#walnut eating counter

[cottonmouthe]

Foyer Mudroom Large trendy marble floor, beige floor and vaulted ceiling entryway photo with gray walls and a medium wood front door

[daisy-source]

Home Bar - Living Room Mid-sized trendy open concept light wood floor, beige floor and vaulted ceiling living room photo with a bar, gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and no tv

[stormdthecastle]

Seattle Contemporary Entry An illustration of a large, modern entryway with a marble floor, a beige floor, a vaulted ceiling, gray walls, and a medium-sized wood front door

[beta-isaac-lahey]

Living Room Seattle Inspiration for remodeling a mid-sized contemporary open concept living room with a bar, gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace, and no television. The room also has a beige floor and a vaulted ceiling.

[roleplayerstips]

Living Room Seattle Mid-sized trendy open concept light wood floor, beige floor and vaulted ceiling living room photo with a bar, gray walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and no tv

[yxminotenshi]

Home Bar - Living Room

[dear-ao3]

so. as you may know it’s christmas eve. as you probably don’t know i am eastern european. and probably the only real tradition anyone holds onto is christmas eve. normally my great aunt does all the food and very begrudgingly sometimes lets everyone help make like. one thing.

well.

this year. the year of our lord two thousand and twenty four. she decided she was done cooking and it was up to everyone else.

so i got a phone call from my mom a few weeks ago being like hey so. you’re making the cake. got it? good.

the cake in question is a walnut cake. i was entrusted with my great aunts recipe about seven years ago. i’ve made it twice. the first time i fucked up the frosting quantity. the second time i fucked up the eggs. both times were passable at best and notably! my great aunt did not taste either of them.

and i have to make this cake. on christmas eve. it is dessert. for everyone. my extended family will all be eating the cake. the walnut cake. on christmas eve. even my great aunt.

so yesterday, december 23 if you are counting, i went on the annual Last Minute Christmas Food Shopping Trip with my father, watched him climb into the case to get his half and half like he does every year, and stressed about my cake as i made sure i had all of the ingredients.

then. we went to my great aunts house. where i was met with Trial Number 1: The Cognac

this cake has cognac in the frosting. not a big deal really. except for the fact that my mom hates that there is cognac in the frosting. (my mom is hell bent on making christmas eve dinner vaguely healthier. no one else agrees.) and i was to be making the cake in my moms house.

also important to note: we (as in my parents) do not own cognac. mostly because none of us drink.

so my great aunt is like oh i have to give you the cognac. cause she knows. i am baking the cake. the walnut cake. (my dad told her. he is a traitor). and i say okay. sure. this won’t be a problem at all.

so she gives me. a shot of cognac. and when i say a shot. i mean an Entirely Full Shot Glass of Three Hundred Dollar Cognac. in a jar. for the cake. the walnut cake. that i have to make.

upon bringing the cognac home my mom says no we’re not putting that in. the cognac sits on the counter in its jar. no one touches it.

then i was met with Trial Number 2: The Frosting.

this recipe requires a pound of chopped walnuts. first. i couldn’t even find the walnuts. my sister and i searched high and low and in every cabinet we could find but no nuts. i called my mom. and said mom where are the walnuts? and she said. “they’re in the nut bag behind the basement door.”

oh of course. how could i have missed the nut bag? a holiday bag full of bags of nuts that was half hidden by wrapping paper and also behind a door?

in any case. could i have used a food processor? absolutely. did i? no. half because i forgot and half because i didn’t want to accidentally grind the walnuts into a paste. so i enlisted the help of my younger sister to chop the walnuts By Hand while i embarked on the real devil: the frosting.

which remember. is supposed to have cognac.

so i cream my butter. i add my sugar. i’m careful not to over sugar. i taste it a million times. i add my coffee and my vanilla extract (instead of cognac. which is still sitting on the counter) and it was all going so well until. the butter rebelled.

now remember. one time when i made this. seven years ago. i made too little frosting. so i made more this time. and i thought i had all my conversions right but evidently i did not because suddenly there was too much liquid in my frosting and it split.

the frosting for the walnut cake that everyone was going to eat. on christmas eve. the very next day.

i felt like a contestant on great british bake-off getting smited by the tent.

so i did the logical thing and shoved the whole mess into the fridge hoping that it would sort itself out overnight.

then it was time to face Trial Number Three: The Cake Itself.

as i have said this cake is a walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake that has been at christmas eve longer than i have been alive. and it requires no less than ten egg whites. which i whipped and i added to my walnuts and shoved the whole thing into the oven in my two baking dishes.

only to discover no less than 40 minutes later that the batter in the pans was Not Even (despite my best efforts). so i cooked one longer than the other and hoped that i hadn’t monumentally fucked up the walnut cake. like i had the frosting. which was in the fridge. and i was ignoring.

which leads to Trial Number Four: The Egg Yolk Cake

see i had ten egg yolks. i didn’t know what to do with them. my mom said flush them. my dad said make a custard. i proposed making egg nog. my mom said she didn’t want it in the house cause it was too fattening (a blatantly incorrect statement. please, if you are reading this, go drink a glass of eggnog. or some other fun festive drink. food is for the soul.) so i produced a recipe for an egg yolk pound cake. i made it. i still don’t know if it came out good cause i haven’t tasted it. i hope it did. but that was not the point. the point is the walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake.

and the following morning i was met with Trial Number Five: The Frosting Part 2

first i threw my failed frosting back in the mixer and it immediately secreted a brackish combination of vanilla extract and coffee so i did the only thing i could. facetimed my dad and said “father there are problems abound.” and he gave me the fatherly advice of “make it again.”

and so i did.

with more correct measurements. still scared it would split at any second.

though it didn’t.

and i didn’t add the cognac.

maybe no one will be able to tell???

my mom said that if anyone asks the first batch of frosting failed and i had to toss it. this is technically true.

but i had frosting. i had two uneven cakes. and it was time for Trial Number Six: Decorating

decorating cakes is easily in my top ten least favorite activities. decorating the christmas eve walnut cake is easily in my top three least favorite activities. because i am terrible at decorating cakes. and also because it has a filling.

the filling is jam. and i once again made the wrong choice because i put the jam on first before the frosting. which to be fair is what the directions say. but as everyone knows, the directions in recipes you get from your eastern european great aunt are not the real directions. so now i had to smear butter cream. on top of jam. for the filling of the walnut cake. for christmas eve. that we would be eating in a few hours.

and we didn’t have a cake plate. we had a large dish.

i had to use my fingers. i had to use three spatulas. i got jam everywhere. but i did it. and as soon as i set the top cake on top of the filling i realized my monumental mistake: i was supposed to trim down the cakes.

so now they were uneven. and lopsided. and there was nothing i, a mere mortal tasked with the impossible task of making christmas eve walnut cake, could do about it.

so i continued to spread my frosting. which i had enough of. and tried and failed to not get jam everywhere.

in the end it was almost presentable. not great. slightly lopsided. and definitely not as nice as any of my great aunts cakes.

which left me with Trial Number 7: Chilling It

our fridge was being taken up by other important christmas eve things (though not as important as my cake. the walnut cake) so i had to put it in the car. which was fine because there is snow on the ground.

i covered my cake. the walnut cake. in tin foil and hoped i wouldn’t accidentally squish it. and then i went outside. i tried to steal my moms shoes to walk outside. she was not impressed.

“you know, saph,” she said. “some of the time you’re pretty great. the other half of the time you’re really weird.”

i could not agree more.

i put my cake on the trunk. prayed to the cake gods and went inside.

on the one hand if the cake is good, i will be stuck making walnut cake for christmas eve for the rest of my life. on the other hand, if it sucks i will never have to make another one.

Trial Number Eight: The Tasting still waits.

[tumtorture]

A slender fairy, his body as tall as a standing rat, smelled sugar and blueberries on the air and followed the sweet scents to a cottage. He flew through an open window and saw a blueberry pie cooling on the counter.

He wasn’t particularly hungry but he loved pie—especially stolen pie. He pulled back some of the crust and dipped an arm in. It tasted as delicious as it had smelled. He ate blueberries by the armfuls until his stomach began to feel heavy. The pie was too good to stop eating now. Who knew when he would get this chance again?

He continued to stuff his face, trying the lattice-work crust and deciding it was the best crust he had ever tasted. After a little while, a ripple of pain shivered through his now tightly-swollen tummy. He burped and rubbed his grumbling stomach, smearing a circle of blue goo around his bellybutton. His big, overfilled belly throbbed painfully. Rubbing didn’t help at all. In fact, it rather hurt.

“Oohh,” said the fairy. “I have a bad tummy ache.”

He decided he needed to go to his toadstool home and lie down until he felt better. He flapped his wings and barely lifted off the ground. Then he fell right back down, falling in a heap and jarring his belly on the countertop, knocking the wind out of him. He grabbed his aching stomach and hugged it hoping the pain would subside. It didn’t. It only throbbed worse from hitting the counter. A loud moan escaped him.

He didn’t understand why his wings didn’t work. He took a look at his achy belly, and the mystery was solved. It was huge! It jutted out from his lithe frame—a large, swollen mass. He looked like he had swallowed a whole walnut.

He groaned and rubbed his poor tummy. At least no one could see him like this.

The creak of hinges announced someone entering the cottage. The fairy tried to hide behind a large jar of jam, but his stomach was too big. He ran for a potted ivy, but he tripped and landed flat on his heavy, swollen belly. He rolled over, his face squenched up with suffering, hugging his stomach with both arms. A glass, like a round prison, fell over him.

“Ah-ha!” said a man with a long gray beard. “I’ve caught a thief!”

“Please,” said the fairy, “put me out in your garden. I’ll trouble you no more. I promise.” He winced at a particularly bad cramp. “Please, sir, I have a terrible tummy ache.”

The man put his head close to the glass. “That’s certainly a big, fat tummy.” He lifted the glass.

“Thank you. I have quite the tummy ache. If I just go—“

The man plucked the fairy up by his plump belly. The fairy screamed. The man’s big fingers rubbed the fairy’s distended stomach between them, back and forth.

Waves of pain crashed through the fairy’s stomach. Lights dazzled his eyes. “Oohh! My tummy! Stop! Please, stop!”

The man grinned. He pushed the fairy’s back against the wall. He uttered words the fairy recognized as magic but didn’t understand. His arms and legs splayed to the sides. Vines grew from within the wall and lashed around his wrists and ankles. Another wrapped around his throat. It wasn’t as tight as the other bonds, but it kept him posed upright. In the middle of it all, hung his engorged stomach.

Terror overtook the fairy. He squirmed against his bonds, but they held him fast. “Let me go!”

The man, apparently a wizard, chuckled. “I don’t like thieves. Or fairies, for that matter.”

He poked his big pointer finger in the fairy’s bellybutton. It felt like a punch in the gut. “Oof!” Pain rocked through the fairy’s belly. It shook in rippling waves of torture long after the finger disappeared. All he wanted to do was hold his achy stomach, but he couldn’t move.

The man thumped him right in his bellybutton. “Ungh!” The fairy moaned. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “My tummy,” he managed breathlessly. If only he could curl into a ball and cradle his poor tummy.

“Awww. Do you have a stomach ache?”

The fairy whimpered. “Y-yes.”

“Oh. Well, you know what’s good for that? Blueberry pie!”

The fairy looked at the wizard in horror. “No. I can’t eat anymore.”

“If you eat until I tell you to stop, I’ll let you go. If you don’t, I’ll slap you between my hands and feed you to my hog.”

Tears welled in the fairy’s eyes. “I’ll eat,” he promised.

The wizard spooned a bite of pie into his mouth. The spoon was too big for him, so some of it stuck to his face. He ate as best he could. Forcing it down. Trying not to think about how full he already was.

The wizard whispered a spell—words the fairy didn’t recognize. A hunger took hold of him. He gobbled the pie from the spoon, licking his lips whenever the wizard pulled the spoon away to gather more.

Despite his ferocious hunger, his stomach ached and ached. He could barely stand it. His taut stomach’s skin pulled tighter and tighter as his belly swelled. Tremors of pain roiled through his overburdened guts.

“No,” he managed weakly. “My tummy can’t take anymore.” The pain finally outmatched his hunger.

The wizard pursed his lips. He mashed his pointer finger into the fairy’s hard stomach, denting it slightly. The fairy cried out in pain. The wizard gave a small harumph. “Looks like there’s more room to me.”

The fairy, despite his ravenous hunger, began to cry. His stomach hurt so much. He had never had such a terrible tummy ache in his life.

As he ate more and more, his stomach expanded further. It groaned and strained to digest all of the food. Each bite became more of a struggle. His stomach felt so heavy. His skin stretched tight around his distended belly. It wobbled painfully as he struggled to swallow.

The wizard pulled the spoon away and flicked his belly. A massive explosion of pain pulled a groan from deep inside the fairy. “Ungh.”His full stomach swung back and forth, sloshing. The fairy moaned in agony.

The wizard grinned. “Who knew something so small could get so big.”

When the fairy looked down at his stomach, it was unrecognizable. It looked like he had swallowed a chicken egg. It was bigger than the whole rest of his thin little body. A blueberry circle, like a target, marked the center, but there were also bright bruises where the wizard had picked him up. The dark marks around the blueberry stain were also bruises. A red blush revealed where the wizard had just flicked him. No wonder he hurt so much. His poor stomach was so traumatized.

The wizard cast another spell, and the hunger left the fairy. Now there was nothing left but pain. The wizard grabbed the fairy’s abused belly as if he were plucking a plum and said a spell that made the vines disappear. The fairy’s head swam, dizzy with pain.

The wizard carried the fairy to the counter and plopped him down on it. Immediately, the fairy curled up, as best as he could, around his distended, aching stomach. He held it, his hands unable to meet, unable to rub the throbbing middle of his huge belly. He moaned and rolled from side to side. “My tummy. Oohh. My tummy.”

The wizard laughed. “I think I’ll keep you here a while, maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks. I’m going to give you a bad tummy ache every day. Maybe then you’ll never steal again.” As the fairy whimpered, the wizard jabbed his exposed bellybutton with two fingers. His fingertips not only struck the fairy in his bellybutton, but above and below it, hitting the generous curve of the fairy’s belly.

The blow increased the suffering of that achy tummy, causing the fairy’s eyes to bulge with the intensity of his pain. Air puffed through his rounded lips. Lights flashed before his eyes. Darkness embraced him as he lost consciousness, the grumbling of his abused stomach following him into the dark.

[live-laugh-lenney]

Hello! Can you write a story where George or Arthur messes up and they like totally grovel over the reader? I feel like they would beg for forgiveness 😆

ohh, god lord. can you imagine the amount of grovelling?

arthur didn't mean to forget.

he was never a forgetful person; if he knew his plans were going to overrun or if he knew he'd double-booked himself, he would always make it his problem to deal with and sort out.

but with multiple video shoots happening that week that kept him busy, from a sidemen shoot to a podcast recording and then back to his own channel before he partook in a reacts video for someone else on their channel, the planned dinner with her parents had just slipped his mind.

when he walked through the front door of their flat, he was greeted with the laughter and the chatter of company. and it's in that given moment, when he sees her mum's handbag hanging on a coat hook beside her dad's coat, that he knows what he had forgotten. that he knows he messed up... big time.

rounding the corner and stepping foot in the open-plan living space of their flat, he was greeted with the biggest smile from her mum and a welcoming handshake from her dad... lessening the guilt in his belly until he was met with a fake smile and darkened eyes from yn. and the guilt only bubbled more viciously because he knew he couldn't dig himself out of this one easily.

"yn said you'd gotten stuck in a meeting with your work team, lovely. that's such a shame," her mum coos softly and she pulls arthur in for a loving hug that was tight and secure, his own arms enveloping her in a warm hug, "i know you insisted we had this dinner without you but it didn't feel the same."

he swallows back the lump in his throat and the guilt felt even worse. she lied on his behalf and made it out to be an unfortunate accident when, truly, it had simply slipped his mind. the smile on her mum's lips made him want the ground to swallow him whole. his eyes dart over to yn who occupied herself in clearing away the dirtied dessert plates from the tabletop - and he remembered her telling him that morning, before he left, how she was baking a coffee and walnut cake for them all to enjoy that night.

"we'll have to organise another one, i'm so sorry," arthur apologises before helping clean up the table, collecting the empty glasses and the cutlery that yn had left behind, "i'll cook next time since yn did this. it smells delightful."

"we had your favourite dinner, kiddo," her dad informs him and arthur looks at yn as she tries her hardest not to let her emotions get the better of her, "she's a good'un, our yn. even baked us a cake."

"she's the best," arthur smiles at her.

and he was hoping for a slight smile back in his direction to know he was off the hook and they'd talk about the whole evening later on... except he doesn't and all he sees is her jaw clench and tighten, her eyes rolling discreetly, head staying low as she piles everything up on the counter beside the sink.

they said goodbye to her parents soon after with kisses, hugs and handshakes being exchanged as well as a promise of taking an entire day off so he didn't have to miss another meal planned with them. except, deep down, he felt the guilt beginning to eat away at his insides and he knew he was minutes away from being made to feel even worse.

the door closed and before he could get his apology out, she was first to break the silence.

"don't speak to me for the night."

"yn-"

"what did i just say to you?" she sneers at him and he stares at her with sorrow in his eyes, hoping that she would come round and give him the chance to explain everything; from how he felt overworked from a week of non-stop work to how he got confused with the dates to how he wanted to make it up to her for being a forgetful muppet. "don't talk to me. i don't want to talk to you tonight."

"if you let me explain then-"

"it'll just be excuse after excuse coming out of your mouth, arthur."

he follows her around the flat like a lost puppy, scared to lose her but also wanting to plea for his forgiveness and to explain, not with the hopes of being forgiven right away but with the hopes of being understood, because he really and truly never meant to miss out on the evening with her parents. stands beside her as she washes up the dishes in the sink, watching her as if he was waiting for her orders on what she wanted him to do, mind racing as he tried to come up with the most calmest way to explain everything.

"the shoot overran. the taxi for the way home got stuck in the rush-hour traffic on its way to pick us up and we were miles from a tube station," he tries to take the plate from her hand so he could dry it and put it away but she refuses his help, placing it down on the side and swatting his hand away when he tried to pick it up, "by the time it arrived, we'd been waiting an hour for it at the site."

"doesn't help me in understanding why you never showed up. not even a text. i had to lie, arthur. to my parents!"

"i know and i'm sorry you had to do that," he places a hand on the base of her back and uses his thumb to rub gentle circles into the tee on her back, "truthfully, i did forget. okay? i forgot but-"

"i know you forgot," she huffs heavily and moves from his touch, his hand still lingering where it was once placed on her back, "please, just don't come near me. don't touch me. don't talk to me. i'm angry with you so please let me be angry with you."

"i don't want you to be," he frowns.

"then you should have thought of that before you skipped on dinner," she retorts back to him and his shoulders slump in defeat, "i'm just so upset with you."

the whole night was spent apart.

and, truth be told, they hated it.

yn hated how she still wanted to be close to him, even though he had made her feel anger. hiding in the bedroom with her laptop opposed to the television because he had taken refuge on the sofa and chosen a documentary she didn't want to intrude upon. she understood how hectic his schedule could be at times and she understood that, sometimes, he was tired and he needed reminding of things... it was a minor mistake but it had upset her and she needed her feelings to be validated and she wanted him to understand how hurt she felt.

arthur hated how he had made the mistake that lead them to being apart. sleeping on the sofa so she had all the time in the world to feel better and feel angry without him being there to add fuel to the fire. it was forgivable, what he did, but it wasn't forgettable and he knew she'd be upset for a while with the situation.

the next morning, he was awake early.

he ran to the corner shop to grab her some flowers, to grab her a card, to grab ingredients for breakfast so he could surprise her and a little goody-bag of her favourite snacks to show her just how sorry he was for what had happened. deciding on breakfast pancakes, with her favourite fruits and syrup, writing a long-winded message in the card that could explain better than he could if she was looking at him whilst he spoke it verbally.

and when she rose from her slumber, ready to forgive him, he was prepared with a table full of a surprises.

"good morning," he smiles sheepishly and she lets her eyes wander over the pile of pancakes in the middle of the table beside bowls of fruit and bottles of maple-syrup, "i made breakfast."

"you made a feast," she giggles softly, stepping towards the dining table and reaching for the card that he'd leant against a jar of nutella, "what's this?"

"it's my apology. i figured i could write it better than i could say it so," he walks towards her and sets his hands on the back of a chair, pulling it out from under the table and letting her sit down, tucking her underneath before he sat beside her, "i really am so sorry for forgetting our plans."

"it's okay," she pulls the card from the envelope and lets her eyes scan over the paragraph of his writing, her mouth soundless speaking every word he had written on the piece of paper, "i figured you were just stressed and tired. i was never going to stay angry at you."

she squeezes his knee softly and looks at him.

"i made reservations at that new london restaurant you wanted to go to, too. figured we could go with your parents," he informs her and she smiles widely, "it's on me, of course."

"arthur," she hums softly, "you need to fuck up more often."

he rolls his eyes and she giggles softly.

"i don't think so. one time, you might actually leave me and i don't know if i could cope with that," he leans over and presses a kiss to her lips, "i love you and i'm truly sorry."

"i love you too, you muppet." xx

[blueberryarchive]

𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

୨ৎpairing: cowboy!jm x reader x preacher!jk

୨ৎword count: 5k

୨ৎgenre: smut, horror, angst

୨ৎtw: dead dove do not eat, mentions of death and gruesome details (human and animal), blood, mentions of arms and physical violence, cursing, smut (blood drinking and playing, period sex, rope play, degrading, dub-con, groping, penetration)

An Ewe and the Captive Bolt (a serie)

Today was his birthday, and for the first time in 28 years, the sky looked like a sheet full of spots. He felt ever since he saw Sirius and Canopus in the sky as two little white suns the night before, that this year was going to be different.

What Park didn't know was that what would be different was the pain he felt on the left side of his arm and his chest. The hot, thick blood soaked his shoulder and eye until it covered his eyelashes. The battered hat clutched in both dusty hands as he entered Carmen's diner, a child's shame on his tight lips.

The poor girl behind the counter dropped the key lime pie from her hands, creating even more noise in the place (which Jimin didn't appreciate being in such a state).

"Christ." She murmured, still static.

"Be a doll and bring me a glass of water, would ya'?" Jimin crawled to one of the seats, grunting as he felt his muscles burn.

The girl approached with a small towel and a terrified look.

"Never seen blood before?"

"No, sir." Her brown eyes were like two walnuts bouncing between Jimin's face and arms. She was adorable, her face round and her hair so curly that she reminded him of his sheep. If she hadn't been the sheriff's daughter, he said to himself every time he saw her.

"Are you hurt, sir? I can call my daddy and-"

"No need for that, sweetheart." He raised his hand. The last thing he needed was to have Montrell in his affairs. "It ain't my blood, it's my horse's"

Apparently, that seemed to affect the young woman more. Jimin was a little offended by her reaction.

"Why don't you bring me a piece of that delicious key lime pie you had in hand and two coffees."

There were more questions in her curved eyebrows, but she just nodded and walked away. Park took off his shirt, leaving a tank top underneath it, with the handkerchief that he kept in his jeans, he began to wet his hands and his face.

His fingers were still shaking from the adrenaline. The shrill sound of the car's tires driving away, the heated laughter cloistered behind the smoked windows, the last sharp sigh of his horse before Jimin ended his suffering. He had to find the bastards who ran over his horse. FH-6077, he read the plate in the distance before crossing the curve, and his brain couldn't stop humming the six digits like a prayer.

The sudden hand on his shoulder calmed the waters, the undoubtable smell of myrrh and tobacco from his companion.

"Happy birthday, buddy." His voice was gentle. If Jungkook ever went above a couple of those decibels, Jimin assumed he was going to die. Even seeing Park's bloody hat on the table and Park's bloodstained boots, he didn't flinch to ask.

Perhaps it was his ecclesiastical nature that gave him the confidence that at one time or another, others would fill the silence with their confessions. But Jimin could see in the father's noble eyes the desperation for an explanation.

"Sure." That was all he said. The girl approached the table with the pie and the coffee.

"Goodnight, Father John." She smiled widely.

"Night, Billie. How's your dad?"

"He really liked your mass today. I did too, I really liked the reading." Jimin noticed how the corners of Billie's lips twitched, contorting herself to try to look prettier for Father John. So obvious and adorable, but of course, Jeon would give nothing more than a shrug and the most predictable questions.

The difference is that Jungkook could fuck the sheriff's daughter. What father didn't want his daughter to be in the sacred hands of Father John?

Father Jeon (or John due to the Americanization of Jungkook's family) was tall, wide like a log, and robust like an unhorned bull. Attractive in every sense, but bland, shy until it hurts.

"'M glad, tell him I will visit Missus Davis next week."

"Do you have a smoke? I'm dying in here."

They both looked at Jimin who was just smiling with his mouth smeared with whipped cream.

"You can't smoke here, sir."

Jimin winked at her, grabbing the white stick that Jungkook handed him as he also sat down to end the unbearable flirting.

"I know, pumpkin. It'll be a quick one, I promise."

The girl didn't say anything else, and she walked away. Disappointment in her walnut eyes.

"I'll marry her in two months." Said Jungkook.

Jimin frowned. Jungkook curled his fingers, pointing for his friend to come closer and light the tip of the tobacco.

"Marry her? You can barely tolerate the poor girl."

"I love her." The father stated as he nodded slowly while he drank his coffee. "She's a good girl, I think she likes me, too."

"Are ya sure?" Jimin joked.

"Where's that bad hoss you've been riding since last month?"

Jimin's blood warmed again, the drags on his cigarette even longer.

"Fuckin' punks ran over 'im and broke his ribs. Had to do it." He pointed to the gun under his hat. The bloody clothes reminded him how clumsy he sure looked trying to pamper a horse that was already three steps away.

FH-6077.

"I'll find them tomorrow."

"I'll help you."

"What are you gonna do?"

They both looked at each other, the watery, electric current between them. Ideas undulated and braided between their cruel smiles.

"Haven't changed a bit, church boy." Smoke weaved into Jimin's blonde hair, his devilish smile vaporizing memories of his teenage pranks.

Jungkook drank the last of his coffee, his face falling back into the same bitter sadness that every father held as if he carried the weight of all the souls and sins of Rivermouth on his back. The silence was long afterward, the black night extended to the mountains, to the sky, to Park's own reflection in the glass. The round face with pronounced lips and rude, detailed eyes, sweet when they feel like it. The spitting image of his mother.

"I have some hippies coming to the ranch tomorrow."

Jungkook nodded, the pressure in the handle increasing, the clack of the cup being clenched by his teeth in a sip. Jimin knew he shouldn't have mentioned the hippies, but it was that ecclesiastical power. He knew that Jungkook hated the smell of pot, the long hair, and the colorful t-shirts, which reminded him of his father, previous father John.

God knows what Jungkook had to witness, the carbonic stench that emanated from that charred skeleton. The tongue pressed between two pieces of blackish board that used to be teeth. The fetid fat that ripped and curdled in the organs. There was not a day in which the poor man did not think about that before going to sleep and found himself face to face with the featureless face of his father, with the incinerated bowls pointed at the eyes of his son. Sitting in the chair under the cross that has sat on that wall since Jungkook's birth.

And Jungkook cried. He would close his eyes and every night, he would grab the skull and make it crunch under his thick hands. The body did not defend itself, it let its boy vent as if he were a sacred entity and knew that at the same time, the next day and every other day, he would appear again in that chair, and Jungkook would never be able to exhaust his anger against him.

"I have to go." It was the only thing he said leaving a ten dollar bill in the table. Park understood. "Go fetch a new hat from my house tomorrow, it's about time you threw that shit in the river."

"Hey."

Jungkook turned around. Jimin stopped smiling.

"Take it home in the morning, I'll make you breakfast before the rodeo."

Jeon looked at the floor with uneasy eyes.

"We'll see."

As he left the diner, the fresh wind conquered the father's soul. Nostalgia washed away his stony face and for the first time in years, he wanted to be a child again. Disappear with Jimin and sleep in the old hayfields of the abandoned Hillside.

He put on his black hat and started walking down the dark street, both hands in his pockets.

Today the smell of boiling fat was stronger than ever, the ghost of his father floated in the swirls of Rivermouth dust and, with it, the remains of the children who were later taken from that same cabin.

The white lace curtains let in the yellowish light of the first rays. The unmade bed, the smell of pine in the sheets.

In one corner of the bed, Park was dressing for the day, the muscles in his shoulder had swollen with the hours and makeshift cloths covered the open, bloody sores. Every so often, he hissed and swore under his breath.

The coffee began to gurgle in the kitchen as he finished putting on his boots, it was barely 6:30, but he already had the eggs frying and the beans hot in the pot. It seemed strange to him that his companion was not already sitting next to the window, Bible open and the first cigarette of the morning in his hand.

He turned off the stove just in time and poured himself a cup. Today he felt more domestic than ever, he had spent the night fixing every detail in the ranch, from the dust on his late mother's china to the rifles displayed in the hallway. To be frank, he spent the entire night cleaning every corner, maybe detailing every object in every room so that at the end of the weekend nothing would be missing, or the crash made him remember how little he's done in 28 damn years.

A porcelain jewelry box his mother had placed in one of the rooms was covered in a thin layer of gray dust; it was his mother's favorite piece. He hadn't opened it since the last time he stole a couple of pearls to buy his first rifle, the red stained his face with shame, and the only thing he could do as an apology was turn the house over with his own handkerchief and clean even the windows. He was surprised that the smell of lye and soap hadn't killed him.

Hearing one of his sheep bleating, he opened the window and decided to lower his chivalry a bit and smoke his first cigarette before Jungkook arrived. In the distance, he could see one of his ewes, fat and terribly woolly, walking slowly towards the barn. She was pregnant and Jimin knew that there were maybe 24 hours left, her skin was bulging, and her bleating was painful and whiny, she couldn't take it anymore.

The curtain caressed Jimin's face with the wind that was beginning to warm up, he took a drag of the cigarette and turned his body towards the kitchen. He felt a strange itch in his chest, the kind that bothers him when he senses a spirit floating near him. The greenish branches and the smell of sausages were mixed up with the subtle gallop of a skinny horse and the unexpected smell of myrrh.

He walked to the front door and opened it to find Jeon's promised hat. He sighed as he saw that not only was it one of his black deathly-looking hats, but he had also planted him at breakfast, sure to go see the grandmother of his very unexpected but predictable fiancée.

Long story short, Jimin had to eat four cowboys' breakfast and the whole pot of coffee, and the hat he would wear to the rodeo today didn't match his outfit at all. Dozing was the only thing he could do after loosening the buckle on his belt and putting the hat on his face.

The leather furniture was sinking under his body, the soft song of the river in the distance, and the birds pecking at his roof took him back to his childhood. Sleeping wherever he wanted without any purpose. He dreamed of the gallops of his first horse: Champ, a Tennesee Walking that had belonged to his grandfather, black as coal, glistening in the sun of his student days and running like a devil in a hurry. He dreamed that he was in public showing the animal to auction it.

"How do you encourage a horse to move forward, Sage?" A woman in the audience shouted.

"I don't know, kick his ass or something." Heavenly laughter coaxed him out of his lethargy.

His body sat on the furniture before he knew it, sweat covering his back, veins marked on the left side of his face. He ran with the unconscious weight of his body to the window, pushing the curtain aside with his finger until he saw the circular corral where his star horse, Arrow, was located, with a stranger on his back.

His fingers reached for the rifle lying on the rocking chair.

The blonde girl staggered on top of the animal while her thin fingers held his hair tightly. The horse's sleepy eyes moved from side to side, snorting as he searched for direction.

"Come on, horsie!" The girl snapped her teeth and laughed as the horse curved to one side. "Are you seeing, Hunter? It's moving."

Hunter was smiling foolishly, lying on the grass, his thin, wavy hair fluttering around his ears like a delicate flower. The dark glasses covered his wounded deer's eyes.

"You're such a cowgirl, my love." His voice was sarcastic.

And with a shot into the air, silence muted nature. He silenced the current, the clucking of the chickens that fluttered in the distance. Hunter, Sage, and Blondie turned to the cowboy who walked slowly across the grass towards them. A whistle from the stranger caused Arrow to raise his front paws until Blondie fell with a screech to the hard ground.

"Kitty!"

"Woah, cowboy." Jimin's silky voice approached, placing the buttplate of his rifle on his shoulder, aiming directly between Hunter's eyebrows. "Move slowly, ya wouldn't want to scare an alarmed man any further, now would ya?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

Blondie or Kitty or whatever her name was, rolled her red eyes.

"What the hell are you doing on my ranch?"

"Let's go, Hunter. I'm not going to talk to cornman." Sage was the tallest of them all, her shorts squeezed her thighs until they were overflowing, and her hair was long like a beach princess.

"Watch your fucking language around me, missy." Gritted Jimin removing the safety on the rifle.

"Sage, for once do you want to shut the fuck up."

Hunter raised his hands, sweat beginning to gather on his wrinkled forehead. His eyes shone as he heard the heels slowly approaching behind Jimin.

"Love." He exhaled.

"Is this part of southern charm, Mr. Park?" Coquettish, the dying accent of someone who once lived in these parts, daring, too much for her own good. But still, he lowered the gun, spitting on the ground.

When he turned around it was as if a pink burst of glitter and vanilla had slapped him from the stupor of sleep. The glasses were square and large, they covered almost her entire face, that was the first thing Jimin saw.

"Ma'am, are these your friends?"

"We are your visitors, cornman." Jimin ignored the Californian's irritating nasal whine as the sweet girl in front of him approached little by little with a smile. He felt the itch again, the one that senses a spirit floating nearby, this spirit was the nebulous memory of your face.

"Could you speak again, ma'am?"

"Sorry?" You laughed, and it was like birds were chirping in your throat. "You're Ari's son, right? I really liked the jams your grandmother used to make."

And oh, it couldn't be more obvious. It couldn't be more evident, not even because God had exploded your name in the sky. It was the stunning makeup and hair wax, it was the sequined heels and Patsy Cline songs reverberating from the old speakers. It was your name in the newspaper almost every week.

It was your sailor costume, the jam falling from your humiliated face, it was Jimin's hand caressing the bulge in his jeans that same night on top of the hay, imagining how you ate the strawberry jam that his mother made.

Now you called yourself Love, the name was as obvious as you were. Of course, your hippie name is Love.

"Miss Peaches '57." His voice was soft and trembling. Your eyes opened in surprise.

"Gods, I didn't even remember that title." You put your hand on your mouth, dressed as a Hollywood girl but your loving manners were indelible.

"Excuse me, where are my manners? Jimin Park." He raised his hand for you to place in yours, light and trusting. A chaste kiss to the back of your hand without stopping to see your eyes behind the orange glasses.

"You can call me Love."

"A sight to sore eyes, Love."

"Always." You responded. Jimin swallowed hard, trying to hide that nostalgic smile, 'pure in every way. With that same smile, he invited the four to go through their rooms, the tension subsiding fluidly with each laugh that came from your blessed lips.

It was as if you said one thing and the sun came a little closer, deorbiting out to your echoes, warming the room and Jimin's cheeks.

"Can you help me look for my suitcases?" You touched the shoulder of the cowboy who agreed and guided you to the front door. Like the good boy his mother raised, he opened the door for you, and outside stood a Packard Caribbean: long, yellow, and sleek as a sunflower.

"Nice ride."

"Thank you, it's from Hunter's dad. He gave it to him for his birthday. Isn't it a beauty?"

"Beautiful." His nose scrunched watching your stomach bulge down your cute little top, hard nipples contouring the pink fabric. You still were just good enough to eat.

Examining the car little by little, a detail began to emerge in his memory. Among them, glowing in the heat of that morning were the six digits from the night before: FH-6077.

When it came to religion Jimin didn't have many opinions.

As a kid his mother went to church every Sunday and took him. He saw the statues of Jesus suffering with indifferent eyes, he made his first communion only because they promised to give him a sip of wine with the host, he listened to the stories of death and plagues as if they were cartoons. 

God was a very complicated being, the more he thought about him, the heavier his body became.

To his surprise, God was nothing more than a sham, a wall between you and him. The host, that time Jungkook's father offered him, tasted like nothing and the wine went down his young throat tasteless.

"Body of Christ." You said, the music playing crisply on the record player Hunter had brought. The guitars repeated the same riff over and over, he hated it.

Jimin stuck his tongue out where you placed a small square of magazine paper no bigger than a fingernail. Jimin’s eyelashes fluttered, his knees throbbing as he knelt in front of you, your thumb brushing against his lips before sealing them.

"Amen," he sighed.

The host that you offered to his mortal body was as tasteless as the first, but only Jimin knew the euphoria that, like a hurricane's wind, announced the sweet path that awaited the cowboy.

Jimin was not a man who smoked more than five cigarettes a day, seven if it was a bad day. But your siren song in his ear convinced him to drown his morals in your dark waters, your hands took both sides of his tanned face and you threw him without warning to your sanctuary, towards the steepest rocks, to your glorious eyes. And damn, Park could drink the water from your pupils and die of poisoning.

"I missed you so much, I didn't know it until the moment I saw you." His lips said before thinking about it, narrow pupils lying on the grass next to you. You just laughed, it was the only thing you did and he just admired it.

At one point around noon, Jimin took the steering wheel of the Packard. Hunter, Sage, and Kitty were talking about a record, making strange sounds and asking the opinion of Jimin who was driving down the dusty road, making the engine roar so that you would scream next to him.

"Slow down!" You asked. He went faster, he didn't care.

The purring of the car made Jimin's body pulse, his mouth was dry, his arm no longer hurt, and his lips prayed the license plate of the car, over and over again.

I'm going to find it, he told himself. And when I find him I'm going to make them suffer, as the tips of the horse's bones pierced its dark fur, neighing over his own stupid words trying to calm the wounded animal.

Faster, find it.

Like oil, the green branches of summer became watery and greasy in his vision, and the dust was stalactites that bathed the car in yellow.

"Good luck, cowboy." Kitty approached Jimin, somehow he had made it to the rodeo. The horns announced his name on all four corners and people shouted his last name like the idol he was.

Sage and Kitty kissed his cheeks before he climbed on top of Arrow, the weight of his body creating echoes every time he moved.

There was no one in that audience who saw Jimin on his horse who was not surprised by the agility with which the rope rose above his head and created fluid circles to catch the rough calf that writhed with the knot in its thick neck.

Jungkook saw from a distance how the cowboy's smile was so bright, how he rejoiced at the applause and the roses that were thrown at him. His movements were vehement, fiery, and impulsive like a devil without fear of death.

The hat Jungkook had given him had a small, withered pink carnation on it. He stood up as quickly as he could at the end of the show, but before he could talk to him he only saw Arrow galloping thunderously in the distance, one girl was wearing the gifted hat, she grabbed Jimin's waist and with the other, she gave whiskey to the cowboy. The copper thread falls to his chest and settles on his strap.

"The sight of him today was incredible, I had never seen 'im like that." Billie smiled behind Jungkook, her cheeks red, eyes covered with a fine lust that she probably didn't even recognize.

The firmament rose high above his eyes, there was no star that Jimin didn't feel the overwhelming sound of fire burning in his ears. His body was sweating on the grass, and the smell of nicotine was strong after smoking two cigarettes to settle his reverberating body. The high had passed and his body was a used towel.

He doesn't remember much of what happened, but the remnants of the hallucinogen's burn made him understand that he had the damn time of his life. A laugh left his lips, embarrassed by how easy it was to convince him to do that stupid thing. What Jungkook told him was true: you haven't changed at all, cowboy.

"How's my favorite rodeo king?" The angel landed above his head, you were wearing his hat and a flowered dress.

"Roughened up, I guess." Just like after a good fuck.

"Don't get hooked or you'll end up like Hunter." You combed your hair as you walked around him. "He can't last a day without it or else he starts hitting Kitty."

"Why don't you report it?" Jimin stood following your steps. After looking around him for a few seconds, he realized that he was in the rodeo arena, darkness bathed the stadium. The blue moon showed your silhouette walking over the horseshoe tracks.

"Because Kitty doesn't want to, they are going to get married in a few months. He promised to stop doing drugs when they did. It wouldn't be good for a kid."

There was a lightness in the promises the Californians made to others, they nodded seriously, but you could see the consequences in their evasive gaze.

Jimin nodded.

"Are you always so quiet?"

He nodded again, and they both laughed.

"'M better when I'm not ten feet deep in an LSD hangover, I can assure that."

"Yes, but..." Your silhouette approached his body, and you carried the energy of ten bulls on you. Your immortal look, you haven't changed anything. "I asked if you're always this quiet."

Jimin inhaled as he understood your question.

"When I'm in the stadium I'm more vocal." He again evaded the answer you were looking for so much. His chest beat boldly like the time he saw you covered in strawberries and sugar.

"You were a star this afternoon, your eyes were shining."

"Always."

You raised your eyebrow and scoffed. "Sure thing, sir."

Blood surged to Park's neck, his eyelids drooping, his pride tainting his flirtation. Enough of the games.

"Run." He murmured, saliva pooling in his throat.

You frowned with your typical smile.

"What?"

"I asked you to run." His body suddenly lunged and you became alarmed, raising your hands. "As fast and as far from this stadium as you can."

His pupils didn't move, his soft smile was confident. Your skin grew cold with each step, at first slow and suspicious, the darkness of the large arena was intimidating because it felt like you were not moving forward.

You heard how an object created hollow, sharp sounds in the air. It was his lasso.

"No." You muttered, running even faster.

And swoosh, you fell to the ground. The rope squeezed your neck, leaving your body in mid-air, your tongue came out and your eyes bulged from the sudden lack of air; the hat fell away from you. Your body was no longer yours, your stupid fingers tried to loosen the knot, but it was too late.

The boots approached, collecting the rope that was left over around his arm. The silhouette became part of your blurred vision.

"Stand up."

"I. Can't." Your lips emulated as you writhed like a worm in the dust.

"Lemme' help ya'." Jimin snatched the rope for you to stand up, your knees moved up to him where his fingers loosened the knot a little. "Breathe, little girl. We don't want an accident."

Saliva came out of your mouth in streams and fell to the floor. Jimin grabbed your chin and wiped it.

"Don't make a mess now."

"I'm sorry, sir." And now you sounded as helpless and stupid as Hunter did this morning. It was adorable.

You were afraid to look up, your eyes trained on the hat a few meters away from both of you.

"Tell me, pumpkin. How can two ugly sons of bitches like your parents have such a beautiful girl?" He laughed, dragging the rope to where his hat was, you walked behind him with careless steps. With a couple of blows, he blew the dust off his hat and looked at you again, searching for an answer you didn't even know how to articulate or if you should.

His hand wrapped the rope around his fingers until he had you as close as possible, the smell of tobacco hammered your temples, and your eyelids wrinkled to try to wake up. 

Great was the surprise when you felt a pair of dry lips resting on yours, his tongue daringly passed over your lips so that you would open, his moans softening your fear.

His saliva was bitter and lovely, his tongue running flat across the outside of your mouth until it reached your chin and the tip of your nose.

"Let's see, open your mouth, sugar. Don't be shy."

You obeyed as the knot tightened around your neck, moaning as his lips sucked on the tip of your tongue and bit your bottom lip.

"God have mercy." He sighed, squeezing your chin with his hand. "How can you taste so damn sweet."

You moaned as you felt his teeth nibble gently at your neck, his fingers piling the fabric of your dress around his fingers.

“Mm,” you squealed, walking away even when it didn’t suit you. "Can't."

"It's a good thing I didn't ask." Jimin brought you closer, caressing your neck again.

"I'm on my days." Shame sealing your thoughts, in your eyes the hope that just the thought of seeing the blood would disgust him.

Jimin raised his eyebrows and slowly kissed you again, this time with the softness of an apology.

"A cowboy doesn't mind a little dirt." He murmured, touching the soaked towel that covered your underwear, two fingers pushed aside and the burning of your pussy collided with his cold fingers drawing a moan from your hurt throat.

"A good cowboy loves to get dirty." He smiled, removing the two soaked fingers from the red viscosity to put it in his mouth with a frown on his eyebrows. "Mm." He grunted, swallowing slowly.

You were speechless, stupefied. Who was this demon?

"Have you ever ridden a bull before?" His blood-tainted lips said, the idea shocking your senses.

You denied it, and God knows that was the stupidest answer you could give.

The animal began to make a mechanical noise beneath both of them, the leather surface pressed your thighs against the mechanical bull that began to move slowly.

Jimin's bestial eyes did not take off from you, the last of the bottle of whiskey went down his throat in long gulps and pushed the glass into the distance causing a roar.

Your legs were above his defined thighs, the bleeding wound between your legs dirtying his jeans but the cowboy didn't seem to mind. The dress already forgotten outside the stadium playing area.

"We'll go slowly because it's your first time on top." His consideration was so minimal, considering the situation. But you were a woman whose details annihilated your logic.

To the front and sides and then a gentle turn, this is how the animal began. Jimin moved his center with the animal, the bulge in his pants rubbing against your pussy.

One of his hands approached the dripping hole and with four fingers collected the blood until it painted his hand.

“Ah,” he requested, sticking his tongue out and you followed suit. His fingers got smeared on his tongue and cheeks until they reached his neck. With his tongue he passed over his lips, like wine he drank you, like sweet he possessed you and rejoiced.

His tongue entered your space again, the strange and bitter taste of your own blood while with his fingers he removed the zipper of his jeans until he showed that he was not wearing underwear underneath him, his tall and throbbing cock moved under his fist.

"Climb on, doll. You're wet enough for me." He laughed taking your body to sit on top of him. You hugged him as tight as you could as the mechanical animal began to move faster.

"We're going to fall." You whimpered. "Hurts".

"Shh, shh. Let me medicate you, it'll stop hurtin' when I dick you properly." One spank and his fingers squeezed the skin of your ass tightly. "You just have to move with me."

To the front, to the sides, two turns. You just had to keep your legs elevated a little, Jimin's cock sliding smoothly in and out with each movement.

"Now you're getting it. Fuck." Jimin hissed, squeezing your waist with his forearm. "You're quite the cowgirl, Love."

You moaned, pressing your forehead to his. His eyes absorbed every curve, from your breasts to your red-painted thighs. You were an angel, a myth that devours men. Your songs of pleasure echoing on the aluzinc walls.

The animal began to attack, abrupt and deeper.

"Does it hurt?" You asked between moans, watching the fabrics covering Jimin's arm begin to dye again. Jimin denied, cuntdrunk.

You removed the knot of cloth from the wound on Jimin's arm, running your thin fingers over the bleeding muscle. Park hissed, and the walls of your pussy tightened.

More, you wanted more.

Your lips sucked on the sores until you felt the metallic taste in your throat, Jimin pressed your body against yours. One turn, two forwards, three up. Your poor body trembled with the desire for the game to end but your pussy still wanted your walls to expand until Jimin's cock was molded inside you forever.

"If I knew you were such a slut." Park grabbed your hair to pull you away from his arm.

"If I knew cowboys fucked so well." The bloody smile of both of you was devilishly erotic.

The bull stopped suddenly, you looked at the man standing on the other side of you, rifle in hand, hot tears burning his cheeks.

"Jungkook? Jeon!" It was the last thing you heard before you fell face first onto the inflated floor, blood flowing warm and your eyelids falling softly.

[gyllenhaalstories]

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND (PART 2) — BARBARA & RUSTY SABICH

summary: with the help of a sweet neighbour, barbara takes a leap of faith. it is time for her to stop enduring and to start indulging instead, because... when she wakes up next to him in the middle of the night, with her head in her hands, she's nothing more than his wife.

warnings: presumed innocent spoilers, food, cheating, implied age gap, fluff, angst & smut (teasing, masturbation, voyeurism & exhibitionism, mild mommy kink, nipple play, finger sucking, pussy eating, fingering, threesome, cuckholding). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 5050

gifs credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: READ PART 1 HERE. things took a turn... oops. i hope you enjoy giving rusty a taste of his own medicine, because i sure did. thank you again to @sizzlingcloudmentality for your encouragement and your prayers to the gods of smut so i could finish the story. wowie, that's around 9600 words in total. happy pride month i love women! (and rusty). thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"You look so good in that apron, sweetheart." Barbara praised you. She sat on the counter while you both enjoyed the last bites of the food you cooked for her. "It makes me want to take it off."

Your cheeks heated up at the last comment. "I thought you liked it?" Barbara answered your question by saying she liked what was underneath a lot more.

The front door opened. Heavy footsteps disturbed your idyllic dinner with the older woman. "Hello?" Rusty called out from the living room. He looked around, he recognized his wife's cardigan on the couch alongside pieces of clothing he had never seen on her... But he had seen them on his neighbour. You wore them on the morning when he caught Barbara talking to you by the mailbox. He swallowed thickly when he received the sound of giggles and hushes coming from the kitchen as an answer.

"Rusty. You're home early." Barbara spoke before an uncomfortable silence settled in. "Say hi, sweetheart."

"Hi." You smiled faintly at the man who squinted at you as if he could not believe his eyes. You turned around again. You smirked to yourself, thinking that maybe he could see his wife's happiness better if he put on his glasses.

Rusty's eyes switched between his wife's face and the back of your head. His gaze wandered down to your bare back. Only the band of your bra and the ties of the apron covered your skin. The rest was hidden from his view by the kitchen island. "What is going on?"

"She offered to make me dinner. Isn't she so sweet?" Barbara caressed your cheek with the back of her hand. She admired the smile she got in return. "I didn't know you'd be home before we were done." Oh, she knew. Rusty could feel it too. "Is there enough left for him?" You scanned the remaining ingredients and nodded. "Would you be a dear and make some for my husband?" She looked at the man. "You must be so tired from preparing this trial. There's so much at stake."

You sliced the rest of the green apple, chopped more walnuts and you turned on the stove top to heat the pan while you removed the crust of the brie cheese. You intended to make a special grilled cheese sandwich for your special neighbour... Rusty was not that special, at least, not to you. Obediently, you focused on your task and assembled the sandwich.

"No, no, no!... Hold on. What is going on?" Rusty asked again, determined to get to the bottom of the case. "A week ago she was in here and now she's... Here again. Half fucking naked? In my house?"

Barbara corrected him instantly. "Our house." She slid her body off the counter and glanced at you who flipped the sandwich carefully, minding your own business. "I don't remember you asking for my opinion when you were with Carolyn. I don't think I've heard you inquire about whether I was okay or not with you sleeping around with your colleague." The woman crossed her arms against her chest, shielding herself. "I don't owe you anything, Rusty." The words he blurted out were loud, filled with anger and misplaced resentment. Something along the lines of You don't owe me anything? I'm fighting for my life out there.

Poor little thing, you thought to yourself. You placed the toasted sandwich on a plate and used a large knife to cut it diagonally. You then turned around to face Rusty and dropped the plate before him. "Yeah and who's fault is that?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Rusty's eyes burned you with his rage, but he laughed at your audacity. "Who are you to talk to me that way?" You held his gaze. He was not much now either anyway. A demoted attorney about to be thrown in jail to rot for his crimes. That did not hold much power anymore. "Who are you to come into my... our house and bang my wife?"

"Shhh, easy, babygirl." B placed a soft, soothing hand on your exposed shoulder after fixing the bra strap that slipped. She let you know there was no point in you getting worked up that way. "We didn't bang yet." She repeated the word Rusty used with a hint of disgust in her voice. "We were having dinner first. And besides... I wanted it to be special. Now, eat before it gets cold."

You grinned when Rusty plopped down on a stool by the island and reluctantly took a bite of the sandwich. You hoped the sweetness of the honey you drizzled on top of the grilled cheese would counteract his bitterness.

Rusty did not have much of an appetite, but he slowly chewed bite after bite. His heart was racing, his thoughts were racing too. How could he have been so oblivious? He was not oblivious, he was suspicious. How could Barbara have kept this for him? She did not, she made it obvious. Especially with the lingerie and nudes. Why this, why that. Why... You? He narrowed his eyes to scrutinize you. You were beautiful. You seemed nice during your first encounter, he could not say the same about tonight. Most importantly... You brought a certain light in Barbara that he had not seen in years. Her light had been dimmed by his own actions and their severe consequences.

When you came back from the sink after you washed your hands, Barbara gave her husband a show. The food was decadent, but so was the sight before his eyes. She slowly untied the apron and pulled it over your head so that you stood half exposed in front of Rusty. Her soft and gentle hands travelled to your belly that she caressed lovingly. Her fingertips traced the cups of your bra and followed the lingerie up to your shoulders. Goosebumps made the hair perk up on your skin. B locked eyes with her husband when her lips met with the skin of your neck. He shifted on the stool. She placed kisses all over it until Rusty finished his plate. She sucked a hickey on your skin until you moaned her name. "That's my good girl."

You moaned louder when Barbara used these words on you, you heard Rusty sighing too. The big bad wolf that yelled at you was practically turning into a soft little lamb. Your hand reached for Barbara's head and you kept her pressed on your skin so she could suck harder to mark it.

Rusty was drowning in his own confusion about whether or not he should enjoy this moment too. Not that he had much control over the way blood was rushing to his cock, leaving him light headed. Barbara acted with you in ways she stopped acting with him well over a decade ago when the kids came around. It ignited a flame of hope in his mind, but it died as fast as it appeared. He was not the receptacle to all of this attention. The same attention he tried to seek in another woman. Barbara was doing the exact same thing, except in completely different ways. What went around came around.

Satisfied with the state she put the two of you in, Barbra brushed her fingers down your arm until she reached your hand. "It's time for dessert." She led you to the staircase with Rusty following you closely. She climbed the stairs slowly, allowing her thoughts to run wild for a moment. This sent her back to a conversation with Lorraine Hogan when she brought up how much she appreciated her neighbour. Lorraine showed no hesitation in her support for her friend, suggesting that Barbara engaged in an adventure of some sort. A little bit of extramarital revenge sex. Barbara realized that revenge was not the main character in this particular story, other feelings came into play as well. Yes, it felt good to get back at Rusty in ways he knew like the back of his hand, but it felt even better to do something that brought her validation. She felt validated in the ways you responded so easily to her words, her touch, her kisses. She felt validated in the ways you treated her as a priority rather than an option.

You held Barbara's hand all the way up the stairs, not without flinching when you felt Rusty touching you. You had waited for this moment since the first day you watched Barbara from your bedroom windows. You had dreamed of taking things further ever since. You did not imagine it exactly this way, Rusty still seemed like an unwanted drop of ink in the great picture you painted of this moment. Still, you were not going to be picky. Much to your surprise, it was quite easy to go from your voyeuristic fantasy all the way to making your dream come true. Barbara wanted you as much as you wanted her and that, on its own, fuelled your desire in ways you had not experienced yet. Barbara was irresistible and you started to understand she thought the same of you.

So did Rusty. Tempted with a good time, he could only surrender to his lust. How could he not? He had two beautiful women before him. If he could manage to tune out the anger and incomprehension for the night, he could enjoy himself as much as Barbara and you. His hands rested on your hips for a moment, where your clothes met your bare skin. You felt him breathe against the back of your neck when he dragged his hands down, following the curve of your ass.

Barbara now stood in the bedroom she had set up for this adventure. In front of the bed, there was one single chair. There were folded towels on the nightstand. She had planned everything through, knowing you would give in. Knowing Rusty would grant her this wish. It was the least he could do. She was not asking for much, she was not asking him to stop cheating. All Barbara wanted, in this moment, was to do the same thing he had done countless times. She held your face in her hands, stopping you from reaching closer and stealing a kiss from her lips. "How do you feel about this, sweetheart? All good?"

You turned your head slightly to the side. Rusty was right behind you, as if he was in on it. It seemed as though he participated on this plan to give you a night you would not forget, but you knew that was not true. When you nodded at Barbara, she rewarded you with the kiss you so desperately wanted. "All good." She smiled against your lips when she kissed you again. The older woman removed the straps of your bra, starting with the one she fixed earlier, and let them fall down your arms.

Rusty unclasped your bra and discarded of it on the floor. He let his wife do the honours of touching your breasts first. He watched, from behind you, the way Barbara so carefully cupped your tits in her hands as if she was scared to hurt you. As if she was scared to get hurt too. Your first moan echoed in their bedroom when Barbara took one of your nipples in her mouth. Rusty's hand moved up your sides tentatively, Barbara did not stop him. He squeezed your other breast in his hand and played with your nipple, getting it stiff and sensitive for his wife to lick and nibble on.

Barbara glanced up at you. Your head was lolling to the back and resting against her husband's chest from having your nipples played with. She looked around the room. Their bedroom. It felt sacred. So much had happened within these four walls, a lot of good but, as of recent, mostly bad things. She hoped Rusty never brought his mistress up here. What they were doing to you right now felt like a violation of this sacred space, a testament to how Rusty violated Barbara's trust and love with the affair. She had to learn to differentiate. There was no we, since the affair. She was not Rusty. She was different because she shared this moment, she let Rusty in this once in a lifetime experience (at least, that was what Barbara tried to believe it would be). She showed she was capable of honesty, she also showed she was able to stretch that same honesty to her own advantages. The spouses were different and similar all at once.

You got accustomed to Rusty's touch, enjoying the way Barbara still remained in charge. She began to remove your pants, Rusty pulled them down until they pooled around your ankles. She peeled her own clothes off too, holding your lustful gaze while she did so. You made her feel so good in this moment, you tried your best to convey all of your desire despite it not being the first time you saw her naked body. "Please?" You reached your hands towards her and she nodded, granting you permission. You pulled her body against yours for a heated kiss.

He gasped while he watched the scene. From behind, all he could admire was the way his wife's face softened when you caressed her cheek. How her brows raised when you deepened the kiss. How her jaw dropped open to allow your tongue to explore her mouth. He stalled for a moment before he picked his glasses up from his shirt, putting them on. Then he, too, stripped naked.

Barbara's arm reached around you to stop Rusty from taking his black briefs off. Her head pointed to the side, to the chair. "We've been way too kind already." You smirked when Rusty reluctantly walked to the chair. It looked like a punishment, Barbara hoped it felt like one. "That's it, sit there and look pretty for us." She kissed the corner of your mouth before she spoke again. "You've been there for me during those tough times, haven't you? Yeah, you've been the best girl for me." Barbara quickly caught on the shadow of doubt in your eyes while you looked at Rusty. "Don't worry about him, darling. He's done far worse things." She glances bitterly at Rusty. "What?" Rusty opened his mouth to talk back defensively, but she was quicker than him. "It's not like I can get her pregnant anyway. What goes around comes back around, doesn't it?"

When B put it like that, it made you feel better. So much better, in fact, that, when invited to kiss Barbara's neck, you did not lose one more second ruminating over Rusty. It did not take long for Barbara to get so worked up she could not contain her whines. You made her feel so good, so happy. Happier than she had been in a long time. She deserved this, she deserved more.

Rusty sat back against the chair with a sigh. He crossed his hands in front of his crotch, miserably failing at hiding the tent in his underwear. His cock throbbed in its confines. Meanwhile, Barbara climbed on their bed and you joined along. His lips parted open when you positioned yourself between his wife's legs.

Finally. It felt like Barbara and you had waited ages for this moment. Your breath tickled her skin, your touch was so gentle too. You stroked your hands up and down her thighs and searched her face for a sign that she wanted to take a step back. You found no such thing. Her eyes sparkled with lust and she was relieved when she noticed you tried to lay down more comfortably. You peppered kisses down her belly button and lower, lower, lower...

The moan that Barbara let out when your mouth finally touched her pussy sounded heavenly. It made Rusty gasp. It made you crave more of those sweet noises. You lapped at her glistening folds, not yet daring to go further yet. You could only assume she had been wet for you all evening long. You were correct, she had been aching for your tongue for what felt like an eternity. You lifted your head, earning a nod as consent.

Rusty slouched on the chair at the sight of your tongue diving between his wife's pussy lips, flicking it over her clit to pull the softest mewls from her. His left hand rubbed his chin while his right one squeezed on his thigh, making the metal of his ring dig into his skin. He bopped his head along to yours while you licked up and down Barbara's pussy. As if he was doing it with you. He forgot when was the last time he did this to his wife.

Barbara tried to lean on her elbows so she could, much like her husband did, admire your work. You made that increasingly more difficult when you started to suck on her clit, making it that much more sensitive. "You feel so good, baby."

You helped to hook her legs on your shoulders, reaching towards her hands to hold them while B began to grind on your face the same way she did earlier on your thigh. You stuck your tongue out, letting Barbara enjoy herself to the fullest. While you took a breather, you did the same, you enjoyed the moment as much as you could. You raised your head up from its position and smiled at her with lips and chin covered in her wetness. Barbara's hand landed on your head and brought you back down again to finish what you started while she guided you through it.

Barbara called you her pretty girl over and over again, praising you for how you took such good care of her. Rusty palmed at his covered cock, desperately searching for relief. His face contorted in a series of expressions he could not even control, though he fought to keep his eyes open and not miss a second of the action. He grunted obscenely loud, taking in all of the signs of Barbara's imminent orgasm.

Her legs started to close around your head, feet hooked together against your spine. It left you no room to pull away. Small breaths escaped her parted lips, they started quiet but quickly turned into resounding moans that were muffled by the pair of thighs around your ears. For a short moment, she looked at her husband through hazy eyes. He seemed as entranced as she was. B needed to learn how to differentiate herself from her man, but, in this very moment, they were both the same. They were both in awe of you, totally entranced.

The attention got you blushing, you felt it despite being too busy to see it. Eyes closed, mouth and tongue hard at work to take Barbara over the edge of her climax. You knew it started when she tried to tug on your hair harder, when she was telling you to 'stay right there, keep going, don't stop!' You let her ride both your face and her orgasm. Her hand fell from your head, more praise fell from her lips. Barbara was ready to move on, but you were not. You swallowed the mess of spit and juices and then you just kept going. You kept going until you made Barbara writhe under all this stimulation.

Until you made Rusty flinch on his chair, ready to pounce. He settled back when you finally gave Barbara the time to relax and to process the pleasure you gave her. This adorable moment of protectiveness went completely over Barbara's hand while she giggled from the high. He wished she had seen it, he wished she had seen he still had it in him to protect her.

Barbara sat up, taking you along with her but she stopped you halfway with a kiss. You were on your hands and knees for her, while she tasted herself on your lips. She pulled away and held your chin firmly enough to turn your heard towards him. "Do you want him to fuck you?" Rusty's face started to glow with excitement. One word and he was ready to go. "If you want to, I'll share you with my husband." Barbara spoke without an ounce of enthusiasm towards her own suggestion. You took a moment to evaluate the offer presented to you with a grin on your glistening lips. Without saying a word, you turned your head back towards Barbara for another passionate kiss. "Good girl." She spoke against your lips. "That's what I thought. We're being so generous to let him watch, but he can't have it all. Maybe we can let him help..."

Maybe that would be nice... You let Barbara decide. With a nod of approval, Rusty sprung on his feet and walked towards the bed. He had a hand on Barbara's back and one on yours, roaming the exposed skin while you kissed his wife. Satisfied, Barbara crawled on all fours to the head of the bed. She rested her back against the upholstered headboard and opened her legs for you. You crawled, too, assuming she wanted you to taste her again, but she had a different plan in mind. She instructed you to sit on the empty space between her legs with your back pressed to her front.

Rusty finally joined the two of you on the bed. He sat back on his knees and tugged on his cock, it throbbed when he pulled his hand away. His thumbs slipped under the waistband of his briefs but he was stopped by his wife again. She knew he was aching for it, for you. She was not ready to share. She did not want to share.

Barbara easily spread your legs apart with her hands, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She leaned her chin against your shoulder and toyed with the stickiness on your inner thighs. "All for me, sweetheart?" You nodded eagerly. She brought her fingers to her mouth, revelling in the taste of you. Her other hand simply brushed over your pussy, making your hips try to hump it desperately.

You truly were desperate for more. Your hips jerked forward one final time and Barbara granted you what you wanted so badly. She pressed her left hand on your wet cunt, her ring finger pushed between the lips. You placed your hand on hers and made Barbara rub circles against your clit.

Rusty pushed back on your legs as they started to close. He wanted to watch. He wanted Barbara to watch the mess she was making between your legs. The more she rubbed, the more you leaked on the bed sheets. And the more he wanted to taste you. He leaned forward, but, this time, you stopped him.

"Good girl." Barbara praised you for not rewarding Rusty with the pleasure, and the privilege, of eating you out. She reminded her husband that his purpose, in this moment, was to help while she did all the work. B picked up the pace. It made your mind all fuzzy. Her expert fingers found a rhythm and angle that made you struggle to keep your eyes open.

And your legs too. Rusty did his job and kept you in place, spread open for both of them. You slouched on the bed, giving in to the sensations of Barbara's fingers rubbing you just right. It was almost like she studied the way you did it, that one time when you could not stop yourself when you watched from the window. The new position allowed Barbara to push one finger inside of you. The moan you let out drove the spouses insane.

Rusty's hips jerked forward, his body barely resisting to your reactions. He watched his wife's finger disappear inside of you knuckle after knuckle. He wished that was his finger. No. He wished that was his cock. Better. He wished you clenched on his cock so hard he would have to fight to pull out in the same way Barbara did with her finger. "Fuck." He grunted as Barbara pumped a finger inside you faster, her palm slapping against your slick folds.

For an instant, B's eyes left your body to stare at Rusty. The vein on his temple pulsated, his chest heaved and increased in redness. He was on the edge of breaking the rule she set just so he could dive inside of you and have you all to himself. She found his struggle amusing, but her heart pinched at his resistance. He tried. For once, he tried to do the right thing.

"Oh my God! Yes!" You moaned out, your body writhed with ecstasy but remained secured in place under Rusty's hands. Barbara took it as a sign to make you feel even better, in the hope that you would enjoy it as much as she enjoyed your mouth on her. A second finger entered your pussy and you shot your eyes closed.

"Open your eyes." Barbara and Rusty ordered you simultaneously. You had no choice but to obey. Rusty gave you just enough wiggle room to fall further on the bed, sprawled open for them. Barbara met you halfway, hovering you so her hands would not leave your heat. His grip on your thighs was bruising. You could not bear to imagine what it would feel to be fucked by Rusty with the same determination he poured into keeping you exposed for his wife.

Barbara chuckled in admiration at just how tightly you clenched around her two fingers. "I can feel it, sweetheart. You're so close." She kept her impressive coordination, between the circles she rubbed and the back and forths of her fingers. "Oh, I know, baby. I know." She cooed at you, buying herself just a few more seconds inside you. "You're making a mess for me. Look at it, look at that pretty pussy." You glanced down for a second, humming in response. She was not ready to stop just yet, but your adorable pleas that begged her to let you cum won her over. "Let go, let go for me. That's it, baby... That's it. Give it to me." The emphasis on Barbara made you see stars that floated around her beautiful face. "Cum for me."

You let go, giving everything you got to Barbara. The sheer force of your climax took your breath away, keeping you stuck in a moment you did not want to get out of. Your eyes fluttered, a myriad of emotions floated in your wide pupils. This was different than what you imagined in your dreams. You were not too mad about the man's presence, he made it easier for Barbara to please you. This was different, but it felt incredible. So incredible that you would be lying if you said you did not want more. Now or later, you did not care, as long as B granted you the privilege of being in her presence. Whether your clothes were on or off did not matter too much either, all you wanted was her. You would take anything she would give you.

Barbara praised you through it until she felt you relax around her fingers. You even heard Rusty insert a few sinful words. "You looked so fucking beautiful cumming for my wife." The Sabiches shared the same smile, one of pure lust. Rusty's grip loosened around your thighs while he caressed your skin, daring to dip his thumbs in the mess that covered the area. Just this small feeling of you made his cock throb painfully, it had been denied for way too long.

When B pulled her fingers out of you, a gush of wetness dripped down on the bed. The three of you whined at the sight of your messy cunt and of your throbbing clit. "You did so good, sweetheart." Barbra, despite the uncomfortable angle, leaned forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. "You did so good." You thanked her, she thanked you back for this night of bliss. "Do you want to help again?" She asked her husband who nodded frantically, he was ready to accept whatever Barbara would tell him to do. "Clean her up."

Rusty discarded of his glasses, stretching his arm to set them down on his wife's nightstand. He laid down on the bed, much like you did earlier for Barbara. She let him hump the bed, still stuck in his pathetic search for relief. You whimpered when his mouth reached your core. Your back arched, your lips parted open to let out a series of whiny moans. Barbara reminded him to be gentle, that you were precious. She reminded him to take good care of you, or else she would not share with him again. Not a taste of your pussy, not a chaste kiss on your lips, not even a bite of the food you cooked for her. She would indulge in you selfishly... The way Rusty had indulged in his lust all by himself during the affair.

Barbara tested his commitment and, to both her and your surprise, he obliged. Rusty's tongue lapped gently at your puffy folds. Ignoring your pleas about your sensitive skin and skipping the preliminaries to get acquainted with this beautiful part of your body he had been forbidden to touch all night long. He ate you out with restraint, letting out a loud grunt when he swallowed your juices. His purpose was to clean up the mess, the mess he indirectly made through his affair, and he enjoyed the most out of the precious seconds his wife so generously granted him.

Barbara's lips curled into a smirk while leaning forward to tilt Rusty's chin up. He dragged his tongue on his bottom lip, his chin was soaked with your arousal. There was more love in his gaze during this moment than she had seen in a long, long time. It felt as though a dagger stabbed her in the heart. Metaphorically. She pulled it out, and pushed it deep in her husband's chest with her next words. She repeated something he said in therapy recently, a sentence she did not believe until just now. "Now you're helping to salvage this marriage."

[ghostofasecretary]

uuuuuuuugh fine i will "make" "a" "list"

ETA1: it's Friday and this list is getting Used, Babey, so also it looks nothing like it did. cool

more or less done:

- set ideal date for friend hang, send text once plans are possible; (Thurs) text J+A re: Sunday or Monday options (preferably Sunday)

- (Thurs) GET THE BEEPING DOWNSTAIRS TO STOP OH MY F U C K I N G GOD EMAIL MANAGEMENT RIGHT NOW

- (Thurs) do you want that random light you picked up. can you shove it in a closet. you aren't using it so store it

- (Fri) do paid quiz tomorrow

- (Fri) text friend with experience w/medical bullshit re: his thoughts on. the one places' assessment of getting meds filled in state vs. no insurance options (brb crying) (i cannot afford this shit)

- (Fri) send psych a message re: please please please Fill My Meds

- (Fri) ETA1: defrost your frozen potato soup leftovers so you can remove from bag and reheat it for a meal

- (Fri) ETA1: hi maintenance.

- (Fri) miserable. fuck me. anyway tally new purchases + venmo movements. autism also demanded feeding so i guessed at my budget/income/etc also

+ (Fri) fix discrepancies in spreadsheet vs. reality

- (Fri) are you gonna do a short meeting for fun and self fulfillment and your career that also requires work? i mean probably not. but it sounds appealing aside from Oh God, Work

- (Fri) reply to email by, like, 9:30 if possible. 10:30?? okay 1:30. god. fuck me. fuck. DONE, GO ME.

- (Fri) ETA0: if your recent laundry gives you the fucking flush for the third time please just redo it. it's *probably* the cat essence and not your detergent. okay it made my hands flush but not my chest this time so i'm gonna call it as fine because i don't want to do the laundry again.

- (Fri) finish audiobook even tho it got less compelling

- (Fri craft task) finish cowl, finish one end, sew together, Sat: weave in second end

- (Fri food task) make tamarind extract

- (Fri food task) make dal rasam + rice? honestly probably just eat more carbs than normal for a bit

- the upstairs are so much. i would love for it to be. less dirty up there. damn. fuck. i don't want to negotiate with my roommate i just want to BUY A DRYING RACK SO SHE STOPS PUTTING DISHES TO DRY FACE UP ON THE COUNTER IT'S SO ANNOYING. when the other two are here this doesn't happen. why. i'm so annoyed and i would like to use my kitchen and also feel like it is clean. this will probably get sorted Monday? maybe just ignore it?? or i can. put a trash liner in and put some dishes up and make the space more in line with my desires. ok! chill! done on Friday

- Saturday: new soap, do some freaking clothes washing babeyyyyyy. socks, tights, green sweater, oh huh turquoise dress is really stained fuck, coral skirt, slips (leave other sweaters for other days), check other skirts for stains + spot clean?? made one thing worse but Oh Well

- Sat: repair! decorative! pillow case! it's a small thing that will ease your mind and make you happier

- Friday goal: eat lunch (...failed. whoops). succeeded Saturday! also made carrot walnut bread

- eat Sat dinner (reheat! soup! also maybe make some flatbread? idk man. that shit takes time)

- (Sun) Sat: file time sheet after 5pm Friday (to account for no Bonus Work) (time before/after work + however much else it takes to make 2 hours + .25 Quiz Hours) (i can do this anytime before Monday so make it Sat)

- (Sun) ETA2: seriously please acquire new vegetables this is Not Great in terms of. like. Variety

- (Sun) if no produce: go buy produce

- (Sun) shower. please

- (Mon) vacuum

- (Mon) ETA1: oh right LAST GRAD APP. UGHHHHHH. steps? Just Do It?

- ETA2: you have to apply to 4 by MONDAY which means do it SUNDAY and look at it TONIGHT, MAYBE.

- Monday leave standing hang early to do. uh. fucking. more work. it will at least get you money!! or not, it's a Snow Day

- (Mon) ETA1: pay psych bill. ETA2: tried, they said it "timed out" and i should wait at least 15min to see what's up? so. set timer and check back. did check back, check again Sat/today. ETA...3?: just do it

- (Mon) could you hang some art on the damn walls maybe

- (1/6/25) dust

- (1/7/25) repair apron straps

ETA2/Saturday list additions:

- ETA2: you want to do poetry this Friday so you must 1) type edits to t1, 2) type edits to t2, 3) type draft of M, 4) work on M and/or R (1/10/25), 5) do new smooth English translation (your fav song, that one) + send, 6) set + confirm meeting time

timeline:

- ETA2: Sun/Mon prep for teaching, review route, etc

- ETA2: call friend Tues

meds quest:

- actually M already gave advice, call hospital pharmacies. with what energy

feed autism:

- outfits 2024

- outfit spreadsheet?? meh

- nutrition spreadsheet

food:

- make a meal plan for lowest cost highest nutrition no-buy meals with current pantry supplies only. you have a lot of dried beans and some cans and frozen veg to last a few days and frozen blueberries and a thing of tofu and two carrots and a bit of dried fruit and some pumpkin puree and a bunch of nuts and three kinds of flours and oats; probably you can, like, live for a few days without having to buy groceries. but please do go to a food bank/free grocery store/etc. get canned tomatoes and something with vitamin C

- go to free grocery store

- make list of other food banks, you do not need things to be As Dire As Possible to use the resources meant to keep you from falling into the pit, y'know, further

oh god. HOLIDAY CARDS. FUCK ME:

+ write cards, literally only 2

+ add stamps

+ 20 minute round trip you can do this babey

cleaning/maintenance:

- (1/10/24) wash apron + sheets, change sheets over

- (1/7/24) ETA1: fix turquoise hem, how did it get so ragged, sad, this is an Important Garment and must be fixed!!

- clean bathtub

- repair coat pockets + lining hem

- repair main slip

- pj pant hem maintenance (coral hole, grey hem)

- get that jump ring measurement to J for 3d printing please so you can fix that cami

- preventative-ish darning/reinforcement of every canvas bag you own

- hem blue pants so you can fucking. wear them in town in winter lmao

- get rid of your useless polluted yarn please holy fucking shit, maybe someone else will want it, you don't. or try to clean it. but it doesn't need to be in your house if you are not going to fucking use it.

* i feel like i should be clear that i'm pretty fine, financially, as long as i keep working! i'm just. deeply terrified of having less than [set number] of dollars in my savings at any point and also of having to, like, actually pay off my loans. also i lost track of interest in forbearance like an idiot and am. afearéd

* ETA1: also my part time job is tied to the school year so i will need to either a) do more freelancing or b) get a second part time job so i don't starve this summer. and if my life works the way i've wanted it to and i need to move again, i will...not be able to afford the good version of that! so a second job/more income would be REALLY REALLY HELPFUL so that i DON'T FUCKING DIE. ...not that i'm going to. just. Scary!!!

* i am inches from going "i am never going to grad school, i am simply going to get a stable full time job ASAP and never leave even if it kills me" but like. also. i have met me

life is made up of so many small moments. i spent almost an hour talking to my mom mostly about my students and my job and how much i care about what i'm doing. i ate decent food today, albeit at weird hours. i'm so loved. i really hope the money works out okay. i'm gonna try to make it work out.

making lists helps to increase the chances of things working out, you've heard. good luck. i love you. go to bed. good night

[mc-lukanette]

Marinette sat on the couch in her house while Luka was busy in the kitchen preparing popcorn. They hadn't felt like their usual creative sessions that day, so a simple movie would have to do.

Though they did go back and forth for a while on who should be in charge of preparing popcorn, Marinette chuckling recalling their "argument." "But you're the guest!" "And you're letting me in your space." "Guests aren't supposed to be doing anything." "Not in my house. We let guests do what they want, and I want to make the popcorn for you."

She finally relented to him and let him do as he pleased, satisfying popping noises going off behind her like they were the fireworks of his victory.

Granted, it wasn't like there wasn't anything in it for her. There was an akuma that day and she hadn't eaten much as a result, so she spent the time he was preparing eating a handful of nuts.

Not that she really even liked nuts. They were okay - not good, not bad - but her options had gone down ever since she got her miraculous. Chips had gone off the table a long time ago even though she enjoyed them as most did.

"Ugh," she voiced the frustration aloud, "being Ladybug is the worst."

Beyond the popping sound of the popcorn, every other noise stopped; Luka must've heard her.

He raised his voice to be heard over the popping, asking, "Does it have anything to do with what you've been eating?"

She snorted in amusement. Of course he'd notice that my diet changed.

While she'd only known Luka after having become Ladybug, she tried to hide her dieting habits from other people. Luka knowing her secret identity meant that she didn't feel the need to hide it from him anymore, even subconsciously and she just hadn't remembered that she hadn't told him about the dieting aspects until now.

Turning her head to direct her voice towards him more, she confirmed, "Yeah. I used to be able to skip a meal or two if I was in a hurry, but Ladybug can't. There are more akuma now that Hawk Moth is Shadow Moth too."

Luka tapped the counter as he mulled that over, deducing, "So being a hero burns through your energy."

"Exactly, but I can't just eat more food either."

"Because people will notice if you're playing off notes," he finished.

"Yeah. I just need to eat more... nutritiously, I guess." She raised one of the nuts to show him. "Like these; protein and healthy fat."

"Mm," Luka hummed in thought. She could imagine him nodding even if she couldn't see it.

Things went silent from there beyond the occasional sounds from the kitchen and the crunch of Marinette biting into a walnut. She'd already picked out a movie she thought they'd both enjoy, so she could just kick back and wait for Luka.

Eventually, he arrived with two separate bowls of popcorn and set them on the table, though he paused rather than pulling back to join her on the couch. She blinked, curious at the contemplative expression on his face.

"...I can cook," he said suddenly.

"Huh?" She tilted her head, puzzled by the statement. "Oh, I—I know? That's... I always thought it was great that you—"

He hunched over as he choked out a laugh, muffling it with a hand and waving his other hand to reassure her. "Sorry. I..." He straightened, running a hand through his hair before clarifying, "I was asking if I could help."

"...H-huh?" she repeated, somehow more confused than when he told her something she already knew.

He sat down next to her, looking wholly serious. "I'd have to practice and find some recipes, but I could make the kind of food you need." Her averted his gaze, looking up and to his right like he was still thinking it over. "I'll eat too, so you don't have to feel bad about it. It'll give me an excuse to eat well"

Marinette didn't even know what to say; she could only gape at him. Luka had - of course - always been wholly understanding of her role as Ladybug. If anything, he was too understanding, willing to make excuses for her absences without hesitation and always ready to pick up right back where they left off if their one-on-one time was interrupted. She liked to think she knew how to read him by now and he genuinely seemed unbothered by it. She still didn't fully comprehend how he did it all like it was nothing simply because he liked her and they were friends.

Well, she was pretty sure they were friends, anyway: friends who spent a lot of one-on-one time together, friends who shared their deepest secrets with each other, and now potentially friends who ate food together that one of them prepared.

...I have to ask, she thought reluctantly.

"Do you—" She took a breath, then tipped her head back and tossed the remaining nuts in her mouth, chewing and swallowing as if they'd give her courage. Making sure to look him in the eyes, she tried again, "Do you mean... like a date?"

The slight blush that appeared on his face gave her a rough answer. He must've only been thinking about her and making sure she knew that he was getting something out of it by eating the food he'd make for both of them. The romantic implications hadn't even entered his mind.

Still, she waited for him to respond properly, wanting to see what he said.

He shifted in place, looking from her, to the popcorn, to the movie, and finally back at her. When he opened his mouth again, it felt like an eternity until the words actually came out.

"No, but—" He offered a gentle smile her way. "If that's what you want, then..."

He'd trailed off, but she got the message. She just hoped the spontaneous giggle that came out of her didn't sound too giddy.

"W-we could give it a try?" she offered, twirling a strand of her hair and hoping that the coyness might come across. It would've been easy to confess outright, but after all of the relationship failures she'd gone through, it was appealing to try something a little slower even if her endgame goal remained the same.

Luka agreed, his smile widening as he nodded. With that, it was officially agreed upon that it would be a date. Many dates, in fact, if his promise was accurate and he'd start cooking for her regularly.

The only shame, Marinette thought, was that it'd be hard to focus on the movie when she was already imagining her future dinner plans with him.

[alexandor]

My extremely easy (15 minute) apple pie recipe that makes everyone WILD

Ingredients

Granny Smith apples (8-10 fist-sized ones for a 9 inch crust). Or another crunchy apple.

A Graham cracker crust

Brown sugar

Corn starch

Water

Cinnamon

Nutmeg

Optional:

A squeeze of lemon

Melted dark chocolate for the crust

Nuts for the crust. Walnuts or pecans most popular

Method

1. Cut the apples around the size of your last thumb joint, bit smaller

- Many people peel the apples, but that makes the texture mushy, no good crunch.and it proves the pie is homemade!

2. Put them in a pot or pan. No oil needed. Cover the pot, maybe medium heat, ignore her until the green apple peels are all yellow.

3. Mix some corn starch and water.

4. I drain the water from the apples to make the syrup thicker.

5. On low heat, mix in the corn starch, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon, and brown sugar. Taste and see if it needs more. It will need more brown sugar than you think.

6. When it tastes good enough you want to eat like a hog, take it off the heat and pour into the crust

Method CRUST (optional)

Deadass just put stuff on top. Nuts, berries, more graham crackers, whatever.

Mine:

1. Melt dark chocolate. Pour it on top of the pie, and spread it around so it covers the whole pie.

2. Add any nuts on top of the dark chocolate so they stick. Push them in a bit, even

3. Let it sit for at least an hour so the dark chocolate hardens. Just on the counter is fine, but fridge makes it faster. Even better 3 hours.

Ingredients are very flexible

It's a very forgiving food

And taste as you go!

Make to taste!

Edit: People like how it's less sweet than the ones from the stores. Just perfect! And the slight crunch means that they have to hold it in their mouths for longer and taste how delicious it is more!

Edit 2: Oddly, this pie makes people HUNGIER. So it's a good little appetizer!

[punsmaster69]

24/FEB/20XX

flowey squinted at the box directions beside papyrus.

"...what?"

"NOTHING."

flowey stops stirring for a second.

"...Doesn't it say to do these parts separately?"

my brother halts and stares blankly at the directions on the back of the brownie box again.

"mess up a step?"

"WE DID NOT 'MESS IT UP', BROTHER."

papyrus decidedly grabs the box and tossed it over his shoulder into the trashcan.

"WE ARE SIMPLY FREESTYLING!"

"Yeah, who needs pre-dictated instructions?"

"NOT US!! NOT WITH THE GREAT PAPYRUS ON THE KITCHEN!! NYEH HEH!-"

whipping around to look at the box in the trashcan.

"HOW LONG DID IT SAY TO PUT THEM IN FOR?"

"Just pick a number."

as he dumped batter into the glass dish.

"We're 'freestyling' anyway, so it's not like it matters."

then poking dubiously at the particularly dense brownie batter with a rubber spatula.

"IF YOU SAY SO!"

papyrus places the dish in the oven and ponders over the numbers on the stove.

flowey glances at the time on the back of the box in the trash.

"Hey, Papyrus, didn't you say it would take about twenty-five minutes before?"

"ER- DID I? I MEAN- OF COURSE. THAT'S EXACTLY CORRECT, FLOWERY!!"

papyrus sets the stove timer for twenty-five minutes with confidence.

"we got any walnuts? those'd be good to toss on top."

rapidly swinging open cabinets to check, papyrus makes a face.

"DARN. NONE. BUT WORRY NOT! I WILL SIMPLY PURCHASE SOME. BE RIGHT BACK!"

within seconds, he's taken off his apron and ran out the door.

"....."

"welp."

"You know you should have fully expected that he'd fly out of here to fulfill that."

"i mean..."

"yeah."

"why else would i have texted him to grab chips while he's there?"

flowey made a face realizing 𝗵𝗲 should have expected 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

i crouched down to look at the brownies in the oven.

"They're not even close to done yet, idiot. You can't sneak any."

which i wasn't originally going to do, but i then decided on opening the oven and swiping a finger through a corner of the batter and eating it.

just... just utter 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵 from flowey.

"...Wretch."

"retch or wretch?"

"Both. You're awful."

"thanks."

i looked at the pile of ingredients on the counter as i rinsed my hand off and wiped it on my jacket. (to which flowey also made a face.)

half of the ingredients that were out on the counter were definitely non-essential for brownie making.

"Convinced him out of using most of it, don't worry."

"As funny as it would be to watch your brother poison you with box brownies, I wanna be able to actually eat these things too."

"even though you 'freestyled' it up too?"

he contorts his face into something that's probably threatening.

"It's not too late for poisoning."

"well. if you do, i'll just eat the chocolate i asked him to pick up for you."

the evil face drops.

"...You haven't even pulled out your phone."

papyrus bursts from the door under the sink.

"I HAVE THE WALNUTS!!"

he hands me a bag.

"AND YOUR CHIPS."

"thanks bro."

he hands flowey a chocolate bar.

"AND YOUR CHOCOLATE."

flowey's face tells me he's not sure what to be confused about the most.

he gently closed the door behind him and opened the oven to toss a handful of walnuts onto the brownie batter.

i place one where i'd swiped a finger.

"welp. i'll be back in here to mooch in about..."

i don't bother to check how long is left.

"..soon. seeya."

"SEE YOU THEN, BROTHER!"

opening the sink door and closing it behind me, i hear flowey loudly ask if it's

"SOME SORT OF WARP DOOR OR SOMETHING?!"

as i step into my own room.

——

the brownies had the consistency of...

"they're like dense fudge."

"OBVIOUSLY A GOOD THING. THIS IS CLEARLY AS BROWNIES ARE MEANT TO BE."

"the walnuts save- they improve it."

"..NEXT TIME, I THINK..."

"I THINK I'LL PROBABLY. UM."

"FIGURE OUT WHAT.. PERHAPS OCCURRED SLIGHTLY DIFFERENTLY BUT NOT INCORRECTLY FROM HOW THESE WERE MEANT TO BE PREPARED."

[bigolbadblog]

🥞pancake breakfast🥞

a soft, sweet f/f feedist drabble. this one cuts off before it gets too steamy, just bc i'm tired and i wanted to post something on Pancake Day, but i'm hoping to come back to this concept and these characters in the future. hope you enjoy!

It takes careful effort to settle the cast-iron griddle on the stove without making any noise, but it's worth it. To Bianca, at least. She turns the heat medium-high and fights the urge to sing aloud as she turns back to the counter. She pours the wet ingredients into the dry and whisks, just enough to break up the clumps.

The griddle is heating up. She wets her fingers at the kitchen sink and flicks arcs of water over it. The droplets sizzle and steam, and Bianca repeats the test just for fun, enjoying the flick of her long pink nails, the way the water dances on the glossy black iron. Satisfied, she greases the griddle.

And then she's off to the races, ladling batter over the hot griddle, big generous pancakes, little hand-held pancakes, silver dollars and Mickey Mouses and even one shaped- a little lopsidedly, she's not an artist- like a heart. The first batch is plain, but once they're done, she starts getting fancy with it. The next batch gets fresh blueberries, delicately dropped into the cooking pancakes and crowned with another dollop of batter to keep them from sticking when she flips the pancakes over. Then it's banana slices and chopped walnuts, and then she's measuring out miniature chocolate chips when she feels a pair of strong hands on her waist and a soft belly against her back. She yelps, and behind her, there's a familiar laugh.

“Majorrrrr,” Bianca whines, without any real edge. “This was supposed to be breakfast in bed! I've been so sneaky.”

She twists around to face Major, and feels her heart flutter the same way it did when she first saw her walk into that PTA bake sale years ago. Major's short salt-and-pepper hair is a mess, sticking up every which way, and she's still in her pajamas- if you can even call them that. A pair of plaid boxer shorts and a concert t-shirt so thoroughly aged that Bianca's not even sure she could read the band name. It's a chilly mid-February morning, but Major always runs warm. She gives Bianca a smile, and at least for the moment, Bianca runs warm too.

“Not sneaky enough,” Major teases, tapping her nose. “Did you really think I wouldn't sniff you out?”

“Or maybe I just thought you'd be patient?”

“Not a chance. Hey, anything I can do to help cook?”

“Nope. I'm almost done. You can help eat, though.” Bianca nods to the pile of already-made pancakes, sitting heaped on a plate under a sheet of tin foil.

“Oh, pour moi?” Major pretends to notice the plate for the first time. “Quelle surprise!”

“Yeah, yeah. Sit down and eat up. Next batch is chocolate chip.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Major takes the laden plate and sits down at the kitchen table, where Bianca's already set out butter, syrup, and jam. “You sure know how to spoil a woman, don't you?”

Bianca pours the chocolate chips into the remaining batter, then takes a moment to lean back against the kitchen counter and admire Major. She'd had that band shirt since before they even started dating. Back then, it had been a size or two too big. These days… well, that extra size or two gave it a little more longevity than most of Major's pre-Bianca wardrobe. So did the fact that Major had cut the sleeve and neck holes bigger. But Bianca swears she's been noticing Major adjusting that bottom hem a lot more than she used to.

“Yeah,” Bianca smiles, watching Major butter up a pancake, ”I guess I do.”