#Mr. Cacciatore

[boring-person-1312]

I LOVE THIS GUY

Gonna draw some more of these guys later, but this is just a quick little drawing for now

[terrortwinunicorn]

Our First Boy-Girl Party: Part One

Damian's POV

After a delicious dinner of chicken cacciatore made by Y/N, we-Demi, Matt, Y/N, and I-are sitting in the living room. It is another Storytime Tuesday, and Demi has already asked for the story of Angelo's fourteenth birthday party.

"So, you want to hear about the first boy-girl party that Y/N and I attended, huh?" I ask Demi.

She nods. "Yes. But I want to hear about you two practicing too," she smirks.

Y/N laughs lightly. "So we start on Saturday, June twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety-six-the day after I arrived in the Bronx. We knew Ange was having his fourteenth birthday party on July twenty-seventh, nineteen ninety-six, as his birthday is July twenty-second. But since Bruno worked Monday to Friday, it was best that Angelo's birthday was held that Saturday after. Obviously, Luis and I were only thirteen at the time of the party since Angelo is the oldest of the three of us," she began.

"Yes. I actually rode with Bruno to pick up Y/N at the airport," I say.

"Ooooh, start with that. Start with that!" says Demi excitedly.

"Okay. Friday, June twenty-eighth, was a nice day, or it could have been raining; I don't remember, but I do remember riding along with Mr. Ottomano to LaGuardia Airport. I was, as I always was, excited to see Y/N again. We had spent the last three summers becoming best friends, and this year was no different. Now we talked almost nightly after we finished our homework during the school year. Anyway," I sigh before....

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Friday, June 28, 1996.....

"Take it easy, Luis," said Mr. Ottomano.

"But, Mr. Ottomano, I'm excited to see Y/N!" I exclaimed excitedly.

Mr. Ottomano chuckled as he glanced into the rearview mirror at me. "Do you have a crush, Luis?" he asked.

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Demi snorts with laughter. "My God, Bruno had you clocked," she says.

"At thirteen, I obviously did have a massive crush on Y/N, but I obviously wasn't going to admit it either," I say.

Y/N giggles lightly beside me as she looks up at me. "You should have seen me on the plane. Since I was an unaccompanied minor, I had a handler who sat with me. I was literally vibrating, or so she said. She asked what had me that way, and I told her my best friend did. I told her all about you during the hour and a half plane ride. She asked me if I had a crush on you," she boops my nose. "Obviously, I denied it. I said you were just my best friend and that I had missed you because we hadn't seen each other in nearly a year."

"So even the handler knew," smirks Demi.

"Yes," says Y/N, "but back to the story."

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"What?!" I asked. "No. No, sir. Y/N is my best friend, and well, it's been almost a whole year since we have seen each other. Sure, we talk every day, but no, I don't have a crush," I shook my head.

Mr. Ottomano chuckled as his eyes went back to the road. "Okay, Luis. If you say so," he said as he pulled into a parking lot at LaGuardia, as he had to go into the airport to get Y/N since she was an unaccompanied minor and he had to basically sign for her.

As we walked into the airport, I looked around as I followed Mr. Ottomano until we came to a gate and I saw Y/N.

"LUIS!" she squeaked.

"Y/N!" I said as she ran to me and hugged me. I hugged her back as Mr. Ottomano signed some paperwork.

"Okay, kids. Come on, we're meeting everyone else at dinner, including your Pops, Luis," he said.

"Where are we going to dinner, Bruno?" Y/N asked as we held hands while we followed Mr. Ottomano.

"You'll see," he said. "I think you're gonna enjoy it."

"Oh, come on, Bruno. Please," begged Y/N as she let go of my hand and skipped up to Mr. Ottomano, hugging his arm. "Pwease?" She gave him puppy dog eyes, and had it been me, I would have buckled the moment she hit me with the added pout.

"No, the puppy dog eyes and pout aren't going to work on me, kiddo. You're just gonna have to wait," he smiled at her.

"Fine," she pouted as she took my hand again, and I felt my heart thud against my chest.

"Look at it this way Y/N it will be Italian or Puerto Rican," I said with a small shrug.

"That's true," she said.

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"How did you figure that out?" asks Demi.

"When Pops and I went out with the Ottomanos, we normally always went to either Bella Notte or Casita," I explain.

"I loved both restaurants; shame they closed during the pandemic," says Y/N. "The baby definitely would have loved to try the fettuccine alfredo with mmm grilled chicken and spinach," I chuckle as Y/N licks her lips.

"Well, yes, that was your favorite dish from Bella Notte. But what about Casita?" I asked.

"Monfongo, arroz con pollo, tortilla de pollo y queso, tortillas de plátano, umm," she taps her chin. "Ahora el bebé y yo estamos hambrientos, papi. ¿Nos puedes traer un bocadillo?" (Now the baby and I are hungry, Daddy. Can you bring us a snack?)

I chuckle and press a kiss to her forehead. "Si Mami quiere un tentempié, tendrá que bajarse de Papi," I say. (If Mommy wants a snack, she'll have to get off Daddy.)

"Sí, Papi," she says as she sits up.

"Would anyone else like a snack?" I ask.

"No, just get the mami-to-be her snack," smiles Demi.

I quickly got up and pulled a small snack together. We always have fruit in the fridge and some cottage cheese, so I quickly made her a fruit plate and put some cottage cheese on it.

"Here you go, mi amor. A snack for you and the baby," I said, bringing the plate in.

"No pickles?!" she pouts.

I chuckle. "You want pickles with a fruit plate?!" She nods. "Okay, okay," I say. "Let Papi get that for you." I kiss the top of her head before going back to the kitchen to get her some baby pickles. Coming back into the living room with the plate, I say, "Baby pickles added."

"Gracias, Papi," she grins, taking the plate and beginning to eat as if she were condemned.

"Honey, take it easy; we aren't going to take it from you," I say. "I also don't want you to choke either."

"The baby is hungry!" she says between bites.

I chuckle lightly. "Amor, the baby is the size of a peach," I smile.

"And?" she says. Even Demi gives me a look as if to say "And" too.

"Okay. The baby is hungry," I hold up my hands in defeat.

"Pendejo, that was smart of you," Demi says.

"Very. Remember, a happy wife equals a happy life," says Matt. He gets a dirty look from both Y/N and Demi. "And I'm going to shut up now."

"Good, because Luis is going to continue the story," says Demi. "Y/N, pay no attention to these two," she gestures to Matt and me. "Boys are dumb and have no idea what it means to be a girl."

"Oh, I know. Especially a pregnant one," she says, eating a strawberry.

"Fair. Where was I?" I ask.

"You two were with Bruno, heading to dinner with the Ottomanos and Luis's Pops," says Demi, refreshing my memory.

"Ah yes," I say.

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Mr. Ottomano unlocked his van doors and opened the sliding door for Y/N.

"Thank you, Bruno," she said with a smile as she climbed into the van. "Come on, Luis," she said as I climbed into the van and sat beside her. She quickly pecked my cheek.

Mr. Ottomano climbed into the driver's seat as I pulled the sliding door closed, desperately trying to hide the blush making my cheeks warm.

"Everyone buckled?" asked Mr. Ottomano.

"Yes," Y/N and I said at the same time.

Mr. Ottomano drove back to the Bronx and pulled into Bella Notte. Y/N cheered, making Mr. Ottomano and me laugh.

"Told you that you would like it," chuckled Mr. Ottomano.

"I love Bella Notte, but I would've cheered if it was Casita too. Italian and Puerto Rican food are my favorites!" said Y/N as Mr. Ottomano parked beside Pops' car.

Mr. Ottomano shook his head as he got out "You two coming with me?" he asked sticking his head back into the van. We quickly got out of the van following him to the restaurant.

We walked into Bella Notte, and Mrs. Ottomano waved the three of us over.

"Hi, Claudine!" Y/N said cheerfully.

"Hi, Y/N. How was your flight?" she asked as Pops, Salvatore, and Angelo stood while Bruno held Y/N's chair.

"Meh. The same old, same old," Y/N said as I sat beside her. She grinned at me as I grinned back, but I couldn't help but notice the adults exchanging looks. Mrs. Ottomano smirked lightly as she continued to look at the menu.

"Y/N, whatever you want to order, it's on me," said Pops.

"Really, Señor Martínez?" she asked.

"Yes. My treat for your report card. I talked to your parents since you're spending a few days at my house," she nodded, as she was spending the following weekend at my Pops' house, as the Ottomanos were heading to a family reunion on Mrs. Ottomanos' side. "And your parents told me about you making the merit roll."

She blushed lightly. "They really told you that? I guess it's a big deal, especially with my learning disabilities," she said.

"I told you you were smarter than you gave yourself credit for," I said, putting my hand over hers and squeezing it.

"Thanks, Luis. And thank you for helping me with math last summer," she said.

"You're welcome," I winked, making Y/N blush deeply, while Angelo and Bianca giggled as they looked at their menus.

Y/N gulped before grabbing the menu and quickly opening it. I knew she was desperately trying to hide the reddening of her cheeks, as was I, as I quickly grabbed my menu, opening it and hiding it from the table.

I heard the adults snickering, and Salvatore's chuckle filled the air.

"Okay. Okay. Enough now," said Claudine. "Leave the kids alone."

Y/N glanced over at me quickly before looking back at her menu.

"Señor Martínez, is it alright if I get the fettuccine alfredo with chicken and spinach? It also comes with a salad, garlic knots, and a slice of cheesecake for dessert, but it's almost twenty-five dollars?" she said.

"It's okay, Y/N. I did say you could order anything you wanted. Go ahead and order it," he said, offering her a reassuring smile.

She nodded. "Okay. Thank you, sir," she said, closing the menu as the waitress came over to our table.

"May I start you off with a drink?" she asked as she looked at us. "Salvatore Ottomano?"

Salvatore smiled. "Justine Westbrook?" he asked.

The waitress smiled. "Yes. How have you been?" she asked.

"Good, you?" said Justine.

"Good. How has college been?" asked Salvatore.

"Doing well. NYU is a tough school," said Justine.

"The police academy is tough too," said Salvatore.

"Nice. So, what would you all like to drink?" Justine asked.

"Red wine," said Claudine.

"Water with lemon," Y/N and I said together.

After Justine took our drink orders, she left to get them.

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"Baby, let's skip the dinner, okay? And to us finding out that Ange's birthday was a boy-girl party," said Y/N as she snuggled into my side after finishing her snack.

"I was going to. Besides, dinner was uneventful," I said.

"You did sleep over that night," Y/N revealed. "But in Angelo's bedroom, not mine. I always had the guest room. Sally had his own bedroom, Bianca had hers, Angelo had his, and Bruno and Claudine had the primary bedroom. Of course, I had the guest room upstairs. There was also a sleeper sofa in Bruno's study downstairs, so if my parents came for a visit, I would be there, and they had the guest room."

"So at breakfast that next morning," I began.

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We are all sitting around the kitchen table having breakfast. Mrs. Ottomano had made scrambled eggs with chopped ham and cheese, bacon, sausage, and toast-a favorite meal of Y/N's.

"Angelo, do you have the guest list for your party done? I have to get the invitations out by today," said Claudine.

"It's on your desk, Ma. And yes, I made sure it was an equal amount of boys and girls," he said.

"Boys and girls?" asked Y/N. "It's, it's, it's not just family?"

"Ma and Pops are going to be upstairs, cuz. We will be in the basement. It's a boy-girl party," Angelo informed us.

"Oh, so you invite the usual suspects?" I asked.

"Yup," said Angelo, taking a drink of orange juice.

"Oh," I said as I leaned over to Y/N. "Don't worry. Stick by me," I told her.

She nodded. "Thanks, Luis," she said, drinking her juice.

"Oh, and Ma, have you got the DJ?" he asked.

"DJ?!" Y/N and I said.

"Yeah. There's going to be dancing," said Angelo.

"Oh," we said.

Y/N and I looked at each other before looking at Angelo. "What makes you want dancing?" she asked.

"Yeah. It seems more like a me thing," teased Bianca. She's fourteen months younger than Y/N.

"It does," giggled Y/N.

"Well, Ginger Fitzpatrick suggested it," said Angelo, blushing lightly.

"Wait, Ginger Fitzpatrick? Isn't that your best friend? The one who came to Coney Island with us?" asked Y/N.

"That would be the one. Angie has a massive crush on her," said Salvatore.

"I do NOT!" said Angelo incredulously, causing the entire table to snicker. "I wouldn't snicker, Martínez! I know that," I stopped snickering.

"You know what?" Y/N asked, confused.

"He knows nothing," I said, looking at Angelo.

"Sure. I know nothing," said Angelo, eating.

Y/N was confused but shrugged lightly before continuing to eat. I shot Angelo a look that would have killed him had looks killed.

"Kids, once you're done with breakfast, please rinse and put the dishes into the dishwasher," said Claudine. "I'm going to address the invitations, and then, Angelo, you and I will deliver them."

"We can split them. I'll take Bianca, and we can deliver half," said Salvatore. "And Y/N and Luis can join if they want."

"Can I stay here?" asked Y/N. "I would rather sit outside and soak up some sun."

"Yeah. I can't go either," I said. I mean, I could, but I wanted to stay with Y/N. That was if Mrs. Ottomano said yes because Mr. Ottomano had to work, which was rare on Saturdays, but he was finishing up a project. He was an architect.

"Okay. Y/N, if you need anything or feel unsafe, you go directly to the Martinez's. Got me?" said Mrs. Ottomano.

"Loud and clear, Claudine. Thank you," she said, "and thank you for the delicious breakfast."

"You're welcome," Mrs. Ottomano smiled.

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A while later......

Y/N and I sat on my front porch. Pops didn't want Y/N and me being alone over at the Ottomanos, so he had us come sit on the front porch with him.

"So, dancing," said Y/N as she looked at me.

"Yeah. Dancing," I said. "That's something new, huh?"

"I mean, I attended classmates' birthday parties when I was a kid, you know, elementary school, when you invited everyone to your birthday party," she said. "But never a boy-girl party where, you know, chaperones are upstairs."

"Yeah, me either," I laughed nervously. "So, um, do you want to maybe, uh, practice with me?" I asked, but I didn't look at her.

"Umm. Okay," she said quietly.

"Really?" I asked, shocked, my head snapping to look at her.

She turned her head and nodded. "Yeah, and maybe you could save a dance for me at the party," she said so quietly that I barely heard her.

"Of course," I said, equally as quietly.

"Great!" she said, a huge smile on her face. "Especially since I will probably only know you, Angie, and Bianca. I didn't really get to know Ginger that well last year when we went to Coney Island."

I'll probably only want to dance with you anyway, I thought to myself.

"Kids, would you like a drink?" asked Pops.

"Do you have lemonade, Señor Martínez?" asked Y/N.

"I do. Would you like that?" asked Pops.

Y/N nodded. "Yes, please," she said.

"Luis?" asked Pops.

"The same," I said.

Pops disappeared into the house, and I grabbed the small transistor radio from the wicker table beside its matching chair. I turned it on, and it crackled to life. I turned the knob, trying to find a station that was playing music.

"What are you doing?" asked Y/N as she watched me tinker with the small radio.

"Trying to find some music so we can practice dancing," I said, my tongue between my teeth.

Y/N giggles lightly as she puts her hands on mine, sending my pulse racing. "Let me try before you bite the tip of your tongue off," she said softly. I looked at her, and she smiled, making my heart momentarily stop beating. If this is just a crush, I don't know if I want to fall in love, I thought.

She took the transistor radio, and it crackled more as she turned a knob. We jumped as music came blaring out of the small speaker.

"I think we found a station," I said, laughing, as I may have let out a bit of a girly scream when the music came on.

"I think so too," she laughed, setting the radio onto the wicker table.

"Brought a snack too," said Pops as he brought out a tray with a pitcher of lemonade, glasses, and what we soon found out were pretzels and dip.

"Thank you, sir," said Y/N as Pops set the tray onto the wicker coffee table.

"You're welcome," he said. "Oh, you got the radio working."

"Y/N did," I said, beaming at her.

"Even if I did scare us both," she said as we sat on the loveseat to have some lemonade and a small snack.

"I didn't expect it to be so loud," I said as I took a drink of lemonade.

"Me either," said Y/N.

"Was it too quiet?" asked Pops.

"No. Luis and I want to practice dancing because Angie is having a boy-girl party, and, well, there's dancing," Y/N explained.

"Mi hijo. You know how to dance," he said.

"Yeah, I know salsa dancing, not slow dancing. I, I, I don't want to dance on Y/N's feet."

Y/N smiled softly. "If you did, I would understand," she said.

"Thanks," I smiled at her.

"Besides, it might be me who steps on your feet," she said, nudging me with her shoulder.

"It's okay. You weigh practically nothing," I teased.

She smacked my arm. "¡Tirón!" she laughed.

"¿Tirón?" I asked. "Puede que sea un capullo, pero soy tu capullo. Lo he sido desde que tenía diez años. Y siempre lo seré, incluso cuando seamos viejos, ¡como de cuarenta!" (I may be a jerk, but I'm your jerk. I've been since I was ten. And I always will be, even when we're old, like forty!)

Pops smirked lightly as he watched us.

"Let's see what you kids got," said Pops as "She's Like The Wind" by Patrick Swayze featuring Wendy Fraser crackled out of the small radio on the side table.

""You mean dance here?!" Y/N and I asked together.

"Oh no," I said, shaking my head.

"Luis is right. I'm not dancing on the porch!" said Y/N.

"Then how do you two expect to dance at the party in front of others? It's only me," said Pops.

"And everyone else on their front stoop!" I said. "Pops, it's a Saturday afternoon!"

"Okay. Then we go inside, and you show me in the living room. I can help, you know. I may be old," he said, as he was forty at the time, "but I do know how to dance, and I can put on my records."

"I mean," Y/N began, "I mean it's not a bad idea," she shrugged lightly, looking at me.

I sighed. "As long as no one sees us dancing until the party," I said.

Pops stood, grabbing the transistor radio and putting it on the tray before picking it up.

"You two bring in the dishes, and I will set up the living room," Pops said, disappearing into the house.

I turned to look at Y/N. "Okay, I'm sorry in advance if I murder your feet," I said.

"It's okay, and I'm sorry if I murder your feet too," she said.

I laughed as we headed into the house. I looked into the living room, and Pops had pushed the coffee table to the sofa and rolled up the rug, leaving a huge dance space for Y/N and me. He was at his stereo, fiddling with the radio knobs. Oldies music came flooding out of the speakers.

Y/N was softly singing along to the song.

"You know this song?!" I asked as we went into the kitchen.

"Uh huh. It's 'Til I Kissed You' by the Everly Brothers," she said, and without missing a beat, she went back to singing the song.

We put the dishes into the dishwasher before we went into the living room.

Pops stood by the stereo, smiling.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Sure," I said, "at least I think."

Pops chuckled as he turned to his stereo, shutting off the radio and dropping the needle onto the record, and out came...

"Elvis?! Blue Hawaii?!" gasped Y/N.

Pops smiled softly. "Very good. How did you know that?" he asked.

"My mom has this record, and she plays it a lot," she said.

I tapped Y/N on the shoulder, and when she looked at me, I offered her my hand.

She smiled softly and placed her hand into mine. I took her into my arms. I nervously put my other hand on the small of her back as she tentatively placed her hand on my bicep. We stood there, not really sure what to do.

"Move," Pops said gently. We moved awkwardly in one spot. Pops sighed slightly. "You can turn," he explained gently. I nodded and spun so fast that Y/N and I tumbled to the hardwood floor.

"Ouch," said Y/N.

"Oops," I said, standing up quickly and helping Y/N to her feet. "Sorry," I said apologetically.

"It's okay," she said.

Pops came over to make sure the two of us were uninjured.

"Y/N, put your arms around Luis's neck. Luis, put your hands on Y/N's waist," Pops explained. "And I'll change the music-maybe something a little bit more your era."

Y/N and I stood awkwardly as Pops went to the record/stereo player, shutting off Elvis's "Blue Hawaii" and putting on the radio.

Pops played with the radio station, finally finding a station that played '80s and early '90s music. "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You" by Michael Bolton began.

"What do we do?" asked Y/N.

"Sway, I guess?" I said, shrugging.

We began swaying. Y/N stepped forward, closer to me, and put her head on my shoulder. I was about four inches taller than she was, and her head was at the perfect height for laying on my shoulder. I instinctively wrapped my arms securely around her waist. We slowly moved in a circle, letting the music just move us.

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"That song is so sad. How did you two not cry?" asks Demi.

Y/N sniffles lightly before her tears begin. "I, I, I, I never pictured my life without Luis. But, but," I put a finger to her lips.

"And you never will, mi amor," I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead before lifting her chin and pressing a kiss to her lips. "Ahora, mi amor, por favor, seca esos hermosos ojos verdes. Papi siempre estará contigo. Por siempre y para siempre." (Now, my love, please dry those beautiful green eyes. Daddy will always be with you. Forever and ever)

I wrap my arms around Y/N as her tears and sobs slow down. I kiss the top of her head.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make you cry," says Demi.

"Demi, my hormones are all over the place. I cried yesterday because Oreo ate his last treat from a bag. We have two more treat bags, but I still cried because one bag was empty," Y/N says. "Just bear with me. One of you could sneeze and say 'ouch,' and I could cry. I just don't know what can trigger my tears right now."

"As that song played, I was in heaven. I honestly didn't care that the song was a breakup song," I say.

"It's the song Zack and Kelly danced to when she fell for Jeff and Zack and Kelly broke up!" Y/N bursts into tears. "How didn't I remember that?!!!"

I sigh. "Because, honeybee, I didn't either, and I watched Saved By The Bell too," I soothe as I rub her back. "Now come on, take it easy before you give yourself the hiccups. Breathe with me," I help Y/N with a breathing exercise her therapist taught her. "There we go," I smile as she calms down. "The next song that played was our song, 'Dreaming of You' by Selena Quintanilla. Little did either one of us know it would play a significant role in our lives and become our wedding song. But," Y/N smiles at me, and I press a kiss to her lips, "it did."

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"You two are doing nicely," said Pops from his armchair as "Dreaming of You" began. Selena was one of my favorite singers. Y/N looked at me.

"Should we continue dancing?" she asked.

I nodded. "This is one of my favorite songs," I admitted, "and I would love to dance with you."

She laid her head back on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around her waist, holding her close, and we began swaying.

All of a sudden, it seemed as if everything around us melted away, and it was only the two of us in the entire world. I looked down at her and sighed softly. This felt right. I didn't know what falling in love was, but if this was what it was like, it was awesome.

Y/N lifted her head and looked at me. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Your heart is beating a million miles a minute."

I laughed lightly. "Just a bit nervous, Squish. I've never been this close to anyone like this, both physically and emotionally," I said. "You're my best friend, Squish. I, uh," I fought to figure out what to say.

She smiled at me. "No te preocupes, Pookie," she said, pressing a kiss to my cheek as "Material Girl" by Madonna began. Y/N giggled as she started singing, and we began dancing around the living room.

Pops chuckled from his armchair as he watched us laughing and dancing around the living room.

"You two feel better about slow dancing now?" he asked, "as it seems you two have no troubles with fast songs."

"Probably still practice until we know we won't step on each other's toes," I said as "Heaven Is a Place on Earth" by Belinda Carlisle filled the house while Y/N giggled and sang along.

"Probably a good idea since the first song we barely moved and the second song was us swaying and slightly moving," Y/N said as "How Will I Know" by Whitney Houston began. Y/N started bouncing around and singing before grabbing my hands and had me bouncing around too. Before too long, she had me singing along too.

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"And we didn't realize that Pops was recording us. He had slipped from his chair and got the camcorder," Y/N laughs. "I literally still have the video of it that he gave my parents of our impromptu concert."

"I actually have it on DVD. Pops converted most of the home movies to DVD a couple of years ago," I laugh. Demi's eyes flash with glee. "One second," I say. I get up and find the DVD. Pops had made labels. This one was Summer 1996 - Luis and Y/N singing and dancing. "Okay, so who wants to watch?"

Y/N smiles and raises her hand. So does Demi, and Matt smiles before raising his hand. I laugh, raising my hand.

"The story will be continued next Storytime Tuesday," I say, popping the DVD into the player. "For now, I present the 80s concert by Y/N and yours truly." I start the DVD.

The DVD begins as Y/N sings "If I Could Turn Back Time" by Cher. I quickly sit beside Y/N as she snuggles into me, placing a hand on my stomach.

"I forgot how fun that was," Y/N giggles lightly.

"Me too," I say.

"Look how young you two were," says Demi. "And look how the two of you look at each other!"

I tilt my head slightly; it is true we both look at each other slightly starry-eyed. Me more so as Y/N sings "9 to 5" by Dolly Parton, her giggle filling me with a warm feeling.

Y/N smiles up at me as I lean in and kiss her lips. I caress her cheek with the side of my thumb.

"I think we got a bit sidetracked," I whisper to Y/N.

"Me too," she whispers lightly. "But that's okay."

We did get a bit sidetracked with this, but we would pick up next Tuesday at the Adams'.

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[agoodsongeveryday]

Day One Thousand One Hundred and Eighty

Sergeant O'Leary is walkin' the beat At night he becomes a bartender He works at Mr. Cacciatore's Down on Sullivan Street Across from the medical center Yeah, and he's tradin' in his Chevy For a Cadillac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac You oughta know by now (You oughta know by now) And if he can't drive with a broken back At least he can polish the fenders

[pearlofthepitt]

Named Characters from Billy Joel Songs

Josephine, Rosalinda (x2), Eliza, Judy, Billy the Kid, Captain Jack, John, Paul, Davy, Bill, Roberta, James, Bobby, Johnny, Brenda and Eddie, Virginia, Anthony, Mama Leoni, Sgt. O'Leary, Mr. Cacciatore, Little Gio, Leyna, Diane, Laura, Charlie, Baker, Victor, The Downeaster "Alexa", Christie Lee, Joe, George Young (You're Only Human Music Video),

With special assistance from @thebreakfastgenie

[nursingwriter]

A 65-year-old female with pneumonia CHIEF COMPLAINT: A 3-day long fever accompanied by a persistent cough HISTORY: The patient's name is Mrs. Alcot, a sixty-five-year-old woman with a complaint of persistent fever and cough. The patient stated that the illness started three days ago after waking up. A feverish feeling and the ejection of yellowish-green phlegm from the mouth during coughing fits were the symptoms reported at the onset of illness. The symptoms of the illness have since worsened as time passed. A notification was also given a recurring pain in the right chest whenever a deep breath is taken. The patient's husband was reported by the patient to have been ill with similar but milder symptoms a week ago. PHYSICAL EXAMINATION: Vital Signs: BP 128/86, HR 101 (regular), RR 18, T 37.4°C GEN: Slight increase in breathing speed; no discomfort is expressed Working Diagnosis: Community-acquired pneumonia (CAP) Tobacco use disorder Pathophysiology: Community-acquired pneumonia (CAP) is considered to be the most common type of pneumonia. In approximately 85% of CAP cases, the causative agent is one of the three pathogens: Streptococcus pneumoniae, Haemophilus influenzae, or Moraxella catarrhalis. CAP is contracted by assimilating the pathogen into the body through inhalation. The pathogen inhaled is transmitted through the respiratory system to a lung segment or lobe. The elderly and individuals with compromised immune systems bear high risks of contracting CAP, with CAP's mortality rate being particularly higher among such vulnerable infected (Cacciatore et al., 2017). Treatment Plan: The patient's low CURB-65 score led to the decision to treat the patient as an outpatient. The Pneumonia Severity Index (PSI) was not calculated for the patient as no Arterial Blood Gases (ABGs) were available. Pharmacologic basic concepts: - Antibiotics are to be used for the patient's treatment for at least five days. - The antibiotic treatment should not be stopped until the patient's fever subsides and does not return for at least 48 to 72 hours. - The most widespread causative agents of CAP are the pathogens, S. pneumonia, Mycoplasma pneumonia, and H. influenza. - A change of treatment plan may be required if the patient's history, clinical findings, and epidemiology necessitates it. Nonpharmacologic: - The patients should stay hydrated by drinking fluids. - The patient should take deep breaths and cough hourly. - Humidifiers should be used to moisten the air. - The patient should get plenty of rest. - Acetaminophen, ibuprofen, or naproxen is to be taken to relieve pain and fever. Education/Counselling - The importance of the completion of the antibiotic prescription is to be impressed upon the patient. The application of the antibiotics should not cease even if the symptoms disappear. - The patient is informed to report back if new symptoms develop or extant symptoms worsen. The worsening symptoms can manifest as shortness of breath, growing chest pain, or blood-tinged mucus' expulsion. - The patient is to have a repeat chest x-ray in 6 months to determine if the pneumonia is caused by underlying mass. The risk of an underlying mass exists as the patient has a history of smoking. SOAP Note S: The patient, Mrs. Alcot, is a 65-year-old female reporting a fever and persistent cough, which causes the expulsion of yellowish-green sputum. The patient indicated that the symptoms appeared three days prior and have worsened since then. The patient denied any other symptoms such as shortness of breath (SOB), palpitations, dyspnea on exertion (DOE), lightheadedness, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain, and headaches. The patient reports experiencing pain in the right chest whenever a deep breath is taken. The patient can consume fluids with no difficulty, but the patient suffers from a lack of appetite. The patient is a smoker and smokes a pack of cigarettes daily. The patient does not consume alcohol. The patient reported similar, albeit milder symptoms in the husband a week prior; the symptoms were reported to subside without treatment. The patient has not used any antibiotics in recent years. The patient's medical record is significant for arthritis and hypertension (HTN). The patient received an influenza vaccine earlier this year but received no pneumococcal vaccine. O: Vital Signs: T 37.4°C, BP 128/86, RR 18, HR 101 (regular), pulse oximetry 98% GEN: Exhibits mild tachypnea, but no discomfort is reported Skin: Warm, dry, and firm HEENT (Heart, eyes, ears, nose, and throat): No tenderness of the sinus. PERRLA, EOMs intact. Normal fundoscopic exam. TMS normal, slight reddening of the turbinates, but no discharge. No exudation from the pharynx, cobblestoning, or enlargement. Neck: Supple, no enlargement of the thyroid, JVD (jugular vein distention), or carotid bruits. No lymphadenopathy. Cardiovascular (CV): Regular rate and rhythm (RRR) without murmurs, rubs, or gallops. Resp: No difficulty in breathing, lowered audible breath, dullness to percussion, and increased tactile fremitus in the right lower lobe (RLL). Mild crackles in the RLL without wheezes or egophony. Abdomen: Soft, non-tender, good bowel sounds, no organomegaly. Extremities: DP and PT pulses +2, trace pedal edema. Mental Status: Awake and oriented x 3 Labs: CBC (WBC = 14,900, neutrophils = 87%, platelets =310,000/uL, Hgb = 16, Het = 48) BMP (Na = 137, K= 4.1, BUN = 15, Cr= 1.0, BG = 148) CXR: Consolidation of the right mid lobe. No pleural effusion noted CURB-65 Pneumonia Severity Score = 1 point (age) low risk A: CAP: Clinically stable HTN: At JNC (Joint National Committee) 8 goals Tobacco use: No desire to desist from use is expressed. P: CAP: Azithromycin 500 mg daily x 3 days. Explained the need to complete usage of the prescription even if symptoms disappear. Drink fluids, rest, take deep breaths and cough hourly, use a humidifier. May use acetaminophen for fever or pain. A pneumococcal vaccine was administered to the patient today. Rationale The occurrence of community-acquired pneumonia (CAP) is elevated in persons over 65 years of age, with the infected cases ranging between 25 to 35 per 1000 inhabitants/year in the population. CAP bears a considerable risk to life, and an infection can necessitate emergency medical care and admission to a hospital. The risk of CAP infection to the elderly is attributed to the series of physiological changes resulting from the aging process. The complexities introduced by the advanced age of elderly subjects increases the amount of medical attention required. There is a greater number of complementary tests needed. There is a greater possibility of complication during treatment, the hospital stay may be prolonged, and the likelihood of hospital admission is higher than that of the younger subjects (Linares et al., 2014). In 2010, 878,000 adults 45 and over were hospitalized with a primary diagnosis of CAP. 71% of the hospitalized adults were 65 years or older, and admission to the intensive care unit (ICU) was required for 10 to 20% of admitted elderly patients. Infections due to pneumococcal pneumonia alone accounted for 866,000 outpatient visits in the year 2004. An annual cost of $10.6 to $17 billion is spent providing CAP-associated health care in the United States. These numbers are anticipated to grow in subsequent years as the number of elderly increases (Kaysin & Viera, 2016). Key concepts and viewpoints Antibiotics are usually recommended to treat bacterial pneumonia, while viral pneumonia is treated with antiviral medicine. As a supplement to medication, a patient might receive pain relief, fluids, oxygen, or medical support prescribed by a doctor. To determine if a patient is to be hospitalized, the following criteria are considered: 1. If the patient possesses high-risk features - Respiratory rate > 30 - Pulse rate > 90 - Temperature < 35.6°C or > 38.1°C - Oxygen saturation ? 92% breathing room air - Feeding tube present (unless prior directive on the end of life pneumonia) 2. If the patient cannot be afforded adequate medical care at the place of residence. This could be due to financial, physical, or social incapability to receive appropriate medical treatment (Linares et al., 2014). If any doubt exists about a patient's success if treated as an outpatient, it is usually prudent to admit the patient. In securing a better patient outcome, early recognition of patients' symptoms is significantly advantageous for providing early treatment. The first-line therapy recommended for patients may vary due to management, be it a nursing home, the hospital, or the patient's place of residence. The treatment for severe cases is the same for patients regardless of the management site (Linares et al., 2014). Soundness of research The elderly are highly susceptible to pneumonia, with a high rate of morbidity and mortality. The difficulty of diagnosis of pneumonia in the elderly is serious as the symptoms exhibited might be atypical. Early recognition and highly reliable laboratory and clinical findings will improve the outcome of pneumonia treatment in the elder and reduce morbidity and mortality. A history of dyspnea suggests CAP's diagnosis, cough, pleuritic pain, acute functional or cognitive decline with irregular vital signs (e.g., fever, fast breathing), and abnormal lung examination findings. Chest radiography and ultrasonography are two ways of confirming a CAP diagnosis. A patient's Pneumonia Severity Index (PSI) score indicates the most suitable treatment therapy, either outpatient or inpatient therapy. Patients undergoing outpatient therapy for CAP do not require microbiological testing of sputum or blood and can be treated with macrolide, doxycycline, or a respiratory fluoroquinolone. Hospitalized patients (inpatient therapy) should receive fluoroquinolone or a combination of beta-lactam plus macrolide antibiotics. Patients admitted into the intensive care unit due to severe infection should be treated with dual antibiotic therapy with a third-generation cephalosporin and a macrolide alone or in combination with a respiratory fluoroquinolone. The treatment for Pseudomonas species infections requires the administration of an antipseudomonal antibiotic and an aminoglycoside, plus azithromycin or a fluoroquinolone. Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus infections should be treated with an administration of vancomycin or linezolid, or ceftaroline should be used for resistant cases. Corticosteroids are to be administered to a patient with severe CAP within 36 hours of admission to lessen adult respiratory distress syndrome risk. This early administration also lessens the time of treatment. The vaccinations recommended for adults 65 years, and above are 23-valent pneumococcal polysaccharide and 13-valent pneumococcal conjugate vaccinations. These two vaccinations lower the risk of contracting an invasive pneumococcal disease such as pneumonia (Kaysin & Viera, 2016). Pneumonia evidence-based guidelines and diagnosis Evidence-based guidelines (EBG) have been implemented to assist health care workers in diagnostic procedures, medical treatment, and general management. Developed by a systematic review of scientific evidence and best practice, EBGs are designed to help health workers make the best decisions for CAP patients' treatment and care by translating scientific evidence into daily practice (Eekholm et al., 2020). These guidelines were used to determine Mrs. Alcot's treatment plan. The complexities involved in diagnosing elderly patients due to comorbidities, the immune system's weakness, and the atypical symptoms manifesting often result in difficult diagnoses. In recent times, lung ultrasound (LUS) is becoming the preferred method for diagnosing pneumonia in the elderly. The limitations of traditional plain chest radiography characterized by long delays and a large radiation dose make lung ultrasound more suitable. The lung ultrasound eliminates the need for a chest computed tomography (CT) to generate a definite diagnosis. The safety of LUS and the application of LUS in the differential diagnosis of pneumonia makes it ideal for diagnosing frail, bedridden patients. The LUS is the choice tool in management sites that do not have CT scans available for outpatients and patients in the ICU. References Kaysin, A., & Viera, A. J. (2016). Community-acquired pneumonia in adults: diagnosis and management. American Family Physician, 94(9), 698-706. https://www.paperdue.com/customer/paper/65-year-old-female-with-pneumonia-2175708#:~:text=Logout-,65YearOldFemalewithPneumonia,-Length7pages Llinares, P., Menéndez, R., Mujal, A., Navas, E., & Barberán, J. (2014). Guidelines for the management of community-acquired pneumonia in the elderly patient. Rev Esp Quimioter, 27(1), 69-86. Cacciatore, F., Gaudiosi, C., Mazzella, F., Scognamiglio, A., Mattucci, I., Carone, M., ... & Abete, P. (2017). Pneumonia and hospitalizations in the elderly. Geriatric Care, 3(1). Eekholm, S., Ahlström, G., Kristensson, J., & Lindhardt, T. (2020). Gaps between current clinical practice and evidence-based guidelines for treating older patients with Community-Acquired Pneumonia: a descriptive cross-sectional study. BMC infectious diseases, 20(1), 73. Thanavaro J. L. (n.d) Chapter 3: Common respiratory diseases disorders in primary care. Joanes & bartlett Learning, LLC.   Read the full article

[alicerosejensen]

I already read everything you have published and I love it.

Following up on your previous post, how long will it be until Leon feels ready to propose to his girlfriend, and if she says yes, would they like a big wedding or something more private? Also, how would things be before the wedding?

One last thing, what is your native language?

We will consider this a continuation of part 3, which I am still translating.

It's all good. I receive all requests and will definitely answer them, but since English is not my native language, I do it quite slowly.

The text mentions a song by Lana Del Rey (sorry, I just love her music).

I take pictures and gifs from Pinterest.

It's been a good three years of relationship. It was funny how an ordinary interest turned into something more serious, which Leon cannot refuse, preferring to keep safe and with him like some kind of diamond.

And that diamond was you. The diamond who was sitting at the same table with him, with both legs thrown on the next vacant chair, while your hands were flipping through a new book about the Incas or the Maya? Leon didn't listen too closely, preferring to just admire you in the morning sun, forgetting about his cold coffee.

It was natural that two people who know each other well enough and have strong feelings for each other decided to legitimize their relationship, but a number of problems arose: 1) His work does not seem to forbid, but also does not understand the presence of a family. There are some D.S.O programs to protect the data of their agents' families, but Leon has never been interested in them. 2) Your age difference. Leon was almost forty and you're still too young. Yes, college will soon be left behind, but you are unlikely to want to start a family so early, despite the fact that it was somewhere in your plans. Just not now. 3) Despite the fact that he deeply loved you and knew that the feeling was mutual, Leon had no idea if you saw him as your husband.

Besides, the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt. More precisely, he didn't want it at all! But he loved you so much that he partly began to understand Glenn Arias in his madness because of the death of his wife.

It has nothing to do with the case, but Leon really wanted you to put a ring on your ring finger and become Mrs. Kennedy. However, he has not yet fully decided on it himself.

How can he carefully find out from you what you think about this? Leon gave you a worried look, but you didn't even notice it, too absorbed in reading. He had already turned his back to you to pour the coffee into the sink, and immediately froze as soon as he suddenly heard you quietly humming some strange song to yourself. Cacciatore? Some Salvatore? Limousines? Leon didn't comment on it in any way, just made sure that you didn't talk to him. "I just wanted to sing the chorus of my favorite song."

A sudden impulse, but then a message came to your phone and you reached for it to read it, and then showed Leon a couple of photos of your young friends from their honeymoon.

Leon regarded this as a great opportunity to carefully find out your attitude to marriage without giving himself away.

"Don't you think they got married too soon?" - You shrugged indifferently as you typed an answer to your friend.

"It's none of my business."

While you were carefully looking at the photos of friends in love from France, Leon stood still not knowing how to choose the right words. He rinsed the mug in the water, putting it in place and decided to start carefully "attacking" again.

"If you were choosing a place for your honeymoon, where would you go?" - It was risky, although you just looked away somewhere to the side, tilting your head to the side like a child, thinking about the question. - "Paris too?"

You were hiding like you ate something very sour.

"Paris is banal. I would have thought of something more interesting."

"For example?"

"Don't know… maybe Spain?"

Leon coughed. Not the most pleasant memories. For some reason, he imagined you wandering around Salazar's castle in search of various trinkets and trying to ask Ganado about their history, while he drags you everywhere by the hand, trying to shoot infected Las Plagas with a shotgun and pistol.

And then he will find you drinking tea with this same Salazar, talking sweetly about some abstract topic. The pictorial art of the fifteenth century, for example? At least this thought and the image that appeared before his eyes lifted his mood with its absurdity.

He rewarded you with a half-smile and dismissed the idea of marriage indefinitely. Until college graduation.

Until next week, actually.

Leon was just going into the store to restock some groceries when he accidentally bumped into a fellow agent. The conversation would not have gone beyond greeting if a little boy of five or six years old had not hit Leon's legs. He didn't even apologize and just ran on through the store until his father called out to him.

"You should apologize! Go up to Leon and apologize for pushing him!"

The child looked excitedly into his eyes, but still obeyed, slowly approaching an unfamiliar man.

"In fact, it's not necessary…"

"They need to learn to be polite. Do you have any children Leon?"

It was a strange question. Of course, before the outbreak of the G-virus in Raccoon City, Leon had some kind of plan for the rest of his life after graduating from the police academy. And in this plan there were two Kennedy babies, a house with a pool and a golden retriever, and of course a charming wife. Only Leon personally hammered the last nail into the coffin of his dreams.

Leaving your wife alone with a child in this dark world where every day there is a chance that another psycho terrorist may take it into his head to arrange another zombie apocalypse? That's not what he wanted.

But he still annoyed Hannigan with his questions. As if assessing the risk, Leon stared at Ingrid while she wiped her glasses.

"Is there a specific reason why you are interested in this topic?"

"No."

"Then stop wasting my time!"

Fair. Despite the information he obtained, Leon continued to walk like a gloomy ghost around his own house occasionally looking at you strangely. You caught those looks every time you asked him what was the matter, but he waved it off.

And then he asked you about that wedding. Then you had already separated and you were a bridesmaid without a couple. However, you had a good time without it, cherishing the hope that you, too, will someday have a beautiful wedding with a honeymoon.

Leon nodded, taking a sip of Jack Daniels from his glass. A beautiful wedding… with a bouquet of flowers, gifts, guests, a sweet cake and a magnificent white dress. A wedding in the best traditions…

That's what he couldn't give you. An important day in your life (if you agreed to marry him) is likely to become a normal weekday with the receipt of a marriage certificate. You deserve what you dream about, and he probably deprives you of it feeling boundless guilt.

Leon doesn't want to let you go. He hates the idea that you will leave again, leaving him in this empty apartment. however, he does not want you to suffer through his fault. Leon has long admitted to himself that he wants to come home to his family - to you and at least one Kennedy baby. But fuck, he's almost never around because of these missions! And you didn't think about motherhood as such at all. He's almost forty, not you!

But he decided to try again the attempt of careful questioning when you laid him on the bed so that he lay on his stomach to get a light massage before going to bed.

"So Paris is a bad idea?" - Leon thought when you frowned, sitting on his lower back and gently kneading his back. - "What about the Eiffel Tower? The Petit Trianon at Versailles? Those famous French delicatessen cafes? I thought you said you'd like to visit the Moulin Rouge sometime."

"Well, maybe someday. Paris is beautiful just not right for my honeymoon."

You said you wanted something original. So you ended the conversation and continued the massage in silence. And at night felt through a dream how Leon's palm touches your cheek, and then goes down to your neck, collarbones, all the way to your stomach, until he hugs you tightly, pressing you to him. Yes, it woke you up, but maybe he had a nightmare again? Leon wasn't sleeping, and you knew it, so you turned around and put your head on his chest, falling asleep again.

I don't care if you guessed about his thoughts or not, but after much thought, Leon still decided to try his luck.

Life is too short not to try to at least become a little happier.

He bought a cute diamond ring, trying to find something not boring and at the same time not pretentious. However, after tiring the consultant, he finally gave him an entertaining idea: if you don't like what Leon chose, you can come here again and buy any other ring that you like more.

You brought him such relief and comfort after meeting with all these viruses and parasites that Leon saw no problem in buying another ring in case you didn't like it at all. Of course, you can't tell him about it, but he knows his girlfriend's emotions too well.

Leon also ordered dinner at home, considering that due to your workload in college, you didn't sleep much, completely devoting yourself to the last academic year. Besides, he didn't invite you to the restaurant because he still wasn't sure of your answer. Positive or negative? If you do not want this, at least the home environment will not create severe discomfort.

And here you are sitting in your home clothes, calmly eating your favorite food, watching some action movie with your boyfriend, not knowing about the blue velvet box in his jeans pocket.

You can see that Leon is very nervous, scolding himself for the fact that it would be better to rehearse the speech in advance, but you are so absorbed in the film that you do not pay any attention to him at all until exactly the moment when he takes the plate from your hands and puts it on the table.

It took a few seconds for the tired brain to figure out where the dinner had gone.

Your palms immediately find themselves in his warm hands and it looks so cute when women's palms seem so small against his background.

You can admire this endlessly or until the moment when Leon silently, with obvious anxiety in his eyes, in horror, hands you a velvet box, waiting for a reaction.

For God's sake, say something, but don't be silent!

"Is that what I'm thinking or am I wrong?" - You open the lid looking at a charming ring matched to your finger size. And despite the fatigue of the gyrus, they understand that this is an unusual gift.

This is a marriage proposal!

"If you're not ready… fuck… I remember you told me that one day you would want to start a family, and I'm actually the worst option as a husband who is often not at home, although I try, sweetheart…"

"Do you want to start a family with me?" - In his opinion, you looked at him like he was crazy. But in fact, you were trembling slightly and were ready to lose consciousness if he answered in the affirmative now.

"I understand that it's probably too early for you. Understand, I'm not saying that if you agree now, then we will immediately go to the bedroom to make a mini Kennedy. You still have to go to college… damn it, how difficult it is… It's just a suggestion. I want you to be with me as my wife, I want at least one child from you, if you don't mind. You know, Hannigan told me a little bit about these programs to protect the families of agents… they're not bad."

Leon stumbled over every word, sweating profusely, once again afraid to turn to you. Suddenly you are frozen in horror at what is happening, despite the fact that he is actually calmly trying on an engagement ring, carefully examining the carat. You can't say you didn't like it. But because of your admiration for the new decoration, you practically did not listen to what poor Leon was talking about.

"You know, I'll understand if you've never considered me as a husband."

"It just always seemed to me that you needed a mistress and not a wife. You never said you wanted kids. "

You intertwined your fingers with him to calm him down a little. How grateful he was now for the support provided.

"This is problematic. Because of my job. I love you, but I wouldn't force you to do anything. I'm still a little scared of what I'm saying. Some agents have kids, hell, the B.S.A.A guys quietly start families because they get paid well, but when they die… what's the use of a hero father if he's dead? The choice is yours. If you ever carry my child, then I will do everything so that he lives in a safe world, at least on an island of tranquility without bioweapons and other shit. I may often not be around, but I'm willing to try. I no longer want to lose my happy future with the woman I love because of the bastards who think they are the rulers of the world."

Confusing and at the same time understandable. Leon has conveyed to you his thought, his dream, leaving you the right to choose. He was so afraid to look at you that he was surprised when, instead of fright or horror, he saw the serenity of a real angel holding his hand.

"What do you think?" - He asked, and you giggled merrily.

"I think you should wear a bulletproof vest." - Frank laughter rang through the apartment. And you moved to Leon's lap with the grace of a cat, touching the sensitive skin of his neck with your lips while he held you under his hips. - "I don't want to become a widow, but you'll have to run away from my father's bullets when he starts shooting at you with his hunting rifle."

Leon smiled cheerfully, putting his arm around your waist and forcing you to look at him.

There has not been a single boyfriend of yours who has passed a strict paternal check regarding the future spouse for the only daughter. It was a fucking test that no one could pass because you were still considered a little girl.

"We will resolve this issue. Your father is hardly more terrible than a Tyrant." - of course, you had no idea who it was. - "Can I take your answer as an agreement to become Mrs. Kennedy?"

"Perhaps." - You hung on his neck, admiring the two blue pools, and touched his lips with your feather-light kiss. - "But that means we won't have a big wedding, right? Like it's dangerous, I'm a big government agent about whose personal life no one should know, even the president himself. - You merrily parodied the timbre of his voice, realizing how ridiculous it turned out, but you both liked it."

"Yeah"

He was so vulnerable stroking your thighs. The realization that he can't give you what you want…Leon felt a stone of guilt fall on his shoulders, crushing him painfully. All he needs is for you to be happy and then he will be too.

"Well, it's not scary at all!" - You still continued to wrap your arms around his tense body. - "But you didn't just ask me about the honeymoon, did you?"

"This is what I can give you. I am not sure that it will last a whole month, but we will take everything from it."

All the light from the lungs seemed to have disappeared. Your joyful face can bring a dead man back to life! And Leon really came to life feeling like shit a little less.

"However, if you have deprived me of a bachelorette party with sexy strippers and a wedding cake - although no, we will order it anyway - I reserve the right to choose the place of our vacation on my own!"

"Anywhere angel. Even to a remote village in Spain"

Your eyes sparkled cunningly foreshadowing an exciting journey. Leon needs to listen more carefully from now on about your new hobbies.

______________________________________________________________

Claire laughed out loud as she turned over the card, on which Leon's handwriting had written one:

"When I agreed to a honeymoon in Peru, I did not think that I would spend hours looking at the Maya and the Inca skulls! Marital duty is not a soft bed in an expensive hotel, but a trip in the style of Lara Croft and Indiana Jones!

P.S while I'm writing this, I have to keep an eye on my wife so she doesn't break her neck climbing the fucking pyramid."

[decennia]

introducing: salvatore changretta in cacciatore

"The devil has come a-knockin', Mr Shelby."

The youngest of three boys, the last survivor of the Changretta sons. Vicente and Audrey Changretta had prayed that Salvatore would never leave them, never go back to Birmingham to settle the blood debt that had begun with Angel and then proceeded to steal Luca from them.

They prayed. Begged, pleaded to their unforgiving God.

Not for him. No, their prayers were with the Shelbys. For there was a devil in their saviour, a vicious demon lurking inside. A hunter, hungry for vengeance.

"And it's time to pay your dues."

TAG LIST: @perfectlystiles @sgtbuckyybarnes @lupinblack @anna-phora @hughstheforcelou @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @lost-in-the-shelves @raith-way @randomestfandoms-ocs @lizziesxltzmxn @akabluekat @chlobenet @phoebestarks @zeleniafic @a-song-of-quill-and-feather @honeyandsunflowers @dandyylions @hiddenqveendom @jewelswrites-ish @lokitrasho @lukespatterson @stanshollaand @richitozier @ocfairygodmother @claryxjackson @luucypevensie @fragilestorm @noratilney @foxesandmagic @jayneladybright @nolanhollogay

[pfaerie]

honest to god it’s annoying how easy it would have been for them to just write daniel as Bored with his perfect life

if he was tired all the time because he knows he Should be Happy because he has it all: the wife, the kids, the big house in a nice school district, the fancy, high stakes career. and how believable it’d be for him to throw himself back into his high school karate rivalry because it makes him feel Something just being dumb with someone who he’s spent 30 years trying to forget about! and of course it’s damaging and not bettering him and the Thrill he feels isn’t Happiness

(imagine a world where daniel larusso kicks that boba out of tom cole’s hands and having a reaction on par with beating the fuck out of that guy in kk3 -- he’s horrified because That’s Not Him! He’s not a violent person and he Knows it was uncalled for or that, y’know, the reason he’s pissed tom cole is accusing him of wanting to suck dick is because it’s True and it’s terrifying to a middle-aged daniel larusso because he’s spent decades playing tetris with the shoeboxes in the closet and just like that they all just tumbled down on top of him and here he is, stuck in a closet of a big, beautiful house)

and maybe daniel has spent the season connecting with the positive aspects of his masculinity instead of focusing on what he lacks! maybe daniel realizes he hasn’t missed karate bc he missed punching stuff, but he missed meditating and teaching and spending time with his kids and he focuses on being Himself on not Mr. Miyagi Junior -- and maybe there’s other things too! we see daniel cook for his family and WITH his family. he teaches Sam how to make his mom’s famous chicken cacciatore or try more to engage with his son instead of lamenting on how anthony isn’t his sister

and anyways, it wasn’t about the rivalry, it never was because it’s not the toxic, violent masculinity he misses but u know, the touch and presence of Johnny Lawrence in his life & how good it would have been for johnny to soften around a guy who realizes that he loves being a dad and he loves cooking and he loves classic cars and he loves teaching (bc i am genuinely so Sick of Johnny Lawrence is fucking dumb as rocks in the show there’s no universe where him harassing teenage girls to join his stupid dojo is funny and it’s 2022 why are we still pretending it’s funny)

and anyways shouldn’t johnny learn that male posturing and swinging your dick around isn’t cool? and that you can and should be vulnerable and that being a good dad isn’t just yelling at your kid when he fucks up or makes stupid choices and maybe daniel and johnny could learn something from each other bc like okay whatever sure daniel’s kids are a little spoiled and maybe daniel’s a little soft with them but jesus christ

but no instead we just get “daniel larusso is a prissy asshole and here’s why his version of masculinity is troublesome for everyone around him and why all suffering in the valley is HIS fault actually”

[queen-ofsunflowers]

My favorite parts of Roundabout that I’ve written so far with little to no context:

Things are subjected to change between now and the final draft. Anyway, enjoy!

“Why have you been following me?!”

“I am not following you!” Eleonora said, grabbing his wrists and pushing him away from her. “I’ve been looking for you, and you’re hard to pin down.”

“That is the same thing as following me!”

---

“Your breathing is wrong,” said Lisa Lisa bluntly as Caesar fought against the mask.

---

Eleonora had been born and raised on the water. Walking on it shouldn't have been a problem for her, and yet here she was. She had been practicing longer than Caesar, trained longer than Caesar, and yet she still struggled with water-walking whereas he was doing it perfectly fine.

Damn Hamon prodigy.

Well, the joke was on him anyway. Eleonora wasn’t wearing that damn mask. He was the one still stuck in it.

---

“Caesar Zeppeli, I will pull you down into this oil pit with me!” Eleonora said through gritted teeth. Concentrating on her breathing for so long and climbing this thing with only her Hamon was difficult on its own. Caesar coming by to tease and taunt her was making it even worse.

Eleonora heard Caesar chuckle. “I’d like to see you try to reach me from all the way down there, Cacciatore!” he said. Eleonora’s eye twitched as he laughed again. Drawing in a particularly deep breath that sent Hamon throughout her body, Eleonora slammed her fist against the pillar. The energy traveled right up to where Caesar was squatting. She heard him yelp after receiving a well-deserved shock.

---

“What’s that?” Eleonora asked, looking at the envelope in Caesar’s hand.

“A letter,” he said, stating the obvious. “It arrived for you this morning.”

“Then why do you have it?” Eleonora made a grab for the letter, only for Caesar to step out of the way and hold the envelope up high enough that Eleonora couldn’t reach it. “Caesar Zeppeli!”

“You’ll get it, just calm down.”

“You have my personal mail, so I’m not going to calm down while you continue to hold it hostage!”

---

“You haven’t told him,” Lisa Lisa said, taking a drag from her cigarette as she glanced over at the older man, “have you, Mr. Cacciatore?”

Lorenzo sighed. “No, and I never will. He doesn’t need to know.”

“And your granddaughter?”

“...Dio Brando is dead.” He rubbed over the nub that his left leg ended in. It had been almost fifty years, and he could still remember his leg freezing solid, the echo of his friends’ screams, the pain as he twisted his body to snap it off… his own blood. Lorenzo drew in a sharp breath, shaking his head and trying to pull himself out of the memory. He chose to focus on Eleonora and Caesar down below, watching carefully as they worked together for once. “Neither of them need to know anything about him, what he did and who… who he killed. Our focus now is the stone masks and its creators. Once they’re dealt with, then this chapter of my life can come to an end.”

---

The wound had closed. Caesar and Eleonora both stared at the knitted flesh. It was like there never had been a cut there in the first place.

“...did you just…?”

“I… I think so.”

“I thought that Hamon was an offensive ability.” Eleonora shook her head.

“It depends on how you use it. After all, you’ve seen me use Hamon defensively, haven’t you? But I never thought that I would be able to do something like this…” A wide grin spread across Eleonora’s face, and a light that could rival the sun shone in her eyes. “I did it. I really did it!” A squeal escaped her lips. She jumped up on her toes, giggling with excitement and joy. “I can use my Hamon to heal!”

“Eleonora!” called out Lorenzo. For once, Eleonora didn’t flinch at his stern tone. Instead, her smile remained.

“Nonno! Signora Lisa Lisa!” Eleonora came running up to her teacher and grandfather, Caesar trailing not that far behind her. “You’ll never believe what I just did!”

---

Eleonora: Do you care to tell me what you go out so much anyway?

Caesar: …no. (Eleonora sighs. Yeah, she thought that she was going to get that.)

---

“I’m surprised you didn’t say anything else,” said Lisa Lisa, a brow raised as she glanced over at Dante. The boy simply shrugged.

“I didn’t need to. I don’t think he’d be dumb enough to do or say things like that to Nora. Even with the reputation that he has and used to have, she seems to trust him. My sister has good judgment, and I trust her. Besides, I’m pretty sure if Caesar tried something, she’d just flip him down onto his back before he even realized what happened.”

---

Dante: “You really need to stop putting yourself down like this, Nora.

Eleonora: That’s easy for you to say. (Dante was an overwhelming fountain of positivity.)

Suzie Q: Maybe he has the same feelings that you do for him, and he’s just as bad as dealing with them.”

“I highly doubt that he does.” If he did, maybe then he would look at her the same way that he did the girls he flirted with so carelessly. Or maybe he wouldn’t treat her as differently as he did. What made those girls so different from her in the first place that he barely spared her a glance?

“You never know if you don’t ask.” …ask? Eleonora groaned, taking her face into her hands as heat rose up on her cheeks.

“I think doing that would kill me.”

---

Lisa Lisa sighed, rubbing at her temple. “Suzie Q, what are you doing?”

“Putting us all out of our misery,” the maid replied curtly. Lisa Lisa only hummed, deciding then and there that it would be best if she didn’t get involved any further.

---

Lisa Lisa: …

Lorenzo: …

Lisa Lisa: They should know that we know by now. (Lorenzo hums in agreement.)

---

Lisa Lisa: Anger can cloud someone’s mind and make things slip their minds. They end up hurting those around them.

Lorenzo: Are you lecturing me?

Lisa Lisa: I’m only speaking from experience. (Lorenzo stares at her for a moment before sighing, dragging a hand down his face. Right…) You should have told them when all this started.

Lorenzo: I didn’t think they needed to know…

Lisa Lisa: Keep telling yourself that.

---

Caesar: I messed up.

Lisa Lisa: You did more than mess up. You royally fucked up.

---

Caesar: We might not be able to go out in public together, so this is the next best thing.

Eleonora: …this is because you stole my tea yesterday. Isn't it?

Caesar: Can't I do something nice for my girlfriend without there being a motive behind it?

---

“When I realized that I hurt her, I felt like I was going to be sick. When I realized that I might’ve just lost her… I felt like I had been completely crushed under a two-ton stone.”

---

Dante: Remember how I told you that there was a light in your eyes? (Eleonora hums, nodding.) It’s gotten brighter every time I’ve seen you. That’s why I trust him. That light wouldn’t be shining if he wasn’t trustworthy.

---

Lorenzo: Married for a few months, and you still act like children on the schoolyard.

Lisa Lisa: Let them be, Cacciatore. You don’t know how long it might last.

Dante: I just think that it’s because of how much wine both of ‘em have had.

---

Eleonora: Nonno—

Lorenzo: Go ahead. I’ll allow it just this once since neither Robert or myself can do anything. (Joseph makes a move to go after Caesar, but Eleonora is quicker and easily stands in his way. She draws in a breath, Hamon crackling at her hand as she catches him at the back of his neck, sending a shock through his system that’s enough to stun him momentarily.)

---

Lorenzo: I’ll hang back. I’d only be slowing you down, I’m afraid. I’m not sure if I could do those steps again. Dante, take care of your sister.

Dante: Will do! … (as his grandfather heads back inside.) Even though she can probably beat my ass without breaking a sweat… (Eleonora laughs beside him.)

---

Caesar: So help me, Nora, I will pull you down into this oil pit with us! (Eleonora laughs.)

Eleonora: I’d like to see you try and reach me from all the way down there, Caesar!

---

Joseph: You were the one complaining about being tired!

Eleonora: So you throw me over your shoulder?!

Joseph: I’m carrying you!

Eleonora: Over your shoulder?!

---

Joseph: I might do stupid things, but that doesn’t mean that I’m stupid. The first thing you did in front of me was try to suck her tongue out from her mouth. Besides, you two share a room. Do you really think I wouldn’t have found out that there was something going on between you two eventually?

Caesar: Yes.

---

Caesar: JoJo, you’re starting to concern me.

Joseph: You’re just overreacting.

Caesar: YOU SOMEHOW MANAGED TO SET YOURSELF ON FIRE TODAY!

Joseph: IT WAS AN EXPERIMENT!

---

Joseph: (holding up the stone after climbing up the cliff’s edge) WE GOT THE STONE BACK!!

(There's a beat before Lisa Lisa sighs, her head dropping into her hand.)

---

Eleonora pushed off of the ground, slamming into Caesar and knocking him down into the snow with a surprised yelp.

Caesar: Nora, what the hell?!

---

Joseph: I don’t think his leg is supposed to look like that…

---

Lisa Lisa: No.

Eleonora: No?

Joseph: No?! What do you mean ‘no’?!

Lisa Lisa: I mean ‘no’.

---

Caesar: JOSEPH JOESTAR!!

Joseph: Oh, shit.

Caesar: GET BACK HERE!!

Eleonora: Caesar! (Caesar trips over his crutches, growling as he manages to grab Joseph's ankle and pull him down. There are two amputees now wrestling in the dirt. Eleonora sighs.)

[nickmikeoneshot]

Le mie coppie preferite:

Michael e Nick, Il Cacciatore

Max e Noodles, C'era una volta in America

Mr Orange e Mr White, Reservoir Dogs (Le Iene)

Alfredo e Olmo, Novecento

[sabraeal]

Desert & Reward, Chapter 10

[Read on AO3]

There’s someone in his room.

The windows are shut against the night air-- Yori, and by that he means Morel, has ideas about air flow and general health that he can’t wait for Miss to hear-- but a faint whisper skates across the stillness. It’s not his own breath; that’s been trapped in his chest since he flinched awake, fully conscious of the shade lingering in the shadows.

How gauche to kill a groom before his wedding night. Everyone knows corpses are only fashionable when found fresh on their marital bed.

But style is the least of his concerns right now. With a conscious effort, every tense muscle eases, his limbs flopping out like a limp starfish. Miss might complain about his sprawl after spending a cold night curled at the edge of the bed, but it was the perfect posture to imply a solid, dead to the world sort of unconsciousness.

There’s only one way to really sell this perfect deception: a snore. Not a dainty, fake one, oh no, but a wall-rattling, chest-and-throat-involved extravaganza of sound. There, obnoxious and oblivious: the perfect victim.

The sound of rustling cloth is muted beneath his act, but Obi hasn’t lasted this long by being a slouch in the perception department. His hand slithers under the pillow, clasping his fingers around a hilt. He hopes his murderer is enjoying the show; it’ll be the last thing they ever see, after all.

“My lord.”

Obi winces. That’s-- that’s much closer than he would have thought. His grip tightens, back tensing--

“My lord,” his attacker whispers again, beleaguered. “Get up.”

“Yori?” His eyes slit open, the dark room viewed from behind the cage of his lashes, and-- ah, there. Yori, his hair oddly askew, shirt glowing white in the dim. Ah, what did he always say? Assassins and domestics.

Obi rolls over, blinks. His valet is half-dressed. “Did you get in a fight?”

“A--? No, my lord.” He sighs, straightening from his servile crouch. “If my lord would be so kind, I’d feel better if you weren’t poised to attack me with cutlery.”

His grip loosens, blade dropping back to it’s place on the mattress. “It’s not cutlery.”

“Well, it’d certainly be more at home in a kitchen than the bedroom,” his valet huffs, hands wrapping around his hips. Mrs Carre will be so pleased to know he was getting a proper scolding even out of her care. “If you’re plan to keep that habit back home, then I’m going to start asking for hazard pay.”

He makes a sound half laugh, half snort, and entirely derisive. “Ah, come on. It’s not like it’s a new...”

His well of words dries up as Yori stares at him, head cocked and curious, arms crossed like a mother waiting for a weak explanation, and--

He hasn’t at Cacciatore. Purposefully, at first; there’s no better way to root out a traitor than to play into the expectation of a hapless lord. But then...

Well, the bedside drawer is just as good a hiding place as a pillow. One the maids were less likely to find, at least. Lili would take a discovery like that with her usual aplomb-- in his experience, Tanbarun made their ladies particlarly unflappable-- but any of the others...

Well, he could only imagine the sort of dressing down he’d get if one of Mrs Carre’s girls cut themselves changing the linen. He might be lord of the manor, but Obi’s under no illusions about whose house he lives in.

“What time is it?” He squints toward the widows. It’s impossible to tell; night’s faded from black to a thick blue, but his room faces west, not east.

“Early,” Yori replies, shirty. “You need to get up.”

Obi groans, throwing his arm over his eyes. If he closes them now, he might have a chance of slipping back into sleep. “We’re in the city, Yori. We keep city hours.”

“I understand, sir, but however--”

He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. “Wake me up when breakfast is here.”

Yori heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Although there’s nothing I would like more than being able to ignore my duty and return to bed, my lord, there’s a message for you.”

“It’ll keep.”

“Sir--”

He opens a single, dubious eye. “Is something on fire, Yori?”

“No, but--”

“Then it can wait until morning.”

That should be the end of the conversation; it always was when he tried to pester Master-- Zen into action in the wee hours. But instead Yori shuffles, put-out, at the edge of the bed. “It’s from the gate, my lord.”

Obi’s never been one for pulling rank-- it stuck him as a little uppity to expect sirs and milords when he’d been dragged out of the gutter-- but oh, he’s tempted to now. If even the gate guards think they can rouse him in the middle of the night on a whim, it seems prudent to cultivate at least an inkling of noble bearing. “And?”

“Someone’s waiting for you.”

They take the servant’s corridors; the palace’s halls might be empty this time of night-- or morning-- but these are what Obi knows best. He might have a title now, but back in those days, he’d been an up-jumped gutter rat. Even with his shiny messenger tag, the court rested a little easier if the riffraff didn’t sully their air by breathing it.

It’s an advantage now; with no guards to ask their their business, they’ll make better time. From chambers to Starlight and back again, in bed before he can lose his beauty sleep.

“I hope you are aware, my lord--” if only Yori could teach him how to infuse so much derision into a title, Obi would die a happy, if thoroughly stabbed, man-- “that a man of proper breeding would submit to the whole of their toilette before even thinking of stepping foot out of their--”

“You got this robe on me.” A testament to Yori’s powers of persuasion, considering what an eyesore it is. “Don’t push your luck.”

“A banyan is the least you could do.” The crisp cut of his words channels every last stuffy inch of Mr Morel. “You might as well be walking around in your drawers.”

“Aw, come on.” He grins, letting the robe gape; even the peep of pajama brings a frown to Yori’s face. “You know better than anyone that I don’t wear any.”

His valet could teach a master class on sighs. “For someone so devoted to their line of their trouser, you might wear ones where it matters.”

He clucks his tongue. “And ruin the mystery?”

Something utterly intriguing ripples across Yori’s face, pinching his mouth and furrowing his brow, leaving him more Morel than man. “My lord, the trappings of the court may not suit you, but I beg you to concede to at least some form of propriety.”

He glances back at him, waggling his brows. “And why would I do that?”

“Your wife.”

Ah, now that stops him dead in his tracks. “My...?”

Yori squeezes a steeling breath through his nose. “It may have escaped you, my lord, but you are going to marry in the morning.”

All at once, he’s aware of how much his body aches. Last night-- no, only hours ago-- is...foggy, blurred by the patina of alcohol, but he could never forget the warm weight of Miss on his back, of the sweet way she clung to him as they flew through the air-- nor the sickening crack his bones made on that landing. Miss may be light, but unlike snow banks, balconies are hell on the knees.

Miss, who he was only carrying because she was too drunk to walk. Who was only drunk because she’d been at a hen party. Who was only at a hen party because it was being thrown in her honor. An honor she only had because she was due to get married in the morning. The same wedding he’d be having because they were marrying each other.

He needs a minute. A long one. His death grip on the wainscoting isn’t going to be enough to hold him. “It is morning.”

Yori’s mouth pulls thin; not the way Morel’s can, but close enough. “When it is more morning.”

There’s no blush of dawn linger at the horizon, only the mist of its breath, but oh, that is...more than enough. His Majesty sprung this impossibility on him only days ago, and now--

Well, he’d better enjoy his bachelorhood while he can. In a few short hours, he’ll be Miss’s ball and chain.

“And to a margravine,” Yori continues, sulkily keeping pace. “I know you’re content to hide away in the country for the rest of your life, my lord--” a lie, if Obi ever heard one-- “but your wife’ll want to keep a presence at court.”

He tries to picture it, tries to think of Miss weighed down by a dress so bejeweled it practically has its own economy, wearing a courtly mask for every occasion, talking of nothing but the latest fashion or the most shocking scandal and not hating every minute of it--

But it’s impossible. Tanbarun’s king can slap a title on her, but not even Master could make her enjoy it. She might come when a crown calls, but they’ll be prying her out from between the pages of a book.

Yori’ll learn all that soon enough. Or he would, if Miss came to live at Cacciatore. Which she wouldn’t; no reason to halt all her actual, important work for a fake marriage that’ll be nothing more than ashes in the pan in a handful of years anyway.

But Yori doesn’t know that-- can’t know that, if he wants to keep Miss away from whatever plans Tanbarun has for her. So he lets his mouth tilt, lets a sly smile creep up the curve of his jaw. The first rule of being a good gambler is never telling a man when he puts his money on the wrong bird. “You don’t say?”

“Of course I do.” His valet glances at him, cheeks puffed and brows bent, and tells him with all the undue confidence only an umarried man could, “If you’re to be married, sir, you might learn about the wants of women.”

He doesn’t laugh. When all this is over, His Majesty should put a medal on his chest for it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yori.” Obi blinks, eyes adjusting the the brilliant flare of the lamps. “This isn’t Starlight.”

His valet sighs. “No, my lord. It is not.”

“But you said there was a message for me--?”

“At the gate,” Yori confirms, beleaguered. “Poet’s gate.”

Obi would rather die than admit it but-- he’s starting to regret the banyan. Well, he’s always regretted the banyan, but the pajamas beneath it--

Well, he’s definitely under-dressed. For whatever this is.

Not that it looks like much. A coach idles at the foot of the stair, paneled all in black, but the rest of the courtyard is empty. Well, save for the swarm of footmen buzzing around, combing the carriage for every last hair of the lord that abandoned it. What sort of sadist arrives in the wee hours, Obi can’t say, but he’s glad all their wedding guests are accounted for, otherwise--

The door shuts, and there, staring him dead in the eye, is the horned hind of Forenzo.

“Obi!” Long limbs flail out from the swarm, and in the first blush of dawn, one of the footmen resolves into more inches than sense.

“Suzu?” He tries to tell himself to walk forward, but his legs stall numbly beneath him. The past three days have felt like a dream-- a nightmare, really-- but the sort he can control, the kind he can choose to wake up from.

“What...?” A foxish face looms just over him, grinning lazily. Suzu’s here now, and it’s all suddenly real. “What are you doing here?”

“I came with Lata,” he says, as if that explains anything. “He had an invitation.”

“Right.” Of course he did; not that Obi had ever expected him to use it. “But what are you doing here?”

“Oh, well, we figured if he was coming, we should go too.” One large hand sweeps over the ill-fitting Forenzo livery. “So here I am.”

Obi blinks. “And Lata just...let you?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.” He shrugs, sending arms everywhere. “He told us it would be a cold day in Yuris before he let a single one of us show up as his plus one.”

That sounds right, at least. “Mmhm.”

“So we played roshambo for it,” Suzu continues, “and I told him I’d be his servant or whatever.”

“And that...worked?” Maybe this was all still a dream. It’s following the same sort of logic, at least.

“Yeah! Actually--” Suzu rubs at his chin, just the way Shidan does, only with far less reason or facial hair-- “he seemed happy not to have to go and interview people for it.”

That made sense, at least.

“You’re Lord Forenzo’s valet?”

Suzu glances up, blinking at where his own stands, just three steps up from where they’re talking. “Yeah, that sounds like what he said.”

Yori, for his part, looks politely horrified. Obi can’t blame him; Suzu doesn’t give off the air of being in charge of himself, let alone another person, especially one expected to participate in a toilette of some kind.

Still, that’s not the part that bothers him, personally. “But why?”

“Well--” Suzu sucks in a breath, hands hooking around his hips like Yuzuri does right before she lays into him-- “my guess would be his complete lack of social skills--”

“No, not that.” He doesn’t exactly need a primer on Lata Forenzo being a misanthrope. “I mean why did you bother going through all that trouble?”

Obi’s come face to face with a fox once, years ago now. He’d been doing the long walk of shame that came from country kills, no trees to help him along and no reason to hurry back to his cramped quarters, when two foxes darted across his path. Or at least one did, scurrying across into the long grass in a rusty streak. The other--

The other sat there, right in front of him, one paw raised. Like he couldn’t be seen if he didn’t move. Or maybe that the scarecrow staring down at him couldn’t attack as long as he kept him in his sight. Obi had to turn his back before the thing dared to dart away, and only once his friend let out an eerie whimper.

But for that moment, amber burned into gold, and the gulf between human and fox seemed so, infinitesimally small--

Well, it’s what he thinks of as Suzu stares at him, those sharp angles of his cheeks limned in the dawn’s light.

“C’mon.” Suzu’s mouth curls into a sure smile, one fist tapping him on the shoulder. “The best man can’t miss the wedding.”

“Ah...” Obi rubs at the back of his head. “About that...”

“Prince Zen is Marquis Conti’s best man,” Yori offers, strangely bitter. “You know, the second prince.”

Obi cranes his neck back with a scowl. “That’s not my name.”

Yori, with not a contrite bone in his body, says, “Apologies, my lord.”

Obi turns back, a much more sincere apology brewing behind his teeth, but Suzu is too busy frowning over his shoulder to appreciate it. “Who is this guy?”

“Ah...” Obi had left Lyrias with a jaunty wave and a promise to be back before the next snow; he’d thought that a royal reward consisted of a fancy title and some cash, a quick trip down to sweat in the capital before coming back to freeze at the castle.

And then, well--

“I am my lord’s personal valet,” Yori informs him, giving Suzu’s slapdash livery a perusal that could only be described as scathing.

“Oh!” Suzu’s mouth parts in a grin that usually means he’s about to get punched. “You have one of these too? Am I going to get one?”

“Ancestors forfend,” Yori mutters at the same time Obi adds, louder, “I think only lords get them.”

Suzu hums. “Well, I suppose I can’t mind being second fiddle to a guy that is, you know, a prince.”

“It’s political,” Obi assures Suzu with a grimace. “Not personal. If I ever get married for re--”

His teeth clack shut. Ah, so many months out in the country have dulled his edge. Or at least loosened his tongue.

“It’s all right, man.” Suzu’s gaze darts pointedly over his shoulder. “I’ll forgive you this time. I still get to come, right?”

Yori steps in. “The tables are already--”

“Yes.” For the first time in what feels like days, Obi actual smiles. “I’ll make sure there’s room for you.”

He deserves at least one real thing on his wedding day, after all.

“Great!” Suzu’s mouth stretches wide. “I’m famished.”

[thosequeenboys]

Love Is Love Is Love (Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello) - Chapter 2

A/N:  This story started as one shot for the Hardzzello Week “Missing” prompt - Missed (link below). The story unfolded as a series, which I named after a phrase in Lin-Manuel Miranda’s 2016 Tony acceptance sonnet that paid tribute to the victims of the Orlando, FL, night club shooting. Because of my commitment to gay marriage and LGBT rights I wanted to share a story of family joys and challenges through them.

Chap. 1:  Missed  

Summary, Chapter 2:  Puzzled:   Ben and Joe learn new information about Alex, and Joe receives a surprise that promises to complicate their lives.

Warnings:  Doctor’s visit for a check-up; angst

tagging: @warriorteam1924 @heybuddy-drabbles @oniriquex @igotsuckedintothevoid @watercolouredreams @roger-taylors-car @nightoftheland @lapofthemusicgods

The new year unfolded, and the days became longer demarcated by pink, lavender and gold sunsets. Their lives felt pretty stable and had a certain rhythm. Joe was serving as a consultant on a Netflix show, which required travel to LA a week each month.  With his own next gig requiring intense travel slated for later in the year, Ben cherished watching winter slip into spring on walks with his trusty, observant companion by his side, touching the cracked ground where bulbs sprouted, watching birds build nests and smelling flowers.   On a mid-March afternoon that was remarkably spring-like, Ben and Alex returned from playgroup, though this walk was silent and tense.  As they entered home, Joe was wrapping up a call.  

“Alex, how about watching some PBS?”  Ben said, entering the living room and turning on the TV. “Dad and I need to catch up on boring grown-up stuff.  I’ll bring you a snack in a few minutes.”

“OK”, Alex said, knowing he didn’t have a choice and that the ‘boring grown-up stuff’ probably included him. Before Ben left, he tried to change their dynamic by running his hand through his son’s hair.  “Alex. I love you.” Alex gave his dad a side glance, feeling lingering sadness from their earlier interaction when his dad was mad at him, but relieved to hear his dad’s affectionate words.  

Ben sat at the island counter in the kitchen facing Joe who had moved to the other side of the counter, peeling and cutting vegetables for chicken cacciatore.  

“So that thing happened at playgroup.”  Ben looked up at Joe.  Joe felt his chest tighten.  Again? He knew where this was going; they had been there before.   Ben sighed and continued:  

“The toys were laid out on the floor, and he and the other kids were playing.  It was going really well.  They were talking, and he seemed into it.  I thought, ‘Finally! He’s getting how it should be.” Suddenly he went over to the bookshelf and started looking on the shelves.  He pulled out a puzzle box.  I said he had to put it back; we can’t take things without asking. I told him we weren’t playing with that today.  He clutched it and refused.  He sat down with it, and when I tried to take it, he pulled it away. He actually scowled at me.  I gritted my teeth and told him to give it to me. I had smoke coming out of my ears, but I tried not to make a scene.  Fortunately, Becca, you know Georgie’s mom who was hosting, came over and said Alex could look at the puzzle - it belonged to Georgie’s older brother, Jeremy.  I thanked Becca and asked Alex to thank her too, which he did.”

“So, he dumps it out. Ok, so no surprise there.  But then he starts his sorting thing, and he’s holding up the pieces to the box in front of him and I’m kind of trying to block him, listening to the other parents.  And, he starts putting pieces together, making the border, and suddenly, one of the moms sees it and, like, gasps.  “OHMYGOD, Ben, he’s doing THAT puzzle?’  Then everyone starts looking.”

“We’re all always comparing notes:  What are the kids eating and not eating? What classes are they taking? Who’s looking at pre-schools?  It’s supportive, but everyone’s trying to make sure their kid is, you know, ‘on track.’”  

“Yeah,” Joe nodded, switching knives to cut up an apple. “My sister told me all about that.  It can get ugly.  Some parents brag, and parents whose kids are at a different stage try not to freak out. You can feel the anxiety bubbling up. Sometimes it’s just better to talk about politics, honestly.”  

Sighing, Joe plated the apple slices and spooned some peanut butter on the side of the plate.  Ben grabbed the plate and the water bottle. He slid off the stool to deliver it to Alex. Joe started to build the dish, sautéing peppers, carrots, onions and garlic.  After they softened, tomatoes, wine, stock and chicken would join the party.

Returning, Ben continued. “So, I just brushed it off. Talked about his older cousins teaching him, how he tries to copy them, you know, he just fools around and gets lucky.  Then it was time to leave.  He only did a little of the puzzle.  Jesus, it was like 50 pieces.  I said we had to clean it up.  He was all with the ‘no’s’, but finally I glared at him – I swear I almost lost it - but he relented.  I feel so out of control when this happens and not sure what to do.  And, Alex gets laser-focused and detaches. I had to tell him to say good-bye and thank you.  I could tell he was still thinking about that fucking puzzle as we were saying our goodbyes….”

Joe stopped chopping the basil and put his knife down, wiping his hands on a towel. He ran his fingers through his hair.  “He is who he is.  And we shouldn’t be too surprised about his laser-focus -- and his smarts -- knowing his two sets of genes,”  Joe said, with a wink, before continuing, “You handled it well, Babe. Really well.   You shouldn’t feel defensive.  We need to figure out how to deal with this.  Take him for the check-up… better late than never.”

Suddenly Alex came in holding the empty plate and bottle.  ‘Hey, Buddy,” Joe said.  “The chicken is almost done.  Want to finish it up?”  

Alex nodded. He went over to Joe who took the plate and bottle and put the stool in front of the stove, helping him up.  “OK,” Joe said, pointing to a pile of chopped greens on the cutting board.  Here we have some basil and parsley.”  Alex grabbed the greens and sprinkled them into the pot.  Joe handed Alex the wooden spoon and he stirred them in, as he planted a kiss on his son’s neck.

A week later they were in Premiere Pediatrics, and the medical assistant took Alex into a small room. Ben and Joe waited outside. She tested his vision, and they overheard her asking him about colors and numbers but they got into a discussion and didn’t pay attention.  

Suddenly, the assistant tore past them and approached the doctor down the hall, showing him the paper in her hand, as a nurse quickly escorted Alex and his parents to an exam room.  

Joe helped Alex undress and put on the robe.  He whipped out a book, Ocean Creatures, from his backpack. Alex settled into his lap and Joe started the story.  They got halfway through the book and in walked Dr. Herbert “Call Me Herb” Markman, holding a slim file in his left hand.  

Dr. Markman was there from the beginning.  Before the beginning. Ben and Joe had to have a local pediatrician vouch for their sincere interest to be parents and their stability.  And they had to show there was a doctor at the ready as soon as the baby arrived.  When Joe called the practice and asked for an experienced doctor, explaining the situation, the receptionist set up an appointment with Dr. Markman right away, noting he was the most senior member of the practice.  A Google search showed they hit the pediatrician lottery: degrees from Ivy League universities; a professor at the local Medical School; a successful researcher; and a former President of the American Society of Pediatrics.  As a person, he was warm, calm and conversational. As a doctor, he was thorough, smart and sensitive to both his young patients and their over-concerned parents. At their first meeting, Dr. Markman insisted they call him Herb, but Joe and Ben settled on Dr. M. To keep the relationship on an equal playing field, Dr. Markman followed the more formal naming convention.

“MR. JONES-MAZZELLO!” Dr. M. greeted Alex like a long-lost friend.  “So nice to see you!  You’re here for your 2-year check-up, I see. Let’s get you up on the bench. He patted it and helped Alex up.  Then he turned and offered a warm nod and outstretched hand, “Mr. Jones.  Mr. Mazzello.”   He placed Alex’s file on the desk.

Ben chimed in somewhat guiltily, “Actually, we missed the 2-month mark. He’s almost 2 and a half now.”

“No harm, no foul.” Dr. M. responded with a reassuring smile as he applied hand sanitizer.  

Dr. M. addressed his patient.  “Alex, are you having any concerns about your body, anything hurt?  Anything you want to ask?”

“No, thank you. I’m well, thanks.” Alex replied.

The three adults laughed. Ben beamed, proud at his politeness.  

“Good to hear.” Dr. M. commented. Turning to Joe and Ben, Dr. M. asked, “Any concerns? How’s he been?” Any more high fevers?”

“No, no fevers. Thankfully.” Joe said.

“He’s fine, seems good, really.” Ben added.

“Is he good, really or really good?” It was a play on words, a rhetorical question, but Dr. M. was on to something.   “Ok, let’s take a look.”

He examined Alex thoroughly, prodding his organs eliciting a stream of giggles. He checked his heart, ears, eyes, blood pressure, spine and reflexes, making notes on his I-pad as he went along.

“All good!” He said.

Dr. M. opened the file folder on the desk and pulled out the report the medical assistant handed him earlier. He went over to the shelf that held some books and games and pulled out 10 black checkers.  “As I put these down, Alex, can you count them for me?”  Alex counted 1 through 10 as the checkers were placed on the exam bench. Then, Dr. M. picked a few up and asked him the total number remaining on the bench. Then he put some back, asking for a total.  He did this a few more times, moving quickly.  Alex hesitated at times, thinking it through, but didn’t get flustered. Joe and Ben looked on with awe. Was he really adding and subtracting?  Dr. M. collected the checkers and put them aside on the bench.  

“What did you think of that?” He asked Alex.

“Fun!” Alex said.  

“Good to hear we have a satisfied customer.   We always try to provide patients with some fun during visits.” Dr. M. said, typing into his I-pad and winking at Joe and Ben, making it clear that round of ‘fun’ was not offered to most patients at their 2-year visits.

“So, what do you like to do, Alex?”  Dr. M. asked.

Alex thought for a minute and answered, “The library.  We take out lots of books.  I like ocean animals.  And gymnastics. I like to sommersault.  And parachute lift - some of us run into it, and we have to run back before it falls on us!” Alex smiled, sitting up straight, swinging his legs, picturing the activity.  

“Wow, that sounds really thrilling.”  Dr. M. said, giving Alex his full attention.

Alex nodded and then looked at the ceiling thinking about what else filled his days. “Puzzles!  I really like puzzles.”

Ben looked over at Joe encouragingly, wanting him to take the cue, as he twisted the band on his left ring finger with his thumb.  Joe looked up, rubbing his chin.  It was the perfect opening. “Uh, yeah, about puzzles. We should let Dr. M. know what happens sometimes.  Like at playgroup.”

Alex looked down, remembering how angry his dad was with him that day.

Ben continued.  “Remember at Georgie’s, you got the puzzle off the shelf and started doing it when there were lots of other toys out.  You can’t just go into someone’s stuff.”

“I was bored!” Alex said with a raised voice, annoyed that his dad didn’t understand.

Dr. M. nodded.  “It’s hard to feel bored, isn’t it?”

Alex nodded emphatically, and Dr. M. continued, “When you feel bored, Alex, it’s good to tell one of your dads, and together you can discuss what to do. Maybe you can ask for another toy.  But, sometimes, you may have to be bored.  Lord knows, I am more than I’d like!” he laughed, trying to lighten the tension, but came back to the point.  “Do you think you can talk about how you feel before acting?”

Alex nodded, looking at Ben, who gave him a smile.

“Good!” Dr. M. said. “Your dads can remind you.  So, what else happens in the Life of Alexander Jones-Mazzello?”

“I help Papa cook.” Alex smiled at the recent memory.

“Cooking is fun!  How do you help?” Dr. M. asked.

“Add basil and…pars and stir.” Alex said.

“Basil and Parsley,” Joe clarified, “My Italian influence.”

“I’m a big fan of Italian food!”  Dr. M. said.  He smiled, directing his next question to Ben and Joe. “Any other activities your fine young man is involved in?

“He just started music class!” Ben added enthusiastically. “I read about the strong association between math and music, so we thought it would be good…” his voice trailed off as he looked over at the doctor typing into his I-pad.

Call Me Herb looked summarily unimpressed, perhaps the most unimpressed he’d been in his 35-year career as a pediatrician.  Ben and Joe exchanged glances.

“Alex, you are well on your way to becoming a fine 3-year old.  One day, I’d like you to meet my friend, Wendy.  She’ll show you some other fun puzzles and games I think you’ll like.” Dr. M. said as he helped Alex dress.  Then Alex leaned over and grabbed the checkers and started to play with them. 

Dr. M. then spoke softly to Ben and Joe, “I’m going to give you the number of Wendy Chambers. She’s an educational psychologist. She’ll do her assessment and have some ideas.”  He wrote her name and number on his prescription pad. “Do it this year, before the pre-school search heats up. The information she provides will help,” he said in his gentle tone as he handed the slip to Ben, who looked down at it.

“Is…Did…Is what we’re doing not right?” Ben asked hesitantly in a whisper.

“You’re doing great.” Dr. M. reassured.  Sensing Ben’s concern, he walked over to him and Joe and said very softly.  “It just may not be enough. In the long run. He’s precious.  And,” he added, “Gifted. With all joys and challenges that come with it.  I’ll let Wendy know I’ve referred Alex; you’ll be in good hand with her. Let’s stay in touch.”

After a round of handshakes, Dr. M. departed to a chorus of thank you from the boys.  

As they left the doctor’s office, Ben mentioned they needed to pick up some groceries.   “We’ll meet you home, then?” He said to Joe, their eyes lingering expressing they were in this together, whatever ‘this’ turned out to be.  Ben bent down to zip Alex’s jacket, his knee resting on the sidewalk, and planted a kiss on his cheek.  “You were such a good patient with Dr. M.  Ready to go, Buddy?”  Alex smiled and nodded, leaning in to hug Ben, who welcomed the embrace.  As usual, Alex’s hug stopped Ben in his tracks, and he had to force himself to stand up and proceed, grasping Alex’s hand.

“Thanks for shopping.  See you guys at home,” Joe said.  As they peeled off in opposite directions, Joe suddenly felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out.  The area code was vaguely familiar but he didn’t recognize the number, and there was no name associated with it.  

“Hello, Joe Mazzello.” He answered, stopping.  Joe nodded slightly as the name was revealed.  

“Oh. Hi.”  He said, in acknowledgement, suppressing his surprise. The voice relayed information, and Joe juggled his phone, trying to shift gears quickly and process the unexpected information.

“Really?  Seriously? Wow. That’s…terrific. Have to say, wasn’t expecting it.  I mean…” his voice trailed off as more information was relayed.

“When will…?” He registered the response with a nod, his eyes darting side to side.

“Uh, OK! Sounds good….” His voice faded as he tried not to express any concern or hesitation, though logistical wheels were turning in his head, as they always did.  “Ok, uh, let me … can I give you a call tomorrow and we can discuss the details? This is…Great!  Thanks. Thanks for the call.  Take care…Talk tomorrow. Bye.”

Joe clicked off the phone, his eyes opened wide.  A surprised grin emerged while he shook his head.  If life, acting  – and parenthood – taught him anything, it’s you can’t always predict what’s around the corner.  Life doesn’t ask to ‘put time on your calendar’ or ‘is this convenient?’  You have to keep calm and make it work.  As he walked home, Joe started to strategize about how to do that with this surprising news.

[eifort-alchimique]

Eifort's Exquisite Creole Cacciatore

Rice Mixture:

1 box (6.9 oz) Zatarain's Spanish Rice

2 cups PentaWater

1 can (14.5 oz) Margaret Holmes Tomatoes, Okra & Corn

1 can (4 oz) Ortega Hot Diced Green Chiles

2 TBSP Mazola Corn Oil

¼ cup Melinda's Habanero Wing Sauce

2 TBSP Horseradish Mustard

2 TBSP Mrs. Dash Extra Spicy Seasoning Blend

1 TBSP Garlic Powder

Meat Mixture:

1 cup Cheddarwurst, diced

½ cup Salad Shrimp, cooked & peeled

1 cube Beef Bouillon

1 cup PentaWater

Serving Ingredients:

1 package La Banderita Corn Tortillas

(Prepared cornbread can also be used)

1 cup Sour Cream

1 TBSP chopped cilantro, garnish

1 cup Sharp Cheddar Cheese, when using cornbread

In a 6 quart nonstick pan, add Rice Mixture ingredients. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to Low. Cover. Simmer 25 minutes or until rice is tender, stirring occasionally. Once rice is tender, turn burner off. Do not remove from heat. Next, prepare beef bouillon in cup water for 2 minutes on High in Microwave. Then, stir in Meat Mixture. Let stand 5 minutes on burner. Stir & Serve w/ your choice of tortillas & sour cream/cornbread & sharp cheddar cheese.

[the-estranged-estrangedaframian]

​closed starter for @pasiphaedemetriadevil​ // Skip & Nixie

The writer’s parrot pal, Mr. Cacciatore, was acting particularly erratic today and even an afternoon in his private aviary wasn't settling him down as usual.

Skip's lawn was attached to a small dock, as well as a few inches of silt that Skip referred to as his very own 'beach'. Both man and pet noticed something seeming to flounder out in the distance just past their salty little piece of land; at first, Skip believed it to be a manatee, as they were fairly plentiful on his side of the island, but Cacciatore apparently disagreed.

See, the bird was quite used to seeing dolphins, manatees, and even hungry sharks circling just yards away. But the creature there today made Catch ( that's short for his full name ) beat his rainbow-tipped wings wildly against his 'chicken' breasts.

RRawk! RRawk!

He just wouldn't stop... even after Skip broke down and finally offered him a handful of his favourite flakes for fish. After too many minutes of this, Skip decided to leash up Cacciatore and take him along out on the dingy to go investigate. Maybe once the bird saw for himself that this was just another commonplace creature, he would finally calm down. Skip's eardrums were banking on it!

...

As they approached closer and closer, the pair was quite surprised to see a glimpse of something like human limbs splashing aimlessly. Skip acted on instinct, diving in to save he or she should they turn out to be drowning. It was unlikely they were just some foolish hopeful out free'ing for pearls.

Thankfully, their head stayed mostly above the water. A blonde woman, that is, and not too shabby at that, if Skip did say so. Was that some kind of animal skin skirt around her waist? Probably a faulty wetsuit. The other thing wouldn't make a lick of sense.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to go SWIMMING here? That's one of the most densely-everythin'g'ed mangroves in the entire area, to your right there! My left," he muttered, wanting to make perfectly clear that he had his directions straight.

[flippyspoon]

Flushed

Note: Joe Keery’s mouth has me feelin’ some kinda way.

“Are you okay, dear?” Steve’s mom frowned, the little wrinkle between her eyebrows deepening. “You look so flushed.”

If it was possible, Steve flushed yet more deeply, and his fork slipped in his hand, clanging against his half-empty plate.

No, I’m not okay.

He felt dizzy. Across the table, Billy sat. Billy was sitting at the dinner table. With the Harringtons. All of them. Steve’s dad was right there, his eyes fixed on his Time Magazine in blissful ignorance that his son’s lips had been wrapped around the dick of the other boy at the table.

“Oh, I’m …” Steve cleared his throat. He caught his reflection in the mirror above the sideboard behind Billy, who was gleefully smirking. Steve saw the bright pink of his own cheeks, the swollen red of his own lips, his hair mussed and disheveled from when Billy’s hands hand tangled in it as he groaned, his back up against Steve’s bedroom door, his hips uncontrollably thrusting…

“I’m fine,” Steve said.

Billy slumped down in his seat and his foot found Steve’s leg under the table. Just that was enough to make him start to get hard again.

Billy had come over to study. They’d been friendly since February. Then they’d sort of been dancing around each other. Steve couldn’t explain it even to himself; it was all a blur.

Billy had come over to study and sure, maybe Steve had primped for an hour and changed his shirt a few times but he had no expected the tension filled talk about Manifest Destiny to turn into Billy yanking him by the collar and kissing his lights out.

Go west, young man, indeed.

“You don’t have an allergic to reaction to something?” Steve’s mom said. “Your mouth looks so swollen. You didn’t get in a fight, did you?”

Billy was stifling laughter and Steve guzzled half his glass of water before saying, “I’m not allergic to anything.”

“Alright, well...there might be something going around.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Harrington,” BIlly said, in the same voice that now made Steve short of breath. “I’ll look after our Steve.”

Steve met Billy’s eyes and felt like the world was swimming around him. Everything felt warm and heady, like he’d smoked a bunch of weed and forgotten about it. It was so strange how naturally and swiftly he’d sunk to his knees to blow Billy like he’d been hungry for Billy’s cock his whole life and only just realized it. The way Billy’s dick had filled up his mouth, his thick thighs warm and solid in Steve’s hands…

“Well, I’m glad he’s got you around,” Steve’s mom said.

I need you, Steve thought, and Billy’s smirk turned to a soft smile like he’d read Steve’s mind.

Feeling bold, he licked his bottom lip, keeping eye contact with Billy, whose eyelashes fluttered. 

I need you now. I need you always.

“Yeah, I’m…” Billy coughed. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

Steve took a giant bite of chicken cacciatore and grinned around his fork and in two minutes their plates were clean and they were clearing their places, dashing to the kitchen.

“Don’t you want dessert!” His mother called from the dining table.

“WE’RE GOOD!” Steve hollored back. “LOT OF UH...STUDYING TO DO.”

At the top of the stairs, Billy’s hand found Steve’s ass and gave it a squeeze. “Who said we’re not having dessert?”

[clatterbane]

Tonight's not so photogenic delight: leftovers not-quite-pizza!

I decided to plonk the chicken cacciatore leftovers on top of some polenta, cheese it up, and give it a bake. With pretty good results!

For the mush base, I used some of the braai pap (not quite grits, but plain white cornmeal with the same texture). Good enough stuff that I'm going to have to order more. Cooked with mostly chicken broth, with some garlic powder, cayenne, and a little Parmesan added at the end.

I actually remembered to cook that in time to spread it out on the (well oiled) pan to cool this time 😅 Then just needed to bone the remaining chicken and load the goodies onto the "crust".

Mr. C isn't as enthusiastic about corn products in general as I am, but the "pile things on top of mush/grits, add cheese" approach seems to go over pretty well here.