#day 1: coffee and cola

[citrus-allegorical]

Day 1: coffee and cola

The first household coffee maker wasn't available until 1972, so that's an electric percolator up there. People were just drinking dogshit coffee in the 60s and I respect that.

I don't know if I'll manage any other days but I'm glad I was struck with an idea for this one.

[kerryshifts]

If you claim shifting is so easy why does it take so long? And I'm talking about both how long it takes in general, months, years, and the process itself, 30-40 minutes of laying and doing nothing. How to shift if it's not a physical process? For example I know how to sway my hand because I have it. I can move it. Shifting? Awareness? I don't know how to move it.

1. i don’t claim shifting is easy, it just is. it was when i hated the people who said that, it was when i realized that they were right.

2. it doesn’t take long. my friend shifted yesterday in five minutes. sam shifted after deciding so in less then a second. if you think it takes you long than guess what happens…..?

3. SHIFTING IS NOT A PROCESS. i don’t want to crash out again about this conversation. i said the same thing hundreds of times. shifting. is. not. a. process. like just say you hate yourself so you do everything EXCEPT accept the fact that you don't have to spend months and years and whatever. hello???? never heard of law of assumption????????? 'oh it will take me years to shift' hey so now don't be shocked when this statement becomes true in 3d.

4. who spends 30-40 minutes laying and doing nothing? like………..if you want to do it, do it. i certainly don’t want to.

5. if i say 'there are no rules on how to do it' what do you think this means? you. decide. how. to. shift. your. awareness. it. doesn’t. matter. if you interiorised in yourself that you shift everytime you dance, you do. you want to shift everytime you sleep? you do. you want to shift everytime you drink coca cola? you do. everytime a dog barks at you? you do.

i shifted when i decided that my dad was coming back home with sushi in his hands for me. i shifted when i decided to drink milkshake instead of coffee. i shifted when i woke up and my acne was in good condition. i shifted when i decided that today was going to be a boring day. i shifted when i decided that i didn’t want that one person texting me again. i shifted when i decided that tomorrow i would have the day off from work. and i didn’t lay down and did hundreds of methods and i hate myself if i didn’t see the results immediately.

whats different between all i just decided and me deciding that i have shifted in my dr? nothing. there are no big manifestations. and if you say ‘but then why i am not seeing it????’ well what did you just internalised with yourself???? no. ok it took you five years to be in this situation. let it go. time has passed. now you are here. what does it cost you to be a little delusional????? manifest you seeing and living your dr

ok maybe i crashed out a little bit

but whatever my point still stands

[targaryenfelikayt]

Can You Remember the Rain? |Boys from horror|

characters: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Pennywise. wc: 1, 517 summary: short stories about love and fear that unfold in the rain. tags/warnings: domestic moments, horror romance, soft horror, unusual pairings, slow burn, quiet affection.

Bo Sinclair.

— He often finds himself a prisoner of the endless routine of life in Ambrose. To keep the town in good shape, he usually must get up early to manage everything: fix the cinema roof, dust off the storefront, paint the church fence and finally, make time for you. — Bo knew that while he took care of the town, the house fell on your shoulders and damn if it didn’t flatter him, knowing that after a long day under the scorching sun, he’d be brought a cold glass of lemonade, and a hearty dinner would be waiting in the kitchen, made by a girl who genuinely cared about him. — But everything changed when the rainy season came. He became quieter, more melancholic and clingier, as if the water reopened old wounds. — One evening, after dinner had been eaten and the dessert, melting ice cream was abandoned on the coffee table, the two of you lay in front of the TV in the living room, watching some show Bo refused to remember. Everything broadcasted through that old antenna blended into one big mess unless it was the news or football. A storm raged outside. The road was washed out, and even Lester complained that the stream crossing the entrance to town had turned into a real river, with such a strong current he had to practically drown his truck every time he came in. — It was in moments like that that Bo allowed his mind to drift with thoughts like how nice it must be to live like a normal person. — You both knew things would go back to the way they were the moment the weather changed. But for now, you and Bo were just a couple in love, taking a break from the world.

Vincent Sinclair.

— You never liked storms: the bright flashes, the loud rumble, and the unknown lurking behind that fleeting silence afterward. So, deciding the only option was to distract yourself, you headed straight to the museum as soon as the first clouds rolled in. — All the tools you needed were kept behind a discreet curtain, away from the eyes of guests admiring the temple of art. Dozens of natural brushes, which you assumed the brothers had taken from women’s makeup kits: microfiber clothes for the piano and the shelves.

— Meanwhile, the wind was growing stronger, shaking the old window frames. It became so dark that even the lit candelabras couldn’t hide the growing gloom. — As you moved from statue to statue, you hummed a simple tune to yourself, louder and louder, trying to drown out the ever-present thunder, until someone touched your shoulder. Vincent. Of course it was Vincent, making sure everything was okay. — Seeing your trembling hands and eyes ready to overflow with tears, he led you downstairs to the basement. — You were so shaken you let yourself be led like a ragdoll, clinging to the lapel of his sweater. Only when he sat you down on the couch surrounded by dozens of candles did you let the poor artist go so, he could bring you a glass of water. “Thank you… for getting me out of there. I hate storms.” He nodded, took your empty glass, and draped a blanket over your delicate shoulders. Vincent sat down beside you, soothing you with the soft sound of a pencil against paper.

Michael Myers.

— Despite the raging weather, it didn’t stop you from meeting up with your girlfriends for a cozy girls’ night in. Talking about dumb things men did, work troubles, and gossip laced with new drama made you happy. — As soon as the pedicures were done, the microwave beeped to announce the real fun had begun: movie time, with cheese popcorn that smelled like old socks, cola with lemon wedges, and all the snacks you'd be vacuuming off the couch for days. — You chose one of those trendy new horror flicks, the kind with only jump scares and dumb characters. At least, that’s what you thought until one of the chase scenes played just as thunder struck outside, and the living room filled with screaming women. Yours was the loudest. — Wanting to shake off the tension, you offered to refill the popcorn bowls and slipped off into the kitchen. Outside, it was a full-on downpour, lightning slicing the sky. Lost in thought, your mind wandered like leaves torn from the trees, until your eyes caught a movement in the dim light. — You tensed and started to turn, but something covered your mouth and pulled you back. Your scream drowned in the chorus of shrieks from the living room. — But when the next flash of lightning lit the room, you realized it wasn’t a burglar or a monster — it was just Michael, home again. — His outfit was soaked to the bone, which didn’t stop you from smacking him hard in the chest. “Oh my God, Michael, what the hell?! I almost gave birth out of fear!” He tilted his head, lowering his gaze. “No, I didn’t mean it literally, though, honestly, I was close.” — He kept staring at you with that same unblinking look, holding you tight until your breathing slowed down. Then, without a word, he quietly headed upstairs, not in the mood to turn your girls’ night into a bloodbath.

Thomas Hewitt.

— Hoyt, no matter how much you liked him, had already noticed yesterday that heavy rain was coming. The old man was spitting and cursing everything around, complaining that even the meager crops could be ruined by the amount of rainfall. When it turned into a full-blown tirade of swearing, you chose to retreat to the kitchen.

— Now, sitting in front of the family expense ledger, you kept getting distracted by the raindrops tapping against the thin glass. Your eyes fell on the yellowed page where the ink of the weekly calculations had begun to smudge. You didn’t have many resources, and those you did were obtained in less than ethical ways.

— Thomas flickered somewhere below. You watched with a thrill every time he looked up, giving him a soft smile before the man returned under the awning.

— Not waiting for him to come back, you grabbed a towel and stepped out onto the porch, observing the peaceful scene of your big chosen one to dig a small trench for the rainwater runoff. Your fingers tapped on the wooden door, alerting Thomas to your presence.

— He responded with a soft grunt before approaching you, pulling you into a gentle embrace as you laid the towel on his wet hair, ruffling the black locks a bit.

— A few minutes passed before he pulled away, only to let you crawl under his sweater, just like you had once crawled under his skin with your love.

Jason Voorhees.

— You don’t know why you stayed with him after that night, when all your friends, or rather, those you had to pretend to get along with, were turned into piles of butcher flesh. You just knew, the moment he looked at you hiding near the old boathouse, that you were meant to be there.

— Jason was rarely "home", constantly patrolling the territory, so your company usually consisted of various birds outside and annoying spiders inside. Not that you complained, slowly recovering emotionally in the peace of nature. — One time, as you were waging war against the little critters trying to live rent-free, thunder struck. Nothing unusual for summer storms. The air smelled sharply of ozone layers, prompting you to open the door, where Jason suddenly appeared, clutching his familiar machete.

— It was the first time he came in the middle of the day. Your eyes first dropped to the weapon, then to him, and he slowly set it down by the entrance, stepping inside.

— If there was one thing you had learned during your time together, it was that Jason wasn’t a mindless killer, he punished, not murdered without reason. His attention now seemed to be absorbed by everything happening outside the window: cold drops, thunder, and dark memories from a distant past.

— Then he patted the spot next to him twice. Pat, pat. You blinked, looking at Jason’s imposing figure, but obeyed the silent request or was it a command? The bed creaked under your weight as you sat on his left, shoulder to shoulder, while the man kept staring ahead. The only sound he made was a quiet sigh of relief.

— But as soon as you opened your mouth to ask something, he shook his head, and you closed it, saying nothing after all.

Pennywise.

— Polished cream-colored shoes made an unpleasant squelching noise as he stepped across the sidewalk tiles. He already regretted that this trendy outfit didn’t come with a convertible. Hell, he would’ve even taken a Mini Cooper if it meant not having to trudge through this filth.

— Some idiots had decided there was no better place than Derry for a conference on industrial restoration and corporate expansion. Most of these fat cats didn’t even understand what the town really needed, only asking their many assistants where they could grab a decent bite.

— Food - now that was something he understood. But this time, he practically had to force it down… Wait, who even was he?

— Pulling a wallet out of his pocket, the man quickly scanned the documents before tossing them into a storm drain, where they would return to him later, along with credit cards and a checkbook. Cash only. Fortunately, the corpse hadn’t been stingy, leaving enough for his little darling to have dinner and pick up a few extras.

— Thirty minutes later, there was a long knock on the door, prompting you to slip into your fluffy slippers and run over, peeking through the peephole.

"Robert, finally! I’ve been waiting forever. Thought you weren’t coming."

You take the food bag from the oriental place down the street and kiss him on the lips.

"Oh no, babe, I’m all wet. Let me get out of these clothes, and I’m all yours. Got held up because of the rain, you know what chaos it always brings to Derry, right?"

— But despite his words, he couldn’t help but brush his nose against your neck. Still just as delightfully sweet as yesterday, just as tempting. He had to summon all his willpower not to devour you right there in the hallway. His eyes flared dangerously orange, but as soon as you stepped back, Robert Gray looked at you again with his usual baby-blue gaze.

[turbolovefatties]

Autumn has begun! Which means, my dear fatties, that it's time to take care of your body and properly prepare for winter!) Here are some tips from me on gaining weight: 1. Eat ~1.5 hours before bed, the food will not have time to be digested yet, so it will be deposited as fat) 2. Drink sweet drinks (sweet coffee, cola, soda) 3. More sweet food (is it possible to deny yourself desserts? You've been so good, treat yourself to something sweet!) 4. Add more fatty foods (more fried foods) 5. Less activity (sometimes in autumn you want to lie around all day wrapped in a blanket. So what's stopping you?) 6. Don't expect quick results, live here and now, love yourself and don't overwork yourself! You can do it!

[playboysturns]

I don't know if this is a request or if it's just me wanting to share this extremely specific idea, but imagine Chris and the reader dating in secret for a LONG time and the news comes out on the internet, the reader starts getting hate and in every video there is someone commenting something like "Why did he choose to be with her?" and she simply responds to the comment with a video of her and Chris to the sound of "Pepsi" by Lana Del Rey (I don't know, this sounds really funny in my head)

drabble #1 'my 🐱 tastes like pepsi cola'

summary : Chris and reader finally make their relationship public to their fans on valentines day.

You met the triplets when you both moved to LA at the same time. It was easy to talk cause you were all youtubers and the four of you quickly became close since you didn’t know many other people in the city.

Chris and you hooked up when he was hanging out at your house, later confessing his feelings to you which you mutually shared. The both of you decided to take it slow as neither of you had been in a relationship before.

All your friends knew, it wasn’t a secret and there had been times where they had almost slipped up saying that you were both together.

You were seen hanging out with the three of them many times but fans had chalked it up to you being good friends with them, though none of you ever directly posted each other on your tiktok or youtube.

Chris wanted to keep your relationship private from the fans and you agreed since you both had seen first hand how they reacted when the triplets were friends with women. At this point though you been dating for a little over 2 years now, and finally decided it was the right time to share it with your fans.

“Wait why am I nervous” you giggle looking once over at the tiktok Chris was about to post. it was a video using the low life audio, it started with Chris laying on the couch singing the ‘sniper sniper sniper’ bit then the camera flipped to you show you straddling him lip syncing the ‘wifey wifey wifey’ part.

“Why? you look good,” Chris grips your hips, you were still in the same position as the tiktok.

“I don’t know what to caption it,” you hand Chris his phone watching him type a caption then showing it to you.

‘my valentines for the past 2 years ❤️🪄’

“Okay good, should I post it now,” You smile, both nervous and excited.

“Babe just press post,” Chris mutters from beneath you and you do just that putting his phone on silence and placing it on the coffee table.

“Right, no going on our phones for at least an hour,” you say Chris nodding in agreement. He picks up the remote to put on a movie whilst you lay down on top of him to cuddle.

“What the fuck!”

You move your head from the tv as Nick runs up the stairs from the front door his phone in hand, quickly followed by Matt.

“What?” Chris asks, Nick rolls his eyes before showing you his screen which was the tiktok you had posted.

“Kid we were literally at the In-n-Out drive through, then Nick screamed so loud I almost shat my pants,”

“It was not that loud so chill,” Nick puts his hand up.

“Not that loud, Nick I nearly rear-ended the car in front,” Matt replies, sternly.

“What else was I meant to do?” Nick rebuttals, stalking over to where you and Chris were laying.

“Not fucking scream? Acting like we didn’t know that they were dating the whole time” Matt sits on the couch.

“I mean it’s lowkey a monumental,” you feel Chris’ voice vibrating beneath your head.

“Exactly! we could’ve had a little heads up about it? Like my mentions are going fucking insane,” Nick huffs, turning his attention back to his phone. “The comments are like, kinda crazy right now so I wouldn’t check them.”

Now you were curious, sitting up you grab your phone that was besides Chris’ on the table quickly go to the tiktok on his account.

COMMENTS

y/n and chris sturniolo dating ⌕

@ sturnluvr : ain’t no way 💀

@ babysturns: are we skipping over the fact he put 2 years?

@ chrissgf : no hate but why would he choose her out of everyone…

↳ @ y/nclips : coming from an acc w no posts!

@ chrissturngirlfriend : i’m literally sobbing wtf

@ freshchris : do they do it 🥺

@ quenlinblackwell ✓ : MY PARENTS YESSS

@ stuniolosuperfan : fuck it atp matts wife and kid jokes may be real

↳ @ mattybswife : they are 😊 revealing myself as his wife ❤️

↳ @ mattsturnsbm : @ mattybswife tell him that the kids miss him 💔

@ princessy/n : what the fuck is wrong with the comments

@ strombolitriplets : i’m crying wtf do they even talk about 😭

@ madisonbeer ✓ : i love you both 🤍

@ sturnioloclips : TWO YEARS?

@ y/nswife : THIS IS AI UNTIL Y/N POSTS ON HER ACC!!

↳ @ princessy/n : yk damn well.. 😭

@ sturniolofan1 : someone tell me this is an early april fools.

@ user18274730 : wait cause they’re actually so cute wtf

You comb through them laughing, honestly you thought the reaction would be worse. Chris on the other hand was reading the comments over your shoulder.

“Fuck. I’m sorry about them,” Chris apologises, kissing your shoulder.

“Baby it’s fine. I thought they’d be way harsher” you turn to look at him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“But your fans are so supportive.,” Chris sighs sadly.

“They’re just going to have to grow up and get over it,” Nick says turning his phone off to watch the movie on the screen.

You were both getting ready to go to sleep.

It had been a few hours since you had posted the video, and though you were fine with the response it was clear Chris was still a little upset.

“I want to turn the comments off,” Chris says scrolling through them, you sigh taking the phone from his hand. “Or at least respond to them.”

“There’s no need to turn the comments off or respond to anything,” you take a look at them yourself, the tiktok had blown up already having a million likes.

“But there is, you’re literally the most important person in my life and they can’t even respect it,” Chris throws himself onto his bed. “They’re asking why I would choose you when you’re the one that’s out of my league.”

“Okay we’ll do this then,” you click to video reply ‘@ chrissgf : no hate but why would he choose her out of everyone…’ selecting an audio before sitting next to Chris on the bed.

“What are you doing?” he watches in confusion as you put both of you on the camera.

You smile as you start the tiktok ‘my pussy taste like pepsi cola’ blares from his phone. You lipsync the song causing Chris to smile before the audio ends.

“There now they know,” you grin, Chris taking his phone to caption it before posting.

‘She tastes better than pepsi 😛’

notes from me : ik this wasn't super specific if it was a request but it got me thinking! this is my first time writing anything in a very long time so please bare with me, im sorry if the spacing is wrong this was just a quick write for the request. thank you @oceanabyssal

Happy Valentines Day! 💋 - playboysturns

[homkamiro]

Day 1 - Coffee and Cola

Speeding bullet week has started and I'm so excited!!! It's happening it's happening it's happening!!!!🗣️🗣️

[girlactionfigure]

Ten Tips for an Easy Yom Kippur Fast

Fasting doesn’t necessarily mean suffering. There’s quite a bit we can do to alleviate the bodily and mental stress that normally accompanies a fast. The day before the fast, follow the following guidelines:

1. Cut down your caffeine intake to minimize headaches. That means stop drinking coffee, tea, and cola at least eight hours before the fast, and preferably twenty-four hours before the fast.

2. Avoid salty, spicey, and fried foods on the day before the fast.

3. Avoid white sugar, white flour, and white rice. Eat whole-grained foods such as brown rice and whole-wheat bread or challa.

4. Drink a lot of water all day long.

5. Eat a good breakfast that includes fruits, veggies, eggs or sardines, and whole grains.

6. The pre-Yom Kippur meal (se’uda mafseket) should include baked or broiled fish, a veggy salad, consomme, a small portion of chicken or turkey, and a side dish of complex carbohydrates. Substitute sweet deserts with watermelon or other water-retaining fresh fruit, and a cup of herb tea with a whole-grain cookie.

On Yom Kippur:

7. The more you immerse yourself in prayer, the less you’ll think about food.

8. Rest between prayers. Don’t run around outside, especially in the hot sun. Save your voice for prayers. Idle talking will make you thirstier, and will detract from the holiness of the day.

After the fast:

9. Drink two glasses of water, and then eat solids gradually, so as not to shock the digestive system. Begin with fruit, like plums or grapes. The worst thing people do is to consume pastries and soft drinks, or “lekach un bronfan” (cake and liquor) right after the fast (these are unhealthy anytime, all the more so right after the fast when they give your body a shock of glucose).

10. Forty-five minutes to an hour afterwards, one can eat a balanced meal with protein, carbohydrates, and vegetables. After eating, relax for an hour with your favorite book (preferably Gemara of the laws of Succoth from Shulchan Oruch) and your favorite beverage, then begin constructing your Succa.

Attention diabetics, heart patients, folks with high blood pressure, and people whose health depends on regular medication - you must be especially careful to ask your doctor if you are capable of fasting, and then consult with your local rabbi, giving him the doctor’s exact opinion. For many such people, it is a mitzva not to fast on Yom Kippur.

[grieferkisser]

𓎟𓎟 reader x gr13f3r　 messy room　 ◞ ◟

ꔛ word count: 784⠀╱⠀established relationship 。

(¬_¬")⠀⠀⠀note ⠀╱⠀idk how to write i just did this,based of one of my bots lol srry if he isn't acurrate

After six agonizing months, Griefer—also known as Brad—was finally free.He had spent far too long in that stuffy hospital, and now, at last, he could return to his normal life. Video games, beating up people who annoyed him, and most importantly, spending time with you! Sure, you had visited him every day in the hospital,—which also ended in you both crying while hugging and Griefer apologizing for everything, although he would never mention it again in his life, it was way too embarrassing or at least that's what he thought—putting that aside, for Griefer it wasn’t the same when you visited him in the hospital.He missed the....freedom.

Today was different though; it was a perfect day for a date! The sun was shining, the heat was just right, and after a few hours of hanging out, Griefer felt a sense of ease wash over him. But there was something he had been wanting to ask you for a while now—something that had made him nervous every time it crossed his mind,you haven’t even been once to his place,sure you and Griefer had been dating for a while now,but before the venomshank incident you two only dated for at least 2 months and you haven’t been there even when you only were his friend,he normally told you that his place was “too cool for you to go there”,he was just a stupid asshole,a cute one though.

As you walked side by side, Griefer finally gathered up the courage to ask, his voice slightly hesitant,looking away for some seconds before looking at you.

"S0... W4NN4 C0M3 T0 MY PL4C3? 1 M34N, W3'R3 B0TH K1ND4 T1R3D 4ND 4LL... PLU5 Y0U H4V3 N3V3R B33N TH3R3..."

His heart raced, and a million scenarios played out in his head. What if they said no? What if they didn’t like the idea? What if- 

“Hm,sure,sounds good” You said while giving him the most beautiful smile he had seen in his life—he really was down bad—He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding—this was his lucky day.

The way to his house,or more precisely room, was very tiring and long, why did he even live in that uh,mountain..? Whatever 

As you both stepped into Griefer's "house," the reality of his living situation hit you like a wave. The place was a total disaster—clothes scattered all over the floor, half-empty snack bags lying around, and sticky Bloxy Cola dripping from a shelf. A deck of cards was scattered across the coffee table, and in the corner sat a giant cage that you knew housed his gorilla mascot. Griefer, with his arm draped casually around your shoulders, didn’t seem too concerned about the mess. He was more nervous about having you over for the first time, and when he glanced at your face, he noticed something: a hint of hesitation or discomfort. He couldn't quite tell.

He stopped in his tracks and removed his arm from around your shoulders to face you, raising an eyebrow with a look of concern.

"H3Y... B4B3, Y0U 0K4Y?"

His voice was soft as he studied your expression, hoping—no, praying—that everything was alright. His fingers fidgeted nervously as he waited for your response.

“Griefer, this place is a mess—”

The words seemed to hit him like a punch to the gut. His face fell, and for a moment, it looked like you had just broken his heart. You felt a pang of guilt, wondering if you should have softened your tone. But it was the truth. You gestured around the room, arms wide open, pointing to the chaos surrounding you. “When was the last time you even cleaned this place?”

Griefer gulped, his eyes darting everywhere except at you, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. God, he was terrible at hiding his anxiety.

"H4—CL34N? PFF7—1T’5 N07 TH47 B4D!"

He looked around the room again, his shoulders sagging as he took in the full extent of the mess. Okay, maybe it was actually really bad. With a resigned sigh, he stepped closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

"4LRIGHT, 1T'5 K1ND4 B4D—1 PR0M15E 1'LL CL34N 1T."

“Kinda bad?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

He let out a frustrated grunt. "4LRIGHT, 1T’5 V3RY B4D."

In the end, you convinced him to clean up every corner of the room. He picked up clothes, tossed every can of Bloxy Cola into the trash, and wiped down every shelf. Though he grumbled and complained at first, a few kisses—and a little make-out session—soon had him smiling again, happier than ever to have you by his side.

[mystery-twin-mystery-bags]

We have a very subtle message for you... TODAY IS THE LAST DAY YOU CAN GET YOURSELF A MYSTERY TWIN MYSTERY BAG!

Have you always wanted to get a sticker of Waddles wearing a watermelon, a charm of Shanklin, a poster of Love Patrol Alpha, sticker sheets of henchmaniacs or Gravity Falls cyptids, a keychain of Bill Cipher eating the world or of the Pines Family adventuring in DDAMD, or a standee of Giffany, and SO MUCH MORE? Then this is YOUR FINAL OPPORTUNITY! Our shop closes tonight (1/18) at 11:59 PM PST.

Shop | Kofi All proceeds go to the Sameer Project

Image Description:

The scene of Dipper and Stan talking about Robbie's CD in the episode "Boyz Crazy." Stan holds a can of Pitt Cola and says, "You see Dipper, music has subliminal mind control in it all the time. If you listen closely, even the music I play in the gift shop has subtle hidden messages."

The scene changes to two people looking at stuff in the Mystery Shack gift shop, then over the loud speaker is a poorly cut edit of Stan yelling "BUY MYSTERY TWIN MYSTERY BAG! BUY MYSTERY TWIN MYSTERY BAG!" The customers now in distress.

The scene fades to show a still image of a graphic made to look like a page from Journal 3 with aged paper, coffee stains, ink splatters, and symbol. It reads "Store closes TODAY!!!" And in the corner reads, "Closes at 11:59 PM PST"

[hummingbird24220]

The gender fluid reader was done amazingly! I really enjoyed it could I ask for a part 2 where they get put in sea stone cuff and they crew sees how they look without their devil fruit. I want alll the angst pls!

Hello! Thank youuu, i was so nervous writing it, i think i re-did it like 5 times. Thankfully, this was a bit easier to write.

Hope you like it!

------

Shifting Tides - Part 2

One Piece x Genderfluid!Reader

Part 1

The attack came in the middle of the night. Swift. Quiet.

Too quiet for a crew like the Straw Hats—spread out, sleeping in hammocks, cabins, crow’s nests. They didn’t notice when the enemy ship docked without a sound. Didn’t stir when shadowy figures crept aboard.

You did.

You always slept light. Too many years spent on the run, with powers that made you both valuable and feared.

You were mid-shift—somewhere between small and agile—when they hit you with sea prism cuffs. The pain was instant. The pressure in your chest, like your own body was folding in on itself. Your Devil Fruit powers fizzled out in an instant.

You couldn’t change.

They saw you.

Truly saw you.

No masks. No shifting. No femme form. No masc build. No neutral grace.

Just… you.

Your real form.

The one you hadn’t let anyone see since that day you first bit into the Body-Body no Mi.

You weren’t ugly. Not by any means. Just… real. Raw. Unfiltered. Soft in ways you didn’t like. Sharp in ways you never meant to be. Your hair tangled, your eyes tired.

And worse, you were powerless. Vulnerable. Mortal.

They didn’t waste time gawking.

You were gagged, dragged off the ship by a group of bounty hunters with no name and no honor. One of them muttered something about “worth more than a Warlord if we deliver ‘em straight to the World Government.”

Your last look at the Sunny was from a distance—too far to scream, too far to fight.

And no one was looking.

Morning.

The crew stretched. Yawned. Poured coffee. Fought over breakfast.

“Where’s Y/N?” Luffy asked, scratching his chest.

“Sleeping in, maybe?” Nami offered, spooning fruit into her bowl.

“She always beats me to the top deck,” Zoro muttered, scanning the rail.

Franky paused mid-cola sip. “…Didn’t see ‘em when I did my rounds either.”

Chopper’s ears twitched. “…Wait. I didn’t see them at all last night. Not even in the infirmary.”

Robin looked up slowly from her book. “…No footprints past the bow. No signs of them on board.”

Brook frowned. “Could they have… left?”

Usopp's voice cracked. “They wouldn’t.”

Luffy stood slowly, face unreadable.

“…They’re gone.”

Somewhere Else.

You sat on cold metal.

The cuffs bit at your wrists. The room reeked of damp sea salt and rust. Somewhere above you, waves slapped at the hull of the ship you were trapped on.

Your shoulders slumped.

No more shapeshifting. No more confident smirks. No more switching forms to play a trick, to dodge a blade, to make Sanji’s brain melt out of his ears.

Just your hands. Your breath. The dull ache in your ribs where they hit you.

You’d always thought—if you ever got captured—that it’d be quick. That the crew would fight beside you. That you'd go out swinging.

But this?

This was slow.

Quiet.

And as time passed, your thoughts turned darker.

They’ll take you to Enies Lobby. You’ll be put on trial, then sent to Impel Down. Maybe they’ll skip the trial. Maybe they’ll execute you just to send a message: not even a Straw Hat can escape the World Government forever.

Your fingers twitched.

You weren’t crying. Not yet.

But you were afraid.

You’d never wanted to be seen like this. Not by them. Not by the crew who saw you as untouchable, untamed, powerful in every form.

Would they even recognize you like this?

Would they care?

…Would they come?

The thought slipped through like a crack of sunlight in a prison wall.

Yes. They would. They have to.

But until then, all you could do was wait—shackled, scared, and still.

----

There was a moment—just one—where everyone stood frozen on the deck of the Sunny.

The realization had hit like a wave: You weren’t there. You hadn’t been there. You hadn’t said goodbye.

Straw Hats didn't just disappear.

Luffy stared at the empty spot you always took near the bow. Eyes fixed. Unblinking.

Zoro's hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Slowly. Controlled.

Sanji’s cigarette drooped from his lips. The end burned long and fast, untouched.

“Footprints,” Robin said softly. “There was a struggle.”

Chopper’s voice trembled. “Sea prism cuffs… I smell the metal on the rail.”

“They took them,” Franky growled. “In the night. Slipped right under our nose.”

“No,” Usopp said, shaking his head. “No way they just let themselves be taken—Y/N would’ve—would’ve fought or—!”

“They did fight,” Robin said, her tone low, steady. “They lost.”

Nami stepped forward, hair whipping in the wind. “Then whoever took them is dead.”

Luffy still hadn’t moved. He stared out at the sea like he was listening to it whisper something only he could hear.

Then, quietly—too quietly for Luffy—he said, “We're getting them back.”

His voice was calm.

It was not peaceful.

It was the stillness before the storm.

He turned.

“Franky. Cannon ready.”

“Already loaded.”

“Zoro.”

“Tell me where.”

“Nami.”

“I’ve got the map. And the storm dial.”

“Sanji.”

He was already gone—just wind in the galley, footsteps echoing, coat flying behind him as he returned with supplies, eyes burning like fire.

Robin closed her book. “I believe I’m owed some overdue payback from certain bounty hunters.”

Chopper shifted into Heavy Point, growling. “They’re gonna regret this.”

Brook spun his cane. “They made a grave mistake.” He paused. “A grave—ah, forgive the pun.”

“Y/N wouldn’t have just left,” Luffy said. “They’re one of us.”

He said it like a promise.

Like a threat.

Like a war cry.

Somewhere else.

You were cold.

The cuffs still bit into your wrists. You tried not to think about the rough whispers outside the door, the plans they muttered—about bounties, about marine escorts, about chains and ships that never returned.

You pressed your forehead to the wall.

Please.

Not desperate. Not begging. Just… tired.

Please come.

And somewhere, out there, something shifted.

The wind picked up.

The sea stirred.

And a ship with a lion's head carved on the bow turned sharply in the current, faster than the wind, faster than logic.

The Straw Hats were coming.

You just didn’t know it yet.

-----

The bounty hunters never saw it coming.

They had time to blink—once—before the first cannon ripped through the side of the ship. Wood splintered. Men screamed.

Then came the real storm.

Zoro landed first—three blades gleaming, eyes burning with fury.

Sanji was next—moving like smoke and lightning, his kick colliding with a man’s jaw so hard the floor cracked beneath him.

Robin’s limbs sprouted from every wall and corner, flipping rifles, twisting arms, dropping enemies before they could blink.

Chopper growled in Heavy Point, a terrifying wall of fur and muscle.

Nami’s staff sparked in her hand as thunderclouds began to form above.

And then, at the center of it all, Luffy.

His shadow loomed in the firelight.

He didn’t yell.

He didn’t smile.

He just said:

“Where’s my crewmate?”

No one answered. So he started breaking things.

Below deck.

You flinched at the first explosion.

Then the screams.

The world tilted as the ship shook violently, but you didn’t move from where you sat—back to the wall, knees pulled to your chest, the cuffs cold around your wrists.

They were coming.

You could hear them.

Boots on scorched floorboards. Shouts of familiar voices. A kick smashing the heavy steel door off its hinges.

Light poured into the cell.

And they were there.

All of them.

Franky’s fists still smoked. Chopper’s jaw dropped. Robin exhaled sharply. Brook was dead silent. Nami clutched her staff like she’d kill again if needed.

Zoro froze, mid-step.

Sanji staggered like someone had hit him in the chest.

Luffy stood in the doorway, still.

You didn’t shift.

You couldn’t.

The cuffs were still on.

Your real form—raw, exposed, unfiltered—trembled in front of them.

Your voice came out as a shaky whisper.

“Don’t look at me…”

They all froze.

You couldn’t meet their eyes.

Not like this.

Not with your hair a mess, skin bruised, posture curled up like a kicked dog. Not without the beauty, the confidence, the control you carried in every form. Just you. Just you.

You flinched as footsteps approached.

Then paused.

A familiar coat dropped around your shoulders.

Warm. Smelling faintly of smoke and spices.

Sanji crouched beside you, his voice soft—so soft.

“I don’t care what you look like.”

You shook your head, voice cracking. “I’m not who you thought—”

“You’re exactly who we thought,” Robin said behind him.

“We just didn’t see all of you yet,” Nami added.

“We do now,” Chopper said, sniffling. “And we still love you.”

Usopp wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Y-Yeah. You’re our Y/N.”

“Who cares about bodies,” Franky muttered, his shades slipping down. “You’re our crew.”

Brook knelt beside you. “If anything, this proves how strong you are.”

Zoro walked up, silent. Sat next to you.

Said nothing.

But stayed.

And Luffy… Luffy knelt in front of you.

He reached out—slowly—fingers brushing the side of your face.

“I said I’d always come for my crew.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

“I’m… I’m so scared.”

“I know,” he said.

Then, quietly: “But we’re here now. And we see you.”

You curled into Sanji’s coat. Shaking. Small.

But not alone.

Not anymore.

----

The cuffs clattered to the floor.

Robin had found the key—of course she had—and when the lock clicked open, the weight fell away like a curse breaking.

But your arms didn’t move right away. You just sat there, blinking down at your bare wrists, as if unsure whether you could breathe without that pressure pressing you in place.

The silence stretched.

Then—warmth.

A hand on your shoulder. Gentle. Steady.

Sanji.

“You’re free,” he said quietly. “We’ve got you.”

You looked up, vision blurred from the sting behind your eyes.

“I don’t… I don’t feel like me.”

Chopper stepped forward, checking you gently with careful hooves. “That’s the sea prism. It messes with your body and your head.”

“But it’s gone now,” Nami said softly, kneeling in front of you. “You’re still you. You’ve always been you.”

You looked down at yourself.

No shifting. No armor. No curated versions of yourself.

Just you.

And for once… you let it be.

Back on the Sunny, the world felt too big at first.

Every creak of the wood. Every smell—sea salt, Sanji’s cooking, Zoro’s sweat from training. Every voice.

It was overwhelming.

Until you stepped onto the deck.

And the crew cheered.

Luffy threw his arms in the air. “Y/N’S BACK!!!”

Franky hit a SUPERRRR pose with tears in his eyes. “WELCOME HOOOOME!!”

Brook twirled his cane. “Yohohoho! Shall I play a return song?!”

Nami ran up and threw her arms around you. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Usopp hugged you next. “We were gonna raze an island if we had to!”

Chopper latched onto your leg. “I missed you so much!”

Robin placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

You stood there—stunned, arms slightly raised like you didn’t know how to receive this.

Then Zoro walked up, calm as ever.

He looked at you. At your real, resting form. The way your eyes still flinched slightly when someone reached too fast. The way your fingers curled nervously.

And he said:

“You’re still you.”

That was it.

That was all you needed.

You felt it return—the pulse. The beat. The self.

Your body shimmered.

And you shifted.

Not because you had to. But because you could.

A flicker of long limbs. A softer look. A stronger one. One with wild hair and a grin that could cut steel. Another that was compact and sly, ready to steal wallets or hearts. And then, finally, the in-between—your favorite shape, your comfort zone.

Everyone stared, but no one gawked.

Sanji stepped forward, smiling through red cheeks. “You’re breathtaking. But… even if you couldn’t do any of that again—”

Luffy nodded beside him, already halfway through a meat skewer. “You’re still my crewmate.”

Franky clapped you on the back. “You’re one of us. No matter what.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You guys really mean it, huh?”

Nami raised an eyebrow. “Do you want another dramatic rescue to prove it?”

“No, no,” you said, hands up. “Once was enough.”

You looked around the deck—at your deck. Your crew. Your family.

And for the first time since you’d been taken, your smile didn’t feel like a defense.

It just felt like you.

[citrus-allegorical]

Do you see my vision. Do u get it. I'll line and color this tonight hopefully but cmon man

[nes-meshno]

day 1: coffee and cola

idk how long i'll last buuuut hop on the @homkamiro speeding bullet week!

[hisprocedure]

Day 1; Coffee and Cola ☕️🥤

Wanted to do more with this but i was running out of time, my ipad was getting all glitchy and i would've lost motivation but i def wanna do more and get more creative for the rest of the week 😍😍

[mandarinmoons]

I don’t know if you’re open for requests but if you are… Spencer’s first ever kiss? One he initiates (even accidentally) Whether he’s younger/it’s two 13 years old kids who don’t know anything or just season 1 before Lila (because I refuse her to be his first kiss)

Kissing is something Spencer’s always been intrigued by. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was about the act that made him so curious, was it a primal instinct that clicked in his brain that wanted him to explore it or was it scientific interest into human behavior. Whichever one it was, the act was something he had never partaken in and it made him a bit angsty.

It was a quiet day in the bullpen and the team was huddled over a desk as they ate their lunch and talked, this time around they talked about stories of their first time experiences, this time about the romantic kind. Spencer listened intently as Morgan reminisced about his first ever so called girlfriend, could you really call it a relationship if it only lasted for two weeks? Who’s to say, but the way that the man was talking about it made it seem like to Spencer as though Morgan knew exactly what he was doing. 

Morgan went into detail about how he and the girl shared their first kiss, a sweet little peck on the lips as they parted the school bus and walked to opposite streets. It was sweet and innocent, everyone else awed and soon enough they all were talking about their experiences with their first kiss. As Spencer kept on listening he felt himself go stiff, his lack of experience in the field being talked about made him feel uneasy. What was seen as something everyone had experience in, for Spencer, he had never even held a girl’s hand. It made him feel childish, it was something he had hoped he’d experience by now, but with the way his life had gone it gave him no time to partake in those types of activities.

“What about you, pretty boy?”

Spencer looked up and his eyes flicked across the group, everyone was looking straight at him, waiting for a response.

“I uh, I’ve never uh…,” Spencer scratched the back of his neck and Morgan patted his shoulder in return and chuckled.

“Don’t worry now, your time will come.”

Spencer merely gave a slight nod and drew his attention to the styrofoam cup of cola in his hands. He felt his cheeks heat up and tried to focus his attention back to the conversation at hand and pay no mind to the embarrassment that was whirling inside him.

As the day went on his mood was still low. He never paid much attention to the fact that he had never kissed anyone, but now that the rest of the team knew, to him, it just only made him look more of a “kid” to everyone. He may be the youngest of the team, but he could easily trump everyone with his intellect. In social situations he was a bit awkward though and that would be his downfall.

Spencer was in the kitchen, stirring his cup of coffee after adding an appropriate amount of sugar. He heard footsteps come into the kitchen and looked over his shoulder as he saw you approach him,

“Hey, how’re you doing?”

“Me? Oh um, I’m great,” Spencer gave his signature tight lipped smile and watched over his cup again.

“You’re not upset are you?”

“About what?”

“Well, the conversation we all had during lunch, the kissing thing you know…”

“Oh uh, no, I’m fine.”

“Spence…”

Spencer looked at you and saw the concern written over your face. He felt dumb being sad over such a situation.

“Well, I mean… Maybe a little.”

You smiled and Spencer felt his stomach flip, he’d always liked you and whenever you expressed concern for him his little crush on you grew.

“It’s okay, I haven’t kissed anyone either.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe,” Spencer’s eyes went wide as he realized what he had just said and his cheeks burned up, nothing would be able to hide the crimson hue..

You chuckled at his response, “Yeah well, I haven’t for whatever reason. I just wanted to let you know that you’re not alone, yeah?”

Spencer nodded and as you turned around to walk back you turned right around as you remembered that you wanted to make some coffee for yourself too. However, as soon as you turned back Spencer took a step forward as well and you ended up walking into Spencer’s chest.

“Oh um, sorry,” you chuckled and looked up at the tall man.

“It’s okay,” both of your eyes locked and you weren’t able to look away from each other. Spencer reached up carefully and rested his hand on your cheek and you leaned into his touch. Without noticing you both leaned in and a moment later your lips met in a soft kiss. Spencer’s other arm wrapped around your waist as he brought you closer and your hands rested on his chest, gripping his shirt lightly.

A moment later you both pulled back and looked at each other, lips a little bit swollen and breathing heavily.

“I don’t think I need that coffee anymore.”

Spencer chuckled and rested his forehead against yours, “Me either.”

Taglist: @radioactiveinvisible @whoisspence @sreidisms @lanascinnamongirls @luvkatryna @sp3ncelle @iluvreid @khxna @keiva1000 @indigosamsblog @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden

If you want to be a part of my taglist go here!

You can find my masterlist here!

My requests are open so feel free to send one in! (SFW only)

[ursuburbanmother]

I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Three

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: Mothers and daughters?? Fathers and sons?!?

Word Count: ~4k

Find: Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Enjoy!

December 23, 1970

You’ve been stuck in your own mind all day. It's decided to shut down like a panic room and you can see Angus try to crack it open with his attempts at small talk. Mary and Mr. Hunham share uncomfortable glances at each other, slightly humored about the quiet lunch they are having that would usually be filled by chatter from you two.

Angus leans in close to your ear, “You said we would talk today.”

“After this,” you murmur, sinking into the wooden chair.

“If this is about yesterday, it was just a weird moment, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Stop talking,” you say as nicely as you can when you see Mary's eyebrow quirk up at Angus’s comment.

“I have a surprise,” Mr. Hunham suddenly announces. Your eyes snap to him, embracing the distraction. He brings out a platter full of Christmas cookies and places them on the table. “These were a gift to me, and I would like to share them with both of you.”

Angus is unimpressed and by the way he is scowling, he's upset too. “Look at them. Look at all the festive shapes. Snowflakes and gingerbread men. A tree. A little mitten,” Mr. Hunham picks up the red and white frosted cookie and takes a bite. “Mmm,” he looks pleasantly surprised.

“Thank you, Mister. This is really nice,” You reach for the snowflake. You’re not sure how well sloppy joe and sugar will settle in your stomach but you're willing to gamble on it. Mr. Hunham gives you a thin smile.

“May I go to the bathroom, sir?” Angus asks, already pushing away his dish and getting up from his chair.

“You may,” he sighs, watching the boy walk away.

“Well, I’m trying,” he says to the group, defeated.

You give him a weak grin, “These are good cookies though. If that means anything to you.”

Mary chuckles at your exchange. Mr. Hunham gets up and goes the same direction Angus had exited. Your eyes follow him until it is impossible for you to see him without breaking your neck. You turn to Mary who is close to finishing her cigarette. She blows the smoke away from your direction and pushes the packet towards you.

“Want one?”

“Oh. No thanks. That's Angus’s thing.”

“Alright. But don’t go asking for one later.”

“I won’t,” you laugh quietly. You hear voices in the hallway get louder. Angus shouts something you can’t make out and Mr. Hunham's response follows shortly after. Their noise fades away and you rub your tired eyes to snap you awake. You never could get enough sleep. You swear you could sleep for twenty-four hours and still feel groggy.

“What's going on with you two?” Mary asks.

“Angus and I?”

“No. You and the ghost that haunts the infirmary,” she took a sip of her coffee while shaking her head in amusement.

“My mother says I'm a bit of a blabbermouth. I don’t know if you want to hear the details,” you warn.

“Give me the reader's digest,” she pats the seat next to her. Bringing your coca-cola with you, you go cross over to her side of the table. “Okay. Tell me if you think I’m crazy-”

“I will.”

“-But Angus has been acting so weird. One second, he's all moody, a regular Holden Claufield, and the next he’s nice and being the Angus I’ve known all my life. I don’t know… Maybe he’s at the stage where his feelings swing around like a pendulum.”

“That's all-teenagers sweethearts. Even at adulthood, that pendulum never stops swinging. At some point it may slow down only for a gust of wind to return it into motion.”

“I mean he’s always been a little short-tempered, just never towards me. Yesterday,” you wonder if you are getting too personal now, “he called me selfish.”

“Selfish? The girl that just scarfed down a cookie to make an old man feel better.”

You shrug. You never knew how to take compliments. “I know I should just ask him what's really going on, but I don’t want him to blow up on me again.”

“If he does come to me. I’ll whip him into shape for you.”

“Thank you,” you giggle. “What do you think happened out there?” You tilt you heard towards the doors.

“Their usual bickering. That boy is probably paying the price for cursing Hunham out right now.”

“How long have you known Mr. Hunham?”

She paused before answering, “A while now.”

“Has he always been this… strong-willed?”

“Stubborn as a mule you mean? Yes, he has. Although the years have certainly hardened him more.”

“Why’s that?"

“Not sure. He’s a private man. I haven’t been able to pry anything out of him.”

“Not even when he’s,” you make your hand into a fist, extending the pink and thumb. You move it back and forth to mimic drinking from a bottle.

Mary cackles. “Not even then.”

…

The stupidest thing Angus had done was what he had done to you yesterday. He doesn’t know why he said it, why he had called you selfish. It just tumbled out. It was like he was a man possessed. But launching off a springboard in the gym in an act of rebellion was a close second.

He numbed the pain thinking of you. Granted if you were here, you would be lecturing him non-stop and telling him how he should have known better. But at least you would have been here, and he wouldn’t have to watch Mr. Hunham marinate in his misery. At least you would have been there to hold his hand as they popped his arm back into its socket.

Although his mouth had gotten him in trouble the last few days, it had been helpful in getting them out of the hospital insurance issue. And it was about to get him a free burger now too.

They had arrived at the local watering hole. It was jam packed with people getting tipsy with beer. He could hear the clink of billiards and the white noise on the TV.

“I think I’ll start with a beer. How about you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Tully. Get your cheeseburger.”

“They’ve got Miller High Life. The Champagne of Beers.”

“Oh?” Mr. Hunham said, but Angus could tell he was just trying to amuse him.

Angus shut the menu as their waitress came up the stairs to their little booth. “Okay, you ready to order? Oh!” she gasped as she turned to his teacher.

“Miss Crane,” Hunham touched his chest, “As I live and breathe. What-, what are you doing here?”

“Oh hi guys! Yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas,” Miss Crane explained.

It looked as if Mr. Hunham had been snapped awake, “Well, um, this is Mr. Tully,” he motioned his hand towards him.”

“Sure, I know you and your little girlfriend. You two are always glued together like gum on a pole,” Miss Crane said teasingly.

“Y/n L/n," he beamed, "she goes to the girl's school and we’re just friends. But um, we met outside Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet,” he smiled as innocently as he could.

“I didn’t know about the wrongly part,” she shares a laugh with Hunham.

“He’ll have a cheeseburger,” he orders for Angus.

“And a Miller High Life please,” Angus adds quickly.

“Uh. No you will not,” Hunham says sternly.

“Where do you stand on Miller High Life, Miss Crane?”

“Well, like they say, it’s the Champagne of Beers.”

Angus turns to Hunham, “And she’s a professional.”

“Okay, one cheeseburger,” Miss Crane waits for him to fill the blank.

He relents and orders reluctantly, “And a Coke.”

“I’ll have a cheeseburger as well,” Hunham smiled.

“Two cheeseburgers,” she jots down the order on her notepad

“And a Jim Beam. On the rocks. Please.”

“Okay, you got it guys,” She smiles at them before exiting. Paul watches her go and Angus grins at the scene.

“Ouch. You two have chemistry,” he shakes his hand like he had touched a hot plate.

“Okay. That’s the Percodan talking,” Hunham dismisses.

“I don’t know. Seeing her like this, I think she’s pretty attractive,” he hopes his teacher will take the bait.

“Listen, you hormonal vulgarian, that woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculation.”

Angus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, may I at least go to the bathroom? Sir?”

“You mean the payphone?”

They have a stare off before he runs off to the back of the restaurant. Angus scours any leftover change in his back pocket of his jeans. He finds enough to make a call. He scans the room, making sure that Mr. Hunham isn’t hunting him down like last time. He dials the number to the Barton infirmary and hopes you are lounging in your room.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he chants under his breath. Instead he gets the dial tone. He curses and slams the phone back to its original place.

…

You haven’t seen Angus since the morning. You've been spending all afternoon with Mary instead. You helped with the lunch dishes and are preparing the potatoes for supper later. Mary had a radio in the kitchen which you happily hummed to. Christmas music flooded your ears and reminded you of the holiday. In the halls of Barton there were no decorations, and one could probably convince a kid that the Grinch had stolen them in the dead of night.

“Mary, I'm done,” you proudly show her the bowl of potatoes. In your house most of the cooking was done by private chefs who came in and out so irregularly that you could never learn their names. Understandably, they didn’t have time to entertain a ten-year-olds insistent questions about what it meant to julienne a vegetable.

“Great. Why don’t you start boiling them and get started on chopping those mushrooms.”

“Okay,” you add water to a pot before adding the chomped potato. You find the mushrooms and cut them as thinly as you can. After you place them on the counter next to Mary who has already prepared everything else.

You admire as she adds them to a pan of melted butter. She drops salt, pepper, Italian dressing and other spices you can’t name, without even having to use measuring tools. “You’re Julia Child!” You praise.

“Just years of practice.”

“Hey, when do I get to sauté and mix things?” You get on your tiptoes to get a better look at the mushrooms turning a dark brown.

“When I know you won’t hurt yourself doing it,” she gave a pointed look at the bandaids on your fingers. You may have cut yourself in your first attempts at handling a knife. You hide the hand behind your back. “Sorry.”

You go to sit in a stool by the oven. You open a borrowed copy of a Kerouac book that Angus had in his suitcase. The Subterraneans, written in three days apparently and no offense to Jack but it shows. Mary notices your squinting as you go try to make sense of the writing, inching your face closer and closer to the paper.

“Are you planning to do something with that? The books.” Mary stops her stirring and lowers the heat of the stove. She walks over to you and glances at pages.

“What? Like with writing?” You ask, “I’m not sure. I know I should have figured it out by now but I just never got one of those woosh moments,” you sway your hands in the air.

“Woosh moment?”

“It's like what we talked about with the pendulum. I feel like I've been hanging still and waiting for the wind to send me on my way. I wait for it to push me with the strength of a tornado. Woosh. Almost to flood me with a feeling of knowing? I’m not the best at words…” you trail off.

“You're telling me nothing interests you?” She raised her eyebrow.

“No, a lot of things do. I want to do everything. Right now, for example, I feel like becoming a renowned chef,” you pick up a random bowl and start stirring it slowly.

“Try learning how to handle a knife right first,” she tuts.

“Practice makes perfect Mary,” you smile and look down into the chocolate substance you were messing with. “Cake or brownies?”

“Neither actually. It's more doughy than liquid honey,” she lectures you kindly.

“Right,” you say sheepishly, “I swear I’m smarter when it comes to other things. You should see me in civics class.”

“I believe you,” she winks, “Now get to preheating the oven, Betty Crocker.”

…

Angus goes off to play a game on the Pinball machine and to take his mind off you. It certainly helps him. Avoiding the prospect of getting beat up by locals and injuring another part of his body allows him to momentarily forget the stress he feels when he remembers how pissed you are at him.

Mr. Hunham and Angus eat their burgers quickly. To repay Mr. Hunham for saving his ass, Angus keeps his mouth shut every time he orders a Jim Beam. They leave after Hunham drops a rather generous tip for Miss Crane.

They're walking towards Hunhams car and Angus can’t resist the urge to ask, “Why’d you buy those guys beer? They’re assholes.”

“That’s one way to look at it. Hey. Catch,” he tosses his keys at Angus, who catches them on instinct.

“How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off? Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam. No, they go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not."

“Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Were you ever in the military?” Angus’s curiosity peaked.

“I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected,” Mr. Hunham pointed at his eye, as if to say obviously. He tries to unlock the door of the driver's side to no avail. He points towards Angus,“I have to get in through there. Anyways, they made me an air raid warden. Gave me a whistle and everything. Helmet. Arm band.”

Angus opens the door, handing the keys off as Mr. Hunham slides in. He catches a whiff of Mr. Hunham unmentioned scent.

“Before we get going, can I be candid with you?”

“Mm-hmm,”

“You smell,” he states bluntly and Mr. Hunham deflates. Angus joins him inside the Nova, “Like fish. And it’s really noticeable toward the end of the day. I even smell it on your coat. Mind if I crack the window?”

“Trimethylaminuria.”

“Huh?” Angus frowns.

“Trimethylaminuria. Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell. And, uh, yes, more toward the end of the day.

“Wow. Your whole life? No wonder you’re afraid of women,” he concludes.

“I am not afraid of women,” Hunham says, clearly offended. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Dr. Gertler says I don’t always give consideration to my audience,” Angus exhales.

“Who’s Dr. Gertler?’’

“My shrink,” Angus wants to disappear.

“Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a swift kick in the ass?”

Angus figures he ought to level the playing field. “Okay, all right, now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?”

“Sure. Just one thing.

“Just one?”

Angus nods and he probably should be offended that he is taking an awful long time to say anything.

“You’re obtuse about your social relationship.”

“What the hell is that supposed mean?”

“You didn’t say I had to elaborate Mr. Tully.”

“Okay well now I want you to. Spit it out.”

“No,” he backs out of his parking spot and hits the road.

“Come on! Explain,” Angus tugs on Hunhams jacket.

“I hope you don’t plan to pester me all the way to Barton. It'll be an awfully long ride.”

He presses down harder on the gas pedal.

…

You had burned the cookies. Not that you could tell when you took a bite of it. The cocoa had disguised it and you had just finished patting your back when you had to spit the whole thing out into the sink. Mary relishes your misery and apologizes through her laughs, wiping the tears in the corner of her eyes.

So your two-course meal had been reduced to just an entree. After thirty minutes of searching and waiting on Angus and Mr. Hunham, you ladies decided to leave the capacious mess hall and have a TV dinner. If your mother could see you now you were sure she would have you arrested by the etiquette police.

Mary was flipping through the channels to tune in to her daily rewatch of the Newlywed Game. You stopped her suddenly, your hand on top of hers to stop her from operating the remote.

“Cactus Flower! I love this movie. Please can we watch it?” You beg, clasping and shaking your hands together.

“What’s it about?” She asks hesitantly, clearly wary about abandoning her favorite program.

“You’ll love it! Ingrid Berman has to pretend to be her boss's wife because he lied to his lover about being married and having kids and shit-,”

“Language.”

“-Sorry. And so now he has to pull off this big con, so she won’t leave his lying as-, butt,” you correct yourself. “Goldie Hawn is sooo good in this. She won an Oscar I think.”

“I supposed I could give it a try. If it bores me we are switching right back though.”

“Deal,” you giggle and scoot the plate balancing on your lap closer so you can dig in.

For the next hour, Mary seems content in watching the characters in the movie ignore and miscommunicate their feelings. Even shaking her head when they do something she finds ridiculous. Your eyes get heavy as the ending nears, your stomach warm and content with the meal you had and the glare of the television tiring your vision. You lean your head back into the couch cushion and close your eyelids. Distantly you hear Ingrid Berman and Walter Matthau confess their love before your world goes dark.

Slumped against Mary, you wake up for the second time that week by the same hands. Angus is shaking your shoulder gently. Your gaze falls immediately to the sling his arm is in.

“Angus! What the hell?” You whisper- shout, fixing your posture and wiping the potential drool off your face. You check to make sure you didn’t wake up Mary.

“It's okay, it's okay,” he reassures. “It’s not broken, or anything just dislocated.”

“What happened?’’ Your arm trails down from where the sling starts to where his hand hangs lazily out. "Is this why you weren’t at dinner tonight? Hunham too?”

“Uh yeah. I jumped off a springboard in the new gym,” he answers bashfully.

“Wow… you are so stupid sometimes.”

“I prefer spontaneous thank you,” he sits down next to you on the couch and lets out a sigh. Using his good arm, he lifts a plastic bag. “We went out to eat and I got you something.”

“Ooh,” You snatch the bag and open it as quietly as you can without crinkling the plastic. Inside the Styrofoam box there's a half-eaten burger with some cold fries. You snack on it anyway offering some to Angus who shakes his head.

“Mr. Hunham thought buying another would be wasteful. He assumed you and Mary would have probably eaten by then so I saved what I could.”

“We did and,” you motion to the plates, “I helped cook it!”

“Really?” Angus's eyes widened, “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“I saved you some cookies,” You pick up the dish of the burnt dessert. You have brought them over believing you had been exaggerating the taste.

You hadn't.

He takes one, clueless, and bites almost half the cookie off. You see him wince but still he continues to chew. He chokes it down and nods, “Not bad?”

“You’re such a liar,” you shove his head lightly. “I forgot to turn on the timer.”

“Yeah I can tell,” he takes your confession as his cue to spit the rest out into a nearby napkin.

“Thanks for this though,” you take a bite of the burger, “I had forgotten what fast food tasted like.”

“Don’t tell him I let you have it. Or that you saw me in fact. The whole arm thing is supposed to be secret.”

“Got it,” you extended your pinky for him to intertwine. He takes it but doesn’t remove his pinky after, instead he lets your connected hands fall between the both of you.

The TV is still on, except the volume is lower and an old black-and-white movie is on. You finish the burger and put the trash aside to throw away in the morning.

“Where is Mr. Hunham now?”

“Crashed as soon as his head hit the pillow.”

“So you want to talk now?” You look up at him.

“Umm, somewhere private though. Incase Mary wakes up,” he gets up, still connected to you by your fingers and pulls you alongside him. You pick up a discarded blanket along with you

“Okay. Where do you want to go?”

He walks you two out of the staff common room and you let him take the lead. Barton is cold even without all the large windows closed. It’s like walking through a haunted mansion, passing by old dusty trophy cases and pictures of past alumni. When you enter what you recognize to be the auditorium, thanks to the plaque next to the door, Angus strolls you two over to the stage. You sit on the piano bench and when he joins you, you cover him with your blanket.

You hear Angus let out a shaky breath and then see the winter air turn it into a small cloud of smoke.

Angus starts to speak, a tremble in his voice, “You’re the only person who thinks of me first know? Even when we were little, and we had a free pass to be totally self-centered you still never-. Like in middle school when you’d give me biology answers, or just now with the blanket! I have a jacket! I should be giving you the entire blanket. In fact, let me give you -, your just-.”

“It’s alright Angus,” you stop his rapid rambling, holding his face between your hands. “I already forgave you a long time ago.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” he chuckles, trying to divert his gaze but the soft hold you have on him keeps him still.

“I forgave you the second you walked in looking like a kicked puppy.”

He laughs at your words.

“Although I just want to ask what has been going on with you? I know you hate school and you're not incredibly fond of Stanely marrying your mom, but I feel like something has been bothering you. Something big.”

“I need to go to Boston Y/n,” he admits, hitting some random piano keys. The notes echo around the room.

“Okay,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “why?”

“It's snowing outside but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. But my dad, he would make it feel that way. So I need to see him and my mom had promised but you see how that turned out.”

“Oh Angus. This is why you kept bringing it up,” you gasp. “Jesus. And I had called you stupid, I’m the dense one for not connecting the dots.”

“No no. You’re not. I was being evasive. I guess I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I would have stolen Jason Smith's car keys had I known! We could be there by now, eating Clam Chowder by the bay. ”

“Nuh-uh. You’re way too of a goody-two shoe for that.”

“Well I would have followed you. Given an hour's notice, of course, to build my confidence.”

“I don't know,” Angus hits a few more keys, “Maybe this was fate like you said. It definitely didn’t deal me a cruel hand having me holdover here with you.”

“Yeah, the universe was certainly on our side for this one,” you move closer to him and put your head on his shoulder. “Hey, you think you can still play even with only one working hand?”

“I’m willing to try it,” he stretches his fingers, “What shall I serenade you with?”

“Something Beach Boys. In My Room?”

“You got it L/n.”

He plays much slower and his jaw is sharp, fully determined to get through the song for your enjoyment. He plays so gracefully you don’t even notice when he slips on occasion. You don’t mind it. It’s almost as sweet as a lullaby.

[girlactionfigure]

Ten Tips for an Easy Yom Kippur Fast

Fasting doesn’t necessarily mean suffering. There’s quite a bit we can do to alleviate the bodily and mental stress that normally accompanies a fast. The day before the fast, follow the following guidelines:

1. Cut down your caffeine intake to minimize headaches. That means stop drinking coffee, tea, and cola at least eight hours before the fast, and preferably twenty-four hours before the fast.

2. Avoid salty, spicey, and fried foods on the day before the fast.

3. Avoid white sugar, white flour, and white rice. Eat whole-grained foods such as brown rice and whole-wheat bread or challa.

4. Drink a lot of water all day long.

5. Eat a good breakfast that includes fruits, veggies, eggs or sardines, and whole grains.

6. The pre-Yom Kippur meal (se’uda mafseket) should include baked or broiled fish, a veggy salad, consomme, a small portion of chicken or turkey, and a side dish of complex carbohydrates. Substitute sweet deserts with watermelon or other water-retaining fresh fruit, and a cup of herb tea with a whole-grain cookie.

On Yom Kippur:

7. The more you immerse yourself in prayer, the less you’ll think about food.

8. Rest between prayers. Don’t run around outside, especially in the hot sun. Save your voice for prayers. Idle talking will make you thirstier, and will detract from the holiness of the day.

After the fast:

9. Drink two glasses of water, and then eat solids gradually, so as not to shock the digestive system. Begin with fruit, like plums or grapes. The worst thing people do is to consume pastries and soft drinks, or “lekach un bronfan” (cake and liquor) right after the fast (these are unhealthy anytime, all the more so right after the fast when they give your body a shock of glucose).

10. Forty-five minutes to an hour afterwards, one can eat a balanced meal with protein, carbohydrates, and vegetables. After eating, relax for an hour with your favorite book (preferably Gemara of the laws of Succoth from Shulchan Oruch) and your favorite beverage, then begin constructing your Succa.

Attention diabetics, heart patients, folks with high blood pressure, and people whose health depends on regular medication - you must be especially careful to ask your doctor if you are capable of fasting, and then consult with your local rabbi, giving him the doctor’s exact opinion. For many such people, it is a mitzva not to fast on Yom Kippur.