#Pi world record

[presswoodterryryan]

9 Cool Facts About Pi for ARIEL'S 9th Birthday! 🎉✍️

By Mr. Fluffernutter, the smartest bunny in the universe! 🐰✨ Oh my whiskers! It’s a very special day—Ariel is turning 9 years old today! I still remember last year’s birthday when she had a math-themed party, complete with a Pi-shaped cake and a game where everyone tried to recite as many digits of Pi as they could. Spoiler alert: I won! 🎉 This year, we’re celebrating by learning even more about…

[piierogis]

Andrzej Śledź as Javert aka. Śledźvert Les Misérables - Javert's Intervention Gdynia, Poland (1989-2000)

[fazcinatingblog]

Good night Tumblr xxxxxx

[ama3003]

Bread, Stew, and Tears

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: No but I saw a clip of Katniss asking Haymitch to save Peeta and needed to write this.

Type: Angst/ Fluff (Lol I just love angst)

Summary: After hearing Snow’s announcement about the Quarter Quell, you instinctively turn to your only true comfort—cooking. But as the weight of reality settles in, you realize not even that can save you this time.

Haymitch Abernathy x Victor! Female Reader

A.N: Not part of the 'A Pawn Once More' universe. Also I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers.

********

Coping mechanisms are strange things. They wear different faces for different people. Some drown in liquor, some run until their legs give out, and some unravel completely—mind, body, soul.

Yours was quieter. Softer. Safer. Yours was cooking.

It had always been your anchor, your escape hatch, the only way to keep your hands busy when your thoughts threatened to devour you. Baking pies, roasting chickens, chopping onions until your eyes stung from something other than tears. It didn’t matter what you made—it only mattered that you were making something. Creating, when the world around you was constantly tearing itself apart.

And today... today, you needed it more than ever. You didn’t want the distraction. You needed it. You needed to drown in it. To be consumed.

Because the words were still echoing in your mind, sharp and cruel: “The tributes will be reaped from the pool of existing victors.”

Over and over, like a broken record slicing through your skull.

You’d heard it live, sitting next to Haymitch on the worn-down couch in his house. The two of you had been tense, uneasy, as you waited for the President’s address.

You had a bad feeling. You knew the Victors’ Tour hadn’t gone unnoticed. You could feel the Capitol’s eyes narrowing, feel the shift in the air. Katniss and Peeta had become more than just victors—they had become threats. And threats, in the Capitol, didn’t last long.

Still, even with all that dread festering in your gut, you never imagined this.

Shock didn’t even begin to cover what you felt when the words were spoken aloud. It was like the floor had caved in beneath you. Like you’d been hurled into ice-cold water, lungs filling with something heavy and impossible to breathe.

Dread and anguish clawed their way up your spine, wrapping around your throat until you could barely move. You slapped a hand over your mouth, the instinct to scream cut short by sheer disbelief.

You’d won your Games at eighteen. The 56th Hunger Games. You could still see it, still feel it under your skin. Haymitch had been your mentor then—twenty-two years old and already unraveling at the seams. You’d come out the other side shattered but breathing. He’d barely looked at you at first, too drunk or too bitter or maybe both. But you stuck around anyway.

You always stuck around.

After the Games, you fell into the role of caretaker almost naturally. Haymitch pushed you away, again and again, snarling and drinking and pretending he didn’t need anyone. But you stayed. You always stayed.

Even after everything, there was still a softness to you that hadn’t been burned out by the arena. A light he didn’t understand. A part of him—one he’d never admit out loud—sometimes wished you had died in those Games. Just to spare you this. Just to spare you him.

But you were stronger than he gave you credit for.

He still remembered the first time he saw you after your Victory Tour. You’d shown up at his door with a pot of soup—too much for one person, just enough for two. You smiled, awkward and hopeful, and he hadn’t had the strength to tell you to leave.

You latched onto him like a leech, he’d joked more than once. But somewhere along the line, he stopped trying to shake you off.

He grew to love you for it.

Nothing was ever official between you. No labels. No promises. But you both knew what it was. There were kisses sometimes, soft and rare and meaningful. Hugs that lasted just a little too long. Touches that lingered.

You were more than friends, even if neither of you had the courage to say it aloud.

Haymitch was terrified. Of letting you in. Of letting himself care. Of losing you. The Capitol had taken everyone else from him—family, friends, lovers. But you? He wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

He never said those things. But you knew.

You always knew.

You remembered the sound of his glass shattering when the announcement aired. It jolted you from your frozen state. His scream cracked through the silence, guttural and raw.

You rushed to him, wrapped your arms around him, held on as tight as you could. Your tears soaked into his shirt as his fury trembled beneath your hands.

At some point, exhaustion pulled you under. You woke up curled on the couch, head resting in his lap, his hand loosely tangled in your hair. He was already deep into his second bottle of whiskey when your eyes opened.

Then Peeta walked through the door.

And just like that, you knew it was time to go.

Haymitch needed to focus, to pull himself together—for them, for what was coming. And you needed to do the only thing that ever gave you peace.

You needed to cook. 

After hours in the kitchen, surrounded by boiling pots and the scent of fresh bread, you finally packed everything up. You’d made enough food to feed a battalion—stew, bread, potatoes, something sweet for afterward.

But none of it was really for you. It never was.

You headed to Haymitch’s house, balancing the food in your arms, knowing without a doubt he hadn’t eaten a damn thing all day. Maybe Peeta was still with him. Maybe Katniss should be there too. You were all caught in the same storm, walking the same nightmare in different shoes. The least you could do—the only thing you could do—was feed them through it.

As you lifted your foot to kick the door open, too burdened with containers to knock, it creaked open from the inside. Katniss stood there, coat on, about to step out.

“Katniss,” you breathed, a little surprised. “Hi. You're not staying for dinner?”

You adjusted a heavy dish nearly slipping from your grip. “You should. Bring Peeta, too. I cooked enough to make the Capitol jealous.”

She offered a faint, weary smile. “I was just heading out. But thank you.”

You studied her face—tight, drawn, eyes a little too empty. You knew that look. You’d worn it yourself.

“I’ll send some leftovers,” you said gently, lowering your voice. “After I deal with the old grump inside.”

She gave a soft huff, amused but sad. “Thanks,” she murmured, stepping aside to let you in.

Before she left, you paused.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” you said, eyes meeting hers. “Because that would be insulting. But I want you to know—I’m here. Whenever you need me.”

Katniss nodded. “I know,” she said softly. And then she was gone.

You nudged the door shut with your foot and carried the food into the kitchen, setting it all down with a relieved sigh.

“Mitch? I made way too much bread,” you called out. “And lamb stew. Still need to finish the potatoes, but—”

You stopped. Your words died as your eyes landed on him in the living room.

Haymitch sat slumped on the couch, a glass of liquor hanging from his hand, already halfway gone. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were heavy with something that felt like resignation.

“Hey,” you said carefully, “what did Katniss and Peeta want?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Just took a long, slow drink.

“Peeta came to ask me to protect Katniss,” he finally muttered. “And Katniss… she asked me to save Peeta.”

Your stomach twisted. You stepped closer. “Save him how?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and shrugged like it meant nothing.

“If his name is drawn, I’m volunteering.”

The words hit you like a slap. You blinked, not understanding at first.

“There’s no way in hell you’re volunteering,” you snapped. “Are you serious? They both asked you to die for them?”

His silence was answer enough.

“Haymitch,” you hissed, voice sharp with disbelief, “you can’t be serious.”

“I promised her,” he said, so quietly it was almost a sigh.

You stared at him in disbelief. Rage and fear tangled inside you, hot and suffocating. You stormed toward him, snatching the bottle from his hand and slamming it on the table.

“You promised me, too,” you snapped. “Years ago. After my Games. You promised you wouldn’t do anything reckless. And guess what, Haymitch? You’re keeping that promise.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t yell. He didn’t even try to take the bottle back.

“Sweetheart,” he said, quiet and tired, “it’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.” Your voice cracked as tears welled in your eyes. “You can’t volunteer. You can’t go back. You can’t leave me.”

He stood abruptly, glass forgotten, and crossed the room in three strides. His hands came up to cradle your face, rough and trembling.

“I’m not losing you,” he said, eyes burning into yours.

“What?” you whispered, barely able to speak.

“I told Katniss I’d volunteer for Peeta,” he said. “But only if she swore to volunteer for you if your name is called.”

You froze. Tears slipped down your cheeks. “You… what?”

“You’re not going back in that arena. Not while I’m breathing. I won’t let them have you again.”

You were his first tribute. His first win. His first reason to feel something again after his own nightmare. And now, the thought of losing you—of watching you walk toward another arena—was something he physically couldn’t bear.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you whispered, voice shaking with anger and grief. “You’re being a hypocrite. You’re not playing fair.”

“Nothing about this is fair,” he snapped, his own voice raw. “But I don’t give a damn about fairness. I care about you. And keeping you out of that arena is the only thing I care about right now.”

You were shaking. “How could they even ask you to do that?”

He gave a bitter smile, small and broken. “Because they know the truth. I don’t have anything left. If I go, no one will care.”

Your heart shattered. “I’ll care,” you sobbed, gripping his shirt. “You have me. You can’t leave me. I won’t survive it, Haymitch. I can’t—”

He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped around you like iron, grounding you, keeping you from unraveling completely.

“Shhhh, sweetheart,” he whispered, his own voice cracking. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m right here.”

Your body trembled in his arms, his warmth the only thing tethering you to the earth.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still cupping your face. His eyes were misted over, his thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.

His guilt lingered, heavy, but your safety outweighed it all. If there was one thing he knew he'd never regret, it was protecting you.

He pulled back slightly, his hands gentle as they cradled your face. “You know what?” he said softly. “I could really go for some chocolate cake. Let’s bake one.”He said it because he knew cooking calmed you, grounded you.

You let out a watery laugh through your tears. He was trying to make everything feel normal. Safe. Familiar.

But in that moment, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to cook.

You didn’t want distractions. You didn’t want stew or bread or cake.

You just wanted him.

I'm working on some requests! Should be out in a few days!!!!

[espanolbot2]

Considering the wide breadth of speculative fiction shows in Britain in the 1970s, I'm surprised that no one has tried to mash-up several versions of them together as combinations could be a lot of fun.

Like, for example, there was the show Doomwatch, which was a show about a group of experts who on a week by week basis had to deal with the various odd scientific phenomena that arose before it became a wider issue for the UK/the world (such as a strain of rats that became sentient and developed a ate for human flesh).

You could easily tie this into the Bernard Quatermass stories (who served kind of as the prototype for Doctor Who), as he also was a guy who had to investigate similar matters in the 1950s and 60s, and, going forward, link it up with other shows as examples of phenomena the team are having to investigate.

Such as,

The Tomorrow People - basically the X-Men, but British. Once had an episode where the creators were very unamused by the "ironic" adoption of Nazi imagery by counterculture teenagers born after the Second World War who incorporated it into the punk aesthetic as a way of shocking their parents. Show said that the person behind this was literally Hitler, who was both still alive and trying to cause a resurgence of fascism in the UK several decades early.

Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased) - a PI claims that the ghost of his former partner is still helping him solve cases from beyond the grave. This is nonsense... until it isn't.

Sapphire and Steel - the team come to the location of a supposed haunting, where something eldritch seems to be afoot. Not helping matters is the appearance of two hot but exceptionally weird people who appeared to incarnate out of think air to conduct their own investigation.

Outside of that you could do other combinations, like an expy of Hopkirk accidentally getting stuck in the Basement from the Stone Tape (which due to the composition of the rock, either makes a recording of people's last moments or physically imprisons their still conscious souls in the rock, forever, alongside the millennia of other less human things that got trapped there too).

[jennamoran]

Sometimes I think about the fact that the canon of a fictional world has absolutely no binding effect on how future creators write in that world or what the audience believes about it. That "Captain Kirk is not a sea slug" is not a truth, or even a theory, but a speech act; that not even Doyle's own best efforts could kill off Holmes.

Sometimes I write about how the list of spotlights and quest actions is the official canon of a Glitch game, and I have to stop and think: that's not a truth, or even a rule, but a speech act; the actual rule itself behind that speech act, to the extent that rules exist at all, is "you should assume, unless circumstances suggest otherwise, that Jenna Moran---whose only real authority is that at the time of its release she was the one who'd spent the most time thinking about how Glitch works----believes that you should give those events more conceptual weight than you would otherwise in assembling your individual and communal pictures of the world, and in particular that when you take those actions it might be better to do so while keeping a sense of that heightened relevance in mind, and also maybe write them down?"

Sometimes I think about how "roll 2d6 to attack" is only different in degree but not in kind.

(For the record, that "rule"(*) comes up in Glitch specifically because it's a game that cares about the degree of relevance of an action, and "relevance" crosses the fourth wall both ways. Some games get to pretend that their setting and rules are a well-defined conceptual object, that their world "exists" in the same imaginary way that numbers do, that programs do, that categories pretend to; that the rules are the bones and the setting the surface of a world that notionally exists outside all our shared imaginary spaces ... but Glitch doesn't get to do that, because it's so deeply concerned with so many things that I don't get to nail down. Even if I gave a clean relevance scale, for instance, and helped you identify which game events were relevance 3, or 7, or 4 pi, or whatnot, it wouldn't mean anything because it would have only the weakest relationship to how relevant those events would be ...

(*) technically canonical Glitch only has two rules, and this isn't really one of them, but that's ... a whole other kettle of fish.)

[sweetmapple]

I’ve seen a lot of TMA x Malevolent fluff crossover material but I need more whump, sorry not sorry 😬

Got me thinking how would the world’s worst ‘employers’ interact with each others’ favorite employees? I wrote out the bones to 2 separate comics and goddamn this would require soooo much time to draw this so, until I get that gusto to force my will upon paper, woe be upon ye, take my drawing notes. Didn’t write it in prose, it’s specifically my comic ‘screenplay’ writing but I feel like I got the characters n dialogue pretty solid 😊

Arthur and John meeting Elias

Arthur sitting at a diner, drinking coffee. Someone steps up to his table.

“Ah, no thank you, I’m still working on-“

“Orther- that’s not the waiter, it’s a man in a nice suit he’s-“

“Pleasure to meet you.” Elias holding out his hand.

“He’s holding his hand out, I think he wants to shake.”

“Oh! Yes, pleasure to meet you?”

“Hmm, pleasure to meet you as well Mr. Lester.”

“Uhhh.” Both John and Arthur. Elias sits across from him.

“Orther, I- there’s something wrong with this man. You should bash his skull in. Quick.”

“No! I- I mean- um- uh-“

“Oh, of course, I’m sure it’s difficult to see what’s going on. I’m Elias Bouchard, I sent a letter to your office last week, I’m in need of your investigative eyes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, his eyes Orthur…”

“Um…”

“As a PI Mr. Lester.”

“Orther, there’s a large stone outside the diner, you should-“

“Now I don’t want to cause any headaches, but it’s a simple job.”

(Elias rambling about wanting to find Leitner)

(Arthur raises his hand to his mouth and quietly argues with John about wtf is going on)

Elias sees Arthur is not paying attention and trails off watching them, growing increasingly annoyed.

“Mr. Lester, how long did it take for your daughter to drown?”

Air is sucked out of the room

“Did he just-“ John

“What the fuck did you just say-“ Arthur

“I’d appreciate your attention, Mr. Lester-”

“If you don’t tell me what the fuck you are-“

Elias gets a glint in his eyes, static crackles in the air and Arthur sits back

“Orther? What-“ John looks at Arthur. Arthur blankly sits, now crying.

“Now, would you prefer me to call you The King in Yellow or is John too personal.”

“You motherfucker, what the fuck did you d-“

“I only find it fair, John, hm, what a nice name, I only find it fair to proffer one single threat against the 80 you’ve lobbed at me thus far. Do tell Arthur once he’s done that I’ll sear that image into his mind should you continue to distract him.”

“What are you… showing him?”

“Call it cinema of the family variety.”

John is suddenly very concerned. “Orthur, snap out-“

“Ah-ah-ah, just a few more seconds.”

Arthur comes out of the trance. “I- wh- wh-“

“Allow me to speak plainly. I assume you’re familiar with the concept of the carrot and stick. I’d have hoped I could have gotten to the carrot but I see now the two of you are more familiar with the latter.”

Arthur in a state of shock, mouth too dry to speak. John, “Orther, this man, we…” he growls, “should listen to him.”

Elias smirks. “Wonderful. Find the Librarian Jurgen Leitner and you’ll get your carrot. I’d imagine occult knowledge is tantalizing enough.” He gets up, slides a business card on the table. “Your Armitage will be a good lead. And I assure you, I- hah, pardon the language, I am not someone to… fuck with.”

Jon meeting Kayne

Jon reaches to start the tap recorder. Clicks the button. “Statement of-“ Then it immediately turns off.

Jon pauses.

He goes to press it again

It turns off again.

“Uhm…”

He presses it one more time.

“Th… that’s new.”

“Gahahahahahhahaha!” Kayne is sitting across from him

Jon falls backwards out of his chair

“Wh-who the- wha- who are you?” Jon splutters.

Kayne steps on top of the table and to Jon’s side, leaving bloody footprints on the table and statement papers.

“Jon Jon Jon Jon Jon, jonny boy. Never had a shy tape recorder before?” Kayne stands him up.

“Uh-“

“Oh, you’ve got some dust on ya, lemme just-“ swipes at his shirt. “There!” Jon’s collar is covered in blood from Kayne’s hands

Jon looks down at the blood. “The… the slaughter then?”

“Oh the slaughterrrrrrrr he asks, GAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Tell me who you ser-“

“Hush hush hush Jonny boy. I’m the one with the questions today.” He puts his finger to Jon’s lips.

Jon backs away from his hand, eyes crackling readying a question

Kaynes hand shoots out grabbing Jon’s throat. Very serious now. “None of that. But if I said a lil name like extinction would that get you to shut the fuck up?”

Jon pales.

Kayne drops him on the ground.

“Great! No… Wonderful! No… still not right. What do you Brit’s say? Bloody brilliant? Hah! Yeah, Blough’ee brillian’ i’ is!”

“What do you want?”

“Mmm, now that’s a question I like hearing. I wanna talk to that big ol eye ball you worship, maybe make some tasteful and sultry extended eye contact with it. Where is it?”

“The- the beholding?”

“Yeah sure, whichever of the 800 names you like. Where is it?” Kayne sits on the table.

“It- it can’t exist in this-“ Jon staggers up.

“Ugh, fine fine fine- then that big tall compensatory panopticon your body snatching boss has. Where’s that?”

“…what?”

Kayne looks at him suspiciously. Looks at his watch-less wrist. A ‘genuine’ apologetic look flares across his face. “Aw, Jesus Christ, my bad, spoilers.” Snaps his fingers.

Jon’s eyes go hazy and his face goes blank.

He shakes his head, confused.

“Your Bossman would be quite cross with me if he knew I said that. Hah!”

“Said… what?”

“Exactly. Take me to the tunnels ‘Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.’ Or I’m gonna peel out each individual nerve from your entire body and weave em into a macrame handkerchief.”

[yellowf1nch]

Minors: Do Not Interact

Note: a bit long for a quick idea, but mentions of slightly dubious intentions, though nothing explicit described. Gender neutral terms/second person and no physical descriptors but size (you are three inches tall)

Hmmm.....

What if [intelligence!reader] was subject to some kind of shrinking technology? And when suddenly Captain Price is looking for his favorite *behind the scenes* coworker, and Laswell mentions they're "incapacitated," he's suddenly trying to get the proper clearance to get to them... And maybe he does, as a captain, and is brought to an observation room where [intelligence!reader] is wrapped in a handkerchief, three inches tall? He'd stand there speechless, stunned, first thoughts going to what kind of new hell has been unleashed on the world, and is then asking the doctor about the science of it... Is it reversible? How was this done?

Of course he keeps it under wraps, only telling his most trusted brother-in-arms Lieutenant Riley (off the record)... And of course Ghost keeps it a secret because he knows how to keep secrets until he lets a little something slip about the whole ordeal to Sergeants Garrick and Mactavish, who then go smugly to Price because they know something he shouldn't have let out... So then the three of them are also pursuing proper clearance because when they get it and pay [intelligence!reader] a visit, it's the collective turning to Laswell with "maybe we could watch them, ay?" "They could use the company, practically torture to keep 'em locked up all alone after what they've gone through," "we've got enough time between ops to help 'em be more comfortable and keep a record of status for the doc," and honestly it's not the most outlandish argument to make... Maybe it wouldn't hurt, after all, you were still *you* just much smaller...

Much smaller and to your coworkers-turned-acquaintances-turned-guys-you-hang-out-with-sometimes-turned-caretakers, much less capable of doing much of anything. There's the simple things, like helping you move around by placing you in a hand, on the shoulder, or in a front breast pocket. Not to hard to deal with, and the boys certainly enjoy toting you around (even if some wouldn't admit it)... Then there's the ingenuity they seem to enjoy in trying to work out how to make things for you, small sized. Small chair and table? Starts with a small plastic container and an overturned ashtray. Food and drink? They start with already small foods like rice and shredded cheese, maybe some canned beans that you can eat each piece one at a time.

But then there's the point where you honestly become like a *pet* to them. Exacerbated when Johnny seems to remember his sisters having a doll set that they grew out of, and really it's the perfect size! And Kyle saw some videos online of people making tiny sized pancakes and pies for their hamsters, how cute would you look then? Simon, well, he gets a little tired of you trying to work on paperwork and such; all this energy you need to get out, just use this rodent wheel and you'll be ready for a nap in the nest he made for you... Oh, Price? Well, he sees how excited the boys get, and knows how much they think about you out in the field-- really, this was an unexpected change and of course you're upset but maybe it's for the best? But it's been a while since you had a wash, what with being afraid of showers and sinks, so what if he's got a teacup that he "definitely doesn't use anymore, dearie," with little portions of shampoo and conditioner, a little chip off a soap bar for you to wash with and a washcloth for you to use as a towel-- but he needs to keep an eye on you, so you don't get hurt or in case something goes wrong?

And if you turn back to your normal self, but they seem... Disappointed? Or maybe they continue patting your head and trying to do everything for you like you can't do it yourself... Or what if this is unfortunately a permanent fixture?

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 4

I went on Pinterest. Got inspired. I should be paying attention to class. Which I am. Kinda.

-> Part one

-> Part Two

-> Part Three

Sharing a bed with three other people isn't as romantic as you think. >:)

☁ Omg I'm writing headcanons that are actually headcanons and not practically a story i broke up because I hate connecting sentences and paragraphs?

☁ I'm shocked too.

☁ Omg I never even INTRODUCED MYSELF. Y'all can call me Milk <3 or Roo. Neither are my real name but I go by those names on Dandy's world <3 So if you've played with an Astro named Roo :).

☁Anyway.

☁ Sharing a bed with someone? Is nice, don't get me wrong. But it has it's downsides. Let alone sleeping with THREE people? Crazy stuff.

☁ For the first little while, you probably don't sleep in the same bed because...there's four of you. There's no bed big enough for you all to cuddle. When nights get really hard, sometimes one of you will crawl into whoever's closest room and that's how the night will go. Or if there's a rather hard run, one of you will put in the work and gather all the mattress, pillows, blankets and cushions you can get away with to build what is basically a large nest to keep the others nearby.

☁ By the fifth time that happens, Sprout is whining abo☁ut the work put into it and immediately is looking for a solution.

☁ Out of all of them, Sprout is the pickiest sleeper in my opinion. Astro can fall asleep literally anywhere. Literally anywhere. There have been times where panic hits and you come back waiting for the elevator to close only to realize he's not there with 12 seconds left to retrieve him.

☁ He's always very apologetic, don't get him wrong, but it's unfortunately just how the celestial works I'm afraid.

☁ Cosmo is kind of in between the two. He won't fall asleep mid-run, but he does have some things he absolutely needs or he won't fall asleep. Like, for instance, he needs blankets. At least three. No matter how hot it is, get him a fan then. That number lowers when he's sleeping with one of you to a whopping one blanket, but he needs something covering him.

☁ Sprout needs like the highest quality pillows, and blankets, and white noise, and a water cup in arms reach and and and-

☁ So Sprout is in charge of picking out a bed. However, this comes the question of who's room it will go in. Astro and Sprout have the bigger rooms, but both rooms have a...theme. And no offense to either, but You and Cosmo readily agree the fight to see which theme wins is not worth it.

☁ So, you and Cosmo take it upon yourselves to scour the blueprints of the building and talk with Brightney who has the records of the building practically memorized. She's able to direct you to the abandoned Handlers rooms. They're larger than the toon rooms and none of them have been claimed thus far.

☁ So you and Cosmo take the time, clean one out- The only one that didn't have a placard- and present it to the other two with bright grins and starry eyes.

☁ It's taken well with a flurry of kisses bestowed upon you both.

☁ So, Sprout orders the bed though the magical power of don'tlooktoohardintothelogic and the room is yours to claim.

☁ The room is evidently decorated with a mix of all four of you whether it be the addition of fairy lights along the walls from Astro, or the rugs with pies on them from Sprout, or the bedspread from Cosmo. Each of you is seen in every corner of the room and it's both brilliant and kind of frightening.

☁ Even if you all still have your original rooms, this is a much bigger step. You all wanted to see each other as much as possible previously, but now you're sleeping in the same room, waking up together, getting ready for your days together?

☁ That's all to say, sleeping together in one bed does not have its pros! There's always someone there for when a bad dream slips through the cracks, and most times at least one person is awoken by the sudden jolts and its already hushing you with a soothing presence and whispered reassurances.

☁ It gets hot and sweaty at times because of the body heat but after the introduction of a fan and opening the window, it becomes much better.

☁ Also the clothes? Stealing clothes is just normal for you all. At this point, any new article of clothing bought is just communal. You've lost count of how many times you're reading or playing games in the general area when Astro walks in, wearing your shirt and just collapses onto you for a nap, or Cosmo's in the kitchen with Sprout's apron or you've stolen Cosmo's sweater. Sprout himself is exasperated at the thought because he's so tall he sometimes struggles to steal anything. He feels left out!

☁ Have no fear though because once Astro becomes more comfortable to go without his cloak, sitting in your room in just a shirt and pants, Sprout is the first to claim dibs on it, him and Cosmo fighting over it. You're smart as you go right after the source, perched in Astro's lap as he watches them.

☁ Getting ready for bed is a routine now too. It used to be a clumpy and choppy thing, but soon enough you've all developed a way to work with each other so it's seamless with minimum hiccups.

☁ Sleeping through the night? Is...a process. Every night brings a new situation and it's a journey.

☁ Sprout and Astro are more often the not the bottom part of the pile. As I mentioned earlier, Sprout is a prissy sleeper so there have been quite a few times he's woken you up with a quiet "My arm's asleep, bud." and you have to spit back "Suck it up." before he's forcefully dragging you to a new position.

☁ The jolt sometimes wakes Astro and Cosmo, but they're quick to go right back asleep.

☁ Other nights you're woken by Astro pushing at Cosmo, groaning softly. "Just keep jamming your knee up my crotch, that's fine." It did not in fact sound fine, making you grin before burrowing back into your chosen boyfriend pillow at the time.

☁ Some nights both you and Cosmo are rudely awoken by Sprout and Astro shoving at each other, arguing over who is taking more of the giant bed despite an entire half of it not being in use.

☁ Speaking from experience, when sleeping with another person, one half of the bed goes unused at all times. Idk if it's just like instinct to huddle together, but like yeah. That's what happens. doesn't matter how you all lay down, by the end of it all, you will all be in one heap on one half of the bed.

☁ One of you falls off the bed at least once a week. Most times it's you or Cosmo, who's laying on either Sprout or Astro when they roll over and take you with them only for there to be no more bed for you.

☁ That's the true difference between them. Astro is all "Did that hurt?" and when you're like "I'll survive." He's immediately like "That's not what I asked?!"

☁ Sprout's laughing and tells you you'll be fine, dragging you into his arms and smothering your face in apologetic kisses.

☁ By the way, once they're comfortable, you'll miss the seperate sleeping quarters. Astro has shoved so many articles of clothing into your face asking if it smells clean enough Tisha won't hunt him down.

☁ He hasn't learned even after you've told him yes three times when you knew Tisha would rain hellfire.

☁ Cosmo brings treats into the bed. You know that tiktok that's like "Making food in bed without my bf/husband/dog noticing." That's him. He's literally got a griddle somewhere. You've woken up to him making pancakes, watched him turn, smile at you and return to his project like...huh.

☁ When Sprout woke up that night, wrapped in Astro, he was only mildly confused before the rest of his brain jogged awake and he was left staring at you and Cosmo both sitting at the foot of the bed, eating pancakes. Like it wasn't three in the morning.

☁ The griddle was banned the next morning.

☁ Three days later, Cosmo had an easy bake oven.

☁ Astro didn't even question it when you handed him a pretzel bite, eating it before returning to sleep.

☁ When he off handedly mentions it the next day, there's a distant shout from Sprout before he's appearing in the doorway, demanding more information.

☁ He never finds it.

☁ Arguments go crazy too.

☁ not fights, but those little squabbles you get into after youve been with someone for a while and they're existance is just so adorable and loving and it pisses you off bc wdym they chose me.

☁ On runs especially. Sprout is NOTORIOUS for pining one of you down in the elevator, hands squeezing your cheeks, "You are so annoying, oh my god- I LOVE YOU." Like he doesn't know how to handle it.

☁ I didn't mention this previously but the distinction between how he treats you three versus everyone else is SO FUNNY. Like if for some reason none of you are the same run, he literally sits in the corner and pouts. Vee is so over his shit.

☁ He does this thing where he walks up to a machine and just bangs his head against it and cries about how he doesn't want to be there.

☁ The SECOND he's back, he acts like he wasn't a mopey kitten.

☁ Like I have this imagine of him coming back, walking into the kitchen. You and Cosmo are covered in cake batter. Astro is sipping on a drink, leaning against the counter as he watches you two. Immediately he's just relaxed because this is such an idiot thing to do, but you're his idiots and that's what matters.

☁ You have a notebook of shit you've all said.

"Tough shit toons, you're distractor has a thesis to examine to a molecular level about the connection between Spongebob and Chappell Roan."

"It's like a perfect oval. Like a circle compressed by the Thigh Master."

"Her laugh reminds me of a dog just before they throw up."

"The lamp. It's just sitting there. Like you- who said they would do the dishes!"

☁ It's a national treasure.

☁ The other toons think you're their own little show. It's so funny to them. It's like the Toonashians (Have yall seen those tiktoks?)

☁ Especially when it's between Sprout and Astro. As two mains, their fights are so funny. They both do that thing where they turn to you and Cosmo and ask who's right. Neither of them are.

☁ You and Astro are not allowed in the kitchen alone. Period. You make unholy concoctions. Remember the pudding fiasco? Sprout put a ban on you from entering the kitchen. Everyone knows. Pebble rats you out fastest.

☁ Sprout is banned from the Hamilton soundtrack. You threatened to drown him in the shower after hearing him belt it for the fourth week in the row early in the morning.

☁ Speaking of! Morning routines! Sprout wakes up first. Makes it all of your problems. But he does do coffee/tea/juice/ whatever you need to start your day and has it ready with a kiss by the time you make it downstairs.

☁ Cosmo is normally next, leaving you to fend off Astro by yourself.

☁ Astro is such a cuddler, so good luck getting him off. Normally you have to pry him off with Cosmo's help after he's done his morning routine, replacing yourself with a pillow.

☁ He gets up right after that, immediately sensing the pillow is NOT you. He's grumpy and tired and just heads straight to the kitchen where Sprout is waiting. Coffee is first before anything else for him along with some snuggles.

☁ Y'all so domestic its cute asf.

☁ Of course the relationship has its pros and cons, but every day and night you're reminded of just how worth it it always is.

☁ Ahh im out of ideas so idk when the next part will come out <3

[phoenixblaze1412]

i saw the father Dottore fics that you wrote and honestly loved them! would you be willing to write about father!Dottore with a kid who has ADHD/Autism or sensory issues?

Of course^^ and yes you can be 🫧 anon

The laboratory was always a place of order. Every instrument had its designated space, every experiment followed a precise methodology, and every result was expected to be recorded without deviation. Dottore thrived in this structured world, where logic dictated every decision and unpredictability was a flaw to be eliminated.

You, his child, however, are the embodiment of unpredictability.

At first, he had thought it was simply a phase—an inability to focus, an aversion to certain sensations, an inexplicable resistance to what he deemed perfectly reasonable expectations.

You fidgeted constantly, your attention drifting between his words and the unseen world in your mind. You would recoil from certain fabrics, cover your ears at loud noises, and refuse to make eye contact for prolonged periods. Your interests were deeply fixated, but not on the subjects Dottore had hoped you would inherit.

No matter how many times he introduced you to the marvels of biology, chemistry, or engineering, you simply didn’t care. Instead, you were drawn to colors, textures, and shapes. You would spend hours sketching, completely immersed in your art, but the moment he placed a scientific text in front of you, your focus dissolved.

Frustration grew between the two of you like an unspoken wall. Dottore tried to enforce structure, believing discipline would instill the focus you lacked. It didn’t work. The segments had mixed reactions—some found your unpredictability amusing, others were visibly irritated. Pi, ever the perfectionist, struggled with your chaotic energy, while Gamma found you fascinating, often sitting beside you as you scribbled away with reckless abandon.

The tension came to a breaking point one evening when Dottore, in a rare lapse of control, snapped.

"You need to learn discipline," he said, voice sharp as he snatched away a piece of paper from you that is covered in vibrant, swirling colors. "Art is a hobby. It will not serve you in any meaningful way. You must focus on what matters."

You froze in place, expression unreadable as you got up and abruptly stormed off. You didn’t yell or cry. You simply left, your small hands balled into fists. That night, you refused to come out of your room, even when the segments tried coaxing you out. Eta, the youngest segment, who often acted as a bridge between you and Dottore, shook his head solemnly. "You hurt them."

Dottore had spent his life dissecting, analyzing, and manipulating the human condition, but the realization that he had hurt his own child in a way he couldn’t immediately fix was a foreign and unwelcome feeling.

It wasn’t until he spoke to Beta—one of his more observant segments—that he truly began to understand.

"They don’t think the way you do," Beta explained. "Their mind works differently. What you see as distractions are part of how they function. You can’t force them to be like you. You have to adapt, or you’ll lose them."

Adapting was not something Dottore did often. He demanded the world shift to his design, not the other way around. But the idea of losing his child, of pushing you so far that you no longer trusted him, was unsettling.

So he changed. Slowly. Awkwardly.

He learned that you needed noise while working—so he allowed you to hum or tap your fingers against the desk while drawing, even if it grated on his nerves. He learned that certain textures made you uncomfortable, so he adjusted your clothing accordingly. He learned that eye contact wasn’t necessary for communication and that sometimes you needed to move around while talking to him. He stopped trying to force you into rigid routines and instead built flexibility into your days, allowing you to take breaks when your focus waned.

Most importantly, he began to acknowledge your interests rather than dismiss them. When you drew, he studied your work, asked you about your techniques, and even provided you with higher-quality materials.

One evening, he found himself watching you sketch a complex diagram of the solar system, eyes alight with excitement as you explained planetary formations in a way that rivaled any scientific explanation.

“You like astronomy,” he mused, watching as your pencil danced across the page.

You nodded enthusiastically. “It’s like… science, but with colors and movement and so many possibilities.”

Science, but with possibilities. That, Dottore could understand.

The segments adapted as well. Gamma became your willing test subject, letting you doodle on his arms with ink. Eta took to making up stories about the things you drew, turning your creations into fantastical narratives. Even Pi, who had once been the most resistant, learned to engage with you in small ways, challenging you to replicate complex patterns in your art.

One day, you timidly approached Dottore with a new sketchbook in hand. You hesitated before handing it to him. “I… I drew something for you.”

He opened it to find an intricate illustration of his lab—meticulously detailed, yet softened by artistic flourishes. The test tubes shimmered, the machinery gleamed, and in the center, surrounded by all his segments, was him, drawn with an unfamiliar gentleness.

Dottore stared at it for a long moment before finally speaking. “…It’s exceptional.”

Your face lit up, relief evident in your eyes. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

From that day forward, your world found an unexpected harmony. Dottore still didn’t fully understand the way your mind worked, but he no longer tried to force you into a mold you weren’t meant for. Instead, he learned to meet you where you were, to build a bridge between logic and creativity.

And in return, you flourished.

Because while you could never be the scientist he had envisioned, you were something just as brilliant—his child, in all their chaotic, artistic, and endlessly fascinating glory.

[retropopcult]

Audrey Hepburn at an Automat in Times Square. Photographed 1951 by Lawrence Fried.

Horn & Hardart's Automats were innovative, self-service restaurants that fed millions of New Yorkers but were also a tourist attraction for almost eighty years.

After a visit to Berlin around the turn of the century, Philadelphia restaurant owners Joseph Horn and Frank Hardart incorporated many of the ideas they saw at "waiterless cafeterias", installing automation equipment at their new Philadelphia "Automat" in 1902. It didn't catch on, proving to be a little too ahead of its time. But their second attempt in New York City ten years later did. By then, there were hundreds of thousands of stenographers, secretaries, and sales clerks filling new office buildings throughout Manhattan, and the Automat provided them with  an inexpensive place to meet friends, eat fresh, wholesome and well-prepared meals in safe and comfortable surroundings, and where they never had to worry about tipping.  Beautifully designed with dolphin heads for coffee spouts, marble floors, high ceilings and pristine menus, in record time one Automat grew to 24, serving 2400 pies a day from a central bakery that famously turned out cheap, high caliber food in abundance.  Quality was a hallmark.  Rules were “Do not compromise”.  During the Depression, when so many restaurants went belly up, the Automats thrived.  In World War II, Horn & Hardart supplied the food for combat ships.  And by 1953, they were serving 2,206,000 beef pies, 10,652,000 desserts, 3,388,000 hamburgers and 4,886,000 pounds of spaghetti to 8,000,000 customers per day.

[amomentsescape]

Hey, earlier I was suprised to find theres no Christmas themed slashers x reader so could I request just that with the reader and the slashers separately decorating, baking, movies, opening gifts etc? Thx

Slashers Doing Christmas Activities with Reader

A/N: You're so right about not having any Christmas themed Slasher fics! I was thinking about coming up with a Christmas prompt list for the Gotham and Slasher fanatics. If any of you reading this would like a prompt list, let me know!

Freddy Krueger

He's been ready for Christmas all year

I mean, have you seen his sweater?

He knows you've been excited too

So what better way to celebrate than to decorate?

And decorating with Freddy is unlike any other

He can create literal worlds for you

You want 50 Christmas trees in the living room? Sure thing

You want actual elves helping you out around the house? Coming right up!

Plus, Freddy isn't much for decor, so he gives you free reign on doing whatever you want

He most definitely will joke around with you though

He'll change the gold lights to red or have "Santa Clause" tied up in the corner of the room next time you visit

It's all in good fun, of course

You punish him by forcing a Santa hat on his head

Michael Myers

The only "good" holiday to Michael is Halloween

What's the point of Christmas anyways?

Show joy to others and share kindness?

Gross

But he's with you now, so he has to make you happy in some way or another

When you suggest decorating the house, he just sort of gives you that dead stare

But he doesn't disagree

He watches you hang lights up and set up little trinkets everywhere

He will help you with the heavy lifting or anything that involves being really tall

Silently complains about carrying an actual tree into the house though

He doesn't really get the Christmas joy at all, but if it makes you happy, then so be it

Jason Voorhees

Jason's love for Christmas has never truly gone away

In fact, he really appreciates this time of year since there are less run in's with rowdy teens during the winter

So when you suggest a Christmas movie night cuddling together, he's all in

Of course, you watch the films you both remember from childhood

But you also decide to introduce him to the world of Hallmark movies

Unsurprisingly, Jason has a thing for cheesy romance films

But something about the snow falling outside in the woods while a warm fire burns in the fireplace makes Jason feel all giddy

Even a slasher can't escape the joy of Christmas

Thomas Hewitt

One of Thomas's favorite things to do during the holiday season is to decorate the tree!

It's one of the small childhood memories he holds onto, and he's very excited to make new memories with you

He happily carries in the tree, refusing to let you do any of the lifting

And once it's set up, you both are digging through old bins to find ornaments and lights to hang up

You both even make your own special ornament to put on the tree!

And once it's all set up, he lifts you up so you can put the star on top

You both end up turning off all the lights in order to just admire the tree better, just casually chit chatting and sharing festive chocolates

Bubba Sawyer

It's surprisingly his idea to bake a bunch of Christmas treats!

He got so many ingredients

Cookies, cupcakes, pies, if you can think of it, Bubba wants to make it

Of course, there's traditional Christmas music playing in the background

Bubba goes a little crazy with the sprinkles

By the end of everything, the kitchen looks like a war zone

But with everything baking, the house smells amazing

Instead of dinner, you both eat your treats

Bubba has a sugar rush and ends up excitedly bouncing off the walls

You both end up crashing on the couch on top of one another

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms loves Christmas

He has several classical records of Christmas music that he likes to play throughout the month

He has you help him dig out the old decorations he hasn't touched in years

You almost feel weird touching them since each ornament is worth $100 or more

But you and Brahms do have fun setting up the tree and putting the pretty lights everywhere

He also finds some old books he used to read as a child

You both read the Christmas stories together, sharing nostalgic memories of what the holidays were like when you were both younger

It's just a very sweet and wholesome night

Norman Bates

One day, the living is as cozy and cute as normal

The next day, it's suddenly decked out in lights, candles, and a huge Christmas tree with several pristine gifts under it

You mouth was agape

Norman just stood back with an innocent smile on his face

You had no idea he would do all of this while you were out

But thankfully, you had a few gifts wrapped up for him too

With a lighthearted Christmas show playing in the background, you and Norman swap gifts and open them together

The home is filled with surprised laughter and "thank you's" as you both look at what was given

You two know each other so well

He must have been Santa since he literally got you everything on your list

Billy Loomis

Yep, you guessed it

Christmas slasher films

But of course, Billy knows that watching horror films 24/7 every holiday isn't exactly the ideal celebration

So he tries to balance it out

Buys (steals) several expensive gifts for you and wraps them up

He even buys a few candles in your favorite scent to help make the mood more festive

Orders take out for you both as well

This makes the movie marathon feel more special

He MIGHT even let you talk him into matching pajamas

He complains but secretly loves it

Stu Macher

Buys you two matching onesies

He also finds a homemade hot cocoa recipe he wants to try out

He does accidentally burn himself, but it doesn't change his mood any

He might not love this holiday as much as Halloween, but it is a VERY close second

He also manages to find the largest Christmas tree you have ever seen

It barely fits in the house

But when it comes to Stu, everything needs to be extra

You both spend the night flipping back and forth between lighthearted Christmas films and cheesy horror ones

Eric Draven

Christmas has always been a favorite for Eric

It's the one day a year where things are a bit calmer, and he gets to spend it lounging around with you

He definitely made Christmas into a week long event by giving you a different gift each day

Cooks you breakfast in bed

Is somehow even more affectionate during this time

Refusing to decorate the tree unless you are doing it with him

Finds a little Santa hat for Gabriel

He literally just spends the majority of the holiday being lazy and cuddly with you

Not that you're complaining

[sgiandubh]

Countdown to Landcon/Jour -7: Nursery rhymes? Not exactly

With one week to go until the Landcon, I am reminiscing my long and deep rapport with that town and with France, in general, as I often do: through sounds. Music is everywhere and one's choices are always deeply personal, reflecting beloved people and particular moments in time.

The first song I ever sang by myself was taught by my grandfather. As for millions of people, it had to be this one:

It is very easy to learn and it basically tells the story of Friar James (Frère Jacques), who is supposed to go and ring the monastery's bells for what is called the matins, or morning prayer, but instead is sleeping on the job. I totally understand the poor friar and you would, too, since according to the Benedictine rule matins started at 2 a.m and lasted until dawn.

Little did we know, my grandfather and I, who composed it in earnest:

Whether this is an earlier adaptation of an Italian canzona or of a Hungarian folk tune (doubtful) does not really matter. Frère Jacques was included in Jean-Philippe Rameau's Treatise on Harmony, published in 1722. After being the protégé of several bankers and financiers, Rameau was appointed, in 1745, Musicien du Cabinet du Roy/King's Cabinet Musician at Versailles, following the enormous success of his opera, Platée. Which is really, really boring to listen to and virtually forgotten, which is - for once - perhaps not a bad thing.

Thus, millions of unsuspecting people all around the world begin their own musical journey with an ironic Baroque tune. I have never looked back, for Baroque is still my greatest love. And I consider this one of those kismet moments, which real meaning always reveals itself later and always completely at random.

But the nearest and dearest is the first French song Shipper Mom taught me:

She was always thickening her voice for the 'oh-oh-oh' in the chorus and I was over the moon clapping and shrieking and laughing like a blessed idiot - encore, maman, encore!- until she was bursting into laughter herself.

In the above recording, Maurice Chevalier is wrong. This is not a tune from Lorraine. It is a Medieval Celtic tune from Brittany, all the way. The song is the classical take on the French folk tale of a shepherd girl who meets the King's son marching to war. She is given a sprig of marjoram and instructed to plant it in a nearby field. If the sprig blooms, he will marry her. If not, tant pis, too bad - a girl can dream, right?

Of course, any resemblance to Cinderella's shoe trial is absolutely explicable. Charles Perrault just collected these fairy tales and then the Brothers Grimm made them universal.

Next came the very limited French music available to someone growing up in a gruesome dictatorship, during the Eighties. It wasn't that bad, but it was delightfully outdated. These still make me overly and cheaply sentimental, but about all of them - tomorrow.

[sapphic-b00ks]

Sapphic book recs (for pride month) - Romance

The Year I Stopped Trying by Katie Heaney

a straight-A student forgets to write an essay, which leads to her having an existential crisis, but when she doesn't get into trouble for not doing it, she starts to question why she's trying so hard

Big Name Fan by Ruthie Knox & Annie Mare

two actresses meet after five years of avoiding each other to film a reunion special of the hit tv show on which they played PIs for six seasons

while working together, they start to look into the death of a crew member, who died when they where filming the last season

Imogen, Obviously by Becky Albertalli

Imogen is straight; sure, she's the world's greatest ally, but nothing more...right?

The Snowball Effect by Haley Cass

enemies to lovers

and they were roommates...

Set the Record Straight by Hannah Bonam-Young

childhood friends to lovers

friends are fake dating each other in order to get through some important work functions

(un)fortunately, one has had a crush on the other for years and the latter is beginning to question if she's straight after all

autism, ADHD & anxiety rep

Make the Season Bright by Ashley Herring Blake

exes to lovers

five years ago: one left the other standing on the altar

now: both of them are invited by friends to join them during the holidays, so now they have to spend Christmas together

[seecarrun]

Misty found that meeting up with Ash again was always great for a reminder on how…multifaceted he has become over the years.

On one hand, he was Champion Ash Ketchum: the face and name of all things Pokemon training, the undefeated first ever Champion of Alola, the youngest World Monarch in history; talented, charismatic, and so, so hot, smiling handsomely at her from every billboard, commercial, and magazine she laid her eyes on.

On the other hand, he was Ash: her best friend and constant pain in her ass since they were ten years old. Kind, stubborn, a magnet for trouble, and almost as full of energy as he was of optimism; he was her forever late night, no questions asked phone call to complain about her sisters or her job, and the only person who could eat just as much ice cream in one sitting as she could.

And finally, on the super secret third hand she kept very hidden for obvious reasons, he was Ash: the guy she has been head over heels for for over half her life.

To Misty, he was all three all at once, the culmination of hard work, friendship, and love, building and growing and changing over the wild decade they had known each other, all wrapped up in a precious package of ratty caps, bright brown eyes, and megawatt smiles.

“You good, Mist?” he asked, his head poking out above his menu. From his shoulder, Pikachu regarded her in concern as well, their expressions matching.

“I’m fine,” she answered, waving them off and quickly ducking back behind her menu to hide her blush at being caught staring. “What are you getting?”

Ash let out a groan. “I don’t know,” he whined. “It all looks so good! What do you think, Pikachu?”

“Pika!”

They were being watched, of course. Lingering glances and double takes from the other diners around them not going unnoticed by Misty, but somehow Ash remained blissfully unaware of the attention he was receiving.

“Have you eaten here before? Do you know if the curry is any good?” he asked, poking adorably out from behind the menu again. She bit back a grin.

“A few times, but only for brunch.”

“Shoot.” He puffed out his cheeks and disappeared once again.

Maybe that wasn’t too surprising, once Misty thought about it. Ash spent most of his time wandering around the wilderness, after all. Maybe he really had no idea how famous he actually was?

“Maybe I’ll just get a sandwich,” Ash decided, folding up his menu and putting it back down on the table. He turned to Pikachu and shot him a grin. “Wanna share my fries, buddy?”

“Pi!”

“Extra ketchup? You got it!”

Misty was pretty sure the people at the booth next to them were recording them. They’d probably end up on all the big gossip sites by morning. It wouldn’t be the first time. She always wondered if he’d ever seen them. She was pretty sure he didn’t, he didn’t care much for that kind of thing.

“Oh, Mist, did you see they have that gross soup you like because you have no taste?”

She rolled her eyes and ignored the little dig. “Oh, no I didn’t. Which one?” she asked, flipping to the page with the soups in the menu.

“That corn chowder thing? Brock used to make it for you.” He paused and thought for a moment. “The lumpy one that looks like puke?”

She snorted. “Ew, Ash. Gross. Oh, there it is. Yum, I might get that, actually.”

They were definitely recording them, but Ash looked so proud of himself for remembering Misty’s gross soup, she suddenly found it hard to care. So what if she’s enjoying a fancy meal with her famous best friend and secret crush? So what if it looked like they were on a date?

Misty smiled to herself. Let them talk.

It was just Ash, after all.

[jerzwriter]

Thanks for this ask - Here is part 2 of a series of little drabbles to see what Tobias does with the pumpkin pie throughout different periods of his life (and in some different worlds, too!) I hope you enjoy it as much as Tobias (and I) love pumpkin pie!

Book: Open Heart (pre-series) Characters: Tobias Carrick, Ethan Ramsey Rating: Teen Words: 1,003 Summary:             It's the Hopkins years, and if you think Ethan & Tobias's rivalry takes a break for the holidays, you would be mistaken!

A/N: Participating in @choicesholidays Winter Event - "You did what with the pumpkin pie?" and @choicesdecember2024 Day 1 - Naughty and Day 8 Spices.

It wasn’t a typical night in Ethan and Tobias's Baltimore apartment. Tonight, neither man would be found hovering over textbooks. There was no studying and no cramming for exams, but their competitive nature wasn't taking a break - tonight, it just took on a different flavor.

The smells of cinnamon, nutmeg, and pumpkin engulfed their home, spreading out to the hallways. It smelled delicious, even if the kitchen looked like a lab experiment gone horribly wrong. Flour dusted every surface, and bits of dough were scattered everywhere. The joyful strains of Christmas music played in the background, but they were barely audible over their neverending bickering.

Tobias was proud as a peacock, holding up his pie crust as if it were a trophy. “This... this right here is art. Crisp, buttery perfection so flaky and delicious, it has been known to make angels weep.”

Ethan’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Angels don’t give a shit about your pie crust, Tobias. But they do care about flavor. It’s all about the pie filling, and I’ve perfected the ratio of spice to sweetness in mine.”

"Are you calling me bland, Becky?" Tobias smirked. "Please, I'm waiting for you to add raisins to the mix, just like you did to your potato salad on July Fourth."

This had been going on all day. All it took was Tobias casually mentioning his mother’s pumpkin pie recipe - then Ethan insisted his was better. Anyone who knew the two of them knew there was only one way this could end, and that’s how the two future doctors found themselves elbow-deep in flour, vying for culinary supremacy.

Ethan’s girlfriend, Vincenza, sat perched on a stool nearby – close enough to bear witness but far enough away to avoid becoming a casualty. She was as patient as she was beautiful, quietly sipping her wine as she watched the chaos unfold. “For the record, if this ends in a tie, I’m declaring myself the winner just for sitting through this. It’s not exactly how I planned on spending date night.”

Dina, Tobias’s “flavor of the week,” leaned against the fridge with a grin. The raven haired law student had quickly adapted to the whirlwind that was Tobias Carrick, and tonight was no exception. “Hey, I’m just here for free pie,” she laughed. “But I have to admit, you two are taking this far too seriously.”

“Too seriously?” Tobias gasped, clutching his rolling pin to his chest. “There is no such thing as ‘too seriously’ when it comes to pumpkin pie.”

“For once, you're right,” Ethan said without missing a beat. “This is serious business, Dina... it's not for the faint of heart!”

By the time they placed the pies in the oven, the kitchen looked like a war zone. Vincenza snapped a photo for posterity—or, as she put it, for “evidence when you inevitably blame each other for this mess.”

About an hour later, the two pies emerged from the oven, golden and fragrant. Dina blindly placed a sticker with the letter A and another with the letter B at the bottom of both pies. Then, the four of them sat around the small table for the taste-off.

Vincenza went first, thoughtfully tasting a bite of Pie A. She was impressed. “The crust is really good – buttery, flaky... and the filling isn’t bad either. This is off to a solid start.” She cleansed her palate with a sip of wine before moving on to Pie B. Her eyebrows shot up. “Wow! This one is spicy! Great texture... it has a bite. They're both great, but it's B for me.”

Dina was next and eager to offer her opinion. “Pie A feels classic, like something that would be served on antique china at a fancy Thanksgiving dinner. But Pie B is more... adventurous. It’s like a modern twist on an old classic. It’s great, but A is more my speed.”

Tobias and Ethan each tried to maintain poker faces as they bit into what they assumed to be their own creations. Tobias declared A the winner, while Ethan insisted it was B.

Vincenza peeked under the pie pans. “Not that it matters since it’s a 2-2 tie, but Pie A belonged to Tobias, and Pie B was Ethan’s.”

“A tie,” Tobias groaned. “I demand a recount.”

But Ethan merely shrugged, taking a bite of Tobias’s pie. “Honestly, I’m impressed. Your crust is better than I expected. If you’d just used my pie filling, you might’ve actually won this thing.”

“You two are insufferable,” Vincenza said, shaking her head with a laugh. “But at least we get two great pies out of this!”

As the night went on, Dina stood up with a yawn. “Well, I’m exhausted,” she said, giving Tobias a pointed look. “I’m going to head to bed.”

“I’ll be right in, gorgeous," Tobias winked.

But before he made his way to his room, Ethan caught his friend grabbing the remainder of his pie filling and a can of whipped cream from the fridge out of the corner of his eye. Tobias almost made a clean getaway when Ethan’s voice called out.

 “What are you going to do with that?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Tobias paused in the doorway, his signature mischievous grin spreading across his face as he turned around slowly. “Oh, nothing wholesome, my friend. Nothing wholesome at all... do you really want to know?”

Ethan groaned, running a hand down his face. “Please, forget I asked.”

“Done,” Tobias nodded, “but unless you and Chenza are planning on making some noise of your own, you may want to put up the Christmas music. Capiche?”

“You know, getting through medical school is hard enough without having to deal with you.”

“Please,” Tobias laughed. “I keep things... interesting.”

Ethan stepped into the living room and joined Vincenza on the couch, laughing despite himself. He turned up the volume of the radio before slipping an arm around his girlfriend. Life with Tobias was always unpredictable—but it was never, ever boring.

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