#n then get some foodstuffs

[thedragonpenny]

I wasn't planning to text post this but I ran out of tags. I will finish off my one day egg meal plan with a late night snack of 4 devilled eggs and have successfully eaten my age in eggs. Once I hit 30 this will no longer be sustainable.

@rabbit-factory getting more data because it really is an amazing question to ask

This conversation happened at 6am btw

Answer in the tags ↓

[contentloadingandstuff]

Gym Headcanons - Lisa & Ningguang x Male!Reader

A/N: I hope you'll like this one! All the others WIPs are staring daggers at me though... CW: Nothing notable.

Going to a gym? Lisa will pass, thank you. 

All the sweat and all the effort could, if she had to exert herself at all, go towards other things than gaining muscles. What would she use them for anyway? Her strength doesn't come from raw, brutish power, but rather from her brilliance and knowledge. 

For Lisa, getting some gains would be a bad thing as far as her appearance is concerned. She feels great as she is - of healthy weight with some delectable fluff on her belly, thighs and butt. A girl's got to have some meat on her bones, doesn't she? It's perfect for touching and resting your weary head on those plushy thighs. She won't ruin that especially since you're far from complaining about her assets. 

Even if she won't train, Lisa will care for her diet, and will keep an eye on yours too if you ask her to. She'll buy more of her natural yogurts, fruits, granola and other healthy foodstuffs. You'll be in good hands - Lisa will buy you shakes and foods with lots of protein to help build that dazzling body of yours. 

If at any point you find yourself tempted to cheat, she’ll gently remind you of your goal and help you resist. 

She's a vegetarian herself, but will not, to any extent of the word, force her views upon you. She just dislikes the taste of meat, especially when it's fried. The heartburn she feels after is straight up awful. Still, she won't object to making you hearty meals with all the love she has. After all, she has all the time in the world. 

Although she wouldn't ever come to the gym herself, it's different with you there. Lisa will gladly tag along to keep you company whenever she can. She won't hesitate to do her research, helping you in maintaining the proper position and form as you train. Need a break? She'll pass you the water and take away the weights (according to her ability). Feeling tired or bored? Lisa will be there, keeping a conversation or reading out loud to you - this way you train both your mind and your body. She'll get you whatever help she can offer. 

Is she accompanying you to gawk at your bare chest, your tensing, sweaty muscles, hear your masculine groans of exertion as you lift inhuman weights and give it your all? See you doing what men do, pushing yourself to the limit to become bigger, better, faster and stronger? Perhaps. Is that an invalid reason? Not at all. 

After a certain amount of these trips, the mage will start eyeing the exercise mats with increasing curiosity. Of course she wouldn't do any actually tiring exercises, but it wouldn't hurt to stretch a little, would it? Being flexible has a few uses Lisa can't think of, most of which involve you~

The first few times would render her limbs and joints crying in pain as years of “rust” come off. It would surely leave her grumpy the next day, but it's alright - you'll do your duty and massage her pains away, won’t you? 

When going at them, Lisa likes to do stretches that let her poor back get some lovely relief. Every time she begins the cobra stretches of the day, she can't help but sigh in satisfaction. The first one's the best, no doubt about that. On the other hand, those exercises that require her to lean down are the cause of her pains rather than the relief. Toe touches aren't easy, and things like forward folds are the stuff of nightmares, the mere thought of which is enough to make her spine ache.

Ningguang isn't one to work out either. She’s on a strict diet, planned out for her by the best dietitian and cooked by the best chef Mora can buy. Each of her meals has its calories counted to the letter, and - should the situation demand it - Ningguang is capable of counting them herself. Even when there's no label, she's able to judge it with impressive accuracy. 

It's thanks to this attentive lifestyle that she can flaunt her wasp waist. Even if a person's worth is more in merit than appearance, impeccable beauty can go a long way too. Oftentimes just her looks alone can charm an interlocutor, leading to favorable outcomes. 

Eating this little has a downside, coming in the form of low energy levels. She can push pencils all day long, but even short jogs can find her out of breath after a while. Ningguang gets tired and sore fairly easily, making it no surprise that she avoids straining herself. 

She avoids training, but that doesn't mean she simply sits around looking pretty. Each of her mansions is equipped with a rich and well stocked gym for use at yours and hers leisure. Before you came they were mostly gathering dust, but your interest in training reminded her of that purchase. It was nice to see they finally had a use. 

Sometimes, on a slow day, Ningguang will bring out her sport gear and join you in the training room. Most of her time she'll do stretches or use the treadmill, since these don't increase muscle mass that much - the high class canon of beauty doesn't include muscle girls, nor does she see the appeal if truth is told. She's the Tianquan, not some… sea captain. 

Besides, that would be threading on your territory. Why be muscular if you're the muscle man here? If you're strong, then she'll be swift and agile. Perfectly complementary, wouldn't you say? 

When it comes to date ideas, a gym date is a unique one to be sure, but she doesn't mind. It gives both of you a chance to show off your hard earned physiques and spend some quality time together. Ningguang enjoys you spotting for her, even if she won't do the exercises by herself. The attention is always appreciated. 

She wouldn't admit that to anyone, but she enjoys goofing around with you. Using her as a dumbbell or doing push-ups with her casually sitting on your back is both amusing and quite flustering - getting a first hand experience of your strength never fails to get her a little red. But don't tell anyone, or else…!

Sometimes when she needs to think, Ningguang visits you and simply enjoys your presence in silence. There's something hypnotic about you going about your business and the repetitive motions of the equipment. Many times she watched you in silence, only to mutter a silent ‘got it’ before getting up and thanking you with a kiss. Each time after she left the room you were left fairly confused. Confused, but happy to be of help nonetheless.

Thanks for reading!

[moorishflower]

pirate/siren dreamling 2: now w/more homoerotic cannibalism

we're playin fast n loose w/time in this one but idc because it's too much fun lol

@teejaystumbles more siren au for your perusal my dear!

All told, it takes Hob ten years to pull himself back together. Hardly a drop in the bucket of immortality, but each season that passes without him returning to the shores of Brighton makes him itch something fierce. But there's no rushing it: he's starting from scratch, after all, but worse still, he's starting with a reputation. News of his stranding has reached all the way to London by the time that he gets there himself, and he's forced to lay low for a time, to shave his beard and grow out his hair, to take a new name. Just different enough to not be marked upon a register: Robin Gadlyn.

So he bides his time. He shores up his savings. He becomes Robin Gadlyn, who has returned from Tangier with the intent of signing on again as a shiphand, the call of the sea still in his blood. It's not hard to find a ship that's looking for easy labor. What's harder is finding a small ship, with a cruel captain and a tired crew. Fortunately, cruelty is an export that is never in short supply, and at last, in his ninth year, Hob boards Le Petit Nief, captained by one Edmund Everille, a man in his late forties with thinning dark hair and a redness to his nose that speaks of drink and a twist to his mouth that suggests cruelty.

It only takes him four months at sea to bring the rest of the crew to his side, and he suffers the lash only three times throughout, which Hob considers to be fortunate. Less fortunate is Everille, who ends up pitched over the rails in the dead of night, his left eye a slashed ruin from where Hob had buried his dagger. No mercy, he thinks, for cruelty.

He's voted captain nearly-unanimously, and the two who vote nay, he speaks to individually. Addresses their concerns -- that he's young, inexperienced, thinks above his station -- and invites them to council him as they see fit. Hob's learned that most of the time, when people complain, all they really want is to be heard.

He wants his crew to be heard. He wants them to hear him in turn. He doesn't want a repeat of the last ship, when his ignorance resulted in him stranded, even if it did net him with his greatest calling, his reason for unending life.

Sometimes, when it storms, the scar at his thigh aches, fierce and vicious, and he remembers the brilliant swathe of colors that had painted that hidden grotto, and his heart swells with something huge, and terrible, and too difficult to name. He traces the scar with his fingertips, the neat imprints of teeth, and remembers how the creature had looked at him, there in the dark, its eyes like shining stars and its expression almost like awe. Awe! When he was the poor bastard caught by that siren call!

It doesn't matter. It's been ten years, and if the thing is still there, he intends to find it. A decade is long enough, perhaps, to smooth over any harsh feelings over not allowing himself to be eaten, and if the creature isn't there…well. Then he'll search. He's got all of eternity to do it.

When Le Petit Nief (newly christened the Lightfot after a hasty vote from the crew) docks at Brighton, ten years almost to the day since Hob was marooned, he feels an unaccountable sense of relief. Whatever happens, he still has his health, his life, and his liberty, and maybe he's a fool, to have spent the last ten years collecting trinkets and treasures to bring to some sharp-toothed sea god, but then, he's never pretended to not be a fool. Recklessness calls to him as sure as that siren's wail, and he gives the crew leave to visit the town under the condition that they cause no trouble lest trouble find them first.

And, under cover of the moon, the air humid and thick with summer's heat, he takes his little pouch of treasures, and his oilskin pouch of foodstuffs, and he takes a dinghy out to the chalk-white cliffs.

The sea is calm and beautiful, reflecting the moon like a fat pearl floating on the waves, darling Venus' delight. Hob takes an apple for himself from the rations that he's brought, and thoughtfully cuts it into quarters. And then, humming softly, he scores his palm with the tip of the blade, and lets it hang over the edge of the boat, dripping night-blackened blood into the depths.

Apples are sweet, this time of year. Firm beneath the teeth. There's different satisfaction to be had in fruit and meat, he muses. Meat fills the belly, but fruit heals the soul. One need only eat an orange after a long voyage at sea to feel the difference. He wonders if the creature has ever eaten fruit -- if it has spent its whole life in the depths, and never seen eggs, nor bread, nor honey. He wonders if, for it, the taste of his blood was as exotic as a fine wine, or if it was only a base satisfaction.

The water ripples beside the boat, and Hob peers over the side, clenching his fist to bring up more blood.

He gets no warning -- one second the boat is still and calm, and the next it thrashes sideways, rocked by the slam of many limbs, and Hob feels something strong and sleek as an eel wrap around his leg and yank. Panic is instinctive; he kicks, and feels another tether around his opposite foot, and, unmoored, he goes sliding over, the fingers of his cut hand grappling at the edge of the boat, but finding no purchase between the wash of the sea and the slickness of his own blood.

He's dragged down.

Down, and down, into darkness, the light of the moon disappearing above him, covered by the hull of the dinghy, until his eyes are forced to try to adjust to the endless pitch. They needn't adjust for long: some seconds later, and there's a wild flare of color, of light, springtime yellow and pink as rosy as dawn, all specked through with silver starlight. He sees the shape of the creature. He sees the strong limbs, supple, twined about his legs.

He sees its face: a man's face, sharp and canny, with high cheekbones and lips that look nearly black in the chaotic splash of color. When it -- when he -- smiles, it shows a hint of needle-like teeth, a perfect row of sharpness. Hob's lungs are burning, and every blessed instinct in him tells him to fight, to claw, to scramble back to the surface for a gasp of needed air.

Instead, he holds the quartered apple between them. The creature's limbs writhe busily over his legs, feeling out the shape of his calves and thighs beneath his breeches, and Hob holds its gaze while he opens his mouth and takes a bite of apple, bubbles ticking in slow files from his nostrils. He raises his brows. He sways closer, pulled as surely as the tide by the creature's tentacles, slowly inching their meandering way over his arse, the small of his back.

The creature blinks at him -- blinks! not quite like a fish at all, then -- and leans in to meet him, curious. He opens his mouth and lets the water wash into it, and Hob sees a curious mechanism of motion at his neck, which his air-deprived brain takes long seconds to recognize as gills.

Slowly, the creature scents him, sticks out a tongue as pink as a tea rose and touches it to the corner of Hob's waiting mouth, and then, in curiosity, to the bite of apple he holds in his lips. The teeth are so sharp, so sharklike, and so near to his face that Hob's heart kicks in fretful earnesty. He begs it to be gentle, and he begs his prick to stay quiet, and his vision fuzzes gently at the edges as the creature takes the apple from his mouth into his own. His dark brows raise, and Hob, his lungs screaming, and with nothing to occupy his mouth any longer, breathes in at last.

He wakes to a familiar sight: the grey-white walls of a chalk grotto, the light of the moon streaming through an opening in the stone, water pouring in all the waves of the unrelenting sea from his lungs. He rolls onto his side and heaves, coughing and spitting until his throat is sore and his chest hurts. Something taps between his shoulders, and then roughly slaps, sending another gout of water rushing from him, another fit of coughing. It doesn't feel like a hand, but it takes Hob minutes to overcome the gagging, and minutes longer still to reach coherence again.

The dinghy. The grotto. His gifts. He rolls onto his back, and finds that the cave he lies in isn't so dim as he originally thought.

The source of light becomes immediately clear, a pale-silver glow that leans over him, and gradually resolves, again, into the creature, the man, with his skin shining like glowbugs along the river in faint moonlit hue, with his eyes deep and dark as ink, and Hob sees, now, that his mouth isn't black, but red. Garnets blush his lips, and behind them the unsheathed daggers of his teeth, white as bone.

"You're beautiful," he says, and his voice is shaky, and hoarse, but Christ, he feels alive. "You know, I've been waiting ten years to find you again. Sorry for the wait."

The creature tilts his head, and Hob tries to gesture vaguely towards the pouches at his belt.

"I've brought. Ah . Gifts? I don't know what you are, some, some sea-god or siren, or…I don't know. But I hope you like them. I hope --" His hope isn't given the chance to explain itself, because the creature sways in closer, rubbing its mouth busily against the curve of Hob's neck. Without a beard it feels strangely intimate. Then again, he thinks it would feel the same whether he were bearded or not. The creature is slick and smooth all over, its mouth a warm snuffling press that drags over the thud of his jugular and then rests there.

"Or we could do that," he says softly, and tilts his head, and bares his throat. "Not like I haven't got blood to spare. Can tell the men a shark got me."

And, "No," the creature says, and Hob nearly sits bolt upright, and is held in place only by the heavy weight that slithers across his groin, the many limbs pinning him to the ground. Christ, but the thing is strong.

"You can talk," he says, joy in every word, and a ripple passes through the light, a wave of yellow ochre.

"Yes. Some. Mine."

The sharp teeth dig into his neck, not a proper bite, but a scoring of flesh. They drag, opening veins, but not the vein, and the hot flood of pain wakes every limb, jerks him to cognition faster than any wine or spirit. His hands scrabble for purchase on the ground, and then he feels them being taken up, slick tendrils exploring busily between his fingers.

"All right," he says. "Yes. Yours. No shark's."

He's rewarded with a soft rumble, a purr like a cat and a neat little clicking sound that he identifies, after a moment, as the creature's teeth champing together. He feels hands -- hands! human-shaped and gently grasping -- push back into his hair, scratching with nails as sharp as talons.

"Good," the creature says, and the bite, when it comes at last, rests not over his jugular, but at the crook of neck and shoulder, where the muscle is thick and corded from hauling rope, where the sharp teeth sink and spike with pain and bleed him slowly, but do not kill. The creature nurses like a babe from the wellspring that flows from him, and each suck is a bright star of sensation tied from shoulder to heart to prick. Hob strains against the limbs that hold him, not away, but closer.

Queer things, he thinks wildly, it does queer things to the soul. His soul was damned already, he thinks, from years of mercenary work and casual banditry. Let his soul become odd, if it means he can have this.

Blood pours hot and steady for long minutes, and the only sounds in the grotto are the creature's suckling, the wet smear of his mouth on Hob's skin, and Hob's own desperate panting. The weight on him is familiar, a lover's press, the core of the creature's body poised over his groin and wriggling slowly. His prick is caught between wet linen and what feels like a hundred touching, grasping hands, studiously plucking at his breeches, his boots, his tunic while their master feasts up above.

"Let me touch you," he says, he begs. This creature is the sea, beautiful and wild, the tempestuous waves and the deadly calms, and he's the soaring salt-wind and the cry of the gulls along the shore, the bright flicker of fish in the shallows, the darkness of the depths, and Hob thinks that the sea has its hooks in the blood of all men, but in him deeper than most. He can feel it in his heart, with each pump that takes his blood from his body into the vast and wending sea.

The creature makes a noise too close to laughter to not be, and the teeth retract from his neck, leaving a feeling not unlike the emptiness after being tupped. Hob sighs with it, rocks his hips to try and find something to fill that yawning gap, and finds his hands being drawn in rippling motion to the creature's hips. He feels human, here, a pelvis that's vaguely familiar, the smooth skin of his flanks. No navel, Hob thinks, with no small amount of dizziness.

"Yes," the creature says again, and he bucks upwards with a sob. His neck feels hot and cold all at once, and he's empty. "Be mine. Have me."

The voice is like a fisher's gaff, that spears through the ear and into the brain; a pulse that skims over his flesh and leaves ripples in its wake. It's the lonely call of the lighthouse's warning on a foggy eve, a gull's cry, the sound of the lapping tides. It washes over him. It'd drown him, if he let it.

Hob curls his fingers into the white flesh and strains upward, fucking into the writhing, muscular twitch of tentacles that cover him. They've none managed to figure out his breeches, but the linen is barely an impediment at all -- something slim and tapered bunches the fabric around his cock, until there's a sharp rip of cloth and blessed, blessed contact. A cool, wet spiral of flesh that circles his prick, a dozen lightning-touched mouths laying kisses along the length of him, and he sobs again. Cannot help himself.

"A name," he says, and smoothes his hands over the angular planes of the creature's chest. What he'd taken for nipples from a distance are flat and soft beneath his fingers, but draw a similar response as with many men: a soft sigh, the creature's head thrown back to expose the long white column of his throat, and the sharpness of his teeth. "Give me a name to call you, sweet."

"A name," the creature repeats, and gives another fluting sigh, and does not answer. His hands are still in Hob's hair, now tugging, and Hob goes to them, heaves himself to sitting so that the creature is perched on him, and he's fucking into the wet grasp of it like he would a woman, bouncing him in his lap. Everything is a riot of movement and the slick noise of flesh, and Hob tilts his head, angling for a kiss.

"Douce mer," he gasps, and the creature bends, at last, to brush their mouths together. No proper kiss, no caress of tongue and lips, but a smear of blood into his mouth; the creature kisses like he intends to eat him. Hob kisses him back like he'd allow it. "Mer de nuit. I can keep going."

"Yes." The word is bitten into his mouth, a catch of teeth against his lip, which the creature chases with singleminded intensity. "More."

And they say that the gods of the sea are fickle, and proud, and desirous, and so Hob laughs, and between the iron tang of his own blood he whispers: my sweet, my treasure, my darling. The creature rides him in rolling waves, and his skin is flickering flashes of color, of reds and pinks as deep as the brilliant dawn, and silver as sharp as the moon.

When Hob peaks, it's with a cry that he bites into the creature's mouth, his blunt human teeth catching the berry-red lips, hips stuttering as the thing's tentacles wring every ounce of spend from him, and then some. They crowd him, smearing the warmth of his seed across his length, each of them fighting for a turn to touch him, and all the while the creature moans into his mouth, shuddering softly in his arms. There's a new taste on his lips, and Hob chases it with his tongue.

"Mine," the creature murmurs again. The hands in his hair curl and shiver. "Mine."

Hob lets himself lay down, his back flat against the unforgiving stone, the afterwaves of his pleasure still rolling through him like thunder over the open ocean.

"All right," he says, and licks his lips again. Salt, and living things, and kelp. The sea. "All right."

The creature pets his hair, tousling it this way and that. And then, with a gentle sigh, he lays his head upon Hob's chest. His heart still beats there, strong and steady, despite the hook the sea has stabbed within it, and slowly, gradually, the light in the grotto eases, the busy movement of the creature's tentacles slows, until it's only the moon, a fat and drifting pearl, that casts its unjudging eye through the cave's mouth upon the lovers entangled there.

[dreamyautumns]

G/T minific for Cynonari shippers💚💜 Tighnari takes Collei to the desert to meet Cyno for the first time, but Colleil gets a very big surprise…

“Collei! Come this way, we haven’t much time to waste.”

“C-coming, Master Tighnari!”

Collei tossed a portion of her cape back over her shoulder and scrambled to keep up with Tighnari in the desert heat. She kept having to drink water, almost to the point where she ran out. She flaps a hand in her face in an attempt to cool herself off.

“Collei, you still have water, yeah?” Tighnari asks, not looking back.

“N-no…” the girl pants. “I drank it all…”

Tighnari shakes his head and sighs. “We talked about this, Collei. You need to ration your foodstuffs and water, especially in the desert!”

Collei sighs and nods in disappointment. “Yes, Master Tighnari… how much longer until we get to see your friend?”

Tighnari’s ears twitch. “Not much farther, I suspect. We’ll need to ascend a nearby mesa plateau, so we’ll have to climb.”

“Is your friend… waiting for us… there?” Collei asks, brushing sand off her.

“You… could say that in a sense. And to be kinda honest… we’re a bit more than friends. It’s complicated.”

“You have a girlfriend?!” Collei asks in shock.

“Correction; a boyfriend,” Tighnari replies. “He’s actually got quite the reputation amongst Akademiya scholars. His name is Cyno.”

“The General Mahamatra…?” Collei breathes. “How come I’ve never seen him before?”

“He’s mostly in the desert. Doesn’t do well around a large sum of people,” Tighnari informs her.

“Is he nice?”

Tighnari pauses. “He’s… not particularly fond of people, but he’s good to a fault. Also, stop waving your hand in your face. You’re gonna get sand all over you.”

Collei stops as she’s told to and looks up at the sun beating down on them. “Are we there yet…?”

Tighnari pauses, then looks up at the mesa before them. It’s a quick climb, since the next plateau above them is roughly 15 feet away. Tighnari nods and spots several rock ledges to jump up.

“We made it. Collei, get on my back so I can carry you, alright?”

Collei nods and collapses onto his back, clearly tired from walking. Tighnari smiles a bit and shakes his head before readying himself and jumping up to the first ledge. He repeats this process until he reaches the plateau. Collei climbs off his back and falls into the sand, exhausted.

“Oh, Collei… this is why you need to remember your training. At least there will be some shade soon.”

Collei looks around, confused. “Shade? But there’s no trees! Or an oasis… or rocks to hide behind! What-“

Tighnari’s ears twitch again. “He’s coming right now.”

Collei can hear faint rumbling coming from the distance. She looks down at the ground as the little pebbles near her feet begin to tremble. Sand begins to kick up in her face as the noise grows louder.

“W-what is that noise?!” Collei stammers. Tighnari pats her head once and looks up.

“No need to be afraid. I… kind of left out one minor, itty bitty detail.”

“Which is…?”

“Cyno’s a giant.”

Collei’s face is stricken with surprise. “He’s a what?!”

Tighnari’s ears droop and his tail flicks once. “Yeah… I just didn’t want to startle you for the entire journey and have you worry. I apologize for lying, Collei.”

“M-Master Tighnari, that’s a HUGE detail to leave out!” Collei can feel her body jump with each booming thud that sounds out across the desert. Tighnari’s frame also bounces, but he manages to retain his balance.

“He’s here, Collei. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”

Collei’s eyes widen as she looks up to see a gigantic shadow looming over the desert. Gleaming, red eyes like rubies shine and illuminate a stern face. The giant steps out of the swirling vortex of sand and folds his arms, looking unamused. Tighnari waves to him in a friendly manner, his tail wagging slightly.

“Cyno! Down here!”

Cyno bends down to have his face make direct eye contact with them. He acknowledges Tighnari, but stops short when he sees Collei. The girl gasps and backs away a bit, clearly intimidated.

“Who’s that?” Cyno asks, his voice deep. It carries out across the sands and rattled the mountain beneath the pair of Forest Rangers.

“She’s my student. I told you about her before; her name is Collei,” Tighnari replies.

“The one you spoke of… the girl with Elezar,” Cyno muses. “Hello, Collei.”

Collei looks away, clearly shy and frightened. She shakily waves to him and musters up some courage for a reply. “H-Hello, General Mahamatra, sir!”

Cyno turns his attention back to Tighnari, who holds his arms out. Cyno brings his face closer as Tighnari hugs the side of his face and kisses his cheek. His stoic expression breaks for only a second, as Cyno bends down and kisses him back.

Collei can’t help but feel ignored. She looks up at Cyno and Tighnari, then down at herself. She feels awkward, as if she was third wheeling for a date.

“I-I should probably leave you guys to it…”

“No, Collei, wait!” Tighnari calls for her. “Sorry if this is awkward. I really did want you to meet Cyno. Cyno, the reason I wanted to meet you was so that you and Collei could get to know one another.”

Cyno turns his head again to Collei and leans in close to inspect her. The girl lets out a little yelp as he glares daggers into her soul.

“Collei, is it? I’m Cyno. You are a student of Tighnari’s, yes?”

Collei nods quickly. “Y-yes sir!”

Cyno lets out a sigh, the sand blowing into Collei’s face. Cyno backs off and lifts a hand towards her. Collei fidgets, clearly nervous.

“Can I pick you up?” Cyno asks.

Collei shuffles, then looks at Tighnari, who nods. “He’ll be nice. I promise you.”

“Nice isn’t a word used to describe me. I’ll be… careful. I’ll do my best,” Cyno clarifies. Collei puts her hands together and nods softly.

“O-ok!”

The giant reaches down and carefully pinches her between two fingers. Collei can feel her torso compress as he lifts her into the air. Cyno then moves to pick up Tighnari and sets him down on his shoulder.

The General Mahamatra tilts his head. “Where’s your water?”

Collei looks down at her empty canister and chuckles. “F-funny story! I actually, uh… drank it all…”

Cyno cocks his head to the side and clicks his teeth. “Bad move, kid. Dehydration can be fatal out here.” He sets her down in his hand and pulls something out from a pouch attached to his belt. It’s a can of water, fit for a human to drink. “Here. Don’t waste it all this time.”

“T-thank you!” Collei stutters out. Cyno simply folds his arms and turns to Tighnari.

“You sure this kid’s cut out for Forest Ranger stuff?”

Tighnari nods. “She’s still learning. Besides, she wants to start toughening up. That’s why she agreed to come in the first place.” The Forest Ranger pats Cyno’s cheek as the General Mahamatra looks down at the girl.

“She’s like your little sister, in a sense, then,” he remarks. “Keep watch over her. Should she ever venture out here to the desert again, I shall keep her safe.”

Tighnari smiles. “That’s a relief. Also…”

“Also?”

“Mind keep your voice down a bit? It’s hurting my ears,” Tighnari winces, his ears folding down. Cyno scoffs and looks down at the ground beneath him.

“You want me to put you down now?”

Tighnari looks at Collei, then back at Cyno. “Already? But we just got here!” he says in a teasing manner.

“Fine. Then I’ll take you to an oasis so I can keep guard.” Cyno extends his palm again to Collei, who has just finished sipping her water.

“E-eh? Where are we going?”

“I just said it. To an oasis. Let’s go.”

Collei hastily packs her new canister of water and jumps into Cyno’s hand, curling up. Cyno lifts her carefully and turns towards the desert. He then starts moving, his every stride leaving a footprint in the sand, only to be blown away in the wind. Collei lifts her gaze to meet Tighnari, who waves at her. He then slides off Cyno’s shoulder and lands in his hand.

“You ok?”

Collei nods. “Next time, Master Tighnari, could you PLEASE warn me about your 100 foot tall boyfriend before he comes stomping through the sandstorm?!”

Tighnari covers her mouth with his tail as Cyno’s eyes quickly flick over to them. Tighnari waves a hand to dismiss the girl’s remark as Cyno continues to move. Collei’s body freezes as Tighnari sighs.

“I can definitely do that next time, but I wouldn’t particularly bad-mouth him. He’s not in a good mood… usually,” Tighnari whispers back.

Collei nods affirmatively, then looks down at the passing ground. She then thinks to herself.

Master Tighnari seems really happy with Cyno… I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. But that’s a 100 foot tall giant! He makes me a little nervous… but if Master is happy, then I’m happy for him. He seems to have someone to love!

[scarletst0ries]

A Stroke of Luck

Jamil x f!reader (romantic or platonic)

Fluff with light angst

3rd person Jamil pov

Content warnings: Fainting, injury, Jamil getting stressed

During his first year at NRC Jamil notices something off with one of his fellow freshmen

A/N: This is my first real drabble so feedback would be appreciated. Reader is a fox beastperson

Jamil was going to hate his school life. Two months into his first year at NRC, Kalim Al-Asim had transferred. Into his dorm. Which meant the dream of four years without having to hold himself back was dead and buried.

Resigned to being the babysitter once again.

How lovey.

Currently Kalim was busy with the Pop Music club, leaving Jamil to enjoy a few hours of peace. He looked around the Scarabia lounge, searching for a task to entertain himself when one of his fellow first-years walked by. She was shorter than him, with ginger hair and fox ears and tail that twitched every time she noticed a slight noise. She stopped for a moment and he noticed that surprisingly, she wasn’t sweating.

Must be used to the heat

She kept walking and eventually got out of sight. Jamil sighed and walked out of the dorm. He needed to visit Mr. S’ Mystery Shop to restock some staple ingredients for Kalim’s meals.

Jamil made his way through the crowded, overstocked shelves of the shop, intentionally looking away from the novelty lollipops with bugs incased in the sugar. Until, eventually he came across the cooking and foodstuff section. He carefully inspected the produce and made sure to pick out the best quality ingredients. After he got everything he needed, he made his way to the register where Sam was waiting to ring him up.

“Why hello little imp! Are these ingredients all you want to purchase today? Perhaps you would be interested in some of the curios my friends on the other side have-“

Jamil cut him off, handing Sam a handful of Thumarks, “These ingredients will be all.”

Sam accepted the money and bagged the produce. Jamil nodded thanks and left before the shopkeep could pitch him another product.

Back at Scarabia, Jamil finished putting the ingredients away. Satisfied, he walked to the lounge and sat down on the plush couches, ready to enjoy the break. Except…a student ran up to him, panicked.

“Jamil! We have a problem!”

He raised an eyebrow, “What’s the matter?”

“Someone just collapsed in the hall! We can’t wake them up!” Jamil bolted up and followed the student to where a small crowd had gathered. The girl from earlier that day was on the floor unconscious. He placed his palm on her forehead and a rare expression of panic flickered across his face. She was extremely hot to the touch.

“I’ll take her to the nurse. Someone help me pick her up,” Jamil hoisted her up with the help of the closest dorm member and ran to the nurse.

Heatstroke. The nurse recognized the signs, and immediately surrounded her in ice packs.

“She should be fine. You’re lucky you caught this early or this could have been bad for her. Let me know when she wakes up,” The nurse informed him before entering their personal office.

Ten minutes later, she started to stir. She slowly opened her eyes and immediately noticed him, starting to shift away from him until a wave of dizziness took over and stopped her.

“Wh-who? Wh-what happened where am I?” She stammered, looking away from him. She grabbed her glasses off of the nightstand and put them on. Her ears were flat against her head, her eyes clocking the exits. She was terrified.

“Nurse’s office. You passed out from heatstroke. I’ll…I’ll get the nurse” Jamil let out a satisfied grunt when she nodded. After the nurse, checked her vitals and turned to Jamil.

“Have any other students passed out?”

“Not that I know of mx.”

“Interesting,” The nurse scribbled something on a clipboard and turned to the girl,”Do you have any idea?”

It was frustrating listening to her stammer through her explanation. She had a higher body temperature than most humans, so the high temperatures of the dorm made her overheat.

“I see. Perhaps it would be wise to have a cooling charm on your dorm uniform. Jamil, are you comfortable casting one?” The nurse inquired. Jamil nodded, “Yes Mx.”

“Perfect. Please do that while I finish filling out the paperwork for the headmage. Not that he’ll read it…” The nurse grumbled and walked away, scribbling notes on their clipboard.

Jamil began casting the charm on her uniform. It was a simple spell, and she seemed to visibly relax once it finished casting. Looked at him gratefully, her tail slightly wagging.

“Th-thank you,” She muttered.

“It’s no problem….”

“R-Robyn.”

Jamil nodded,”You’re welcome Robyn. I’m Jamil.”

The next day, he noticed her looking more comfortable in the dorm and she smiled at him slightly.

Maybe the next few years won’t be insufferable after all….

_________________________________________

Ty for reading if you did❤️! I genuinely tried 😅

[thegrapeandthefig]

Hey! This ask may have already been answered before, but can you talk about posidieia in you calendar? It’s a new word for me.

Thank you for your attention and for making the calendar!

Hi! I did briefly write about the festival, but I never gave a full breakdown of it. For the sake of clarity, I'm going to split this answer in two parts, starting with the historical evidence and then moving on to the festival reconstruction itself.

The evidence

The Thasian Posideia, like many of the festivals in my calendar, takes source from this inscription:

So it is one of those festivals that I factually know had a presence on the island, on top of the archaeological evidence for a sanctuary of Poseidon.

Unfortunately, this legal document doesn't give us any details about the festivals listed, so we have to look elsewhere to get an idea of what the festival is really about.

In a commentary of this inscription, François Salviat makes these observations:

The month of Poseidon is widespread in the Ionian calendar and aligns with the celebration of Posideia, primarily observed in the Aegean tradition during winter, which is normally an unfavourable season.

The antiquity of the cult of Poseidon is established through the widespread and fixed nature of Poseidon, with celebrations confirmed along the coast of Asia and in the Cyclades.

The Thasian sanctuary of Poseidon, discovered in 1927, was likely the focal point of these celebrations, marked by its vast area, though specifics remain unclear.

Continuous favour for the cult of Poseidon is evidenced through external sources such as various dedications, inscriptions, votive reliefs, and the prevalence of symbols like the trident and dolphin on amphora seals, silver coins, and even in personal names.

Since this was the most information I could get about the festival in Thasos specifically, I started looking for what was known about the Posideias in other cities, specifically Delos.

Thasos is, despite its northern location, heavily influenced by the Cyclades. This is because it was colonized by Paros and as such inherited a lot of its religious and administrative customs.

The proximity between Paros and Delos (and Delos being a major religious center) makes any evidence from this area possibly relevant.

The Posideia was also celebrated on Delos, and we thankfully have more information on the way it was celebrated there thanks to an inscription known as CGRN 199 "Example of the accounts of the Posideia and Ilithyaia on Delos", dating from 178 BC. The date being significantly more recent is also a good sign. Salvia has already established that the cult was ancient, and we can clearly see that, at least on a Cycladic level, the Posideia kept being celebrated throughout the centuries.

The inscription gives us very useful information, especially the epithets chosen for the festival: Asphaleios and Orthosios. The rest is a list of offerings and purchases for the festival, most of them being foodstuff, cooking supplies, dishes and the money allocated for wages. We are also told that the festival included a contest of some form.

Reconstruction

For reconstruction purposes, I had to go for a Delian-Thasian mix. But before that, we need to take a closer look at the epithets, since they indicate the purpose of the festival.

On the cult of Poseidon Aphaleios, Fritz Graf tells us this in "Myths, martyrs, and modernity: studies in the history of religions in honour of Jan N. Bremmer."

"the protection against earthquakes being most often attributed to Poseidon. As such, he usually has the epiklêsis Asphaleios, ‘Steadfast One’ (literally ‘He Who Does Not Stumble’); his cult is attested in many places, especially in western Asia Minor with its high incidence of earthquakes. [...] Oracles from Delphi and Didyma recommended to build altars and bring sacrifices to Poseidon Asphaleios to prevent further earthquakes;"

And Mikalson, in "Religion in Hellenistic Athens" tells us more about the inscription:

"Delos was famed for not having earthquakes (Hdt. 6.98), and credit for that no doubt should be given to Poseidon, because at his festival, the Posideia, he was honored as Asphaleios (“Securer”) and Orthosios (“Uprighter”). The festival featured contests and a banquet, and from the records of expenditures (520 drachmas in ca. 180 B.C.) for the banquet, Bruneau has calculated, at 1 1/2 obols per banqueter, about 2,000 participants, consuming about 1,600 quarts of wine. The banquet quite likely served most of the male, adult citizenry of Delos, and those few who missed it received their 1 1/2 obols in cash (257–67)."

In the case of Delos, we're looking at a festival which aims to reduce the likeliness of natural catastrophes, particularly earthquakes. While this doesn't give me any proof of it being the same for Thasos, there is evidence for the epithet Asphaleios for Paros (which is the mother-city of Thasos) through inscription SEG 15: 517 (mid-3rd c. BC), which indicates that the oracle of Delphi prescribes offering a sacrifice to Zeus Hyperdexios, Athena Hyperdexia, Poseidon Asphaleios, and Artemis Eukleia on the first altar of the Archilocheion dedicated to the Muses, Apollo Mousagetes, and Mnemosyne.

While indirect, the fact that a cult to Poseidon Asphaleios existed in Paros gives us a good reason to believe the cult was known in Thasos as well.

Now that we have our epithet, we can move on to the rest. I've been quite liberal with the offering I make for the festival, depending on how much time I have on my hands when the festival falls on the calendar, but as a rule of thumb, I try to stick with using ingredients found in CGRN 199.

Wine is always a given, and then I pick and choose from the ingredients. We know that beef and sheep are good meats to choose from, and then there are chickpeas, figs and nuts also listed. So my offering will be either all of those things or some of those things. If I have time, I'll go and find a meal that incorporates those ingredients, or I can also offer these things on their own.

At this point of the reconstruction, we have our epithet and possible offerings, and so we can move on to the tricky question of timing.

The month was easy to pin down, since there is a month of Poseidon in the Thasian calendar, but we have no other indication of time in any of the direct sources. For simplicity's sake, I chose the 26th of Poseidon. This is a direct loan from Athens, since Poseidon was honoured during the Athenian Haloa on their 26th of Poseidon (the two calendars don't always line up)

With all this pinned down, I just wrote a custom hymn for the occasion. There is obviously still room for adaptation. I don't live in a particularly seismic area of the world (unlike Greece), so if I were to make the festival more aligned with my local risks of natural catastrophes, I could use an angle of approach that focuses on floods, especially coastal floods. Thankfully, the epithet "Asphaleios", with its meaning of "securer" can easily be extended to other types of dangers.

Anyway, this got long. I hope this helps give a good idea of what the festival is about, both historically and in my personal calendar. And I hope this also helped give a good idea of how I reconstructed the festival from a mention to a more fully fledged religious event.

[yukipri]

Galaxy's Edge Foodstuffs & Drinkstuffs Reviews!

So last month, I was able to finally visit Black Spire Outpost, aka Batuu, aka Galaxy's Edge, aka Star Wars Land @ Disneyland!

This is a roundup of photos + reviews of all the themed foods & beverages that mum and I enjoyed during our trip.

Note that I visited Batuu West, in Disneyland California. Florida may have slightly different menus, and I know that menus change seasonally too! My visit was in January, 2023.

The rest of the photos + reviews under the cut!

Oga's Cantina

In the early morning on the very first day, we stopped by Oga's! We got some non-alcoholic drinks + some small eats to start the day off.

Non-Alcoholic drinks:

Memory's foggy, but I *think* the drinks are: 

Blurrgfire: Minute Maid® Lemonade, Pomegranate Juice, and Habanero-Lime

Review: Mildly zingy? but otherwise a pleasant juice drink.

Black Spire Brew: Cold Brew Joffrey's Coffee®, Honey, Falernum, Passion Fruit, and Citrus

Review: Probably the most questionable drink we had, but glad we tried it! The coffee + citrus gave it a sorta...sour? taste? and I'm not sure how I felt about that in my coffee! But it was certainly unique.

Blue Bantha: Blue Milk served chilled with Bantha-inspired Brown Butter Chocolate Chip and Coconut Cookie

Review: Realizing now we didn't get the cookie, sad ;_; It was ok, but idk it felt like it tasted a lot better from the Milk Stand! It was also kinda room temperature, though we *were* in the very first early morning round of people. Overall didn't stand out too much, but wasn't bad either!

Jabba Juice: Simply Orange® with Pineapple, Kiwi, Cantaloupe, and Blueberry Flavor-filled Boba

Review: A slightly mixed-juice but mostly orange juice with some blue popping boba! Was good in a normal, could probably make it at home sorta way.

Food stuffs:

Five-blossom Bread: Warm Pretzel Knot with Hawaiian Black Sea Salt, served with Calabrian Cheese Sauce

Review: It was super warm 'n toasty, surprisingly filling! It was a pretty normal pretzel and the sauce was a pretty normal slightly spicy cheese sauce, but it was still delicious!

Spiced Wroshyr Pods: Seasoned Edamame, Sliced Cucumbers, spicy Citrus-Gochujang Dip

Review: Ngl, these were just straight up plain edamame ^ ^;;; BUT the sauce was really good, preferred it to the pretzel sauce even!

I had another reservation at Oga's on a different night, and this time we tried some alcohol. Now, tbh I am not a huge fan of alcohol; I can drink it, but I just don't really like the flavor, and have never gotten drunk (nor do I really want to), and all it makes me feel is the vague urge to pee. But, I felt obligated to try something alcoholic at the cantina, so here's what I *think* we got!

Jedi Mind Trick (alcoholic): Ketel One Botanical Grapefruit and Rose Vodka, John D. Taylor's Velvet Falernum, Bols Blue Curaçao, White Grape Juice, Lime Juice, and Grapefruit Bitters

Review: It was defs sweet? Fruity? But alas, Alcohol taste was strong for me ;_;

Hyperdrive (Punch It!) (Non-alcoholic): Powerade® Mountain Berry Blast, White Cranberry Juice, Black Cherry Purée, and Sprite®

Review: Got one non-alcoholic drink, and ngl it was definitely my fav drink out of the 3 ^ ^; Unfortunately don't remember much of it, other than that I was using it to cleanse the alcohol flavor...

Fuzzy Tauntaun: Cîroc Peach Vodka, Bols Peach Schnapps, and Simply Orange® topped with Tangerine, Pure Cane Sugar, "Buzz Button Tingling" Foam

Review: This was the most recommended drink by people we spoke to + blogs I read, so I figured hey let's try it. Other people have described the foam as "tingly," but tbh...neither mum nor I really felt it? It was very foam for sure, messy, hard to get at the drink without getting foam all over your face. Taste was pretty mild (+ alcohol, LMAO).

In conclusion: Kazu, u know u don't like alcohol, plus it's expensive. Let's just stick to non-alcohol next time and save our credits, yeah? ^ ^;

Docking Bay 7

I LOVED Docking Bay 7! It was surprisingly spacious, and perhaps because we went when it wasn't too busy, but there was never any trouble getting seating. With mobile pickup food was ready almost instantaneous, and the whole interior had such an awesome aesthetic with tons of cool design details!

Trandoshan-style Pasta with Braised Bantha: Chile-braised Beef, Buttered Garlic Cavatelli, Seasonal Vegetables, Zesty Avocado Sauce, Balsamic Glaze

Review: This is the green-lookin' dish! I LOVED this one, so much I went and got it again on a different day. It's pasta, which I'm naturally biased towards, but also a lotta meat and veggies too, and pleasantly spiced. It felt like a Good Food, while also being unique and interesting enough it felt sorta Star Wars, I really enjoyed it!

Endorian Fried Chicken Tip-Yip: Crispy Chicken, Roasted Vegetable Potato Mash with Green Gravy

Review: Also good! But tasted a lot more "normal." It's a nice piece o' chickin floating in a ton of mashed potato gravy. Warm and filling, but didn't really feel as themed.

Drinks!

Moof Juice: Simply Fruit Punch®, Simply Orange® with Pineapple, Chipotle-Pineapple

Review: Another pleasant fruit juice! Gosh there are so many fruit juice mixes here! Not complaining bc I love them. Don't really remember too much about this other than "sweet."

Phattro: Gold Peak® Unsweetened Tea, Minute Maid® Lemonade, Desert Pear

Review: Another mixed juice drink, mum and I could only tell it apart from Moof Juice bc this one was mildly less sweet, more tea. Both were good!

Cold Brew Black Caf: Cold Brew Coffee topped with Sweet Cream Cheese and Chocolate Puffs

Review: I actually really enjoyed this one!! Much more than the questionable coffee at Oga's. It's got literal cereal floating on top! One thing that we found was that it wasn't as sweet or well mixed right after picking it up (no duh), but if you wait for the cream cheese and cocoa puffs dust to trickle down (or just mix it), it's a lot sweeter and so much yummier!

Also from the Docking Bay:

Vintian Mineral Mousse: Banana Brûlée-centered Dark Chocolate Mousse, Strawberry Mousse, Vanilla Chantilly, Chocolate Crumble, Cherry Garnish

Review: THIS THING. Y'all, if I had to pick just one food item to recommend from all of Galaxy's Edge, it would be this. Wasn't really sure what it was at first, and almost didn't order because I'm not a huge fan of banana flavor, but I'm SO glad that we did. Each of the blobs is a different flavored mousse, the banana being the largest, and i *think* the blue was Vanilla, pink strawberry, though those may be flipped. They each had a sorta shell like covering with soft mouse inside. They all tasted incredibly fancy and delicate, like very expensive patisserie quality, and each blob was so distinctive so you never got bored. I even liked the banana one, though I preferred the other two. The best way to eat is to take a spoonfull, and then scoop through the crumble to pick up as much of it as possible. The added crunch makes it even better!

Overall, this not only tasted phenomenal, but it had gorgeous and distinctively "Star Wars" visual presentation, and overall was so unique!

Moving on,

Milk Stand + Ronto Roasters

While the Milk Stand and Ronto Roasters are completely different shops and aren't even close, I picked up drinks from the Milk Stand for breakfast on our second day, so reviewing them together!

Blue Milk: Plant-based blend of Coconut and Rice Milk with alluring fruity characteristics

Review: The Iconic Drink. I hear that people have mixed opinions about this, but I actually really liked it—and it also tasted SUPER familiar. If any of you have had ramune before, the Japanese soda drink in a funky glass bottle that you can find at most Asian markets, it tasted SUPER similar. Perhaps part of me is biased bc my Japanese ass associates blue = ramune, but really, if someone made a ramune slush and maybe added a wee bit more citrus, this would be it. I also happen to love ramune, and slushes, so of course this was a win! If you want to taste ramune to see what Blue Milk tastes like (at least in my own humble opinion, backed by mum), make sure to pick up the "original" flavor! Overall this was super chilled and refreshing, I loved it!

Green Milk: Plant-based blend of Coconut and Rice Milk with zippy citrus and tropical characteristics

Review: I read some reviews that this was nasty, but I didn't think so, it was also pleasant. There was a bit of a strange, possibly slightly medicinal aftertaste, and it was also "milkier" than the blue so it felt less refreshing. Of the two, I definitely prefer blue, but enjoyed my cup of the green too!

Ronto Morning Wrap: Scrambled Eggs, Grilled Pork Sausage, Shredded Cheddar, Peppercorn Sauce, wrapped in Pita

Review: A very yummy wrap from Ronto's, only available in the morning! I felt like of the 3 wraps, this one was the richest, with a lotta cheese, egg, sausage. It was filling and super good! I wouldn't say that the food item itself felt particularly unique, but Ronto's has a super cool setup, so just being able to eat in the vicinity puts you into the universe.

Evening on a different day, we tried the other wraps!

Ronto Wrap: Roasted Pork, Grilled Pork Sausage, Peppercorn Sauce, tangy Slaw, wrapped in Pita

Review: The classic. I was expecting to like this one the most, and while it didn't disappoint, the others were actually so good they all sorta evened out? For being the meat option, it had a lotta veggies and didn't feel unhealthy, at least compared to my usual diet LMAO. I liked this a lot, and like the morning wrap, it was very tasty in a normal food sorta way!

Ronto-less Garden Wrap: Plant-based Sausage, spicy Kimchi Slaw, sweet Pickled Cucumber, Plant-based Gochujang Spread, wrapped in Pita

Review: Usually not a huge fan of fake meat, but this vegetarian option was actually really good! Of the 3, I think I might have even liked the flavoring best? It had a bit of zing to it, possibly due to the kimchi. Either way, I'm glad I was able to split these with mum!

Hard to say which of the wraps I liked most, I think I liked all of them around the same! None of them stuck out as Exceptional, but they were all good!

Drinks from Ronto:

Tatooine Sunset: Gold Peak® Unsweetened Tea, Minute Maid® Lemonade with Melon and Blueberry

Review: Yet another pleasant fruity drink! Don't remember much about it, other than that I liked it, and it once leaned mildly less sweet than the other one ^ ^;

Meiloorun Juice: Pineapple Juice, Minute Maid® Lemonade, with Blueberry, Cranberry Juice, Lemon Juice, and Desert Pear

Review: THIS ONE. If I had to choose ONE fruit juice out of the tons I had, this one is my favorite. I want to say that "Meiloorun" in the name isn't biasing me (it may be), but no really, this one was genuinely so good. It felt denser? than the others, really citrusy but the flavors were really well mixed so it tasted like an all-new fruit, exactly what I'd expect a Meiloorun to be like! I chugged two of these lmao.

Got this on the final day, also from Ronto:

Destran Ice Cap: Sprite®, Orange-Tangerine Syrup, topped with Sweet Cream Cheese

Review: Wasn't sure about the whole "cream cheese in soda," but I'm glad I tried this because I actually really liked it! The cream cheese added a pleasant, well, creaminess to the orange soda of the rest of it, giving it a sort of ice cream float-like feel without the ice cream. Would defs get again!

Lastly,

Kat Saka's Kettle

Picked this up on the last day!

Outpost Mix: colorful blend of seasonal flavors (blend of Caramel and Chocolate-glazed Popcorn)

Review: Honestly just a pleasant popcorn mix! It was good, flavor wasn't too strong, pretty mild. Was a nice easily consumable crunchy snack. It says caramel + chocolate, but tbh I mostly just tasted "mildly sweet." I was hoping for the brightly colored purple/red mix that at least looks a bit unique, but perhaps that's for a different season? Either way, yeah, I enjoyed this but didn't feel it was particularly special ^ ^;

~~

Aaaaand that's my review! I didn't quite eat *everything* at Galaxy's Edge, but I tried a darn good majority.

Overall, the vast majority of food/drink was super darn good and well worth the money! Some was more unique than others, but the quality was consistently high throughout. I did not eat outside of Galaxy's Edge my entire trip and felt very satisfied with that!

My standout favorites were: the pasta & mousse dessert from Docking Bay 7, blue milk from the Milk Stand, and Meiloorun juice from Ronto's!

I also got all 3 of the thermal detonator-shaped water bottles, but well, the flavor inside was just your regular Coke, Diet Coke, and Sprite. Still cool souvenirs!

But yes, in general, just so many fruit juices haha. Luckily I do love fruit juices, and also I'm glad that all of the bathrooms in Batuu were both clean, spacious, *never* had lines, and were also super cool-looking. Because given the amount of sugar water I was chugging, yeah. I visited them a lot!

While there's a good variety of food on Batuu and I think they did a great job with the menu, there were a few things that I hope they expand on in the future.

First, while there were some options for folks with dietary restrictions, they were extremely limited. Unsurprising, as most of the food shops already have an extremely limited menu with single digit menu items total. But it would still be nice to see these menus be expanded in the future, or possibly adding additional shops so that something, somewhere might work.

Next, I felt myself wishing for more take-home souvenir-type food. Liked boxed cookies, chocolates, y'know? Sure, you could technically take home the popcorn, but it's just in a brown bag. I'm genuinely shocked they didn't have Grogu's blue macaron cookies, I'm sure those would sell insanely well. Mouse-man, u listening?

Again, I know a lot of food menu items are seasonal/limited, so I hope I can visit again when things have switched around!

If you've been to Batuu, what were your favorite things to taste there?? Any hot items I missed?

Anyway, I hope you found this review to be interesting! Thanks for reading!!

[sarifinasnightmare]

Popsicle Standoff

Rating: Sexual Innuendos Ahoy!

Paring: Sarah X Bucky

Author's Note: This is me killing two birds with one stone. So @sahtinekryze  put out this prompt about Cass, AJ and Bucky conspiring to hide a kitten from Sarah. This also fulfills the popsicle prompt. Hopefully I did good!

Summary: Cass and AJ rescue a kitten. Bucky has a soft spot for cats and decides to aid and abet them in hiding the little floof from their mother.

August 19-25: Popsicles

Bucky had endured torture. However what Sarah was doing in front of him was about to make him fold faster than a lawn chair.

It was supposed to be a distraction and a way to soften her up to what the boys had hidden up in their room.

When it came to the boys, Bucky was always 100% behind whatever decision Sarah made. However, when Cass and AJ came back from school carrying an adorable white ball of fluff that had been abandoned in a box on the side of the road, her NO PETS rule went flying out the window.

“Please don’t tell mom!” AJ pleaded as Bucky gently took the little kitten from his arms.

“We think it’s deaf.” Cass snapped his fingers close to the kitten’s ear and it didn’t flinch, too busy staring up at Bucky with matching blue eyes.

The little thing looked dehydrated, with a distended belly and probably covered with fleas. Still it mewed bravely and lifted a paw curiously. Bucky smiled remembering as a small boy the alley cats he often played with and how occasionally one would crawl on his lap for pets. Fighters and survivors, they were nonetheless tranquil, peaceful creatures.

“Let’s see if we can get the fleas off her.” He decided after giving her a quick inspection.

A check on the internet showed them how to give the kitten a proper washing and what it would need to eat. Bucky promptly went to the nearest store to get some proper food and had just returned when Sarah suddenly drove in.

“Mom’s here!” AJ cried out, hugging the freshly washed kitten wrapped snug in a towel.

The kitten mewled loudly in protest.

“Shh! Not so loud.” Cass hushed them both. “We got to hid her.”

Bucky sighed, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Take her upstairs. I’ll see what I can do with your mom.”

The boys quickly dashed up to their room just as Sarah walked into the house with a small bag of foodstuff. She caught the sounds of frantic steps and the door slamming shut along with hushed words. Bucky stood in the center looking awkward.

“Is there something I should know?”

“N-No.”

Now this was surprising. It was the first time Bucky had ever lied to her. Handing the groceries to him she decided to figure out what shenanigans was going down.

“I think I’m going to check on the boys.”

“Uh, wait!” He opened the freezer, looked around. “I’ve been craving a popsicle…Want to enjoy one with me?” Turning around he thrust one at her.

He’s stalling her. Now she knew something was up, but fine, if he wanted to play games, so be it.

“Okay,” she said, peeling off the plastic wrapping to reveal the classic red and orange popsicle swirl. Taking a seat across from him, she sucked the tip of the cold dessert and moaned in delight.

Bucky faltered, his popsicle missing his mouth by a mile as he watched Sarah begin to suck, lick and slurp on the long frozen pop.

“My girlfriends and I loved these on hot nights. We’d try to make it last as long as possible.” She mused as her tongue licked the sweetness of the popsicle first up, then down.

“Uh huh.” He said breathlessly.

“I remember Brenda was boy crazy and showed us her special trick.” Demonstrating, she pushed the popsicle far into her mouth and slowly dragged it out.

His jeans were now extremely tight, and his gaze was fixed on her every move.

She arched a brow. “Aren’t you going to eat yours? It’s melting all over your hand.”

“Uh,” He reached out to grab a napkin, missed and jostled the table before awkwardly wiping his hand.

Bemused, she took a delicate bite and let the icy sweetness melt in her mouth. “You’re wasting it.”

Bucky watched the way her tongue dragged over her lips, squirming, but tried to regain control and began to chomp at his popsicle, finishing it in three bites.

“You didn’t even enjoy it.” Sarah scolded gently as she slowly finished hers until she was only sucking on the stick.

“Jesus, Sarah,” He groaned, pulling the stick from her mouth and capturing her in a cool, sticky sweet kiss. He’d been tortured enough and now demanded some satisfaction.

She indulged him. Her tongue teased him, her teeth nibbled. His breath became heavy, and she brushed her hand against his jeans feeling his arousal.  

“I’m going to check on the boys.”

Before Bucky could even realize he’d been tricked, Sarah ran up the stairs to find out what was going on. Valiantly he tried to stop her but too late, she was inside AJ’s bedroom looming over the boys as they tried their best to look innocent despite the fact that the kitten was meowing loudly under the bed.

“What did I say?” She said, hands parked at her hips.

“Please mom! She was left to die all alone in a box!” Cass argued. “We couldn’t leave her like that.”

“You always tell us to help the less fortunate.” AJ added.

Bucky soon lumbered in awkwardly, his eyes darting around. “Where is she?”

The kitten crawled out from under the bed and made a beeline for the super soldier. With sharp, tiny claws she unabashedly climbed up his long legs until he could scoop her into his arms. Now safely established, the kitten looked up at Sarah and meowed her introduction.  

Sarah arched a brow. “Sassy, isn’t she?” She noticed how tenderly Bucky stroked the little thing’s soft white fur. “I see I’m already being replaced.”

“No, come on. You know you’re the only girl for me.” Bucky countered before shrugging. “She’s just a lost little kitten. Abandoned, forgotten, disabled…no friends.”

“Not abandoned nor alone. Not so long as a Wilson is around to save the day.” Sarah teased lightly as she gave into the urge and stroked the kitten’s soft head.

Bucky smiled faintly. “I know you told the boys no pets…but you never said I couldn’t have one.”

“Ooh! Yeah, you never said Uncle Bucky couldn’t have a pet. He can keep it!” AJ parroted excitedly.

“You know, instead of lying and stalling with popsicles, you could’ve just said you guys found a kitten.”

Cass frowned. “But you said no pets.”

“Yeah but I never said we couldn’t help a poor defenseless animal.” She countered. “She could stay but tomorrow she moves into Bucky’s place. Okay?”

“Yes Ma’am.” They said in unison. “Can we have a popsicle?” AJ added.

“Go for it.”

They quickly skedaddled out to the kitchen leaving the adults to with their new feline charge.

“So now that this has been settled what are you going to do to prevent me from making you sleep on the couch tonight?” Sarah said, folding her arms across her chest, waiting.

Bucky sighed. “I am sorry that I helped the boys smuggle a cat into the house and lie about it…and I promise that she’ll stay at my place. Please don’t make me sleep on the couch. You are the most beautiful, radiant, loving woman a guy could ever ask for.”

She stared at him for a moment. “I’ll think about it.” Then turned and went to join her sons.

Cat and cat owner watched her go.

The feline glanced up at him. “Mrrp.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.” Bucky replied. “Let’s go butter her up some more.”

In the end, Cass and AJ saved a cat, the cat got a new home, and Bucky managed to slide in beside Sarah that night to finish what they started with the popsicles.

[felidaefatigue]

u ever think abt how fucked up it is when modern western white people have vitamin defeciencies. and not in a "were better than this" way but in a.. we really are exactly this stupid and horrible way.

We kept gettin scurvy n shit cause we put minimal, most stable foodstuffs on boats. and werent getting vitamins n shit. And then we hit land and the indigenous people are like wow ur fuckin dumb please eat Some Leaves. so we do. and then we fuckin. do fucked up starvation experiments on the same indigenous' children. To find out Exactly How Few Vitamins n Shit Do We Really Need... and just. put those. in the same stupid shelf stable foods. cause money and bare minimums to keep a population alive is good capitalism. iNSTEAD OF ACTUALLY VALUEING THE KNOWLEDGE GIVEN AND JUST MAKING SURE OUR SOCIETY WOULD BE EATING MORE FUCKING VARIETY OF SHIT. Like i hear abt someone who tries to be healthy and cuts out processed foods but then get sick because The Process of those processed foods involves fortifying them and they didnt actually replace thosr things nutritionally and like???? fuck dude our society is so broken.

[twobraincellkentwell]

Lucky Ones

[A Game Called Revenge]

Part Sixteen

Series Masterlist Part One.

Summary: "ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ᴍᴀɴ ɪꜱ ᴀɴ ᴀɴɢʀʏ ᴏɴᴇ." The first evening of the 75th Hunger Games is filled with surprisingly melancholy words and plans of action.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the nature of content in some of the chapters. Murder and death. Mentions of sex probably.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Goooooodddddd eveninggggg. Firstly I want to just say my usuals, I have a favourite line so if you can find it then let me know :) reblogs, shares and comments always appreciate.

Clio rifles through the stacks of supplies inside the metal walls of the cornucopia in search of foodstuffs and fresh water. As she rummages through the items they’ve been provided with, the others sit at the front of the structure to watch the water idly, and she notices the lack of items that they are so used to having access to in their respective games and their training. There is no food, no canteens of cold freshwater, no matches to help cook food or provide warmth, no sleeping bags or rope; just piles upon piles of shiny, metal weapons.

“There’s nothing in here!” She calls out to the others. “No fucking food and not even a drop of water.” 

The three of them push themselves to a stand, joining her inside to sort through the mountain of weapons. Each of them deconstructs a stack each, putting aside any of the weapons they could have a use for while carelessly throwing the useless items into a corner inside their shelter. 

“Maybe someone got to the food before us?” Cashmere shrugs as she goes to sit on the rocks outside again. 

“They couldn’t have. The only people who got even close enough to the front were Finnick and Everdeen and besides they’d have put more than one bag in here if there was any at all.” Cato answers her before he rests his sword against the wall of the cornucopia and takes a running start into the salt water so that he can wash the blood from his body.

“Speaking of the girl on fire. You were next to her, how didn’t you catch her?” Gloss asks, venom dripping from his voice.

“She’s a slimy little weasel, man.” Cato answers. He dunks himself under the water again, running his hands through his hair and tugging at the ends to remove the red that tints the golden strands.

“You came up next to her? And you didn’t kill her?”

“She’s your kill, angel. I wasn’t going to take that from you and it’s fine, we’ll get her tomorrow.” He drops his shoulders dismissively before pulling himself from the water and laying flat on his back on one of the spokes. Gloss, still annoyed if his pursed lips are any indication, spreads out the fifteen available knives into three piles of five. He passes five to his sister, keeps five for himself and gestures that the final five are for Clio; who slides two over to Cato - knowing that although he would be less likely to reach for that style of blade it wouldn’t hurt him to have backup incase he is, by some miracle, cornered without his sword.

“What about Romeo and Juliet?” Cato asks his girlfriend.

“Juliet’s very dead. I made sure of that.” Clio laughs, ignoring the confused glances being directed her way by her allies. “Romeo ran but I did promise her we’d kill him too.”

“Romeo and Juliet?” Gloss questions with a furrowed brow.

“The stupid couple from Ten. Almost as pathetic as the fire girl and her bread man.”

“We have to change our plan.” Cashmere tells them after a beat of silence. “If Finnick’s really run off with the Capitol’s favourite couple then-”

“Second favourite couple.”

“Yeah. If he’s gone into the jungle with the Capitol’s second favourite couple then he’ll have told them all about our plans by now.”

“Fuck!” Clio shouts, grabbing the largest of her knives and finding the nearest body, now discarded on the edge of the island. The male morphling. In a rage, she kneels over the top of the man, letting out an angry screech and digging her knife into the skin above his eyelids. Peeling back the skin she is met with the lifeless eyes of the man which she quickly plunges her knife into one and carves the other out with the tip of the blade severing the nerves and connective tissue in the sensory organ. She pulls the slimy ball from the socket and whacks it harshly in the direction of the jungle as if she was back playing rounders in the Academy courtyard as a child. She then hooks the blade underneath his neck, pushing through until the knife re-surfaces through his cupid's bow; the crushing sound of his upper jawbone like music to her ears. When she feels a presence next to her, she doesn’t have to look up to realise it’s Cato when the blade of his sword pierces the man’s windpipe so forcefully that the sound of the tip hitting the rocks echoes throughout the arena. He brings his sword out and pushes it back in as her knife finds his chest, strategically managing to avoid the pre-existing gash. The sounds of the two blades ripping open wetsuit and flesh alike is all the four careers can hear as they take turns plunging their weapons into his body before the first cannon sounds, signalling for them to retreat from the morphling’s already limp form and sit beside their allies to count the cannons.

None of them move or speak as the cannon blasts continue - Cashmere ticks them off with her fingers but doesn’t count aloud, not saying anything until the final boom fades away and the arena falls practically silent. Only the noises of their breathing and the jungle wildlife mingle with the faint humming of a hovercraft that flies overhead. 

“Eight.” Clio shrugs casually while she drops to the floor and lies back in the sunlight. “At least that’s what I counted.”

“Mine too.” Gloss lets out a sigh as he splashes water over his face before dipping his weapons into the seawater.

The four of them lie beside each other as they debate trying to catch some kind of exotic fish or venturing into the jungle in search of drinking water before a comfortable silence falls over them as the sun begins to set on the arena, tinting the water orange with the reflection.

“God it’s hot.” Cato groans as he breaks off a small piece from the rocky island and splits it into several pieces that he skims across the water that crashes into the spokes.

“Might be too hot.” Gloss laughs as he reaches to grab from Cato’s pile of rocks and joins him in throwing them into the water; leading to the two of them engaging in a friendly competition of who can throw the stones the furthest. Clio and Cashmere watch in amusement as they joke around with each other; both acutely aware that their friendship is doomed.

“What the fuck was that?” They ask in unison when a loud spark of electricity comes from deep inside the thick jungle and they await the sound of a cannon. Nothing comes, even when a shrill scream punctuates the air after the zap. The claws then begin to scoop up the bodies that lay around them on their little island, and the sound of one of the claws scraping against the metal tail of the cornucopia grates on them for a second and makes them question their decision to stay near the structure.

“If I’m destined to die in this hellscape then I’ll be damned if I don’t at least swim in it.” Clio announces once the last claw has collected the final body floating beside one of the podiums. She jumps to her feet and kicks off the socks and black boots that confine them, placing them beside the cornucopia. Breaking into a run, she dives into the water and although warm, it provides a nice reprieve from the warm, steamy humidity. Once she breaks the surface, she moves her hands to her hair, untying the elastic bobbles and separating the strands with her fingers so she can wash away all the blood that has dried to the ends. Leaning backwards, she spreads her body out into a star-fish position so she can float as she watches the oranges and pinks of the sunset.

“When I go, I just hope it’s quick. I hope it’s beautiful.” Gloss mutters, mostly to himself but the tension seems to double as his allies turn their attention to him.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t go at all.” Cashmere replies, eyes swirling with hurt and terror as she pushes away her brother’s attempts to comfort her. “Please don’t say stuff like that, even if you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking, Cash. Three of us are going to have to die for there to be a winner, and I’d rather it be me than you.” 

Clio flips onto her front when his words fill her ears, suddenly remembering Enobaria’s warning that she can’t truly trust either of her allies from One. Gloss is playing the exact same game as she is; fully prepared to remove himself from the equation for his loved one to leave alive. She swims the few strides back to the island, reaching over the edge and securing the knife holster around her hips and thigh and sheathing her three knives inside. They watch as she swims backwards further into the water, not taking her eyes off the siblings as Cato lifts himself to his feet and picks up his sword. 

“Woah, man I’m not going to kill you yet. Not with over half of them still out there.” Gloss laughs as he pushes his own knives away from him and in the direction of the cornucopia while he dangles his legs over the edge of the island. 

Cato walks down the spoke nearest to Clio, steps slowing as he approaches the water’s edge. With a decisive nod, he lets the heavy sword fall onto the rocks. A temporary truce. The wind rushes past him as he launches himself into the open air, throwing his legs over his head in messy rotation before he hits the water with a loud splash that erupts in every direction. 

“Where do you learn to do that?” Clio laughs, shaking her head at him when he surfaces. 

“Cool right?”

“I’ve seen better.” She teases as she scoops up a handful of water and sends it flying towards his face.

“Oh that’s it.” Cato gasps in fake shock, chopping at the waves to send sprays of water splashing into her as she rubs her eyes. “You’re on.”

Cato rushes towards her, submerging his body underwater and grabbing at her ankle the second he was in reach. Clio lets out a shriek as she goes under, kicking her legs to try and avoid him grabbing them again before he relents. Coming up and spluttering saltwater, she tries to catch her breath, swimming closer to a spoke to rest against, whilst he covers his eyes with his hands and blinks quickly to try and get rid of the stinging sensation. After a few seconds rest she is intent on getting her revenge, quickly swimming over and splashing more water into his space. He recovers quicker than she expected, however, and chases her towards where his sword rests on the rocky strip. Their laughter rings out throughout the dome, something which, if Clio had to guess, probably unnerves some of the other tributes who hide out in the forest. They playfully taunt each other as they chase, seemingly forgetting their surroundings; with one surging ahead in a burst of energy only to be overtaken by the other closer to the spoke and resulting in a change of direction to avoid getting caught. Finally, they begin to tire out, resting their backs against the spoke as they look at the darkening sky and quickly recall their environment. Their eyes flit quickly to Cashmere and Gloss who still sit at the edge of the island, watching the two of them with amusement in their eyes before averting their gaze to the sky. Distracted by the few stars beginning to appear above them, a smile spreads across Clio’s face before she breaks into a laugh when Cato grabs her and begins to make the swim over to the other side of the segment with her wrapped around his front. With her head constantly being dunked underneath the surface, she wraps her arms around his neck and pretends to choke him.

“If you’re trying to get me to stop, it won’t work.” He grins, “I kind of like it when you do that.”

“Shut up. You have such a dirty mind.” She says as she releases one of her arms to playfully punch him on his shoulder. She feels him grip the back of her thighs, not even able to finish her exclamation before she is thrown into the water ahead of her; swallowing mouthfuls of the salty water. 

Her hand rises above the surface before the rest of her body does and the three of them at the island laugh as her middle finger emerges from the water, followed by her body shooting upwards. “I’m going to fucking get you for that.” 

She bursts out laughing and lets Cato carry her to the line of rocks and they pull themselves up to sit on top of it, catching their breath while their hair and skin begins to dry almost instantly with the high humidity in the arena. As she goes to lie back, her hand goes to her thigh, noticing that two of her three knives had slipped out of the holster whilst they were in the water. Fucking brilliant , she thinks, I have a little fun in my last few days and I’ve lost my fucking weapons. But she knows that drawing attention to her mistake would be stupid, so she keeps silent and remains seated upright. Feeling Cato wrap his arm around her and pull her into his wet, toned torso, she squints her eyes at him as he cups her face in his hand and swipes at the water running from her forehead before leaning in towards her and placing a kiss to her lips. 

“What are we going to do about them?” She asks him, against his lips.

“Who do you mean?” He questions her back and kisses her again.

“Our friends .” She wipes a drop of water that falls from his hair onto the tip of his nose. “When are we going to kill the wonder siblings off?”

“It’s your call.” He says, continuing when she raises an eyebrow at him. “You decide and I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Really?” She laughs. “That was easy.”

“Shut up.” He mirrors her words from earlier. His arm moves from its resting position on her hip, gliding to the small of her back where he gives a sharp push, sending her crashing into the water again whilst he laughs. 

“Cato!” She shouts, “I swear-”

Her sentence is interrupted by the high-pitched chimes of four silver pods finally floating their way down to their camp. Cashmere is the first to reach them, jumping up to collect each one, and it’s her who separates them. Two parcels labelled ‘Two’, and two parcels labelled ‘One.’ Climbing out of the water, she joins Cato and her two other allies as they grab their weapons and move their camp underneath the metal structure. 

‘Stop fucking about in the water. We do not have the energy to mentor your single shared brain cell if this is how you’re going to use it.’ 

“Oh that’s real nice, Enobaria!” Clio laughs, as she looks up towards the sky as if talking directly to her mentors - and whoever else was listening. As they open the parcels, the first contains two metal flasks filled to the brim with ice cold water, complete with carabiner clips that can be fastened to their holsters, whilst the other contains an assortment of high protein foods. Trail mix, hard-boiled eggs, varieties of dried meat and fish jerky, granola and oat bars alongside and fruit. Sat in a diamond shape inside the Cornucopia, they chat amongst themselves as they swig large gulps from their flasks and eat half of their allocated package of food.

“What do you think you’d be doing if we weren’t in here?” Gloss asks them curiously, finishing off their his of beef jerky.

“Probably watching them the same way we did last year, I guess?” Cato shrugs, “and likely shouting at our tributes for not being able to figure out the arena.”

“And have you? Figured it out?” 

“There’s twelve of those little slices so it has to do with the number of Districts.” Cato suggests.

“Well, obviously , but what do you think is in the jungle?” Cashmere questions.

“I think it’s gotta be separated like the water is.” He says as he rips one of the bread rolls in half and passes the half in his right hand to Clio. “Each slice of the jungle has got to have something from each of the Districts in it, you know, to make us want to go in.”

“Interesting.” Gloss hums, “Do you think we should go hunting tonight?”

“Nah, we should just stay here for the night. No one’s going to target the four of us together, and we don’t even know who’s out there yet.” Clio replies, resting her head on Cato’s shoulder.

“We can figure out a plan tomorrow then.” Cashmere suggests when she sees her brother nod out of the corner of her eye, before directing their conversation back to their lives. “If the Games didn’t exist then I think I’d have liked to work in social welfare.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to the blonde woman, as she fiddles with the shell of the nut she just cracked upon and continues speaking in a whisper, “Before we enrolled in the Academy, I used to go to preschool with these girls who were from the poorest families in the District and I would wish I could do something to help them. I was only five of course, but when I heard about what happened to them as we grew up, the same thing that happened to me after I won, I would’ve loved to be able to help. To make a difference to all the mistreated little girls in Panem.”

The genuine smile on her face drops once her admission passes her lips as her features transform into a cold expression, nostrils flaring in irritation and eyes glazing over slightly. “They don’t warn you about the things people say to you, do to you, when they think you’re pretty and quite frankly I’ve had enough of it. I’m more than my face. More than my body. I never had a choice, once Gloss won I always knew I would have to live up to that. I should have been allowed autonomy.”

Her volume increases as she looks up at the sky, directly into the several cameras that sit in the arena’s dome shaped covering. “Every little girl should be given a choice!”

“Cash-” Gloss tries to calm his sister down, if only to remove the flaming red target she’s just stapled to her back.

“She’s right.” Clio nods as she threads her fingers through Cato’s, an unspoken understanding between them.

“You too?” Cashmere asks her quietly, “I always thought that you Twos were spared from all that stuff.”

“Unfortunately not,” Clio shakes her head as silence falls over the group.

“I’d have liked to work with the medics. Maybe not as part of the healing teams because I haven’t got the smarts to be trained in that side of things but I think that I’d have made a good first responder. I’ve seen enough blood and death. Nothing would shock me anymore…” Gloss fills the silence. “What about you two?”

“I’ve never even thought about it before.” Cato admits. “Growing up in Two, anything and everything is about the Games. It’s all we’ve ever known, all we’ve got really. I’ve been wielding a sword since I was eight, I mean, all we did was train.”

“The plan was always to win and then return back to the Academy to train the other kids. I had to teach myself how to read properly, so I don’t think I’d be very useful without the Games.” Clio laughs, easily waving off her self-depreciation. “I wasn’t even a very good mentor so who knows.”

“That’s it?” Gloss asks in disbelief. “You’ve never thought of anything beyond the Games?”

“District Two is practically built around the Games. It’s not really like we had any other choice. You either die in the arena or become a victor, and if you’re not selected you just become a peacekeeper or stonemason.” Cato scoffs.

“I would’ve been a mum.” Clio says with a sigh. “We would’ve had kids, two little girls and a boy. Three mini Catos because there’s no way that any of my genes would’ve won out when his entire family looks as if they could be descendants of the Vikings.” 

“Nope. I still believe that our oldest girl would have looked exactly like you, with perfect brown waves and warm hazel eyes.” Cato chimes in, rubbing his thumb in small circles along the back of her hand when their allies laugh at their playful bickering. “They’d have been the strongest kids you’d ever meet.”

“I guess we’ll never know,” Clio offers with a sad, wistful smile. “But it’s probably for the best since they’d have only ended up like us. Dark and twisted and slightly deranged, so maybe they’ve done us all a favour. Maybe not having them is the best way to protect them from all the shit we were subjected to.”

“Maybe.” Cashmere hums in agreement. “None of us really want to go home alone do we?”

Their silence is enough of an answer. They’re prepared to give the Capitol the show they want, but they know they don’t want it to have to come down to the four of them, or even worse, in Clio’s opinion, the two of them. She knows she isn’t prepared to kill Cato, and he isn’t prepared to kill her; just like how Cashmere and Gloss aren’t prepared to kill each other either.  

Cashmere and Gloss don’t want to return to District One without each other. Without the sibling who they expected to be by their side, watching as they grew up. Each existing in separate lives, yet so intertwined by their bond. They refuse to go home to see the dejection in their parents’ eyes at their loss. They refuse to fight to return to a place where the only touch they receive is the sleazy hand of a paying customer, in something they do not wish to be a part of. They are not coming out without each other.

Clio doesn’t want to return to District Two without Cato. Without the boy she has loved since she was fourteen, the boy who she expected to spend the rest of her life with, the boy who was her support system throughout the tumultuous two years following her games. She refuses to go home to a house that would feel empty without him in it, without the pile of crumpled clothing she has to move every evening. She refuses to go home, only to see what was his house next to hers. She refuses to go home to have to actually use the stepstool in her kitchen, given that he wouldn’t be there to reach the glasses in the top cabinet. She is not coming out with him.

Cato doesn’t want to return to District Two without Clio. Without the girl whose first words to him were sarcastic and have continued to be his damnation ever since. He refuses to go home to a world where he is condemned to live a life where no one remembers his name, instead remembering him only as the winner of the quarter quell. He is not willing to return back to a nation where his only memorable trait would be killing the girl he loves. He refuses to go home to be met with the sight of her old house next door. He refuses to go home to an empty house. He refuses to let the smell of cinnamon fade from the kitchen but he’d never be able to stand the smell of it without her. He is not coming out without her.

And yet, as aware as they all are in this realisation that they don’t particularly want to live, they aren’t aware that the others sitting around them are, have all come to the same agreement; keep their partner alive at all costs, even if it means forcing a blade through your own heart with hesitation. 

Before the silence gets too heavy to bear, Clio takes a large gulp out of her flask before pulling herself to her feet. “I think we should start to get some sleep. If we’re going to start hunting people down tomorrow then we need to be at least a little rested.”

“You go,” Cato suggests, “I’ll stay up to keep watch.”

“Me too,” Gloss agrees, cutting off his sister’s protests before they even begin. “Just try and sleep, Cash. I’ll be fine.”

“Wake us up when the anthem starts and we can switch after we know who our next target is.”

[umbralsound-xiv]

Collapse.

It was a... Comfort to go to, when Sayuri was out. To go to the kitchen and... Cook something. A simple curry, with rice. ...I did not think it would be so difficult. I remembered everything, something i must have done hundreds of times now, only... The rice was... Something was... It... It reminded me of... ...There.

Eir Fellfrost tends the stove, the scent of aromatic spices permiating the kitchen. One pot held a lofty amount of rice, the other simmered a thick, orange sauce. Turning to the counter, Eir slowly takes the knife in hand, beginning to prepare vegetables, lost in his thoughts…

The alluring scent of flavorful food being prepared had caught Erjon's attention, as was usually the case when someone was working in the kitchen. The spices in particular however, were familiar in a way he had not sensed for a few moons now. Making his way down the stairs, boots hitting the wood with each echoing step, he soon spotted who he suspected to find. "About time you showed up," he spoke in the same casual tone he always used. "Hard at work already, I see."

Eir Fellfrost runs a knife carefully through an onion, before a partiularly loud footfall makes him flinch, nicking a finger, head turned towards the sound as he backed anxiously towards the cooker. "I--- I--- H-have been…" He nods, staring. He bunches the wounded hand in a ball of fabric at his sleeve, relinquishing the knife to the floor with a clatter. "…"

He--- He was... ...I should have expected it when i opened the spice jar. It is fine. It is fine. It... I need to be more careful...

Erjon Sjadarwesfv raised an eyebrow, quietly regarding Eir for a moment before getting closer. "You know, knives are pretty sharp. Better be careful with them." He kept observing Eir as he got closer before coming to a stop by the counter door. "Or better yet, not handle a dangerous object while you're shaking like a leaf. Even if what you are making smells pretty good. You just got back from what I can only imagine to be a pretty traumatic event."

Eir Fellfrost: "I… w-was fine…" He stammers, staring at the knife. But he doesn't reach for it. He stares at Erjon, a death grip on the fabric at his hand. "Y-you just… Spooked me, i-is all." Eir swallows an anxious lump, before slowly kneeling to retrieve the knife, eyes not moving from him for a moment.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Right, my bad. Not sure sneaking down the stairs would have been any better though, would it? If you're this jumpy now, then I can only imagine me suddenly saying 'hello' might have caused you to actually lose a finger or two." He invited himself to the kitchen as he usually would, walking around and observing the foodstuffs Eir was preparing. "In any case, welcome back. Glad to see you didn't die."

...I did not die. I... ...Did not. Did not? No. No no no. I... Do not think about this, now. I am alive! I am alive. ...How close was i, to the opposite...?

Eir Fellfrost: "No, n-no. I was simply… Lost in my thoughts…" Eir trails, moving to rinse and clean off the knife before he plans to use it again, the bleeding at his finger stemmed. "I… D-did not die. No." He says, as though convincing himself. "…B-but it was… Close…" Eir quietly admits…

Erjon Sjadarwesfv glanced at Eir over his shoulder as he walked around him, curiously eyeing the pot on the stove. "Hm. I'm not surprised, with what little I have heard. Despite it not being operated by the company, quite a few invested themselves into getting the two of you out of there. Seems to have been difficult. But here you are."

Eir Fellfrost works slower now, carefully adding things to the pan as he'd finished dicing. The moment he is done, he turns to face Erjon, never quite letting him out of his sight. "Some… Th-they came for us. If… If it were not for them, perhaps we… We would still be…" Eir trails, shaking his head, almost forcing himself to cut those words short. "…W-would not be the… F-first time."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv watched the pot for a moment before turning to face Eir properly, arms crossing as he watched him. "First time?"

Eir Fellfrost: "…Werlyt." Was his only remark, careful to not divulge too much information to prying ears. "…It is… No secret i am… N-not the best fighter…"

...It... Was the first time. That i almost died. That i was... I... I remember it. Vision goes first. Blurred, then black. Then sound. I... No, no no... Why am i thinking of this now? Is it because of him? Because we were... We...

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Ah, you meant that. The curse of a long year and little peace, hm?" He walked over to the stack of fruit, grabbing himself an apple before taking a bite out of it. "You sure you don't regret associating yourself with mercenaries yet? I don't doubt things like this will keep happening, and you seem pretty done with it all. Maybe becoming a baker would have been a more comfortable change of career."

Eir Fellfrost: "I h-have made my choice." Eir replies, a little more sternly. "We will suffer a-anyway. So let me suffer for someone i care for." His gaze drifts a little lower. "I… H-have friends here. People i love. I w-will not leave them. N-not again."

No. Not... Not like Bozja. ...No! This is nothing like then! I... I am not expected to fight, this... This... I am not a conscript! This was just... This is just...! I am going nowhere! Things will keep happening, and perhaps i could have chose a more peaceful, more kind life! A sadder life, for not meeting her, for not meeting the friends i have now! I chose this, and i chose her!

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "A bit dramatic there, aren't you?" He took another bite out of the apple as he made his way back to invade Eir's air of nervosity. "I'm sure plenty here are glad to have you back. After all, many headed out to save you, didn't they?" He kept chewing as he talked before pausing to swallow. "In any case, it's not like you would have been able to fight your way out of that place on your own like a juggernaut. But you're stubborn. You endured, and you survived. Congrats."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "However, you are not free. Not entirely. I'm sure you have realized that yourself, you're an even bigger nervous wreck than you were before. Afraid only time will do the trick. Good thing you got plenty of it now, hm? As long as you avoid playing with knives of course."

Eir Fellfrost: "It is hardly dramatic. It is the t-truth. You know this." Eir spoke, lowering his gaze. "…People… Are glad to have m-me back. They have told me. I… B-believe them." He eyes the bubbling curry for just a moment, glance tracing back to Erjon. "I am -lucky-, more than i am stubborn." The voice that had been full of so much steadiness had begun to falter. "A-and i will be fine! I w-will. I w-was after th-the Locket. A-and after everything… Th-that came before. Why should th-this b-be any different?"

I have endured misery after misery, and i am still here! Why would this be any different? It hurts, and it hurts, and it... Should. I am still here. ...I am still here.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv tilted his head, eyebrow raised just a bit. "I don't doubt you will be. You've been to hell and back more times than one. But it never fully leaves you now, does it?" Finishing the last of his apple, he turned to toss the core in the trash. "So… How are you feeling, Eir?" There was no sarcasm to Erjon's voice as he spoke, like there so often would be.

To hear Erjon speak his name; no mocking undertone, no nickname, was enough to silence him. "I am f-f-fine…" Eir eventually lied, with the well of tears in his eyes, no matter how he fought them. "It… It w-will just be another… A-another…" His voice trails, wavery, as Eir stood stone still; the usual rock back and forth of the balls of his feet absent in his other anxious moments.

I... I am fine. I... Have to be. What other choice do i... Have?

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "… Another trauma? Another painful memory? Another scar to ignore until it fades?" Erjon watched as Eir's pretend reassurance started to falter. "You are not fine, clearly. Why pretend? You don't have to be strong for anyone."

Eir Fellfrost takes another shaky breath, lips parting to give a reply… But he can't. The sound that leaves is a sob, as tears stream down his cheeks, backing further away into the counter. "I… A-am trying!" Eir speaks through gritted teeth as the grief wells.

I... I am not being strong for anyone. Not... Not even myself. I... I just... I just wanted things to be normal. Even... Even for a few bells...!

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "It won't go away by pretending it doesn't bother you as much as it does. You're a mess, Eir." Erjon frowned softly as he spoke, unusually serious for being somewhere that was not a battlefield.

Eir Fellfrost: "I… I--…" The sound is almost vomited up from his throat; a wail, a scream as Eir hurries right past Erjon in some effort to hide his face, though only makes it so far before his legs begin to give. Eir drops to his knees, and all he seems to want to do is curl into a ball, face hidden against his knees as he hides beneath the worktop. "I-it w-will n-not go away!" Eir's voice is loud, distressed, "M-my every n-nightmare is full of a-all that happened th-there! S-so what?! A-are you happy? H-happy th-that you could see through it? Th-that you were right?!"

...Why? Why would you not just let me pretend? Pretend for a few bells that i am fine, and everything else is?! Why do you care how i am feeling?!

The sudden loud noise that escaped Eir surprised Erjon enough for him to stare baffled at him as he hurried past him. He was quick to understand what was happening however and walked up to Eir, not too quickly or with steps as heavy as he usually would. He got down on one knee in front of him, frowning softly as he studied Eir's trembling frame. "Eir, you're having a panic attack. It's only the two of us here. You are not in danger."

Eir Fellfrost took another breath; fighting to speak through it, he shrinks back against the alcove until the hardwood was felt flat against his back, sobbing. "It will happen a-again… It w-will h-ha--ppen… A-again…" His breaths, hitched and halfway to hyperventilating spilled more tears forth, though curled away as he was, he couldn't neither see, nor easily be seen. "M-my legs! He -broke- m-my legs!" Eir begins to rock, as to get some feeling back into them, numb and stiff now that they'd betrayed him. "D-do you k---know? H-how it f--eels to have th-the -only th--thing- of m-mine i c-could rel--ly on, t-take away from m-me…?"

Erjon Sjadarwesfv watched Eir as he continued rambling, patiently listening before carefully reaching one hand to put on his shoulder. "Breathe, Eir. Breathe. In… and out." As if to demonstrate, he took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled. "… I will never know how you feel. I have not experienced what you have. I'm sorry for pushing you into a corner. But… you are here. You are breathing. Your legs are working."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "I know scars never truly heal, be they on your body or your soul. No doubt you have gotten more now. You don't have to hide them, that just makes them more present."

Eir Fellfrost weeps all the more fitfully for the contact, but doesn't retreat from it. "Th-they used m-me as -bait-! For her! For -her-!" He's almost screaming, but it's not anger, it's grief. "Th-they used m-me like a-an animal! I w-was not g-good for… A-anything, wh-when they h-had her…" He trembles, voice breaking. "J-just bait…" He sobs for a little longer, catching his breath with Erjon's quiet instruction. "I… D-do not… W-want anyone to s-see…" He sobs. "N-not… E-even her…"

Erjon Sjadarwesfv sighed before moving to sit underneath the counter next to Eir. "You're so hung up on your weaknesses. I've heard you complain about your own strength since day one. You're not being fair, Eir. Not to yourself, or those who trust in you. Like Sayuri. Do you think you have to seem strong for others to trust you? To rely on you?"

Eir Fellfrost: "N-no, o-of course n-not!" Finally, Eir pulls his tear stricken face from his knees. "B-but if i w-was stronger, th-this would… N-not have h-happened. I… W-would have been able to f-fight. Do… S-something…"

...Something. Anything. I... I would have been able to defend myself. Hold on a little... Longer. Done... Something. Anything, to get away, or to free us... But i... ...I am not... ...Strong enough.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "I doubt so. While it may not have happened when it did, it would have happened eventually. As miserable as that feeling might be. There is no use in thinking 'what if'. It happened, and there's that. And now you've got to deal with the results of it. Step one being to acknowledge that it hurt you, and it still hurts.

Eir Fellfrost: "A-and what d-do you t-think this is? I -am- h-hurting!" He was still half yelling, even now, though it simmered with his next words. "I… T-think it… W-will, always. H-how… C-could i… Possibly pr-pretend otherwise?" He chokes another sob, head rested back against the wall. "I… K-know it w-will happen a-again. B-but…" He shakes his head, words quietening to a whisper. "I k-know this."

...And i chose this. It hurts. I am... Afraid, and i know it will, but i made my choice, and i regret nothing of it! ...Nothing of being with her. I know what i want, and i know what the more difficult life would be. I do not want to be without her.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "It's easy to say 'I can handle this', or 'it's worth the pain and suffering'. It's a whole different thing to live up to those words. Anyone who confidently claims they can is full of crap. This kind of stuff isn't something you brush under the rug to go frolick in a flower field of pretend."

Eir Fellfrost: "…I c-can." Eir sniffles. It's quiet, but confident. "A-and it is. S-she is. I k-know what it is to be w-without her. I d-do not want to be w-without h-her again. O-of… A-all the things they… D-did to me, that… That hurt. M-more than anything." Tears still continue to pour, though the outright sobbing has stopped, for the moment. "I… H-have before. W-we both have. W-we would not b-be here, otherwise…"

...I can handle this. I will cry and scream the entire time, but i will. And it is worth the pain and suffering. ...It is like the Locket. If... If i had to endure it all again, to be where i am now, i... I would, without question.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "If you say so. But you can't pretend to be dealing with this just fine in front of her or anyone else forever. Especially if stuff like this is bound to keep happening."

Eir Fellfrost: "…S-she knows. I… I d-do not pretend i-in front of h-her. Just… J-just out here." Eir swallows the lump in his throat. "I j-just w-want some n-normality. I… I cannot simply confine m-myself t-to my room and scream." Eir blinks away tears, though is still clearly upset. "…W-what else was i s-supposed to s-say? You… Y-you did not come here t-to l-listen to me w-weep."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv shrugged a hand. "I came looking for food and I found a Viera about to have a nervous breakdown. Did screaming out here feel a little less confining?"

Eir Fellfrost: "…I-it felt…" Eir closes his eyes, lips still drawn into a frown. "…I-if someone else h-here would understand, it… I-it would h-have been you.."

...It... It would have been him. He knows. He understands, he has... Walked a similar path, before. ...But he handles it better. I am... Weak. Delicate. Sensitive. I wanted to thank him for... For being here. But the entire notion of it felt so... Stupid.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "… I have seen this before, if that's what you mean. I'm sure you recognize the signs as well. This wasn't exactly uncommon."

Eir Fellfrost: "N-no. It…. W-was not." Eir whispers, finding some steadiness, now. "Th-the whole b-boat ride to Eorzea. I… I n-never said a w-word…" He wavers, gazing up to Erjon. "I… A-am still s-scared. S-scared they w-will take her again. A-and i will n-not be able to d-do anything…"

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "It might happen. Or it won't. You'll have to deal with these thoughts, and with the knowledge that you will be involved either way if you make that choice. You know your own weaknesses and strengths, Eir."

Eir Fellfrost: "I k-know i d-do not want to be w-without h-her. I h-have made m-my choice." Eir whispers, and a ghost of a smile moves over his lips. "I… I a-asked her to m-marry me."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv raised an eyebrow. "You really are a masochist, huh. Well, congratulations. Have fun looking after your nerves. I'm guessing there will be cake."

Eir Fellfrost gives the most fleeting smile. "…S-some people are w-worth suffering f-for. A-and yes. There will."

I had expected him to... Chide me more for it. But i felt i had to tell him, at least. I wanted to tell everyone, the whole world, but... ...There are people worth suffering for. Though i would prefer it if it need never happen... I would, if it meant keeping her.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Well, don't come to me if you need a therapist. I look forward to cake though." He glanced at the pot still on the stove. "How's the cooking going, by the way?"

Eir Fellfrost: "O-oh!" Eir exclaims, narrowly avoiding the shelf he'd crammed himself under to tend the stove; the rice was a little overdone, but salvagable. He stirs the curry thoroughly, ensuring it hadn't stuck as he feared. Slowly turning to look to Erjon, Eir moves to take two plates.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv grabbed the edge of the counter top for support as he got up on his feet, careful not to hit his head as he straightened his back. "Almost had two disasters this evening, huh."

Eir Fellfrost: "Almost." Eir manages. A hefty portion of rice is piled atop one of the plates, and a heap of curry soon joins it. Taking a handful of cutlery, Eir turns and walks to Erjon, offering the plate without hesitation. "…I-it is better fresh." Eir smiles, gratitude in his expression. "…B-better than leftovers."

...Though it was because of his words i... I reacted as i did, i would not doubt that i needed to hear it. That... That it was okay, if... If i was not. That i did not have to pretend... I... ...He deserves better than leftovers. Though he is insufferable on occasion, this... I... It is the only thanks i can think to give.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv raised his eyebrows ever so slightly at the offered plate of food. It did smell just as enticing as when he first caught a whiff of it upstairs. "My thanks, it's been a while since I got to eat something that tries to burn my tastebuds." He wasted no time in getting a spoonful of rice and curry to eat, not even bothering with sitting down.

Eir Fellfrost: "…This one is not so spicy. F-flavourful, though." With the easing of his nerves, the stammer than had clung to his words begins to settle, returning to prepare his own plate. "If… You p-prefer something spicier, i can always prepare it as such, n-next time…?"

Already on his second bite, he looked at Eir with curious eyes before swallowing. "Are you offering a challenge? I accept. Just don't feel tempted to kill me."

Eir Fellfrost: "No, n-no, i w-would not." He pulls his lips into a line, before they curl into a small grin. "…B-but y-you might make s-strange faces."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Faces of bliss or faces of despair? I'm up for the challenge." He walked a little closer to Eir, corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked grin. "Surprise me with some ginger cookies at the wedding, won't you?" Giving a single pat on Eir's back, Erjon started walking towards the stairs, still eating his food from his plate. "Don't go disappearing for moons anytime again soon now, alright?"

Eir Fellfrost: "N-no promises!" Eir calls, though it's a lighthearted tone. "I h-have both a wedding -a-and- a honeymoon to plan!" Eir watches as he escends the stairs, intending to clean the kitchen once again. "…E-enjoy the f-food---…" Eir manages, sentence ending a little abruptly.

...Erjon. I... I almost said his name. Something stopped me, and i... ...Is he a friend? I have never consciously thought of him as one, but... ...Maybe. I do not know. The more i speak to him... The more comfort i find in his answers. His understanding. Without judgement, to know we have walked a similar path... ...Does he think the same of me? Or am i simply just another face in a hall full of people...?

[kieuecaprie]

I think I asked Liliana's favorite foods in the past so now I want to know everyone's favorite foods.

While you did already say you asked for Lily's favorite foods, I'll put it here for completeness's sake (and also because it's on the bluebird hellsite which is prone to being broken down at a moment's notice):

Liliana Silvernoon - She likes sweet things, her utmost favorite being jelly-filled donuts (no, not the 4Kids variant, the actual jelly filled donut). However, she wouldn't say no to anything chocolate-related, unless it's too sweet, there's some sweets that even she can't really handle.

Azie Nolastnameyet - Despite looking like a tough looking half-demon (this will make sense once I get around to updating my "Games Finished in 2023" list, I think), she doesn't really like spicy foods all that much, not because they're too much for her, but more that they really can't challenge her, but she ain't really much for sweets either. So, what would be her favorite? Hard to say, really, but she has an affinity for fast foods, you know, burgers, fries, pizza, that sort of thing. That said, she also has a bit of a soft spot for ice cream, so that's something she and Lily can bond over.

Elpis Elmglow - Being a Toon, it'd be... difficult trying to pin down their favorite foodstuffs. I could say that they like baked goods such as pies and stuff but they use that for fighting robotic corporate suits and are probably super sick of it. Fruits and vegetables seems like a reasonable option for them especially since it doubles as them getting ammunition for their trap gags.

Unnamed Octoling - After having travelled from Inkopolis to Splatsville and back, I can safely say that their favorite foods are the Shwaffles, which are probably no longer being sold at the current moment in the Splatoon timeline due to the Crust Bucket being out of business. Nowadays, they just chew on Crab Trap Sandwiches whenever they drop by the Crab-N-Go, which is just fine for them seeing how their funds go into their Salmonid research (and getting Scrungus actual FOOD and not just whatever he chews on). They're fond of sweet stuff but unfortunately, that's also Scrungus's favorite and the little guy will NYOMP anything not tied down (or locked away in a cage), so unfortunately, they're gonna have to do without... for now EDIT: Cleaning up the formatting of this answer post, it was a little too hard to read and I don't really like having too many words scrunched up together like that. If I wanted words scrunched together, I'd go write an essay for a class or something.

[calciseptinefic]

then out of nowhere, somebody comes and hits you with an ooh la la la, ooh la la la, ooh la la la, ooh

Marvel || Wade Wilson/Peter Parker || Part 8 notes: Title from 'Mad Sounds' by Arctic Monkeys. Many thanks to babygato for her beta on this chapter. this fic is also available on ao3 warnings: none

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← previous: Part 7

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After returning to Queens and collecting the necessary foodstuffs for both making dinner and movie watching, they go back to the apartment and collapse onto opposite ends of the couch. For ten minutes, they are unmoving and quiet, both of them exhausted. Most of the day had been long and tedious, but it had been interspersed by brief periods of near frantic activity and stress, and Wade's brain needs a quick reboot before he does anything else. Peter must need a reprieve as well, because he says nothing until Wade groans and sits up.

"This is a really nice couch," Peter comments. His head is fully supported by the back cushion, and he stares at the skip trowel textured ceiling, unseeing. "Like a cloud for my butt."

"Bought it for naps," Wade tells him. What he does not say is that he bought it almost four years ago, when he started needing naps in the middle of the day and his previous sectional wasn't cutting it. At first Wade had thought that the sudden lethargy was a consequence of nearing thirty; a lot of people complained about slowing down in their late twenties, so he thought nothing of it. Eventually, however, he found out that his tiredness was a side effect of cancer, the growing tumor in his testicles stealing his energy as it grew and spread.

Wade physically shakes his head to expel such unhappy thoughts from his brain. Then, getting to his feet, he asks, "Dinner first, or Batman movie?"

"I'm still not super hungry," Peter answers.

"Alrighty. 'Batman Begins' and junk food. Got it."

Wade puts on the first movie while Peter arranges the goodies they bought from the bodega on the coffee table. They have Twizzlers Pull N Peel and rainbow Sour Punch straws, a bag of classic M&Ms, some Snickers bars, and those discount fruit wedges in both cherry and orange. Peter picked out a couple of original flavored Monsters while Wade bought an entire 2-liter of Mountain Dew Code Red. Wade doesn't bother to chill it or get a cup of ice to pour it over; he simply unscrews the top and drinks.

Peter raises one very judgmental eyebrow.

Wade burps. Loudly.

Peter's expression morphs into disgust, his button nose scrunching. Wade has to grab a Snickers bar from the table in order not to reach out and boop the tip of Peter's cute nose, and says, "Don't be a hypocrite, Kyle. I'm not the one who bought an energy drink consumed only by preteen gamers who rage quit and punch through drywall."

"Says the grown ass man downing room temperature Code Red," Peter snorts.

For the first five minutes of the movie, Wade and Peter are silent. Peter has a Twizzlers rope that he meticulously pulls apart and consumes, string by string, as he watches Bruce get beat up in some nameless, dirty prison. When Ra's al Ghul—disguised as Ducard—appears and offers a new path to fighting injustice, Peter quips, "Wow, that man's beard is sus as fuck."

Wade barks out a laugh.

"Also, League of Shadows?" Peter makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "What kind of good guy organization calls themselves 'The League of Shadows'? I call shenanigans."

Wade is delighted to learn that Peter is also a talker during movies; that he also prefers using subtitles; and that he doesn't mind when Wade occasionally pauses the movie to explain relevant tidbits of lore. However, this does mean that it takes them almost three hours to finish the first movie and—by the time Lieutenant Gordon has handed Batman the joker playing card, setting up the premise of the second movie—the sun has begun to set outside. The shadows in Wade's apartment have deepened and the room is cast in a warm shade of orange.

"Dinner?" Peter asks. He's finished one of the Monsters and the entire bag of Twizzlers Pull N Peel.

"I can put on the next movie for you while I start dinner," Wade offers.

"Nah, I'll keep you company." Peter stands up and stretches, rolling onto the balls of his feet and reaching upwards, the lithe lines of muscle invisible beneath the extra fabric of Wade's too big clothes. Wade can hear his spine crack. "Whatcha making?"

"Chicken piccata."

Wade learned the recipe over a decade ago, during one of his longer and more tedious missions. It had been his second year in special forces, a while before he got his scar, and he had been planted in some dinky apartment complex while he did intelligence gathering. The ancient grandmother who lived next door, Leora Di Meo, took an immediate shine to him and, over the course of four months, she became one of the most important people in his life. Leora taught him most of his Italian—the third language he learned to speak fluently, after his native English and then Congolese French—how to cheat at most card games, how to slow dance, and how to put love and care into a meal.

"Most nights it was me and Leora, sipping her homemade limoncello and playing Parcheesi while I sweated my balls off in the Mediterranean summer," Wade tells Peter as he places the floured chicken into the pan, letting it brown before flipping it. "Shit, that stuff was strong. I swear she used some illegally imported Russian spirits but I could never get a straight answer outta her."

"And this was one of the recipes she taught you?"

"One of many. I can even make my own pasta."

Leora made Wade cook with her every night he wasn't on stakeout. Before her, he could barely make a grilled cheese sandwich or fry an egg; after, he was making most sauces from scratch and had opinions on cooking wines. Leora's chicken piccata recipe was one of the last she taught him. When she shared it with him, she told Wade to be careful who he made it for, in case he ended up with an unexpected spouse.

"She said it was how she managed to snare the best looking man in her village, so I guess it's a good thing you're already married," Wade jokes as he splashes some wine in the stainless steel pan to deglaze it. "Otherwise you'd drag me to the courthouse first thing tomorrow."

Wade doesn't know why he says it. Maybe it's a stupid way to 'test the waters', even though Wade knows exactly what temperature the pool is and exactly why he shouldn't be in it. Or maybe it's a reminder to himself that, despite the ease of their closeness and the chicken piccata 'marry me' meal he's cooking, Peter isn't his. Will not be his. Regardless of what universe he is from, he belongs to his wife, MJ.

Same stupid fucking mantra you've been saying all fucking day, Wade thinks, irritated at himself. When's it gonna stick in your dumb head?

Briefly, Wade glances at Peter over his shoulder. Peter's gaze is directed away, his eyes unfocused as he stares at nothing. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip and his long, thin fingers twist his ring around, and around, and around. He looks... vaguely unsure.

Worried.

Upset.

And now you've reminded him that he believes that his wife is in another universe that he currently has no way of getting back to. Nice one, asshole.

Feeling like a tool, Wade turns back to the stove and scrapes the tasty brown bits off the bottom of the pan with a wooden spatula. He knows he shouldn't have pushed. Honestly, what was he expecting? This was supposed to be a fun, easy night for both of them before Wade started digging deeper into Peter's life and the lives of the people around him. Wade isn't supposed to dwell on the hopeless things he can't change. He's supposed to introduce Peter to Batman. Make Peter a good dinner. Make Peter smile and laugh and forget that he's technically trapped. Wade is disappointed that he hasn't been completely successful; when his head isn't up his own ass, being a distraction is his forte, considering how naturally loud and annoying he is.

Loud and annoying, Wade thinks. Now there's an idea.

Truthfully, Wade is not a great singer. He's tone deaf; he frequently sings too flat or too sharp; and his mediocre baritone doesn't have the range needed for opera. Despite this, he remains undeterred as he inhales deeply—

Tilts his head back—

And begins to bellow Figaro's aria from 'The Barber of Seville'.

As he finishes dinner, Wade dances and spins—his frilly apron emphasizing each movement—and gesticulates wildly as he la-la-las and Figaro-Figaro-Figaros. He makes up for his bad singing with flair and silliness, and by the time Wade sets a plate of food in front of Peter, the other man is in hysterics, his whole face red from laughter and cheeks tacky with tears.

"My singing made Leora cry too," Wade gripes, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Everyone's a critic."

But Wade's barely passable rendition of 'Largo al Factotum' has done what he intended, and the strange mood from earlier has dissipated. They sit side by side at the kitchen island, Peter scarfing down his sizable portion while Wade eats at a more sedate pace. Peter compliments Wade a half dozen times and—while Wade tries to shrug them off—it's been awhile since he's cooked for anyone but himself, and each compliment makes him warm.

After dinner, they return to the couch to watch 'The Dark Knight'. Peter makes a lot of sarcastic commentary, scoffing and rolling his eyes approximately every five minutes, and Wade has to pause once to use the bathroom, but they manage to finish the second movie by eleven. They take a small break, in which they both change into more comfortable clothes, and Wade pops a bag of popcorn in the microwave to mix up with their M&Ms. When they reconvene, Peter is mid-jaw-cracking yawn.

'The Dark Knight Rises' is Wade's personal favorite of the trilogy. The beginning always makes him laugh, as he did multiple extraction missions in his day, and none of them were as wonderfully over-contrived as the CIA operation depicted. He likes Bane's strange voice, Bruce's final adventure as Batman, and Anne Hathaway as Selena Kyle. Wade talks more during this film than he did for the first or second while Peter nods along, picking through the last of their candy. They get quieter and quieter as the end nears, engrossed by the fast pace of the ending, and are silent by the time Alfred sees Bruce and Selena together at the restaurant.

"Is that a thing?" Wade asks when the credits begin to roll. "Superhero retirement?"

For a moment, Peter says nothing. He just stares at the television screen, his face illuminated strangely by the artificial light. His expression is mostly blank: eyebrows loose, mouth slightly parted, jaw slack.

"Pete?" Wade says gently. He sits up a little and angles his body towards Peter's. One of his hands comes up to touch Peter but he stops, fingers hovering inches away from Peter's arm as he remembers that he's trying to maintain physical distance. "Baby boy?"

Peter looks at him and—with no warning—his face crumples and he begins to cry, huge tears spilling over his cheeks. Wade immediately turns to face Peter completely, his other hand coming up, though once again he stops inches from Peter's body. Wade has absolutely no idea why Peter is sad and he doesn't know what's wrong or how he can fix it, so he blurts:

"The ending wasn't that bad, was it?"

The joke is reflexive, as is the small laugh that bubbles out of Peter's mouth. It sounds awful. Strangled. It makes Peter's countenance twist into something raw and intense. More tears fall out of Peter's bright, glassy eyes and he scrubs at them with his hands, gasping, "Sorry, Wade—I just—"

Peter's words are choked by a sob. He tries to suck in a lungful of air but it just makes his shoulders shake and his ribs shudder.

"I'm sorry," Peter hiccups as his crying gets worse. He's covered his whole face with his hands to hide himself. "I'm sorry, I don't—please, it's not—it's not you or the movie or—I'm just—" He takes another one of those terrible, shaky breaths and whimpers, "Wade—"

Earlier that day, Wade told himself that he'd keep his hands off Peter. It wasn't right to keep acting like he had a chance when all evidence said otherwise. But right now, Wade doesn't know what to do, and Peter clearly has something he needs to get out.

"Sweetheart," Wade says, wrapping one hand around Peter's wrist. "Hey. Listen. I don't know what's wrong, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I think you need to let this out, whatever it is. So if you need space, I can go to my room and wait until you're ready, or... if you need someone to listen, I'm here. Whatever you need, okay?"

Wade doesn't know what he expected. Maybe for Peter to tell him to go, or maybe for Peter to say nothing as he continued to sob. He was certainly not expecting for Peter to let out a heart-breaking little wail, clamber into his lap, and wrap all his limbs around Wade's torso.

"Oh," Wade says as Peter buries his face into Wade's shoulder. "Hugs. Okay. I can do that."

Carefully, Wade places his hands on Peter's back. Earlier, Peter had changed into the same clothes he wore last night—Vanessa's old cropped hoodie and Wade's sweatpants—so Wade's palms meet the unobstructed expanse of Peter's naked back. Under any other circumstance, such a touch would make Wade's brain melt out one ear; under this circumstance, however, all Wade can worry about is if the rough calluses on his hands hurt Peter's smooth skin.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispers again.

"Don't be sorry," Wade murmurs. Tentatively, he runs a hand soothingly down the line of Peter's spine, each vertebrae a discernible bump beneath Wade's fingers.

"It's just..." Peter makes a small, distressed noise. His grip around Wade's torso gets a little tighter and he burrows into Wade even more. "I was trying so hard not to think about it."

"About what?"

Wade almost misses what Peter says next. Peter's face is still pressed against Wade's shoulder and his voice is so faint it barely reaches Wade's ear. But he hears it as Peter quietly says,

"What if I never make it back?"

The guilt that follows crushes Wade, a weight so huge it suffocates all the air out of Wade's lungs. The past twenty-four hours have been a chaotic rollercoaster for him, ranging from exciting and joyous to bitter and terrifying, and not once—not even fucking once—has he stopped to consider how it must be for Peter. Regardless of his true origins, Peter believes that he's from another universe, and their adventures today have shown that it will be difficult for him to get back home. Impossible, even. Sure, they could go to Boston tomorrow and talk to Richards, but such a trip would likely be pointless.

"Fuck," Wade hisses, resting his cheek on Peter's curls and tightening his own arms around Peter's smaller body. They're completely entwined, clinging to one another, and it's so far from the closeness Wade wanted that he wants to cry too. He squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can so the tears don't escape. "Peter—I'm sorry, I didn't even think—"

"It's not your fault," Peter says softly.

But it is. It is very much Wade's fault. He might not be the reason Peter has special spider-adjacent super powers, and he doesn't know why Peter broke into his apartment, but he is responsible for Peter's distress. He has been so enamored of Peter—from the way Peter looked to the way Peter treated him—that Wade hasn't considered how Peter must feel being separated from everything he knows and everyone he loves or what it must be like to meet dead end after dead end. He told himself that he would be the person Peter thought he was—kind and good and deserving of such absolute faith—but he's been nothing but a self-serving piece of shit since Peter took off his mask and smiled at him.

"We'll figure this out," Wade promises Peter. "It doesn't matter how long it takes. It doesn't matter what we have to do. I swear that one way or another, I'll keep you safe and I'll get you back to where you belong. Okay?"

Such a vow is insane even for Wade, who tends towards irrational behavior and frequently throws himself head first into situations without considering the consequences. But by coincidence or unknown circumstance, Peter has dropped into his life and become ineffably important to him, and Wade means every word down to his bones. He's only known Peter for a day, but he knows he will do anything and everything he can to make sure Peter gets home, no matter what 'home' ends up being.

"Okay," Peter says, his voice still trembling. "I trust you."

Peter stays tucked beneath Wade's chin after his crying has faded, long enough for the television to switch from the movie's title screen to muted screensaver. Wade watches as it shifts through various high definition landscapes—deserts, oceans, mountains—before it goes black and the comforting darkness of the apartment folds over them. At some point, Peter has fallen asleep, and he is loose and warm in Wade's arms. It would be so easy to lie back on the couch, pull Peter atop him, and close his eyes, even if Peter's bony body digs into his in uncomfortable ways. A small part of him still desperately wants that, but the rest of him is weighed down by guilt. He can't take advantage of Peter more than he already has.

Exhausted from the long day and the emotional upheaval, Peter barely stirs as Wade stands, one arm looped beneath Peter's butt and the other around Peter's back. He's heavier than he looks—his super strength likely derived from more compact and denser muscle fibers—but Wade moves him around easily enough, laying Peter back down on the couch cushions and tucking him in. Peter burrows deeper into the comforter and noses into the pillow. Some of his dark curls fall across his forehead and cheek, unconsciously begging to be tucked back behind his ear. Wade squeezes his hands into white-knuckled fists to stop himself from doing as they ask.

"Good night, sweetheart," Wade whispers. Then, again, "I'm sorry."

But Peter—already fast asleep—does not hear him.

.

next → : Part 9

.

[jimbleswrites]

Nora, the Sole Survivor

Chapter 7: The First Step

The next morning was perfect for our trip, with clear skies on the horizon. Our bags packed, Moe and I finally set out for Drumlin diner. We waved goodbye to everyone as we passed the bridge, making our way back down to Concord. It would only take a half a day to make it there, and hopefully we could grab some loot and keep moving. I looked closer at my 10mm pistol as we walked past the cracked streets. It was in rough shape, still working but in need of repair. Surely using a 200 year old gun was not helping its condition.

“Looking at it isn’t going to magically fix it, you know.” Moe broke the silence.

I laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, but I’m not exactly a gunsmith. I wouldn’t even know how to fix it.” I looked closer at the slide lock, seeing a few chips. I only knew how to shoot because Nate and I had a few dates at the gun range. Nate normally handled the maintenance and cleaning.

Moe suddenly tapped my shoulder with something. I looked over to see the butt of his shotgun offered to me. “Trade me for a second, let me see.”

I swapped the weapons, now holding the sawed-off shotgun. It was heavier than I thought, clearly aged but well maintained. I only really had experience with pistols, but the care put into this was obvious. The metal was wiped down clean, and the wood had some sort of glue filling various cracks to hold it together. I noticed some notches scratched into the wooden stock, around 10 lines in a row under the Vault-Tec logo.

“Yup, it's the hammer. Probably sticking due to not being used for 200 years.” Moe was casually wiping down parts with a stained handkerchief as he continued to walk. He quickly put the hammer back in motion, removing the clip and firing the unloaded gun. A loud click, more audible than before, made Moe smile. He reassembled the pistol, holding it by the barrel to hand it back.

“You make it look so easy.” I complimented him as we swapped back. I slid the clip back in the gun, feeling less resistance than before. I was impressed with how quickly and efficiently he was able to clean this.

“I used to work at a weapon shop before I got run out of town by the bastard mayor.” Moe slipped the handkerchief back into his jacket. “When you’re around for 200 years, you learn a bit of everything.”

We finally came into Concord, seeing the aftermath of the battle. The bodies were still laying there, untouched. I guess this end of the commonwealth didn’t get too many visitors, but at least we got to claim any loose goods.

“I told Preston we’d take what we need and hide the rest in the museum for them to pick up.” I put my pistol in my pack pocket.

“Let’s go shopping then.” Moe nodded.

The next hour was spent sorting raider goods from the bodies we found. I started optimistic, but my mood fell as we continued to sort the goods. Not in the sense of loot, we managed to find ammo, spare weapons, some more leather armor, and some foodstuff among the dead. Even the power armor was mostly in one piece under the deathclaw’s body. But dragging the bodies out, rummaging through the pockets, seeing bullet wounds I caused. It left me with a pit in my stomach. Even if they were raiders, hellbent on killing and pillaging, I had killed so many people. I put spare goods in a chest in the museum, moved the bodies into a local bar so they weren’t in the street, rinse and repeat. We finally managed to finish, stopping to eat on the steps outside. I held a can of pork n’ beans in my hand, barely poking it as I stared at the bar.

“Looking for a drink instead?” Moe asked, pausing from his food. “I wouldn’t judge. It’s grisly work.”

“Everyone is so casual about death.” I stared forward, unblinking. “I think I’m not as adjusted as I thought I was.”

Moe stood up, standing and blocking my line of sight to the bar. “I’d be concerned if you didn’t have regrets. Means I'd be traveling with some psychopath.” He kneeled down, locking eyes with me. “You and I are from a very different time. I winced through a lot of the blood and gore at first, but that’s how the world is now.”

“I know.” I looked down, staring into my pork n’ beans can. “I’ll be fine, let’s get going.” I quickly gulped down the last of my cold beans, standing up.

Moe stood up too, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “Look, if you ever need to talk or whatever… I’m no therapist but…”

I lightly punched his shoulder, stopping his awkward ramble. “Thanks, Moe.”

Moe smiled, his black eyes softening. “Anytime, Nora.”

The next leg of the journey was more pleasant, with small talk and a sunset coming down as we came closer to the Drumlin diner. We each managed to get an extra day’s worth of food and a few leather armor pieces. I now had two shoulder covers and a harness across my chest for a bit of extra protection, with Moe grabbing some leg covers. Moe and I talked about the old diner pre-war, remembering the chain diner for their 24/7 hours and solid pancakes. Apparently this new post-war version was a small shop for people wasting the wastes, and Preston never really mentioned what exactly the issue was. We came up over a hill, seeing the tan building with a few of the neon lights flashing on and off.

“Seems quiet enough, but be careful.” Moe gripped his shotgun as he spoke.

“Fair enough.” I held my pistol in my hand as we walked closer. We walked forward, with no one around outside. We managed to go right up to the front of the building with no issues. The windows were broken out, with some boarded up with wooden planks and scrap metal. I looked inside to see an older woman behind the counter, wiping down a sword with a rag. I continued to the front door, pushing it open. A bell rang, and the woman looked up at us.

“Welcome to Trudy’s. Looking to trade?” She looked at me, then Moe. She raised an eyebrow on seeing Moe, but kept wiping down the sword.

“Hi, I was sent here by Preston. Of the Minutemen. He said you called for help?” I awkwardly explained.

“Really? Well shit, I thought y’all died out at Quincy! ‘Bout time you showed up.” Trudy waved us over to a seat on a barstool in front of her. We sat down as she continued to talk. “Yeah, I have a problem. There’s this asshole chem-pusher that got my boy hooked on Jet.” As if on queue, a lanky boy suddenly sat up from a booth, shivering. He turned to see us before immediately falling back onto the booth seat. “Patrick, my idiot son, kept ordering and ordering more, and now the dickhead keeps coming by asking for his money.” She slammed the sword down suddenly. “That bastard ain’t getting a single cap out of me, and I want y’all to take care of the problem.”

I guessed that Jet was some form of drug, and had no issue dealing with a drug dealer. But I wasn’t sure how Trudy expected us to deal with it. Moe spoke up before I did. “You want this guy dead or scared off?”

“Hell if I care, I just don’t want him coming here ever again.” Trudy waved to the empty booths. “He normally comes by at nightfall. You help me, and I’ll get y’all a discount on something.”

“Consider it done, ma’am.” Moe stood up, motioning me to follow. I followed to a booth next to an unboarded window where we could see outside. We sat down, in view of the front of the diner and Patrick. Patrick was shaking, jolting and mumbling under a thin blanket.

“Jet’s a fancy chem. And chem’s a fancy term for drugs.” Moe explained quietly. “Makes you think time is going slower than normal.”

I nodded. “So you wanna deal with this guy then? Since you know all about it?”

Moe looked forward, deep in thought. After a pause, he shook his head. “I think you should talk to him. Chem-pushers look for sales, not fights. If you can talk a big game, you could scare him off.”

“Not you?” I asked further. Something wasn’t right.

“I… did a lot of chems. Not recently, but I dealt with a lot in this long life of mine. Chems helped me forget bad times. I managed to get back on track, but it's a struggle.” Moe stared through the table, reliving some terrible years. “All that to say, I think I’m too close to the subject to deal with it.”

“Do… Do you mind if I ask how long ago that was?” I had a suspicion, and it was confirmed when Moe put his shotgun on the table, pointing to the notches on the stock I had noticed earlier.

“10 years sober. They stopped having meetings for that sort of thing, but the notches are my reminder.” Moe smiled soberly at his own joke.

Moe seemed a little off, so I nodded. “Alright, I’ll take point. You follow my lead.”

“You got it, boss.” Moe pulled the gun back into his hands, gently thumbing the notches.

There was a small wait as the sky grew darker. A light outside clicked on, illuminating the driveway outside. There was a quiet hum of a generator, the moans of Patrick, and sounds of shuffling as Trudy continued to sort her inventory. After an hour of waiting, I could hear people coming up from outside. They loudly laughed and stomped, not trying to hide at all. I stood up, with Moe immediately following me out the door. I looked to see two people. An older man in a newsboy cap, and a younger woman with blonde hair, sauntering up on the road. They reached the edge of the road lamp, barely stepping into the light.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there Vault Girl. This doesn't involve you.” The man talked with a grand accent, like he was in charge of the world.

“And you are?” Despite the insult, I tried to stay reasonable. I didn’t want to kill anyone if I didn’t have to.

“Wolfgang, and this is my partner Simone.” The woman beside him waved, a revolver clearly visible in her hand. “And this is a simple business dispute, got it? Trudy's sitting on a pile of goods that she owes me.”

“Because you sold chems to her son? Made him an addict?” I hated how casual he was about this.

“Yeah, yeah. I've heard it before. Look, he wanted a product, I sold him a product. And I expect to get paid for my product.” Wolfgang pulled out a revolver. “So either I get what I'm owed or I finally knock over this shitty outpost for all the profit I'm missing.”

I pointed my pistol back at him. “Counter-offer. You leave Trudy and Patrick alone or I make sure you never do business again.” Moe pointed his shotgun as well.

There was a moment of silence, where everyone was waiting for someone to make a move. Guns pointed in a stand-off, waiting for someone to chicken out or take a shot. I hoped Wolfgang would take off, but I was ready to shoot if I needed to. The wind whistled as no one moved.

Wolfgang suddenly twitched, firing his gun. I returned fire, with Moe firing as well. Simone fell without even firing a shot, with Wolfgang falling a moment later. I quickly checked on Moe, with luckily the shot hitting no one. I breathed out, with Moe cracking open his shotgun to reload. I slowly stepped over to Wolfgang, who was slowly reaching inside his jacket.

“Careful.” Moe warned, snapping the shotgun shut.

Wolfgang spit out some blood, before slowly revealing a grenade in his hand. I paused, still a few steps out from where he laid. “You step back, NOW!” His voice was tense, wavering with fear. I stepped back. He slowly crawled backwards, dragging himself away. “I’ll fucking kill everyone! Just step back!” He threatened us as he tried to escape. I didn’t know how far a grenade explosion went, but I wasn’t going to test it.

Moe stepped beside me. “You trust me, right?” He whispered quietly, eyes locked on the chem-pusher.

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I nodded. I did trust him.

“Cover your ears.” Moe suddenly raised his gun, leveling it at Wolfgang. I realized what he meant and quickly covered my ears, with Wolfgang seemingly understanding and trying to throw the grenade. It was too late, with Moe firing and hitting the grenade, causing it to explode in Wolfgang’s face. The boom was deafening even through covered ears, and I luckily wasn’t looking directly at the bright explosion either. My ears rang a bit, but it seemed to die down after a minute.

“Sorry about that boss, but he was planning to toss it once he got free.” Moe brushed something off his jacket as he explained. “A lot of scummy types keep a grenade as a trump card. Usually throw ‘em while they make a dash.” I looked over, seeing the various giblets of Wolfgang and Simone laying in the road. Just a bloody mess of bodies laying in front of this shop.

Trudy opened the door, barely leaning out. “Serves the bastard right.” She yelled from the door, motioning us back inside. We walked back inside, leaving the mess out in the dark. “Y’all handled it, so here’s your reward.” She tossed something at me, which I caught without thinking. It was a sword, in its sheath with some Chinese words engraved on the handle.

“I’m afraid I ain't got much to spare, but that sword is in prime shape. Should get a decent price if y’all don’t want to keep it.” She smiled as she spoke. “Good to see the minutemen are back. I’ll have to let the caravans know as they come through. What’s your name?”

“Nora.” I smiled as I spoke. Despite the grisly nature of the world, helping people still felt good. This is something I could get behind. “Nora and Moe, of the Commonwealth Minutemen.”

[responsivedeck]

Household Tips - Tricks of Moms

Tipthehoof.com

It's not effortless being a mother. Anyone has an opinion or even an idea that you can use to be able to be a better 1, even though all you want to do sometimes can be take the car tips and flee for quite a few solitude and sanity. A well-meaning man can think much too highly of their strategies, but some tips for mums can actually help.

Tipthehoof.com

Designed for expectant mothers, tips consistently involve the nourishment they get. It is vital for an expectant mommy to consume nutrient-rich foodstuff that contain vital essentials like folic urate crystals, vitamins A, N, C, B6 together with B12, as well as lime and iron. Physical exercise should also be a important agenda before and as soon as baby is born because it helps moms stop in shape and cure the exhausting results of childbirth more rapidly.

Becoming a mother is about the most exciting and additionally frightening things ladies can experience. Well-meaning baby care tips comes thick in addition to fast in the initial few post-natal calendar months, but all new mothers would do well to be able to carve out a lot of me-time! The simple behaves of dressing up or simply going out for dinner with friends enable break the feed-burp-change monotony. Chances are, baby would take to a break in schedule as well!

If you're your mother of a pair of kids or more, you may have no need for points, especially if they're guys. In fact , you've probably create a few of your own just to save time on cleaning! Efficient moms recognize that no one checks beneath the bed for dust-bunnies, therefore , you can postpone vacuuming there in a little while longer. Knowledge mothers also get their battles. Generally if the child doesn't plan to eat his Brussels sprouts, sneak all of them into the meatloaf the other night.

In a fantastic world, all caring mothers would acquire awards for praise, valor, diligence along with perseverance, but they usually do not. They have to settle for the subsequent best thing, so come to be nice your momma and give her a good hug today!

[felidaefatigue]

u ever think abt how fucked up it is when modern western white people have vitamin defeciencies. and not in a "were better than this" way but in a.. we really are exactly this stupid and horrible way.

We kept gettin scurvy n shit cause we put minimal, most stable foodstuffs on boats. and werent getting vitamins n shit. And then we hit land and the indigenous people are like wow ur fuckin dumb please eat Some Leaves. so we do. and then we fuckin. do fucked up starvation experiments on the same indigenous' children. To find out Exactly How Few Vitamins n Shit Do We Really Need... and just. put those. in the same stupid shelf stable foods. cause money and bare minimums to keep a population alive is good capitalism. iNSTEAD OF ACTUALLY VALUEING THE KNOWLEDGE GIVEN AND JUST MAKING SURE OUR SOCIETY WOULD BE EATING MORE FUCKING VARIETY OF SHIT. Like i hear abt someone who tries to be healthy and cuts out processed foods but then get sick because The Process of those processed foods involves fortifying them and they didnt actually replace thosr things nutritionally and like???? fuck dude our society is so broken.