#drank only tea and beans on toast

[chloesimaginationthings]

The real reason Michael has a British accent in FNAF…

[tact-and-impulse]

Shinkane Week 2024 Day 4

@shinkaneweek, it took me until yesterday to decide what to do, before I remembered this line at the end of First Inspector!

Prompt: Treat

“Treat me to something.”

Little did Kougami know, that was only the beginning. They did need to catch up, and for her to acclimate to the real world after being a prisoner for so long. So, when Akane messaged about a new café or a weekly special, he never hesitated to take her out.

Then, it became a regular occurrence to spend lunch together, sometimes breakfast if they had both worked overnight. Tempura vegetables and sushi rolls. Red bean and black sesame buns, with hot tea and cold milk. Sandwiches and salads. Fragrant pastries and toasted bread slathered in a variety of spreads. Bowls of noodles, sautés, and curries. Her spice tolerance had fallen, she lamented. The same couldn’t be said for holding her liquor.

Her birthday had been an over-the-top celebration with Unit 1 and SAD; she drank both sides under the table, including her new boss, which Kougami was smug about despite his own raging hangover. On the other hand, his was a more subdued affair, with just her and his mom. Akane had made the little chocolate cake from scratch, and he was embarrassed as he blew out the single candle, ignoring Mama’s pointed stare.

Finally, as the weather chilled and their outings were extending to dinners, he folded his arms and asked her point blank. “What is this?”

“It’s a burger with a fried egg on top. You know, to resemble the moon.” She said, like he was the pitiful village idiot.

“No, I meant-” He gestured to their surroundings. They were on a quiet private balcony for the seasonal moon viewing, and maple leaves lazily drifted around them. “This scene. It’s a little…” He stopped short of using the word ‘intimate’.

“What do you think, Kougami-san?” A drop of sauce landed on the side of her thumb, and she lapped it up with her tongue. He stared a little too long at that. “If you don’t like it…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not complaining. But what we’re doing, eating and talking and sightseeing if we’re not at work…” And now that he said it out loud, it struck. He really was the pitiful village idiot. What the hell was wrong with him? They’d been having dates, multiple dates, since she was released. The words flew as an accusation. “It’s a relationship, isn’t it?”

She blinked. “I’m shocked. I didn’t expect you to be the type to want labels.”

“And I didn’t expect you to not want them.” He retorted.

“Oh, I do. I was just waiting for you. I didn’t want to force anything.”

That was just like her. “…How long have you thought about this?”

“Um, well.” Nervousness flickered in her expression; he’d last seen it eight years ago. “Every now and then. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t in love with you when we met, or at least, I didn’t call it that. I was young and impressionable, then I was frustrated and resigned. But it’s always been you.”

“Funny, I didn’t use the word ‘love’.”

An incandescent blush rose in her face. She set down her food in indignation. “Kougami-san, I’ll be leaving first. Get the dango, I heard they’re good.” She stood but he caught her wrist.

He brought her thumb into his mouth, relishing the sweet-salty taste of her skin, and grinned as she yelped. “Dango can’t compare.”

“You’re horrible.” Her voice was already weakening.

He reverted to seriousness, firmly clasping her fingers. “I’m not a good man, and I won’t pretend around you. But for me, it’s always been you too.”

Gingerly, she sat down, and then, she gave a short laugh. “What a mutual confession that was! It only took six months.”

“Hope it was worth the wait.” He dryly said. “After you fooled me into being your boyfriend.”

“Oh, is that what you want me to call you? Shinya-san?”

A shiver ran to the base of his spine. “Whatever you want, as long as it’s not publicly humiliating.”

Her smile widened. “I expected as much. Pet names and love declarations wouldn’t be like you.”

“My preference has always been actions over words.” And when she blushed deeper, he laughed. Yeah, they were taking the dango to go.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Table

[Sequel to Sock, because a lot of you asked. :)]

--

After taking a shower and changing into a fresh pair of clothes, John went to the kitchen and began to cook breakfast for both of them.

It was Christmas. Sherlock had woken up before him, as usual, and he was out for a walk now.

John was making a fry-up today. Sherlock liked it. They usually didn't make anything other than some toasts, but John wanted to do something special that day. Christmas was not the only reason for that.

The main reason was last night.

John smiled to himself as took out some beans from the fridge.

He had barely slept for the rest of the night after having read Sherlock's note in that sock. He had kept tossing and turning the whole time, thinking about how he would possibly navigate through this situation.

Sherlock had wished for John that Christmas. The thought was overwhelming. Unbelievable. The socks were still hanging above the fireplace.

John was grinning now, as he kept a pot of tea on the stove. Earl Grey. He just had to bring it up somehow, over breakfast. But he also did not want to scare Sherlock away.

John pursed his lips as he contemplated all the possibilities of their upcoming, completely unavoidable conversation.

John heard Sherlock's footsteps on the stairs. He quickly grabbed two mugs and poured some tea in both of them.

"Oh, you're making breakfast. Should I help?" asked Sherlock.

"No, it's fine. I'm almost done."

John turned around to take in the sight of this man again. The man he had fallen for. And somehow, the same man who had fallen for him.

Sherlock was taking off his coat, and John figured he should help him do that. Yes. That was how he was going to make his way to The Talk. Small, casual touches here and there. Nothing too much.

John took long strides to approach Sherlock and began to help him with his coat. Sherlock raised his eyebrows but remained silent and stood still as John helped him out of that garment.

John went to the kitchen again to get the whole breakfast arranged properly.

"Let me help," Sherlock said.

"Grab the plates then. I'll join you."

Sherlock arranged the kitchen table by placing a pair of plates and glasses. A few minutes later, John brought the dish and served everything on both the plates. He set the container aside and they both sat down on the table.

John had made a point to sit beside Sherlock today, instead of across from him like he usually did. They began to eat in silence.

"Mm. This is delicious," said Sherlock.

John took a deep breath and decided to cut to the chase. "I see, you ended up hanging your sock last night," he said, feigning non-chalance.

Sherlock began to cough in the middle of eating. John reached for Sherlock's back and ran his hand along it to try to soothe him.

Sherlock poured some water for himself and drank some of it. He cleared his throat. "So, you noticed."

" ’Course I did. I'm not even that ignorant." John smirked.

"Never said you were. It's just that... I didn't see any harm doing something with you. Even if it's stupid."

John smiled into his tea.

"Everyone knows that their wishes aren't really going to come true."

John placed his mug back on the table and furrowed his brows as he turned to look at Sherlock. "Sometimes, they just might," he said and gazed at Sherlock in the eye.

They had locked eyes with each other for a few seconds.

"Don't be an idiot," he said and broke the eye contact before turning to stare at his plate. "That's just false hope you're talking about. The whole world relies on that. Nobody stops to just think."

John hadn't taken his eyes off Sherlock. "I love you."

Sherlock looked up at John again with his mouth parted. The intensity in his eyes took John's breath away.

"I've been meaning to say this for a long time. Even before you went away after your staged suicide." John placed his hand on Sherlock's forearm, who was stunned.

"I've felt this way about you since the start. I just... couldn't find a way to say it. So, I'm saying it again, now: I'm in love with you."

Sherlock blinked rapidly and swallowed. "Are you really?"

John nodded. He had stopped eating.

Sherlock dropped his silverware on the plate and pulled John close to wrap his arms around John's waist.

John sighed in relief as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's back. He pressed Sherlock close against his chest. Sherlock had buried his face in John's neck.

"I love you too. And that's exactly what I'd wished for in my note."

John felt Sherlock smile against his neck.

"I... I knew about it, actually," said John and cleared his throat. "I'd looked into your note last night," he continued sheepishly. "I know I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway. Curiosity got the better of me, I think."

"So, that's why it took you so long to go back to your room after midnight." Sherlock chuckled.

John was running his hand over Sherlock's back again. "You saw me?"

"I didn't sleep much. So, I figured you might be thirsty, which is why you went to the kitchen. But going back upstairs took you long enough." Sherlock's voice made a lot of vibrations against John's chest, making him shiver.

"Yeah, I guess it did. I'm sorry."

Sherlock pulled away a bit and held John's face in his hands delicately. "Don't be. This conversation wouldn't have happened if you hadn't looked into the note."

Without another word, John pressed his lips against Sherlock's.

Sherlock sighed and placed his hand on John's nape, as they opened their mouths to deepen the kiss.

They kept kissing each other for quite some time, unable to let go, unable to believe this was really happening.

John was being rather desperate with his kisses.

They pulled away after a bit, but continued to hold each other in their arms.

Sherlock touched his forehead with John's. "Merry Christmas, John."

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock," John breathed with his eyes closed.

"I may start to believe that Santa is real."

John laughed and pulled Sherlock close to kiss him again.

***

Sherlock September Challenge by @onesmallfamily

Prompt: Table.

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @gaylilsherlock @keirgreeneyes @a-victorian-girl @lookingforlifeoutthere @calaisreno @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @peanitbear @khorazir @shlainne @thesaltofcarthage @curlyjohnlock

[ask-codeearasure]

The Outer Realms -- Chapter 18

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—-----

Chapter Eighteen:

Memories

—----

“One of the keys to happiness is a bad memory.”

― Rita Mae Brown

—-

Waking up in a very familiar bed in a very familiar room, he couldn't seem to find the memories of coming to the location or even what his name was. All he saw was a very familiar arm and a hand hugging him tightly, possessively so. The mismatched coloring of each bone brought ghosts of memories to him, but no sense of a name.

It started with an E, but what was it?

E���. Something….

What was his name again?

It started with…. Oh, what did it start with…?

He tried to remember as he messed with…. E’s fingers and joints. Gently pressing on each joint to make the fingers move but not wake….E.

It ended with a k…

Yes…. He was sure of it. It felt correct.

He looked around and saw on the nightstand a small vial with what looked to be… some sort of paint. He looked over slowly at E. He was still asleep. Twitching, but asleep.

Scooting to the side gently in an attempt to not wake him, he silently reached over enough to take the vial. It was such a small container and it was a bit murky, like paints that have mixed and the substance separated… It was half-empty too.

Oil paint.

He felt nothing towards it but at the same time… he had the urge to drink it.

He silently shook the vial until the murkiness faded into a lighter color and then popped the lid and took a swig, and some sense came crashing back. The ache he didn’t recognize he had faded slightly.

Error. The person who was sleeping next to him was Error.

His name was Ink.

They were in Zephyrtop, and he heard the distressed whispers of at least… two? People right outside the door. He hoped those were his dads, or really any of his siblings at this point. Ink blinked away the blurriness clouding his vision, trying to move from where he was, but felt no indication of legs or his right arm being present. Not even a pelvis.

 It all came rushing back to him.

He died in that fight.

—--

Dream slowly opened his eyes, welcomed to a foggy world of blurriness that was fading in and out of focus. He closed his eyesockets again as he, with much effort, pushed himself up off the bed so he could sit up straight. Once he felt stable enough, he stretched his arms, popping his shoulders in the process with a yawn.

He didn't feel even a ghost of pain or exhaustion. Just… peace.

He didn't think he slept that well in a while.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyesockets, he saw a familiar face sitting at a small table with a tea set, having a small tea party with a few dolls, one of whom had a rather intricate knife stabbed right through its chest.

Katagma?

It took him a moment to remember the cup of tea he had drank from the mad skeleton. Yes… the cure that Izanagi had Katagma deliver.

The mad skeleton looked over at the guardian only to suddenly jump up and tackle Dream back into the bed.

“You're awake!” Katagma exclaimed happily. He grabbed Dream’s face and seemed to check every inch of it, “Not a speck of gray!”

“Yesh… I'm… awake…” Dream could barely speak as Katagma further squished Dream’s face and checked him over.

“They were so worried about you!” Katagma smiled.

They were– Dream remembered the auras of raw anxiety and apprehension around him before and a little after he drank from that teacup. The same feeling poofing away from Katagma’s own aura was indicative of that, but at least they had one less thing to worry about! 

Katagma gave him a confused look only to realize he was on top of Dream. Awkwardly, he slowly and carefully got off of the guardian and off the bed.

“Sorry.”

“It's alright.” Dream sighed, sitting back up.

“You hungry? I can make you a proper English Breakfast! Beans on toast, some eggs, roasted cherry tomatoes, some tea!” Katagma rambled.

“Maybe in a little bit, I’m still… waking up. But thank you very much!” Dream said, rubbing the excess sleep out of his eyes with another yawn. He reached out to track the other familiar auras of his friends.

Carrot, Cy, and Occultatum were deeper in the library. Alphys and Toriel were nowhere to be found.

“Where's Dr. Toriel and Alphys?” Dream asked.

“Back at the Asylum. They're making you a prescription, just to make sure you're fine.” Katagma said getting his tea cup and taking a small drink. “They were really concerned when they saw you finally ridding yourself of that venom.”

“I should thank Izanagi for that..” Dream mumbled only to suddenly ask, “Speaking of, where is he?”

“Hm?”

“Izanagi… where is he? I don't sense him anywhere in the library or this AU…” 

Katagma stared at Dream for a moment, as if trying to figure out how to answer the question, he looked away.

He didn't want to answer.

“Your anxiety is spiking…” Dream mumbled, “What's wrong? Did something happen to him?”

“Oh… no.” Katagma said.

He was lying. Dream still couldn’t read his aura like everyone else’s, but right now it appeared somewhat more stable. Katagma didn’t want to talk. That was okay, Dream wouldn’t force him, but perhaps he didn’t check what his face looked like, since looking at it caused Katagma to flinch.

“He's fine.” Katagma stated. He took a step back and disappeared. He didn't even leave a smile behind like he usually did.

Dream tried to sense where he was… but he wasn't anywhere in the building or even in the AU. The guardian of positivity sighed, managing a new hit of guilt. Alright, it was probably too early to ask where Izanagi was, not when his friends were already put through enough stress wondering if he’d wake up at all. 

He’ll ask Occultatum later, if the situation permits. 

Dream breathed in, then out, sliding off the bed and taking his IV with him by habit. He found a sink, turning on the faucet for cold water he could use to relieve the tension left on his face. Katagma was right, though! In his reflection in the mirror, Dream saw no sign of graying bones or rot, only small stains running down his cheeks. They were a little numbing to touch, but easy to wash off.

Next, he went to check his IV. Technically that was Occultatum’s job, but Dream couldn’t help but be curious about it since up until recently, it had been supplying him with the positivity to keep functioning. 

But now it was empty. 

“Hm…” Dream gently removed the dispensing needle from his arm, the hole in the bone where it once was healing up almost instantly. He didn’t see any leftover apples or arrows from the other him on that one table either, so they could have been moved, or maybe Dr. Toriel and Alphys were using them to make the prescription Katagma mentioned.

He has to meet that other him as well, wherever they are.  He couldn’t help but find it suspicious that Katagma would run off like that. Frowning, he rubbed the spot that the needle was formerly at. He hasn’t healed up like that in a long time. He didn’t even feel the pain of when he had initially got shot. It was as if everything was happening so quickly and suddenly and then hit a wall simply to pause.

Standing up Dream stretched his arms, legs and back as much as he could, feeling each joint pop as he did so.

He really did feel better than he had ever been. It was almost like the time before he and Night–...

He stopped that train of thought as quickly as possible. Shaking his head. No. That village used him. He knew that now. He accepted that now. He knew better now. Straightening out his oversized clothing and his hood, he went over the nightstand, got his crown, put it on, and then finally opened the door with such ease, like it was as easy and thoughtless as breathing. He really was at peak health.

He followed his senses to locate Occultatum and Carrot on the ground floor.

“You really think that my brother is out there?” Carrot asked, in almost a whisper.

“Yeah, if anything, he’s definitely active somewhere in the multiverse, if we can find even a trace of his magic, I might be able to locate him using the very spell I use to track Katagma.” Occultatum said confidently, “If it’s possible, I might be able to teach you how.” “Not gonna lie, Tatum. That’s kinda creepy.” Carrot clicked his teeth, reaching into his pocket for what looked like a box of cigarettes, but pulled out a candy stick to nibble on.

“Hey, he’s as unpredictable as two pulsar stars orbiting each other,” Occultatum replied, offended, “I have no other choice if I want to keep him from hurting himself or somebody else – It’d be even easier if Klezmer didn’t keep fucking it up, but I have to keep updating the spell every single time.”

They felt a pulse of uninhibited positivity flash in front of the entrance corridor, and there Dream was. Carrot blinked several times in a row, like he thought he was hallucinating and wanted to snap out of it. The shorter Papyrus looked over Occultatum’s shoulder, squinting towards what must be Dream, and the little guardian waved at him. “Dream??”

“No way…” Occultatum breathed before suddenly running over to Dream and checking his face and joints, “You’re awake! I almost thought you’d be…” he didn’t dare to finish that sentence. He obviously didn’t expect Dream to wake up at this point – perhaps at all. When he finished checking Dream over, he asked, “How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Pain? Stiffness?”

Dream shook his head to every symptom, his eyelights a much brighter gold, and peacefully attentive to Occultatum’s concerns. He looked perfectly energized for the first time in weeks, and there was not a speck of gray coloring in sight. 

And even though his aura wasn’t entirely back in action, both Carrot and Occultatum picked up on what little was present.

Dream was healing.

“Oh! No, I do have something!” He lifted the used IV packet into view, carefully wrapped along with its cord, needle, and plastic casing. “I’m sorry if I took it out too early again– it didn’t have anything left in it when I woke up.”

Occultatum took the packet and nodded, “I see, it must’ve run out while you were asleep, since Tori and Alphys went off with the rest of the ingredients…”

Dream was right, they were using up what was left to make the medication Katagma mentioned before.

“So he’s back to normal, right?” Carrot asked.

“I assume so, but Tori wants to make sure every last drop of venom is neutralized.” Occult stated.

“And what if that’s not possible?” The orange-hooded skeleton bit down on the candy in his mouth, more out of compulsion than anything else. “You said DeVille’s venom is compounded in intensity in comparison to Morabito’s. Would it build back up again or stay the way it is? Will Dream have to be on medication for who knows how long?” Occultatum couldn’t help but shake his head and shrug as he scooped up Dream to carry him around like a child, “I don’t know, honestly. It also depends on Level of Violence from what I know and experienced. I took a hit from him personally and had to be locked in the asylum for a month till I could control my emotions again. Considering that Izanagi helped here, Dream’s emotions should be back to normal somewhat. But whatever he couldn’t feel before getting hit he’s gonna start feeling it now. Morabito couldn’t feel any negative emotions before he got hit with DeVille’s venom, when he did, he was thrown into a suicidal depression and self-loathing for almost a year.”

Dream held back a shudder at that concept, and twisted a little bit out of Occultatum’s grip to compromise a place on his shoulders. The only emotion he knew he couldn’t feel before was hate, and considering so many in the multiverse fell and suffered intensely because of it, Dream didn’t know where he’d start in coping with it for himself. He was all too familiar feeling it in other people, Blue and Ink included back in the days where they protected the multiverse as a closely-knit team. He didn’t deny that there were things he couldn’t blame anyone for hating, considering the details behind certain traumas could never be excused in a million years, but the idea of him finally feeling the emotion of intense, concentrated loathing coming from himself was… the first reaction he had was fear, but there were ways to manage it, Dream just knew. The one example that came to mind was Blueberror’s case, both before and after the incident with Error.

He hoped he would see his friend again soon.

“You good, little buddy?” Carrot spoke up, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Ya look like you saw a ghost.” “Yes,” Dream said habitually, then recalled the talk in his tea-influenced dream and scrambled to correct himself, “I-I mean I am mostly, I’m just thinking. I don’t… uhm…,” he fell silent, some of the words he wanted to use refusing to pop up in his mind.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Occultatum used his magic and teleported a small phone to his free hand, “Here, Tori wanted me to give this to ya.” It was a small touchscreen phone, “It’s enchanted with my magic so you can contact us while you’re out doing your job. It has my number on there along with Tori’s and Katagma’s. So if you ever need anything or anyone to talk to, you have us.”

Dream received the phone and bit the tip of his tongue, watching the screen flash on with pop-ups, tiny text bubbles in Spanish pointing him in the direction of how to start its system and access customizable options. He didn’t know how to use a phone, but saw a couple examples from his friends on how they could work. So holding onto it with both of his hands, Dream began to fiddle with the device, taking an extra moment here and there to fully process the instructions it was giving him.

He didn’t fully understand how this would help him in the long run beyond the idea Occultatum presented, maybe he was missing some information on the subject, which Dream was used to happening long before this point, but he’d figure it out.

A shimmering portal opened up on the other end of the room only for a roar of unrelenting frustration to be heard, “OKAY THAT BRAT BETTER BE UP RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME I’M GOING TO FUCKING LOSE IT!”

“Aaaand, that’s Morabito…” Occultatum sighed, “Great…” he put Dream down, who had instantly looked up from the phone in response to his stand-in and flinched at the unexpected dose of negativity.

“SERIOUSLY I’VE TALKED TO THE SAME PEOPLE SO MANY FUCKING TIMES ABOUT ALMOST THE EXACT SAME FUCKING THINGS AND THAT AIN’T EVEN THA WORST OF IT.” roared the voice. Finally, the owner walked out from behind several bookshelves, his blue and gold suit, though well put-to-gether, was a stark contrast to Morabito’s frustration. Rage emanated off of him, and visibly so thanks to how he was breaking his own summoned arrows out of a need of release. 

To say Carrot was taken off guard at the entrance was an understatement, but managed to hold it together until Morabito’s twisted face came into the skeleton equivalent of rendered distance. Underswap’s prankster cut off his own snort, slapping a hand over his mouth and nose, then turned around so Dream’s raging alternative couldn’t see him. Carrot gripped the shelf in front of him, his maxilla and mandible beginning to jitter together the longer he held in his inevitable laughter. When Morabito saw Dream, he leaned against a shelf and sighed in heavy relief, “Oh thank god, squirt, I thought I was gonna have to keep this shit up for the next month! How the hell do you do it? I’ve been jumping from AU to AU having to yap about the same shit for ages and then this weird living mudpuddle kept following me around for the past three days! THREE FUCKING DAYS! I shot him with so many arrows you could mistake him for a god damn porcupine! I swear! How do you juggle all this shit?”

Mud puddle? He must be talking about Nightmare! Carrot had to apply his other hand to his face, a squeak escaping from between his teeth. Dream shot him a puzzled look, not understanding what Carrot found so funny in the middle of Morabito letting off some frustrated steam, but decided to pay no mind. 

“Uh… It depends on how I think about it…” Dream found the ON/OFF button on the phone, switching it off for the time being. He couldn’t tell if Morabito was asking out of exasperation or genuine, appalled curiosity. “I’m sorry it’s been a lot for you. Are you okay otherwise?”

“Depends on how ya think about it…?” Morabito gave him a concerned look, he then looked over at Occultatum in disbelief, “Are you sure he’s okay? Maybe Tori should give him a once-over… kid, I’m fine. The last arrow did a number on the weirdo. Shot him right through the skull. I just can’t stand the repetitiveness of it all. At least when I collect desires, I go into other people’s dreams, a lot of them being more different than the last. With your job, I felt like I was doin’ an insane-person’s social experiment with no end!”

“Oh…” ‘Insane-person’s social experiment with no end’? That wouldn’t be how Dream described it, but then again he wouldn’t wish his occupation on anyone else. It took so much patience, time, and energy.

But Dream loved helping people. Even from an objective standpoint, it benefitted both parties. He would receive more positivity to strengthen himself, and the fact he was there would leave a positive imprint on the reality he just visited. Everyone deserves a chance at improving their own lives. Sometimes they just needed a guide or someone who would listen to them. It really depended on the situation at hand.

He didn’t understand what Morabito found so repetitive about it, since everyone he spoke to had their own struggles and differences in personality and ideology that affected how they responded to everyday events. But on the other hand, he and Morabito were different people. He was bound to have a wildly different perspective than Dream did.

Morabito gave a frustrated growl at Dream’s befuddlement only for Carrot to speak up, having cleared himself of the giggles, “He’s fine, Tori just wants to make him a prescription, I don’t know how long she’s going to have him on it, so we’re going to have to go to the asylum to see her here in a bit, so you’re finally free to go back to your AU.”

“Finally!” Morabito sighed. “I just hope that thing didn’t follow me here… It was so desperate, my god! I almost thought that shitty detective was after me again! If I find that creature in my AU I’m gonna lose it and I might end up committing murder. It’s bad enough I have to put up with DeVille always encroaching on my territory, stealing my clients with his freaking liquor! One negative masochist is enough! I don’t need more!”

Occult held back the urge to not snark the mobster. He knew about Morabito and DeVille’s plights in their AUs. Some detective was after them for encouraging people to sleep, Morabito through the use of addictive medication and DeVille through alcohol. He actually got some from Katagma, all of it apple-based. DeVille, having used magic to grow an entire orchard worth of apples, had years worth of alcohol, all of which were processed and distilled, ready for anyone to take. 

He remembered Katagma mentioning that DeVille had the tendency to market towards women, specifically stay-at-home mothers and wives since it was popular to use alcohol in cooking as much as it was for drinking. Morabito went the clinical route, but didn’t expect for his product to be popular enough to overdose on. Humans were addicted to the medication which had traces of his magic in it. It was still a mystery as to why. Even Tori couldn’t figure it out.

In an attempt to distract Dream from his counterpart’s ranting, Carrot handed him Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, a bookmark in the page the guardian left off of before he drank that bewitched tea, “I heard you were fond of this one.”

Absentmindedly, Dream took the book, momentarily confused over the offer until he saw the cover again, “Thank you, Papyrus!” Then it hit him that he forgot to tell Occultatum one more thing. Dream kept his eye on the cover, thinking back to Katagma leaving in anxiety and sorrow. He hoped he didn’t make the illusionist feel worse than he already was, but there was no way to confirm his emotional standing if he wasn’t here. “Excuse me? Occultatum?”

“Yeah?” Occult looked down at Dream. “What’s wrong?”

“I might have made Katagma upset and now I can’t sense him anywhere… Do you know where he went? Do you know if he’s okay?”

“Katagma?” Morabito gave Dream a confused, “If that bastard ain’t here, he’s at the asylum. He can only teleport between here and Asylumtale when Occult’s watching him.”

Occult nodded, “Yeah, wonder why he went there.” He used his magic to bring a screen showing a map of Asylumtale’s Underground, there was a small dot near where the gates of Snowedin was at, but a bit off to the side, like a building was built into the mountain walls themselves. “He locked himself in his room…”

“I asked him about Izanagi. Was that wrong of me?” Dream looked to the side, thinking it over again if he really did overstep a boundary. As much as he never intended to, he made mistakes here and there, and Katagma’s emotions and basic body language were difficult to read.

“Oh…” Occultatum frowned, he really didn’t want to do this to him. “About that… No, you’re not in the wrong, nor did you do something wrong. He and Izanagi are really close… If Katagma isn’t going to tell you, then I guess I’ll have to be the one to do it… It’s only right that you know.” He took a deep breath, this was going to hurt. “Izanagi sacrificed his memories to perform the ritual that got you that cure. From what Katagma told me, the demon was repelled by the spell Izanagi used. That demon kept him from losing any memories he had after whatever caused that hole in his skull. So he lost the majority of his memories… Katagma said it might take a while before Izanagi is… well… Izanagi.”

Dream nodded, then fell silent, mulling over that information. He wanted to pay Izanagi a visit and thank him for the cure, but now this made him want to do that more, even though it was in both their best interests that he wait until the priest recovered. 

“Dream. Don’t even think about it,” Carrot barely looked over the top of his book, something having to do with math and physics, “You have just started to really recover. Is going to a different version of Horrortale that appealing to you now?” “No… No, it’s not,” The guardian of positivity replied honestly, his shoulders lowering as he kept thinking. In one of the halls leading to his room, Dream caught sight of a star-themed map of the Outer Realms. He suspected one of the orange stars was this variation of Horrortale, but if it bore any similarity to the one he was most familiar with, it probably had an overabundance of negativity. He wouldn’t be able to get in or out without another outcode’s help.

“Hey, I know you’re worried about him. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Carrot closed his book, keeping his index finger on the page where he left off, “If you want to get back to business so soon, maybe the sentient strawberry tequila sunrise can think of something. Outerswap is pretty big from what I gather, after all.”

Occultatum looked at Carrot as if wondering how long this whole thing was gonna last, but also impressed he kept coming up with more insults, “Oh, don’t give me that, you orange creamsicle, I don’t speak Japanese. If you want someone who does, Katagma is your only bet unless you want to try your luck with DeVille, Edelweiss, or even Klezmer himself. And I doubt you want that.”

“I’ll take my chances with Edelweiss,” Carrot replied with little to no hesitation, “I don’t know about Dream, though.”

The guardian in question shook his head, opening his book again, “No, not yet.”

Suddenly Morabito appeared behind Occultatum, he looked like he ran a marathon, sitting down in one of the chairs, “Nope. Nope. Not doing that… No, not going back there again…”

Occultatum looked over at the mobster, “Asylumtale?”

“Yep.”

“Sketch was there?”

“Yep.”

“What did he say?”

Morabito glared at Occultatum, “What didn’t he say? He and Katagma got into it again. I’m not getting tied up in that shit.”

“Oh, he’s dead…” Occultatum growled.

“Good luck with that, he’s lost his stupid paints.” Morabito huffed, “Idiot said he probably lost it in that scrap with the Inner Circle’s glitch and husk.”

Figures he’d do that… Occultatum wondered if he could convince Tori into letting him throw the idiot into a blackhole like he’s been wanting.

Dream had just turned to another page, but closed it again and looked up, “Wait—! His paints are gone? What if he stops functioning?”

Occultatum chuckled, “As if, he never took them anyways, only kept them in his bag because he doesn’t want anyone to make him take them. He finds emotions to be the same as a mental illness. He’s never taken them, he just… exists. We’ve theorized he has a soul somewhere out in the multiverse and that’s what’s keeping him functioning, but we haven't found it if Klezmer hasn’t destroyed it already.”

The guardian blinked, his prior confusion having doubled, “Is Sketch not your version of Ink? I don’t understand…,” Dream bit his ‘lip’, “Ink needs his paints to live! He has to take them daily or else he just… stops!”

It perplexed him that Sketch didn’t have the same struggle, but if he was in a fight with Ink and Error at some point, that could mean one of two things. One, Ink now had extra vials, and his life was extended. But for option two, Error could have disregarded the extra paints entirely. If he were spiteful enough, could have thrown them away as well. But Dream also didn’t know the true extent of how close the two were, and it’s not like he ever asked Ink for details. For all he knew, Ink could be in good hands, and his concern wasn’t necessary. All he knew for certain was Error was a sporadic individual. He could be happy one second and hostile the next, but he couldn’t safely assume the situation with so little information.

“Well, I’m this area’s version of you and I ain’t related to Nightmare DeVille by a long shot and I require Positive Desires as sustenance. Why shouldn’t Sketch be drastically different from that Ink?” Morabito stated.

He wasn’t lying either, Klezmer was far more active and far more stable from Error. Even going as far as using his strings in a completely different way, and also having friends, unlike Error who was said to be as stable as Jenga tower standing on one leg, and lazier than a sloth. And Katagma was like if Dusttale Sans and Killer had crazy sex in a back alley with five hundred bottles of tequila, only to have a child and name him Katagma, and that was putting it lightly. Each variation was more different than the next. The Outer Realms were beyond different than anything Dream had encountered. Izanagi was the greatest example of it. He was Japanese and a priest of all things, calm and collected. Polite as could be. No Horrortale Sans was ever like that. He wasn’t even obsessing over food or starving himself in the same breath.

“I didn’t say they shouldn’t be different–,” Dream stammered, “I just didn’t have much context. I’m sorry.”

“Yeeaahhh, you’re gonna struggle with that here,” Carrot mumbled through putting another candy stick in his mouth, “You got more differences here than just the outcodes too, Dream. In one of the AUs here, it’s illegal to fucking sleep. Can you imagine that?”

Morabito grinned and raised his hand, “That would be mine! Thanks! I fucking hate it! We’ve been starving so fucking bad we’ve been dealing illegal drugs and alcohol to force them to!... We need them to sleep so we can get their desires for substance. I’ve been alive because I’ve been getting desires from other AUs since I met Sketch… It would be nice if my AU wasn’t shit… Lucky bastards, all of you.”

“Well damn, dude, would you like me to conk out now if that would help you out?” With a shit-eating grin on his face, Carrot had never looked so excited to faceplant from where he stood.

“No, go to my AU, and kill every single political figure. Just murder them in the face.” Morabito grumbled, “I’ve been tempted to have Katagma do it, but that would be too obvious, and Tatum would kill me for it.”

“Yes. I would kill you for it.” Occult confirmed, smiling.

“Anyways, because you losers aren’t fluent in Dream and I am, I suppose I should translate what he was going for,” Carrot put his book away, and held the candy stick between his middle and index fingers like he would with his usual cigarettes. He cleared his throat, meeting Dream’s glance, “Don’t give me that look, they don’t know basic kindness even if it punched them in the face.”

Dream sighed, hoping Carrot wouldn’t lay into them with too much vitriol. “Dream, even though he didn’t have the best access of words, was concerned for Sketch in regards to his health, much like he is for his friiieeennnnnnndd, Ink,” Carrot cringed inwardly at the use of the word, but the subject of the gay allegations against Dream were going to fly over the guardian’s head faster than he could chuck rocks, “Then next on my list of predicting his next train of thought, I assume Dream was then going to ask if he would be allowed access to Asylumtale so he could deescalate the situation and perhaps provide further relief if needed.” He then looked to Dream, “Is this translation accurate, my friendo?” The guardian nodded, “Mmhm!”

Occultatum snickered at the comments and statements, “We do know kindness… but towards Sketch… No. Not at all. Gratitude, a bit, but not kindness. But if you want to try to get into that mess, then go ahead, just don’t expect to get very far. Just go ahead and get ready, we need to get to Asylumtale anyways to see Tori. Your clothes should be in the top drawer in the room I lent you.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna end terribly… I’ll leave a few arrows and desires here just in case… Try not to die.” Morabito snapped his fingers, summoning a small bunch of the Positive Desire Apples and a bundle of arrows. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

Carrot nodded, understanding the tension in the room almost as much as Dream did, but unlike Dream, he had no plans to go. He wasn’t gonna deal with another Ink, especially when this version has been heavily implied, if not outright said, to have worse behavior in comparison. His plans for the rest of the day were to sit back and relax, wait for Occultatum to return from transporting Dream, then ask what the census was on bringing Indigo and Undyne here.

“Thank you,” Dream replied to Morabito, ignoring the clear agitation and defeat in his voice.

—-------

Asylumtale was not much like normal Asylumtale, in fact… It was even stranger. Dream had assumed before the last discussion that the asylum it was named after was built into a wall of the mountain’s cave system, but it was far… deeper than that. He had stepped out of a portal made by Occult to see the largest building he had seen since many of the Kings’ and Queens’ castles in various AUs. The Underground looked to be vast in comparison. They didn’t even seem to be between Snowedin or the Ruins, more that they just… blended together, even a pathway led between the two and the asylum building itself as if it were a house along a path of sidewalks.

Occult opened the gate and nodded at Dream to follow through. The AU radiated a mix of positivity and negativity. He saw a small skeleton playing with a human child as he was about to walk up to the asylum.

“Papyrus!” called out the human child, “Catch!”

The human child tossed a snowball at the skeleton.

“Oh you’re on!” the skeleton grinned, “You’ll never defeat the Great Papyrus! Master of Snowball–” the human threw another snowball, this time hitting him in the face.

The fight was on!

Normally the Papyrus of the majority of the AUs was a grown adult. This one was like a Littletale merged with an Asylumtale.

“Come on.” Occult said, gently grabbing Dream’s hand and leading him to the doors of the Asylum.

The moment that they walked through the smell of sterilization was present. The asylum smelt clean. Almost too clean.

“Hey, Grills” Occultatum sighed. “What’s the damage?”

“Well… not much, took us a good second to wrestle Katagma and Sketch down. But luckily for us, the enchantments kept them from using their magic.” Grillby stated dull-ly, looking up from his newspaper, “Is that the little star you found?”

“Yep. Dream, this is Grillby, he’s the one you’ll be getting your prescription from – speaking of which, how's it coming along?” Occult asked.

“Alphys is almost done. Thirty-seven-point-five milligram tablets of pure Positivity Magic. They should help the kiddo recover in no-time. We figured out how to condense it down. He’ll have to take one daily.” Grillby stated.

“That’s good. Let’s go check on the dumbass-twins.” Occult sighed, dragging Dream along.

“You keep calling me a kid. Why is that?” Dream quickened his pace, keeping up with Occultatum easily, “I am over five hundred years old…”

“Because, you’re cute, short, and just generally kid-like in a little quirky way. Plus, because I can.” Occult said simply, “Also, I don’t care if you’re five hundred years old, you are very much kid-like in an adorable way. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“I would appreciate that,” The guardian stated. If not for several people with similar emotional issues to Katagma’s, Dream would have had minimal issue tracking him down, but if Sketch had any more similarities to Ink, that could also mean he couldn’t find him the usual way. 

“Alright, Starlight.” Occultatum shrugged as he led Dream deeper into the asylum.

The building split off into many halls, it was almost maze-like, but once the rooms started to get into the double-digit numbers, that's when Dream saw a familiar face… but it wasn’t Katagma.

Sitting on the floor, using a notebook as a sketchpad, was a figure with a pale gray-blue hoodie and fur cuffed boots. His eyelights dull, and face unreadable. He seemed to be drawing using a basic pen.

“Hey, Sketch.” mumbled Occultatum.

Sketch looked up from the notebook slowly and glanced at Dream. “What’s that?”

“This is Dream.”

“Oh.” he went back to drawing.

This guy was something else. Dream looked him over in bewilderment, thinking outside of Sketch’s comment.

“Lost your bag?” Occult asked.

“Mmhm,” Sketch hummed.

“Even your paints?”

The husk looked up at Occultatum, “Yeah, I think that the one who's like me took them. Don't know why. He's wasting his time over something so useless.”

Occultatum practically radiated loathing. Dream let go of the taller one’s hand due to the pain of the negativity and rubbed his fingers together to numb the sting. Dream looked at Occultatum, then Sketch, whose blank stare was chilling. 

It started to make sense as to why Occult and Morabito detested Sketch. They were giving back the same energy that he gave them. Though Sketch had no emotions, his attitude and dismissiveness was exactly the same thing that infuriated Morabito and Occultatum so much. Dream even sensed that Occultatum was only acting concerned for Sketch, perhaps for Dream’s own peace of mind, despite how uncomfortable it made him.

“Maybe you just haven't tried them out long enough.” Occultatum practically forced himself to say.

“No.” Sketch said looking back to what he was drawing, it was a basic pattern, “They serve no purpose. Emotions are only for the entertainment of the creators, I don't need them because. I need to work objectively.”

Occultatum glared daggers at Sketch but didn't speak any further, his emotions clearly turning more negative the longer he stood there. Convincing the husk to take an artistic equivalent to medication wasn’t the reason they were there to begin with.

Dream gave Occultatum a pat on the arm and released the breath he didn’t think he was holding. “If you want to leave, it’s okay. I’ll handle this.”

“Okay… I’ll be at Katagma’s room, it’s further down the hall… you’ll know it when you see it…” Occultatum sighed, releasing his own held breath before walking off. Leaving Dream alone with Sketch.

Sketch didn’t even seem to acknowledge what they were doing, going back to his notebook as if it was more interesting than them. For anyone else, the etiquette of basic conversation would have been thoroughly disrespected and all participants would have been insulted. But did Dream care all that much for societal rules of interaction?

In this case? Not particularly.

The guardian sat on the floor across from Sketch, crossing his legs. He couldn’t pick up any emotional indication of discomfort or otherwise from him, as that was to be expected, but body language could exist on its own as well, and that wasn’t present either. From what Dream could translate for himself, the artist looked comfortable where he was, for the little feeling he could register, if any at all.

Sketch looked up for a moment before turning the page on the notebook, looked back up at Dream and began drawing again. Dream could only figure that the artist was drawing the guardian himself. “Are you okay with me talking to you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sketch asked.

“I don’t know what your preferences are. I wanted to make sure,” Dream replied.

The artist paused his drawing and seemed to think for a moment, “I don’t have many preferences. I don’t mind speaking to you.”

“Okay,” The guardian nodded, “Can you tell me about your work?”

“I just go and observe other AUs.” Sketch stated, continuing his drawing, “I observe their developments and do my best to not interfere unless I have to. Such as when Katagma and others that work with Klezmer are going around killing characters, then I have to step in and stop them. Once I get them to go away, I leave the AU and move on to the next.”

Dream brushed away the personal feeling of unease, settling on exploring it later. The familiarity of his younger years didn’t sit well with him, even to this day, but… that was okay. At least, for right now, it had to be. “Is that why you and Katagma had conflict earlier? You don’t like that he hurts others?”

Sketch shook his head, “No, that’s not it. He didn’t like it when I told him that the only reason he does it is because he hasn’t gotten over the fact that his purpose is over. His AU was used – like all other AUs – as a form of entertainment. His story is over and he hasn’t gotten over it. He really should’ve moved on by now, it’s been years.”

“That’s… not really how that works.” Dream stated, resting his elbows on his knees, “N-not entirely…,” He took a moment to collect his thoughts, thinking back on his time with Ink and Blue through a filtering lens. The concept that everyone around him was a ‘character’, a being with no sentience with no wants or needs, used to be a subject debated between himself and Ink. The guardian wasn’t a fan of the vocabulary used, where every word implied something or someone wasn’t real in their own right, but sometimes explaining a concept to someone using what they already know is one of the better approaches. He breathed in, “Stories have sequels, and not every character has a purpose… this doesn’t mean their right to exist is over, or that none of their experiences matter anymore… it– uhm… certain events make imprints on people. Emotional or not, it was important, and it’s not something they can always move on from. Does that make sense?”

Sketch tilted his head in thought, trying to process the information, “I suppose it does. I don’t see the reason for it, but I do understand that some creators really like for their stories to continue, but Katagma’s was over a long time ago… Perhaps the creators are still playing around with his story. But the reason for him keeping that imprint of that previous story is hard for me to understand. Digital Klezmer was that way. He always kept that scarf of his around until I threw it away. He was so upset with me for it, I don’t see why. I was only trying to help, plus it was hard to understand him sometimes when it would cover his mouth.”

“Maybe… hm…,” Dream raked his memory for the word he was looking for. Maybe he should have asked for a dictionary before he and Occultatum departed from the library, “I want to try to explain trauma and sentimental values to you, but I can’t think of the words I need…” 

Perhaps he could use a comparison. 

“Imprints in these stories are… hard to figure out. A lot of the time, these can have traumatic effects on the characters that experienced bad events. So uhm… think of that like a scar,” Dream took off his golden filet, rubbing his thumb over the curled metal in thought, “Scars can heal with time, but not always, even when they scab over. They can leave marks, which are reminders of the bad event that caused it…”

“But why remember it then?” Sketch asked, putting his notebook and pen down, to the side of himself, “They can just remember other things instead, can’t they?”

“Yes and no,” Dream replied, “Trauma does… odd things to one’s mind, and these effects can… vary from person to person. It can depend on many things. But sometimes they do forget it, and sometimes they can’t. How trauma is like scars is they can come in many forms, and there are forms of it where healing is one of the hardest things someone can do. Think of it like… they lost a foot. They can keep moving with the right help, but growing it back might not be a choice for them. That foot won’t come back, and replacements aren’t the same.”

Sketch shrugged, “Unless I heal them, then they’d be as if they were just painted. But I see what you mean. You sound a lot like Dr. Toriel. But I still don’t understand how emotions of all things have value. Seems more like a disease than it does anything else. If it is such a hindrance, then I don’t see a value in it.”

“Emotions aren’t always a… hindrance…,” Dream scooted up against the wall next to Sketch, leaning back on it, “In truth, they are many things, but I don’t think they have no value… if you sort all emotions into things like negativity and positivity, that doesn’t really help define them either…” 

“Emotions can help in terms of living, like if you find yourself in a situation but objectively can’t find anything wrong with it, but your emotions either favor it or don’t… they can serve as a uhm… a compass? In theory. And ignoring a feeling can hurt you in the long-run, too, because they are trying to tell you something you can’t see or define with words.”

“I know it’s… vague, but emotions do more things than what they are blamed for…,” Dream put the circlet back on his head, “I don’t always understand them either, sometimes… heh.”

Sketch tried to think about it, he seemed to process every word but couldn’t seem to come to a definite conclusion in all of it, “I understand what you’re saying, but for me to test out that theory… It’s a bit too late for that. The other version of me has my bag, so it’s not like I can try it. I suppose I’ll just have to be more careful with my words and actions to see if anything changes with how people react to anything I say.”

“That’s okay! Maybe when I see him again I can get it back for you,... if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll think about it.” Sketch said plainly.

“Alright! I have to go now, but thanks for talking to me!” 

Next stop, Katagma. Dream got up, minding Sketch’s notebook and pens on the floor. He looked down the hallway, and saw the end of Occultatum’s cloak sticking out one of the open doors. That must be Kata’s room. 

He looked back at Sketch, giving him a wave goodbye, and headed towards the door.

Sketch waved back.

—------

Occultatum, throughout the time that Dream and Sketch were talking, had been trying to comfort Katagma, though it was barely working considering that there were far more claw marks and tears in the padded cell that was Katagma’s room… and he had to be tied up again. The belts that were on his straightjacket were fastened tightly to keep him from trying anything.

“Please, tell them to let me out…” Katagma whined, flopping backwards.

“I can't. You know this.” Occultatum sighed.

“But it's annoying.” Katagma whined again.

“I know… what did you even do?” Occult asked.

Katagma stayed silent for a moment, “Tried to bash his face into the tile floor…”

“Katagma….” Occult groaned.

“He deserved it!” Katagma said defensively. “He kept saying we’re characters and–”

“I know. I’ve spoken to him multiple times.” Occult huffed, “But you know you can’t lash out violently here!”

“But…” Kata whined and rolled over onto his stomach so he could squirm his way to a comfortable position. “It’s not fair that I have to be tied up but he doesn’t.”

“He can’t feel pain, remember? He wouldn’t care if Edelweiss or I shot him a couple times,” Occultatum stated, “It’s not like he’s going to react to anything.”

Dream caught himself from just walking in, and stopped to lean just outside the door frame, knocking on the flat of the door, “Hello? I don’t want to interrupt anything–”

“You’re not,” Occultatum sighed, relieved that Dream seemed okay, “So, how was your time with Sketch? Didn’t annoy you too much did he?”

“Violence isn’t surprising when it comes to interacting with him… obviously.” Katagma frowned, finally sitting up to look at Dream.

“It was…,” The guardian glanced at the ceiling as he looked for the right word, “...productive, I think. I didn’t find him annoying or hostile.”

Occult and Kata stared at Dream in shock. They looked at each other, wondering if they heard the same thing.

“Kata is definitely hallucinating again.” said the tied up skeleton, “Kata thought he heard you say that Sketch wasn’t annoying and the conversation was productive.”

“No, Kata… I heard the exact same thing…” Occult mumbled, “What happened?”

Katagma looked like he was horrified at the prospect of there being someone who could get anything through to Sketch, and while Dream clearly picked up on that, now it was his turn to be more confused than a three year old shoved into a trigonometry class.

He raised a figurative brow, doing a double take between Katagma and Occultatum respectively, “I don’t think he understood what he did wrong and why, so… I asked him for his side of what happened and explained what I could from there… he didn’t understand all of it, but he was… responsive? To what he did.”

Katagma stared at Dream, “Bloody hell, you got farther than Klezmer ever did.”

Occultatum shook his head, “I doubt this is gonna last, Toriel found her conversations with him to be productive but she still struggles with him. But I’ll give credit where credit is due, at least you got something.”

Katagma looked like he wanted to hug Dream for putting in the effort but he was obviously tied up at the moment, literally. The jiggling of the belts behind him were evident of his situation. He flopped backwards again in frustration.

Dream didn’t know how he felt about the two’s complete lack of faith in Sketch, but the jingling coming from Katagma distracted that thought from continuing any further. He stepped into the room, closing the door at the halfway point while he was at it.

He was familiar with Asylumtale, the Inner Realms one, but it often had so much concentrated negativity he hardly ever had the chance to really know its environment or what the inhabitants were like for himself. The only concepts he was given came from Ink, and they didn’t visit the AU as much either.

Was Katagma’s… shirt? Coat…? A product of this place, or was it a universal concept? “Are you okay? Why are you in that?”

“Oh, the straightjacket?” Katagma asked, “They put me in it because I kept being… violent… and I just started feeling comfortable in it and started decorating it… But it’s become a habit of them tying me up if I become violent...” Katagma changed his tone of voice as if to mock the speaker – who was likely Toriel – “This is for your own good! We can’t risk you hurting yourself or someone else!” He rolled his eyelights, “Well, I wouldn’t hurt anyone if that someone would just stop being such a pest.”

“He killed this AU’s Undyne before he got the straightjacket, after that he just started willingly wearing it and at any sign of violent behavior, he’ll be subdued and tied.” Occult stated, “I’m still trying to figure out a spell to make it an automatic thing.”

“YOU WOULDN'T!” Katagma screeched with a look of betrayal.

“I would.” Occult glared at Kata, “You know the difference between right and wrong, and yet you keep killing! I’m stopping you one way or another, even if I have to go against Toriel’s orders.”

Dream couldn’t help but stare at the absolute look of horror and hurt on Katagma’s face. Katagma frowned and looked away from Occultatum who in turn softened up a bit. To change the subject and make the room a bit more comfortable, “So this is your room?”

“Yeah!” Katagma smiled, “It’s not the best room, but it’s nice!”

Sure it was…

[elskanellis]

Coffee

Matthew Dickman

The only precious thing I own, this little espresso cup. And in it a dark roast all the way from Honduras, Guatemala, Ethiopia where coffee was born in the 9th century getting goat herders high, spinning like dervishes, the white blooms cresting out of the evergreen plant, Ethiopia where I almost lived for a moment but then the rebels surrounded the Capital so I stayed home. I stayed home and drank coffee and listened to the radio and heard how they were getting along. I would walk down Everett Street, near the hospital where my older brother was bound to his white bed like a human mast, where he was getting his mind right and learning not to hurt himself. I would walk by and be afraid and smell the beans being roasted inside the garage of an old warehouse. It smelled like burnt toast! It was everywhere in the trees. I couldn't bear to see him. I sometimes never knew him. Sometimes he would call. He wanted us to sit across from each other, some coffee between us, sober. Coffee can taste like grapefruit or caramel, like tobacco, strawberry, cinnamon, the oils being pushed out of the grounds and floating to the top of a French Press, the expensive kind I get in the mail, the mailman with a pound of Sumatra under his arm, ringing my doorbell, waking me up from a night when all I had was tea and watched a movie about the Queen of England when Spain was hot for all her castles and all their ships, carved out of fine Spanish trees, went up in flames while back home Spaniards were growing potatoes and coffee was making its careful way along a giant whip from Africa to Europe where cafes would become famous and people would eventually sit with their cappuccinos, the baristas talking about the new war, a cup of sugar on the table, a curled piece of lemon rind. A beret on someone's head, a scarf around their neck. A bomb in a suitcase left beneath a small table. Right now I'm sitting near a hospital where psychotropics are being carried down the hall in a pink cup, where someone is lying there and he doesn't know who he is. I'm listening to the couple next to me talk about their cars. I have no idea how I got here. The world stops at the window while I take my little spoon and slowly swirl the cream around the lip of the cup. Once, I had a brother who used to sit and drink his coffee black, smoke his cigarettes and be quiet for a moment before his brain turned its Armadas against him, wanting to burn down his cities and villages, before grief became his capital with its one loyal flag and his face, perhaps only his beautiful left eye, shimmed on the surface of his Americano like a dark star.

©2008

[magnetarmadda]

for @tmaappreciationweek Day 6, I've a little Scottish Safehouse moment for our boys, featuring tea as Martin's love language

Martin always thought of Jon as the epitome of British, with his polished clothes, posh accent, and jawline that could cut glass. Tim once joked that Jon seemed as British as beans on toast (which of course Jon had overheard—that was the first time Martin had seen Jon go beet red). 

So it always surprised Martin how averse Jon seemed to be to drinking tea. Well, not averse exactly, as he would sip at a cup for a few hours (Christ, cold tea). But he would make the most unpleasant expressions at it, as though it were giving him a live statement that sounded about as real as elephants on the moon. 

Martin wasn't a tea connoisseur by any means, but he'd learned how to make a comforting cuppa during the years he cared for his mother, and he felt proud of his ability to figure out how his coworkers took their tea. Tim liked his steeped an extra minute, with a decent measure of milk and no sugar. Sasha (he thinks) preferred hers weaker, milk and a good spoonful of sugar. 

It took Martin quite a bit of time to find out what Jon liked, though. 

First time he'd offered to make a round of tea for the office, Jon had first insisted he didn't need to, it wasn't in his job description after all. Martin had stood his ground, no matter how his fingers trembled in his fists, and Jon relented with a small sigh. "Well, if you're sure."

"And how do you take your tea?" Martin had asked, trembling now in victory (no matter how small the victory). 

"Oh, a bit of milk," was all Jon had said. 

Martin thought it was a waste of perfectly good tea (and milk!) for Jon to drink from it gingerly for a while before leaving it to cool on the corner of his desk. 

After a few weeks, he'd tried to determine if it was tea in general or Martin's tea in particular Jon objected to. Jon didn't quite seem to get what Martin was driving at, stating blandly, "It's just tea, Martin."

Martin had begun his own personal crusade then. It was meaningless, in the scheme of things, but he was determined to figure out how Jon took his tea. And if it turned out he didn't actually like tea, what he preferred to drink instead and how Martin should prepare it. It was a point of pride at that point.

Martin quickly learned that Jon would drink coffee but hated the taste, even when doctored to hell and back. He did enjoy a hot chocolate, but it seemed to make him sleepy in the middle of the day, and then grumpy at Martin.

So Martin went back to his tea experiments, and he had an inkling Tim and Sasha were taking bets about the process on the sly.

Martin started by preparing Jon's tea the way Tim took it—6 minute steep, dollop of milk, no sugar. Jon finished more of that tea than he had before, but less than Martin would've liked.

So instead, he made it the way he liked his own—5 minute steep, milk until a nice tawny color, spoon of sugar. Jon drank most of it, but solid quarter of the tea remained in the bottom of the mug. 

When Martin eventually got up to adding two more spoonfuls of sugar to the mug, Jon not only drained his mug but seemed surprised to find it empty. It wasn't much, and Martin wouldn't have known about it at all if he hadn't been bringing in a report. But he was, and he saw.

Jon flipped open the file Martin handed him, reached for his mug, and then let out an, "Oh!" He looked down in disappointment, set the mug aside, and sighed. "I'll have to make another later."

Martin had just nodded and took the empty mug back to the sink, where he grinned to himself as he made a fresh round. 

Making tea for Jon became second nature, in the years they worked together, and it was the first thing to come back after the Lonely. He'd felt dazed when he woke up, confused and half-aware, vaguely remembering he was somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, but Jon was sleeping soundly beside him, and all Martin could think was, "He needs tea."

Martin doesn't know exactly what woke Jon, if it was Martin's absence or the smell of the tea and toast or something else entirely, but his heart feels full to bursting, a sharp pain of affection he'd forgotten about, when he takes in Jon's sleepy face framed by morning light.

"Morning," Jon says through a yawn, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of Martin's jumper—Jon, ridiculous man, had brought nothing warmer than his trousers and a threadbare jacket. The sight of Jon drowning in yellow wool is enough to send heat right to Martin's face.

"Morning," he answers, smiling so hard it hurts. Is this what happiness is supposed to feel like? "I'm making breakfast, tea's almost up."

"Mm," Jon says, then, "Thanks." He takes a seat at the table, dropping his head on his hand as he watches Martin with a soft, fond look on his face.

Knowing the tea's almost steeped, Martin stands up on his toes to grab the sugar out of the cupboard and reaches for the milk he'd left on the counter. He tosses the tea bags and in goes the milk, followed by the sugar in his own. He starts to add sugar to the second mug when Jon says, "Wait, stop, please."

Martin stops, looking at Jon with a twinge of anxiety. Is he…is he doing something wrong?

"I don't take sugar in my tea," Jon reminds him, his voice still soft. 

Martin smiles, the anxiety rushing away. "You do," he tells Jon. "I've been putting sugar in for years."

"Have you really?" Jon asks, surprised now. Then he gives a self-deprecating smile. "That would explain why my tea has tasted awful for the last few months."

Martin adds the sugar to Jon's and stirs, letting the stab in his heart subside at the second sentence. "Took me a while to figure it out," he finally says, bringing the teas over to Jon at the table.

He turns to grab the toast from the counter and hears Jon's chair scrape behind him. Jon comes up next to him and grabs the butter and marmalade Martin had pulled out as well.

Martin admits, "It became a bit of a pride thing, really. I didn't like that I could make tea for Tim and Sasha but not for you."

Jon smiles at him, warm and fond and just for him. "Well, thank you," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to Martin's forehead. His face flushes at the casual intimacy of it, a fantasy he never thought he'd get to live. 

They sit down to their simple breakfast, and as Jon spreads a truly obscene amount of orange marmalade on a poor piece of unsuspecting toast, Jon says, "My grandmother wouldn’t let me have sugar in my tea as a child, because I was so a restless child. So, I never thought of trying it that way."

Martin stares pointedly at the monstrosity Jon is stuffing into his mouth at the moment. "But she let you consume double the amount on your toast?" he teases.

Jon coughs, turning pink around the ears. "Ah," he says after swallowing the bread down. "No, that I learned on my own—I didn't have much money in uni, and this was filling and easy, and the sugar could keep me going until dinner, since I'd forget lunch most of the time."

Martin rolls his eyes. "Some things never change," he jokes, and takes a bite of his own toast.

[logical-little-lies]

{Chapter 5- When The Other Brother is Bigger}//Soft, Cute, and Far Smarter Than You (Sanders Sides Agere/CGLRE)

A/N: This chapter is like, longer then most of the ones I tend to write? I write agere content for fun, so sometimes it's cuteness over quantity, y'know? But this is a whole 4600-ish words! Wow. Hope y'all like it!

--

Logan was a bit awkward when he was big again after throwing his first fit, and earning himself his first ever timeout. Of course, Patton could only comfort him so much. It wasn't guilt that he was feeling, but rather a form of embarrassment.

Logan's head shot up when he heard light knocking on his door the following afternoon. "Who is it?" he questioned from his spot at his desk, where he sat working on Thomas's schedule.

"It's Virgil, can I come in?"

Logan fully expected it to be Patton checking on him for the millionth time, so he was shocked when he heard the voice of the emo regressor. "Uh, yeah. Sure." Logan set down his pen softly, reaching forward for his mug and taking a sip.

"Are you drinking another cup of coffee? I know you had like, three this morning." Virgil narrowed his eyes. It wasn't as if he'd actually do anything, even if he was aware of the unhealthy amounts of coffee Logan drank, but he was still concerned.

"It's tea." Logan shook his head, tipping the cup in his direction so that he could see the clearish liquid before setting the mug back on his desk. "Did you need something, Virge?" Logan asked.

"Kinda of.." Virgil trailed off, sitting down on the end of Logan's bed. When he looked up, he saw Logan looking at him in an expecting silence. "So I know it's Patton's job to check in on you and stuff, and that I don't usually do this. But..are you okay after yesterday? You seemed really emotional and anxious."

Logan sighed before speaking. "Of course I'm fine. I just overreacted when Patton punished me because I was scared of him being mad at me. It doesn't make a lot of sense, but three year old me doesn't want to make sense."

Virgil chuckled a bit at that. "It does make a bit of sense though. I do it too, I assume that just because Roman has to be a little strict or something, that he absolutely hates me. It's not stupid or anything."

Logan nodded, giving him a small thankful smile. This was Virgil's way of telling him that he wasn't alone. The same mutual feeling that came about when they both realized they were regressors spread between them. A feeling of unity, of support.

Of family.

"And also, if you're embarrassed or anything, don't worry about it. I'm sure Patton understands that little you is going to do things like that sometimes, and he won't view big you any differently." There it was. Virgil finding what Logan was actually worried about. Logan had the urge to give a sigh of relief, because those were the words he needed to hear.  

Instead, he gave a larger smile and thanked him. "Okay, cool. See you at dinner." Virgil got up and went to leave the room, he paused at the door with hesitancy, looking back at him and speaking quickly.

"Also, I'm like pretty sure Patton has a crush on big you. So there's that."  

Virgil was gone and out of the room before Logan even got the chance to retort.

Logan sighed, going back to organizing the schedule and trying to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be true, and focus on his work. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind wondered and he thought:

What if Virgil was right?

--

"Oh, hello Logan. I went to check on you but I guess you were already up." Patton entered the living room, where Logan was on his phone. Patton assumed that if Logan was already up, he probably had work to get done today and wanted to be wide awake for it. He figured that the coffee mug on the coffee table in front of Logan confirmed his original thoughts.

"Morning, Dad. What are we having for breakfast?" he asked, looking up from his phone and making Patton pause in his tracks. Patton went to speak, but Logan quickly replied to his unasked question. "I'm fourteen again, by the way."

"How did you know that I was going to-"

"I figured you'd ask how old I am, you always do. Anyways, what's for breakfast?" he repeated. "I can try to make something myself but I don't know how well that would go..." he admitted.

"It's okay,don't worry about that." Patton assured, "I'll make toast for breakfast-" He went to keep speaking but Logan cut him off.

"Do we have Crofters to put on it?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?" Patton teased, deciding to come sit with his regressor. He sat next to Logan, making sure not to look at his phone screen in order to respect his privacy. Logan turned it off, looking at him. Patton realized he wasn't amused by the teasing and that he wasn't going to respond. "Yes, we have Crofters." He gave up.

Logan was definitely excited about this, and if he was regressed younger, he would've bounced in place and giggled a bunch. But he just replied, "Okay, cool."

"Why are you up so early?" Patton questioned. "How long have you been awake?"

"Less than an hour. I just fell asleep watching Youtube last night, earlier then I usually go to sleep. So I woke up early," he explained. Patton paused, looking at him skeptically.

"Were you regressed last night, as well?"

Logan looked at him with wide eyes, as if he hoped he wasn't going to ask about that. "Uh..yeah, sort of. But it was after dinner and I was ready for bed, I didn't really need to come get you!" he defended.

Patton gave him a slightly stern look with a sigh. "Alright, but if you do need something, or regress younger then your teenspace, come and get me." he instructed. Logan nodded with an annoyed look on his face. Patton glanced at the coffee table, eyes widening when he saw the coffee mug again.

"Wait, why are you drinking coffee if your reg-"

"What coffee?" Logan cut him off, quickly snatching up the mug and chugging the last of it before Patton could take the mug. He wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand, giving Patton a dorky smile. Patton knew he shouldn't have, but he laughed a bit.

"Fourteen year olds shouldn't have coffee, no more." Patton took the mug from him softly. "If I catch you drinking anymore, you'll be in trouble." he threatened halfheartedly, still giving him the stern dad look. Logan immediately replied with a cheeky smile.

"You just won't catch me next time."

Patton seemed shocked. "You're gonna be bouncing off the walls whenever the caffeine kicks in, and I don't wanna be the one to deal with that."

"I mean..." Logan leaned back into the couch, "Do you have a choice? You're technically my only carer, and I've already drank it. And plus, I'm not a baby. Sugar and caffeine won't make me hyper." he scoffed at the end of his statement.

"We'll see about that, sweetheart." Patton gave him a skeptical look before getting up. "I'll go start breakfast, how about you get off your phone and do something else? Like read your comic books or something."

"I'll get off my phone..." Logan agreed quickly, shocking Patton. That excitement went away when Logan grabbed the tv remote and pushed the power button. He gave Patton a smile, while Patton gave him a disappointed look.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." he said, crossing his arms as he watched him locate Netflix.

"I don't know anything. You told me to get off my phone,and in all technicality, I did." Logan started playing whatever show he was interested in at the time, and Patton leaned forward to kiss his forehead. He wasn't going to bother with pushing it anymore.

"Love you, Lo. I'll let you know when breakfast is ready."

He left, mug in his hand, disappearing into the kitchen. A little while later, he had butter,honey, and Crofters jelly sitting out on the table, along with a plate of stacked up pieces of toast.

"Babyyyy! Can you get Roman and Virgil for me?" He appeared in the door way of the kitchen, looking at whatever Logan was watching on the screen. Logan looked back at him, looking back to the screen after a few seconds of thinking.

"Maybe if you'd stop calling me baby."

"Logan." Patton stated in a simple and stern tone, crossing his arms again. Logan dramatically sighed, but he hopped up and headed up the stairs. "Thank you!" Patton called after him.

"Welcome, dad." Logan replied quickly, before he was completely up the stairs and heading toward the door of Virgil's room.

--

"Hi, Logan. Is it breakfast already?" Virgil swung the door open. The makeup under his eyes was smeared a bit, and he was still wearing black ripped jeans and a band t-shirt. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, and his hair was a bit messy.

"Yeah, Dad made toast for everyone. And he sent me to get you guys." Logan replied. Virgil went to open his mouth, probably to question if he was regressed due to his sue of the word 'dad', but Logan replied to his unasked question just like his did with Patton. "I'm fourteen again, before you ask about it."

Virgil gave an understanding nod. He walked back into his room, leaving the door open so that Logan could come in if he wanted to. "Okay dork, I was given the job of grocery shopping. If you want, and your caregiver doesn't care, you can come with me." Virgil offered as he picked up his hoodie that was balled up on a dark purple bean bag chair.

"Maybe if you didn't call me a dork, I'd consider it." Logan hesitantly entered the dark-styled room, his arms crossed.

"Oh come on, you're wearing a spiderman t-shirt and a beanie. You're either a nerd or a dork, take your pick." Virgil teased. Logan now wanted to cover up his shirt, and he pulled the black beanie off of his head. "Hey, wait. I didn't mean it like that," Virgil quickly finished pulling the hoodie on, and he came over to where Logan stood, taking the hat softly from his hands. "I was only teasing, dorky isn't bad, and the hat and shirt look good on you."

He pulled the hat back over Logan's head, patting his head. "I'm sorry I teased you," Virgil apologized.

"It's okay..." he looked up, so that he wasn't staring at the floor anymore, giving him a weak smile. His eyes wandered over Virgil's hoodie, but he didn't say anything.

"Do...do you want my jacket, buddy?" Virgil hesitated, but Logan nodded a little.

"I-is that okay?" he stuttered a bit, he couldn't place why he wanted it, it just looked comfortable. Maybe the fact that it also belonged to someone he considered his brother while regressed factored into it.

"Yeah, of course it's okay. Just make sure to give it back to me when you're big again, okay?" he pulled it off, handing it to Logan, who smiled. Virgil didn't usually give his hoodie to anyone, but the middle seemed to want it fairly badly and he knew that Logan would take care of it. Plus, he had his old hoodie to wear if he really wanted too.

"Go get Roman and head downstairs, okay? I'm gonna be down in a sec," Virgil told him. Logan nodded, leaving the room and pausing in the hallway to pull the jacket on.

"Roman, Roman, Roman!" he knocked on the door loudly between each time he called his name, "Breakfast is downstairs..." he spoke sheepishly when the door flew open and Roman gave him a stern look. Roman knew for a fact that he was at least somewhat regressed because of how energetically he woke him up.

"Did you have coffee or something?" he asked jokingly, rubbing at his eyes. Logan nodded quickly, and Roman seemed shocked. "Is your caregiver aware of this?"

Logan nodded again, "He doesn't like it, but he knows."

"Hmm, well please tone is down a bit while I'm still half asleep, okay? I need beauty sleep."

"Beauty sleep whatever, Dad sent me to wake you up." He stuck his tongue out at the end of his statement

"I'm assuming we're stuck with teen Logan again?" Roman questioned, running his fingers through his hair.

"Fourteen." Logan confirmed. Constantly confirming with others that he was in fact, in teenspace, reminded him that he was a teenager at the moment and that was okay.

"The sassiness and dorky beanie gave it away." he teased. Logan pouted, this was the second time his hat had been called dorky within the span of ten minutes. "Dorky isn't bad." Roman corrected quickly, just as Virgil had. Logan nodded, turning to walk away without another word.

"Logan, are you wearing Virgil's jacket?" Roman realized, looking at him.

Logan nodded shyly, turning back around to face him. "Hmm, that's cute. Just make sure not to stain it, or you'll never hear the end of it from Vee." he gave a reassuring smile, Logan nodding gratefully and walking off, for real this time. He had been worried that Roman was going to pick on him for taking Virgil's jacket.

Logan went downstairs, going into the living room to get his phone off of the coffee table. Once he had acquired this, he went into the kitchen and greeted Patton. "They should be heading down soon. Look! Virgil let me steal his jacket," he laughed a bit, doing a twirl for his caregiver.

"That was very nice of him. Did you say thank you?"  Patton asked, and Logan looked down.

"No, I didn't..." he sighed guiltily.  

"Well, make sure you do at some point, okay?" Patton told him, coming closer to him and giving him a forehead kiss. Or at least, he tried to. Logan ducked away before he could, stepping to the side. Patton audibly gasped, looking at him. Logan giggled, sticking his tongue out like he did earlier to Roman.

"You're silly, kiddo." Patton shook his head, patting Logan's head softly before moving on to do something else. Logan pouted, because he expected Patton to go in for another forehead kiss after missing the first one, but he just kept going. Logan told himself that he was being a dork anyways, and that being playful was something for littler him, and that his caregiver didn't need to play along.

He didn't need to play, he was a teenager. He didn't need affection either, no hugs or cuddles or kisses.

But even as a teenager, Logan craved exactly that.

He watched Patton as he plated breakfast for himself, buttering the bread. Logan took action before he could stop himself, side hugging Patton by ducking under his arm. He wrapped his arms around his carer and laid his head on his chest. Patton chuckled, "Hello there, baby."

He dropped the butter knife back on his plate, and set the piece of bread down in favor of hugging Logan back. He hugged him tightly, Logan melting into the touch. "You know, you could just ask for a hug instead of attacking me."

"What hug? I don't need a hug," Logan replied, pulling away from him and grabbing a plate off of the stack on the table.

"The hug you just pulled away from..." Patton seemed confused.

"I never hugged you, dad. You're crazy," Logan kept going, making himself breakfast and acting as if he never hugged him. Patton brushed it off for now and didn't worry about it, because Virgil and Roman entered the kitchen.

Patton greeted them, and as they all sat down to eat, Virgil mentioned taking Logan to the store with him. "Um..well, I'm not sure if that's a good idea..." Patton admitted, setting his piece of toast down on his plate. Virgil seemed confused, as did Logan.

"Why not?" Logan questioned, looking at his caregiver with a confused glance.

"Well, I've never taken you outside of the house while regressed, I'm just worried that someone might see you acting younger and be mean." Patton explained, and Logan frowned.

"Logan's a teenager though, and I'll be there to help if anything like that happens. It's not like he'll throw a fit or anything, he's fourteen." Virgil argued.

"Last time he regressed to teenspace, he was so anxious that he practically threw a fit!" Patton snapped, not exactly shouting. He looked at Virgil with somewhat angry eyes. Patton never gave that look, unless someone he was protecting someone he cared about. Logan sunk down in his seat, zipping up Virgil's hoodie and hiding away from the world for the time being. Virgil raised his hands up in mock surrender before speaking.

"Patton, I'm sorry that I upset you, but please be mindful of Logan. You're probably scaring him by snapping." Virgil reminded. Patton's expression faded from anger to an apologetic look, and he looked toward Logan,who nodded a bit.

"Oh..I'm sorry sweetheart. And you too, Virgil...Just let me think about this and we'll talk after breakfast, okay?"

Virgil gave a nod of agreement, and Logan muttered a weak 'okay'.

--

Patton eventually agreed to let Logan go with Virgil, but not without a lot of convincing and second guessing his decision.

"Promise that you'll be nice to Virgil, and if you get to anxious-"

"Let Virgil know and step away to text you." Logan interrupted, pocketing his phone and looking at his dad. "I'm not a baby, and I'll be fine."

"Yeah, he's safe with me." Virgil assured, coming down the stairs, clad in his old hoodie and a pair of black ripped skinny jeans. "We're good, right?" he looked at Logan, double checking just to be sure.

Logan laughed, "We're good." he confirmed.

"Oh, okay. I love you both, be good," he looked at Logan, as if he needed the reminder, "And please be home before dinner."

Both boys nodded, taking their final hugs from Roman and Patton before heading out. Virgil let Logan sit in the passenger seat

The mindscape was set up to be a small, little town. It wasn't one that existed in the real world, but it was heavily based off of the real world and would change according to real world events. If they really wanted to, the mindscape extended past their imaginary town, it was a whole little world just inside Thomas's head.

"Okay, so I have a shopping list on my phone, and the grocery money we all pitch in for. Though I found that there's always a little extra money, so if you want an extra snack or whatever, go for it." Virgil spoke, stopping as they approached a red light. He looked around, his eye catching on a street sign as he assured himself that he was going the right way.

Logan nodded. He was usually the one to go on the grocery runs, so he already knew about how he slightly over estimated how much money they needed. He'd usually either buy something extra, a treat or dessert, or save it for the next shopping trip. They all got their limited allowance (for the whole 'realistic human life' thing), and they'd pitch in a certain amount of it to pay for food for their home.

"Is there anything you want for the store? That isn't already on the usual list, I mean?" Virgil asked. He was trying to start a conversation, but Logan was being quiet. That was the main reason he offered to take him with him for errands. Virgil wanted to spend more time with his newfound brother, though he'd never admit that out loud. Virgil and Logan regress together all the time, and there's been plenty of time where Logan is bigger than Virgil, but it's rarely the other way around.

Virgil wanted to know Logan more, and also earn his trust. Because it seemed that currently, the only person Teenage Logan really trusted, was Patton.

"I don't know, maybe one of those starbucks bottled frappe things?" Logan said hopefully, giving his, currently older, brother a look in the hopes that he didn't shoot it down immediately.

"Hmm, Patton wouldn't be to happy about that one...and if he found out, he'd be pretty mad at me." Virgil thought out loud, anxiously biting at his lip while he focused on the road. Logan sunk down in his seat in disappointment, immediately taking his hesitancy as a 'no' and looking out the window.

Virgil sighed, glancing at him for a split second before turning his head to examine the road in front of him. "I suppose...if you promise not to tell your caregiver, and you also don't get like, super hyper on me..." he pauses, taking a turn before continuing his conditional agreement, "You can get the coffee. But this is a one time thing, I don't condone littles-" Logan gave him a look.

"Middles?" he hesitantly corrected himself, glancing at Logan again.

"Or regressors." Logan nodded. Virgil hummed before continuing.

"I don't condone teenagers drinking a bunch of caffeinated drinks in one day. I know you had coffee this morning. But today's the exception, alright?"

Virgil was only agreeing to this because he wanted to make Logan happy. And he didn't quite mind stretching the rules just a bit to get there.

"Okay." Logan agreed, looking back out the window.

Virgil had a feeling that this would end up being a good day.

Or at least, he hoped it would.

--

"Virgil, I know I said I'd be okay..but I'm scared."

Virgil stopped in the middle of the cereal aisle, pulling the cart to the side so that people could walk through if they needed. Logan seemed ashamed to admit that, looking up at his, currently older, brother for support. Logan fiddled with the zippers on the cuffs of Virgil's jacket.

"What are you scared of, Logan?" Virgil spoke softly to him, in a voice that seemed to assure that he'd be ready to comfort him no matter what his answer.

"Dad was right, it's my first time going out while regressed and I feel..." he trailed off, his eyes following a cart as a family walked by the aisle. "I feel stupid. Like people are staring a me or something." He looked back at Virgil, who nodded.

"That's okay. I've never been out while regressed, but I'm sure it is a bit scary. I'm sorry that you aren't feeling the best, though." Virgil sighed, not quite knowing what to do. He thought for a moment before offering the best solution he could come up with. "How about you call Patton and talk to him while we shop? I think he'd be the best at comforting you right now."

Logan nodded lightly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Virgil gave him a reassuring smile before pulling a few boxes of cereal from the shelf. As Virgil motioned for them to keep walking, Logan listened to his phone ring.

"Logan! Are you okay?" Logan winced at how loud Patton's voice seemed through the phone.

"Mhm, I'm okay. Just a bit anxious though...can you talk to me? I-i think it'd help." his voice was filled with hesitancy, but Virgil gave him a comforting look that silently told him 'good job'.

"Oh, yeah. I can talk to you. Do you wanna tell me why you're feeling anxious, baby?"

"I um...you were right," Logan fiddled with the zippers on Virgil's hoodie again, taking a turn into a aisle with bread and snacks. "I kinda started panicking the moment I got into the store. There's so many people, and so much noise. I'm just worried that I'm being judged, I guess." he hummed, glad that there was no one else in their aisle.

"I'm sure that everything is okay, sweetheart. Listen to me, not all the noise, okay?"

Logan nodded, then realizing that Patton couldn't see him through the phone. "Okay."

"Can you tell me what you guys have gotten so far?" Logan was confused by his caregivers request, but he looked in the cart as Virgil set something in it.

"We got Crofters! And butter, and bread." he identified a few items, looking at a few others.

"We can make more toast!" Patton cheered. Logan laughed at that.

"Uh, we have like three boxes of cereal in the cart. And coffee cakes! There's also macaroni..." Logan kept going, not realizing that Patton had successfully distracted him from his anxiety for the time being. Patton spoke in a calm, caring voice all the way through their shopping trip.

"We're heading up to checkout now. I'll text you when we're on our way home," Logan spoke into the phone, following Virgil's guide through the front part of the store.

"Alright. You feel better now, right?" Patton assured.

"Yeah, thanks dad. I'll see you later." Logan hung up the phone, pocketing it and taking a deep breath.

"Feeling better?" Virgil questioned softly. Logan hummed.

He felt almost pathetic for having to call his dad to coach him through a simple shopping trip, but he also felt a lot more at ease. He couldn't quite place why he didn't just pull himself out of middlespace if it really bothered him that much, it almost felt like it'd be to tiring to do. He was getting used to being able to regress whenever and not have to repress it, so when the time came that he might of had to, it felt to hard.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Are we heading home after this?" Logan asked, redirecting the conversation swiftly.

"No, actually. If you're okay with stopping somewhere else first, I mean." Virgil didn't elaborate on where they could possibly be going, which confused Logan.

As they checked out and scanned their items, Logan kept bugging Virgil about where they were headed. "It's a surprise. I'm sure you'll like it, though."

"But Virge! I wanna know!" he whined, handing Virgil his iced coffee to scan.

"Hmm, well that's to bad." he teased. "You'll see when we get there."

Virgil has had this idea since he realized that Logan regressed to teen ages. He was only able to convince Patton to let him take Logan because he revealed his little plan, the second stop that Logan would definitely be excited about. Of course, Logan couldn't know what it was quite yet.

"Virgilll!" he pouted, giving him pleading eyes.

"The pouty face only works when you're a toddler, Lo. Just be patient," he told him, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and looking at the total on the self checkout screen. He counted the money quickly.

"Will a candy bar shut you up?" he asked, pulling a few dollars from the stack.

"That only works when I'm a toddler," Logan mimicked him. It was true, if any of the sides needed to distract Logan while he was little, a piece of candy would do the trick. Of course, it would backfire in half an hour when he got hyper and bouncy, but it works in the moment.

Virgil raised his eyebrows, waving the three one dollar bills in his hand. Logan rolled his eyes, snatching them away. "Fine, I'll be back in a sec."

He disappeared to go pick out some candy, leaving Virgil to chuckle.

Virgil was glad he did this. He felt bad for putting Logan in a situation where he was anxious, but he could still say that they were having a decent time so far. And he was sure Logan would love the next place they were headed to.

There was just one question Logan had.

Where were they going?

--

A/N: Okay so this chapter is jam-packed! I finally hinted towards the romance part of this story, which won't really be a main focus, like at all. It focuses on the agere, and here and there there will be some cute fluffy shippy things. Lmk what you think of this chapter by commenting, reblogging, or sending me asks! (Depends on if you're reading through Tumblr or Wattpad!)

[bumskulls]

Hot Chocolate

A Very Shippy Christmas — Day Twenty-Four

Home.

Serana breathed in the fresh lake air of Falkreath. Lakeview Manor was just down the hill, but Serana was hesitating. She had not found a single jeweler that had anything worth Dria’s beautiful face. In the end, she had bought a few candies for the children, a dagger for Aldu-... Aldor, a beautiful head scarf for Rayya, a fancy miniature drum for Llewellyn, and some exotic, but pitiful, spices for Dria.

It seemed nothing was good enough. All the fancy armors and weapons were not near as good as dragon skin and bone, and all the jewels and finery were gaudy and too over the top. At least Dria liked to cook, so spices it was. Serana was interested in what they could do with these strange beans she had acquired. They were bitter to eat alone but, as she had been told by the merchant, had the sweetest taste when cooked with milk and sugar. Hot cocoa, he had called it.

Serana took a deep breath and stepped inside. She was tackled to the ground by Hroar and Lucia.

“Ma!”

“Mama!”

Serana laughed. “Hey you two.”

“Did you get us anything?” Hroar asked as they helped her back to her feet.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t... you’ll just have to see when it’s time for gifts.” Serana gave them a wry smirk.

“Aww.” Lucia pouted. “No fair!”

“Lucia.” Dria called from the kitchen. “You’ll see everything you got for New Life Day after dinner. Don’t pester Serana, she’s had a long journey.”

Dria strode out of the kitchen. Her hair a mess and an apron over a grubby set of clothes. She pressed a kiss to Serana’s cheek.

“Welcome back, love.”

“It’s good to be back.”

“Bah!” Came a voice from upstairs. “You and your insufferable affection!”

“Good to see you’re just as grumpy as when I left, Aldor.” Serana laughed. Dria and the children joined in.

“Lady Serana,” Rayya said, “I have made tea for everyone if you would like some.”

“Thank you Rayya, I would love some.” Serana set her heavy bag down on a chest. “Say, you’re Resguard, do you know how to make a drink called Hot Cocoa?”

Rayya smiled. “Why yes I do! Do you have cocoa beans, Lady Serana?”

“I bought some while I was in Cyrodil.” Serana rummaged through her bag and pulled out a leather pouch. “Think you could make some of this for everyone as well?”

“Right away ma’am! The children will love this. I can also add some mead to the adults’ mugs.” Rayya chuckled. “Only if you ask nicely, however.” She added with a pointed raised voice to the upper floor.

“Never!” Hissed Aldor.

More shared laughter was had around the house.

Llewellyn piped up. “Lady Dria, shall I play some festive music while we await dinner?”

Dria smiled and nodded. “That sounds lovely, Llewellyn.” She have Serana another kiss and went back to the kitchen.

Hroar and Lucia danced together by the fire as the fast tempo’d music of the lute filled the house.

Serana clapped along to the beat and danced with the children. Aldor came down the stairs, rolling his eyes and frowning deeply.

When the dinner and the drinks were passed around and everyone was sat at the table Dria stood up, raising her mug of hot cocoa.

“A toast to our Family. To the Thieves Guild and the Brotherhood, to the Companions and the Colleges, to the Greybeards the Blades, and the Dragons, to the Skaal and the Rieklings and the Telvanni of Solstheim, and to those few and far between like Lady Valerica and the Nine. To our immediate family here and now, and extended across Tamriel. I love you all very much and I’m proud to have you in my life. Happy New Life Day.”

“Here here!” Came the call from all around, Aldor’s voice absent as usual.

Everyone drank deeply from their mugs, a sound of delight after. It was delicious as promised. Sweet and warm with a hint of bitterness to cut the sweetness. How delightful an invention. Even Aldor hummed in amusement.

“Joore. What will they think of next?” He mumbles taking another sip.

Later that night after the gifts had been exchanged and the fires rekindled for the night, Serana and Dria sat on their bed, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

“You didn’t have to go all the way to Cyrodil.” Dria stated, bemused.

“I know. I just wanted to find something unique for everyone. It’s my first time celebrating New Life Day.”

“Thank you.”

“For what? I couldn’t find anything for you.” Serana pouted.

“I couldn’t either. I’m just happy you’re here with me. With us.” Dria pulled her closer. “You’re everything to me, Serana. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Serana squeezed Dria as tight as she could. Dria brushed a hand along Serana’s cheek and brought their lips together in a chaste kiss.

Together they sat there until they were too weary to keep their eyes open and they drifted into slumber, wrapped in each other’s arms.

[wpmcq]

Tahunanui to Tapawera

Thursday, February 27th, 2020

Turns out I made it farther than Nelson. I made it to a town South of Nelson called Tahunanui.

I woke about 7am tired but excited because I made it so far on a tough and beautiful ride. I toasted a bagel and had some water before packing up and heading out about 9am. I cruised down nice paved paths along the water to Richmond where I stopped at Vanilla Bean Cafe for breakfast. I ordered scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a latte. Since I had a short day I hung out at the cafe for a while reading my book.

Most of the riding today was on a nice gravel bicycle path through a beautiful valley. I stopped at Wakefield and Belgrove for breaks. The trail slowly rose to a very long tunnel. This tunnel named Spooner's tunnel was 1.4km long. I had to don my headlamp to make it through this tunnel.

After Spooner's tunnel, the trail descended, for the most part, all the way to Tapawera. Only the last 7km was on the road.

I'm staying at Settle Campground tonight. After pitching my tent and taking a shower I walked into town to determine where I would eat tonight. I found a hotel with a bar and a restaurant. I sat down and slowly drank a Tui beer.

I headed back to the campground and read a little, some trip planning, and had some cookies and tea. At 6:30 pm I went back to the restaurant and ordered a chicken breast with veggies, garlic bread, and a chocolate muffin. After I had a beer and watched the weather on TV I wandered back to the campground.

[kasugayamaisforlovers]

I Always Plan on Seeing You

Word Count: 1931

Rating: LS for lightly spicy

Wherein our mischievous Monkey pines for you and eventually gets a taste.(You guys, I have a massive crush on this boy right now...)

You drape your arms around me and the sweet smell of your hair, and the bean paste you’ve been making, envelopes me. You don’t even shrink away from my blood soaked visage anymore. This is our ritual now: I leave to come back to your happy embrace. I pull you in tight. Your body crashes into me, your scent even stronger. I don’t think you know what you do to me. You’re smiling at me with bright, clear eyes--not a hint of pretense or trickery or fear. You’re just you and the unabashed elation I feel at you being so simple, so wonderful...I could die. I smile back at you.

I wish this armor wasn’t between us, that your undoubtedly soft curves would press into me directly. I suppress the urge to undress both of us right here, right now. I can’t imagine the trouble I'd bring on you if your were found with me naked in the kitchen…I’ll save the thought for later.  Instead I cradle your head as I nuzzle my face into your neck, breathing you in. You squirm so pleasantly. I steal a kiss and plant it just beneath you ear and your face is hot by the time I pull away. I laugh. 

“Milord,” you say gazing at your feet. You can be so shy sometimes. Sometimes I almost think you’re in love with someone else. But nevermind any of that. Not now. I stroke the side of your face, run my thumb over your cheek. I want to kiss you again, but one of the other kitchen staff have just walked into the room. I wink at you and pull a red bean bun from the counter behind you before exiting the kitchen.  

I eat the bun on the way to my room. It’s sweet, but I crave the salt of your neck and whatever flavors you keep on those lips. My mind wanders back to your excitement at seeing me, back to your arms around my neck. I flex my fingers, the adrenaline hasn’t quite worn off and I feel like my insides are rattling around. I stop mid stride to look back at the kitchens. I bet you could tire me out. Man, I gotta stop this. Mitsunari will be waiting to help me out of my armor by now. He’s probably already annoyed by how long I'm taking. I have to remember to bring him a new book sometime. 

“Mitsunari!” I yell, exuberant, as I walk through the door before Mitsunari can so much as blink. The trick is to choose your battlefield, rather than letting your opponent push you into a losing position.  

“Lord Hideyoshi,” he answer deferentially. 

“Your stratagems worked masterfully, as always. Surprising the Takeda supply forces with an ambush of heavy infantrymen... you really outdid yourself.” The truth sure, but weaponized as flattery.

“We would not have had the men without the alliances you built, milord.” 

“Take a compliment for once in your life, Mitsu,” I chuckle. He throws me a wry smile and yanks the ties of my hotoke dou free. Then with supreme reverence and gentility replaces the carapace of body armor onto its manikin. Some rather telling body language: I suppose I deserve that. I busy myself with small talk as Mitsunari doffs the rest of my armor. I rattle on pretty convincingly, but all I'm really thinking of is you and your sweet face and your warm skin and your tender heart. I want you. How I want you. 

I’m trying not to play into the fact that I have the upper hand here. I mean, if I wanted to--no--if I was shameless, I could find a pretense to summon you to my room. All I’d have to do is order Mitsunari to bring you. He wouldn’t even ask any questions. I sigh. I’m glad you can’t see how vulgar I am. I obviously don’t want to force you into anything. I flex my fingers again. 

“Thank you, Mitsunari, you can go.” Mitsunari bows stiffly and leaves. Just me, this armor-manikin, and my thoughts of you. Wonderful. 

How can I go back to the kitchen? Am I hungry? I’m not. Could I be hungry? I’m absentmindedly winding a tassel. Then it comes to me: I’ve been asking the wrong question. Are you hungry, you darling person? 

I request a small feast for my vassals. Sure, Lord Nobunaga will feast us later this week when the full retinue returns, but my people deserve something from me. More importantly, this will bring you to me under completely legitimate circumstances. I wash up. 

And here you are. I greet everyone. I toast. I fulfill my lordly duties. I play host. I don’t particularly like that you’ve been chatting with Inuchiyo this entire time, but I understand that you two are old friends. Friends. Just friends. I remind myself that he’s my friend too. 

“Sorry?” I say as Hanbei finishes a sentence that I’ve barely heard.

“You’re the worst,” he mumbles, then as I make eye contact, “the sake is decent. Thank you.” I pat his shoulder and extricate myself.

I smile before interjecting your conversation with that lucky dog. If I didn’t already like Inuchiyo, I’d hate him for this. I concede that he’s great. He’s a loyal friend. He’s a talented fighter. A good samurai. A great straight man for jokes, but he’s not good enough for you. I’ll stop myself short of whether I am either, because a man has to have some confidence when he sets about wooing someone. I start to say something, but you beat me to it.

“Lord Hideyoshi!” You’re excited and I'm excited that you��re excited and I'm excited to see you. I want to scoop you into my arms. As I move toward you, however, I can feel the piercing glare of your guard dog. 

“How are you enjoying the food?” I ask you instead. “Oh, I’m so happy you like it.” I’ll have to stage a diversion to remove Inuchiyo. I look up at his rose colored eyes, I’m sorry my friend but all’s fair. And there’s our distraction… I snag Hanbei’s shoulder as he tries to walk passed me to toward the food.

“Hanbei,” I say. Amazing timing. “Lord Nobunaga was just telling me that he wished to congratulate you on the cavalry maneuver you put together at the siege of Ox Pass.”

“Huh? But that was only possible because of Inuchiyo’s-,” he turns toward Inuchiyo to point, “quick thinking.”  Yes. Yes it was. 

“Oh?” I say like I’m surprised. “Well then I think you should both receive our lord’s commendation.” I push Hanbei and Inuchiyo toward the door. Lord Nobunaga will be out of his chambers by now, so they probably won’t run into him or get punished for asking for favors. They’ll be fine. Speaking of which… I sidle closer to you.

“You should try the sake,” I endeavor. I noticed that you liked it the last time we drank together. 

“I have it’s the floral one with the hint of plum, I really like it,” you smile. The sake is giving you a pink glow. It’s very cute. You’re very cute.

“I’m glad you like it. Have you seen the moon tonight?  It’s shining beautifully over the tea garden.” 

You say that you haven’t and I’m more than happy to escort you. I’m right about the moon. It’s lovely and casting a silver glimmer over the garden. I help you onto a rock seat nestled behind a splendid flowering bush that, on top of adding some romantic ambiance, discreetly hides us from onlookers. The merits of planning ahead. I take the seat opposite you. I set two sake cups and a pot of sake onto the table for us. 

“Did you plan this?” you giggle, all sparkling eyes and ruddy lips. I can’t help but catch a tendril of your hair in my fingers. We exchange a fleeting look. 

“Is it hackneyed to say that I always plan on seeing you?” Oops. I’ve had some sake too. You smile and turn away, pulling the lock of hair from my fingers as you rotate. You don’t believe me. You think I say this to everyone. 

“The leaves look like they’re covered in silver paint,” you muse in a thin voice like you’re going to cry. Don’t cry, darling. No, I’m not teasing you… please. This time you have to believe me. 

I slip off my seat to crouch at your feet. I fold my arms over your knees and lean my head onto them. Your body reacts to my sudden presence but you don’t turn to look at me. 

“I’m sorry if I teased you before,” I begin after too long, “but please believe me when I say that I--” My voice is surprisingly high and you’re looking me square in the face. I hate that you look so distressed. I hope you can see that I’m being serious. ”I just want to be with you.” 

I search for your signal. I search for your “no”. I search for “stop”. 

You look at me fiercely and I stand up. I lean in to kiss you. Your kiss is hot and sake-infused and your lips part inviting me to sink deeper. Your hand reaches for me brushing into my loosely worn robes. Your fingers strike my skin like a match. You start to dart your hand away in embarrassment but I clutch it back to me. You arm glides into my robe and I shiver. My arms are wrapped around you, I coax apart your legs to move closer to you. I drink in your soft whimper as our tongues dance in your sweet, sweet mouth. 

My right hand slides up your back fondling your hair. My other hand traces your ear and the line of your slender neck. I break our kiss to witness you in this moment of passion. The moon veils you in an ethereal light. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper almost inaudibly. Your every movement stoking the fire in me higher and higher. I start to kiss you again, but it’s not enough. I need to taste your skin like I’ve never needed anything before. Your legs writhe around me and I start to forget where we are. The tender skin of your arm caress my bare back. I yank the robe off your shoulder and kiss the hot flesh around your collarbone. I kiss down your trembling body until I find your breast. 

“Hideyoshi~,” you breathe.

“Hideyoshi! You bastard!” Fuuuuckkkk…..

We snap out of our reverie. You’re deliciously disheveled. I can’t help but stare at you. You’re wide eyed, but mirthful, and covering your mouth. You see me staring and tug my robe closed. That brings me back to earth. I help you right your robe, smooth your hair. 

“HIDEYOSHI! I know you’re out here you monkey bastard!” 

“I’ll distract him, you leave through the east exit,” I whisper to you. You squeeze my hand readying yourself to run for it. It’s cruel that I have to let you go like this, but I wouldn’t dishonor you by getting caught out here. You start to pull away and I catch you in one last kiss. You…

I hear that damn dog stomping closer and throw a rock into a neighboring bush distracting him for long enough to jump out behind him. I can’t turn to watch you go. 

“You’ve found me! Come out to drink with me, Puppy?” I ask cheerfully. 

I’ll have you soon, my darling.

[crowleaf]

I have recently tried six (6) flavors of coffee from Bones Coffee. Here is my Assessment.

I’m not a coffee expert, I’ve only started to enjoy black coffee within the last three months and my opinion is that of a total himbo and novice. I also use a cheap ass, single-cup coffee maker to brew my coffee. 

They are in order of most enjoyed to least enjoyed, but I did enjoy all of them to some degree. Okay here we go.

Army of Dark Chocolate: The first one I tried, and my favorite of all of them. I didn’t expect the chocolate taste to be so intense. It’s dark chocolate though, so it’s not really sweet like hot chocolate. It reminds me of a chocolate pu-erh tea I really like. It’s the only one I also tried with (almond) milk so far, and it was nice like that too, but I prefer it black. Dark roast.

Holy Cannoli: I am very Italian American, get the jokes out of your system and lets move on! I didn’t know what to expect, I haven’t eaten an actual cannoli in like four years and forget what they taste like but I remember liking them, so I can’t compare like, flavor in that way. But it tasted good, it had a subtle sweetness that was almost like it had a little flavored creamer in it. Medium roast.

Salty Siren: Salted caramel mocha. Smells fucking amazing, salty and sweet. @eroteme​ hates the name and that makes me giggle. I’m not the biggest caramel fan, it tends to be hit or miss for me, but I really liked it. The caramel isn’t overpowering and it isn’t like, a salty coffee. I dunno. It’s good. Medium roast.

Electric Unicorn: This coffee is so weird. It smelled like fucked up Fruity Pebbles when I opened the bag of beans. The scent was a little too much for me while grinding them but calmed down after brewing. Tastes like if Fruity Pebbles was somehow a coffee, especially in the aftertaste. I will be having a cup tomorrow morning and pretending it is cereal (I don’t have any cereal). Medium roast.

Cookies and Dream: Not bad, not the best. Had a subtle vanilla flavor that I could taste the longer I drank it, and seemed to come out more after it had cooled quite a bit. You’ll probably like it if you don’t want your coffee to be too sweetly flavored, I guess. Medium roast.

S’morey Time: Had a wonderful toasted marshmallow scent when opening the bag and grinding the beans, but I could hardly taste it in the coffee itself. Not bad, just not as...s’morey...as I had anticipated. Medium roast.

[theretirementstory]

Greetings from a cloudy Bar-sur-Aube where the temperature is currently 4c.

My young friend Pauline came on Sunday afternoon and we chatted, drank tea, ate lots of cake and then it was time for her to leave. We agreed that I will have a trip to Paris one Sunday and we will meet up and take in an exhibition or two. That will make a lovely change for me and Pauline will have company.

I had an e-mail from an old work colleague, it was such a surprise as she hasn’t emailed me for over a year. It’s so nice to have news from someone “out of the blue” and I replied very quickly.

The gardener arrived and pruned the cherry tree he did say that my neighbour had pruned too much from his tree and I am therefore hoping that mine will “bear fruit” once again. He also trimmed the hedges, I wasn’t too keen for the forsythia to be trimmed back but hopefully I will still see flowers on there this year. All in all the garden looks better and I will be outside on a warmer day to cut the roses back, prune the buddleia and cut back the lavatera. I just mentioned to my son today that I may not put tomatoes, chillies, peas and beans in this year. The strawberries will be allowed to grow again, they really don’t need a lot of care. I am thinking of just growing flowers.

There have been quite a few mornings where I have been up with the larks and to be honest I have really enjoyed it. As I have been walking out most days I have found that my sleeping has improved so I have been setting my sunrise alarm and wake up to that. Waking to light really does improve my mood.

Marie-Therese came for coffee and cake (as usual), I went to “knitting with refugees“ only one lady arrived but that wasn’t a problem as it meant that we could just chat (she speaks English) and enjoy our cup of tea. Her young son will be one year old in February so I asked, in the office, if it would be alright for me to knit him a hat for his birthday. I had been and bought the wool but I don’t want people to think it is “favouritism “. I heard from my friend Monique “The new Grand-mere and to twins!” she sent a couple more photos of the babies. I have just heard from my Finnish friend, her and the family have been unwell, cold, tummy bugs, and as well as having to test her school age child for Covid every day, lice is rife at school so she had to contend with that too! I have just offered my services, if she needs any shopping I could do it and drop it off.

After asking Anie to lunch on her birthday (Wednesday) I was in a blind panic wondering what to make. I finally served up a smoked salmon salad, Mediterranean stuffed tomatoes, we then had a cheese course with Goats cheese, Comté sand Roquefort, then it was raspberry and strawberry cheesecake. We then had tea with Christmas cake and coconut fruit slice, I must admit to falling asleep when Anie went home.

My grandson was six months old this week and has now moved onto “solid” food. I was thinking, ready brek, mashed banana, puréed food. Oh no not that boy, he is eating toast fingers, cucumber, tuna mayo, banana straight from the skin and he has no trouble knowing where to put it either, into his mouth it goes! I have had a video call with my two gorgeous grandchildren this morning, my granddaughter is just so grown up, it is lovely to see. “The Daddy” was child-minding one day this week, as “The Mummy“ had an interview for University. It is wonderful to hear all of their news and what is happening in their life.

“The Paralegal” is happy that his car is still running, although he is only doing short trips. He wants it to continue this way for a good while longer! The weeks fly by for him at work, which is lovely, as in my working life I had some weeks that seemed like a year!

Saturday’s are taking on a new meaning now, as I go to the market for fresh vegetables, pick up my newspaper in town and call into the bar for a coffee. I get a walk out, the opportunity to see people I know to say « hello » to plus the vegetables which stay lovely and fresh all week.

There are eight days of January left, so I will leave you with this quote, “January is the perfect time to refocus on your priorities and set goals.” You still have time!

Jusqu’à la semaine prochaine.

[scinglives]

“Callum honey breathe….just take a minute you’re rambling."She said giving his hand a squeeze. Addie knew that he was trying to gauge her reaction so he was muting his own. "It’s ok for you to be happy. I’ve always wanted to have your babies. I just thought we would have more time before we got there. And thank you. I desperately needed to know that this was something that you wanted wholeheartedly. That I was something that you wanted. Honestly, I’m hungry and tired. Before I got that medicine from the doctor I threw up everything I ate or drank. So food and a nap until we have to go pick up our baby. Also, you should take a closer look at these pictures.”

Addie reached grabbed the closet one to her up and handed it to him. She had gotten to see it live and had nearly fainted. And on her way out of the office had kept looking at the photos in shock. She groaned to herself when she remembered that she hadn’t finalized an order for a big sister shirt for Izzy.

“It’s two Cal….two beans in the soup pot.” She said trying to make a joke but knowing that this was a very big deal. One was a test but two was a whole other story. “You are the only one who knows about the count but Gil knew about the pregnancy before both of us.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He smiled and let out a relieved breath, god he felt as though he was in his 20′s again and finding out he was going to be a dad for the first time. Last time was different, he was young and inexperienced, he hadn’t even held a baby before. And now he was 5 years in with the best kid he could have ever asked for. 

“What?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, he was about to insist that he make her food until she pointed out he had to look at the ultrasound again. “Twins?” He questioned, his heart pounding beneath his chest, okay this was a double wammy. Not only were they having a baby but they were having TWO. This was a whole other whirlwind. “I mean that’s -- a lot. But doubly amazing.” He confessed with a wide smile and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. 

“You’re eating for three. Three. You need to eat.” Callum insisted, the slight dad tone in his voice, knowing that she wouldn’t fight with him when the dad voice came out. “Ginger tea, that helps a lot. Not that I know myself but -- it used to work on Izzy’s mom. Ginger anything. Do you want something plain? Plain pasta? Some toast?”

The Waiting Game.

It was pasta night in the Taylor household and Addie was staring down into a pot of overcooked noodles as if she just hadn't spent most of the day waiting. She dumped them before making quick work of the kitchen and settling herself on the couch. When she had woken up this morning Callum had been gone. Of course, she knew that fires had no schedule but she had become used to getting Izzy ready for school together. While she had been away at school the footage of the abandoned industrial complex by the water was plastered all over the tv stations. It had been burning most of the day with no end in sight.

In all that time she got one call from a concerned wife as she was dropping off Izzy. The woman suggested asking the teacher not to talk about the fire in class. No need to scare the little girl if at all possible.

So when Izzy got home they had pizza since Addie was too frazzled to cook anything properly. The two of them sat in front of the tv watching Disney movies till bedtime. Of course, she promised the little girl as soon as Daddy came in she would have him come to see her. She was long asleep before Addie heard the familiar sound of boots and the front door opening.

"Callum?" She called to him lightly from the living room almost too afraid to go to him herself.

[dah-knee-cuh]

My Mess

Summary / Request : “ Could I get a Tom Holland x reader where they are in a relationship, but it's like, a normal relationship, not super Romantic, but still sweet, where one gets grossed out because the other one drools in their sleep, or one gets mad at the other for touching them with their cold feet, or for wiping their popcorn fingers on them? Just normal things? Thanks!” / The morning after a date night with Tom comes to settle the score.

Warnings: swearing

Fluff / Gender neutral reader

Requested: @hammernailsandscrewdriver

Word count: 832

The sun is finally starting to set, but a few rays caught in the little tufts in Tom’s hair, bringing out the slight red undertone. Driving through the city together is calming, speeding through its heart and really seeing the character. Flashing by are the neon signs of nightlife, places to drink to forget or to drink to remember.

The summer nights with Tom are the best. When you’re not being sucked into his unbelievably hectic lifestyle, but rather when he’s with you to keep him grounded. The bags under his eyes start to brighten up for he’s finally getting an adequate amount of sleep.

The radio playing is only but a low hum to simply help wind the two of you down after date night. Tom reaches over to the passenger side to grab ahold of your hand, resting his hand on your thigh. No words need to be exchanged to better the moment, it was perfect.

Until it came. It was a silent hit. Some would call it bad, others deadly.

“Y/N, did you fucking fart?” Tom exclaims letting go of your hand and covering his nose to block the stench.

“I really hoped you wouldn’t smell it,” you say sheepishly, biting your lip to keep from laughing.

“Well I do,” he says rolling down the window. “Jesus, what did you eat?”

“I might’ve been eating chips and bean dip while I was getting ready.”

“You could’ve warned me darling,” Tom says with a slight shake of his head, playfully shoving your shoulder when you guys reach a red light. “You are nasty.”

“Oh, you want to see nasty?” You tease, suggestively wiggling your eyebrows and moving to grip his thigh.

Seeing the look in your eyes, he took your hand off his thigh and took it in his palm instead, “Not tonight darling, not after the bean dip.”

Morning After:

“Morning babe,” you greet from the couch once Tom finally decided to wake up after you’ve been up and dressed for the day.

Humming a response, he comes and leans over your lying body. Putting your phone down and looking into his shiny chestnut eyes, you miss the glint of mischief behind them when he dips his head down to give a morning kiss.

Pushing him off you sputter, “What was that for?”

Tom, keeping his mask of innocence, merely shrugged while walking to the kitchen to heat up the kettle.

“You’re gross you know that? Not brushing your teeth and kissing me with your morning breath,” you say following him into the kitchen.

“That was for your toxic gas you put out in the car last night,” he says throwing an arm around your shoulder, “It burned my eyes.”

“You’re a little drama queen you know that?” You respond, slipping your cold hands up his shirt.

Letting out a little shriek, he immediately let go of you and ran behind the kitchen counter, opposite of you. Grabbing a towel as a form of defense to whip you with he jokes, “Stand back Ice (King/ Queen).”

“Tom,” you huff, “why are you like this?”

“I know you love it,” he winks before running off.

Groaning, you grab a hand towel of your own. Chasing after him you mutter, “When did I start dating a kid.”

Since he ran away first, Tom managed to lock himself in the bedroom and refused to exit.

“I’m going back to bed,” he yells.

Before getting the chance to yell at Tom to get out, the kettle whistles, “Tom, come out here or I’ll finish all the tea since someone didn’t go to the store yesterday like they said they would.”

Lie. You wouldn’t purposefully finish his tea. The last time you accidentally drank all of his tea, Tom moaned about it for days until you bought more as an apology.

“You wouldn’t,” Tom dares, poking his head out of the doorway.

“I would too,” False you’d never. Never again, but he doesn’t know that.

               He did finally come out to join you for a cup of tea and breakfast. A meal which consisted of Tom eating food from the ground, the five second rule he reasoned, him throwing a soggy piece of pancake at you, getting syrup all over your cheek because you called him out for eating food from the floor, and wiping the powdered sugar off your fingers from your French toast onto Tom.

               After eating, both of you didn’t want to go out, so you two went back to bed to cuddle and binge watch (TV Show). As the third episode ended, you turned to face him meaning to ask him something about the show, but only a belch let out.

“For fucks sake Y/N, again?” He stresses, fanning away the smell.

Surprise written on your face, you apologize, “That one was an accident. I swear.”

Only shaking his head, he hugged you tighter and kissed your temple muttering, “You’re a mess.”

“And you love it.”

“Damn right I do.”

A/N: Hope y’all liked this! Comment if you did or didn’t just let me know. My asks is open to requests it just might take me a little bit, but I will get to it. Or if you want to just talk in my messages it’s chill. And if you guys already did request something I am getting to it. 

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[noorjawda-blog]

I WENT VEGAN FOR A WEEK: WHAT IT’S REALLY LIKE

Yes, you read that title correctly. The meat and ice cream loving Noor Jawda decided to go vegan for a week. It’s a bit wild to say something like a change in diet shifted my views on many things; but it did. In this post, I will be talking to you very candidly about how it’s really like going vegan; and how it impacted my life in many more ways than one.

To begin, veganism is cutting out any and all products that come from animals. Not only meats, but milk, cheese, eggs, yogurt, and even honey. Sounds extremely daunting and difficult at first; and it is! However, like everything that takes time, it gets easier. 

I have been thinking about changing my diet for a while. I have always been somewhat content with my body, but I realized that lately I was gaining more weight than before. I have always been a “thick” person with a large rear end and slim waist. Despite that, my body wasn’t the way I liked it anymore, and I’ve been thinking about a change in lifestyle for a bit of time. I wasn't just unhappy about my body; but about my eating habits, laziness, and all around loss of interest. I was always tired. One night, a friend of mine told me about a documentary on Netflix called “What The Health?”. Bored one night, I decided to cuddle up in bed and watch it. What I saw and learned in this documentary really did change me in ways I did not expect. First of all, I love documentaries; but they often lose my interest very rapidly. This documentary did not. The seemingly short 90-minute documentary captured my attention for the entire time. We have all heard about documentaries where they try and change your mentality by brainwashing you to think certain foods and ways of life are unhealthy. However, this documentary focuses solely on certain foods and what they actually do to your body. For example: a fish fillet has as enough fattening agents as a pork chop. What?! I had no idea that foods we have been told are “healthy” are killing us slowly just the same. I was baffled and confused on how women who consume just one serving of dairy per day have a 49% higher chance of getting cancer…WHAT?! I was perplexed and downright speechless at all the facts I was learning. It was at the conclusion of this life-changing documentary, I decided I was going to try veganism for a week.

The very next day, I told my parents about my plan. My mom found it very funny, while my dad just nodded and bit back a smile. Being middle eastern, our diets are based heavily on meats and natural cheeses. I knew this was not going to be easy. Instead of slowly easing into being vegan, I quit everything cold turkey. My dad gave me a $30 budget, which I didn't realize until I got to the cashier that I actually spent $100 (sorry baba!!). With this money, though, I purchased enough food to last me the entire week, and then some!

On my first day, I made sure I wasn't going to be hungry, eating a good amount of nuts, almond butter, and grains. I made bought some whole grain bagels, and spread vanilla almond butter and an array of nuts and seeds on it. After eating just half the bagel, I was already full! This kept me until dinner, where I made myself an amazing salad filled with greens, beans, and fruits. After just a day, I knew this diet was feasible if one put their mind to it. This week was predicted to be full of starvation, headaches, and me craving and whining about wanting to eat meat; but I was soooo wrong.

This is what I ate for the rest of the week:

 Day 2-  

Breakfast: Coffee with soy milk

Lunch: Vegan Sushi (Rice, seaweed, cucumber, avocado, carrot, ginger, and mango)

Dinner: Vegan Taco Salad

 Day 3-

Breakfast: Coffee with soy milk

Lunch: Avocado Toast with crushed red pepper and olive oil

Dinner: Greek Salad (minus feta cheese)

 Day 4-

Breakfast: Coffee with soy milk

Lunch: Vegan Wrap (spinach flour wrap, grilled tofu, carrots, spinach, hummus, black beans)

Dinner: Kale Salad

 Day 5-

Breakfast: Coffee with soy milk

Lunch: Pita bread plate with hummus, carrots, and tabouli

Dinner: Roasted Chickpeas with cayenne, olive oil, sumac, and coriander

 Day 6-

Breakfast: Orange Juice and whole wheat bagel

Lunch: Greek Salad (minus feta cheese)

Dinner: Vegan Pizza

 Day 7-

Breakfast: Flax seed smoothie

Lunch: vegan taco bowl

Dinner: vegan grape leaves with a side of grilled Brussel sprouts

 As shown above, this is what I ate for the entire first week. I drank water with each meal (excluding breakfast), and would snack in between my courses with pumpkin seeds and dried cranberries. Once you get in the groove of being vegan, it really is not difficult! When I craved something sweet, I would munch on dates, figs, raisins, or some of my beloved vanilla almond butter!

Don't get the wrong impression, there is nothing I want more than to sink my teeth into a juicy burger; but I think with more time this urge will pass (at least I really freaking hope so). It’s weird to explain, but being vegan was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Every night, I cooked at home. Roasting chick peas, making awesome salads, drinking coffee and tea with soy milk, etc. The list goes on, and so does the number of options you can make. Like me, you may have the misconception that all vegans do is munch on spinach and meditate… so wrong! Just one week of this diet has made me so clear headed in a number of ways that I was not just a mere 7 days ago.

When day 4 of my diet hit, I already started to notice a healthy change in my body. My skin was clearer, my hair was glossier, my stomach a bit flatter, and my mood a lot better…could all of this really be happening just because I chose to cut out everything that came from animals? The answer is simply yes. I told myself I was not going to change anything about my workout routine, skin care usage, or anything else. The only thing I was going to change about myself was the food I was putting into my body. I was shocked. How could only 4 days of being like this already have such a visible appearance on my body? Excited about these results, I was eager to see what the rest of the week would have in store.

When day 7 came along, I couldn't already believe it had been a week. I felt so accomplished that I actually followed through with this challenging promise I had made to myself. Upon weighing myself, I lost 5lbs in 7 days! I stood there and looked at the numbers with shock. I did not expect that going on an all plant-based diet would change me so quickly. How could just 7 days of eating all plant-based foods make me feel like I was a completely new person? The answer, honestly, is really simple. I gave my body everything it was craving all along. Humans are not built to take in copious amounts of meats, cheese, grease, dairy, and many other toxins. Our diets have been compromised by cheap burgers and cheese-stuffed crust pizza. If you really take a step back, are you happy with the way you’re eating? The foods may taste good, but are they doing good? My eyes have opened to this revelation, and to be honest, I don't think I will be going back for a long time.

After a week of what seemed like the impossible, I actually came out a stronger person than I ever have been before. My mind feels clearer, my energy levels have risen, my sense of determination has spiked, and so much more.

I decided to speak on this today because yes, makeup can be fun and exciting, but none of it will look good if you don’t take care of your skin first. A body simply cannot be treated like hell and look fabulous on the outside – at least not for long. Your body is your temple, remember that!

All of this happened because I ate a plant-based diet for 7 days, what more could there be in store? I cannot wait to find out.

[qdtquietdownthere]

Day 10- Baked Beans for breakfast and an afternoon of volunteering.

DAY10

Crack of dawn and the amber sun sits low on the horizon. 

I walk the streets looking at my feet. The pavements are not quiet, like I had expected. They are busy, but a different kind of busy, they are suit busy. People flocking to work. 7am streets are not my streets. 

I walked past Regents cafe earlier in the week, it looked proper London to me. A proper greasy spoon cafe with those seats which are bolted to the floor and each other. My Grandad ran a cafe a long while ago, and I will aways remember that smell of bubbling vegetable oil. Everything cooked from one pan. Honest food. Mums comfort food, but grandads. We used to call my grandad ‘grandad Pops’ because he drank lots of pop. They kept shelves of cans and 2litre bottles of pop in their garage. Proper British, wipe clean table cloths, chips and a can of pop. Thats what the cafe looked like when I walked past.

Today it is hectic, there is a long line and a woman shouting with the deepest loudest voice i have ever heard. There is a menu behind her, which looks like chefs specials, these include eggs Benedict and fish cakes. No one seems to be ordering these. Maybe they are for a different crowd. The most popular seems to be toast, black pudding, beans, chips and bacon. There are plenty variations of this, and everyone seems to know their order by heart. I go for beans, toast and mushrooms. This place seems like an institution. I put up an instagram about it and friends from Leeds and Glasgow tell me they have been there. I like my breakfast and its deliciously cheap. I feel comfortable and curious, so I'm not sat with my head down, I'm just watching. I have learnt to just sit and be and watch since starting the residency, which is a great thing. It is also a place I wouldn't walk into if I had to choose where to eat breakfast. This has been a fundamental-ditch avocado on toast. Im sure these places exist in Tottenham, and I'm sure there are delicious places to eat, i just wouldn't go. Now, well I would go.

I wander along to the market, which is still asleep when I get there. Its mainly food places. Japaneese burgers, falafel and a giant fish stall. There are a few locals chatting to the fish monger and I shout at someone “that looks good” but i don't get much interaction here. The wider area is very connected though, lots of coffee shops and charity shops. Once again, it is an area which feels like a little village.

From here I decide to go wander around a new estate and fall asleep lying on the grass in the sun as I watch the jumbo jets come in to land. The space is social, green and alive with movement. Parks for people to hang out and lots of benches. There are a few bee hives and i notice the area has received an award for this. Each flat seems so unique yet they are all identical. This is apparent in Churchill Gardens. The unified individualism of the flats.

I am anxious about volunteering this afternoon. I will be doing food distribution with Mike and ‘Helping the Homeless’. It is one of the best things I have done so far in the residency, despite me being initially, but internally so cautious. I think I am cautious because I'm scared to upset anyone. I don't want to be seen as this young girl rocking up for one session then fluttering away again. Its present, it is serious and the rates of homelessness is increasing. The amount of people relying of food banks is increasing. The food distribution comes out from a tiny little shed hidden in the corner of a housing estate. Its a beautiful housing estate, which once again cuddles around a lively, and busy playground. On one side of the estate is a building completely covered in tarps and scaffolding. Its being turned into luxury flats, despite being in the same square as a community reliant on a food distribution service. Im in shock. I am also, and once again in shock of the contrast. Walking to meet Mike i took many wrong turns and saw many beautiful streets and beautiful people. The streets smelt like flowers and perfume and everyone seemed to be living as it was a Saturday afternoon. This was happening just around the corner. I am saddened and in disbelief. 

Walking in to start the afternoon I meet wonderful Mike who shakes my hand very nicely. He is wearing high vis and is the centre of attention. Surrounding him are several people; Dolly, Charlie, Dee, Naomi, Claudio and an Irish man who speaks so fast I don't catch his name. He wishes me a happy life in his soft Irish accent many times and talks about his times living on the streets near Stonehenge. He also asks to inspect my hands and tells me I need to stop biting my nails. While speaking to him and hearing the sadness in his voice I am caught up by a worry about what to say. His world is so different from mine and I worry anything I say would seem stupid. Later Mike and I have a good conversation about how to cope and deal with listening to stories and information which is heavy. We've just got to be human. I find this day valuable on so many levels. 

Mike and I load a trolley full of several bags of food. They are bursting with fresh veg, fruit and nuts. Mike tells me that the work he does is not voucher based but based on real needs. Each household is only entitled to visit a food bank three times a month, at which most of the food on offer is purely tined or dried food. This isn’t good enough. I ask Mike how he works out who needs the food and how he reaches these people in the community, especially when they can be hard to find. He answers very simply “I just know my community”. Something which really sticks with me. 

We push this really heavy trolley along main streets towards Churchill Gardens. Mike uses a walking stick, which is unbelievable given that he is basically pushing something the weight of a large elephant along the pavement. The first stop we make is to deliver food to an elderly gentleman who's wife recently passed away. He doesn't leave the house much anymore and Mike tells me he often gets caught chatting to the man for a while. I wait outside out of courtesy but wish I had gone in with Mike. Eventually he reappears despite the elderly man showing him photographs of the grandchildren and asking mike to stay for a cup of tea. I cant help but think of the importance of Mikes role in this gentleman’s life as both a means to eat and as social interaction. This is the theme of the next few deliveries. Social isolation due to illness and age and confidence which prevents an individual leaving their house. One woman never answers the door and I cant help wonder if she is inside but is unable to come to the door for whatever reason. We leave the food on the doorstep. We end the deliveries on Churchill gardens with a family who thank Mike and give me the warmest Hello. 

Mike is everywhere in the community and even while we are gone for delivery he is getting phone calls every two minutes. He giggles so much and talks about all the groups and initiatives he has set up. I ask about younger people in the community and he names a few places and people who are doing wonderful things for them. Yet they are still no where to be seen to me. Yet again I haven't been with any young people since church or choir. I cant help but see the need for young, energetic people to help Mike, or simply interact with other people in the community, for everyone sake. The separation of age is continuously apparent.

We spend the rest of the afternoon sat on the plastic chairs chatting in the sunshine. We sort 50 black bin liners of crisps into the shed and blabber away as people come and go. It is an inclusive space once again. It is run by the community so there isn't this separation between user and service. The people helping are service users, yet there is no distinction. I forget this and ask Naomi if she lives close by, to which she answers with the story of how she got to be someone who was homeless and how she got to be someone who both uses the service and hangs around with Mike. This is empowering and I value this anonymity. I feel valuable in the conversation, as just another person bringing my experience into the chat but not being defined by it. We talk about so many things while mike goes back to visit the first elderly man to spend more time looking at his pictures of the grandchildren. 

This experience is brimming with generosity and inclusivity. Once again, it is about being a local and a regular. At its core it is about being someone who is guided by human connection and friendship, be it fleeting or permanent. I walk away from today with a further confidence in myself and in the power of one individual deciding to take action and make a change. So often before doing this project I would have overthought how to engage and make a difference in communities, including my own. I would have almost been crippled by trying not to upset anyone, make something effective and change driven. I always believed in the power of simply talking but todays experience set it in cement. The food distribution service isn't just about getting the most vulnerable and forgotten people in our community food, it is also about building a community and having a laugh and being validated through being given a space to talk and be listened too. 

I walk to the tube station and bump into Mike who is having a natter with the newsagent. I go home and have an ice cream and a swim in the pond at Hampsted Heath.