracted me while doing this thing and I'll do the same for him. Plus, I couldn't resist when given such an opportunity.

"Now you aren't goin' to let me do this are you?" Dutch laughs, those crow's feet ever evident in the corners of his eyes.

I grin. "Maybe if I'm nice."

He kisses the back of my hand, and almost reluctantly brings it down with him as he moves to lightly touch where my ear connects to my jawline.

I close my eyes with a happy little sigh. Each time he touches that area I'm reminded of our second date. He was shy and awkward at first but it was the first place he kissed aside from my lips; I never thought it'd be so sensitive to touch, but . . . It was just waiting to be discovered.

"Memories . . . " He spoke quietly. "A touch here . . . Memories."

I let out a happy sigh but feel myself getting emotional again. Dutch looks down at me with concern in those expressive eyes. I take him by the hand that touched me in that sweet spot and give it a squeeze in reassurance, as he does for me so many times. Dutch needs a lot of reassurance, more than he lets on at times.

"It's okay . . . " I speak softly, massaging a knuckle. "It feels good to release these feelings. You just helped draw them out."

"How is it that we know what each other thinks . . . ?" Dutch asks in a soft voice, unmistakenly mixed with awe and wonder, unexpected innocence even, and a slight emotive shake to it. "How we even know what we'll say next?"

I kiss his fingers and feel a tear escaping from my eyes, which he softly wipes away, and I see the waterworks turning on for him too. A lot of people see the stoic side of Dutch, and I see it as well, but at times, well, he makes himself emotional.

"Because we're soulmates."

Dutch repeats that word in nearly a whisper. You're likely familiar with how (sometimes obnoxiously) loud he can get when he talks, but when he speaks quietly, it's such a sweet, sweet sound that bores into my soul.

"Soulmates . . . "

I give his hand another squeeze, link my fingers in between his and softly wipe away his tears. He puts on a halfhearted stoic show as I do so, but I know better. There's little that can get past me; he knows but still tries.

"I ain't cryin', 'Sea. Allergy season."

I just smile a bit and shake my head. "You softy."

"I ain't a softy!"

I laugh and grab that lovely chin of his as he studies my face; he closes his eyes and lets out the best imitation a man can make of a cat purring. With a free hand, he holds my hand there. I'm convinced he set himself up for that to happen; as per my footise mention a bit ago, if he can find a way to get some part of himself touched, grabbed, or kissed, or swatted, he'll find a way. Dutch is a needy fellow, and needs reassurance; I think some of that comes out of his need to be affectionate and to get affection, though ultimately the love we have for each other has a heavier weight on the scale.

"If you say so."

Dutch gives me a light tap on the nose. "You really want to draw this out, don't you? Not that I'm complaining, I could stare at you and touch you all day . . . " His voice has a low, deep quality to it and feel his eyes dance among his point of view.

"Alway among my favourite places to . . . " He purrs as a knuckle of a finger drags along my collarbone.

Love biting, Dutch likes to love bite me there. Not always in a romantic context but when he's in a playful mood, when he thinks I'm not paying attention enough to me or him to me. Normally I actually enjoy it but there's a bruise there from a few nights ago when he got a bit too hard. He felt terrible, as did I; I . . . Hit him as an involuntary response and we just held each other.

"I'm not mad at ya anymore . . . " I reassure warmly as he avoids touching the bruise and I lightly touch him on his wrist. "Wasn't really after five minutes. You felt you were neglecting me and got a bit enthusiastic. Truth be told you never neglect me. Never."

I give him eye contact, which tells him I speak only the truth. His affection is nearly suffocating.

It's no secret that Dutch has large hands, and I love them. They cover so much ground over my smaller and slightly delicate frame (which makes me being the one in charge a bit amusing) frame but he takes his time. He moves his focus right over to my heart.

"Forever my favourite part of yours."

I tease. "My hands might get jealous."

Dutch grins a playful grin, a sparkle in his eyes. He likes those hands so much he'll do anything to 'accidentally' touch them or be touched by them. "Oh, I think I may have a way to derail their jealousy."

"Don't I know it!"

I let out a hearty laugh, and let out a long, happy sigh as he 'draws' hearts over my heart. I almost cry again; damn him for making me feel emotional again. It's a sweet little gesture that started in our early dating scene and sort of went the wayside of other affectionate gestures, but seems it's making its way back again, apparently!

"Been a bit since we've done that eh?" Dutch reminisces, now tracing an H and a D over my heart, as if he were carving our initials on a tree.

Just as he had done with me, I place my hand on top of his as he 'draws' on me, as if guiding him, though there wasn't any need for such. He knows my body as well as his own. He purrs again as he 'draws' a star over my heart.

"Because you are my guiding star."

It should be illegal for Dutch to be as cute as he is. I should have every right to handcuff that man, put him on the back of my horse and take him to jail for that crime of stealing my heart and making me feel what I do.

"And you say you aren't a softy." I know better.

Dutch's cheeks flush at realizing what he's said, though it was very sweet. He has long had moments over the years where he had caught himself off guard and I help with the catching. He has a big smile as he cradles my head in those paws of his that could light up the entire of West Elizabeth, where we're camped at right now, and maybe beyond. His eyes look at once filled with love, with a bit of playfulness.

"Okay, you win."

I nuzzle my face against his belly again, taking pleasure in hearing those little un-Dutchlike sounds of happiness as he shifts slightly, helping me move up closer against him a little more. He doesn't make a bad human headrest. He's gone soft in all the right places and I love him more for it.

"Hmmm where should we go now, hmm . . . " Dutch murmured, walking his fingers slowly down my form.

I feel as if I'm ready to purr. He hasn't lost his edge in making me feel good; if anything, he's better at it. Just so he doesn't get any ideas, I gently tease him. "Not that kind of story, Dutch, the rating isn't high enough."

He blushes a bit again. "Aw, where's the fun in that?"

"You'll get your un later, Duchess." I smile, tapping his arm, one of my love taps that I reserve for those I especially hold dear to me.

For the most part, Dutch loves it when I tease him. Sometimes I get a bit harsh and it cuts deeper than it should, but he never gets upset for long and of course, he'll tease me at any opportunity. Another thing that people might take wrong with us -- particularly me, is the teasing, the assertion that it hurts the confidence of those that I love and nothing could be further from the truth. I call this fellow an idiot and he still struts about like a peacock when he's well-dressed and I come into town with him. Truthfully I only tease those I love in this manner, sometimes I go a bit hard, we both can, but it's out of pure affection.

I sigh as Dutch traces his hand trace along my belly. His fingers *dance* on my form, as if exploring the vast range, as we do from time to time. Instead, he's patrolling the range on the smaller man with the head on his lap, who is using his softening and warm torso as a pillow.

"Vulnerability . . . " Dutch purrs, his touches moving in slow, rhythmic touches that he knows that I love. "Vulnerability as well as trust, and with that trust, a willingness to show vulnerability to each other."

And he is right. Even in the way I'm lying, I'm in a vulnerable position; I'm the top dog so to speak and yet my lower form is open and available to him, but willingly so. I hitch my breath for a moment as he finds his way down to the 'v' in my groin.

"Are you going where I think you're going?" I ask in a playful tone.

Dutch tilts his head, looking innocent but I know better, and he knows too. His voice takes on a playful lit, that Southern drawl of his coming out to play. "Just travellin' down south a little for our next destination."

"Be careful you don't start something you can't finish!" I wink, but let out a sharp breath as he is now using both hands to explore each side of the 'v'; from his touch, he is being more playful than trying to be seductive (the term playfully seductive might apply here), but well, my body reacts all the same.

"Passion . . . " Dutch murmurs, slowing his touch some. "After all these years, we still have it, 'Sea."

My voice takes on a rougher tone as I feel my heartbeat start to pick up a pace. "That we do. . . . "

We might reserve our most intimate moments of passion and fury for Fridays, lovingly termed 'Hosea Fucks Friday', minus the odd time our multi-hat-wearing lifestyle allows it and decide that Friday is far too long to wait. Those times when Cripps puts us up in a hotel to give us some more privacy (and for him to get a bit of peace when he grows weary of hearing us get a bit excited), those times when I wake up first and take in the gorgeous sight of this man pre hair pomade and looking at once gorgeous and ridiculous as he wakes at the same time, and nothing could be held back.

Dutch takes a gentle hold of my hand and eases me up when he feels, and sees me shifting. "I still have the magic spell on you, don't I?" He's practically beaming, even puffing his chest out just a touch.

"Oh, you . . . " I can't get frustrated at that, anything but.

Dutch holds me close against him with his strong arms; our hearts up against each other. I almost posessively wrap a leg around that waist, silently minding him who he belongs to.

"Who belongs to me?" I almost growl.

Dutch's eyes are soft, and I let out a soft sigh as he rubs my back and rests his head against mine. He got me worked up and now he's trying to get me to relax? This silly man! It's a wonder I haven't ripped my hair out by now.

"I do."

I was that soft 'I do' that softened me back again. I gently pull away just a moment, just so that I could frame his head in my hands. Our foreheads touch when he gently brings his forehead against mine. There's been a few times when I've seen stars when his head smacked against mine in an attempt at a forehead 'boop', but he was careful this time.

"That's right!" I smile and kiss the tip of his nose.

Dutch's mustache twists into a lopsided smile. "I think I'm in love with you, Hosea."

Our lips meet, a kiss is made, and a kiss is returned, and I find myself pushing Dutch onto his back again on that single-person bed.

[smalltownfae]

Books Read in 2023: Washington Black by Esi Edugyan

Rating: 3/5 ⭐

This is a coming of age story about a slave boy named Washington Black, Wash for short, that opens with him living in a Barbados sugar plantation under the care of an harsh slave woman nicknamed Kit. When his master's brother, nicknamed Titch, arrives he chooses Wash to help him in the creation of a flying machine. Titch is very interested in science and Wash discovers a love for scientific drawing that will last until his adulthood and create a better future for him.

The narration is in first person, which is my favourite, and that made it easy for me to care about the main character and it got me immediately immersed in the story.

I really liked the first half of this book, but after a certain event, where an interesting character gets out of the picture, the book becomes less interesting and seemingly aimless. I loved the dynamic between Wash and Titch and that art featured quite a bit in this book.

I liked the writing. Even though it was simple it flowed really nicely and made it easy to keep reading. The chapters were short, which also helped.

The transitions between the book parts and some of the chapters were often abrupt and the resolution to certain situations were too convenient so it got tiresome when it happened for the third time.

Overall, I enjoyed this book and I am glad I read it. I just wish it had been as good throughout as it seemed to be at first.

[britcision]

So I am absolutely never going to tell anyone not to speak their lesser known languages (I’m learning Cymraeg/Welsh it would be very silly of me)

One addendum though

Starting all new conversations in Irish? Gold star, incredible, 10/10 perfection

But with the friends specifically, and the ones who are complaining about it… telling them they have a duty to improve is going to make them much less likely to actually do it

Cuz now it’s you being intentionally annoying (which is fun and great but not necessarily productive)

There is a sneakier tactic here if the actual goal is for the friends to learn Irish

Greetings in Irish, yes, make that your normal hello and kisses on the cheek. But instead of continuing in Irish until they ask you to stop, respect their request and switch to English

And then gently bring it back around by sticking to your Irish for proverbs, memes, little phrases you can drop out in the middle of a sentence so that they have fun Irish to use

Irish is a fucking beautiful language and I did have a go at that too (family’s closer to Wales though so I’ll use Cymraeg more often) so you can legitimately point out that it’s got way better lilt

Personal fave phrase to drop because frankly English can never match it: thit an thóin as an spéir (spelling questionable on thóin cuz I’ve been saying it for so long I haven’t read it in years… another point for Cymraeg being purely phonetic 😅)

Pronounced, according to an Irish buddy online: titch anne toy-in (smush together) as anne speige (rhymes with beige)

Means: the ass fell out of the sky. Referring to heavy rain and oh boy it’s often applicable in Canada the rain here comes down in LUMPS

Also, remind your friends that you can talk shit about tourists in Irish in complete safety, and if they get fast enough you can also do it about your peers with less risk

Guilt rarely works, but mischief is pretty reliable

Being bilingual or more and using all your languages on a regular basis is actually super good for your brain because it exercises all your executive functions so seriously, use ‘em when you can

she's a hero. she should dump her west brit "friends" and become friends with me instead

[tracle0]

Wordsearch

Hello hello! Tagged by the radical @albatris thank you thank you tidings of blood and fangs upon ye

Finding: Storm, bite, bring and settle and I am going to do it from The Crows Death woag

Storm

“Sorted now.” Sam scowled at the bushes she had originally approached, then gestured him over. “Dolly just needed some help.” “I did not!” She stormed into view, their imposter trailing behind her, her face like thunder. Atlas watched with amusement as she approached, stuck a finger out, and then snarled, “And you!” Andy paused his progress of picking his way out of the bush. “Me?” “You!” She marched forward, and he shrank back, and they tried not to smile too wide. “You are making my job here as hard as possible! You need to stop running off without me all the bloody time!” “I didn’t, I just-“ “You’re going to get yourself killed! Do you understand that? Does that make sense to you?” “Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I’m not-“ “Or do you want to die? Is that it? You’re so eager to kick the bucket already? It’s like you’re not even trying to stay alive!” 

Bite

“Shut him up,” Max instructed sourly. “I don’t want to listen to him talk.” “What, you don’t like his cute little accent?” The man advanced on where Andy had fallen, and he shrank back. Please, please, please. No, no, no.  “Cute,” she echoed.  “Sure, it’s adorable.” He crouched down beside Andy, the cloth in hand, and when Andy clenched his jaw, wondering if he should bite again, he tutted, put on a terrible impression of his Glalis accent. “Now, now, li’le Crow. Dhon’ be irriday’ing me. Maxie here’ll s’ring you uhp if you ghive her a ‘hance.” “Don’t call me that,” Max said. Her smile had vanished. “And hurry up. Stop playing with him.” “I’m not playing. I only play with people I like. Unlike-“ “Titch,” she said, a low, cold note of warning in her voice.  The man - Titch - sighed dramatically, the cloth stretched between his hands. His nails were a void-like black rather than the pale pink they should have been. An actual servant to the Fox. Exactly what he wanted. “You used to be fun,” he grumbled, then looked down at Andy. “Are you going to bite me?”  “Yes,” he said. “Don’t touch me.”

Bring

“It’s - one of the people I went with, a… my friend, he…” they huffed. “He got… kidnapped just before we got back. I want to…” “Track him?” There was an emphasis on his words, an unspoken offer. Atlas realised what he was implying at the exact same time as their imposter, and where horror drew across their face, a flicker of hope danced across their imposters. “Wait,” Atlas blurted, lurching forward. The floorboards didn’t even groan under their feet, their own home falling for their imposter's trick. “Wait, no. No, you - he can’t come. He can’t come as well, he’ll - he’ll die. You’ll kill him. You’re going to kill him.” Every word was fully ignored. Their imposter pulled away from Olly’s shoulder to study him, the start of a smile edging across their expression. “Yeah,” they said quietly. “Track him. Bring him back.” A primal scream started to rise in their throat, desperation and premature grief loud and clawing. “Don’t,” they begged. “Hey. Hey, seriously, please, don’t. You’ll kill him, I can’t - I can’t live without him. Do anything else. Please. Please. Listen to me, don’t - please.”

Settle

When he twisted his head around, he found its source; a decayed rodent laying an arm’s length away from him, flesh grey, bones jutting through the rotten meat. A maggot squirmed in the tiny carcass. His gorge rose, and the smell of death swept over him, encased him, claimed him. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm.  He had just about settled his nerves and calmed his racing pulse when the long-dead, barely held-together skeleton moved. One of its remaining paws twitched, spasmed, and dug into the ground, dragging the festering body closer.  It moved again.  And again. 

Tagging uhhh @loopyhoopywrites nd @ace-malarky nd @polyaubergine to find uh break, mold, ring and grin

[elliott970131572]

Heavenly Father, we lift up in humble prayer all those dear to our hearts. We ask that Oakham School, with Luke Deering, James Green, Jack Bowman, Titch, Sam Buxton, Isaac Crutchley, Lindsay Waller Wilkinson, and Elliott’s beloved family, especially his sister, be kept safely and kindly in Your light, free from any harm or fame that disturbs peace. Guide all who care for us, including the nursing staff, to find redemption and grace, inspired by Kurt Cobain’s spirit of compassion and change. May Elliott’s father, touched by divine strength, be Lord of all creation, and may the Mother of God bless his soulmate with undying unity. May his grandparents, especially both grandmothers, defy the hands of time, standing in timeless love and strength. Grant that all celebrities find joy and solace, with Tyler Durden as their guardian, his AJ watching from above.

Bless Gwyneth Paltrow Falchuk with the wisdom to reach out with love and respect, and let the kindness of the Met Police shine like a beacon for all. We ask for miracles across the UK, a force of creation that supports, renews, and uplifts every officer in every town, every soul in every street. Let their dedication be met with divine gratitude.

As we reflect, we turn to the words of the Dark Knight, reminding us, “It’s not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me.” And as Peter said, “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). May this truth live on, for a Bible verse draws heaven nearer, and every true word keeps the cosmos at peace.

In gratitude for ChatGPT, a universe of kindness and wisdom—let its spirit remain, forever and in all things. Amen. X