#thomas kibble

[whats-in-a-sentence]

It is called a Higgs field, after the Scottish physicist Peter Higgs.⁵

5. Although the Higgs field is named after Peter Higgs, a number of other physicists – Thomas Kibble, Philip Anderson, R. Brout, and François Englert, among others – played a vital part in its introduction into physics and its theoretical development.

"The Fabric of the Cosmos" - Brian Greene

[vomittedsoap]

Assigning AMC's The Terror characters quick lunchbox items/snacks. (and if they will share)

Crozier: sunflower seeds. No sharing, "if I gave one to you then I'd have to give one to everybody" mentality.

Fitzjames: yoga-mom unseasoned almonds. And then acts like he isn't hungry (he is). No reason to share when all you have is the snack-equivalent of wood chips.

Franklin: Snickers bar or Werthers. He has a theoretical old-lady-handbag(his big hat) full of treats for the men, but none of the treats are as good as the snickers bar.

Goodsir: sliced apples. *insert doctor joke*. Shares with literally everyone and says the same doctor joke to them, but with a timid delivery so it doesn't really land.

Hodgson: Cliff Bar or half of a peanutbutterjelly sandwich, and sometimes a Gogurt. His food is too good to share.

LIttle: blueberry Belvita cookies. Maybe shares idk.

Irving: anything Atkins or Fiber-One, not cuz he's on a diet, just cuz it's comfort food. Will give what he doesn't eat to Hodgson/Little.

Jopson: trail mix and sometimes gets a few sunflower seeds from Crozier.

Collins: strikes me as an ants-on-a-log guy. Will share if pestered enough.

Peglar: grapes (I'm still on the anagram thing). Shares with Bridgens.

Bridgens: Either hummus and pita chips or cheese to eat with Peglar's grapes.

Blanky: Jack Links teriyaki beef jerky. Usually eats alone so no sharing, and when he doesn't he eats with Crozier who doesn't want any.

Silna: do they make seal jerky?? if not, some cheese and marmalade with saltines in a glass tupperware. Says no to anyone who asks to share except Goodsir.

GIbson: Diet Coke

Hickey: Gibson

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 70: Loss

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

Sleep avoids me all night. Each time I try to close my eyes I keep hearing jumbled words warning me of upcoming conflicts. ‘Losing one of your own siblings.’ God, did she have to say that? Not only am I petrified of losing anyone but it happens to be that my broer is involved with today’s fight. ‘Take a look at the future.’ Some future, Michael. Everything and everyone that drew me to become a part of this is threatening to be cast out. Seeing Thomas’ panicking eyes still haunts me.

By 5 a.m. I roll out of bed and follow Dílis to the kitchen. From the window I see that the rain is gone and has left the streets thick with mud. 

Arf! The pup lets out a yip and waits next to his food bowl.

“Coming, coming,” I fuss and go for his kibble. “You’re not the only one who’s impatient.”

Impatient, indeed. For the next several hours I continue to keep calling Polly, Ada, anyone who might tell me what’s going on. Eventually the operator gets tired of me and directs the call straight to Thomas.

“Hello?”

“Thomas. You need to tell me what’s going on now,” I speak in a low tone. “Normally I wouldn’t be so restless but this involves Liam.”

“You’re right,” Thomas admits and takes a breath. “Today at 2 we’re meeting up at Charlie’s yard to discuss the plan. You can be there if you wish but nothing further after that. Liam will be there too.”

“That’s all I need to know,” I answer gratefully. “Tot ziens.”

Only a few more hours.

I round up Dílis and slip into the car at 1:30. I don’t care if I’m early. By the time I get to the yard I see Arthur, Johnny Doggs, and Uncle Charlie watching someone aim at a target. Liam stands nearby, holding a rifle and wearing his own flat cap.

“Komm, Dílis.” We both walk through the muddy grass over to him. “What is the plan?”

Liam doesn’t seem surprised to see me here. “Mosley’s speaking at a rally tonight. The plan is to let your boss’ friend Barley shoot the bastard.” He points to the man in front. “That’s him there. He’s a great shot.”

A shooting. At a rally. “The Billy Boys will be there, then. Will we have enough men?”

Liam smirks and jerks his head to someone behind me. “That’s why we’ve called in some support.”

Dílis starts barking and I’m shocked to see a familiar bearded face. “Mr. Solomons?”

“Fresh from the grave,” the Jewish gangster announces and spreads his arms. He frowns, looking me up and down. “You’re still following Tommy Shelby around? I'd thought a smart girl like you would have left by now.”

Liam and I exchange looks before I answer. “I am now. Sometimes I feel tethered to this lifestyle. Addicted to it, you might say.”

Mr. Solomons strokes his beard. “Curious. There are many addictions surrounding this lifestyle. Snow, alcohol, violence. And amidst all this… You are addicted to Tommy Shelby.”

Liam takes the time to clear his throat and inch away from the conversation. There’s no other way to phrase it, actually. This is an addiction. 

“Maybe,” I confess. “But I can overcome my addiction if it means avoiding Mosley’s crowd.”

The gangster nods in understanding just as Thomas’ car pulls up and the man himself steps out to watch Barley. On a bright side, Thomas doesn’t appear to have let Michael’s words get to him. His eyes are confident and he walks with a notable pep in his step when he sees Barley’s accomplished shots.

“All right then, boys! Let’s head out!” He waves everyone over and looks at me. “Verena, you go back to Ada’s. You can listen on the radio.”

All the men file into their cars. Liam starts to follow them and my heart quickens.

“Liam? You’re going with them?”

He looks as if I just asked which way was left or right. “‘Course I am, zus.”

Liam starts to climb into the car and I grab his sleeve. “No- Wait. Liam, no. Please…”

“Verena, it’s a speech. All I have to do is stand guard and pretend like I’m on their side.”

My head shakes violently and I keep a firm grip on him. “You were never supposed to be a part of this.”

His eyes narrow and he starts getting agitated. “I can’t just watch this happen and do nothing! Maybe you can make change through fancy words but my way is through action.”

“Liam…” I plead, my voice starting to fail. “Please.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tonight, zus,” Liam grins, patting me on the shoulder just as the door shuts and the line of cars begins driving away, leaving me in the mud.

No. It’s all wrong. So terribly wrong.

Ruff! Dílis looks between the cars and me, trying to decide what's the matter.

“More waiting, I guess,” I sigh and trudge back to my car. “Only this time there is far more at stake.”

I get in the driver’s seat and lean my head against the steering wheel. Lord, with all I can ask I pray that you keep Liam safe. He was never meant to be here. I was never meant to be here. And now because of my constant surrender to my addiction he decided to join me. Now he has chosen to put himself in danger. 

Throughout the drive to Ada’s I want to believe in Thomas and think that tonight will go as planned. Maybe I would if Liam wasn’t involved. But all I can think of now is if things might go wrong.

“There you are!” Ada greets from the door when I pull up. “The broadcast is about to start. I prepared in advance and got rubbish bins for us to throw up in when Mosley starts speaking.”

Dílis wanders into the parlor and as I follow him I pass by a mirror in the hallway. I’m so pale. It’s the same look Thomas wore when he came to visit me after the stabbing. It’s paired with a feeling of deep fear, one that might never be erased until I see Liam again.

“Verena? Verena, you’re shaking,” Ada worries and helps me sit down. “Here, have some tea.”

Some static cheering comes from the radio and the announcer’s voice booms: “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Oswald Mosley.”

More applause is picked up from the crowd. I control my rage by twirling the tea spoon in my fingers. Kill him. Kill him.

Mosley clears his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen of Birmingham…”

The beginning of the speech is more repeating of what he claimed at Lizzie’s birthday party. Karl keeps watching the radio with distrust, looking back at his moeder’s skeptical frown.

“Our enemies deal in bricks and stones and bottles. We deal in reasoned principle argument and fact.”

Their ‘enemies’ are the very people that support the economy. My economy. The capitalist economy. This fairytale he’s promising will not be a solution. It will be a discriminatory blow to the working class, to Jews, to anyone who opposes them. And if fascism spreads it will lead to the downfall of vader’s business. Uncle Colon’s trade ring. Thomas’ shipping company. 

Mosley goes on to talk more about Churchill and the threats to democracy. “Not all attending tonight will be convinced of our cause.”

“Guilty as charged,” I utter darkly, gripping the spoon as we wait for the shot. 

“Perish Judah! Perish Judah!” The crowd chants as the speech goes on.

Come on, Thomas. Kill him. Do it. Do it… My body tenses and my eyes almost burn a hole through the radio by how intense I’m watching it, still waiting for the shot.

No gunshot. Where’s the gunshot? Why is the bastard still talking?!

“The barriers of class will be abolished, and a greater Britain will be born of the National Socialists and fascist creed.”

More cheering fades in, followed by distant shouts. Suddenly the noise is cut off and the broadcast ends. Wait- Does that mean-? Did Barley-? What the Hell happened?

“Did… Did we win?” I ask openly, looking over at Ada.

The Shelby zuster shakes her head blankly. “I don’t know.”

So we wait. Wait in thick, gruesome silence for a phone call. For any news. Karl soon gets antsy and goes off to his room. I look out the window nearly twenty times before I finally see a car pull up. Through the pouring rain I see Thomas walk up to the house. His face is hidden by his cap so it’s unclear what form of report he has for us.

I jump up and nearly trip on the rug trying to rush to the door. Thomas steps in, shaking the rain off and hesitating to lift his head. When I see his eyes they look so lost and empty that he almost looks like someone else.

“Thomas-? Jesus, you look terrible.” He looks at me as if I’m a vase about to crack. “Something went wrong.”

Thomas swallows and leans against the cabinet, staring at himself through the mirror, refusing to deny my statement. “I had him. I could have done it. Could have shot him.”

I take a shaky breath and step closer. “You could have. But we both know that would only make things worse. You would be dead too.”

“I bloody know that!” He tries to shout but it comes out as a self-loathing cry. “And now Aberama... He’s dead. Gone. They knew…”

Dead. The word echoes through my mind and my previous feeling of sorrow returns.

“Where’s Liam?”

“It doesn't make sense,” Thomas keeps rambling. “No fucking sense…”

“Thomas,” I demand louder, starting to feel desperate. “Where is my broer?”

The gangster stops muttering to himself and turns to me with vulnerable eyes. A look that I am cursed to know all too well.

“Your brother… Liam, he… He tried to stop McCavern’s men from getting to Arthur. They stabbed him.” My stomach tightens. “He… He didn’t make it.”

My face freezes and my knees weaken, sending me collapsing against the cabinet. “Jesus Christ…”

“We snuck his body to Charlie’s yard, so he can have a proper service.” Thomas tries to reach for me. “Verena-”

“Don’t touch me!” I weep and swat him away, angry tears already streaming down my cheeks. “Just- Just leave me! Go!”

Dílis starts to whine and nudge my shaking hand.

“Verena-” Thomas begs.

“Get the fuck away from me!” My shriek rings throughout the house and all I can do is back away, stumbling against the door. “Stay the fuck away, Thomas!”

“Verena, wait!” Ada pleads and steps between us. “You are in no condition to drive. I’ll take you back. This way, Dílis.” Thomas tries to speak but she cuts him off. “Zip it, Tommy!”

In an empty and spiraling burst of emotions I am guided by Ada to my car. The only thing anchoring me to reality is her arm around my shoulder. I don’t even notice when we start driving. In the blink of an eye all that was once beautiful and hopeful now looks like the descending steps to endless torture.

Liam was stabbed. Stabbed. Liam is dead. My broer is dead. My innocent broer is dead. Of all the pain I have been devoted, all the pain I have persevered, this is by far the one that injures the most. This is not a pain I’ve allowed to myself. It is a pain that I cannot cure through changing myself. It is a pain of deep mourning, guilt, and regret. Is this how Thomas felt when John was killed?

‘I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tonight, zus.’ That is what he promised me, just as Thomas promised that he would be safe. No, I know Thomas could not keep Liam from wanting to face danger. But he could have tried harder.

“Verena?” Ada’s voice reaches my cloudy thoughts. “We’re here.”

She helps me out of the car and walks Dílis and I inside. I look down and see Liam’s flannel jacket lying on the chair, left without an owner. Just the memory of Thomas’ words sends chills down my spine. His body? That doesn’t even sound right.

“It’s all my fault,” I gulp and stagger to the kitchen. “I brought this cursed gang onto my familie. If I hadn’t kept coming back, Liam wouldn't have gotten involved. If I hadn’t gone in too deep… Liam would still be alive.”

“Verena.” Ada corners me against the counter and squeezes my hand. “Liam chose to do this. It’s not your fault-”

“Yes it is.”

She tries to argue but gives up. “Usually the one being blamed is Thomas-”

“Do not mention that bastard’s name!” I seethe, clenching my fists. “I warned him not to let Liam get too involved but he never listens. He took my heart and now my broer is lost too. I’m just so sick of- HIM!”

I grip a stray knife and fling it across the room at Thomas’ portrait on the wall. I grab another and sprint through the parlor, proceeding to stab his damn blank face over and over and over. Every time the blade cuts through the canvas is another stab to my heart. Why did I let myself get too deep? Everyone told me it was dangerous and now my foolishness took my broer from me!

I take one final jab at the portrait, leaving an open gash across the subject’s face. Damn you, Thomas, and your stain on my life.

Ada sees I’ve stopped. “Go ahead. He’s got too many bloody portraits of himself anyway.” I hear her step closer. “I’ll stay here with you tonight. You can’t be alone right now.”

My eyes close and the knife slips from my grasp, cluttering to the floor. I stand there shaking, my feet glued to the ground. It’s like someone sucked out all the air from my lungs and my body has gone numb.

How did I let it come to this? How did I go wrong?

All night I pray for a dream. A dream I can wake up from and realize that Liam really isn’t gone. But each time I open my eyes and search the house he is never here. Never returned. Dílis can sense I’m troubled and keeps trailing at my heels. Eventually I don’t even bother trying to sleep. I just keep pacing the hall, back and forth, waiting for the nightmare I’m living to end. How am I going to tell moeder?

The weather also notices my grieving state and clouds the sky, not allowing any form of sunshine or cleansing rain. Only a despair-ridden overcast.

“You still love him,” Ada comments from behind when I begin staring at the ruined picture.

“Prove it,” I spit, pondering whether or not to hurl the art piece into the fire.

Ada sighs in defeat, standing up from the sofa. “Fine, you win. I guess I’ll go back and fetch Tommy some gin so he can drink himself away.”

“He likes whiskey. Irish,” I grumble.

She hums. “Then I’ll go get some tobacco-”

“We both know he only uses cigarettes.”

“Fine,” the Shelby zuster huffs. “Are you up for some jazz records?”

I stiffly shake my head. “There aren’t any. Playing jazz risks Thomas throwing the turntable across the room. He doesn’t like unnecessary noise-” Wait a damn second. I turn to look at her. “Was that a test?”

Ada toasts me with her morning tea. “Bingo. In a few short minutes you’ve narrowed down Tommy’s choices of whiskey, cigarettes, and music. A woman who’s not in love with him wouldn’t know him that well.”

Well, yes. I could have pointed those out long ago. Why bring it up now? Ada already knew back then that I was a prime candidate for him. Or is she doing this to ease my loathing for him?

Instead of directly calling moeder I dial Conor and inform him of what happened. He catches on to my lingering guilt and tries to tell me it’s not my fault. I still don’t believe it. After a few short responses we arrange for him and my other broers to pick me up. As the oldest, he takes the responsibility of telling moeder and vader about Liam. 

“We’ll be there as quick as possible, zus,” Conor promises. “Stay with someone until we get there.”

“I could have stopped him,” I croak. “Gecondoleerd. I am so sorry…”

“Gecondoleerd, Verena,” Conor says soothingly. “You know how Liam was. None of us could stop him from running into a fight. He stood for what we believe in, against the fascists.”

“I- I’ll see you soon,” I try to sound stable. “Tot ziens.”

I hang up the receiver and rejoin Dílis and Ada in the parlor. The hond jumps up and walks over to look up at me expectantly.

“Some of my familie is coming to transport the body,” I announce. “The funeral’s scheduled in Brooklyn next week.”

“You’re going to leave without telling him?”

The idea of facing Thomas again threatens to send me raging again. “His deeds, his sins, took my broer away from me. I don’t need to tell him anything.”

Her dark eyes sadden. “There’s something else you should know. Earlier I got a call from Tom- you-know-who. There were four deaths last night, counting your brother. Liam, Aberama, Barley…”

Ada trails off and licks her lips, looking depressed as well. I rack my brain for anyone who could be missing for her to be like this. 

“And the fourth?” I urge, dreading the news of the victim’s identity. Ada looks back at me and something in her eyes gives me the answer. “No. Not her. Jesus, tell me it wasn’t her!” 

I crumble onto the chair next to her and bury my face in the fabric. She was going to be married! She was finally going to be happy! And after all this time I’ve been too busy distancing myself from Thomas that I selfishly forgot about her.

“No. Not Polly… No!” I cry, letting more tears seep into the chair.

“I know, Verena. We’re all taking a hit,” Ada whispers, her own voice hardened with emotion. “You should know that, once a Gypsy member passes, we do not mention their name.”

“I -I’m sorry,” I gulp. “Gecondoleerd, Ada. I… I can’t believe she’s gone. She was the one who took me in. Lord, I wanted her to meet my moeder so badly. She would have loved her.”

Dílis sets his head on my leg and I reach out to feel his soft fur. Now I know it will not only be me who mourns. As deep as my hatred goes I cannot refuse my condolences to Thomas. Polly was the one who kept him together. She encouraged rationality. She kept tradition and respect alive for us even when her own son threatened it.

“I’m afraid I have to go,” Ada sighs when she checks the clock. “Thomas will want to speak to us and talk more about last night.”

My body stiffens again and Dílis lets out a low growl. “Please understand that I cannot be near him. I fear I might kill him if I see him again. He is not the cause of Liam’s death but it is still a form of perfidy all the same. Please give my sympathies to Michael and the others. You will mourn your familie and I shall mourn mine.” 

I especially need to be there for Liam’s wife, Evelyn. She’s going to be devastated. She’s going to hate me, just as Linda loathes Thomas. I’ll get blamed for her husband’s death, and I will accept that blame. 

After all these years I was still naïve to think that things would get better. Uncle Colon was right. I’ve given too much to this job, this familie, and now it’s taken a toll on my own.

How did I go wrong? 

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5

[vanya-evergreen]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE ON HOW TO REMEMBER <<33 I CANT WAIT TO CONTINUE IT!!

But I am sick right now and can't really write because I need to sleep more so 3rd chapter of how to remember will take a bit long then I wanted. But health comes first.

But during the mean time a very very small snippet of the beginning of the next chapter (I wrote this before I started writing the chapter for funzies, and I though it fit well)

Also reminder: characters will be ooc because I still just getting back into dc again. lol

Damian is furious. What make you so important to them? Damian is greeted by Titus waiting for him outside of the entrance. Damian pets his head quickly as he exits the elevator. He knows something is up now, and what his father and Alfred are hiding has something to do with you. He wants to know, no. He needs to know. He will know. Instead of walking to his room to sleep, he walks into the kitchen to feed his pets before he goes to sleep. When he walks into the kitchen, he meets 2 other people in there. One of them is grabbing food from the fridge as his laptop is resting on the countertop with his phone being right next to with articles pulled up on, and the other one is eating cereal while scrolling through his phone.

“Good morning, Damian” Duke takes another bite of his cereal as his clicks on another video of last nights fight. “How was patroll last night?” Duke looks over his phone at Damian,smirking. Damian clenched his fist and grits his teeth. Duke, laughs at him . Damian takes a deep breathe and closes eyes, he doesn’t have the energy to deal with this. He walks over to a cabinet, opens it and takes out food for Titus, as well as his other pets.

“It was fine, thomas, just busy.” Wow did he sound like his father with the vague answers. He picks up titus’ bowl and pours some kibble in it.

“Oh really, Nothing"

He stops and looks at Tim still standing in front of the fridge with the door wide open. “Drake, What are you doing?” He puts the bowl of food in front of titus and walks over to Tim, placing a hand on his shoulder.

[hometownrockstar]

i love to cuddle my toy :) also my thomas kibble

[archmage-ansrit]

I had been pondering and debating whether or not to draw attention to this, since it all began during a time when there were being scams of people that don't even have pets asking for money using stolen pet pictures... but now it's not as important and I've had time to process it.

Warning for mentions of death.

November 2023 we lost one of our cats, and then on December it was the second anniversary of the death of our dog.

Both of them were amazing pets for a person that is so quick to feel drained as I am.

So, I feel like I should talk about them. Starting from the very beginning.

This is Lucky. Not particularly imaginative but he is! My brother found him as a kitten, abandoned in a local park; he was really concerned for the kitten, and took him with him. He took the kitten to the vet because there was something strange on one of the eyes - he has a tiny nick ON HIS EYE, but the vet managed to save the eye!

Mom wasn't super-thrilled, but the kitten endeared himself to her enough to keep.

Then, Thomas.

He 100% used to be a housecat. A coworker of my mom's found him in her backyard, limping a little - knowing we had taken in a cat already, she wondered if we wanted to take in another.

Yes. It helped a lot that this cat is gentle and well-behaved. A quick vet visit revealed the leg was just a bit swollen, probably from a bruise. By the second day he responded to the name we gave him, and when presented a collar, he stood still for us to put it on.

Vet calculated, approximately, he was like 4 or 5 years old already.

Then Blacky, the one that just passed last November. And her kittens.

That is Blacky, The Darling (the one with short hair) and Merida. Not included are Babe (I don't have pictures of her that won't make me Doxx myself), and a male kitten we only had for like 2 weeks before someone else adopted him.

My mom picked Blacky up with her kittens included. At first we thought Blacky was young herself, since she was so small.

We only had a little plate for food, so we worried it would be chaotic. The kittens were actually old enough for kibble, and maybe all of them would jump on the plate at the same time.

Kind of! Blacky actually waited for her kittens to eat - we refilled the plate for the kittens that had yet to eat, and only after we refilled the plate a second time did she begin to eat.

Blacky turned out to be older than we thought, probably 6 years, and had really bad teeth from a life in the street. She was easily angered, and distrustful of Thomas (probably because he is a larger cat), she allowed herself to be picked up only briefly, starting to hiss if we held her for too long. We eventually won her over, and she allowed herself to be handled for longer periods of time.

She became larger, as did her kittens. They were malnourished, but now they had food aplenty.

Then came Spot, the troublemaker.

He only has a single brushstroke of white on his head. Cried a lot, very nervous, but loving and cuddly.

Then, Trooper, our dog.

He was a housepet, no doubt. He could shake! He warned us when he needed to go outside.

Literally followed mom home one day.

Really chill dog. He probably was 6 years when we got him. His teeth were horrid. He didn't run or jump too much.

I loved him as much as I could.

Then, Otto.

He is more energetic than the others, and gets into the occasional fight with others.

Trooper would bark at them whenever that happened, helped get some order back.

Trooper was sick, though, we didn't know how much just yet. He loved getting bits of ham, and French fries, and he nuzzled so gently.

He had kidney problems, and even trying to get medications for him we weren't quite on time. He would have difficulty walking, and, in fact, that picture of him is from the last week he was willing to walk long distances.

The walks had been... I think as good for me as they were for him. I got to know more of my neighborhood. I got fresh air more often.

My phone, at the time, was pretty new, and this is the only picture I have of him on it. My mom has more. I used to be reluctant to take pictures, but something compelled me to take the picture.

He eventually would not even stand, and it was during the middle of Christmas break for the vet, so we had to hold on...

We got him to the vet, had him stay the night, but he got real bad over the night. He looked to be in such pain, we had to let him sleep.

And so we went forward.

2023 comes, and Blacky starts having trouble eating. She had lost several teeth because they had gone so bad they needed to be taken out, and now it seemed the last ones were giving her trouble. Feeding her was difficult, but we endured.

She spent more and more time in my room, as she would go there to avoid Spot and Otto's shenanigans. I leave my door closed because of them, so she understood it was a safe place.

She even got to let Thomas near her.

But even cleaning her teeth would not help her mouth issues, she was losing so much weight, so the difficult choice was made to have the rest taken out. It was a risk because she did NOT do well under the anesthesia the few times she had to have something done.

She came back, no longer any teeth left, but she ate her fill - she even got into dry kibble! She must have been so hungry...

But she, indeed, reacted poorly to the anesthesia. She stopped eating and drinking water regularly.

Oh, she held on to life with all she had. We tried getting her to the vet. She got an IV, medication for her kidneys (she was having a special diet for it, too, before she stopped eating).

She looked so much better! She was perhaps a bit grouchy over being held so long, but she needed warmth...

She held on with everything she had, tried to walk...

But in the end, she passed during the night.

Since I was taking care of her so much and so often, and she hung around my room all the time, my mom gave her my last name for the little memorial we got of her.

Financially, my mom took care of things, as she had been the one to take in the cats in the first place - I could not have done so myself. I can barely take care of myself, but with them, it helped me move in order to take care of them.

I feel like I should have done better, even though, realistically, there wasn't much I personally could have done without being a veterinarian.

Here is to pets. They love us as we love them, and some times, the have to leave sooner than expected.

[ktkat99]

I was scrolling through funny pet names from 2023 and realized I have mentioned the names of two of my pets before, but not the batshit crazy one I never have a good explanation for.

Damian and his sister were stray kittens my brother found at work. He gave me Damian and kept Scout and they are both spoiled, cuddly little terrors.

Dennis the Menace, who recently passed, was our oldest dog we'd ever had. He was 19, insisted on sleeping with his blankets made up in a nest and flatly refused to stop eating dry kibble. We had to mix it into his wet food or he'd get angry.

This is Thomas and he hoots. He knows how to bark. He just prefers to make hooting sounds to get your attention when he's excited.

And, last but not least, the dog I use as my pfp.

This is Tig. Except, that's not really his name, just what he responds to, because it's easier to call him by his initials. His real name is Tungsten Inert Gas.

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

Thanksgiving

You probably have to be demented to enjoy the over-the-top kills in Eli Roth’s THANKSGIVING (2023, Netflix). Well, call me demented (that’s Dr. Demented to you). Unlike other post-modern slasher films, Roth doesn’t go for humor by having characters comment on the genre. Nobody in this film feels like they’re living in a movie. The humor comes from the gleefully overdone kills, a tribute to more serious earlier films like the FRIDAY THE 13TH features and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME (1981), noted for their creative murders. Fortunately, most of the victims are suitably heinous. Roth also makes good use of modern technology, with some jokes on streaming and social media fandom and taps into the nature of horror as a collective nightmare releasing out frustration with the status quo.

Roth follows slasher (and giallo) convention by having a past event motivate the mayhem. The film opens on Thanksgiving Day in the town of Plymouth, MA. Local thrift store magnate Rick Hoffman has decided to open his store at 6 p.m., leading to a riot that kills several people, including the manager’s wife (Gina Gershon), and permanently benches college pitching star Jalen Thomas Brooks. A year later, somebody dressed as John Carver, first governor of the Massachusetts colony, is going after those involved in the riot, including Hoffman’s daughter (Nell Verlaque, or “get me a Taissa Farmiga type”) and the friends she snuck into the store before the official opening.

There are tons of red herrings, and the specific motivation rests on information withheld until the end. But then, these films aren’t about solving the mystery, but rather about enjoying the murders. And if you can stomach the violence, these are some very enjoyable murder scenes. Beyond that, however, the film taps into modern discontents, albeit rather simplistically. The triggering event is the result of greed, Hoffman’s desire to make more money by opening his store on Thanksgiving Day (the manager even has to miss dinner with his family to avoid being fired). The murders, then, reflect our own discontent with the greed behind unchecked capitalism. That hardly makes the slasher sympathetic, even when we learn their motivation, but it does relate the killings to our own most violent impulses. And just to cement that, the killer is in a way the doppelganger of final girl Verlaque, who is also appalled at the store’s being open and feels guilty about her role in the riot. For an extra Freudian fillip, the impetus for opening the store came from daddy’s new wife, whom Verlaque resents (paging Electra), and watching the young woman get her father to go against his new wife’s wishes provides added emotional satisfaction, and can you tell I’m reading Robin Wood on the horror film right now.

THANKSGIVING probably could have done without the insipid romantic triangle involving Verlaque, Brooks, the boyfriend who ghosted her after his injury, and over-achiever new boyfriend Milo Mannhaim, mainly because they’re both too traditionally manly to deserve the more nuanced leading lady. And most of the high-school students look as if they should be planning for their college reunions. But there are some clever jokes about high-school life, creative use of the Ontario locations and a few nicely quirky details. After the killer takes out a security guard who had run from the riot, he notices the victim hadn’t had time to feed his cat. So, he stays long enough to feed it and leave the lid off its kibble box just in case nobody comes by any time soon. You can’t help feeling a special glow for a film like that.

[honeysucklesteam]

HES SUCH A CHUBBY CHUBBY FATTY BABY LOOK AT HIS BELLLYYYY

I just wanna pet him on my lap and feed him Thomas kibble

chubby

[hungerford-arcade-antiques]

We were so excited to have experts Thomas Forrester and Neil Shuttleworth from SAS Auctions in Newbury here at Hungerford Arcade filming an alternative programme to Bargain Hunt for Newbury Weekly News.   L-R David Evans, Diana Barley, Thomas Forrester, Adrian Gilmour, Rita Kibble, Neil Shuttleworth, Maddie Evans & Richard Evans   Each pair of […]

[prittyvenus]

The Medium and the Nameless Ghouls

Case file 003-3 terzo file Saltarian’s curse

After getting the bishop’s name from Dewdrop, the cops began the investigation. Omega and Phil are both willing to help but Phil’s past life is beginning to unravel along with phantoms of the past. Can Sara help solve the crisis that’s plaguing him?

Sara and the other officers gathered in the main hall of the mansion with their heads raised high. Sergeant George soon showed up with a whiteboard, projector, and his laptop. "Listen up! We have the suspect’s name on hand." He yells for attention. "Attention officers!" The room got quiet. "We got the suspect’s name," the projector turns on and shows a man in his 40s with a red cassock and an upside-down cross on his neck. "This is Bishop Johnathan, he’s 42, and last seen with the victim on March 5th."

Everyone starts to mumble. The projector shows the map of the church grounds. "According to the witness statements the victim and suspect were last seen here." He pointed to the North west part of the Clergy. "The witness stated that he was patrolling this area when the murder occurred." Then the projector showed the faces of Sodo, Swiss, and Dewdrop. All of the men started to howl and whistle at the photo of Dewdrop. The sergeant lowered his head in embarrassment.

Sara whistled loudly. "You know that’s a dude, right?" She said to her fellow officers.

"This is Dewdrop, the witness to the murder of Lucia Watson, and twin brother of the accomplice Sodomizar. He’s also friends with another accomplice named Swissaphor. The three are part of a gang called Ghost."

"Mi scusi, signore" Copia raised his hand. "We’re a band, not a gang."

Sara joins the conversation. "Sir, they are a heavy metal rock group called Ghost. The three men are guitarists and Copia is their lead singer."

"Thank you for the correction on this matter." He said to Sara. "Anyway, we have to split up into three groups. Fred, Mike, and Jason, you three handle the witness statements in the Clergy Offices." The three men moved closer together. "Chris, Clare, and Leon, you’re getting Sodo and Swiss from the dungeon and bringing them here for interrogation." They nodded and moved closer together. "Sara, Daniel, and Robert, you three will…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!" Robert holds his hands up. "You want me to work with her? The Demon of the Police Force? Are you off your rocker?"

Daniel joins in on the discussion "I not working with her either, she's a fucking nut case. She can go crazy with her demonic powers."

"Well fuck you guys too!" Sara replied

"We don’t want her." One of the officers muttered.

"Look we need a group that can gather evidence in that area, if you’re not going to be cooperative with this case then…"

Omega raises his hand. "Then let her join us," the room went quiet. "Her psychic abilities can come in handy for the investigation we’re doing."

Sara nodded her head and the sergeant agreed. "Okay then, Daniel, Robert, and Thomas, you three are to gather evidence in the office of the bishop. Detective Stevens, Lieutenant Kibbles, and I will be keeping an eye on Sister Imperator." George gave a signal to Omega.

Omega nodded "Sister Imperator is in hot water. She has assaulted the witness, and covered up an assassination plot that she says never occurred." Everyone looks at Omega. "The elders of the church of satanic worship noticed that the Emeritus Brothers mysteriously died and a magazine article published a picture of Copia holding the head of Terzo, the youngest of the three brothers."

"I would not lie; I threw up a few times when Sister Imperator gave me the head to hold for the photo shoot," Copia said. "She said 'It’s an unfortunate accident.' But I don’t know if I can believe her. Because I know that I am on the chopping block." Copia started to show signs of fear. "I know she messed up, and I don’t want to be involved." Copia said softly "I keep seeing that glass coffin passing by my room. She said 'it was nothing but I knew she was lying."

Sara left eye shows Copia looking at the empty coffin being taken away by Mr. Saltarian, and then showing the ghouls watching from behind him. Then time froze down and she felt a presence behind her. She turned around and saw Mr. Saltarian with horns on his head and his red-colored skin. "You cannot stop his death; he is needed for the ritual of the dark one’s return." Sara froze in fear. "9/11 after the 18 bells tolled. The ritual will commence." Saltarian raised his hand to her face and placed a pentagram sign on her left eye. Sara screams and collapses to the floor.

Sergeant George and Detective Stevens rushed to Sara side. "Sara? Sara! What happened? Sara?!"

"My eye! That demon did something to my left eye!" Detective Stevens picked up Sara by the shoulders and lifted her head up. Blood was dripping from her eye.

"She's bleeding! Someone gets a first aid kit, now!" Screams Sergeant George.

"I'll get a towel!" Yells Copia. Omega helped Sara up and rushed her to the upstairs bathroom. Copia wets the towel with warm water and gives it to Sara. "Here you go."

"Thank you..." Sara puts the wet towel on her left eye.

"Non preoccuparti. You're Okay now, right?" Sara opens her left eye revealing a red pentagram on her white eye. "madre empia... You've been cursed!"

Omega looks at her left eye. "That's not good... Phil, Phil! We need you!"

Phil appears without his mask and a white robe. "Can't a guy take a shower in peace!" Omega points to Sara and she revealed her left eye. "Oh... Shit! She's been cursed!" Phil rushed to Sara and examined her left eye. "What happened, Mia cara?"

Sara told Phil the visions she had while Copia was talking in the meeting. Then she mentioned a demonic Mr. Saltarian and the prophecy he told. Copia started to shake in the hallway and he collapsed with his back to the wall. "I knew he was a high-class demon but I didn’t know he was that powerful," she said as she wiped away the blood from her eye.

Phil looks at Omega "What should we do? Do you think we can protect her?"

Omega shrugged his shoulders. "If she is that powerful for Mr. Saltarian to curse her, then yes." He looks at Sara. "What is your family’s name?"

Sara looks at Phil and nods her head. Phil gets up and takes Omega and whispers in the strange language in his ear. Omega’s jaw drops.

"She’s your niece?" Omega looked at Phil then Sara. "How?" Phil explained to Omega about Sara’s grandmother and her father being Primo’s lost son. Omega bowed to Sara. "Forgive me for my ignorance, but do you have any proof of your lineage?"

"In my suitcase, there is a picture of my grandmother Elisabeth Bathory Emeritus and my dad Alexzander. She passed away three years ago." Sara explains

"Do you have the stone?" Omega asked Sara

"What stone?" She asked him

"The philosopher’s stone that she wears around her neck."

"My grandmother’s necklace? It’s with my father right now. I inherited it from my grandmother when she passed away. But when I found out that one of my fellow officers had been stealing, I had to take it to my father for safety. I don’t have it on me."

"Wait, the stone is real?" Said Sergeant George. "It’s not some made up Harry Potter story?"

"Yes, it’s real, how do you think I earned the title of Demon of the Police Force. My grandma was the last keeper of the stone and I was the next one in line."

"So that’s how you do it! you use the stone to summon that big dog of yours, Diablo!" Yelled Lieutenant Kibbles. "Man, I miss that dog."

"Yeah, I remember. Hey, Diablo goes get Kibbles and bits!" Kibbles and Sara started to laugh.

"And he runs to me too! If Stacy didn’t steal from you, you still would have had the necklace."

"Luckily, I switched it with a resin copy before she got to it."

"She got what was coming to her."

Omega Interrupts the conversation. "Are you guys done?"

"Sorry," Lieutenant Kibbles cleared her throat. "You should get some rest, and inform your father about what happened here."

"Yeah, we might need all the help we can get. I might have to call my apprentice to help us out."

"Let’s get you to bed first then you can make the phone calls." Said Phil.

Phil and Omega helped Sara up and took her to Primo’s bedroom. Sara sees old photos of Primo when he was a cardinal and when he was a priest. Then she saw a wedding photo of Primo and her younger grandmother. Sara took the photo and held it in her arms. Then place it on the table next to the bed.

"Thanks for everything." She told Phil and Omega.

"We will be in the room next door if anything happens." Phil said as he closed the door.

"I guess you were right grandma. Not everyone can live there happily ever after."

Sara fell asleep, as a phantom ghost of Primo appeared in the corner of the room. He gently stroked her head. "Mia cara piccola, that may be true, but It’s how you make it out in the end with no regrets." He kissed her forehead and vanished from the room.

Case file closed

Case file contents

[amitapaul]

35/28

#23GloPoWriMo.

Year 2023 Month April Day 28

Prompt Dated 28/4/23

Response No : 2

Poem No : 35

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Prompt :

Have you ever flipped to the index of a book and found it super interesting? Well, I have (yes, I live an exciting life!) For example, the other day I pulled from my shelf a copy of on old book that excerpts parts of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s journals. I took a look at the index, and found the following entry under “Man”:

fails to attain perfection, 46; can take advantage of any quality within him, 46; his plot of ground, 46; his use, 52, 56; not to be trusted with too much power, 55; should not be too conscientious, 58; occult relationship between animals and, 75; God in, 79, 86; not looked upon as an animal, 80; gains courage by going much alone, 81; the finished, 89; and woman, distinctive marks of, 109; reliance in the moral constitution of, 124; the infinitude of the private, 151; and men, 217; should compare advantageously with a river, 258.

That’s a poem, right there!

Today, I challenge you to write your own index poem. You could start with found language from an actual index, or you could invent an index, somewhat in the style of this poem by Kell Connor.

Sharp air. Marigold, the scent of the other world, the underworld, on a clear day. Lilac, soft red wheat. She will miss it: The carnal, that char of desire. That bitter register, the marigolds again, the color of cartoon flames. Body heat trapped beneath a worn quilt. I go into the next room and its the same room repeatd, she writes. That's the softness of this world, or all she can know of it. It's as fragile as foam. Where her form ends something else begins in the warm air. or I go into the next room and its the same room repeatd, she writes. It feels like receding, like something sneaking away and then coming right back through a different door. At a certain point a sense of place just assembles from thin air. I am inside my arrival, she writes. And here the phrases begin to fall apart at all points, too tender for our grammar.

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Poem Title : Indexed Doom

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The Devil's Progress: A Poem (1849) by Thomas Kibble Hervey (Author), Editor of the Court Journal

The Devil’s Progress

Title :

The Quakers terrible vision; or, The devils's progress to the City of London:

being a more true and perfect relation of their several meetings, transes, quakings, shakings, roarings, and trembling postures;

the appearing of two strange oracles, with an old love-lock cut off from Satans head;

the manner of putting it in practice, and drawing in of others;

the burning of their fine cloaths, points, and ribbons, which seemed to them like so many hellish hags, and ...;

their several opinions and tenets, holding a community with all mens wives, either sleeping or waking;

their strange doctrine, raptures, and inspirations; and the most hideous actions of all the several sorts of Quakers;

as Catharists, Familists, Enthusiasts, Mentanists, Valencians, & Libertins, the liike [sic] never read, or heard of before, since the memory of man.

The Devil sits in his easy- chair

Sipping his sulphur tea,

And gazing out, with a pensive air,

O'er the broad bitumen sea

The Devil only feared that Earth

So proud in its vice had grown

It would soon be a hell, itself, and choose

A Devil of its own

****

Factions then : Factions now, add Clash of Civilizations.

We’re so good at othering tribes, communities,

Nations.

I read this poem from eighteen forty nine

and wonder

Why Man since then has learnt nothing ; just torn the world

asunder ?

Was Hervey happier than I - Earth till then was not yet

Hell

Only moving that way: now it is hell already ? He was , I can

tell.

Va va vroom

Self-fulfilling prophecy of doom

Damn Huntington

I’m done

( ASA )

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Poet : Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia

Poem 35/ 28th Day

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[avocado-writing]

The one where Tangerine is every dad saying he won’t get a cat, then within a month becomes its best friend.

reblogs appreciated, requests closed while I catch up!

Tagging: @venusthepirate​ @lunarpansexual​ @wanderedaway​ @mushywutty​​

“A cat? I don’t know,” Lemon says, scrunching his face up. 

“Please? You know how lonely I get when you’re not here.”

“Oh, nice to know I can be replaced by a cat, then.”

“That’s not what I mean!”

He knows that’s not what you mean by the teasing smile on his face, but a kiss doesn’t do any harm either. He leans over the back of the sofa to have a look at the webpage you’re scrolling through. It’s your local animal shelter, and dozens of little catty faces stare through the screen at you.

“Oh!” you gasp, clicking on the profile of a ginger tom, “Look at him! And his name is even Thomas - if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”

Thomas comes home with you a week later, after there’s been an inspection to make sure your flat is suitable for him. He’s a very affectionate cat. That first night he stares up at you in betrayal if you move your hand away from scratching his chin in order to get a drink. He only leaves your lap to migrate to Lemon’s, purring loudly as your husband fusses over him.

You’re both in love with him.

The same cannot be said for Tangerine.

“What the fuck is that?”

Thomas miaows, loudly, staring him dead at the eye from his perch on the back of the sofa. 

“What does it look like?” Lemon asks.

“It looks like there’s a fucking cat in my living room.”

“Our living room,” you interject. He frowns.

“I don’t remember being consulted about this.”

“Two-on-once decision, mate,” Lemon says with a shrug. He empties some kibble into the cat bowl and Thomas comes bounding over so fast it makes Tangerine jump.

“Bellend.”

“Tangerine, don’t call my cat a bellend!”

Your brother-in-law harrumphs and storms off. You wish he’d move out, for the love of God. But you knew him and Lemon were a package deal the day you started dating the taller twin. Besides, Thomas isn’t going anywhere now. This is his home for life.

You get up the next morning to find Tangerine is already awake. He’s sitting on the sofa, glaring at the cat from over the top of his book. Thomas is chowing down on breakfast. 

“Did you feed him?” you ask, amazed. Tangerine sniffs.

“Little arsehole was clawing at my door.”

You stare at him, gobsmacked for a moment, until you’re brought to your senses by the sight of Thomas wandering over to jump up on the sofa next to him. Tangerine freezes as your cat walks around in a circle, kneads the seat cushion, and curls up next to his leg.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” Tangerine mumbles, going back to his book.

You don’t. But you do smile to yourself as you make the tea. 

It’s so funny, the way he pretends not to like that cat. Swearing at him at every chance he gets while Thomas just looks back vacantly. Constantly going on about how he wishes he didn’t have ‘that pest’ in his house.

But then there’s the times he tries to hide. Like when the sun catches on his watch and shines on the floor and Thomas pounces on it, there’s a little smile that crosses his face as he does it again and again, getting your cat to pinball all across your home. Or when he’s reading, Thomas will try to climb in his lap along with his book, so Tangerine will roll his eyes but always give in to his demands for attention. 

One day a parcel arrives for Tangerine. He opens it quickly, grinning when he sees what’s inside, and snatches your cat up from where he’s circling around his legs.

When you next see Thomas, he’s sporting a West Ham neckerchief. 

“How fetching,” you say.

“I’ve got no idea what you mean,” Tangerine lies, and goes back to reading.

[lupismaris]

For the requests silver flint Hamilton adopting a cat?

(aahh i loved this thank you!!! it got a bit long so I’ve put most of it under a readmore but I hope you like it!)

Silverflintham in my general modern au.

******

“What’s this?” Silver asked, digging through the grocery bags that now littered the kitchen counter.

Flint was busy sorting through the day’s mail, tortoise shell reading glasses perched on his nose, brow furrowed as he read over a dinner invitation for himself and Thomas.

“What’s what?” he asked, tossing aside the invite and shuffling through bills.

Silver rolled his eyes and slid the stack of high end tins of cat food across the counter until it was in Flint’s line of sight. He knew that if he went down to the first floor he’d find a large bag of high end kibble to match, likely resting by the patio door.

Flint looked up, saw the cans, and snatched them off the counter. “Nothing. Just- for the shelter-“ he muttered as his ears started to burn.

“The shelter you send a check to once a month and whenever they ask?” Silver clarified, perching himself on the edge of the bar as Flint tucked the cans of food in the back of a cupboard. “That shelter?”

Flint scowled at him. “Yes for that shelter, they put out fliers asking for supplies alright? Figured I’d drop some off on my way to work tomorrow,” he snapped. There was very little bite to it, it was rare that Flint ever truly got annoyed with him.

“And it’s not for the slowly growing cat colony you totally aren’t feeding out in the alley each night?” Silver asked in a sweet voice.

He’d known about the stray cats in the neighborhood almost from the beginning of his relationship with Flint, how he’d keep a bag of food at the bar in case any of them came to the kitchen door, how according to Gates he’d managed to trap a few and get them to a rescue. He hadn’t found out about Flint’s unofficial colony of strays, however, until he had moved in. At present Silver guessed it was only a handful, four or five adult cats who were either content being feral or just waiting for the right home.

Flint liked to think he was subtle, that he wasn’t so obviously sneaking out each night before bed to leave food and water in the alley, to make sure the little cat boxes another neighbor had built were in tact. Silver let him believe it, though he couldn’t be sure whether or not Thomas knew about his husband’s unbearably endearing hobby.

Silver laughed softly at the flustered and indignant look on Flint’s face, the flush in his cheeks making his freckles turn ruddy. He reached for his hand. Flint took it without hesitation.

“It’s kitten season,” he said softly, not meeting Silver’s eye, “and that always means a few more strays on the streets. The little ones need different food, more calories so they put on the proper weight. That’s all.”

Of course Flint would be thinking about the kittens. Of course. God Silver had fallen in love with a truly ridiculous, wonderful man.

“I’m only teasing. You’re awful sweet,” he said, pulling Flint in for a kiss. It was enough to soothe Flint’s bristly demeanor, though he was still a bit flustered when he pulled away with a muttered ‘am not.’

Silver hooked his arms around Flint’s middle and tucked his face into his neck, purring slightly when Flint leaned into him and went back to sorting the mail. “You are. Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone. Your husband might though.”

Flint huffed a laughed and kissed Silver’s curls. “Oh without a doubt. Speaking of, he home yet?”

Home, that was still taking some getting used to.

“No but he did say he’d be a bit late today, last minute student meetings or something.” Silver said against Flint’s throat, pausing to mouth a bit at the hinge of his jaw. He could feel the vibration of Flint’s soft rumble of content and he nipped the soft skin below his ear.

“Well dinner won’t take long, I can fridge the duck for now, wait till it’s closer to supper time.” Flint’s voice held a note of mischief to it. “I’m sure we can think of something to entertain us in the mean time.”

Silver smiled against Flint’s throat, lifting his head to kiss him. “Oh I have a few ideas.”

Flint chuckled into the kiss, pulling back despite Silver’s whine of protest. “I’m sure you do. Help me finish the chores, pup, and you can tell me just what kind of ideas you have hm?”

As if Silver could say no to Flint, in his reading glasses and half buttoned shirt, his hair pulled back in a messy bun so the well trimmed undercut was visible.

They got the groceries put away, the ingredients for dinner prepped and stowed in the fridge, the duck legs braising in the oven, and when Silver thought he’d finally be able to get Flint at least to the sofa to make out like twenty year olds, Flint instead asked him to follow him down to the garden.

He took Silver out to see where he left the food for the cats, no longer keeping up the old pretenses that he was keeping it secret. Three of the cats were lingering in the alley when they stepped out of the back gate, a big black bruiser of a cat with a clipped ear and a few scars on his muzzle. He didn’t like silver one bit but he went right up to Flint as if greeting an old and cherished friend. The other two were younger, long haired domestics Silver would’ve guessed.

“Those two are brothers I think,” Flint told him, as the one with a white belly and rusty brown spots came over to inspect Silver, the other with tabby markings watching warily. “They’re new, oddly friendly, which means they likely had a home first.”

“Poor things,” Silver murmured, letting the two cats inspect his hands. He noted that they didn’t have their ears tagged. “Are they much younger than the others?”

“Probably only a year or so old, I’d guess. I was waiting for them to get a bit bigger before trying to take them to a rescue, so they can get fixed and all their shots and stuff. I could trap them rather easily I think but the closest shelter is overwhelmed right now.”

Silver nodded, setting out a bowl of food for them to share. “This explains all those random scratches you keep coming home with,” he said flatly, relishing the way it made Flint laugh.

Half an hour passed and Bruiser, as Silver now called him, trotted off to do whatever it was stray cats did. The brothers were happily playing with each other, tumbling and rough housing down the alley.

“You know, I’m surprised you haven’t just…” Silver mulled over his words as he and Flint went back inside, pulling the garden gate closed behind him. He was too focused on Flint, and his own thoughts, to double check if the latch had caught properly.

“Brought them inside?” Flint offered.

“Yeah. I’ve only just met them and I find myself considering how to convince Thomas we should adopt them. Well, I dunno if Bruiser wants to be adopted but the others-“

Flint shrugged, leading the way up the back stairs to the deck that extended from the back of the kitchen, leaving the glass door cracked a little to let in the cooler evening air. “Between you and me, Bruiser is about a week away from being adopted by the little old lady on the next block. I was seeing him less and less and got worried but it turns out shes got a whole set up for him. I’m sure it won’t be long before she gets him inside and he refuses to leave. The others though… I dunno I guess I’ve always had strays and never an actual cat. We had them back in Padstow, and in Camden, in Manhattan, and even when I was stationed abroad. There were always strays.”

Silver considered him, following Flint into the kitchen and again perching himself on the bar. “You knew how to take care of strays but the concept of being their forever home scared you.”

It took a moment for Flint to reply. Silver watched him roll up his sleeves, tattoos vibrant in the golden hour light that filled the kitchen. He watched as he washed his hands, pulled out the prepared ingredients for the duck sauvage and rabe he was making, and set to work.

“I never felt stable enough to have a pet,” Flint said as he coated the pan in butter. “Not even when Thomas and I were first over in Manhattan, once he’d recovered from the accident, it just- there were too many risks, too many variables. We already had so much on our plate, between his recovery and the bar that any pet we did have wouldn’t get the attention it needed.”

He set the seasoned duck breasts in the pan and let them cook, stepping away to pour them each a glass of negroni from the pitcher he’d made the night before. “I refused to adopt an animal only to risk neglecting it. So, once we moved here I found the local ferals and the people with their own colonies and did what I could.”

Silver nodded, taking the drink and the soft kiss that came with it. “And now? Since you both seemed so settled here?”

Flint smiled fondly at him. “I was too busy making sure I could bring you home for good to think about pets.”

For an asshole, Flint really was an unbelievably sappy romantic.

Silver felt himself blushing, knew he must have been from the way Flint’s smile sharpened a little before stealing another kiss. “I suppose thats fair.”

They looked up at the sound of the front door and sure enough Thomas’ voice echoed down the hall. “I hope you two aren’t fucking without me again.”

“Do blow jobs count?” Silver called back as Flint flicked his ear, the sound of Thomas’ laughter preceding him.

“Whatever you’re cooking smells divine,” Thomas said, joining them in the kitchen. He looked tired, his carefully styled hair a bit ruffled from the wind and his fingers toying with it, his shoulders heavy with a full day of lectures so that he leaned more heavily on his ornate walking stick than he had that morning. Silver watched as he pulled Flint in for a kiss, noting the way his body began to relax and shed the stress.

“It’ll be ready in forty minutes, if you both can stop distracting me,” Flint teased, kissing his husband’s cheek before turning back to the stove. “How was your day?”

Thomas groaned, moving around Flint to greet Sliver with a kiss hello. “Don’t ask me that till I’ve had time to process it. Exam season approaches with it’s usual misery.” Silver managed to steal a few more progressively dirty kisses before Thomas pulled away with a hum. “Hello pet.”

“Evening Professor,” Silver replied sweetly, feeling a thrill at the way Thomas’ blue eyes darkened at the title. “Need some help freshening up before dinner?”

Thomas laughed, though he looked like he might be considering it, and took a sip of Silver’s drink. “No, no, best save that for after dinner. I’m just going to go wash up down the hall.”

Begrudgingly Silver let him go, moving to sit in one of the bar chairs so he could watch Flint cook more comfortably. For short time the kitchen was quiet, save for the sounds of food cooking and Flint occasionally muttering to himself.

Then, suddenly, they heard Thomas’ voice in the hall.

“Oh- oh my goodness hello precious! Oh hello just look at you-“

Flint looked up from the stove top with a frown that Silver returned. They listened a moment long as Thomas cooed and made soft little noises, the kind someone made when talking to a cat, for example.

There was a moment of silent realization as they stared at each other. The glass door to the deck was still open.

“Did you make sure the gate was closed?” Flint asked, already moving to clean his hands.

“In theory?” Silver replied, scrambling off his stool and out into the hall.

Thomas sat against the wall with the white and brown stray in his arms, the cat purring loudly and rubbing himself all over Thomas’ shirt. His brother was sniffing curiously at Thomas’ shoes, though upon seeing Silver, he trotted over to him with his long fluffy tail held high. Silver crouched down as best he could without his prosthetic, holding out his hand to the cat who greeted him happily.

“You didn’t tell me we were adopting kittens!” Thomas said in bewildered delight when Flint finally joined them, the poor man staring at his two partners in equal disbelief.

“Uhm.”

“They were curled up in the parlor! They woke up when I came in a suppose and they followed me over to the bathroom- where did you get them? They’re such angels oh my goodness-”

“It’s a bit of a story, actually.” Silver held back his laughter as the more skittish brother crawled into his lap, Flint’s face growing more and more overwhelmed, and more and more flushed as he watched.

“They’re uhm. Strays.” Flint finally managed to say. “From the neighborhood. I must’ve left the gate open, and the- the deck door was- they must've slipped in while I was cooking-”

“Oh you saint of a man,” Thomas said, getting carefully to his feet with an armful of cat. “Were you feeding them? Of course you were, thats a ridiculous question isn’t it. Have they had their shots? Oh we need to find a vet, schedule a visit. And they need baths, and a groomer too I imagine. Do we have enough food-” his voiced trailed off as he went back to the kitchen to search the cabinets.

Silver looked up at Flint with a fond smile.

“Guess I brought a few extra strays with me, huh?” he asked, holding out a hand so Flint could help him up.

It got him a weak laugh, Flint helping him carefully to his feet and greeting the cat in his arms. “Looks like it. Though I don’t think any of you are strays anymore, what with a home like this and all.”

Silver tried not to think too hard about the way his heart ached at Flint’s words, leaning in for a kiss instead. “Go finish dinner, I’ll help Thomas get these two washed up.”

The cat in his arms lifted his striped shaggy head and nuzzled into Flint’s beard a moment, as if to reassure him and Silver watched as any possible argument Flint might muster vanished in an instant.

“Good thing I bought that extra cat food, huh?”

[hometownrockstar]

my thomas kibble that i eat every day.

[scarletooyoroi]

" who'd have thought you'd be such a softie! "

Too many times, words such as these that were meant in teasing jest could hold a serrated blade of embarrassment. Being away from the laurels of what you’re known for, only to be in a setting that serves as a night and day contrast. For Thoma, no such deal could be found, in fact, her words would be taken with stride as the freshly sliced fowl alongside of some kibble.

Watching the flock of wildlife manage to find sanctum and moreso, a quality meal, leads to a moment where he freely showcases his high spirits. What unravels here is a scenery that allows for Thoma to hold a level of honesty seldom kept with many others in more profession circles. A lack of human complexity, the glory of emotional simplicity, just seeing their joy from the snouts nudging his midsection in recognition to being toppled outright, needless to say, Liyue’s rocking legend would have a clear view to a highlight of the esteemed fixer of Inazuma. In all honesty?

Titles meant not a thing when it comes to his bond with these wonderful creatures.

“Must’ve really been longer then I thought! I hadn’t meant to worry you guys, honest!” The pleas follow, leading to a small bundle of shiba to instantly take refuge upon his lap. A singular cat would dot the position on top of that mop of golden hair, while others satisfied themselves with either chowing down or laying down with a renewed sense of security. To hear that tinge of laughter that edged to a giggle after that note, all attention was upon Xinyan who managed to catch the primary spectacle.

Whereas one could’ve found themselves red in the face. What settles in Thoma’s eyes is a moment of enjoyed reverie. “I wouldn’t have it any other way when it comes to this bundle of troublemakers.”

“There’s no need to be any other way with them. No need to consider their thoughts, not when their feelings are so strong upon their sleeves. I always find that it’s with these guys I often relax when my head feels heavy. They really do know how to just cheer you up with their energy, like you’re the star up in their world.”

“Honest hearts like that.. well, could say I have the softest spot of ‘em all for them.”

@zhuqued