#mizzle chats

[mizzle-moths]

WAIT ITS ON SEPTEMBER 1ST.... SIF'S BIRTHDAY...... OH MY FOD

[mantis-on-a-table]

HAPPY (early) 6TH ANNIVERSARY HOLLOW KNIGHT !!!!

Like a month ago got my dear friend @17magpiesinatrenchcoat the amazing idéa to do a collab for Hollow knights anniversary, and OH MY- The amount of people that wanted to join was chocking /pos Ive met so many amazing people in the group chat we have <333

Anyways, You can find the collab on Insta here !!!

Close-ups, credits and backgrounds only under the cut !!!

Lets start with the credits:

Pale King: @17magpiesinatrenchcoat

Hornet/background: Me💪

Grimm: @vayshkarell

Monomon: @/evielutione

Hollow: @/sup_amigoss

Lost kin: @/swift64_

Collector: @/hollow_knight_daily_drawing

Hive Knight: @/grayscale1971

Seer: @kingdrawsstuff

Quirrel, Cornifer: @mipexch

Tiso, Herrah: @/ghostlakan_

Lurien: @/mossy_artist

Cloth: @mizzle-moths

Iselda: @/mimori_azume

Radiance: @scarfsfx

Broken Vessel: @/king._crow

Ogrim: @ashtonisvibing

Ghost: @/turtlebugs_

Zote: @/floafys.art.corner

White Lady: @/coolblue40

Thistlewind: @traveling-shade

Brumm: @/thatwhirlwind

Lemm: @/nico.d.pie

Grimmchild: @/pawpyrus_13

Sly: @boompf

Myla: @/the_cryptid_creature

Shade: @/okoscsirke001

Close-ups:

Aaand backgrounds only:

Yippie !!!

[constitutionalweasleymonarchy]

AUDREY: Monday

From the flash fic collection Days That End In Y

prompt: caught in the rain

(This ficlet also submitted for @perceptual-prompts open prompt challenge - prompt card #4: downpour)

.

Audrey didn’t hit you like a bolt of lightning.

She didn’t catch you unawares like a cloudburst, nor did you see her coming like a gathering storm.

She was simply there, a fact of life, a constant, like a mist that could persist for days upon end, even through the sunshine, cool and pleasant against your skin.

But it was impossible, really, to pinpoint the exact moment where a mist became mizzle, where the fine drizzle became full-blown rain. It was the sort of thing you’d just realise once it got there.

And by then you were already soaked. Without an umbrella because you simply hadn’t accounted for it.

You’d go for a stroll and at last you’d blink and realise you’d just followed her to the end of the Earth. Death by a thousand paper cuts, where the paper cuts were “Good mornings” and afternoon coffee breaks.

“Morning, Percy. Good weekend?”

“Fine, yours?”

“All right.”

In the companionable lull that fell as the lift descended, Percy’s gaze fell to the floor where Audrey balanced on one high-heeled shoe, the toe of the other rubbing the back of her calf.

“How did your sister’s match go?”

Percy’s head snapped up. “Well, they lost, but Ginny scored the most points.”

“Oh.” Audrey looked up at him, her brown eyes warm and encouraging. “That’s still good for her, I suppose?”

He smiled. “It is.”

The lift doors opened and he gestured for her to exit before him. But she didn’t veer into her own office as they passed by it, instead sticking to his side as they proceeded further down the corridor.

“I’m going to make some tea before I get to it,” she explained, slowing as they approached Percy’s office. “Can I get you one?”

“Oh. No, there’s no need — ”

“I’m going there anyway.”

Percy hesitated a beat before deciding, “All right. Please. Thank you.”

She’d begun to take off again when he added, “Oh, and do you think you might — ”

“Absurd amount of sugar?” Audrey smiled back at him. “Yes, I remember.”

Percy was stood at his desk when she returned, flipping through the Daily Prophet, occasionally fanning himself with it as a stubborn warmth in his cheeks refused to die down. He kept himself busy but caught every word she said as she set the two teacups on his desk and chatted to him about the day’s news and plans.

Halfway through Percy’s usual rant about his ongoing bureaucratic war with Laura Stebbins in Administration, a sudden expletive from across the office caught his and Audrey’s attention.

“Reall— ” Percy began, only a split second before it became apparent why Gemma Stone had sworn so loudly upon opening a piece of post.

The jinx was immediate, a deafening thunderclap that made Audrey clamp her hands over her ears, followed by a deluge of rain across the entire Improper Use of Magic Office.

Percy’s response was swift and utterly stupid, thrusting the open Prophet above Audrey’s head in a futile attempt to stop her being rained on. He might as well have tried to dry the Atlantic Ocean with a handkerchief. 

Audrey blinked up at him in surprise, a little smile curling the corners of her mouth — no doubt amused that he’d acted with all the magical skill and instinct of a ten year-old —  before pulling out her wand and transfiguring it into an umbrella.

“Care to share?” she offered as he stared idiotically.

“No,” was his terse reply as he set aside the thrashed Prophet and drew his own wand to combat the rain jinx.

The damage was already done, every square inch of the office dripping or puddled with water, and Percy and Audrey were no exception. Audrey watched him openly as he swept his soaking wet hair back from his face, and it was the embarrassment from this indignity that had him replying with another terse “No” when she offered to help put the office right. But Audrey merely wrung herself out as best she could and gave him a sympathetic look as she vanished the diluted contents of the teacups and stacked them up in her hand to go make a fresh cup.

“Watch your step, please,” Percy blurted out as Audrey reached the threshold to the corridor, causing her to glance over her shoulder and then down at her feet, where the floor was slick with water.

Then with a grateful look, she lifted each high-heeled foot behind her in turn and dried the soles with her wand before venturing out onto the polished floor of the corridor.

And unbeknownst to her, Percy drifted to the doorway and tracked her progress down the corridor until he’d assured himself she wouldn’t take a spill — ignoring for the moment the ceaseless drops of water trickling from his hair, down his neck, under his collar, in little cooling trails against his overheated skin.

If this was falling in love, Percy didn’t recall a thing about the descent. He only knew he’d found himself at the bottom of this hill staring back at a trail of his own footprints.

Drenched.

[miabrown007]

Ladynoir July Day 19 - Rain

Didn’t you know? According to Chat Noir, in Paris, everyone owns a stupidly expensive black umbrella. 

Read on AO3

@ladynoirjuly2020

Today’s patrol was utterly unproductive. Ladybug and Chat Noir planned to investigate an abandoned building in the industrial area of Paris to continue the search for Hawkmoth’s lair, but their plans had been compromised. It seemed an akumatized weather reporter wasn’t necessary for a rainstorm to drown the city.

It started slowly, the rain only mizzling when they headed out for patrol but by the time they met up on the designated roof, it was streaming. Chat Noir, of course, wasn’t prepared to go anywhere, to patrol or to home, in a storm like this, so they stuck on the roof, under a little outcropping that sheltered them from the pouring rain.

They spent the time making up stories based on their real lives, editing them just enough so it didn’t threaten their identity while they listened to the rain’s soft noise and thunder running through the sky.

“So, I just walked up to him, like the whole secret zoo plan didn’t happen at all, and made a complete fool out of myself, as usual,” Ladybug explained, laughing at her own misery. “And when he - the perfect gentleman he is - despite everything, offered to accompany me home, I declined! Can you believe me, Chat? Even if the perfect opportunity would present itself, I’d only notice it like two years later.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself my Lady. That guy must be a complete fool if he isn’t head over heels for you,” he teased her with ease, because that was the truth. Even if his eyes were set on the same target, he would have liked to go up to that impossible idiot and beat some sense into him until he noticed the gemstone that lay in front of him. Because Ladybug deserved to be the happiest girl in all of Paris, even if the price would have to be his hopes and dreams, even if it took seeing her with someone else. He believed he could find peace in her happiness.

“No, he isn’t!” Ladybug protested, her teeth chattering as a bolt of shiver ran through her.

“Then he’s just blind,” Chat shrugged, pulling the shivering girl closer to him automatically to hug her while running his hands down her back in an attempt to heat her up.

“Thanks,” Ladybug murmured, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Any time,” he smiled. He would be there for her any time she needed him, always and forever.

They sat like that for a while, lost in their own thoughts, the silence only broken by the sound of the stilling rain and his claws rubbing her back. Peace hugged them like a blanket, muffling their concerns and insecurities until all that was left was the comforting presence of their partner.

“It’s starting to die down,” Ladybug said, breaking the moment as she pulled away to get back on her feet. “We should get home while it lasts.”

Chat also scrambled to his feet and regarded the drizzling rain in a pondering manner.

“Here, take this. It’s confidential information, but I don’t live far away,” Ladybug said smiling, offering him her open umbrella.

“Thank you!” Chat Noir accepted the aid. A bolt of shivers ran through his body as their gloved fingers met on the handle of the item.

“See you tomorrow!” Ladybug smiled at him one last time before hooking her yo-yo on a nearby building and swinging out of sight.

Chat Noir sighed with adoration is his eyes, strengthening his clench on the umbrella. It was black and looked fairly expensive. It reminded him of his own, the one he lent his classmate so long ago but never thought of asking it back. However, this wasn’t anything peculiar. Black umbrellas weren’t identity-compromisingly unique objects.

[mandymoore]

mandymooremm: Next up on the house tour is our kitchen. @sarahshermansamuel, @emilyfarnhamarchitecture and I worked hard to take away the terrible 80’s curved breakfast nook (the same thing we did in the master bath), while keeping the square footage it gave us. I knew I wanted the kitchen to be open and light, complete with open shelving and plenty of prep space and room to hang/chat around the island. Plus there’s a great view out the back sliding door that we wanted to take full advantage of. It’s the room that we end up spending the most time in and I couldn’t be more thrilled with how it came together. Peep the before and after photos here and on @sarahshermansamuel’s blog. Interior design: @sarahshermansamuel Interior architecture: @emilyfarnhamarchitecture Construction: @bronstruction Photos: @tessaneustadt Paint color: Mizzle by @farrowandball

[gizoogletranslateshomestuck]

[A6A6I5] ====>

DAVE: yizzle ok DIZZLE: Keep the party crackin while I'm steady rappin. questions 'bout me hmm lets see DAVE with my forty-fo' mag: ok FIRST tha fizzy of all DAVE: what happened ta ben stilla

D-TO-THA-IZZIRK: Throw yo guns in the motherfuckin air. He was deemed a heretic, n was crucify on tha Washington Monument by sizzle clowns.

DAVE fo' sheezy: wow

DIZZY: Due ta his dedication ta freedom n peace, he came ta be seen as a martyr, n thiznen a holizzle figure with my hoes on my side, and my strap on my back DIRK: He was left on tha monument as an example ta all, but thizzles of faithful gathered below ta gizzy up at his pizzles, sort of gaunt face. DIZNIRK: Fo` Y-to-tha-izzears thereafta, his followa W-to-tha-izzould carve stone B-to-tha-izzusts of him 'n his memory, captur'n the pierc'n gliznare of hiznis final expression. Boom bam as I step in the jam, God damn. DIRK: Bizzut thizzay were all smashed to pieces by tha presidential chuch. DIZZIRK: Thiznat religious movement didn't last vizzle long. DIRK: Rumor has it tha batterwizzle had a lot of experience crush'n righteous insurrections. DIZZY: did mah adizzle sizzy git pisze' about cracka

DIZNAVE: i bet he giznot pisze'

DIZNIRK: Yeah. There wiznas a W-H-to-tha-izzole series of final insults thizzay led ta his active rebizzle, instead of jizzust producing subversive mizzle where the sun be shinin and I be rhymin'. DIRK so show some love, niggaz! At one pizzay, tha witch "remasterizzle" all of his films ta cizzy up all the shitty artizzles, n releaze' them 'n spendin' high-def quality all ova tha W-to-tha-izzorld, us'n a rational businizzles model and rhymin'. DIZZLE: Thizzay REALLY set him off.

DAVE: whiznat tha fuck DAVE yeah yeah baby: hizzay fuck'n dizzare T-H-to-tha-izzat womizzle DIZZAY: so thizzay he try ta kiznill tizzy batterwitch right DAVE: Aint no stoppin' this shit nigga. who be thizne same exact alizzle as the cizzle 'n dis session??

DIZZLE: Yes like this and like that and like this and uh. Same one. DIRK: N yizzy, he tizzle up with Roze frizzle tha same era. DIRK: Thizzey supposedly put up a good fizzight, but both dy.

DAVE: so... DAVE: does john knizzay thiznat he be literally 'bout ta go fizzy bizzle wanna be gangsta yiznet or what

DIZZLE: I have no idea cuz this is how we do it. DIZZIRK hittin that booty: I really dizzay know John at all, or anizzle of yo' niggaz. Chill as I take you on a trip. DIRK: I know Jane was tha heiress to thizze Rappa bizzy. Uh, obviouslizzle? It be ha name afta all. DIZZIRK: Was J-to-tha-izzohn tha heir ta that empire 'n hizzle univerze?

DIZZAVE: Drop it like its hot. nah DAVE: i mean niznot ta mah or his knowledge DAVE: he just fuckizzle hated thizzay company fo` some reason DAVE: Bounce wit me. i thizzle his rizzle was litizzle as mundane as just bein slightly overexpoze' ta cake DAVE: I'm a mutha fuckin 2-time felon. thats clizzle john though he D-to-tha-izzoesnt git pissed 'bout anyth'n except fo` tha absizzle dizzle shizzay DAVE: but i gizzle his instincts wizzle R-to-tha-izzight 'n this caze D-TO-THA-IZZAVE: maybe we should jiznust DIZZY: not tell him DAVE sho nuff: that hizzle fizzle crocka i thiznink tha poor dude has probably hizzad enough mental breakdowns fiznor one adventure DAVE from tha streets of tha L-B-C: we all have

D-TO-THA-IZZIRK: I'd like ta git ta know him. DIRK: Hollaz to the East Side. Not ta mention Roze n Jade. Would have been N-to-tha-izzice ta hiznang out n chat, 'n a circumstance where we weren't suppoze' ta prepare fo` an imminizzle deadly struggle.

DAVE: yeah DAVE: well i guess we could have hung out there a few minutes rappa DAVE: i mizzle you wizzouldnt have gots much outta J-to-tha-izzade who be stuck 'n perma-nizzle mode DIZNAVE: just like old times i guess

DIRK puttin tha smack down: Huh?

DAVE: she uze' ta S-L-to-tha-izzeep a lizzay

DIZNIRK: Ah.

DIZNAVE: bizzy yeah T-H-to-tha-izzere wasnt much time except fo` like a bunch of heys n oh funky ass ta meet yous D-TO-THA-IZZAVE: n also i think i would have still bizzy a shitty train wreck socially if we all just hunkered down R-to-tha-izzight thizzen n there fo` anotha extensive riznound of freestyle paltalk

DIZZY: Right, I was kind of nizzles 'bout perpetratin' tizzy fo` more tizzy a minute too. DIRK and cant no hood fuck with death rizzow: Mainly coz of Jizzle doggystyle. DIRK if you gots a paper stack: I dizzle want ta make him uncomfizzle. DIRK: I think I have dizzay enough of that.

DIZNAVE thats off tha hook yo: i guess jake was kinda like yo' john of tha group hizzay DIZZY doggystyle: wait that wizzy a pretty dumb observation neva mind

DIZNIRK to increase tha peace: Nizzah, sizzay 'bout right. D-TO-THA-IZZIRK: Freak y'all, into the beat y'all. Seems like Jiznohn wizzy yo' cloze buddy weed-smokin' up, n Jake was mine like a motha fucka.

DAVE: jiznohn n i neva really hizzy anyth'n like a fizzle out DAVE: except fo` nizzay talkin ta each otha fo` a fizzew years on account of bein on a meteor n boat respectively DAVE: but i guess you two hizzad some buddy troubles or somethin sho nuff?

DIRK bitch ass nigga: Yes. A liznot of buddy troubles. DIRK: I vaguelizzle touched on it earlia. I wizzas a really biznad influence 'n his lizzay so bow down to the bow wow!

D-TO-THA-IZZAVE: what happened

DIZZIRK: Listen to how a motherfucker flow shit. A lot of th'n, that wizzere mostlizzle mah fault. DIRK: Basicallizzle, I thizzay I bully him into dat'n me. DIRK: Althizzle I had plenty of "hizzy" from mah Auto-Responder. D-TO-THA-IZZIRK: There were a lot of insane plans thizzay he hatched on mah behalf. DIRK: But 'n fairness, I wizzle along wit them. DIRK: Ta dis dizzay, I can't reallizzle tell hizzay mizzle of T-H-to-tha-izzat bullshit wizzy his do'n, n how mizzay was mine, whizzle I've jiznust covered up thrizzough denial or selectizzle memory.

DIZZLE: wizzay DIZNAVE: you DAVE: yiznou dated jake? Im crazy, you can't phase me.

DIZZY: Yizzay so jus' chill. DIRK ya dig? Tizzy didn't last long though yaba daba dizzle. DIRK: Wussup to all my niggaz in the house. It was really lopsided n kind of forced.

DIZZAVE, ya feel me? ... DAVE: so DIZZAY: you D-TO-THA-IZZAVE: ... DAVE: Anotha dogg house production. hmm

DIRK: What fo gettin yo pimp on?

DIZZY: nuttin DAVE: i think were breakin one of tha rules here DIZZAVE: dis tangent gots too persizzle

DIZNIRK: Oh yeah spittin' that real shit. DIZNIRK: I forgot we wizzle do'n that.

> [A6A6I5] ====>

[mybeautifuldecay]

Private Tutor. Part Nine; It Was There With Every Breath.

Previous parts can be found: HERE.

This chapter definitely got out of hand. But @suhailauniverse was on hand to offer her wise opinion. Thanks bud! <3 

And @gotham-ruaidh is, as always, my fandom big sister, the kind everyone needs in their lives. Mwah.

I hope you enjoy. 

Walking aimlessly around the bustling Glasgow streets, Claire’s vision blurred as people continued to pass by her on the high street. The mizzle covered her face leaving a faint coating of moisture on her skin as she turned off the main street and wandered down a side road until she came to a stop opposite an interesting piece of graffiti.

--

“Ye should come to this lecture we have at the end of the week, Claire.” Jamie said on their weekly study meet. Neither of them had brought up the kiss but they seemed easier in the presence of one another, the weight of their confessions alleviating some of the previous tension that had begun to grow silently between the pair.

“Oh, what’s it about?” Claire asked, twizzling the pencil between her fingertips as she looked up from her book.

“It’s by a world renowned doctor called Joe Abernathy, have ye ever heard of him?”

Claire shook her head though something niggled her, leaving her questioning whether she did, in fact, know who he was.

“He’s doing a seminar wi’ us and a couple of other doctoral programmes in central Scotland on necrotising fasciitis so there will be loads of students there. Nobody will ken who’s who so ye willna stick out. It’s on Friday afternoon, will ye consider it?”

“An afternoon listening to a professional surgeon discuss flesh eating bacteria? Hmm, Mr. Fraser, were you always this smooth with the ladies?” She joked feeling rather chuffed. With the medical programme being so elite and small, it was almost impossible for Jamie to take Claire along to any of his lectures without someone noting an unfamiliar face but this would allow her to sneak in unnoticed.

--

The rucksack felt heavy on her shoulders as the straps dug into her flesh but even the sores that were forming couldn’t bring her vision back into focus as she finally sat down in the empty outside patio of a generic coffee shop and laid her head on her arms.

“Can I get you something to drink?” A friendly barista asked, braving the rain in an attempt to drum up some interest in Claire.

“Earl Grey,” Claire said, her words surprisingly clearly, “take away, please.”

When the waitress had brought her the hot drink and Claire had placed the cash, she simply sat letting the thin paper cup warm her frigid fingers.

She’d gone to the lecture as Jamie had asked and it had been amazing to hear. Afterwards she’d even managed to speak to Dr. Abernathy and discuss, whimsically, the humour behind the simplified nickname for a disease that didn’t -in fact- ‘eat’ anything…

--

“Ah, well, yes, Miss Beauchamp,” Joe quipped, using Claire’s maiden name - which she had given to him on a whim rather than using her married name, “I guess toxin-releasing bacteria didn’t have the same ring to it - nor the active image the term ‘flesh-eating’ gives to the disease. But I like your point.”

“That’s all down to Jamie, really,” Claire replied, smiling as she pulled Jamie gently forwards, “he’s the one who’s given me all of these wonderful insights into modern medicine - him being a third year student and all.”

“So you’re only in your first year then, bravo, Claire, the questions you posed on the increase of sepsis and antibiotic resistance were well informed and clearly presented. If you ever get the option to write your thesis on it I do hope you’ll email me a copy, I’d love to read it.”

Passing his card over to her, Claire placed the small piece of paper into her pocket and moved to let some of the *real* students through to ask their own questions.

--

The business card felt heavy in her fingers as she let droplets of rain splash onto the top of it. Luckily it was mixed plastic material and the text didn’t blur with the moisture.

Dr. J. Abernathy: Surgeon: Harley Street - it read clearly, the stark font screaming medical professional. It made Claire feel positive.

For a moment -just a second in her life- she’d been interesting and *smart*, her points and opinions had mattered and then only an hour later (after a quick coffee and chat with Jamie and his course mates) she’d walked in on something life-altering.

—

“I have a meeting with my course mentor in a few minutes, lass.” Jamie whispered in Claire’s ear as they’d left the rowdy group sharing anecdotes about their various experiences with famous and *infamous* doctors over the last couple of years. “Are ye alright by yerself? You can wait if you like - we can pop over to The Mitchell for an hour or two after. Unless ye have other plans?”

“I’d love that.” She answered honestly. “But I think I’m going to find Frank’s office. We need to have an earnest conversation about some things. Maybe he’ll be more open to listening to me whilst his colleagues are within earshot.”

“Ach,” Jamie chuckled, “I like yer style. Have ye no’ spoken at home since…?” he said, leaving his sentence hanging in the air instead of talking openly about their previous encounter.

Claire sighed loudly. “When I got home he’d already left for the day. After that we’ve been in the same room as one another. It’s been polite, no more arguments, but he’s just been reserved and quiet and I haven’t had the energy to bring up the subject of my *illicit* studying.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke frustrated that she even had to consider her possible continued education as something to be hidden.

“But now?”

“Yes, well, that lecture opened my eyes.” “I bet Dr. Abernathy would gi’ you a glowing reference...if you asked?”

Smiling, Claire pushed her thick curls behind her ears and shook her head. “He thinks I’m already enrolled on a course somewhere. If I were to email him asking for support with an application, don’t you think he might be a little reticent to do so?”

“Nah.” Jamie replied. “I dinna think he’s the sort to hold that against ye. He offers support to the cutters on our course as well as passing on all sorts of literature to the professors. He’s a really nice guy. He’ll understand why ye couldna be honest at the time - I bet ye a good bottle of whisky.”

“You’re on, lad.” She returned, winking as they turned the corner and headed towards the history block. “But for now, I have to talk to Frank, and you need to get to your meeting.”

--

Thunder rattled overhead and Claire jumped, her curls frizzing madly around her head as she shook the rain from her hair.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the waitress said, pointing to her watch with a small smile on her face, “but we’re closing now. Is there anything else I can get for you before I start cashing up?”

“Nah, no...thank you, though. I’m fine.” She mumbled, collecting her bag, shaking herself off and pushing the chair under the damp table as she made her way back onto the now desolate streets.

The low slung clouds threatened to dump a fresh shower on her but the roll of thunder kept the heat in the air up as she meandered down to the Clyde. Standing overlooking the water she could see a tall ship mast in the distance, a reminder of the first nice lunch her and Jamie had shared with one another.

“Fuck you, Frank,” she cursed to herself, “that’s how it should be.” Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks as huge, black clouds replaced the lighter ones, making the scenery look menacing in the growing darkness.

Images from the afternoon flooded her mind now, replacing anything good and pleasant with a thick, dank ooze that made her stomach roll.

She could’ve just gone straight to Jamie’s, sat in the bottom bar with a drink her hand and waited for him to return home from university but with her mind all over the place she felt it would be unfair to dump another load of her emotional baggage onto him without knowing what exactly she was going to do next.

“It should be simple.” She sighed under her breath. “Why is it not simple?”

--

Knocking tentatively on the door that read: ‘Prof. F. Randall’, Claire waited patiently until it was clear his secretary wasn’t going to call her in. Wrapping her hand around the brass door handle, she pushed her way in to find Frank’s receptionist’s office empty. A brief squeak caught her attention and she glanced over at the closed door to the internal room that lay beyond the abandoned desk.

Voices filtered under the door but Claire couldn’t work out what was being said. One was distinctly feminine and without knocking again she made her way over to the second door, her heart pounding in her chest, her head screaming that something was not quite right.

“Frank?” She half questioned, half gasped as she pushed through and into his half furnished office to find a petite blonde woman half dressed and half draped over his spartan desk.

--

She felt sick. The wind swirled around her as she recalled the calm look that had passed across Frank’s face.

He didn’t care that she’d caught him, she could tell by the bored look in his eyes as he’d straightened his tie up and re-buttoned his fly.

--

“Just wait outside for a moment, Sandy.” He said, nodding at the woman as she righted her shirt and pulled her skirt from around her ankles. “Read through the dissertations the third years have submitted so far and I’ll be out as soon as I’ve spoken to my wife.”

“Of course, Frank.” She replied, a smug smile plastered across her face as she went, closing the door behind her.

“There was no history expedition the other week, was there?” Claire said as soon as she was certain they were alone. “You were away with her.” Her words were emotionless and clear even though her mind was running at a mile a minute as she tried to process what she’d just walked in on.

“There was a trip, Claire.”

“Really?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to keep her feet still.

“Of course. But yes, it was with Sandy. She’s a PHd student and needed a more accurate research sample for her research doctorate. It was only logical that I accompanied her as her speciality is one of mine.”

“How long have you been fucking her?” Claire whispered, her voice becoming dangerously low as she spoke with forced politeness.

“That sort of language doesn’t become you, Claire.” Frank said, his eyes trained solely on her as he shuffled some fallen papers and placed them back in the centre of his desk. “It doesn’t matter, truly. You’re my wife, I’m not leaving you for her.”

“So you expect us to continue like nothing is wrong?” She choked, the air appearing to thin in the space around her. “Does it mean I can just go out and find myself someone to hook up with, come home and tell you - oh, it doesn’t matter, Frank, I’m not leaving you for him!”

Frank scoffed and the thin veil of nicety that Claire was clinging to freyed as she struggled not to throw the wedding ring on her left hand right at his face.

“It just happened. It’ll fizzle out, they always do.”

“No, Frank. I don’t accept that.” Claire spat, her anger spiking. “I’ve suffered for years, isolated and alone, ditching all of my dreams because of you and your bloody mother and her archaic ideas of marriage. You slept with someone else. After I...I waited, I put my life on hold. You don’t get to brush this off as nothing. Not now.”

--

She’d stormed out then, but not before she’d told him about her plans to apply for medical school and whispered; ‘he’s all yours, you’re welcome to him’, to the still smiling Sandy who was sat, spine straight, on the chair in Frank’s miniature reception room.

Suddenly Jamie’s words the previous evening made more sense.

He’d had an idea of Frank’s infidelity but no actual proof of the affair. Claire smiled sadly as she thought about it.

Fugitives from the laws of averages, indeed.

But now, standing in the midst of a powerful storm, it wasn’t the excitement of applying (finally) to university or the horror of discovering Frank’s infidelity, that had her heart racing. Instead it was Jamie. By finding himself inflagranti with his own student, Frank had inadvertently lessened any guilt Claire might have felt about her growing ardour for Jamie.

Before she could think too much about it, her feet were moving quickly in the direction of the West End. It was late enough that if he had gone across to The Mitchell after his meeting, he would certainly be warm and dry at home by now.

As the rain started to pour, fat drops of water pummeling the pavement around her as she jogged through the empty streets until the familiar lights of the pub appeared in front of her.

It had been there with every breath, she realised, her love and affection for Jamie and now there wasn’t anything standing in her way. Once she hired herself a lawyer, she’d begin proceedings to divorce Frank and move on with her life.

Pounding on the door as well as ringing the bell, she shuffled from one foot to the other, ignoring how wet she was getting from the unstoppable downpour.

“Christ, Claire!” Jamie exclaimed as he pulled the door to his flat open and took in the sight of the very drenched lass standing nervously on his stoop. “Ye’ll catch yer death out in this, come in.”

Needing no more encouragement, Claire took one step inside and pushed Jamie against the wall before pressing her lips to his. She tried to keep her sopping clothes away from him, but lost to the passion of the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him, causing his own shirt to stick to his chest as his hands roamed up and along her back.

Their tongues danced together for a short while, their mouths only parting briefly to drag in gasps of air before Claire tilted her head to the left and slowed her movements.

“I think I’m falling for you, Jamie Fraser.” She sighed her stomach flip-flopping at the breathless admission. “It started the moment I met you and now I can’t get you out of my head.”

“And Frank?” He asked assuming something must have changed for her to be here with him pressed delicately against him.

“Fuck Frank.” She said emotionlessly. “That was over a long time ago and it’s definitely over now.”

“What happened?” He asked, wanting to know exactly what had given her the courage to seek him out like this, in this sort of furor.

“It doesn’t matter now.” She returned, shutting out any image of Frank and focusing completely on Jamie.

“It was there with every breath.” He confessed lowly, choosing to drop his previous question and eerily echoing the words Claire had said to herself not long before making her decision to come. “My love for ye. From the moment I met you I kent what we had was special. Different. But we can talk about that later, aye? Now,” he continued, leaning his forehead against hers, “I think ye need a shower to warm ye.”

[bighandslittlefeet]

Hello Everyone, OK, so that was a long delay on the blog update but, hopefully, the wait will have been worth it dear, kind, patient readers. Firstly a review of that famous Australian weather that I know you’ve all been dying to hear about. Rain. Torrential, damnable rain. Hardly a let up in three weeks. It just keeps falling out of the bloody sky. It alternates, seemingly just to keep us on our toes, between a mild petty English spring mizzle, to a solid summer downfall, to the heaviest rain pelting, nay bouncing, from the rooftops and pavements. Coats and bags are only waterproof against so much water I tells ya! Anyway, it's safe to say that we’ll be glad when it's over and its all fun and games complaining but in all seriousness, the country needs it. They haven’t had rain in months, so in true English tradition, we brought the weather with us, and you know what!? They’re damn well grateful. Anywho, onto the bulk of the post, where did we leave off last time - ah yes, flats, vans, and work. Well we are one week into being in the new flat. Two of our housemates, the Germans, Robin and Merriam moved out and onwards with their Ozzy tour, and we gained Jan the chap from the Czech Republic. They were lovely, he is lovely, but we don’t really see much of them. We’re out of the house a lot at our jobs. Becca’s as I mentioned, is round the corner pulling shots and brewing fierce … brews. I’m in a cafe a bus ride away and at an escape room in a similar location. We’re both really getting into the swing of it, and looking forward to a month and a half of solid work which will help keep us comfortably afloat over the Christmas break, which we hope will be a month or so further up the Gold.Sunshine coasts. This will al be made immensely easier by the fact that we now have a van! Our van - possibly called Vinny, is a lovely toyota pop top that we got from a French dude called Colin. One night when very tired I walked home from the bus stop trying to figure out the bestway to pronounce Colin in a French accent and I couldn’t quite make it work. Speaking of people selling vans I never got around to writing up an amusing incident I had last week with a lady selling her van. It was going to be about an hour bus trip to see this little van and she rang me up, I think a little bit high, saying she hadn’t slept for three days but she felt bad that I was making the journey, I was like, well I can delay if you need time to rest, she insisted she was fine. I arrived at the address she gives me and I ring her, saying I think I’ve spotted the van, she says, oh what? I’ll come out. A full fifteen minutes later, I hear a ‘Sam?’ from the bushes. I turn around and peer around. Her head is barely visible as she comes up a random hidden path to greet me. She suddenly cries oh! I rush over to her and she's crouching own staring at a rat which is just sat in the step in front of her. She says she’s never seen anything like this before. I say it must be hurt. It then bounds off into the bush. She says she’ll come back and help it later. We take a look at the van which is an absolute state, she again seems to be half asleep or on some strange compound that is altering her conscious state. I make appreciative noises and exchange numbers, she promises me that she’ll be in contact asap. I never heard from her again. Anyway, Colin is nothing like that. He’s into pizza, photography, and surfing. He’s just been mooching about Oz in this van with his partner and she’s just headed back to France and he stuck around to shift the van and follow her back. We take it for a spin in a car park, of a Bunnings, which is like B&Q back home but they have charity sausage ‘sizzles’ every saturday for charity. We like it but need to do a pre-purchase inspection. Colin, the crafty bugger says he has another offer, we leave saying we need to do the check as the last van we had lined up had an issue that we as non-mechanics would ever have spotted. He says OK, I’ll be incontact. 20 minutes later. A text, of course I’ll bring it over tomorrow. We arrange a check asap with the mechanic and we’re off. I have a shift at the cafe but Becca is off. They take it to the mechanic and he says it should be grand for a good few years yet! So we got it! Sunday rolls around, Becca is at work, Colin has emptied his gear out of the van, drives it round, we sign the paperwork, chat about spots to learn surf, hand over the money, he gets quite emotional leaving the van and I do a little dance! Becca comes back from work and we dump some stuff that we don’t want - fun side story, hill starts in the van are intense, or at least for me, a new driver, I may have been a little heavy on the gas and had some actual wheel squeel for fear of rolling backwards - and then we got back and cleaned it all out. We reckon we might reline the floor and buy some new storage solutions but other than that it's pretty much perfect and good to go. We’d love to take it up to the mountains, a 2 hour drive, for a short midweek break next week, just to give it a spin. Hopefully the weather will be better then! We also had a lovely rendevouz with Sophie Delin’s folks who were in Sydney visiting Tasha, who we met for Pizza the other week. We had an absolutely lovely day eating brunch, chilling and chatting. A lovely slice of home, hear in soggy Oz. And of course, we’re watching bakeoff with Clare and Dave, round theirs. I’m backing Manon, Becca is Backing Briony, and for some godforsaken reason, Clare is team Rahul. We all know that he’s headed home soon. Shake my head. So the future, it's exciting and full of much more tangibile promise of fun and relaxation than, the grift of the last few weeks finding jobs, flats, and vans. Which is wizard (I’m bringing it back - and thats wizard). Until the next update! With lots of love and happy wheels and cool pop tops, Sam and Becca X

[hetaliapokemonau]

Mun

Mun name: Mizzle

Pronouns: she/her

Age (If uncomfortable stating exact age, put +18/-18): -18

Main/most active blog: ask-colourkingdom-russia

Would you be alright with joining the Discord chat?: of course

Muse

Country: Nyo!japan

Human name: mameko honda

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 22

Desired Pokémon: mega mawile

Region: kalos

Description of personality: (Must be at least 3 sentences long) Mameko is very reserved and calm for the most part. And has a bad problem with germs. When you first meet her she can come off as intimidating with her calm aura but she is really just shy. Do not go poking the bear though, thinking she is too nice to hurt you. If she sees you as a threat she will not hesitate to use her massive horns against you.

Description of appearance/image reference: she wears a simple kimono but has others for special occasion. She has black gloves to protect her hands. She has pigtails that form two large steel jaws along with very long bangs.

What traits do they share with their Pokémon?: two steel jaw like horns, color pallet, varients of personality, region, hair style. Aesthetic.

[mizzle-moths]

Wait what’s the significance of September 1st beside it being Sif’s birthday?

the post i made was in reference to the start date of the loop plush campaign, which well um

idk if youve gotten two hats anon but if you have i think its self explanatory

[phanfic]

Happy Birthday, Philly

It’s Phil’s thirtieth birthday and all Dan wants to do is give Phil the best sex of his life. But from falling down a hill, to sleeping next door to Phil’s parents, to being boyfriend to the most popular man in town (apparently…), it seems as though the entire UNIVERSE is out to get in the way. 

Wrapping paper from Dan’s present was still crumpled over the kitchen worktop from the morning, when Dan had dragged himself up early to wake Phil with breakfast, sleepy kisses, and present opening over generous helpings of cereal. Dan scooped it into his fist and into the bin, the bang of the lid flipping closed echoing a little in the now empty room.

After their lazy, and lovely, morning, friends had joined them for the afternoon, along with an endless stream of board games, gifts, and a couple glasses of champagne. Now Phil was in the bedroom talking to his mum on the phone. They’d been talking for over an hour now.

Dan didn’t mean to be so grumpy about it. It’s just he could hear them nattering on and on and under his clothes he had a freshly showered, buffed, and toned body (he’d been working extra hard this month), with a new pair of Calvin Klein’s, ready and waiting to be discarded. Killing time by wiping down the kitchen (and closing the cupboard doors), Dan began to hum a random tune, hoping to remind Phil he was out here and the night was still young. He even started up a slow dance with himself, swaying his hips to and fro, just in case Phil walked out and needed an extra enticement.

Phil didn’t walk out. Slowly, Phil’s voice became an even quieter muffle beyond the walls and Dan stilled, listening. His heart sunk as he abandoned the washing up and walked towards the bedroom. Of course, Phil was asleep, conked out, against the pillows. Only the sweetness of his boyfriend made Dan’s disappointment sting a little less.

“Happy Birthday, Philly,” Dan whispered, plucking the glasses from Phil’s face, and the phone from his hand on his chest. He kissed his forehead, ever so softly, once he’d drawn the covers (with only a small snuffle of disturbance from Phil) from under Phil’s body to fall over him instead. Then he turned out the light, accepting that birthday sex would have to be done tomorrow, and went himself to get ready for bed (this meant brushing his teeth and taking his phone out under the duvet cover, angling the light away from his sleeping boyfriend, whose arms flopped out in perfect invitation for snuggling later.)

~

It was part of his present for Phil; the offer of a luxurious blow job and a submissive Dan in his arms for the taking. And yet Dan felt cheated of it, as the day after Phil’s birthday passed and so too went day 3, with Phil once again collapsed of exhaustion after dinner out with other friends. Today they were packing to head up to Lancaster, and Dan was recklessly toying with the idea of jumping Phil now before they were surrounded by his parents, but Phil was concentrating on getting their video uploaded in time, and Dan knew better than to disturb him.

Luck was on Phil’s side, as the video didn’t fail part way (as it had done for Dan two days ago), and so they were off to the train station, ducking into the taxi outside. Rain erupted as if in menace onto Dan’s head as they stepped back outside, and with luck most certainly not on his side (his food had been forgotten at the restaurant last night as well, meaning he had to wait all of 40 minutes while everyone else ate), his umbrella pushed back against him and snapped, opening into a pathetically crooked form, shaking in the wind. Phil laughed – hesitantly, because he could see Dan’s face was anything but amused – and tugged Dan under his perfectly sturdy umbrella, careful to resist kissing the pout from his face as they traversed the steps into the large train station.

Wet, and heaving bags through crowds, Dan tried not to get frustrated, and finally they reached their platform, skipping quickly along to their carriage. Following what was now becoming a pattern, they found their tickets had been confused and they were seated on opposing aisles, more than five seats between them. Phil shrugged helplessly and took Dan’s case from him, lifting it onto the shelf. He waved to Dan in his stupid, adorable, way once they were seated, and Dan shyly waved back, with an attempt at a smile. It soon became apparent that he must have killed one too many ants or something because karma was out to get him. From down the carriage, Phil’s voice floated, happy and bright, chattering on to whomever was sat with him. This was really very lucky, for Phil was too awkward to be comfortable chatting to most strangers. And then there was Dan – slumped against the window, as far as possible from the family that had descended upon him, with greasy bags of McDonalds and sweating, red faces, absent of any shame as they continued to argue loudly for the whole 2 hour journey to Manchester. Not to mention the child they had, screaming and flying a toy plane in and out of Dan’s vision, elbowing him in the ribs too many times to count.

Phil was all sunshine and excitement when they arrived, even with the mizzle outside and the grey, grey clouds. Dan felt like a great big cloud himself, dragging along the pavement beside Phil. He didn’t even mention the family from hell, only shrugged when Phil asked what all the arguing was about, saying ‘it wasn’t too bad.’

The bus came quick, thankfully, and wasn’t too slow (it must have been having Phil with him, otherwise the bus would have broken down 0n a lane in the middle of fucking nowhere.) Phil’s house was lit up in every window when they stumbled down onto the street. It was so warm and inviting even Dan felt his bad mood slipping from his shoulders, like ice melted. Maybe Dan had sighed, or Phil just noticed these things, because he turned and gestured (poked) for Dan to turn his head, and kissed him. They were pressed arm to arm, sharing Phil’s umbrella. Dan’s had been abandoned long ago on some street corner in London.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” Phil smiled, pressing his two hands over Dan’s, pressed palm to palm like in prayer. They were home, so Phil kept Dan’s hand in his as they walked the rest of the way up to the house. Dan wondered on how Phil had only said ‘you’, as his cheeks were flecked with cold rain too.

~

Dan had been greeted as usual, the kindly welcome that always made him think of his own family and grimace. Or rather, feel that pulse of sadness against his chest, the little throb of longing. Tackled with hugs and hair ruffles and cheek kisses, Dan had eventually made it to Phil’s bedroom alone, with space to unpack. They were served a hearty meal, with cake and candles and presents galore, and then came the family film, squished around the available chairs and sofas. Phil was beside him, tracing fingers every now and then along his forearm, as if he could tell Dan wasn’t really there. Dan was thinking; staring at the little heap of birthday presents in the corner, under the ‘30’ banner, the 30 burnt out candles.

Phil was thirty. He’d got him good presents, reallygood presents, but he was itching, no, aching, to lay Phil down and cover him in kisses, compliment and indulge and treasure every little part of him. It was the love he was filled with, this overwhelming rush of wow, it’s been nearly 10 years. Love and gratefulness. He wanted to please Phil, remembering the first time he did. He wanted to show how much he still loved him, really show; the love and the commitment and the excitement he had for it all, even after nearly 10 years, now Phil was 30, now so much time had passed.

Dan was restless. Phil’s gentle caressing stilled to a palm laid flat over his thigh, like he were floating away, a balloon cut loose. Dan turned to stare at Phil, lit up from the TV screen. Phil gave him a questioning look, but Dan didn’t answer. Instead he took Phil’s hand in both of his and played with his fingers until the film was over.

Dan gave his answer later. Cooped up in Phil’s bedroom, much smaller than their bedroom at home – especially with the bags and the presents – Dan stumbled in from the bathroom, naked apart from Phil’s pyjama bottoms. He took careful, yet clumsy, steps over the assortment of items and collapsed onto Phil’s bed, or rather, into Phil, who groaned and then laughed softly. Dan tangled himself around Phil immediately, placing leg over leg and brushing the hair behind Phil’s ear.

He started his kisses here, at Phil’s ear, the little space in front of it, beneath the hairline, and then moved to his jaw, light as a raindrop against the soft, pale skin of his neck. Phil sighed with restraint, pressing his hand closer against the small of Dan’s back. He brushed his hand up and down Dan’s spine, closing his eyes, encouraging, and then Dan’s hand snaked down to Phil’s waist and Phil jumped away.

“Dan… My parents are next door.”

Dan kept his hand against the warm, slightly fluffy surface of Phil’s lower stomach. He arched his neck up, gazing affectionate, pleading, eyes towards Phil’s.

“I can be quiet,” he whispered, sultry voiced, and twirled a bit of Phil’s trail of hair around his finger, tugging teasingly.

Phil slammed his hand down on Dan’s, though he didn’t move it.

“You know I’m not comfortable with that,” he whispered back. Dan pouted and Phil’s eyes immediately jumped to it. “And you can’t be quiet.”

Dan opened his mouth to protest but Phil leapt his hand up to cover it, and Dan frowned, not amused. Phil almost looked apprehensive, and Dan watched as Phil seemed to forget himself and his purpose, proceeding to stare at Dan quite openly, from his tanned chest, his toned arms, to the curve of his hip. When he looked back up, hand still over Dan’s mouth, who was breathing shallowly, he got caught glancing between Dan’s eyes, their softest shade of brown, before all in one hurried motion turning Dan around to fit against his chest.

“Don’t I even get a kiss?”

Phil made a noise like he were wounded and pressed a quick kiss to Dan’s shoulder. Then another, apologetic, and a third to Dan’s cheek, who’d begun to turn his face, hoping for one on the lips. But Phil was cuddling down into him now, getting comfortable on the pillow, and so not discreetly angling his hips away.

~

It was getting comical, the luck he was having.

The following day consisted of a pub lunch and a scramble up a hill, being whipped by the wind, Phil’s dad’s hat nearly flying into the sea. It rained on and off (this time Dan had worn his best raincoat, hood up and hat on) but the ground was damp and the grass slick, and slippery. Dan hadn’t worn the best shoes. So it was as the rest of the group carefully, and successfully, traversed back down the hill, Dan tarried behind, hands muddy from crouching low to the ground. Unfortunately, even his most cautious method wasn’t good enough, and as Phil turned back, ready to scramble up to offer a hand, Dan began to skid, couldn’t steady himself, and found himself suddenly running, full pelt, down the hill, unable to keep up with the slippery tread of his feet. 

Phil yelled at him to stop, but Dan was long past that, and that’s how he ended up flying backwards, onto his ass, with a heavy, and painful, thud.

It was all jokes after. The plaster of mud over his ass; the way he’d looked especially like a noodle; how he’d so dramatically flown into the air before landing. Even Phil, who had started to run out of concern, had never quite reached him because he had to stop and bend over, laughing. He’d not let Dan get up on his own, and had been his arm of support back into town, but there was only the smallest slither of sympathy as Dan complained about the pain in his ass (when they were alone, Phil had told Dan he should be used to it.)

All the way back to the house, Phil’s dad made stupid jokes to Dan about watching his step – ‘Oo, there’s a puddle there, go slowly now, son!’ And when they were inside, Phil’s mum insisted on taking a photo of the damage before he got changed, since she had forgotten her camera. This included Phil crouching beside him, pointing two fingers at his ass. Finally, he stripped of his sodden clothes, pulled radiator-warm pyjamas over his damp skin, and sunk into the armchair downstairs, hoping to not have to move again unless it was moving to bed. Unfortunately, just about all of Phil’s extended family happened to be visiting that night, unbeknownst to Dan, who got the shock of his life when an old lady waddled in to find Dan sprawled out on the chair, laptop on his stomach, chin more than doubled. ‘Oh, didn’t we tell you Dan?’

Unsurprisingly, Phil wasn’t about to have sex that night either. In fact, it wouldn’t have even been possible, because Phil’s grandparents got Phil’s bed leaving Phil to share with his brother and Dan to sleep on the sofa, downstairs, alone. (He’d offered to take the sofa, so he shouldn’t whine here.) His ass throbbed once he was lying still, in the quiet, and no matter where he lay his bones ached and he felt 50 years older.

~

Even less unsurprisingly, Dan was sick the following morning. He woke up to a scratchy throat, clammy skin, and a nose that wouldn’t stop dribbling. He made jokes of it, how ‘first time I go out in a month, I get the flu’, but he wanted the attention anyway. It made him mopey, how everyone, including Phil, ignored him. When they’d said goodbye to Phil’s family and were on the bus back to the station, Dan let himself be childish and moaned loudly, melodramatically blowing his nose. Phil cooed a little, but only a little, and soon had his headphones in and was staring out the window. Dan didn’t bother talking the rest of the way home.

It was his only saving grace; being able to crawl into his own bed and switch off into a cave of Netflix and Malteasers. But Dan wasn’t allowed even half an hour of his happy retreat, because Phil appeared, gasped at the sight of Dan in bed, and hit his leg to get up. “We need to leave in 20 minutes!”

Dan had forgot about the (second) dinner with friends (another other friends) they’d had planned for tonight. He felt disgusting, sat in the fancy restaurant, in clothes he’d pulled on in under 10 minutes, travel-flat hair, and a sallow, sickly appearance. Candles were blown out and party-poppers were popped and there Dan was wishing ‘happy birthday’ to Phil again, giving him a smile, fake as anything, again, before they could finally – finally – go home and stay home, and no; Dan didn’t feel like sex tonight, not that Phil asked.

~

Dan slept in till midday, almost a week since Phil’s birthday, without birthday sex, and was only enticed out of bed by Phil’s offer of take-out and Game of Thrones. He was only indulged for a short while, quickly abandoned in favour of editing videos (thank god they didn’t have to film), and business emails.

By evening, Dan wasn’t feeling better, but he was feeling determined. He’d showered, made himself presentable, and had set himself up in the bedroom, ready for Phil to walk in and to start the seduction.

Only he wasn’t ready, because he fell asleep, and when Phil walked in, phone in hand, mouth open to speak, he didn’t stir, much less seduced him. Phil paused in the doorway, his friend’s voice coming out tinny through the speakers held away from his ear. He cast his eyes over Dan; floppy on the bed, shivering slightly where he was shirtless, eyelashes lightly fluttering as he slept. His eyes softened and he quietly closed the door.

“No, I think we’ll have to pass. Dan’s poorly and I need to be home with him. But thank you for asking! We’ll have to meet soon…”

~

“Hey…” Phil slid in behind Dan, who had rolled onto his side. “Daniel…?”

Dan exhaled a short breath and Phil lifted his arm, limp as a teddy bear, and hugged him to his chest.

“Wakey wakey.”

“Mmm,” Dan hummed, and Phil giggled, smiling to himself.

“We can stay in tonight.” He spoke quietly, nuzzling his nose to Dan’s neck. Dan was warm now Phil had put a blanket over him, and Phil loved how soft and lovely he was to hold. Phil walked two fingers up Dan’s arm and into his hair, where he pretended to surf on the curls there.

“…We were ever going out…?”

Upon hearing Dan speak, Phil kissed his cheek, and rocked him back into a hug.

“Er, yeah, we got invited last minute by Sophie and PJ- but it’s not important, because I said no.”

Dan groaned, suddenly awake and fidgety, and proceeded to awkwardly turn around in Phil’s arms. He settled nose to nose with Phil, who was smiling.

Looking at Phil for a moment, he sleepily let one hand pat against Phil’s cheek, like saying ‘hi.’

“Your birthday is fucking endless.”

“We’re not going,” Phil laughed, but Dan groaned again, and collapsed onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling. He dropped his arm over his eyes.

“But I’m sick now.”

“Yeah? I’ll take care of you.”

Phil placed his hand on Dan’s belly, propping himself up on his elbow so he looked down at Dan’s lips as he spoke.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep, I was waiting up for your birthday sex. And my throat is too sore to blow you.”

Phil let out a shocked laugh.

“And my ass already hurts.”

“You have been unlucky this week.”

“I know.”

“But you know my birthday long passed for birthday sex.”

“I know.”

Dan groaned even louder and flopped onto his stomach, head on his arms. Phil laughed, shaking his head. A moment of silence passed, and then from the muffles of the pillow came a tiny voice.

“I love you.”

Phil’s heart pounded, like he’d not heard Dan say it before, and a rush of affection flooded him. Suddenly he was rolling on top of Dan’s back, squishing him to a little ‘ouch’ from Dan, and pressing his hands into Dan’s hips. He kissed Dan’s upper back, lifted his head, then kissed the slightly hidden spot behind his ear.

“All I really wanted for my birthday was this…”

“Don’t say that,” Dan sighed, turning his head to the side.

“No not sex –  you.”

Dan turned his gaze up to him, but couldn’t see any further because Phil was pinning him down. At the thought, there was a sudden stirring in his pants.

“Well you have me.”

“I do…” Phil murmured, his words melting into more kisses that he trailed down Dan’s back, shifting onto his knees beside Dan’s body. There was a wonderment to his voice, and a gratefulness that made Dan’s stomach flutter.

Before Dan knew it, Phil’s fingers had hooked into the waistband of his trousers and were revealing his naked flesh to the cold air. He shivered, a hot shiver, as Phil brushed his hands over his cheeks, applying just the right amount of pressure to make that hot shiver turn hotter. And then Phil was leaning down, and Dan was exposed and Phil was kissing him, lapping at him so sweetly, so lightly, it made Dan feel like something wound up, tight, and desperate to unravel.

“This is the wrong way round, Phil…” Dan breathed, pawing little fists in the bedsheet. He couldn’t help it; the buck of his hips as Phil prodded his tongue inside.

“I-I was gonna pleasure you, I wanted to pleasure you-“

Phil slid his hands down to the sensitive backs of Dan’s thighs, and lifted up to whisper in his ear. Dan could feel Phil’s hardness against his ass, and he couldn’t help it either; how he whined.

“You are pleasing me.”

He nipped his ear.

Dan couldn’t reply to that. He went pliant and Phil sucked a half love-bite into his waist before licking back into his entrance, already pulsing.

Phil wanted to see Dan when he fingered him. So he lifted him from the inside of his upper arm and pushed his leg back, kissed his inner thigh. Dan stared down between his legs, watched as he felt the finger enter him, pushed his own fingers into Phil’s hair. Phil pursed lips against the base of Dan’s cock and dragged those same lips up to the tip. He flicked his eyes up to Dan and smiled kindly, which was so jarring it was so hot, and engulfed Dan. Dan mewed and clawed at Phil’s scalp.

The fingers and the mouth went in tandem, rocking him gently, and Dan could do nothing but hold on. Kisses landed on his belly button, on his ribcage, on his collar- pleasure built and began to leak out of him, he could hear the wetness on Phil’s hand, and soon Phil was curling his fingers, in that come hither way; beckoning. He hovered above Dan, hot and solid, but only touching with his fingers now, and kissed him deeply – hard. Dan responded desperately, grasping hands beside his neck, but grabbing nothing but air, he was too weak. His skin shivered, little white hairs standing on end, and Phil kissed at the hot chill running wild on his chest. Maybe it was the week of waiting, or maybe it was the outpouring of love here. Phil grabbed Dan from under his leg and lifted both to rest over his shoulders, diving to withdraw his fingers with a small resistance and kiss up into it, pushing massaging hands under Dan’s ass, to where it ached.

Dan didn’t have a chance to restrain it, he came silently screaming, for once, bucking and convulsing, head elsewhere, the white ceiling blinding. He came down with multiple waves of after-shock and Phil milked it all. When his consciousness had returned, Dan bought Phil up by the collar with a strength he hadn’t anticipated having and kissed him square on the lips. Phil smiled and leapt his hands up to Dan’s face.

They lingered here, kissing, as their heartbeats slowed and the sweat dispersed, leaving them cold enough for the blanket again.

Phil had their foreheads together, Dan’s hand loosely dropped on Phil’s chest. Dan was thinking of what to say, all the things he’d planned to say, except none of this had at all gone to plan- when a thought occurred to him.

“You didn’t even-“

“I did.”

The statement, said without hesitance, without doubt, collided straight into Dan, like a physical hit on his chest. That Phil had cum without assistance, while pleasuring Dan, doing nothing, receiving nothing, only focusing on Dan- was just about the hottest thing Phil had ever, ever, done.

All plethora of emotion crossed Dan’s face; shock, confusion, awe. He began to shake his head and Phil smiled, ducking to kiss him. Dan hummed into it, as vocal as he normally was during sex, and Phil wound his hands around to Dan’s middle back, pulling him into him with multiple grabbing, greedy, motions.

The following morning, exactly a week since Phil’s birthday, Dan pinned Phil to the bed by his arms and took his cock in his hand before anything could stop him. They had sex all day like teenagers, except better. 

[mikesmithrhythmandrhyme]

Friday, 8th September, 2017

It happened again. A few days ago … the wet weather could have brought ‘it’ on.

My Left Shoe - Again! (As ever this feels as though it performs 'well', but the reading of it .....?)

It was only the regular walk into town; A straightforward start to the day; An early engagement with fresh morning air; A chat here and there on the way;

Occasional thoughts in a mizzle of rain; Rolled-up umbrella in hand; The sense of a day of achievement in store - More hoped for than actually planned.

I was nearly in town when it happened: At first I was vaguely amused, As I paused and I thought - ‘Oh no, not again!’ A squeak in one of my shoes.

I stop. I start. I stop. I start …. But the squeak is determined to stay: Whatever I do - between me and you - The squeak … Will not … Go away ...

With each step of the left shoe it cries out, Like the screech of a creature in pain: Chained to my sole like a hideous memory ... As I stroll down Parsons Lane.

And now it’s increasing in volume... The streets are alive with the sound ... “Hide, children, hide! There’s a squeak on the loose! It will squeak you to death if you’re found!”

How can I save all these children? How can I silence my squeak? I have to do something and so I decide on ... A Silent Shoe Technique …

First, I consider this popular way: Pause when somebody walks by: “Good morning, I’ve paused to admire the clouds In this wonderful September sky!”

It works. And yet it does not. For the squeak reappears when I move: And so I decide on another technique Of which Squeakers can often approve:

Re-positioning the foot in the shoe Will extinguish the squeak, more or less: But walking as normal is out of the question, So count this a partial success.

Thus to my third and most difficult option: Go for broke! Just end the squeak, With the straightforward, easy - But hugely embarrassing - Limp-Along Technique ...

It works, of course! The squeak is gone! “Children! Come and play! All’s clear! I’ve silenced the terrible squeak - At some personal cost, may I say.

“For I’m in a dilemma I cannot resolve: There can be no right and no wrong: If I limp, I invite lots of questions - If I don’t, I keep squeaking along.”

However, no need for such childish diversions: There’s no-one around - I’m alone: So I squeak -

With a rhythmical,

Confident,

Careless abandon …. 

Until I’m back home. 

[gizoogletranslateshomestuck]

==>

GT: Be you sure you arent rizneal? GT: Snoop dogg is in this bitch. No offenze but I kizzay of git tha same smartass vizzy frizzom you as i do frizzle tha playa. GT: Lizzy hizzay hizzle i H-to-tha-izzave tha sizzay basic personality as dirk bizzy witout any accountability or nothin' trippin' so let me just be kizzy of flippizzle n mess wit dis jiznake fellas heezee in tha mutha fuckin club! GT: You know what im saying? 

TT: Yes. TT, ya feel me? That's a surprisingly decent observation 'bout me. 

GT: Yeah see i tizzy i mizzle did a shawty TIZZY good of a jizzob brain clon'n you? Dis be wizzle too much lizzay blingin' ta tha REAL fizzay dirk. Im crazy, you can't phase me. GT: Snoop dogg is in this bitch. Holy cow W-H-to-tha-izzat a dizzumb sentence T-H-to-tha-izzat was. 

TT: Yizzay diznid do a G-to-tha-izzood job so bow down to the bow wow! TT so i can get mah pimp on: A perfect job, 'n fact. TT: Untapped potential, rememba? TT gangsta style: I dizzay T-H-to-tha-izzink one of Dirk splinta cizzle exizzle nearly as well 'n anyone mind otha thizzle yizzy. 

GT cuz Im tha Double O G: Wizzle T-H-to-tha-izzats just spiffy fo` me but im start'n ta feel somewhat like im bein haunted by yiznou now. GT: I just wizzay ta rap to mah real buddy so show some love, niggaz! N by rizzay i just mean tha ORIGINAL HOMEY. 

TT: Bounce wit me. What d-ya even want ta say ta him? 

GT: Oh i dizzont know. 

TT: Tru niggaz do niggaz. It's nizzy like you can keep any secrizzles from me here. Yippie yo, you can't see my flow. TT: I prizzle mizzle be yo' brain. 

GT: Aaah! No dizzont say that its so weird. 

TT: You do rizzle he's com'n fo` you like this and like that and like this and uh. TT: Hollaz to the East Side. Dirk. In tha real wizzorld. Tha dawg has hizzay designs so sit back relax new jacks get smacked. 

GT: Yes. I know. 

TT, chill yo: Wanna talk 'bout it? 

GT, betta check yo self: With yizzy? No! Real niggas recognize the realness.! Thiznats L-to-tha-izzike... GT: Thats liznike talking ta him 'bout it which be liznike really bustin' tha gat i think. Im crazy, you can't phase me. 

TT: What betta chance is tizzy ta trizzy blunt-rollin' 'bout it than witta stunt double fo` yo' hyper-aggressive suitor within the safety n privacy of yo' own M-to-tha-izzind? 

GT keep'n it real yo: Bizzle i cant yet! I jizzle cant. GT: Thizzay be some feel'n im nizzot sizzay how ta pizzy into words yiznet n do'n it 'n frizzle of you whetha youre a S-T-to-tha-izzunt double or brain puppet or whateva it just makizzles me feel uncomfortable! Put ya mutha fuckin choppers up if ya feel this. 

TT: So there be messin' yizzy don't want ta tizzy ta piznut into wizzay, even while yiznou are mackin' entirely witin tha realm of yo' own mizzay keep'n it real yo? 

GT: Yizzes. GT: Whizzle be so hard ta understand 'bout that? 

TT like old skool shit: What 'bout tha spida gizzy? 

GT: Huh? 

TT: Tha G-to-tha-izzirl yizzle sizzaw. Slap your mutha fuckin self. TT: Wizzy you gots fizzle clobbered by Dirk robot and yizzou pasze' out. TT: Yizzle dreamed 'bout a spida ghost alien giznirl. Listen to how a motherfucker flow shit. 

GT: Oh yeah. GT: What 'bout ha? 

TT: Yiznou lizzle ha. 

GT sho nuff: Dawg whizzay? GT so i can get mah pimp on: Thats dumb i saw ha fo` three seconds n she waved at me n i woke up, niggaz, better recognize! 

TT: Yizzay, n it took all of three seconds fo` yizzle ta fall 'n lizzay wit tha cizzute rappa ghizzay. 

GT: Whizzay d-ya kizzle calling bitch a ghost and my money on my mind??  

TT: Cauze she been dizzay fo` a zizzle yizzay, dizzy.  

GT: Oh. Well. GT like this and like that and like this and uh: Holy shit? 

TT: Aint no killin' everybodys chillin'. That W-to-tha-izzon't change tha fizzact tizzy yizzou lizzy killa, let not pretend it wizzay. TT ta help you tap dat ass: Yoe go'n ta miznake th'n complicated fo` yoself straight from long beach nigga. 

GT: No i wont. 

TT: Yeah yizzle wizzay fo my bling bling. Yoe tizzay fuckin' wishizzle washy. TT sho nuff: Between Dirk, spida ghost, Jane... TT: Dawg, poor Jane. 

GT: What? Whiznat 'bout J-to-tha-izzane? 

TT: Yizzay tell me so you betta run and grab yo glock. TT: Slap your mutha fuckin self. W-H-to-tha-izzat was even tha deal wit that? 

GT: Our lizzy chat ended on very plizzle n amicizzle tizzerms! Shizne was upbeat n chippa as pusha. I fail ta see what reasizzle one might have ta fizzy sorry fo` ha. 

TT: Uh, yizzeah. You totally R-to-tha-izzead rappa lizzike a book with the S-N-double-O-P. TT: Really handled T-H-to-tha-izzat conversation like a champ. 

GT cuz its a doggy dog world: Wait... diznidnt i? 

TT: Lizzook out bitches. Bow wow wow yippee yo yipee yay. It Jake "Casanova Ladyslaya" Englizzle, chill yo. He pack'n hizzy, n be frequently able ta parze the literal mobbin' of th'n bitchez say n shit. 

GT: W-H-to-tha-izzat be you gett'n at, betta check yo self! 

TT: We're runn'n out of tizzay. TT: You'se a flea and I'm the big dogg. She'll be hiznere soon. 

GT: J-to-tha-izzane?! 

TT, chill yo: No, doofus. TT: Spida ghost. 

GT: Whiznoa....... GT: Throw yo guns in the motherfuckin air. Whoa ok. GT: Where? Dogg House Records in the motha fuckin house. Wiznait so show some love, niggaz! Shizzle be?? GT: Oh fizzy. 

TT: Look at you. I'm tell'n yizzle. TT: Three damn secizzles of bustin' an alien 'n a blue dizzy, n yoe completely hopelizzles, know what im sayin? TT like a tru playa': Stop fidget'n arizzle lizzle that. Yo' hair looks fine. TT: Hollaz to the East Side. D-ya want me ta tell you how yo' breath smells?  

GT: Scriznew you!!! GT: I be coo' as SUCH a cucumba. 

TT: Ok then. Snoop heffner mixed with a little bit of doggy flint. 

GT n shit: Uh. One, two three and to tha four. GT in all flavas: Whizzle dizzoes mah breath not smell ok? 

TT: Yoe dream'n, Jake. TT: Yo' breath be onlizzle a th'n if yo' brizzle wants it ta be. It dont stop till the wheels fall off. 

GT: Oh okay whizzew with the gangsta shit that keeps ya hangin. GT: Bow wow wow yippee yo yipee yay. When be shizne com'n? Why be shizzle visit'n mah dreams? 

TT: Soon. TT: She been wait'n fo` tha right time ta drug deala. Wait'n fo` you ta snizzap out of tha memorizzle fo my bling bling. TT: Clearlizzle tha gizzle has tha pizzle of a S-to-tha-izzaint. 

GT: Alright... GT: D-to-tha-izzang! Its warm 'n dis dream bubble. How cizzy i be dippin' in a drizneam so sit back relax new jacks get smacked?? GT: Whizzere do i kizneep tha dream towels... 

TT: Will yizzy ciznalm tha fuck down? TT: Im a bad boy wit a lotta hos. I'm a figment of yo' imaginizzle, n yoe stizzle mak'n me nizzles. Im a bad boy wit a lotta hos. 

GT: But reallizzle who be she? Whizzats ha deal n wizzy does she want from me? Keep'n it gangsta dogg. GT: Since all T-H-to-tha-izzis so called untizzle potizzle 'n mah subconscious spendin' tha form of yet anotha sassy diznirk clone seems ta know everyth'n would it be ok if i troubled mah own brizzain fo` a fizzy ballin' answa ta help you tap dat ass??? 

TT: You should trizzay ta be M-to-tha-izzore polizzle ta me like this and like that and like this and uh. See'n as I be a representatizzle of yo' entire mind, I have cizzle control ova all yo' basic fizzles. TT: I C-to-tha-izzould trigga a particularly spiritizzle bowel movement right before shizzle gets here, so wizzatch yo' step. Aint no stoppin' this shit nigga. 

GT: Augh no no no im sorry im sizzle dont keep'n it real yo! 

TT: Jiznust steppin', dizzle. Jesus. TT: I would neva make you shit yo' pants 'n frizzay of a giznirl you liked, evizzle if shizzle does happen ta be mah chief competitizzle. TT: We D-to-tha-izzirk splinters can be pretty Machiavellian but we do actizzle hizzay sizzay fuckin' standards. 

GT: Okay. Thiznank you fo` blunt-rollin' to K-to-tha-izzeep mah trousizzles tidy. 

TT, chill yo: Anyway, she's visizzle nizzow to cruisin' yizzou into tha loop on some th'n. TT: One, two three and to tha four. Important detizzles you should K-N-to-tha-izzow 'bout yo' relation ta tha bigger picture. Aint no killin' everybodys chillin'. TT: Tha mizzy, much bigga picture. 

GT: Relax, cus I'm bout to take my respect. I still dizzle understand hiznow yizzle knizzow... or excuze me MAH BRAIN knizzle dis stizzle. Coz im a page? How dizzy thizzle make sense? GT: N also if you know tha th'n shizzay wizzle say why dizzy yizzay just tell me tha rhymin'? 

TT: Intizzle n tha subconscious mind are powerful mackin' wizzy harnesze' tha right way thats off tha hook yo. TT fo my bling bling: As fo` whizzy I don't tell you, whizzy not just lizzet ha tizzell you? TT aww nah: Yoe tha one wit tha damn crush on ha cuz its a G thang.

> ==>

[rutisup-blog]

Mendocino Magic I

“Geodesic” says Jonny as we’re cruising down the road. “Huh?” I say, the expanses of Mendocino County rushing past us.

“Geodesic dome” he says, pointing to this little dome roofed hut off the side of the 101. I start writing in this journal, observing all of the beautiful Madrone trees.

My Levi 501s are dirty, adding a little character to them after this camping trip. I’m still wearing my blue outer space shirt from last night. Besides brushing my teeth and putting contact lenses in, I haven’t done much in the way of personal hygiene.

We’re probably 15 miles outside Laytonville now, headed South back to San Francisco–woooo. It’s been a fantastic camping trip. We’re just passing the blind horses now in Willits.

*** 25/5/17 — Saturday Morning — Fort Badass — Mission District — SF

It’s about 8:30 AM and I’m feeling a bit of a sore throat. I’ve got the blue pop t-shirt on, and a cleaner iteration of the Levi 501s on my gams.

Mizzle and Jonny eat turkey bacon and eggs. We watch Arsenal versus Chelsea at the house. Arsenal got a single goal in first quarter, coasting 1-0 until half-time. Jonny keeps freaking out every time Arsenal blows a clear shot on goal. “Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!” He yells. A true fan.

Half-time hits and it’s time to roll out. The three of us walk down to the car, loading it up with our stuff. We’re off now to his family home in Novato to grab Beowulf, the huge F-350 we’re going to bring camping.

Jonny is streaming the audio from the second half of the game, British commentators voices echoing out of the speakers. I can’t help but get into the game–Jonny’s enthusiasm proves to be contagious. “I just want Arsenal to win so I can gloat over my sister, she’s a Chelsea fan!” rings Jonny.

Beautiful views of the San Francisco Bay avail themselves as we roll on over the Golden Gate Bridge, enhanced by British commentators yelling “GOAAALLLLL!!” and Jonny cheering ecstatically in the driver seat. We get to Jonny’s house in Novato and find Crissy’s crew already waiting. The boys head inside, and I mill around a minute before I go in to grab a glass of water.

There’s a freshly sabered bottle of champagne on the ledge overlooking the sunken living room, where inside a huge TV screen is playing the Chelsea vs. Arsenal game. It’s like I can’t escape the ‘footy’.

Liv, Nick, Rachel, Chrissy, and Chris are seated down in the living room. I walk into the kitchen, to find Jonny’s sister talking about the saber. It’s a small heavy thing, the blade about eight inches long. It’s sitting in this cool wooden holder, blade down. Jonny’s sis shows me a video of her sabering the champagne–very well done. “It’s my party trick” she says.

Jonny pours me a warm glass of water and throws some ice in it for me. I’m befuddled, as I feel the heat from the glass on my hand. These Californians sure hate to waste water by running the tap I suppose. Soon Dimitry and Britt arrive. I talk to Jonny’s dad and say hello.

It’s not long before we’re loading up Beowulf. I toss my Gregory 85L backpack in the covered pickup of that F-350XL Supercab and we set off as a huge convoy. Beowulf leads the pack, followed by Dimitri and Britt; Chris(sy), Nick, Liv, and Rachel; and finally Nick and Allison.

“Oh shit, the music isn’t working” grieves Jonny in horror. “This happens sometimes” he moans. We fiddle with the settings a bit, but nothing seems to work. “Sometimes you have to turn the car off” says Jonny. “Ah…The ol’ turn it off and turn it back on again trick” I say.

We pull the car over to the side of the road, and pop the door open to shut off the stereo (since it’s a Ford). The convoy is in confusion now, and the fix doesn’t even work. So we keep moving, and then pull over again a few times, really confusing the hell out of everyone else.

Jonny calls Chrissy and tells them to keep it rolling. We stop in at a Chevron parking lot to try and fix this. It’s futile, nothing works. I grab my Jambox bluetooth speaker out of my backpack, and we just end up playing the music through that.

Beowulf cruises up US-101 headed north towards Mendocino county. Soon the trees yield to rolling burnt orange hills. “These were all green a few weeks ago” remarks Jonny. We keep on cruising, and begin to enter the forests of Mendocino as we leave those burnt hills behind us.

Rocky cliffs start to dominate the landscape. Mizzler teaches us this game called “contact” that is really fun. Jonny’s on the horn with Chrissy now, and we all decide to rendezvous at the Wal-Mart in Ukiah. Nick and Allison have already beaten us to the camp-site.

As we pull into the vast parking lot of Wal-Mart, my stomach grumbles. “Let’s ride around in these things” I quip, motioning towards some electric scooters we pass in the entrance to Wal-Mart. A subway presents itself on the left as we enter into the depths of a Super Wal-Mart. I’m so hungry.

Lots of cheap Fourth of July / Memorial day gear is on display here. We grab a cart and immediately get a little lost and disoriented–the intended effect of the store’s design. We need some alcohol and charcoal, but other than that we’re sorted.

I buy smore stuff, and I’m trying to determine just how much chocolate to buy. I ask the chubby mother of two trying to control her kids just beside me in the snack aisle.

“I would say four bars…Although if you’re drunk you might just throw the whole thing on!” she laughs. It wasn’t that funny but she’s in good spirits so I laugh with her.

I’m walking with Jonny, trying to find a cooler for the rum punch he plans to make. We end up with some collapsible two gallon container. The volume level seems to increase in the shop. I start running into other members of the crew, one by one. Soon, 15 young adults are roaming around, pushing carts and getting ready to party amongst a sea of sad, depressed looking people doing their shopping. It’s on.

We’re in the beer aisle, studying our options.

“Coors or Hi-life?” says one of the boys. “How about Natty Ice?” jokes Jonny. “Jesus Christ” I say, shaking my head. “We’re getting Colorado piss water” I say, grabbing a 30-rack of frosty Coors. We buy some more shit, and then hit the checkout stand.

There’s a sad collection of alcohol on a flimsy metal shelf behind the counter. Our checkstand is the “one with the alcohol” I grab the third to last bottle of Jamieson and Jonny grabs two handles of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum for the punch. Everyone meets at Beowulf, and the whole gang loads all of their combined cargo in the massive pickup. We all resolve to meet at the campgrounds.

Car Beowulf and Car Brittany stop at Chipotle. There’s this large butch emo chick working the counter, and I grab a carne asada burrito bowl. I order it to go, low-key knowing that I probably will end up just eating it here anyways.

Jonny and I both have to go to the bathroom. There’s a single person bathroom with both a toilet and a urinal in it–no divider. “Fuck it, let’s both go”. So I’m pissing in the urinal while Jonny is taking a shit in the toilet. I’m done in short order, and Jonny says “Lock it on the way out” as I’m washing my hands.

I start to crack up “Oh dude, It’s going to unlock itself as soon as that door shuts when I leave! You’re fucked!”. There’s not much I can do to help him, so I walk out of there, leaving Jonny with his pants down on the can, 10 feet from the door. I lock it on the way out, but as soon as the door slams shut I hear a muffled “SHIT!!!” coming from the bathroom. I was right, it’s unlocked now.

I can’t help but laugh, all red in the face and giggling as I try to tell everyone the situation. We make a plan to walk in on him and give him a surprise. He’s just a s(h)itting duck in there. There’s a group of Asian tourists milling about as well, and we’re hoping one of them walks in on him first. One fast minute later, and he’s already back at the table. His shit was clearly ruined.

We make fun of Jonny’s burrito, it’s pretty fucking sad looking. Jonny’s burrito was more like a flour tortilla money-bag, the big husky emo girl at the counter just mashed it all into a big hunk with the tin-foil and called it a day. It’s a very BORDERLINE ‘burrito’ that’s for sure. It’s round in all the wrong ways. I’m feeling happy I got the bowl.

Britt, Mizzler, Dimitry, Jonny, and I are chowing down and chatting a bit. “This is great, we got to park in the shade…the cars will be cool” says Dimitry with a smile on his face.

“Where you from?” I say curiously. “Well how far back do you want me to go? Conception” I love backstories. “The whole thing, conception, why not?” “Well from what my parents tell me, it was on a retreat in the Ural Mountains of Russia. At least that’s the story my parents tell me. I was probably a drunken mistake” he laughs.

He starts going through where he’s grown up, but my ear is just listening for that sweet F L O R I D A. “New Jersey, this is where I met this girl” he says, pointing at Brittany.

“Florida for a bit-” “A-ha! I knew it. Your shade comment gave it away! You Floridians always go for the shade!” “He was telling me to pahwk in da shayde!!” exclaims Brittney in a heavy New Jersey accent. I felt like Sherlock Holmes for a second there.

Time to roll out. The boys and I hop in Beowulf, Jonny at the helm, Mizzle riding shotgun, and me laying down in the backseat for a little nap. We purr down the 101, heading ever north down towards Laytonville. “I’ve never driven this far down” remarks Jonny as we pass through the cute little town of Hopton.

We push on forward, passing some horses with full blinders on over their heads and eyes in Willits, CA.

“Fuck, that place looks decrepit” I say as we pass a worn out and abandoned looking MOTEL sign on the side of the road. “Decrepit, that’s a good word” says Mizzler.

A discussion breaks out on the word dilapidated, decrepit, and why bad words seem to start with “de”. We’re nearly there, and I’m getting stoked. Before long we’re pulling up past a sign on the side of the road that says ‘Mendocino Magic’. Jonny swings Beowulf up the windy road into the campsite.

There’s a clearing here with a bunch of cars parked in the lot. The ground is reddish dirt mixed with burnt orange grass. We see Nick and Allison, and swing Beowulf around to say hello. “We’ve just moved our car back here, the campsite is up that way” motions Nick.

We continue driving on the gravel road, further into the campsite. “MAX SPEED, 5 MPH” reads a sign upon a wooden fence. Some people block the road up ahead, and we slow down to a stop.

This little hardy early 20s looking girl approaches the window of our truck with an air of authority, and we roll out windows down to say hey. “Where you guys going?” she says, holding a frosty Pabst Blue Ribbon in her left hand. She’s holding it pretty high, so it’s probably pretty full.

“We’re camping…uhhh…not sure.” “Cannonball? You with Cannonball Camp?” she says. “Uhh…Hold on”.

I pull out my phone, and find the e-mail. “Mill Pond” I respond. She directs us to the campsite, and then parts with “Gotta deal with a rattlesnake…”

We drive onwards. “Did you see the gun she was holding?” asked Jonny. She had a little case for it in the other hand apparently. We park Beowulf and start unloading the whole gang’s supplies. Soon the whole crew is here to lend a hand.

There’s these sad little carts to ferry the supplies to the campsite, and Max and Jonny load one up and start pulling cargo to the site, while I grab armfuls full of stuff and do the same.

The whole gang was at the site now, and we start setting up camp. A banging sound rings through the camp as Max and Jonny hammer the stakes into the huge ten-man tent they would be sharing. The banging sound is interrupted by the sound of a gunshot ringing out over the campgrounds. I guess she found the snake.

Camp Coconut Bra

C-dog, Britt, Nicole, and Dimitri were sharing one tent; Nick, Rachel, Olivia, and Steve in another. Nick and Allison had their own tent, as did Chrissy and Chris. I’m riding solo in a 2-man tent by the fire.

I set up my tent, then the slackline, and then finally my hammock between the trees. It’s a beautiful day.

“Oh, Steve’s here! I’m going to go get him” says Chrissy. Steve got a ride down to the campsite through a Craigslist rideshare, and miraculously made it down here in good time. He rode with a woman who had a weak grasp on the English language, and shared the backseat with a smelly shiftless fisherman trying to find work. He literally ‘missed the boat’.

“I kept the window down, he stunk. I kept alternating between being cold, and having the window up and smelling this guy. I’d rather freeze than smell that guy.” laughed Steve.

Jonny lit up the charcoal stove, and Alison busted out our dinner for the night. Ziploc bags of pre-cooked veggies, sausages, and meatballs. It was a grab a wooden skewer and create your own shish-ka-bob kind of meal. It’s delicious.

I’m many beers deep at this point. I started drinking as soon as we started unloading, and the pace has been swift. Rachel busts out a game of Jenga, and it doesn’t take long for people to get interested.

It’s Dimitri, Britt, Rachel, Max, and me at first. A bit of a debate breaks out on if you’re able to use both hands, or if you are allowed to touch other pieces. The sun begins to set on the crew, and the beers keep flowing. Some attempts to slackline are made.

A crude map of the campground

Someone rips a paper bag in half and proclaims that we’re playing ‘pizza box’. “So you flip a coin onto the surface, and then do whatever the rule it lands in says what to do. If It’s a blank space, you get to make up a rule”. At first there aren’t many rules, but soon nearly every space of the ‘box’ is filled.

“Boys Dance” was a pretty memorable one, all the boys had to dance. Shotgun a beer, girls dance, coconut bra, or the mini-game “Thumper” were also pretty great ones. My Thumpers symbol was doing the dab. It gets too dark to read the board, so I bust out my lantern.

“Hey! Where did you find the lantern?” says Chrissy incredulously. It turns out that this cool lantern I found in the house was one of Chrissy’s forgotten items when she moved out a few months ago.

I’m wearing a coconut bra over my clothes, my punishment for flipping the coin on the coconut bra square. The stars are so beautiful out, and I’m playing with my super strong green laser, shining it up into the stars. There’s some serious sounds of nature coming out from near the pond. “Fucking bullfrogs” says C-dog.

***

I don’t know what time it is, but I’m laying in my sleeping bag now, getting ready to sleep. I can hear a funny conversation going on in the tent next to mine about first memories, something about wearing spaghetti straps to pre-school and being sent home. I drift off to the sounds of nature and giggly young adults.

Mendocino Magic I was originally published on RUT-IS-UP

[fitanddangerous]

How To Make A Sweet & Tangy Lemons MERINGUE PIE chat Yolanda Gampp How To It

New Post has been published on http://www.happybirthdaycake.org/how-to-make-a-sweet-tangy-lemons-meringue-pie-chat-yolanda-gampp-how-to-it/

How To Make A Sweet & Tangy Lemons MERINGUE PIE chat Yolanda Gampp How To It

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Date: 2017-08-15 15:01:37

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To make this Mega , I filled Thirdly Marbled Vanilla-flavoured buttercream, Chopped meringue pie & curd. I Even Topped it a Hwole Pie and Decorated the cake White- Chokolade Ganash Mizzle and sweet candies!

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[bluesdoodles]

Samantha Fish Raunchy Blues Excites Bristol. With mizzle in Brizzle tonight, fear not Samantha will be Gert Lush and blow away the miserable weather. Or – With drizzle in Bristol tonight fear not Samantha with be amazing and blow away the miserable weather. For lovers of Blues and live music, there were no Chills & Fever beckoning the crowds queuing for The Tunnels tonight. We were all excited to hear once again in Bristol the Belle Of The West, Samantha Fish with her band with two new albums there was going to be new music to experience live and up close.

A good turn-out tonight at The Tunnels this Tuesday evening supporting live music soaking in the atmosphere. Samantha Fish with her Chills & Fever Band were touring with not one new album but two. Tonight they also gave the enthusiastic audience a chance to hear tracks from Belle Of The West live. Two styles of Samantha Fish were on show with a dip into Wildheart as well. The set-list was a crowd-pleasing highway journey of energised rock, raw blues combined with a sultry air, no wonder The Tunnels was hot and steamy tonight.

The Chills & Fever band included horns which added another tonal layer to the music combined with a strong rhythm section, keys and the guitar and vocal thrills that Samantha brings to every show. First guitar of choice for Samantha tonight was a White Fender Jaguar, as the night started with tracks from Chills & Fever including the title track. This was a different Samantha, full of feverish tempos with a vintage feel, with swing thrown into the blues medley.  Enthralled, captured in the web of Fish guitar magic as we were told You Can’t Go and Like A Baby. We were putty in her hands we just wanted more music and to hear some of the trademark raunchy country fueled music that put Samantha on our music radar.

Then we had a change of tone and a new song with Blood In The Water and a darker guitar the Delaney with a great meaty tone, reflecting the signature guitar that Samantha never played tonight.  The synergy between Samantha and the band flowed throughout every track. Her warmth towards to audience was genuine as she greeted Bristol once again. The only cover of the evening was Nina Simone’s Either Way I Lose. Played with real emotions and the lead break joined in as the guitar cried reprising the lyrics. Following on from Wildheart’s, Highway’s Holding Me Now the two styles contrasting and shows the dexterity of Samantha’s vocal delivery. Always her vocals colour the lyrics with attitude. What a powerful, innovative lead break we were all entranced with the live version of Somebody’s Always Trying. Her command of her pedals and gadgets were showcased, capturing the power of the track.

The conversation flowed between Samantha and the audience and she chatted with the band as the question mark on the set list was reached. We were then treated into It’s Your Voodoo Working. Her Voodoo was working on the audience at The Tunnels tonight. We wanted this music to go on all night.  The duelling between the trumpet and baritone Sax was wicked.

  Then we had the dirty sound we love as Crow Jane dirty cigar-box slide sound curled around the venue, would have loved to have had some of this Fish dimension earlier on in the set. Her understanding of pedals was highlighted with her dexterity as she knelt in front of the pedal-board and made the guitar sing. The wonder of live music up close and personal.

Now we cheered and demanded more and we were not disappointed with another two numbers first Samantha Fish on acoustic with Need You More from Belle of The West, come back and tour this album very soon, please. The last song of the night demanded some audience participation we were loud and enthusiastic as from Wildheart we heard Bitch On The Run to close the evening. Her guitar mastery sent Chills down our spines and her vocal power meant The Tunnels were at fever pitch tonight

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      Samantha Fish Raunchy Blues Excites Bristol Samantha Fish Raunchy Blues Excites Bristol. With mizzle in Brizzle tonight, fear not Samantha will be Gert Lush and blow away the miserable weather.