#one of my dreams is raising egg-chickens

[littleapocalypsekitten]

So, a post came across my dash / to my attention about diet and of course it's the meat-eaters vs. the vegans as usual. And it's got me to thinking about my place in it and how I'm just... a non-starter in the argument. In terms of vegetarianism and strict veganism, those who are "evangelistic" about it run into a full-stop with me and there are reasons why that have little to do with me trying to justify "carnism" in the greater whole and whatever. It has everything to do with "press me and I'll just self-identify as evil and call it a day." From a personal standpoint: Here is how I grew up. My father was a butcher. He worked as a retail butcher. Furthermore, I grew up in the country (specifically in the desert) - but in a neighborhood where it was quite common for people to raise their own meat and some of my earliest memories involve this. We had a pig that my parents let me name "Charlotte." She became bacon and while I don't remember it entirely, my father said that I came out to "help" (at 4 years old) when most little girls would have run away from that. I *do* have memories of helping him with our chickens (not that "helping" at that age was anything more than watching or maybe doing a little plucking). Later on, when my dad decided that he was tired of doing double-duty at work and at home and we just bought our meat, we continued to raise chickens for eggs. Sometimes one would get out of the pen and be mauled by our dogs or get into the neighbor's yard and get mauled by the neighbors' dogs and would be lingering away, running and hiding and slowly dying from infection. I was older then and was happy to help Dad catch the chickens and to hold a dying chicken still while he took the mercy-hatchet to its neck. (These were not eaten, of course). I had uncles and aunts who hunted. I never took it up (and kind of regret it, as venison and wild turkey are delicious). I DID take up fishing. I've looked my food in the face as I've put it into an ice-bath or taken the tip of a knife to ike jime... I tend to say a little prayer, but, you know, fish-blood is on my hands... And I always feel a part of nature when I'm catching my own food. Get some nice beef sometimes from a friend whose family has raised their own cattle... And, yeah, there was a time in my youth when I considered becoming a vegetarian. My sister drew me back with how good roasted turkey is. In other words, when answering the question of "If you had to kill your own meat, would you eat like you do now or would you become a vegetarian?" and how most people would choose the latter option? I'm one of those rare, one in a million people who *might* choose the former option. Although, I expect I'd eat meat more rarely if I had to go through all the steps of dealing with it myself, because raising / butchering is very difficult and annyoying - even my pro butcher-dad just gave it up after a while because he got sick of taking his work home with him.

All in all, while I do want livestock as a whole to be treated better, when it comes to the ethics of eating it at all? I was raised in a way that makes me chill with death and life-cycles. If I get my way with a natural burial, the worms will eat me one day.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.” 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

masterlist | join my taglist

The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather. 

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering. 

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity. 

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.” 

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.” 

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area. 

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera. 

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!” 

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world. 

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!” 

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows. 

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more. 

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one. 

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.” 

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly. 

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue. 

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer. 

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.” 

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?” 

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm. 

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table. 

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer. 

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more. 

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?” 

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…” 

“Hey, dad?” 

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…” 

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated. 

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over. 

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[iwritebigbellies-blog]

Will you spoil us and talk about a dream dinner date (aka public stuffing lol) of yours? Love your writing sm

I'm having eye surgery tomorrow (in 15h!!!) so I can't look at a screen long enough to write long... but "dream dinner dates" are a thing I write about all the time, so I have one in the bank. I posted a fragment of this a while ago... here's the whole.

***

They'd been playing for hours, the five of them; digging up every 5-player boardgame that never saw the table. Nora was used to her regular group, the four of them every Wednesday for years, but this was the first time she'd brought Tristan. They'd been dating long enough, but her friends...they would put him through the wringer. She'd avoided putting them in the same room until she couldn't, but thank god, her big, cinnamon roll of a boy fit right in. However soft he was with her, here, he had a wicked wit and could shit talk with the worst of them.

Eventually, Dave had to head home, but Jorge and Matt were up for dinner. Nora glanced at Tristan.

“You in?”

“Dinner, me?” he said, scandalized. “That would ruin my diet.” Nora almost choked trying not to laugh out loud at that. “But I did spend three hours in the gym today so maaaaaybe I deserve a cheat day.”

Jorge, the only person on the planet who knew even a little bit about her food thing, raised an eyebrow at her. “Diet,” he said skeptically.

“Cheat day,” she said firmly, shooting him her best don’t encourage him look, but Jorge couldn’t have understood about Tristan. Not when they’d met five hours ago. RIP me, I guess, she thought. As if every day wasn't a "cheat day" for Tristan.

“Cheat day,” Tristan repeated with some glee, rubbing his hands together.

Or RIP Tristan. She shivered.

Matt brought them to a pub near his place, craft beers and hi-lo bar foods in considerable portions. Nora knew better than to order anything but a salad at a place like this, but Tristan perused the menu like it was the table of contents and he was gonna start on the first page and work his way to the end. Nora’s heart flipped over half with desire and half with panic.

“Tris,” she said, low, leaning close to his ear. “You don’t have to impress me.” As much as the look on his face lit her up, he’d been so manic all day, she didn’t trust him to be safe.

“I’ll be good,” he muttered back. He took her chin with his fingers and kissed her gently before leaning close to her ear. “Can’t have you having orgasms at the table with your friends.”

Why did that give her goosebumps? He rubbed her prickly flesh until it was warm and soft again, looking as innocent as a lamb. She knew she was in trouble but it was too tempting for her to care.

“Mercy me,” Tristan said to the waiter. “Pint of Blood Brother. Hot Cheetos chicken wings and the mac and cheese. That’s two food groups, right? How about the deep fried pickles? That’s a vegetable. Thanks.” He pulled the menu back before the waiter could take it. “And leave a menu.”

Jorge looked Nora squarely in the eye with a shit-eating grin of pure entertainment. Nora scowled back.

Anyway, both Matt and Jorge ordered ridiculous things as well, so Nora got gyoza and pretended she lived on the moon. Sitting at a table with three men eating like pigs, one of whom was deliberately trying to get her worked up and another of whom would absolutely egg him on was either the most embarrassing or most amazing thing she could have hoped for out of the evening, and the jury was out on which. Their beers came, she snuggled up against Tristan, and at least for the next ten to fifteen minutes, she relaxed into her happy place.

The alcohol helped blur the edges. She loved this. Her friends, talking about games and the people they all knew and sounding out Tristan for his versions of the experiences they’d all had, looking for common acquaintances. When the conversation strayed away from him, Tristan just watched her with a goofy grin. Nora could practically see the cartoon hearts in his eyes.

And lord, they ate. The food here was so fun that everyone had to try everything, and they’d not even made it through the course when Matty and Tristan had flagged the waiter to add a couple more things “for the table.” Nora had been worried about Tristan pushing himself to make her crazy or Jorge egging him on to make her crazy, but all three of them were just in their element, enjoying the food and drinks like they did this all the time. Nora tried to pretend she didn’t notice how excessive it was, and realized early on that she was gonna be the designated driver equivalent, because even though none of them were driving, these guys were gonna have trouble finding their way to the subway, or an Uber. She sipped water and enjoyed the show.

By the time their actual meals arrived, the guys had already put away one of everything on the appetizer menu and two pints each. Tristan sat back on the bench with one arm tight around Nora’s shoulders, and she snuggled into his shoulder, rubbing his belly with one hand. That wasn’t even inappropriate; there was something about the ambiance of the place that made belly-rubbing part of the meal. Nora just leaned into it, practically purring with pleasure as Tristan drank and laughed and glowed with the people she considered her family.

None of them slowed down over their mains, not really, even though Tristan’s “mac and cheese” was a massive skillet of five-cheese gooeyness crumbled with fajita chicken and more Cheeto crunch. Massive was this place’s MO, everyone here knew what they were getting into.

“Hell of a cheat day,” Jorge finally did say, winking at Nora. “I don’t need to eat again until next week.” He’d left a wreck of his burger, which was too big for mere mortals, and was throwing in the towel.

Tristan wasn’t slowing in the least, but he nodded enthusiastically. “I’m coming here every cheat day, starting tomorrow.” He grinned at Nora, who was by now curled into herself, nursing her beer and watching the meal unfold with burning cheeks.

“Dessert, though,” Matty said. Nora didn’t expect this of him, but maybe she should have. He’d brought them here. He knew what he’d gotten them into. “Save room. We have to at least try the tempura spread.”

Tristan nodded. “Save room. Sure,” he said. Nora, eyes flickering to his beltline every 90 seconds, was well aware that room was not something he would save, it was something he would make. “You gonna eat your fries?” he asked Jorge, who responded by laughing entirely in Nora’s direction.

“All yours. Try the burger too,” he suggested. Tristan didn’t need to be asked. He just pulled the whole plate over, polishing off his skillet of pasta in three more bites.

Jorge eventually excused himself for the washroom and Matt was texting his wife, so Nora sat forward, placed a hand on Tristan’s arm, and spoke quietly.

“How are you doing?” she asked. He’d hardly slowed down since the main meal arrived.

Tristan looked at her with a relaxed, casual smile. “My stomach must be stretched out after yesterday. This is nothing,” he said. He pinched some of Jorge’s fries, grunting appreciatively. “What should I get for dessert?” He nudged the menu at her.

Nora studied him closely. “Want to take a break first?”

Tristan crammed as much of Jorge’s burger into his mouth as he could. “Mmm, maybe not. Wouldn’t want all this to catch up with me.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “It’s going to catch up with you one way or the other,” she pointed out.

“Yah, but maybe I can get dessert in first,” Tristan said, suppressing a wider grin. Nora’s eyes bore into him. He seemed to be avoiding her gaze, pretending he didn’t notice. “Anyway, I missed lunch, with the gym and all. I’m famished.”

“Hmm,” Nora said. “Are you.”

“Skip dessert if you must, but Matty will join me, won’t ya, Matt?”

Matt looked up, distracted. “Hm? Yah, sure, let’s get the spread.”

“Just a normal, big meal,” Tristan said, a little lower. He finished Jorge’s dinner with deliberation, and snagged the last risotto ball Matt had left behind. Then he slowly pushed back from the table, leaning against the wall.

Nora’s eyes widened. He was full, the kind of full that was on clear display. Fuller than yesterday, that was very clear. He released a slow breath as he eased into a slightly reclined sit, a noise that made Nora’s pussy clench. His belly was so round that his belt had slipped under the bulge and his shirt couldn’t cover the real estate. He wasn’t even trying.

Nora was about to launch herself at him, but Jorge returned from the washrooms then. He dropped in his chair and gave Tristan a look of frank appraisal. “Had enough, there, buddy?” he teased, staring at his belly. Tristan grinned and folded his hands over his stomach.

“We’re getting the tempura spread for dessert,” he said. “You in?”

Jorge’s jaw dropped, and he quickly glanced at Nora before looking back at Tristan. “Where the hell are you gonna put it? I already feel like I swallowed a boulder, and I’ve been to the men’s.”

Tristan ran his hands over the curve of his bulging stomach a couple times, working out a belch. “Wherever I need to,” he said. “Cheat day. I gotta take my shot.”

Jorge finally looked at Nora. “He’s definitely one of yours,” he said, shaking his head in wonder.

Nora didn’t trust herself to speak. She wanted so badly to climb into Tristan’s lap and feel the extent of the damage, but all she could do was turn red and nod. When she glanced at Tristan, he quickly looked away, trying to feign casual distraction. He was flushed pink too.

Matt tucked his phone away and flagged the waiter for dessert and another round of drinks. Tristan thumped his belly twice and lurched forward to lean on the table again. Nora watched as he widened his legs and took a deep breath, his belly expanding, hidden by the table. “I can’t wait,” he said enthusiastically. Nora made fists to avoid grabbing him.

The beers were probably the worst. A pint is a lot of liquid, and the guys were into their fourth, at least. Nora had barely had one and she needed a bathroom break, for more reason than one. She touched Tristan’s shoulder and met his eyes awkwardly.

“I need, um,” she gestured beyond him at the restaurant. “To scoot out for a moment.”

The smile that ghosted over Tristan’s face was almost devilish.

“Oh, of course,” he said. He sat straight and scooted over with a grunt, turning and levering himself off the bench belly-first. As soon as he was standing, he took a deep breath, patting his belly apologetically with one hand. “Whoof,” he said. “Sorry. I’m getting to be a big boy.”

Nora noted he didn’t really move far from the table, forcing her to brush by him as she climbed to a stand. He offered a hand like he was being gallant, and deliberately led her so close that his belly pressed into her. She couldn’t keep her squeak-like gasp silent enough. She noted the shiver of goosebumps on his arm before she released his hand and practically fled.

She used the washroom time to steady herself, splashing water on her face and taking a few deep breaths. She could not have an orgasm in front of her friends. She could not mount the man at the table. Even if he was deliberately trying to push her as close to the edge as he could, she had to hang on. She couldn’t decide if she loved or hated what this was doing to her. She was painfully frustrated and as turned on as she had ever been in her whole life.

When she got back to the table, Tristan was still standing there, Leaning casually against a girder and chatting with Jorge about miniature painting as if his belly wasn’t pooched out like a basketball, his shirt riding up. When he spotted Nora’s approach, he smiled and his face softened, until he caught the look still glowing in her eyes and reddened a little.

Before sitting down, she stepped close to him, leaning into his ear with both hands on his belly, relishing in the size and girth of him while she could.

“You had better not get too full to fuck me tonight,” she murmured, trailing her fingers past the hem of his shirt, over his bare underbelly, and taking hold of his straining belt, “I might not accept that as an excuse.”

She pulled back and met his eyes, finding his pupils fully dilated and his lips parted.

“No such thing,” he whispered back, and she felt his cock throb into his belt just under her fingers, as if making his point.

Nora grinned and slid into the booth, Tristan following so close after her that his belly bumped her ass before she sat and he tucked close to her side an instant later. He leaned in to whisper back:

“Get this belt off of me or I will never get the rest of this beer down.”

Nora raised an amused eyebrow and pressed him back by the chest. She glanced apologetically at her friends and then wrestled his belt open, his fly too, then patted his belly as he took a deep breath and reached for his beer. He groaned exaggeratedly and flashed a broad smile, playing up the role of dumb jock at the buffet. Then he emptied the rest of the pint with one hand on his expanding stomach, burping when he finished. “There we go,” he declared.

“You happy with yourself?” Jorge teased her with a knowing smile.

“He was like this when I found him,” she said innocently.

Tristan leaned over with another exaggerated groan and pressed into her with a kiss that quickly got out of hand. Matt and Jorge laughed and took digs at them, but from where she sat, back against the wall with Tristan’s belly spilling into her lap, his hand pressing subtly between her legs, and his kisses coming heavy and desperate, all she could feel was the inevitable explosion she could hardly keep back.

Then dessert.

Nora had misunderstood what Matt had meant by “tempura spread”, thinking he meant something like a sauce. But no, he meant a full spread of tempura-battered treats, a sharing platter, a table’s worth of desserts that clearly exceeded their remaining capacity. Except Nora knew Tristan wouldn’t let anything go uneaten, so she practically became a coach, bullying her friends into eating all they could just to spare her poor Tristan, who was too drunk and horny and manic to think straight.

Even she ate three things, taking a hit for the team, but in the end Tristan demolished the better half of the course. By the end he hardly seemed able to breathe, and Nora gave up subtlety to sidle up next to him and give his belly a firm massage, he groaning with relief, just to free up the space she knew he was gonna fill no matter what. When he finished, he happily slumped into her, head on her shoulder, moaning quietly with a huge grin on his face.

“I’ve got the bill,” she told Jorge and Matt. “You guys go ahead. We might need a minute before we’re going anywhere.”

“Oh my God,”’ Tristan groaned. “This place is the greatest place on earth.” He hiccuped and pressed his hand over hers where his belly stretched the most. “They just need reclining couches, like the Romans.”

“Glad you like the place, Tris, but I am three seconds away from all kinds of things that are illegal to do in restaurants, so maybe you can come here and recline sometime without me…”

“I would never come here without you,” he said vehemently, “nor anywhere else. You stir my appetite, love. I feast for you alone.”

“Tris, can you sit up?”

“Only if it is to roll into an Uber.”

“You need to get me out of here, Tristan. Immediately.”

“Yes, ma’m,” he said, a little breathlessly. He slowly levered himself off the bench then took her hand, waddling out of the pub with his belly preceding him by half a foot.

“Sorry,” he muttered once they were outside and he’d wrapped his arms around her as she slowly rubbed circles around his swollen stomach. “I didn’t mean to get like…this. I just can’t resist. Not with you. Not while—“ He stopped speaking as his whole body shivered with goosebumps when her hands glanced around to the bottom of his belly, massaging the area firmly under his shirt. His eyes closed with a gasp of pleasure.

“Do you regret this, Tristan?” she murmured, voice low since they were huddled so close.

“No,” he breathed.

“Then don’t apologize. If you can’t already tell how pleased I am, you will soon.”

[springsylph]

WITCHING HOUR [EXCERPT]— 18+

MINORS DNI! NUH UH!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: most people in the area had issues with coyotes. yours wore a cowboy hat, but you let him in anyways.

a/n: putting off several papers to write out a dream i had about Arthur’s hat was NOT what i had on my bingo card. but who am i to deny the late night hornies? no hornies in this excerpt, though. but soon, very soon…

(i’m 5k in and nowhere near close to the end, plz pray that i get this done before it consumes me)

Arthur Morgan was a sly kind of handsome; the kind that mothers knowingly ushered their daughters away from, and the kind that the fathers of said daughters would brandish their guns against. But the crux of the matter was this: the mothers almost always had heated glances to spare, and even the fathers were envious of a man cunning enough to run circles around the authorities for as long as he had.

Which is exactly why, when he shows up on your front porch one late winter night, you take up the hefty mantle of digging your loaded barrel right into his sternum.

He raises his hands in mock surrender and cracks a rakish smile, bright as the moon peeking out from behind the top of his hat. There’s a rich blue winter coat that hangs open; a little odd, but people have made do with less. His black bandana is scrunched up around his neck instead of around his face this time—and you note with a squint that he looks a bit less like an outlaw, and a little more like a fumbling idiot.

Still, Morgan cut quite the figure when he wasn’t sneaking chicken eggs from your coop. You try and hold fast to the promise you’d made to yourself only a short while ago, catch him, catch him, catch him. But if the agitated shifting of the muzzle against his chest is any indication, you’d been doomed from the start.

The moonlight isn’t doing your resolve any favors either: it drapes itself over the smooth arc of his shoulders, caresses a strong jaw shrouded in long-forgotten stubble, kisses burning blue eyes that look as close to bashful as you’d ever seen them. There’s something else in there, too. Lurking deep beneath the blue and wading through the slight dilation of his pupils. It urges him closer—or is it you?—like the distance between the two of you isn’t sustained by the twitchy arms of a woman holding a rifle.

But there’s an abrupt breeze that fiddles with the cotton threads of your chemise, and you’re suddenly struck with the realization that no, your hunting rifle isn’t loaded, and you’re a tad overexposed. In your haste to get to the door of your cabin, you’d forgone the shawl and left your boots still haphazardly strewn in the doorway. But it’d do you no good to show your hand this early. So like the hiss of a rattlesnake, you keep your voice low, and you keep it lethal.

“You’ve got ten seconds to convince me not to unload this lead right into your chest, Morgan.”

[hirayaaraw]

Married Life 101

Tags: friends to lovers; marriage for convenience / fake marriage; pining

Previous

Crazy week for the both of you. Got married on Monday. Played board games, cooked pasta and steak together, and sleep together in one bed. It wasn't the first time it happened but the you are married to him now.

You faked sleeping first and when you feel like Wonwop is already asleep. You opened your eyes and observed how peaceful he is. To be honest, you don't news to marry him but his proposal is enticing. His effect on you will always put you in daze.

You carefully reach out to push away the hair from his face. Wonwoo, the friend you made during freshman orientation who became your bestfriend for life, is now your husband. The feelings you keep at bay during college are slowly resurfacing.

You wonder if he felt the same. You wonder if you give comfort to him, the way he is your comfort person. You wonder if bring peace in him or chaos because he bring both to you. He brings you peace when your world is in shambles. He knows what to say and do to calm you down. Wonwoon unknowingly cause chaos in you whenever he touches you or whenever he say words of assurance that brings tornado of butterflies. He doesn't know the power he has over you.

You were about to turn around and sleep when you feel his hand reach out yours. He pulled you towards his chest. When you raise your head, he is still asleep.

There goes chaos and peace.

Tuesday

You woke up with the smell of coffee. Wonwoo is long gone from the bed. You walk towards the kitchen and saw him in front of the espresso machine.

"Good morning." He said then gave you a cup of coffee. Black coffee with two teaspoon of sugar, no creamer. You smiled behind the mug. "What time is your work?"

"As usual at 9 am." You yawn then left the mug at the table. You check the refrigerator to see what you can cook. "What food do you want to pack for lunch?"

"Spam and egg will do." Wonwoo said while blinking at you. Wonwoo doesn't pack lunch to office and he got excited that he will something prepared by you to office. He was like a kid excited to brag his bento lunch prepared by his mom. "What time are you going home?"

"I think around 7 PM? We took a leave yesterday. I am sure my workload is piling up now." You said as you prepare the ingredients. You tied up your hair before cooking and Wonwoo drinks his coffee while watching.

"Okay. I'll be there around 6:30 PM."

"For?"

"To pick up you and drive us home." Home. You try to hide your smile but you can't. Wonwoo smiling beside you too. You both enjoying the changes as newly weds.

After a quick breakfast, Wonwoo told you to shower and he will clean the kitchen. Once you're done, he took a shower while you put your make up on.

On the way to your work, he played your playlist and sang along with you. When you got at the drop off area, you gave him the paper bag of his lunch box.

"See you at dinner." You said and kissed his cheek then went out of the car. It took Wonwoo 30 second to realize you are already out of the car and you kissed him.

Wednesday

It's like being a routine for the both of you what you did yesterday. You enjoy sharing chores with him and the feeling of domesticated. You never dreamed of getting married but you are so grateful you marry Wonwoo.

Now he is dropping you off of at your work. You gave his lunch for today that made him smile.

"Can we drop by at my apartment later? I need to get some of my stuff left there." You said while unlocking the seatbelt. Wonwoo helped you packed your things last Sunday after you decided to marry on a whim. "The Landlady wants me to evacuate it as soon as possible."

"Sure. Should I buy some food before I come here?"

"Some pizza and chicken?" You said gleefully and Wonwoo nodded at you. "Okay. See you later."

You were about to go out when he pulled your hand. You looked at him waiting for him to speak.

"Did I forget something?"

"Ah nothing." Wonwoo said timidly then let go of your hand. "See you later."

You walked out of the car. When you reach your desk, you felt you forgot to do something and it bothers you so much. After lunch, you decided to text Wonwoo.

You: Did we turn off the light?

Wonwoo: Yes. Why?

You: Did we pull off the plugs?

Wonwoo: Yep. I double checked it before we went out.

You: I feel like I forgot something.

You: Ah nvm.

Wonwoo bitting his lips trying to hide his smile. He is in the middle of the meeting but can't stop himself from replying to you. Hoshi, his friend, elbowed him to bring him back to earth.

Later that day when went to pick you up from your office, once you buckled up your seatbelt, he held your cheek.

"This is what you forgot." He said and kissed the corner of your lips.

Your face is scarlet red the whole ride. From that day, you never forget kissing Wonwoo before leaving.

Thursday

Thursday and Friday are work from home set up for you. As for Wonwoo, Thursday is work home from home while Friday to Sunday is his off days. Perks of building a start up with your best buddies during college.

You took a half day to pay your tax. The clerk in tax office said the lowering your tax bracket will be effective next year. Fortunately, you got your rent deposit already and use it as a payment.

When you got home by lunch, you saw Wonwoo standing in the living room with his hand on his waist and furrowed eyebrows. You hurried over to his side. He didn't notice your arrival.

"What are you look--wow" You stand beside with pure amusement.

"What do you think?" He said, looking at you.

"This is beautiful. Where did you get that photo?" He got the wedding photo hanging above the work desk for the both of you. You never knew you had a photo like this. It was picture of you and Wonwoo looking at each other with big smiles and his hand on your waist.

"The court clerk adored us and sent us this morning."

"You really look handsome that day." You said absent mindedly making Wonwoo's ear go red. When you look at him, it is so obvious he got fluttered. "You're blushing."

"I'm not." Wonwoo denied so hard but you held his face to prove a point. There goes his whole face getting red. "It's because the whole place is humid."

"Okay, Handsome." You smirked before kissing his cheek and leaving for the kitchen. "What do you want to eat? I'll cook before I start working."

"Anything." Wonwoo is flabbergasted the way you just freeze his whole world and you decided to leave him hanging.

"Wonwoo"

"Hmmm?"

"Thanks for building my work desk." You said and made Wonwoo's heart feel proud.

Friday

You woke up because of consecutive knocks and doorbell but felt lightheaded. You burried your head to Wonwoo's chest and felt his arm around your waist.

"5 minutes please." He hummed.

It didn't take another minute when a phone goes off. Wonwoo reached for his phone and saw Hoshi is calling. He kept one of his hands around you while answering the call. His soothing hand make you fall asleep a little bit more until Wonwoo's voice got louder.

"You're here?!"

"Who's here?" You said with eyes close.

"Okay. I'll be up. Stop knocking, dimwit!" Wonwoo said before sitting up. Your sleepiness is gone.

"Who's that?"

"Hoshi and Mingyu. They are the ones knocking at the door." He said while walking towards the bathroom. You followed him and you both do the morning rituals.

"They're here." You said in quiet voice. Hoshi and Mingyu are your college batchmates. You are also close to them. "Do you want us to tell them or?"

"Do you want to keep it secret?"

"Like we can keep it. We have a big wedding picture in the living room and pair of rings. If I were going to be honest, Hoshi got a sniff because that ring of yours and tattled it to you Mingyu." You both giggled at the thought. You hand him a towel to dry his face. "They're here to investigate."

"Should we give them a show?"

"Something that will make Hoshi faint."

"I'll open the door." You snicker with the thought. "Help me tousle my hair so it will look like we did something crazy last night."

Wonwoo shaked his head at your silly idea. He tousled your hair before you both went out. As per your instruction, he needs to video every second of it. Just like you predicted, Mingyu and Hoshi lose their wits.

"What are you doing here this early?" Hoshi asked when you opened the door.

"Where's Wonwoo?" Mingyu firing his question immediately then seeing your hair. "Are you two fucking?"

"Excuse me?" You said in high tone that sound you are so offended with the thought that you and Wonwoo are banging each other. Even though that's the idea you want them to get.

"We're not fucking. We got married, okay?"

"Oh you're not fucking but married."

"But that's married people do in their past time."

"Wait you both got married without us?"

At this point you'll get eviction notice because of how loud they are. You pulled them inside and they shrieked when they saw the wedding picture. Wonwoo laughed loud while taking a video of their histerics. When they both calmed down, you sat them down.

Wonwoo held your hand while explaining the two rascals the impulsive and best decision you made in your life.

Saturday

It's like yesterday is a premonition of what would happen today. Wonwoo's mom calling in the morning trying to set him up with another girl. Your mom on the hand, called you to ask where you move because she went to your old apartment and they told her you move out.

"Are you ready?" Wonwoo asked you.

"It's not like they can do anything about it." You chuckled. Feeling silly at the moment. "If your mom asked me to divorce you in exchange for a million dollars, should I get it?"

"You should and give me the half million." You frowned a bit then look at him. "Then let's get married again."

"Idiot." You punch his arm lightly.

"Your idiot." He said then bumped his head on yours. Laughing together as if a storm is not about to hit you both.

Next

[residentficdm]

By Morning’s Light: Part 1

Charred wood crackles and bursts beneath his feet as David treads through the once-familiar Hollow. Beneath the thick shrouds of blackness lies a town he almost recognizes. The soft shape of the house he was born in peeks through the shadows—an invitation beckoning him. It’d be invisible if it weren’t burned into his brain.

He reaches a hand out into the darkness, finding grasp on the front door handle. Inside, lying face-down on the floor, is a woman. It’s almost too dark to see the brown curly hair he gave her, but despite the obscurity of the night, he knows who she is. He’d know her without touching his shaking hand to turn her over, know she’s dead without feeling her empty pulse.

He does it anyway.

Help them, Dae’valdin, is the last thing he hears in his mind before his vision goes white.

David shoots up from his bed, chest rising and falls rapidly, sweat on his chest glistening in the moonlight.

Third night in a row waking up this way. Third night in a row with the same dream.

Third night in a row having his mother’s dead body flash through his mind.

You cannot keep ignoring me, Dae’valdin, a voice sighs through his head, though no one is actually speaking.

David squeezes his eyes tightly. He’s felt inklings of this presence before, almost-thoughts lingering in his mind, but never with this much presence.

“It’s David,” he corrects the voice, dragging his palms down his sleep-numb face. A quick glance out the window tells him the sun is about to rise. No point in going back to sleep now. Might as well get an early start on the day’s chores before Snyder decides to chew him out. “And I can ignore you as long as I damn well please.”

You’d be wise not to speak to me like that, lest I revoke your gift.

“Fine by me,” he retorts, slipping into his work trousers. The so-called gift has caused him nothing but trouble.

Though, the voice is right. It’s more than simply unwise to mouth off to a goddess, it’s downright stupid. But David can’t find it in himself to swallow down the bitter ball of Why me? Selune has hundreds of devout servants across Faerun, maybe even thousands. Dutiful followers who can afford to sacrifice half their dinner plate into a fire as an offering to the moon goddess, clerics all but raised in the purest of monasteries.

And yet she has decided that David—a poor farmhand who can barely afford dinner most days—must be the one to shoulder this burden.

Trust in me. I have a plan for you, comes Selune’s voice through his mind, as if she can detect David’s thoughts.

“I would love for you to get out of my head.”

And I would love for you to show me a hair more reverence. And yet here we stand.

David’s plan of getting an early start on chores proves more difficult with a voice ringing in his head all morning.

Selune’s nagging accompanies him as he collects eggs from beneath sleeping chickens, mends some boards of fencing in the goat’s pens. By the time the sun’s properly risen, he’s collected six pints of goat’s milk and two dozen eggs.

He keeps two—for Sarah and himself—and stashes them in the kitchen while he goes out searching for kindling.

The stars are still out, perforating the navy early dawn sky like dollops of precious stone. Sinking down into the horizon, the moon is still visible. Selune’s domain.

Radiant, isn’t she?

David startles and drops the pile of wood he’s gather. “Holy fuck, I forgot you were there.”

Such divine language in the presence of a goddess.

“Apologies. It will likely happen again.”

I only jest. I have much more pressing matters than monitoring, much less caring, if my devouts swear.

David bristles at being called one of her devout. There are clerics, out in the city temples, who have dedicated decades of their lives to Selune’s cause. He doesn’t think he’s earned the right to be considered at the same level as them.

A full ten minutes pass by without the goddess intruding into David’s thoughts. In his reprieve, he sets the kindling he found ablaze and starts a breakfast for himself and his sister. Because he’s nothing if not a good brother.

“You didn’t wake me,” Sarah’s groggy voice calls behind him. The porridge he’s whipped up falls into the two serving bowls with a splat.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, taking the bowls to the table. It’s not a complete lie. “Thought I might as well put my insomnia to good use. Get an early start to chores.”

He digs a wooden spoon into his breakfast, careful to avoid Sarah’s studious gaze. A single strand of her unbrushed hair falls in front of her face, and she tucks it back behind her shoulder, but David still isn’t free from her scrutiny.

“No,” she finally decides. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

David releases a labored sigh from his lungs. If he brings up his dream—the Hollow, their mother—Sarah will never let it go. David isn’t sure he wants to deal with that just yet.

On the other hand, if he lies to her and she finds out—and David trusts she will, either through her uncanny ability to read him or some twin telepathy—she will be equally as insufferable.

PLAYING AS: David

[eatmangoesnekkid]

The Kill: To Come Fully Alive in Your Female Body is to Know How to Give Death Like a Country Woman Who Knows How to Process Her Home-Grown, Organically-Raised Chickens When It's Time

How I Reprogram My Cells With New Narratives Using My Imagination and After Care (My Gift to Readers On Tumblr)

I'm almost 48 years old and every month my body releases a healthy beautiful egg because it is still trying to have a big chunky baby.

I'm not peri-menopausal yet but will be using this year to reprogram my tissues with new narratives around menopause beyond the dehydrating stories I can feel trapped in my female line. The keycode here is that it takes time so you must begin now....early.

I'm deeply a strategic and proactive woman in all my fairy playfulness and do not dissociate from any cycle of my body or womanhood in any way. Instead I spend time reprogramming my cells and lovingly planting new narratives into my body, in this case, around the experience of menopause. No doctor will prescribe pills or other substances for my natural female cycles that I have already falling in love with. The keycode here is that your love for the process is essential.

I find comfort in the present moment and I also find comfort in imagining and projecting into the future. I do not fear menopause. I do not hold common expectations that it will be difficult or dry out my pussy or my libido will fall as the culture teaches. I am clear that I won't need hormonal medication. I consciously use my energy to envision myself in the details of what I desire in life as a radiant, flexible, wet, high libido, sassy, symptom-free menopausal woman. But I don't just envision, I feel the emotions of being radiant, flexible, wet, etc. OUR EMOTIONS CONNECT US INTO THE UNIVERSE.

I am often lightyears ahead of what we call "time." Ancient-future. I am planting cosmic seeds now BEFORE my menopause years and continue to take action in the desired direction through staying active and continuing to work on my flexibility and inner beauty—forgiving, clearing, letting go, and dreaming. “Yoh, the fuck you mean ‘wait and see, ’” I thought to myself after a woman waiting in line with me at the airport said that menopause will be the worst time of my life. I responded back in the gentlest manner, " Ma'am, my menopause will not be difficult and I will not feel hot nor lose my high libido.” Haha I said that to her and continued, “I'm not an average woman and anm already programming my future menopausal years in which I rest well at night and wake up aroused for the day. I appreciate your well-intentioned words but they do not apply to me nor do I consent to that experience. I’m such a weird one—not regular. Never been.” The keycode here is that you must be willing to cut people off at the neck who subtly lead life from a victimized position about their own bodies and attempt to place that same energy onto you, even with well-meaning intentions. She was a lovely woman otherwise —and I knew she meant well but I also knew that she giving me feedback on what lives deep in my body, in the hidden and unconscious. I can’t see it but I felt it in our interaction. Therefore I wasn’t really metaphorically cutting HER neck off. I was starting the journey of severing the part of my female lineage that feels the same way as she does. I will repeat this process over and over again in my imagination, then begin the journey of self-soothing my tissues and nervous system with lots of intentional massage, juicing, and rest. What we give death to is still a valuable part that our psyches will miss interacting with, a part that up to now has made us feel safe and held. Lots of self-soothing and letting our tissues know that we will be okay without this aspect of self are essential after care.

I always ask the earth for support and speak my desires into the orange trees as I'm picking fruit, walking through a park, or hiking. The keycode here is that you need initiate support from another divine authority, whether nature, God, your ancestors, etc.

I permit myself to see my future menopausal self being juicy and abundant.

I have always lived my life this way--often 2-3 steps ahead of the game, laughing and playing a lot along the way.

Too many women and other female bodied people are stuck and trapped by the trauma they have programmed to believe about themselves (their cells). It's important that you remember who you are--a magical woman and experience this reality lightheartedly, playfully, and magically accordingly. The keycode here is that your playfulness and lightheartedness help to release any resistances. They become your fuel and battery propelling you forward into your next level or landing you directly into a quantum leap.

Maybe you aren’t concerned about menopause yet but you can apply these key codes to any other aspects of your life. --India Ame'ye, Author

[quibblyisme]

Chicken noodle soup

Who? Spencer Reid / reader

Summary: Spencer is sick and needy

Word count: 800

Warnings: N/A

A/n: This is my first fluff-ish? Fic. I wish I added more relationship stuff but... enjoy!

As soon as Spencer woke up, he was needy. Something about your hair sprawled out across the pillows, your leg sticking out from under the blankets, or how you slept with your mouth open. Whatever it was, Spencer wanted your affection.

Spencer pressed himself against your back and moved his hands to hold yours. He was trying to “accidentally” wake you up. First he tried blowing hot air on your neck, then cold air, then he tried kissing your neck; eventually he sneezed loudly. You opened your eyes groggily, wiping the drool off the side of your face.

“Hm…?” you groaned 

���What time is it?”

Spencer sighed before speaking, knowing you wouldn't be impressed by him waking you up so early.

“...5:20”

“Ughhhh… Kill me now, you whined jokingly.

“Wha- n- don't say that!” He begged.

“Shhh… Just a joke, honey. Just a joke."

Spencer pouted; even if it was just a joke, he didn't like the idea of you dying.

Suddenly he was reminded of the scratch in his throat and the snot running down his nose. Why did he have to be sick?

He made grabby hand motions to the box of tissues laid next to you in bed. You reached over and handed them to him. He immediately covered tissue after tissue in his germs. 

“‘M sick, he whined.

“Oh really? I didn't know” you said sarcastically, running a hand through his hair.

He nuzzled into your hand like a puppy begging for attention. He attempted to swaddle himself in the various blankets on your bed but just couldn't do it as well as you. You watched him grunt and groan as he tried and failed. You instructed him to stand up so you could lay out the blankets. The first layer was the duvet, then the sheet, then the first blanket, and then finally Spencer's favorite ratty blanket you got him at the start of your relationship. He lay on the end of the blankets, and you rolled him up like a burrito.

“Better?” You raised an eyebrow.

“...My feet are cold” He jabbed your side with his freezing cold feet, making you yelp.

Heading to the dresser, you grabbed three pairs of socks. Just as you were about to put them on, Spencer interrupted you.

“Mismatch them, pleaseee” he said, batting his eyelashes.

You mismatched the socks. The red ones went with the blue; the science ones went with the stripes. So on and so forth.

“Cuddles?”

You pulled him and his burrito of blankets on top of you and wrapped your arms around his torso.

“I have to go to work soon, y'know?”

Spencer tensed and held onto you tighter. A clear sign he didn't want you to leave him, even if it was just for work. You wouldn't have given in if it wasn't for those puppy dog eyes going right to your heart.

You didn't say anything, but you stared him down until eventually grabbing your phone, signalling that you were going to call in sick. He happily wiggled closer to your face and started pressing kisses all over it.

“Ah- don- you're sic- phhg- ah! Stop-”

Once he eventually stopped the barrage of sloppy kisses, his eyes drooped, and he quickly fell asleep without noticing it.

Taking the opportunity to get away from his clinginess, you headed to the kitchen to make some eggs for you and chicken noodle soup for Spencer.

Just as you got some alone time to finish your eggs, you heard the familiar pitter patter of Spencer's feet across the floorboards. There he appeared in front of you, still wrapped in blankets with the same pout on his face.

“I woke up and you weren't there…”

You handed him the bowl of chicken noodle soup, and Spencer eagerly took a spoonful, stopping just before he took a bite.

“Wait, I need to tell you about the craziest dream I had!”

“Wait so I… aw damn. I forgot it”

You chuckled under your breath, bringing back Spencer's pout.

“Just eat the soup, please,” you said sternly mixed with a bit of pleading.

Spencer shot you a glare before swallowing the whole thing.

“I swear to God, when you're sick, you turn into a baby”

“Well, you think babies are cute, so I'll take that as a compliment!” Spencer countered

“Whatever makes you sleep at night”

Spencer, without warning, sat in your lap; the chair creaked under the added weight.

“I think I'm getting sick too,” you complained before coughing. Despite Spencer already being sick, he tried to back away from the cough.

“Wanna take another nap?” You asked. Spencer nodded his head eagerly before grabbing your hand and walking you to your bedroom.

There you both fell asleep, wrapped up in blankets and used tissues. Together.

 

 

 

[lilolakes]

Ekvillan - 'The oak villa'

Ekvillan is a spacious family villa inspired by swedish architecture from the turn of the last century.

I chose to call it 'Ekvillan' - 'The oak villa' in swedish, since there is a big oak tree in the garden. It has a vegetable garden, bees, a chicken coop, and a treehouse. There's plenty of cozy little spots to hang out and eat 'fika'.

Please note that this was built using cc. The lot is partially playtested. DOWNLOAD (SFS)

Some of the cc is included, the rest is linked below. The lot can also be fould on the gallery (ID: Lilolakes)

My lovely friend @zebrasimmer_ on Instagram had her one year instaversary recently, and to celebrate she hosted a little collab were we created different builds inspired by her (and also my-) home country - Sweden. This was my contribution.

Check out the other builds in the collab, by @zebrasimmer_ , @simsaga_ and @sims.erezkigal on Instagram.

Packs used

Ep:s All of the ones released before 2023 Game packs: Werevolwes, My Wedding Stories, Dream Home Decorator, Journey to Batuu, Realm of Magic, StrangerVille, Jungle Adventure, Parenthood, Vampires, Dine Out, Spa Day, Outdoor Retreat Stuff packs: Paranormal, Nifty Knitting, Tiny Living, Laundry Day, Vintage Glamour, Kids Room, Romantic garden, Spooky Stuff Kits: Country Kitchen, Courtyard Oasis, Decor to the Max, Everyday clutter

Required CC

Here are the links for all the cc required for the lot to look as intended.

This is my first time sharing a build using cc. I might have gone a biiit overboard with it, so it's pretty cc heavy. Sorry 'bout that! ;)

All credit goes out to the amazing creators! I have done my best not to miss anyone, and to respect all of the creators TOU. Please tell me if you notice something that I've missed!

Anniee sims -Area rug

ATS4 (Around the sims 4) -IKEA-like stepstool -Cereal box -Crate seat -Toy train set -Candle and old book -Grocery paper bag (the first one) -Harvestable aromatic plants, Basil, Rosemary and Thyme -Rocking toy alligator, Farm puzzle and blackboard -Preschool blocks and House

Charly Pancakes -The candle, moodbooster

conceptdesign97 -Pumpkin vine

Cowbuild -Pleated curved floor lamp and lazy loveseat throw pillow

Dew of the sea -Accordion wall rack, S4, unmerged

Fadedsprings -William Morris-ish wallpaper set

Felixandre -Grove part 1 -Grove part 2: bowls, cups and salad bowl -Grove part 3 -Grove part 4 -Kyoto part 2 -Berlin part 1 -Shop the look Season 1 -London set exterior

Harlix -Tiny Twavellers Binoculars, crocodile, hot air balloon lamp (short), swing (medium), hanging wall world map -Baysic (different items)

Harrie -Shop the look 2

Icemunmun at ModTheSims -Harvestable corn stalks

Leaf Motif at Curseforge -Wall lamp and vintage tiles

Leniad at ModTheSims -Pumpkin plant

Leosims -Carton of eggs

Lilis-Palace -Jugendstil tiles set -Folklore set

LittleDica -Deligracy Delicato Stuff Pack

MadameRia -Back to Basics Pot Holder (Wall version) and Wire Basket Dish Rack

Maman-Gateau at Sims Artists -Whicker basket with lid from this set

Mutske at TSR -Alda arch with private doors 2x1 -Alda arch 2x1 -Alda privatdoor 1x1

MXIMS -Ikea ypperlig table and mirror -Stokke high-chair -Aesop Bathroom Tray -Plants 1,2,6,7 -String Shelf System (Shelf B):

My cup of CC -Tiny dreamers set (merged)

Novvas -Pumpkins in a basket -Random Runners -Elo bathroom IKEA rug -Kids drawings from this set -Painting collection

Nutter-Butter-1 at ModTheSims -Old Floor Tile Set

Picture Amoebae -Allisas Fall '18 Panels

Pierisim -Oak house part 3 -Oak house part 2 -Rold Skov kitchen mini kit -Domaine Du Clos part 1 -Domaine Du Clos part 3 -Domaine Du Clos part 4 -The COLDBREW coffee shop pt 1 - 1/2 -The COLDBREW coffee shop pt 1 - 2/2 -The COLDBREW coffee shop pt. 2

Plumbob Tea Society -Deco Botanical Scroll, woodpile and raised garden beds

Raindrops on cowplants -Gothic revival build set

Severinka at TSR -big pumpkin 02 -small pumpkins 07

SimC (Simcredible designs) at TSR -Coastal Extras - daisy in tall vase

Simspell -Autumn & Spooky-ish Paintings (Part 1)

SixamCC -Birker Line ceiling light (different versions) -Small Spaces deco pantry items -Small Spaces Pantry CC Pack - Mixer (Standalone version) -Dreamy Outdoors floor light

Soloriya at TSR -Two candles -Collection of candles -Pencil sharpener and erasers

TaTschu -Lighted fence (Leosims recolor)

Tech Hippie -Plants from these two sets

Vintage Simmer -Patchwork set -Noah plush rabbit -SBP Octopus -L&C Plush lemon

Wondymoon TSR -Lybica Kitchen Hanger -Protactinium Rug

Wondymoon.com -Ceratonia kitchen counters 1 and 2, island counter, cabinets, corner cabinet and stove hood.

Credit for the cc included in the download: 13pumpkin, Aggressive Kitty, Aira-cc, Awingedllama, Baufive, DK Sims, Honeycuts , IllogicalSims, KKB, Linacherie, Meinkatz, Mio-Sims, Myshunosun, NynaeveDesign, Peacemaker IC, Pocci, Sanoysims, Sforzinda, Slox, Spirashun, Syboulette

Reshade used for screenshots: Dove 2.0 by Kindlespice

T.O.O.L-mod by Twisted Mexi was used to create this build. You don't need it to place the lot, but I recommend that you go check it out. It can be found here: https://twistedmexi.com

I hope you enjoy my build. Please tag me if you share any gameplay pictures from the lot, I'd love to see it!

♡ Lilolakes

[ofmermaidstories]

i kinda hate eggs but i like the way you talk about em. Wish eggs were real fr

me too. 😔

i love eggs though. 😌 over rice and sunny side up with lacey crispy edges and all volcanic with chilli oil and those orange yolks…. scrambled hastily with salt and pepper. 😩 i LOVE them scrambled, my bestie once told me i made the most creamy, sloppy eggs she’d ever had and i was like “fank 😌”. poached!!! with the translucent veil white film over the yolk. 😩 the only thing is that they’re so fucking expensive now. 😭 i try—when i have the $$$—to buy locally, because i know the farms they come from and the lives the chickens get to lead but both farms that supply the area have had to raise their prices bc they’ve climbed nation wide. 🥺 like these farm-raised, free roam chicken eggs are now 9.50$AUD a dozen and it’s like—okay, that’s so incredibly steep but i will never buy caged eggs again. i will either find the $6+ for the interstate cartons in the supermarket, or i’ll go vegan. 🥹 my dream though is to own my own hens, maybe some factory rescued ones? 🥺 but while i have the space i am not……. good at looking after other living creatures LOL. 😔🥺 but it would be dream… some hens to say hello to when i hang up the washing outside. 🥹 maybe a duck or two??? maybe one day. 🌄

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks to @elsie-writes here, @mysticstarlightduck here, and @willtheweaver here!

My words: death, abandon, egg, top, glass, teeth, red, sky, whisper, rebellion, enchantment, solitude

Your words: warn, analyze, expose, try

Tagging @dyrewrites @awritingcaitlin @atelierwriting @jessicagailwrites @paeliae-occasionally

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites

SOTL intro

SOTL tag list (ask to be +/-): @illarian-rambling @katwritesshit @wyked-ao3

Keep reading for:

Lexi sees shrimp color

Lexi is skeptical

Maddie debates eating meat since she's a shapeshifter

Jedi gets excited about science (again)

This would be cute if I didn't hate this man

Maddie makes Carmen angy

Robbie tells a story

Jedi is scared

Rose finds a humming rock

History time with Carla and George

World Building Time

Older version of SOTL (sorry my SOTL taglist peeps ily but this is all you're getting)

Death - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

The ground disappeared and I fell through a tunnel of millions of colors I never knew existed. Is this what it’s like to have more photoreceptors? Is this how shrimp see? I would’ve been in awe if I wasn't falling to my death.

Abandon(ed) - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

Someone could’ve injected me with a hallucinogenic. How much of the day was a lie? Was I unconscious in some dark, abandoned warehouse? Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe the Baxters were responsible for this. It was a bit far-fetched, but no further than being an alien.

Egg - from The Secret Portal Part One (Kelsey POV)

“I’m sure that tiger wouldn’t care if you ate a pig and a chicken embryo.” “I don’t wanna be that person, but the yolk is the food for the embryo.” I smiled. Classic Maddie. Maddie sighed, leaning back. “The egg is unfertilized, but I’m not sure about the bacon. I may need to be a pig one day.” “Why would you need to be a pig?” “If I gotta go incognito on a farm.” She poked at the bacon on her plate. “You’ve been watching too much Teen Titans.”

Top - from The Secret Portal Part One (Gwen POV)

“She could be demonstrating several abilities. I can name four off the top of my head.” He smiled. “Actually, seven! I’m curious to see which one it is.” Dr. Asghar huffed, but followed her colleague back around the corner. “Sorry about the vase,” I heard Dr. Moon say. “Who cares? It was my uncle’s. Good riddance!” I heard a sound that implied Dr. Asghar kicked a shard of the vase that bounced off the wall.

Glass - from The Secret Portal Part One (Ash POV)

Mr. Jimenez nodded. “I see. Well, you don’t have to worry about that here. It’s just me and Shelby.” He reached over and ruffled his daughter’s dark hair. Shelby laughed, dipping her cookie into the glass of milk and taking a bite.

Teeth - from The Secret Portal Part One (Maddie POV)

“This is stupid,” I said, crossing my arms. “You’re messing with me because you think I’m a child who can fall for this. Well, I’m not.” “Well,” said Dr. Asghar, “you are a child.” “I’m an adolescent.” Dr. Asghar’s jaw clenched so hard it looked like she was biting her own teeth off.

Red - from The Secret Portal Part One (Robbie POV)

“There was a red light. Just kinda… glowing.” Akash raised an eyebrow. “Glowing…? From where?” I shrugged. “I dunno, man. But then the lights flickered. And Jason freaked out, loosened his grip, and I pushed him off.” “And then Ms. Bradley came out?” “And then Jason went flying across the hall.” Akash opened his mouth to say something, then closed it.

Sky - from The Secret Portal Part One (Jedi POV) CW - fear of persecution/discrimination

I felt sudden paranoia that the people passing me on the street would somehow find out I was Inutilia. Why didn’t I care much before? So many kids feel like this every day…. How could I have turned away from it? I surveyed the sky for a police patrol. They would have scanners. My breath quickened. There were plenty of places in my hometown that were desegregated, but not all. Those places would have scanners. It wasn't safe anymore.

Whisper(ed) - from The Secret Portal Part One (Maddie POV)

“Great,” Noelle said. “A rock. Discovery of the century.” She cupped her hands to her mouth. “Ladies and nonexistent gentlemen! Rose Hernandez found a rock!” “Don’t you hear it?” Rose asked. I wondered if Noelle’s tone bothered her. “Hear what?” Gwen whispered. She dropped her drumstick and quickly picked it up. “A humming.” We were silent again. “What humming?” Noelle asked.

Rebellion - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

“Anyway, the powerless individuals were eventually called Inutilia, since the society at large considered them useless. They faced discrimination almost instantly, and it got worse as the population kept growing.” “So some formed a rebellion,” Carla said. “Beginning riots and protests, and advocating for change. Some escaped through the portal to your side—” “Ceteri,” George interrupted. Carla gave him a small glance. “That’s… that’s what we call your side.”

Enchantment - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)

“Why is it so unnecessarily complicated?” Ash asked. “I mean, why not just, like, enchant the portal or something. So only Alii can get through?” Carla shook her head. “We can’t enchant the portal. It’s a natural occurrence.”

Solitude - from "M.A.G.I.C.: The Beast in a Beauty"

Haggard sighed, reaching up to take the pins out of her hair. "You know, Rosario, you need to get out more. With all that reading your kingdom does, you should read up on the kingdoms." "We prefer our solitude," Anahi replied, coolly.

[nancypullen]

Sunday Afternoon

I woke up in Denton again today. Dang it. I keep hoping for one of those 80's soap opera moments where I wake up and this was all a bad dream. So I did what I always do and made the best of it while silently cussing about everything. If Mickey reads this he'll ask, "Really, silently??" Okay, I may vocalize my discontent on occasion. And by occasion, I mean daily. Anyyywayyyy, there's not much happening around here. After lunch we went over to the auction house and poked around. There was some cute furniture there that I'd love to get my hands on and paint - but nothing we truly needed. I do have my eye on a stack of vintage children's books. I'm a sucker for anything Rupert related and this auction lot has three Rupert books!

Have you ever watched Rupert and the Frog Song? I love it so much I may want it played at my funeral. Well, I doubt I'll have a funeral, so I may tell my family to watch it and just burn me up in the Weber. Is that legal? Anyway, Paul McCartney wrote the music and lyrics (We All Stand Together) and it's pure magic.

The first time I saw it I was in a hotel room in Seattle with my two sweet babies. We'd flown in from the Florida panhandle (long day) and were overnighting before catching a morning flight to Anchorage, Alaska and then on to Barrow/Utqiagvik to our new home at the tiptop of the world. We finally had beachfront property but it came with polar bears and icebergs. Matthew was 5 1/2 so Tyler was 2, we'd had a very long travel day and they were such little troopers. After wrestling our luggage into a van and arriving at the hotel I ordered room service cheeseburgers and found the Disney Channel on tv. Rupert and the Frog Song was just starting so we cuddled up in our jammies with our dinner and giggled ourselves silly over the frogs. We may have been overtired and a little punchy, but I was so happy in that moment with my precious little boys, and this song was cemented on my heart. The three of us survived plenty of adventures and tough times, but we did stand together and my gosh, look at them now. I couldn't be more proud of them. If you have any interest, you can see Rupert and the Frog Song here. It's old, and it starts out a tad slow ,but it's lovely. If you're impatient you can go straight to the 5:30 mark and watch the song.

That's why a dusty stack of books at an auction house in Denton made me put a hand to my heart and say, "Ohhh." It's also the reason that I will probably bid too much. The heart wants what it wants.

After visiting the auction house we made a stop at Aldi and picked up a few things for the coming week. Salmon, pork for carnitas, ingredients for veggie soup, broccoli, zucchini, and some very pricey eggs. A dozen eggs for nearly $5 and they were limiting customers to two dozen. Good grief, sure makes me miss my chicken raising days. We returned home and the mister spent the rest of the afternoon in his office processing photos or making videos for YouTube. I never really know what he's doing up there. I sat at my desk and started worked on a little birdhouse for this spring. I picked up a cheap, unfinished wood birdhouse a couple of months ago at a craft store. I think it was $6. I'm currently gluing some china pieces on it before grouting it.

I'll use white grout, probably paint the roof a brighter red (I used what I had on hand and I don't like it) and give it a home on the front porch. It's a really fun and easy project that keeps my hands busy. Easy to listen to a podcast while fitting the pieces, it's not brain surgery.

I try to keep my mind busy too, and that usually involves writing or reading. Last week I plowed through this book and thoroughly enjoyed it. One of the reviews said, "In turns absurdly funny and devastatingly tender, Alison Espach’s The Wedding People is ultimately an incredibly nuanced and resonant look at the winding paths we can take to places we never imagined—and the chance encounters it sometimes takes to reroute us." Spot on, funny and tender. I loved Phoebe, understood Lila, ached for Juice, and so on. Highly recommend. I also highly recommend Etsy (how's that for a segue?) You know I've been shopping on Etsy since 2008. I love supporting individual artists and creators, and I've rarely been disappointed. Check out this ball cap I recently received - custom embroidery reading, "Mentally in Paris". Always, people, always.

If I were in Paris right now I'd stroll Rue Clare and choose something delicious for dinner from the market stalls, after dinner we'd stroll over to Champ de Mars and watch the Eiffel tower sparkle. I wonder if that would ever get old? Doubt it. But, as I mentioned, I woke up in Denton again so tonight I'll be watching another episode of Land Man with Billy Bob Thornton and talking to my cats. Bonjour, petit chat. Voudrais-tu manger? They always answer. Darling kitties. Molly has claimed the clubhouse, so I feel like I can't toss it out just yet.

She looks miserable because I woke her up when I snapped her picture. Grumpy ol' gal. I suppose I've become a grumpy ol' gal too. I'll try harder not to be. On that note, I'll wish you a beautiful day (or evening, depending on when you read this). I hope that you're finding moments of joy and savoring them - a laugh with a friend, a good cup of coffee, a book you can't put down. Those are the little things that help a soul survive this crazy world. If you've had a tough day, consider yourself hugged. If you've had a great day, spread some of that happiness around.

See ya' soon. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[brechtian]

so. this happened...

quick disclaimer:

i don't write fanfic about the waves. and i don't actually ship jinny and susan, i just had a "revelation" during a dream: susan has a whole thing about possession/wanting to possess and jinny dances for herself ("the leaf danced in the hedge without anyone to blow it" etc) and like. she def likes the ppl that she calls but. like. "now slackness and indifference invade us", "i also like fair-haired men with blue eyes", etc etc.

so basically: susan wants to possess ppl (shown through her love for bernard bc he is literally unpossessable) and jinny+co (all the dancers) possess each other briefly and then part with indifference.

idk if i showed that well through this but you're literally the only blog ik that likes the waves so. here it is ig

ofc you don't have to read it and i probably made mistakes.

set after they meet Percival - before he dies

“This is not my world,” said Susan. “I peer about like an animal among the bustle of the city that I despise. My eyes are low and close to the ground, the cobblestone, the sharp edges of stiff dress-shoes. As a child I saw beetles in the grass, steady movements of ants across dry dirt; I peered through bushes and screwed injustice and envy into my pocket-handkerchief, even as she cried, ‘My mouth opens too wide and shows too much gum.’ But today I meet her.

“My possessions seem out of reach; the descent of the Tube was a severance, but I will stitch it together with my rough, callused hands that milk the cows and feed the chickens. Still it seems like death, for I am in Jinny’s territory, the ground that she owns as sure as she steps onto it—hollow ground, empty ground. The smell of pine and linoleum is forced into me. With each shop I pass, I see the glazed chalkboards that I have hated. I possess nothing here. I regret coming. With no Rhoda, no Louis, no strange and wandering spirit for whom yearning is all of life, I am the sole thrashing, lonely visitor; I can only continue on with a fisted handkerchief and a destination in mind. 

“The world is crisp, clean, full of dress without the fade of wear. I am here, where we gathered as Bernard became engaged to be married, an irrevocable separation from the past; where the swing-door opened and closed as he did not come, and came; where we sent Percival off to India; where I return to meet Jinny—Jinny who is certain, who wears a red dress in the evenings while I sit stitching at home; Jinny whose hands are fair and slender; Jinny who possesses the men that come to her, who gives herself to them for an hour of dance before dropping them like an egg falling cracked on the floor; Jinny who has arrived.”

“When I enter,” said Jinny, “all seems still and stopped. Yet Susan, whose eyes are so bright, watches me with an intensity that I am unaccustomed to. I look at my peers, with whom there is an honourable antagonism; we look with respect, with indifference. Susan’s face assumes a certainty for which I am momentarily unprepared. Change follows my entrance; hands rise to ties, smooth out hair. A woman takes a powder-puff to obliterate her nose. Susan hides her hands, worn and rough like the fabric of her dress. But as strangers return to their plates and guests, I steel myself. I remind myself: my body can open and close at my will alone.

“We return nods, and there is a semblance of the familiar respectful antagonism before her pear-shaped eyes rest on the menu and I realize her assessment is separate from all others. For there is no man, no tall dark-eyed shadow, no fair-haired blue-eyed dancer; and there is no gossip, no stories of the newcomers in green, no woman who danced once and never again, no comments of the man smoking on the balcony whose palm is scarred (‘a blood oath?’ one would say; another, ‘a fight with a mistress?’; another, ‘broken wine glass?’); and Susan is not a stranger on the street for whom I would raise my chin like a peacock, with pride, with confidence, with certainty. Something inside me has morphed in Susan’s presence. 

“I order wine, astringent against her plain water; because Susan is plain, all things plain. She would wear a straw hat on a summer day. My wine sits untouched (it is too early, the clock has not struck evening) but she drinks with a surety across the table, faded sleeves beside the clean silk of her napkin in its silver ring. We talk of the weather; of Bernard and Neville, Louis and Rhoda; of Percival in India. She glances at the menu at times, calls the waiter for bread, but when her eyes, which reflect the paleness of fresh milk in September, assess not my appearance but my city-bright eyes, I feel still and stopped. I slam my body shut until her attention is turned to the waiter with the bread, for I will not be possessed by Susan in the cool of this afternoon.”

“The meal continues,” said Susan, “and Jinny eats meagre portions of her plate of roast and buttered bread. I do not press. We are mainly silent, mainly waiting. She calls for dessert without finishing. I decline the slice of vanilla cake and finish the slice of baguette which has grown cold. She uses her fork and knife to cut the slice in small pieces; her mouth, which is precisely red, closes over it expertly. She leaves no crumbs. The sky darkens. Why am I here? I ask myself, although I am no yearning and wandering spirit. It is a thin question, something to be stripped off, a corn husk during harvest season. 

“The people among us begin to stand; they begin to leave. Jinny has finished her vanilla cake. We are talking about the weather again. ‘It’s evening,’ says Jinny. I know what Jinny does in the evenings while I sit at home stitching. I rise from my seat; she as well. Her mouth is still painted red. Redder than an apple, a June strawberry. She is precisely drawn; a shining Jinny with a red mouth and a dress that fits around her waist. She traipses through her evening. She tells men to come to her and they follow.

“There is nothing to catch hold of in Bernard—floating over treetops wreathed in phrases of Elvedon. Jinny is solid, and then she is gone; she dances, and then she leaves; she enters, and we change; she and the men she dances with possess each other, and then they part. I cannot possess her. I am in the garden, and Jinny kisses Louis.

“The shops are closing. There are women sweeping the floors and curtains falling closed. There is rain in the air. Jinny’s world shrinks to only one room; where she dances, calls men to her, and drops them like eggs on the floor. But the women are sweeping and the lights are shutting and the sky will rain and the air will swell with wet soil where the root vegetables grow.”

“It is evening,” said Jinny, “but I know Susan has travelled too far to go back so soon. I do not know where we could go. As we leave the restaurant, she turns to head off, into the Tube, away from here. But it has been an hour of cordiality and silence, and I was the one at fault for bringing her here. Wait though, Susan: it is only a mistake if you believe it to be. The shops are closing. Across the street my world is opening. But I will not drag you there.

“It is strange that you are tired, that you would wear a nightgown to pad across your house in, that you shut off your lights in the evening. Come, Susan. I own a room, not to lie in, not to stay in; but I own one. I say to you, ‘Come,’ and you come, but not as a fair-haired man or a dark-eyed dancer; you trail behind in this world of mine, but step with the image of a decisive destination. The streets are lit by street lamps. ‘Come,’ I say.”

“There is rain in the air,” said Susan. “The smell is familiar, curling. I follow Jinny with rain around me, a surety, a certainty. I understand the rain, the clouds heavy with rain; Jinny cannot feel the apprehension of the air, although she walks as if she owns the street she is on. Without the rain I would not have gone. But the streets and roofs will be wetted and I will stand among it all. 

“She leads me up the steps of a building; rented-out rooms. One is Jinny’s. It is clear Jinny does not stay here with the intention of it becoming home (even the sturdy reliability of floors and walls cannot possess her permanently) but there are clean, thin dresses hung up: this gold, that red, another shining blue. There is a mirror where she assesses herself, where she says, ‘My mouth opens too wide,’ and paints her mouth red. But there are wood-panelled floors and whitewashed walls. Open the window, Jinny, so I can smell the rain.”

“The window is cool to the touch,” said Jinny. “I cannot smell the rain as Susan can but I feel the chill prickle down my arms, spill onto my skin. When I dance I am warm. My blood rushes through my veins, bright red, lapping at my sides, flushing my insides hot. But Susan is here with her pear-shaped eyes that look at me with neither hate, envy, or desire. I am not in the garden, kissing Louis. Susan is with me but her pocket-handkerchief is not creased in her palm. I can open my body and close my body at will. I am cool to the touch. Susan does not understand signals but when I raise my hand she takes it.”

“Rain curls around me,” said Susan. “Jinny’s hand is warm like her eyes that dance with fire.”

“My legs are silk,” said Jinny, “hers cotton. Her palm is rough against mine and the back of her hand is tan. I have long fingers that are soft and slender. Susan is not a dark-eyed man or a fair-haired one, but when her eyes rise to meet mine, I become like the wax of a candle with a fire lit in my eyes. 

“Why did you bring me here? you ask without speaking. I do not know; I am melting, I am flowing. ‘Jinny,’ you say, and I hear you cry with your mother-sewn pinafore, ‘I hate and I love. I desire one thing only.’ But we were children then. 

“You do not know how to dance. Your steps are heavy; mine, feather-light. I ripple, swell, flow over you and your heavy steps. We are not children anymore, Susan. You are not burying the school under the ground; I am not winning the game. But you have the reliability of wood-panelled floors and air filled with rain; and my blood is bright red, whipped up, slapping against my ribs. I say to you, ‘Come,’ but I wonder, Will you?”

“I could have loved you,” said Susan. “I could have nailed you to a barnyard door. But I must collect my possessions in a world of my own. I will have a husband and children, Jinny; I will milk the cows and walk through the wheat fields. I will look down the table with familiar bread and a September chill through the open window. I will knock the loaf to assure myself of whether it is baked all the way through. My husband will fix the fence that is rotten. There will be corn-fields, wheat-fields, all mine. That is my world. How could you take me here? 

“Your hand is warm as a loaf of bread. You can be sculpted like sourdough before it is raised. Can you be possessed? I feel animalistic in this suddenness. Afterwards, you will say, I like men with fair hair and green eyes. Your eyes break into a thousand lights. My eyes are hard. My handkerchief is fisted in my pocket. There is anger creasing it. I cannot dance. I cannot have you in this false, artificial world of pine and linoleum. I buried the sixpence. I buried the school. I cannot bury you. 

“You say, ‘Come,’ and you wonder if I will. You say, ‘Come,’ and I wonder if you’ll drop me like an egg falling cracked on the floor. You say, ‘Come,’ and I do not.”

NOWWW WAIT A MINUTE……. WHY IS THIS FIRE…..

[coldslaws-gear-station]

Here's a few miscellaneous fun facts about the AU because rn it's actually giving me extreme brain rot;

UD Ghetsis' favourite flower is a Hydrangea, it was the first ever flower he ever cultivated. When Alder decided he wanted to challenge himself by raising a bigger plant, Ghetsis gifted him a hydrangea seedling, which grew into gorgeous pink hydrangeas. Though Alder was confused why his were pink and red while Ghetsis' were purple are blue.

Ghetsis himself is actually royalty born, however he was a half blood bastard child. While all of his half siblings were clawing their way into to being in the head seat of the royal clan, he stepped away, forfeiting his right to the throne. Fortunately they all perish mysteriously after their castle was seemingly set ablaze out of nowhere, since he was the only living relative of the family name, he got all of the inheritance. Hense why he's so unbelievably loaded.

Ghetsis' Hydreigon was actually the offspring of his father's Hydreigon that was going to be gifted to his much older half brother, however he refused to take the egg, claiming he could just buy himself a fully evolved dragon and he doesn't want to waste his time raising it. They were simply going to dispose of the egg since he didn't want it but Ghetsis stepped in and offered to raise it. Despite the fact that his father quite literally hated his existence, he gave the egg to him, probably expecting him to die raising it.

After the events of BW and during the events of Alder's healing, he steps down from the league and gifts the position to Drayden. He sees it as an apology for always making his life harder as he always has to deal with the aftermath of when a trainer would lose in the league. He knows he'll set the other Elites straight, he'll do more good with the position than he himself will ever do.

N isn't actually a random child Ghetsis found in the woods, he's actually his biological child. However his mother and Ghetsis' late wife had passed away during child birth, is why Ghetsis went so particularly feral when N was being held captive.

When N was held captive both Colress and Juniper tried to read through all his notes about the dragons to make the dream mist versions as real as possible. However he writes exactly as he talks, too fast, looks like chicken scratch.

N was born intersex (intersex N peak), Anthea is a trans man and one of the Triad's is a trans woman, though all three of them use they/them commonly. Concordia is cis, however he's a raging lesbian, hopeless romantic even. She's exactly like her father, dramatic.

Since the Striaton City triplets aren't actually gym leaders, they work with Ingo and Emmet as mini conductors. Cress guides people to the correct trains, Cilan greets passengers whenever they get on or off the trains, and Chili kicks out rude and brash people being rude to staff. They live in Anville time and you can battle them on Thursdays only.

The brain rot is real, I fear that one day I may be consumed.

- 💌

YES!!! THESE ARE SO GOOD.. all of ghetsis's horrible family conveniently dying in a mysterious fire though hello?? ghetsis. you wanna talk about smth /hj

drayden<3 he deserves it thank you. that's really gotta suck for drayden to have to clean up the mess. dealing with irate and probably distraught trainers. jeez

not sure what it is about ghetsis and having "my wife is dead" vibes. this is like the 3rd or 4th ghetsis ive seen with a dead wife (including my own) hey peepaw you okay. lowkey it's accurate though he really has widower vibes

AGREE WITH NS HAND WRITING. THINKS TOO DAMN FAST TO WRITE GOOD. AND INTERSEX N YEAAHH^!!! i wanna talk more about ns gender on my blogs really bad i just haven't had the opportunity. especially with regards to how ghetsis felt about his "son" not exactly being a boy and how he treated them over it. but intersex n real. also glad to see anthea not being cis is a decently popular interpretation for people who actually write them

shoutout that 1 triad member. woman winning per usual

ALSO!! i love that the triplets get to work at the station bc it works so well. bunch of identical siblings at the subway is hilarious and also the fact that cilan is canonically a huge train nerd in the anime iirc. i bet he's so happy and i love that for him<3<3

let yourself be consumed with brainrot

[seefullforecast]

D.M.

Captivatingly Reckless

Draco Malfoy x oc

Part 2 Prefects

Platform nine and three quarters was in Flora's sights. If she was going any faster she would be running and shoving muggles out of the way. To be going back to Hogwarts meant to be leaving home and Merlin she was desperate to be out of that house, or rather away from her mother. 

It had became the norm for her to leave for school on bad terms with her mother. This year being no exception as she thought back to the events of the night before. 

☀︎���☁︎⭐︎

Dinner had been served and like many other times it was just the two of them in the dining room. For such a large room with exquisite views of the grand gardens, Flora always felt it to be suffocating. Other than to save face in public, the mother and daughter only really spent time alone with each other during meal times. 

"I expect a letter in advance if you will be returning to the Manor for Christmas is that understood?" Her Mother raised her brows.

"I've got a lot of work to be doing so if you end up arriving here without notice I'll have just too much on my plate." Lilian often looked down her nose towards Flora when she spoke and it made the young girl feel so worthless, like she truly was beneath her mother and would never be good enough. 

"We wouldn't want that now would we." Flora grumbled and shoved a piece of chicken into her mouth to mask any words she spoke reaching her mother's ears. 

"Also do sort out that moulting feather duster that keeps flying into the bathroom window." Lilian was well aware it was a Weasley owl that kept crashing into the house late at night and was repulsed her daughter felt the need to associate with blood traitors. She knew however there was truly nothing she could do to stop her daughter from doing so as it seemed as of late all Flora wanted to do was antagonise her. 

"His name is Errol." Another mouthful of chicken hid that comment also.

One more night and Flora would be at school and wouldn't have to walk on egg shells constantly. 

"Oh Merlin's beard I thought I told that incompetent gardener to take out those blasted sunflowers!" Lilian thought aloud as her eyes wandered through the window to the expanse of gardens outside. 

"But I planted those. I planted them for you at the start of the holidays" Flora had dropped her fork now and her face had contorted into that of confusion. 

"You only did so because your father used to plant them and you thought it would gain a reaction from me." Lilian placed her spoon down and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

"Merlin forbid I try to add a little splash of colour around here." That time she didn't hide her words behind a mouthful of food. Her eyes wandered around the room at the sleek colourless room. 

"They're only flowers, they don't mean anything." her mother shrugged as if nothing held sentimental value to her.

"You're right, I mean you've gotten rid of everything else that reminds you of father, we both know how memories of him are such an inconvenience to you." Flora's voice was monotone as if she wasn't surprised in the least that her mother would do such a thing. 

"You really are a disrespectful, spoilt brat! I would never dream of speaking to my mother in such a manner." Lilian practically seethed, making visible the vein in her forehead that protruded mostly when Flora and herself didn't see eye to eye. 

"Just add me to the list of inconveniences you seem to be raking off. Question is though, am I behind Father or Errol?!" Flora matched the level of anger her mother was showing now, dropping her collected facade. For such a large room, the tension was enough to suffocate anyone.

"Some day your actions will have brutal consequences Flora and you'll only have yourself to blame."

"You can't have regrets for what you don't care about mother, you should know that better than anyone else."

☀︎☽☁︎⭐︎

It would be an understatement to say Flora was looking forward to getting to Hogwarts.

Her luggage was placed on the train and she made her way through the compartments in search of her best friend.

Elise Campbell saw Flora Dalton first as she stood at her compartment door on the train, and had been since arriving ten minutes ago, so she could finally see her best friend after what felt like the longest summer apart. 

"There she is! The one and only Ms Flora Dalton. Oh how I have missed you!" Elise had already engulfed the brunette into a tight hug slightly rocking the two of them from side to side. She clearly caught the girl off guard as she stiffened from the sudden contact before hearing the loud voice of her best friend. 

"Right Campbell let the girl breathe."Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes as he pried the two girls from one another. 

"I missed you too El." Flora couldn't help but chuckle as Elise pulled her into another quick hug after already being pulled apart by Blaise. 

"Dalton, long time no see." Flora hugged him next before sitting opposite him with Elise beside her. "Heard you caused some mischief this summer." His raised eyebrow and grin made her scoff.

"Our Flora?! Don't be absurd, she's good as gold aren't you dear." Elise stifled her giggles as she was all too aware of how Flora could be when she was either bored, or alone with her mother. During first year Elise made the mistake of spending Christmas with the Dalton's so witnessed firsthand the no good she got up to at home.

"So I assume all of our mothers are pen pals then. They're all too gossipy for my liking." Slouching back into her seat, Flora folded her arms with a slight shake of her head regarding her mothers actions. 

"Where are the others, they're usually rambling on about quidditch or something by this point?" 

"I haven't seen Daphne or Theo yet." Elise spoke with a look on her face as if she was trying to rack her brain for whether she had in fact seen them and she had just forgotten. Flora often teased the girl for having the memory of a goldfish. Without Flora, Elise would most likely forget her last name and need to borrow Neville Longbottom's remembrall.

"Malfoy and Parkinson made prefects so I think they're in a meeting in another carriage before they do their rounds." Blaise shared the information Crabbe told him when he noticed him and Goyle sitting with a group of other Slytherins when first getting on the train.  

"Can't say I'm surprised to hear that, pug face can be quite intimidating to younger years when she gets power hungry, those are some of the qualities they look for in prefects aren't they?" Flora's sarcastic comment would've sent Theo into fits of laughter if he was here but instead she received a ghost of a smile from Blaise who knew her words were true and a small slap on the arm from Elise. 

Some time had passed with the three sharing different stories of their summers. Within which Harry Potter's name inevitably came up. 

"Apparently Dumbledore was at the hearing." Elise piped up.

"Surprise. Him, along with every other Gryffindor get special treatment. Dumbledore was probably the only reason he's allowed back to school. If it was anyone else they'd be expelled and that'd be the end of it." Blaise ranted showing his distaste towards the situation. Flora got the impression that Blaise neither liked nor disliked Harry Potter, but rather hated all of Gryffindor because of Quidditch rivalry. That and probably Malfoy's obsession with the boy, automatically making him zone out of most conversations regarding the chosen one due to Draco's incessant complaining of him.

"Is someone feeling jealous that they don't get enough attention?" Elise giggled at Flora's patronising comment to which Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Im going to get a drink, anyone want anything?" Flora stood to her feet looking to the other two in the compartment.

"Perhaps something sweet since Blaise is so bitter!" Elise mocked the boy who regretted showing any emotion at all now. He knew when the girls were joking and was just grateful Theo wasn't also here as he definitely couldn't bare all three of them together. 

"Oh how you wound me Campbell." He muttered to the smug looking girl from across from him. 

Making her way through the train, towards where she thought the trolley might be, Flora couldn't help looking through each compartment window to see the different students. Some were terrified first years and others were fast asleep clearly sick of the long journey to Hogwarts.

She kept on her way until some familiar faces came into view from through one of the windows. 

"Gin hey, how are you?" Flora beamed opening the door to which four heads turned towards her now present figure. 

"Flo! I tried to find you at the station but we all got a bit caught up. How's you, good summer? Here sit down." The red head rambled and pulled Flora down next to her, giddy to be seeing her friend she wrote to all summer.

"I'm better now I've got to see you." Ginny beamed at this. 

The younger girl looked up to the Slytherin despite only becoming good friends last year when Flora helped her get ready for the Yule Ball. Ginny had been upset in the girls bathroom the week before the event because she had nothing to wear when the Slytherin girl found her. Luckily for Ginny, Flora Dalton was a sucker for a good movie makeover moment and helped the Weasley girl with borrowing one of her countless dresses. Ever since then Ginny has only ever spoken highly of the girl, always coming to her defence when her brother Ron complained about Slytherins and explaining they clearly weren't all alike. 

"Harry, congrats on not getting kicked out, close call for a moment there wasn't it." Flora acknowledged the boy next to to Ginny.

Harry was still surprised anytime he heard her use his first name, it was almost unnatural for him to hear coming from a Slytherin. Nevertheless he chuckled a her comment knowing there was no malice in her words.

"Alright Flora." He sent a warm smile her way. Flora also greeted a shy Neville Longbottom who was holding a potted plant in his lap that was unfamiliar to her but her attention was mainly focussed on a quirky looking character sat in the corner.

The girl wore a striped cardigan and an odd pair of glasses covered her face. She kept her wand behind her left ear and was holding a magazine upside-down, seeming to be reading it. 

"Oh Flo this is Loony... Luna Lovegood!" Ginny rushed as she recovered her words. "She's a Ravenclaw." The red head introduced Flora to the peculiar blonde. 

"Hello, nice to meet you Luna." Flora nodded in the girls direction with her polite greeting. Luna pulled the upside down magazine from her face and looked to the brunette Ginny had introduced her to.

"Oh so you're Flora Dalton. Padma Patil has mentioned you before." At that Luna lifted her magazine back up to cover her face as if to continue reading. This comment would spark more interest in Flora if only she knew who Padma was.

She looked to Ginny who shrugged in confusion about Lovegood's actions. Luna was indeed quite odd. Flora bid the small group a small goodbye and left Ginny the promise that they would catch up soon. 

The trolley wasn't too far away now so she got herself a drink and some sherbet balls to take back for Blaise in an attempt to be funny. They wouldn't be too far from Hogwarts now she thought and this was confirmed when she heard her name be called by none other than Pansy Parkinson.

"Oh Dalton it's only you. I was about to reprimand you for not being sat down somewhere, we'll be coming into the station soon." Pansy tried to flick her short hair as if to show the new green badge she adorned. Flora knew there was no chance of a stealthy escape now that she had been seen.

"Parkinson." Flora greeted with a curt nod. "Enjoy your rounds then." She tried to leave but Pansy wasn't finished.

"Oh I shall. Being a prefect is an important job you know, without us well you never know what could be going on. I expected to receive the role mind you. I hope you didn't have your sights set on it?" Pansy tended to blabber on, one of the reasons why Flora couldn't be around her any longer than necessary, and of course could brag until her ego exploded. 

"Well it suits you." Flora spoke through gritted teeth and a pained smile. Pansy really twisted her the wrong way and knew exactly how to push her buttons. 

"Oi you two, you're blocking the walkway." Came the drawl of a voice oh too familiar to Flora.

"Don't worry Dracey, I've got this one. Dalton was just on her way." Parkinson's voice was close to whistle tones the way it had shifted when speaking to Malfoy. The pug faced girl had turned to Draco immediately upon hearing his voice, making it now possible for Flora to make gagging motions at Parkinson's expense. 

This hadn't gone unnoticed by Draco and he did struggle to hide his smile that Pansy now thought was directed to her. 

"Dalton, pity you're not prefect we could've been doing rounds together." He spoke to the girl, missing the exasperated face of a love struck Pansy.

"Literally anything else sounds more appealing Malfoy." She began, "I'm sure you and Parkinson will enjoy all the alone time on late nights patrolling the school grounds. Almost romantic isn't it?" Flora could see Parkinson's face light up unaware she was actually teasing Draco who was slowly becoming more aware of the situation he was now stuck in. 

Draco thought Flora to be an evil little thing to be putting ideas into Pansy's head, like she knew the girl could be irritating to him so she liked to encourage the situation. It was like she enjoyed seeing him uncomfortable.

 "Anyways I have to get back and make sure Blaise hasn't hexed Elise." Flora was definitely pleased with herself when she saw Draco cringe a smile to Pansy who had latched herself onto his left arm now. 

He watched her walk away, his mothers words still with him. He questioned whether he was indeed keeping the wrong sort of company. Or perhaps Flora was just a difficult girl who was forever pushing her luck so needed someone to rein her in.

Draco could picture himself as that person. Probably not whilst Parkinson was hanging from his arm. Draco enjoyed attention but the constant oggling from Pansy was relentless and annoying. At that he felt this year called for a little shake up. He was going to take his mother's advice. 

☀︎☽☁︎⭐︎

Read

Part 1

[powpowpunchout]

I’ll See You Then.

“And here’s your dessert, sir.” The waiter said, placing a small, carefully sealed box in front of Don Flamenco. It had a golden sticker in the center that held the box’s flaps down.

Don stopped his conversation with Bear Hugger and turned around, “Ah, thank you.”

The waiter nodded and walked off.  

Don carefully moved the box away from the edge of the table and right next to his syrup bottle. He then looked back at Bear.

“You were saying?” He asked as he picked up his meal; a grilled chicken sandwich with so many requested alterations that it might as well be a completely different sandwich.

“Oh, shoot. What was I sayin’? Somethin’ bout th’stadium, I know that…” Bear Hugger ruffled his beard as he thought to himself. His hums mixed with the bar’s gentle music.

“You were talking about the ink incident.” Hondo said.

“That’s right!” Bear snapped his fingers, “Yeah–so Macho Man got completely covered in ink, ‘n I got a couple’a splatters on me, but luckily I managed to shield Hondo from it…”

As Bear rambled on, Hondo glanced at the meal Bear had ordered. It was that skillet dish he saw when they first got here. Hondo had forgotten the name of it–it was something lengthy like ‘The Chef’s Classic Collection’--but whatever it was called, it looked delicious. Roasted, seasoned potato slices, fried eggs, and slices of steak all crowded together to make for a heavenly meal.

Hondo picked at his own dinner with a fork. Medium rare steak with garlic butter and onions, a side of mixed vegetables, and kettle chips. It was the same thing he usually ordered here, and while there was nothing wrong with it–he still very much enjoyed it–he couldn’t help but think to himself… Surely Bear wouldn’t notice if Hondo helped himself to a single slice of a potato.

Hondo kept his eyes locked on Bear, who was still happily chatting away, and he slowly extended his fork out. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but the second his fork went past the rim of the skillet, Don faced him and raised a brow.

Bear whipped his head around, “What th’--”

Before Bear could finish that sentence, Hondo stabbed the fork into a potato slice and shoved it into his mouth.

“I look away for one second ‘n ya go ‘n steal from me?!” Bear threw his arms up.

Hondo covered his mouth with a napkin, “Stealing? Me? Why, I would never dream of doing such a thing.”

“Unbelievable.” Bear shook his head, “After all we’ve been through, after I saved ya life–”

Confusion flashed across Hondo’s face, “When did you save my life?”

“Well–I protected ya from that ink, didn’t I?!”

“Of course. How could I forget?” Hondo swallowed, “You have permission to steal from my plate then.”

Bear pouted, “It ain’t stealin’ if yer allowin’ it.” He nudged the skillet a bit closer to Hondo before he adjusted his purple beanie and shifted back to Don, “Anyways…”

Hondo chuckled. He was glad that Bear was able to joke around and have a good time despite what had happened earlier tonight. Then again, that was just Bear Hugger being Bear Hugger. That man could get brutally beaten in the ring yet pop back up, brush himself off, then go ‘Welp, that’s life!’ , and be on his way.

Hondo, admittedly, was still bitter. Bitter at Overload for coming here after insulting Bear days ago, bitter at Overload’s horrible attitude and ill-spirited ‘jokes’, and bitter at Tiger for never alerting any of them that he was bringing Overlad. But he decided to keep quiet about it and enjoy the rest of the evening. For everyone’s sake, especially Bear’s.

Hondo brought his eyes to the glass bottle that Bear Hugger made for him. A small smile made its way onto his face. While a part of him was still surprised Bear’s gift wasn’t anything origami related, the rest of him didn’t care anymore. He loved what Bear made for him, and that’s all that mattered.

Hondo then grabbed his ice tea, the cold glass stinging his finger tips, and took a sip. His eyes flickered over to Don.

Despite how pleasant his tone sounded, it was nowhere near as energetic as it was when the night started. It was clear to Hondo that Don held a grudge. From how stiff his posture was, to the fact he leaned away from Tiger, from his lack of gestures while he talked, to the fact a smile hadn’t graced his face since the moment Overload left… And on top of all of that, his bottle of wine was half empty. It was obvious his mood had been soured by Octave and Tiger, and Hondo couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. Hondo could only imagine what words Don had in store for Tiger the moment this evening was over.

And Tiger…

Hondo tilted his head ever so slightly, catching a glimpse of Tiger from the corner of his eye.

Tiger rested his chin atop his hands as he stared down at his untouched teriyaki bowl. He hasn’t really said much since Overload left; the last thing he uttered was an apology before he went completely silent.

While Hondo did feel a hint of sympathy for him, he couldn’t help but wonder what else Tiger expected to happen. He was just as responsible for tarnishing this night as Overload was.

Hondo didn’t despise Tiger over this, he was just… Upset.

Hondo stared down at his food. His grip on his fork tightened and his face scrunched.

Bear gently nudged him, “Y’good Hondo?”

Hondo blinked, “Yes.”

He sounded much more serious than he meant to.

He saw the worry that ran across Bear’s face. He quickly scanned the restaurant, trying to find something else to talk about–and then his eyes landed on Don’s takeout box.

“Is that for Carmen?” Hondo asked, motioning towards the box with his fork.

“Yes, it’s her dessert.” Don answered.

“What did you get her?”

“Their bread pudding.” Don raised his head, “They supposedly put raisins in it, but I know Carmen hates those foul things as much as I do, so I had them get rid of it.”

Hondo’s eyes lit up.

“Really? I’m rather curious now…” Hondo rested his arms on top of the table, “When I say ‘bread’, what’s the first ingredient that comes to your mind?”

Don blinked. Why did Hondo look so intense when he asked that? He opened his mouth–

“Oh no, do not drag Don into this!” Bear said.

“Don, answer the question.” Hondo sounded even more serious.

Don tried to speak, but Bear pointed at him.

“Don, do not answer that question!” He turned to Hondo, “I thought we dropped that dang argument th’moment we stepped foot in here!”

“Absolutely not. We need an outsider’s perspective.”

“Why!?”

Don’s eyes darted to Tiger then back to the other men, “What is going on?”

He was ignored.

“I want to prove a point.” Hondo furrowed his brows.

“What in th’world is Don gonna help ya prove!?”

“That I am right.”

“Oh my gosh–” Bear put his hands up. Don grew even more confused as he watched the two banter.

“Don. Answer the question.” Hondo repeated, leaning closer to Don. His hands were clasped together, and his serious expression had grown stronger.

Don let his mouth hang open, “Ah… Yeast?”

Hondo immediately spun his head towards Bear. Bear immediately looked the other way.

“Well then…” Hondo started.

“Nope.” Bear shook his head, “Not gonna tolerate this.”

“It seems yeast is important when it comes to bread.”

“I’m still standin’ by what I said earlier.” Bear folded his arms.

Don stared at the two men, “I am… Very lost.”

“Nah, don’t worry bout it.” Bear swatted at the air, “Hondo ‘n I just got in some dumb argument bout bread earlier–well–mostly bout yeast. He thought ya had to have yeast in yer bread, ‘n I thought bread without yeast was perfectly fine, ‘n we could’ve agreed to disagree but noooo.” He let out a little huff, still refusing to look at his friend, “I bet he’s makin’ that face he always makes when he’s right. Th’one where he raises his brows slightly ‘n has a l’il smirk.”

“I do not make that sort of face.” Hondo said, his brows slightly raised and his mouth curled into a little smirk.

“How does an argument about bread of all things happen in the first place?” Don asked as he refilled his glass of wine. Despite how lighthearted the situation was, he never seemed to relax.

“Gosh, it started cause of a phone call I had with Joe–oh, did I tell ya bout how one of my birds stole my phone’s cable…?” Bear asked.

As Bear started to ramble again, Don and Tiger listened. Hondo went back to his meal.  

“...They used it as a part of their nest, ‘n I felt bad takin’ it from ‘em, but anyways! This ain’t bout the cable…”

Hondo stuck his fork into a slice of his steak as he waited for Bear to get to the part where Glass Joe and Sandman made bread without yeast. Hopefully when Don and Tiger hear the absurdity of the recipe, they’ll side with him.

“...Joe was tellin’ me bout how he ‘n Sandman baked some bread together, but they hardly had any… Any uhm… Ya, uh… Ya good, Don?”

Hondo lifted his head.

Don was glaring at Tiger.

He stroked his chin as his eyes pierced through Tiger, who was getting visibly uncomfortable.

“Don?” Bear repeated.

Hondo set his fork down and watched the two, ready to take action if a fight were to break out, but suddenly, Don grabbed a napkin and crumbled it into a ball.

“Since when did Tiger shave his beard?” Don said through gritted teeth.

Bear and Hondo whipped their heads over to Tiger.

They only caught a glimpse of his clean-shaven chin before Don threw the wadded napkin at him.

The napkin flew right through Tiger’s face.

Tiger’s eyes flickered white.

The edges of his body started to speckle and flutter away–and then he disappeared into a puff of smoke.

“A clone?” Hondo whispered, his eyes widened.

Don’s scowl grew.

The men sat and stared at where Tiger once was.

Though none of them said a word, they all knew where Tiger had gone off to.  

~ ~ ~ ~

Tiger flew through the city streets, eyes frantically scanning for Overload.

His head darted in every direction as he weaved between the lamp posts and street signs. Everything vaguely resembled a person at this time of night. Mailboxes, trash cans, small trees, every little thing that Tiger rushed by made him do a double take.

He never realized how horribly lit this part of the city was. He couldn’t even remember the last time he navigated through this area–usually he just teleported–but was it always so dreary here? The lamp posts barely had enough light to dust the streets with their faint, blue glow–in fact, the yellow lights that came through the windows of whatever apartments and stores that were still open were far more useful than these lamps!

It certainly didn’t help that Overload wore nothing but dark colors tonight.

Tiger took a turn. Then another. Then another.

He cursed to himself when he felt the end of his orange shawl tangle between his legs.

He quickly stopped and unraveled himself. He threw the loose end around his neck and kept flying.

Everything was starting to blend together. Every building he passed looked the same. Every object around him started to melt into the same dark hue of blue. And every blur looked like Overload.

The night’s frigid air was like millions of tiny pricks to his face. His eyes started to water.

The smell of moss gathered along the edges of old buildings mixed terribly with the smell of car fumes. It made him sick.

As he rubbed his eyes, a part of him wondered if Overload had taken a different route back home, or perhaps he took a cab–

Tiger gasped.

There, on the cracked, weed-ridden sidewalk, was Octave.

His gem flashed and he teleported behind him.

“Overload!” Tiger said, making Octave jump. He tried to reach out, “Overload, I’m–”

“Don’t wanna hear it.” Octave stuck his hand out, not bothering to face Tiger, “Night’s over. Dinner’s done. See ya.”

Octave shoved his hands into his pockets and stormed away. If Tiger just teleported here to drill into his head how much he ‘Ruined their night’, and how he should’ve ‘Gotten over the sounds’, then Tiger could shove it. He wasn’t gonna put up with anymore of that crap tonight.

“Overload, I’m sorry.”

Octave stopped. He turned around, “What?”

Tiger clutched the loose end of his shawl tightly to his chest while his gem flickered. A lump formed in his throat.

“What the heck are ya sorry for? For bringin’ me along? For thinkin’ things would go well?” Octave scoffed. The more he thought about all the reasons Tiger could be ‘sorry’ for, the angrier he got.

‘Sorry you couldn’t get over your stupid noise problem for one night so we could have a good time.’

‘Sorry I thought this whole dinner thing would be a great idea.’

‘Sorry I even suggested this get-together in the first place.’

‘Sorry you get so emotional over sounds.’

All those potential ‘sorry’s’ in Tiger’s voice rang through his head. And each one made him angrier than the last. And that look on Tiger’s face? That guilty expression he wore? The way his eyes drifted away from Octave’s glare? Octave just knew he was gonna spout something along those lines.

“I’m… I’m sorry about how tonight played out.” He swallowed. Octave’s hands curled to tight fists.

“And… I’m sorry that Hondo and Flamenco were so short with you.”

Octave took a step back.

He stared at Tiger. The sound of distant sirens and car horns filled the silence between them.

“Yeah, whatever.” Octave finally spat out, “Not your fault they’re so sensitive.”

Despite Tiger’s apology, Octave felt even worse.

What, were Hondo and Don too chicken to apologize to him? Did they send Tiger over here like their little carrier pigeon so he could help ‘keep the peace’ in the Major Circuit?

“To think a couple’a boxers can’t handle an extra dinner guest. Ain’t nothin’ but wusses, that’s what they are.” Octave kicked at the ground.

Heck, those two probably thought they did nothing wrong. That’s what happens when you’re surrounded by nothing but fans who drool all over you, and friends that are too afraid to call you out. That’s probably why Don snapped at him. His fragile ego couldn’t handle anything that wasn’t praise, so he got all emotional and lashed out. And to think Carmen puts up with him.

And Hondo, that guy probably didn’t see himself in the wrong cause he can’t see anything past those brows. Octave saw the way he glared at him the entire dinner, he saw the constant dirty looks Hondo shot his way. It’s not Octave’s fault he couldn’t take a joke.

It was times like these where Octave was glad to have a friend like Aran Ryan. A guy who wasn’t afraid to call him out or knock him down a peg when his ego got a little too big.

“Knew this dinner was a bad idea.” Octave grumbled. He glanced at Tiger again, who had a look of hurt flicker in his eyes. Octave quickly turned away and grit his teeth, “Should’ve known Pisty ‘n Don would’ve gotten all mad bout this. ‘N Bear bein’ gross…” He huffed, “My bad for tryna hang round you.”  

Tiger let go of his shawl and breathed in, “Well, if I had known that Flamenco’s attitude towards you was going to be so foul, and that Hondo would do nothing but silently judge you, I would’ve chosen a place where it would’ve been just us.”

“Sure.” Octave said. He spun around and kept walking.

Tiger’s gem flashed. He teleported in front of Octave.

“I’m being genuine, Overload. When I said I’d like to spend more time with you, I meant it.”

Octave’s chest stung when he heard those words.

“Let me make it up to you.” Tiger said. His gem flashed again.

A clone of Tiger appeared to the left of Overload, “Let’s give this ‘dinner’ thing another shot, hm?”

Another clone appeared to the right of him, “Some place where it’s only the two of us. Some place where we can enjoy each other’s company without getting dragged down by a rose-obsessed snob, and judged by a man with eyebrows.”

That last part got a chuckle out of Octave, “Man with eyebrows? That all Pisty is to ya?”

A third clone rested itself atop of Octave, “Like you said, it’s his only definable trait.”

Octave let out another chuckle before wafting the clone off of him. The clone turned to smoke and flew away with the wind. Tiger’s gem blinked and the other clones disappeared as well.

“I swear, Pisty’s got more hair on his brows than Donny’s got on his head.”

It was Tiger’s turn to laugh. It was nice to hear Octave crack a joke despite what happened tonight.

“But what do you say?” Tiger asked, hugging his knees as he hovered in the air, “Would you like to give it another chance? It doesn’t have to be dinner, mind you. We could always do lunch–or breakfast! I don’t mind either way.”

“I–” Octave’s mouth stayed for a moment, he shoved his hands back into his pocket, “I’unno. I do, but–” He stopped himself. What was the best way to say: ‘Can we spend time together without a bunch of noisy, gross freaks around us?’ Just thinking about that request made him feel like an idiot.

“I don’t want another dumb fight breakin’ out again, ya know?” Octave finished.

“Oh, of course. You know…” Tiger slowly floated above Octave’s head, “I think I know the perfect place. It’s hard to find, nearly impossible for photographers and reporters to enter, has a wonderful view, and I don’t believe any other boxer visits it often.” He was now face to face with Octave–except he was hanging upside down.

“And that is?” Octave cocked his head to the side. Talking to Tiger like this was a bit disorienting.

“The control booth.” Tiger smiled. The end of his shawl dropped in front of his face. He huffed and quickly teleported himself right side up, “You know those small rooms above the stadium’s rings? The ones with the giant windows where the rings’ lights are controlled?”

Octave nodded, “Yeah, I know whatcha talkin’ bout.”

“Yes! Those are rather peaceful. Only problem is…” Tiger’s smile slowly fell, “We’re not exactly… Allowed up there. We don’t have permission.”

“Who cares?”

Tiger blinked, “Well, I’m sure the operators wouldn’t be too thrilled to find us sitting there.” He gently tugged at the end of his beard.

“What are they gonna do? Try ‘n kick two professional boxers out?” Octave shrugged before moving closer to Tiger, “Besides, it’d be great findin’ another quiet place in th’stadium. Wouldn’t mind spendin’ time with ya either.” He pointed to Tiger, “Just you, though. No Hondo, no Don, no freaks, none’a that.”

“Oh, rest assured.” Tiger waved his fingers, specks of glitter fell from the tips,  “I’ll cast a magical barrier on the door to make sure no one else can come in.”

“You can do that?”

“No, no. I’m only joking. However, if someone were to disturb us…” Tiger covered his face with his hands, “I can simply…” He started to drag them down, slowly revealing more and more of his warped, misshapen eyes. Eyes that looked more like thin, white cracks that ran diagonally across his face. Eyes with veins a little too red, with pupils a little too small that kept darting around while the whites of the eyes pulsated, “...Scare them!”

Before Tiger fully revealed his distorted face, his gem blinked, and his face poofed back to normal. There was a playful grin on his face.

Octave stared at him, just barely able to contain his revulsion.

He sputtered out a sound–not an actual word, just a sound–before he quickly cleared his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s… That’s Good t’know.” He tilted his head, motioning for Tiger to follow him as he started to head down the sidewalk, “What time ya wanna meet up then? Sometime next week?”

Tiger drifted alongside him, floating on his back while twirling the end of his mustache, “I’ll have to think about it. I’m sure I could meet with you after one of Bull’s training sessions–”

The sudden sound of bells jingling cut Tiger off.

He flicked his wrist. His gem blinked and his flip phone teleported out of his pocket and in front of his face.

“Ah.” He said as he read the caller ID, “It’s Eyebrows.” He flicked his wrist again, teleporting the phone to who knows where, “I suppose I should get back to that dinner.”

Octave whipped his head around, “Ya not comin’ with?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I promised I’d join them for dinner and enjoy the evening, and despite their… Occasional flaws, they’re still my friends.” Tiger adjusted himself so he ‘stood’ in the air.

“Right.” Octave couldn’t help but frown. He wasn’t sure which part of that made him feel more sour–the fact that Tiger was leaving, or the fact Tiger referred to them as ‘friends’--but he folded his arms, “Well, I ain’t gonna keep ya then.”

“I look forward to seeing you again.” Tiger clasped his hands together. He gave him a small yet warm grin.

Octave stiffened, “Yeah. Same here.”

“You have a safe trip home, Overload. Goodnight.” Tiger bowed, and with the flash of a gem, he poofed away.

Octave stood there, staring into the dark night sky where Tiger was just seconds ago. The light of the lamppost above him flickered.

“Night.” Octave mumbled into the darkness, and then he continued his walk back home.

~ ~ ~ ~

Hondo kept his phone pressed against his ear as he tried to call Tiger. He tapped his fingers along the edge of the table, growing ever more impatient as each ring of his phone felt more drawn out than the last.

During the brief pauses between those rings, the other sounds of the bar seeped into his ears. The music, the chatter of the people, the clinking of dishes–

The phone rang again. The pause that followed afterwards was longer than the last. Hondo felt a glint of hope–but then he heard another ring.

He lowered his brows. His tapping got faster.

He kept glancing past their booth’s curtain and to the bar door, hoping Tiger would come through–without Overload–but there were no signs of him.

While another ring filled one of Hondo’s ears, Don and Bear’s conversation filled his other.

“...I can’t understand what goes through that head of his. Is all that magic melting whatever cohesive thoughts he has?” He heard Don rant, followed by the sound of more wine being poured into a glass, “To follow Overload after the way he behaved tonight? Why?! What for? To suffer more through his behavior?”

“I mean, he got mad over th’sounds or somethin’...” Hondo heard Bear mumble.

Don rolled his eyes, “That’s his excuse for everything.” He took a sip of his wine, “I bet that was his excuse for when he shoved the staff members around on the night of our fight.”

Hondo sharply inhaled as the phone rang again.

“I always knew he was vile.” Don set his glass down, “Both in and out of the ring, but to see how he can’t even pretend to be a decent person for one night–our night!?” He slumped over and folded his arms, “I suppose that is too much effort for him.”

Hondo glanced at Don’s face. His anger was as prevalent as his exhaustion.

“I guess he was pretty stressed.” Was all Bear could say.

“Pah, stressed.” Don repeated with a sneer, “I’ve been stressed plenty times before–I was stressed tonight! But even then, I still chose to move past my problems and enjoy my time with everyone, just like any normal person would.”

Another ring filled Hondo’s ears.

“The audacity he has to come to our dinner night and make everyone miserable–”

“Not only that,” Hondo said, tilting his head away from the phone, “but he had also insulted Bear’s idea before he had joined us.”

Bear shrunk back.

Hondo leaned back into his phone, “And the way he treated Disco not long ago–”

“Disco?” Don sat up, “What happened to Disco?”

Hondo put a finger up, signaling Don to wait just a moment.

His phone let out one final ring, and when Tiger didn’t pick up, he sighed and placed it down.

“Overload was bothering Disco. Again.” Hondo explained, “I witnessed it days ago. They were arguing about… Something, I couldn’t quite hear them, but I watched how Overload treated Disco. I watched how he threatened him and held him against the wall. It was repulsive.”

Don’s face twisted into disgust, “And you stopped him before it got out of hand, yes?”

Hondo stiffened.

“I… Only watched. I knew if I had stepped in, it would’ve escalated the situation.” That wasn’t a lie, yet still, guilt seeped into his chest.

“I see.” Don raised a brow, “I know if I had been there, I would’ve never let such behavior slide.” He raised his glass into the air before taking another sip.

Hondo opened his mouth–but suddenly, Tiger teleported to his seat.

Bear’s face immediately lit up, “Tiger! Hey, welcome back bud!”

“Hello again.” Tiger hummed as he readjusted his shawl, “So sorry for disappearing like that, I just needed to have a word with Overload.”

“We’re glad you’ve decided to join us again.” Hondo said through his teeth.

“Yes, and what did you two talk about?” Don said, glaring at Tiger while he took another sip.

“That doesn’t concern you.” Tiger responded. He grabbed his fork and dug into his room-temperature dinner. Don sputtered.  

“Doesn’t concern me?” Don spoke through his teeth, “Tiger, perhaps your magic is messing with your memory, so I’ll remind you just in case: Overload was the one that mistreated us. It absolutely concerns not only me, but everyone else at this table.”

Tiger pat his mouth with a napkin, “If you simply must know, then all I shall tell you is that we discussed personal matters.”  

Tiger didn’t even glance at Don when he slammed his hands onto the table and towered above him. He grit his teeth, ready to tear Tiger to shreds, but then Hondo spoke up.

“Flamenco.” He said sternly. Don whipped his head over. He saw Hondo’s subtle scowl, the crinkles along his face, and that disapproving look in his eyes.

Then Don looked to Bear, who was hugging himself and facing away.

Don gripped the table harder before he let go and sat back down. He huffed and brushed the strands of hair out of his face. He downed whatever wine was left in his glass before refilling it again.

Tiger finally brought his gaze to the rest of the men, “I’m sorry again for leaving so suddenly,” He said, seemingly unaffected by Don’s actions, “but now that I’m back, I fully intend to spend the rest of my evening here with you. As if I could just leave without hearing more of how Bear was able to make these wonderful glass bottles.”

Tiger used his magic to float his bottle into the air and rotated it.

Bear let out a chuckle, and he gladly started to share his glass-making journey. Tiger listened happily, and despite the grudges Don and Hondo held, they listened as well.

The night had been eventful enough. They didn’t want to make it worse.  

~ ~ ~ ~

When Octave got into his house, the first thing he did was go to his phone.

He wanted to call Aran. He didn’t know why. Honestly, the last thing he needed tonight was Aran screaming in his ear, but he grabbed his candlestick phone and dialed Aran’s number anyways.

As he pressed the cone-shaped receiver into his ear, he unbuttoned his coal gray suit and tossed it over the back of his dark brown sofa.

It only took two rings for Aran to pick up.

“Yeah?” Aran said, his voice mixed with the sound of muffled footsteps. Octave brought the mouthpiece of his phone closer.

“Hey.” Octave muttered, he leaned against the arm of his couch and tore off his shoes, “Remember that dinner that Tiger invited me to?” He tossed his shoes into the darkness that consumed his house. He heard them hit something–he wasn’t sure what, he didn’t bother to turn on the living room lights–but he didn’t care.

There was a loud thud on the other end of the phone, followed by Aran’s hissed curses before he said: “Yeah, whaddabout it?”

Octave stayed on the couch’s arm. He kept his mouth open, yet nothing came out. He tried to think of how to explain every little thing that ticked him off tonight, but then Aran let out a cackle.

“Oh, no way. Ye actually blew it, didn’t ye?”

“Hey, ain’t my fault th’other guys are so sensitive!” Octave snapped.  

“Oh, sure.” Aran said. Octave could hear a smile spread on Aran’s face.

“Look, tonight jus’ sucked–”

Aran talked over him, “What? ‘N ye wanted t’complain bout it t’me? Call me at th’ripe hour o’ 10 jus’ for that? That all I’m good for?” He let out an agitated chuckle, “Whaddaya expect me t’do even, hah?”

Octave rubbed his eyes and grumbled, “Ain’t that hard to pretend to care, Aran.”

Aran scoffed, “Fine. What happened then? Guarantee yer makin’ a big deal outta nothin’.”

Octave pushed himself off the couch and carried his phone with him. He clutched it’s neck tightly as he started to pace around, being careful not trip over the phone’s wire.

“Well first ya got Pisty,” Octave said, “guy kept starin’ me down th’entire time like he was a hawk. ‘N those stupid brows of his–” He felt his foot hit something and stumbled.

“Ay, again wit th’brow crap.” He could hear Aran roll his eyes, “It ain’t gonna kill ya t’look away, ya know.”

“Could say th’same thing to Pisty.” Octave mumbled as he regained his balance. He made his way over to the hickory-colored floor lamp that was behind his couch, treading slowly so he didn’t hit whatever else he had scattered on the floor. He turned it on.

A dim, yellow light came from its bulb and filled his living room with a faint golden glow. Just his living room, though. That was as far as the light could go. His kitchen? The hall to the other rooms? Still dark.

“Donny was also insufferable. He rolled his eyes at just bout everythin’ I did, ‘n whenever I talked bout anythin’ he just had to make some sorta snide comment. Then he accused me of ruinin’ th’night!” He pulled on his phone cord as he raised his voice, “Maybe if he took that thorny rose outta his rear, he’d realize he’s th’one who ruined th’night, not me.”

“Maybe if ye had better t’ing talk bout, none that wouldn’t’ve happened.”

The corner of Octave’s mouth twitched.

“Bear kept yappin’ with his mouth full’a food too.” He murmured. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain Aran’s suggestions. “Bad enough th’guy can’t keep his voice down, but now I gotta see his food too?”

“A’ight that’s a li’l nasty, ain’t gonna argue with ye there.”

“Yeah.”

Octave thought back to Bear. To the way his lips smacked, to the wet, sloppy sound of food being chewed, to the way he licked his fingers–those disgusting fingers–and Don’s tapping–

Octave gripped his hair and pulled on it.

The tapping, the licking, the constant movement.

Don’s stupid foot. His fingers always moving.

Hondo always staring.

Bear, Bear and his horrible sounds. The more Octave kept thinking about it, the faster his heart raced. He pulled on his hair tighter and tighter.

He’d rather throw his head against a wall till it was nothing but mush than hear go through that ruckus again.

He’d rather bite off a chunk of his skin.

He’d rather die.

Those sounds. Those terrible, ‘insignificant’ sounds.

Don’s words rang through his head.

As did his tapping.

As did Bear’s chewing.

He hated it, he hated it, he hated them–

Octave raised his fist into the air and punched his end table as hard as he could.

“Th’heck was that?” Aran asked.

Octave brought his fist back up and shook off the wood splinters, “A bug.”

He didn’t even bother to look at the damage done to his table. That old thing was busted anyways.

“ ‘N speakin’ of Bear, ya know what that chump did tonight?! Brought over a bunch’a tacky syrup bottles for everyone ‘n–”

Aran cut him off, “Wait, like as gifts? He brought syrup bottles as gifts?”

“Yeah!”

“What sorta crummy gift’s that?!”

“I dunno, but everyone got one ‘cept me!”

“Didja seriously want one o’ ‘em garbage?”

“I’d rather have a bottle smashed over my head.” Octave scoffed, “That part didn’t bother me, though. Ya know what did? Him lyin’ to my face ‘n talkin’ to me like I’m some sorta idiot.” He wrapped the phone cord tightly around his finger, “Told me he ‘had a bottle for me’ but was gonna give it to me ‘later’, like I’m stupid enough to fall for that.”

Octave let out an exhausted sigh and fell onto his couch. He brought the mouthpiece of his phone ever so closer, “Guy could’ve just told me he didn’t feel like makin’ me one instead of treatin’ me like a five year old.”

Octave kept the phone’s receiver pressed against his ear with one hand while he used the other to reach out to his end table. He felt around aimlessly, fingers getting nicked by the occasional wood chip, until he managed to grab hold of some crumbled, lavender-colored paper. He brought it over and fiddled with it while Aran talked.

“Man, Bear’s pushin’ his luck this week, ain’t he?”

Octave stopped, “Whaddaya mean by that?”

“Ah, I didn’t tell ye? Remember that meetin’ I had with th’people in fancy suits? Th’meetin’ that you didn’t show up to? Th’one ye didn’t–”

“Get to th’point.”

“Ay, well I found out–th’reason those guys knew bout my ink thing? Bear ratted me out!” Aran’s voice pierced through the phone and made Octave cringe. “I’unno how he found out–he wasn’t even in th’stupid locker room when we were settin’ that thing up, but he just knew apparently ‘n those snobby higher ups took his side!”

“I saw him covered in ink after my fight with Don.” Octave said as he messed with the paper some more, “Probably watched what happened to Macho ‘n had a good idea bout who did it.”

“He didn’t even have proof!” Aran hissed, “Imagine rattin’ someone out over a wee bit o’ ink on yer overalls, as if he don’t got a billion more of ‘em!”

“As if they don’t already look ruined.” Octave crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it.

“Exactly! So I was thinkin’...”

“That’s a first.”

“Shut it.” Aran barked, “But I was thinkin’, tomorrow ye meet me at th’stadium ‘n ye help me set up a li’l somethin’ for our good ol’ pal Bear Hugger. After th’way he’s been kickin’ us round, I think it’s th’least we can do.”

“Tomorrow?” Octave repeated. He looked at the clock that hung behind his old TV. It was late. Aran groaned.

“Don’t tell me yer really thinkin’ bout makin’ me do this by myself.”

Octave opened his mouth, but Aran kept yapping.

“I treated ye t’dinner after yer fight wit’ Don even though ye lost, ‘n now ye don’t wanna help me after th’way things went tonight? What’s Bear ever done for ye?”

Octave heard static pour through the receiver for just a moment before Aran’s voice came through again.

“Wasn’t enough ye ditched me before th’meetin’ I had couple’a days ago. Th’one where ye agreed t’help me then just–just left me for Tiger! ‘N now tonight?” Aran growled, “Lettin’ ye spill yer heart out t’me ‘n for what?”

“Fine, fine!” Octave hollered.

He sighed then sunk further into the couch’s cushions.

“Tomorrow.” He said, “What time ya wanna meet?”

“Ay, 7'o clock sharp.” Aran’s voice became notably more energetic, “I’m lookin’ forward to it. See ye then.”

“Yea…” Octave muttered, “See ya.”

Then he hung up.