#my drunk cookbook

[soullessjack]

thinking about the supernatural recipe book.

thinkin about jacks vodka cereal . For breakfast

(Pic from @hetaczechia :p)

[queenangella]

it’s so fucking weird leaving a job I actually like what is this feeling I don’t like it

[bloopthebee]

For some context i have been a pretty big fan of The Narcissist Cookbook for a while now.

TURNS OUT, they perform regularly at my best friend’s work and i get a call from her and get put on FACETIME WITH THEM, it’s 12.30am i’m in bed in a twilight t-shirt half asleep and i pick up and it’s THEM, the person who’s music got me through my uni applications (blasted good morning sunshine on repeat) and i’m holding my phone at the worst angle cuz i think it’s just my drunk bestie calling to say hi.

Anyway they also perform at my local pub regularly too so i’m gonna go see them soon :D

[homosexualgirlandbags]

Legit gonna die rn so we're gonna speed run through the military man running in my mind.

Simon, for all his money and savings, refuses to change the same 5 year old pair of sneakers he has. The thing is rotting, deteriorating in front of his eyes, and he still tugs them on everyday and walks out in Britain's dreadful weather. He steps on every single puddle out there, and scuffs it up every damn time. Yet his relationship with the converse might be stronger than his relationship with Johnny. He doesn't even wash them, just... Throws them on the balcony. This leaves Johnny looking horrified at him every single damn time.

Price leaves his cigarette ashes everywhere. And his office fucking reeks of cigar smoke. There was a recruit with asthma who had to report to Price after a mission. His CO changed to Simon afterwards. (Price panicked so hard he fucking sprayed the inhaler on the recruits neck for a solid 5 seconds before finally realising what he did wrong. Their medic never lets him live it down.) Either way, everyone walks out of Price's office smelling like smoke, which at least makes it convenient for him to identify who's been sneaking in his office.

Johnny trains at 3 in the morning if possible. He climbs out of Simon's his bed, and pulls on a tank top and shit. Unfortunately, he plays loud ass classical music and rock punk music during his training, without headphones. (There's no in between his music tastes. Fucking Beethoven to My chemical romance). Either way, the recruit's room is closest to the gym, and they have not slept peacefully in 5 months. (Gaz is lowkey impressed by Johnny's method of torture and deterioration of the recruits. Johnny has no idea this was happening)

Gaz is an interesting case. He seems to never get into any trouble or controversy, and seems to be the first person (beside Laswell) to know whenever the rest of the 141 screws up. Johnny watches him closely for months until he finds out that Gaz bribes a few recruits under the table to find dirt on the rest of them. Gaz punishment does not lighten up when Price finds out about the fact that he's been reducing training for recruits who hide the stupid things he has done under the rug.

Laswell once brought her wife on base, a nice lady. She made a good impression on everyone and all. It took a day of her wife being around the base for her to start flirting with her. It's never subtle either, and Nik could only stare in slight surprise and amazement as he sees Laswell twirls her fucking hair like a schoolgirl. The rest of the 141 almost gets a stroke from seeing Laswell and her wife snuggle up in the blankets. And Price had to climb up a ladder to get a drunk Laswell and her wife off the rooftop. Apparently, normal Kate disappears when in close approximate to her wife, I suppose.

Nik has a fucking sweet tooth. His helicopter? Filled with chocolate and bread and what not. He keeps a candy bar with him everywhere. (Price once had the misfortune of learning how hard it is to remove chocolate smears on white shirts). His cookbook is mostly sweets and recipes he collected from around the world. Sometimes, him and Simon stay in the kitchen after hours, just making some sweets and then mysteriously disappearing later. It's quite sweet, if anything, if only he didn't make the aphrodisiac chocolate and gave it to Price on accident... (Spoiler alert, he intended for it to happen, even checked Price cycles to make sure he was free the whole day)

[hedwig221b]

hey, love your fic recs, would love to see youtuber au if you have any 🥰

Thank you! Now, here's what I found:

Of Green Beans and YouTube by nerdfightingwhovian

Stiles has a YouTube show that is essentially Hannah Hart's "My Drunk Kitchen" where he cooks food drunk but actually pretty well. Derek is a serious chef on YouTube. He has cookbooks that you can buy in actual stores and stuff. He's the real deal.

Stiles' video-block is fixed when he stumbles across Derek guest-starring on a Food Network show. In a rush of inspiration he starts a new series where he cooks Derek's recipes drunk. Derek finds out about the show and instead of being angry, he's intrigued by the guy cooking and throwing things around his kitchen while drinking too much alcohol.

Who's Sourwolf?? by Star_crossed02

Based on Kris' prompt:

YouTuber Stiles doing a livestream when mysterious boyfriend comes in to kiss Stiles and everyone freaking out.

I twisted it a bit, but hopefully you'll like it.

Stop @’ing Me (It’s Giving me Anxiety) by isthatbloodonhisshirt

Derek… had no idea what to say. Or how to react. Or what to even feel.

What the hell was going on?

He immediately went to YouTube to check his video, and the first thing he noticed was that his subscriber count had indeed changed, just as he’d suspected.

Except not in the direction he’d anticipated.

When he’d gone to bed, he’d still been a few thousand subscribers away from one million. Something like seventeen or eighteen thousand away.

He was now staring at his subscriber count sitting at over one million by a fair margin.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself, and went to look at his newest video about AllAboutMischief. It was sitting at three-hundred thousand views in the first hour, and had more comments than he’d ever gotten on any of his videos since he began uploading.

“What the fuck?” he whispered again, a little more desperately.

I'll Be Your Robin by mikkimouse

"You're sitting in my background!" Stiles waved behind him. "Can't you just scoot to the left by, like, two feet? Or go to the library until I'm done?"

Derek scowled, and really, that angry look shouldn't turn Stiles on as much as it pisses him off. "I don't have room to scoot two feet to the left. And the last time I left the room while you were recording, I ended up getting stuck outside until midnight."

"I had to do multiple takes!"

Derek's scowl didn't lift. "You yelled at me when I came in here to go to bed."

Good for you by lilysaid

Completely by chance, I saw a "human boyfriend for werewolf roleplay" ASMR video on YouTube and thought 1. Stiles would totally do something as reckless as making an ASMR channel for werewolves 2. He would be really good at it and 3. It would definitely blow up in his face.

The Curly Fries Show with Stiles Stilinski by greenleaf

“Curly fries are only for the brave, so is love.” -- Five times Stiles interviewed celebrities for his popular YouTube show, ‘The Curly Fries Show with Stiles Stilinski’, and one time he was the one interviewed.

Or

Five times Stiles hung out with his attractive, adorable, bashful, architect building-mate Derek Hale and one time he hung out with his attractive, adorable, bashful, architect building-mate, boyfriend Derek Hale.

Ink Me by AsagiStilinski

Derek is never going to find his soulmate, because there's no way in hell there exists a man named Mieczyslaw in Beacon Hills

Then Erica hires Stiles

Daddy Do's by apocryphal

“Hi Mr. Stilinski!” Lydia said pertly. “My name’s Lydia, and this is my daddy. His name is Derek Andrew Hale and he watches all of your videos on YouTube a lot, but he still can’t braid.”

[Stiles is a celebrity YouTube hairstylist. Derek may or may not have a crush. Lydia just wants a French braid for school picture day.]

My Stupid Boyfriend Tag by ALoza

Stiles is a Youtuber, and this is Derek's first time on camera.

Thirsty and trapped by TalesoftheEnchantedForest

Stiles has a YouTube channel and decides to film a video where he reacts to thirst traps.

Then he promptly falls in love with one of the men, but it's not like they would ever meet in real life, right?

[masterlist link]

[pseudophan]

wait i'm a lil bit drunk and my cookbook m&g kinda went well..... should i post the full video

[sugar-omi]

ok so like i fully believe that after cove had sex w the mc the first time he's always needy, like, in the patreon moment it's implied you two have so much sex you can barely keep up with buying condoms . so imagine cove, that horny and needy guy with the highest libido imaginable bc you're so perfect and he wants to have you all the time, with a mc with a low libido . poor guy, you'd have to at least guide him on how to jerk off bc he can't cum unless it's with your help, no matter how ....

AHHH THAT IS SUCH A THOUGHT. this. this is whats in my brain 25/8. i love you anon tysm for the ask

tags : NSFW, gn reader, reader w a low libido, guided masturbation, phone sex, bit of edging, overstimulation

synopsis : cove's libido is much higher than yours, and he's become so obsessed with having sex with you, he's practically dependent on you for his orgasm. so you instruct cove how to get himself off.

he's always so eager to have sex with you, he really, really can't have enough of you...

but even if it wasn't for your low libido, you're sometimes tired and super sensitive after fucking like rabbits the day before

he would never force you! and he would feel bad if you tried to initiate sex even though you weren't in the mood for it. but even though he doesn't say anything, and tries to deal with his painfully hard dick by himself, sometimes it just isn't enough..

he's gotten so obsessed with you finishing him off that sometimes when he gets himself off it's so unsatisfying, and even worse, sometimes he can't even get off at all

poor thing is trying fruitlessly to get off, his hand and dick sloppy with pre and lube, making the dirtiest noises from how fast he's stroking his cock.

even though he's been tugging at his cock for what feels like hours, he just can't cum. his thighs shaking and his cock is so flushed.. the pressure is there he just.. can't...

you must have impeccable timing, because right then you call him.

he doesn't even know what comes over him, but he answers, his voice all breathy when he answers the phone..

he tries to act normal, but you can almost immediately tell somethings wrong, and even though cove really tried to be quiet- you can still hear the sound of something slick making wet sounds...

it's not hard for him to crack, because now he's all pitiful sounding on the phone, whining about how he can't cum and it hurts, he needs to cum so bad and he thought that listening to you talk might help...

excites him more when you call him dirty. hell, you can even tell him he's acting like a whore, he's so desperate at this point that even if you read a cookbook to him he'd probably cum

make him tell you what he's doing, tell you how hard he is and how he's so horny that he couldn't even focus at work, that he almost dropped a whole stack of merchandise on a customer because he's in a daze, day dreaming about you.

day dreaming about how pretty you looked when he gave you head, subconsciously reaching up to discreetly tug his hair the way you did the other night...

"jesus christ, cove. we haven't fucked in barely 24 hours and you're still cock / pussy drunk?" you curse, a bit spun by how ruined your boyfriend is

he gasps, his hand brushing over his cock head.. "i'm sorry. ah- i'm sorry..."

you smack your lips, able to hear cove's unrestrained stroking. "stop stroking your cock. i'm tryna talk to you and you're still jerking your pathetic cock."

cove whines, his fist tightly wrapped around the base of his cock but he doesn't move his wrist, trying not to thrust up into his hand for more friction.

even his body is begging for more, desperate for more.

his panting into the phone, clutching the device like it'd kill him to loosen up, let alone let go.

unbeknownst to your brainless boyfriend, you're on the other end still going about your day, stretched out on your beach towel. even though you had called wanting to invite him to join you at the beach, you have to admit, this is more fun than building sandcastles...

you fix your sunglasses, looking left and right just to make sure there's no one around.

"y/n..." cove mewls, sounding so airy and whiny, so desperate.

"start stroking your cock for me." you instruct, quickly elaborating before cove gets ahead of himself. "slowly."

he lets out a mix of a whine and a huff, forcing himself to slowly drag his hand up and down his length. "o-okay..." he chokes, shaking when his fingers brush over his sensitive head.

you absentmindedly rub lotion over your arms, pinning your phone between your ear and shoulder. the sun is extra hot today, you don't want to burn or worse.

you can hear cove's strangled moans and gasps, muffled words in between.

"mhmm.." you contemplate, there's so many things you could make him do, but you'll definitely have more opportunities..

"stroke the tip for me."

cove pants, his body shaking, his hips torn between pulling away from the overstimulation and bucking up into the sensation.

he swallows, his chest raising and falling.

"tighten your grip. just the way i do."

cove gasps and chokes, his hand fluttering around his tip, and even though he's so sensitive that his cock is basically begging for a break, he bucks up into his hand.

"are you fucking your hand? did i tell you to do that?"

cove's stomach dips in arousal, his eyes fluttering shut from your stern tone. "n-no. no, you did- aah! didn't!"

"you're probably such a pitiful sight.. you've been trying to get off all day, and you can't even do that without my help." you coo.

"touch your nipples for me, and stop stroking your cock, i don't want you to cum yet."

cove whines, begrudgingly pulling away from his cock, torn between disobeying and obeying but he does listen.

he tugs on his nipples, twisting the buds between his fingers.

the lube and pre from his cock is making his nipple shiny from the mess.

cove arches into his hands, his heavy cock hanging over his stomach, lube and pre dripping onto his tummy, his cock twitching and pre pearling at his tip.

"good boy." you purr over the line, "you sound so pretty... go ahead and touch your cock again, i wanna hear you cum."

cove's hand falls to his cock, his breath hitching.

"stroke it just the way i do." you instruct, cove's low moan and curse a sign if him following your instructions. "that's it... tighten your grip, stroke nice and fast for me."

cove tries to mimick your movements, closing his eyes, trying to imagine your hand around his dick instead.

his hand gropes his pec, fondling his "tits" the same way you would, squeezing and squishing the muscle, his fingers pinching his nipples and his thumb runs over his flushed mushroom head.

"i'm- y/n i'm gonna-" cove gasps, arching his back, the bed creaking from all his squirming.

"that's it, keep it up. you're doing so good for me cove." you praise, licking your lips, imagining your boyfriend all flushed and sweaty, on the edge of cumming...

"go ahead and cum for me."

cove growls, ropes of cum spurting across his stomach and making a sloppy mess of his hand.

you let him work through his high, hearing his labored breath and whimpers through the phone.

"fuck..." cove curses softly, thoroughly spent from his orgasm.

"cove?" you call over the phone.

he licks his lips, wiping his hand over his face. "yeah?"

"open the door for me, will you?"

i have a very vivid image of our sunshine boy in my head..... and he's a mess. and i Want him..

[fmluder24]

JIF "Masquerade" Submission :)

Masks (2000 words)

believeinluck

Summary:

Mulder and Scully try to drunkenly make hamantaschen for Purim shortly after Scully's cancer goes into remission. Tw: Drinking, Mention of Small Potatoes/Eddie van Blundt

Tags: #Judaism #Purim #Drinking #Baking #Fluff and Angst #Fox Mulder Angst #Jewish Fox Mulder #Post-Cancer Arc (X-Files) #Sharing a Bed #Domestic Fluff #season 5

Notes:

This is a part of my series "Cathedrals in Time," where I post an MSR/Mulder fic for each Jewish Holiday in 2025. Also doubles as my contribution to the "Masquerade" theme for @jewsinfandoms.

Scully tips back another half glass of wine and pours the dough onto the counter. It doesn’t really flop out so much as flow out. Scully tilts her head and looks towards the ancient cookbook.

“Does this look like dough to you, Mulder?”

“I don’t really bake,” he says, taking a sip of his own wine. “My idea of baking is to buy a tube of Nestle Tollhouse cookie dough and eat it raw.”

Mulder won’t admit to himself that Scully inviting him over to her house on a Saturday night had his hopes up, although now that he is here and lightheaded from the wine, he isn’t sure what he was hoping for. One thing is for sure— he hadn’t been banking on her cracking open a vintage Jewish cookbook and promising to recreate a dessert that he hasn’t had since he was twelve.

“It kind of looks like a batter to me,” says Scully, watching the sludge spread over her kitchen counter. “I think this book was printed before they started putting pictures in cookbooks, so I don’t have anything to reference.”

“What’s the difference between batter and dough?”

Scully sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t really bake either. Will you pour me another glass of wine?”

“Another? You’ve had quite a bit.”

“Another!” She says with a smile, pushing the glass his way.

He pours another glass and pushes it back to her, watching her knock back half of it in a single gulp.

Scully squares her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s roll it back. These cookie things. Hamantaschen. I want to make them, but I don’t know what they are supposed to look like or taste like. Or what they are, really. That’s why I have you. You can tell me, and we can make them.”

“I haven’t had hamantaschen in a few decades. What’s the sudden interest in Jewish pastry anyway?”

“You said it was Purim this week. And I figured if there are recipes Catholics eat for holidays, you all gotta have something you eat on holidays.”

“An astute observation, as always. People do indeed eat food.”

“Exactly. So I found this cookbook. And this is the Purim section. So tell me what they’re like and we will find a way to fix the dough.”

“From what I remember, they’re kinda like the texture of a tiny pie.”

“Pie? So I’m trying to make pie crust. I think the…” She waves her hands over the sludge. “Creation needs more flour.”

He passes her the bag and watches her pour scoop after scoop of the flour on top of the sludge. She rolls up her sleeves and starts to mix in the flour clumsily with her hands.

“Do you want me to do that? So you can take a break.”

“What do I need a break for? I’m… I’m having fun.”

He smiles at that. It is so unlike her to let her hair down. To let her reserved mask slip, even just a little.

“Fun? Are you feeling okay? I haven’t seen you like this since before the… the…”

“Cancer, Mulder. You can say it. It’s just a word. Saying it won’t summon it back into my brain.”

“Since before the cancer. You’re just so vibrant. And so, so drunk. Are you sure you don’t want to sit?”

“No. I want to fix this dough so we can do the holiday. That’s why I’m drunk. You said people get drunk for the holiday.”

“Why all this for a holiday of a religion you don’t even follow?”

“Because I… Have, over the years grown to care for you, in a way. I want you to feel like you can be yourself with me. And this is a part of you. Maybe it’s a part of you that you’ve felt that you have to hide, and I don’t want you to have to hide. So, we, being two very intelligent people, are going to fix this dough. Because Purim is about survival. That’s how you explained it to me. And we survived.”

“You survived, Scully.”

“Damn straight,” says Scully, finishing off her wine. “So let’s fix the dough.”

“You know what two rational adults do when they’re completely out of their element?” asks Mulder.

“Call our moms,” says Scully, who has begun to slur her words just a little.

“I was going to say give up.”

“You call yours. I’ll call mine. Or you call mine, I’ll call yours.”

“Scully—” He’s trying to figure out how to remind Scully that he is not on speaking terms with his mother when she rummages on the kitchen counter for her cell phone.

“I’ll call mine, Mulder. She’ll know what to do.”

He chuckles. Margaret Scully, more Catholic than the Pope, will be of no help in making hamantaschen.

But Scully is serious and soon has the phone pressed to her ear.

“Hello, Mom. Good and you? That’s good. I have a problem. Oh, it’s not serious but we need help. Mulder and I are making haventuch— hamat— humantush—” Scully is overcome with a giggling fit.

“Mulder, will you explain what we are trying to do?” she asks, holding out the phone.

He curses internally before taking the phone from Scully.

“Hello, Margaret.”

“Fox? Is Dana okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. We got it into our heads to bake while inebriated and she drank a little more than she should have. I’m sorry I didn’t get the phone away from her in time.”

“I’ve never heard her that drunk.”

“Me either. But she’s in good hands.” He grabs the wine bottle from Scully before she can pour herself another glass. “And I’m cutting her off. Putting the wine on the top shelf where she can’t get it.” He opens the pantry and puts the remaining wine up high.

“That’s not fair!” pouts Scully.

“This is a good thing, isn’t it, Fox? She’s cutting loose.”

“I agree with you, Margaret. I think the occasional night like this is about celebrating survival. Anyway, she’s safe. Don’t worry about her.”

“Thank you, Fox.”

“Have a nice night, Margaret,” he says before he hangs up.

He sees Scully starting to scoot her kitchen stool towards the pantry. Of course Scully would have prepared her environment to not have a single thing she wants outside of her reach, despite her stature.

“Now, you, Scully. Let’s sit down.”

“But the dough—”

“Just for a few minutes.”

They sit together on the couch, Scully hiccuping.

“I’m alive. We’re alive,” she says. “I thought if we could figure out these cookies, we could figure out…” She hiccups. “Well, I don’t know what I thought we could figure out. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“This was a very nice night; I just think we need to call it quits. How about you go lie down and I’ll clean up.”

She looks at him, and suddenly her lips are on his, tongue probing gently into his mouth.

He freezes. It would be so easy to pull her into his lap, to hold her and taste her, and maybe, depending on how the mood took them, carry her down the hallway to her bedroom and have at each other at long last.

But Scully is wasted. And he couldn’t live with himself if he took advantage of her. That would make him no better than men like Eddie van Blundt. So he pushes her away, gently.

“Mulder…” she whispers, leaning into him again. He puts himself on the high shelf, much like the wine, by standing up. Hopefully, it will not occur to her to get the kitchen stool this time.

“Not tonight, Scully. Not like this.”

“Mulder. We’re young. And alive. And I want to be alive with you.”

“I want to be alive with you too, but you’re not thinking things through.”

“I am! I’m thinking very well right now.” She hiccups again. “The wine is helping.”

“Scully, you’re going to lie down and I’m going to clean the kitchen. No negotiations.”

She grumbles but gets to her feet, eyes closing a little as she stumbles. He sighs and picks her up.

“Wheeee!” she exclaims as he carries her down the hall in a bridal carry.

“Wow, you’re annihilated! You know, Scully, the tradition is to get so drunk you can’t tell the good guy from the bad guy in the story and considering you just got so trashed that you propositioned me, I would say you’ve fulfilled the mitzvah.”

“Is that a good thing?” She hiccups. “Mitzvah?”

“Yes. It means commandment.” He sits her down on the bed and undoes her shoes. “And look at me, a bad Jew who had only half a glass of wine.”

“You know, Mulder. I’m not as think as you drunk I am. But if I was… hythopetically…”

“Hypothetically.”

“Then you really shouldn’t leave me alone.” She hiccups. “I could roll onto my back. I could choke on my vomit in my sleep.” Her mouth breaks into a huge smile and her eyes light up. “I could die.”

“Well, don’t get all worked up about it.”

“So you gotta stay in here with me, Mulder,” she says, combing his hair with one hand, the other hand curled against his chest. “Because you wouldn’t let something like that happen to me, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed to take off his own shoes.

“Saving a life. That’s a mitzvah, too, right? It’s gotta be. It’s your religion.”

“Didn’t realize wine unlocked your inner Talmud scholar. I’ll lay down with you so you don’t choke. But don’t try any funny business. Keep those hands to yourself,” he chastises.

She nods solemnly. She lies down and he rolls her onto her side, cradling her from behind so she cannot roll on to her back.

“There. Now you can’t roll back and die. If I stay here, will you sleep?”

Scully hums contentedly. “I missed this,” she whispers.

“What?”

“I like when you’re like this with me. It was the only good thing about dying.”

He thinks to himself that this a sober Scully would never admit aloud something so vulnerable. That she has let her mask slip, just a little. He isn’t drunk enough for this, not drunk enough to give her the response she wants. Maybe that’s why she’d invited him over tonight, to get drunk enough together to be vulnerable like this. Purim isn’t just about survival, it’s about what’s been hidden. What’s been hidden in order to survive.

But tonight is not the night to let his own mask slip. He will continue to hide in the way he has been. Not let on to who he is and where he comes from, not let onto just how much he has grown to care for the woman in his arms now. He will tell himself he is doing this for the mission, for Samantha, for the sake of not losing Scully, who is so unlike him at the end of the day. A bird may love a fish, but where will they build a home? Even if she did feel the same way, and her drunken state cannot be extrapolated to how she feels sober, he can’t imagine what a life would look like with her. That he can’t imagine a life without her either just makes the situation worse.

He tells himself the mask he lives in is his choice. But the truth is different. Sometimes when you wear a mask for so long, you forget what life was like without it. Whoever he was before he started to pretend, if he ever was anyone at all, is gone now.

But maybe for this brief second in time, he can almost feel normal, almost feel human. Just two people in various states of inebriation, holding one another.

“Well, tonight you don’t have to miss it. How does that sound?” he says.

She hums again, purrs really, and soon begins to snore.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 13/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN ELEVEN TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

                “Hey Ice.”

                “Hi Bradley. Happy birthday.”

                “Thanks.”

                “How are you?”

                “Good. How are you?”

                “Can’t complain. Alive and kicking.”

                Bradley feels a little awkward talking to him now, his one remaining link to his old life. He wonders if it would be different if he was talking with Mav, or if they had something more in common than his dead father from over twenty years ago. All that though and he still makes the calls, Leandro and Silvia both giving him the stink-eye if he doesn’t and he knows at least that he doesn’t want to disappoint them. Short weekly calls when he’s at home in Italy mean they don’t expect him to spend a long time on the phone. He hasn’t called in a couple of months, not a fact he will be sharing with either Leandro or Silvia.

                “What have you been up to?”

                “Ah. Went to Spain for a couple of months. Worked in a kitchen there. Helped harvest grapes and make wine. Just… the usual.”

                “Usual for you maybe. Sounds quite idyllic.”

                “Well, butchering and curing meat isn’t idyllic at all, quite bloody and messy. So… the scenery was nice though. And I went to Barcelona for a couple of days, that was pretty cool.”

…            …            …

                He hadn’t intended to just blurt out an invitation to somehow define what they’re doing. Not to jump from casual sex to… Dating? To trying out a long-distance relationship? After only knowing each other for five days? It’s crazy. But sometimes crazy just works and god he hopes this is one of those times. So many things simply feel right about Jake and crazy has worked for him several times before.

                “I think you’re a little drunk.”

                “I’m not. Trust me, it takes more than a bottle of wine for me to get drunk.”

                “Yeah? You know that do you?”

                “Yes. Unfortunately.”

                Jake laughs and pulls into the grocery store parking lot, and Bradley’s hand is already on the seatbelt clasp, ready to go in. He’s shifted from thinking about convincing Jake to making a mental list of things he needs to get if he’s going to make the flourless chocolate cake for Maria, and some more food for breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Then he notices that Jake is also putting food in the cart and he purses his lips.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Well, I might not have a fancy cookbook to my name, but I can feed us. Just burgers, but we won’t starve. Come on. You’ve been cooking non-stop, you deserve a break.”

                Bradley doesn’t even bother trying to hold back, simply moves around the cart and brackets his arms on either side of Jake and kisses him, starting soft but it quickly turns harder before he hears someone cough and he pulls away, knows his cheeks will be flaming red and Jake is looking smug, one eyebrow arched.

                “I ain’t even cooked you anything yet…”

                Bradley just shakes his head, looks away and then studies the flecks in the linoleum floor. It’s not the food, it’s the thought behind the gesture and Jake doesn’t even seem to be trying to be charming, is just naturally thoughtful and sweet as well as being a bit of a spoiled brat and cocky asshole. All things he’s finding more and more endearing and attractive the better he gets to know him.

                Crazy indeed. God he wants.

…            …            …

                Everything to gain.

                The words turn around in his head every few minutes, like they’re going past of a merry-go-round. The fact Leo had meant it seriously means Jake is taking it seriously, wonders how he’d make it work exactly when his leave is so limited, the fact that he wants to see his family when he’s on leave. He might like Leo, a lot, but he loves his family. And it’s not like any of them can just pop up to New York and visit. If that’s what Leo is even suggesting. Leo did say he travels a lot, and if he’s willing to travel to where Jake is, then maybe it could work? Hell, he hasn’t mentioned certain things, not really wanting to bring it up with just a guy he was going to have a two-week long fling with.

                Except it’s potentially not a fling anymore. He studies Leo, who is reading and frowning at the backs of several different packets of chocolate. Jake wonders what he’s planning on making, considering just how much food he’s put into the cart already. He pulls out his phone and finally lets himself check the messages that Maria no doubt sent while he was walking to his truck. As he expected, a couple of messages from Maria;

>I like him and I think you two could be really good together. Don’t be an idiot.

>If you do decide to be an idiot I’m going to be his friend anyway.

                Okay then. Pretty clear exactly what Maria thinks of Leo, and to be honest she’s one of the harder nuts to crack when it comes to his sisters. Not that he was intending to introduce a potential… anything, but maybe that had been a little naïve. God, she’s never going to let him live this down if he and Leo somehow… end up something. Lord, was this ever just sex? Leo decisively dumps three blocks of one particular brand into the cart and gives Jake a grin and Jake has to bring it up.

                “So, I gotta ask. How do you envision us having a relationship exactly?”

                “Well… long distance mostly,” Leo says and Jake rolls his eyes, hip checks him and Leo just laughs, hip checks him back.

                “Yeah, no shit. And if it doesn’t work out?”

                “Then it doesn’t work out. As I said, got to at least try right? But we both have to at least want to try.”

                Jake wants to try.

                “Grocery store is a pretty odd place for such a serious conversation…”

                Leo shrugs.

                “Well, it’s neutral and it’s bit of a… transitionary space. Like having conversations in the car when you don’t have to look at the person.”

                “So you mean like we did on the drive here?”

                “Yeah, exactly.”

                “Okay.”

                “Okay?”

                “Yeah. Okay. I guess we’re… trying this whole dating for an intense two-week period and then going long distance. Give it a shot right?”

                Leo looks lit up from inside and Jake has to remind himself that they’re in the grocery store, but he can get them back to Leo’s place in about fifteen if they hustle.

                “Yeah?”

                “Yes,” Jake says, pushing the cart toward the checkouts. “Although, can I just say, if I’d had any idea that this was on the cards I wouldn’t have introduced you to Maria so early. For the record, I wouldn’t ask any guy I was dating to meet my sisters this early. Wouldn’t want to scare him off.”

                “Well, that horse has bolted don’t you think? Also, I don’t scare easy.”

                “Lucky for me…”

                “Plus, you’ve met Vi, she is by far the scariest member of my… oh. Shit.”

                “What?”

                “Nothing. Just… remembered something I should probably do. Sorry.”

                “Okay…?” Jake asks, because Leo is looking a little frustrated.

                “I’ll tell you later maybe. If it becomes a thing.”

                “Okay. Come on. I want to take the guy I’m apparently now dating to bed…”

                “Wow. Romance is gone already…”

                “Was there ever romance?” Jake asks jokingly, but also a little worried because he’s not romantic. His sisters tell him so constantly and he hasn’t tried with Leo because… it was just sex. Oh god. He’s failing at this before he even starts.

                “Enough for me…” Leo says, and he’s biting his lip and looking fucking adorable and something inside him untwists and he wishes the checkout operator would go a little faster. Then Leo insists on paying for the food and Jake scowls, tells him he’s getting the next shop and Leo just grins, eyes mischievous and he says we’ll see, gives him a quick kiss before taking off at a run with the cart, leaving Jake to run after him.

…            …            …

                Jake’s hands don’t seem to leave his body, which makes putting the groceries away that much more challenging, but he’s also not complaining, turning in the circle of his arms and raising an eyebrow expectantly.

                “Thought you were going to cook me dinner?”

                “I am. I will… just… dinner can wait…” Jake says against his neck and Bradley lets his head fall back, breathes in the scent of Jake, his sweat and the dust from working outside, savors the warmth of his skin. He rolls his hips, has been low-level aroused since their kiss in the grocery store, and Jake responds obligingly by grinding right back, slotting a thigh between Bradley’s legs.

                “Won’t take long.”

                “Yeah? Good. We can take our time again later,” Jake mutters, his teeth nipping and he lets out a groan. Maybe it’s a good thing they’ll have time apart, give Bradley time to recover, although he wonders if they’ll always be like this when they’re together, because it will always be a novelty, time together snatched and fiercely held onto, where they both make the most of it. He lets Jake shift him, bodily moving him towards the bedroom and it quickly become a bit more frantic, hands scrambling to touch bare skin beneath clothes and he just lets himself fall.

…            …            …

                He has never wanted to order takeout more, but he also said he’d cook Leo dinner and he’s a man of his word. But lying there, roughly wiped clean, catching their breath, Leo’s fingers lazily trailing up and down his back, soft smile on his face, Jake can’t help but feel pleased with himself. He likes that look on his face. Likes the feeling of everything from the last few days and fuck it’s going to suck saying goodbye. But the idea he might get to have this again? That’s something that will keep him going. Leo’s stomach rumbles then, and Jake shifts and blows a raspberry, making Leo squirm and shift away.

                “What are you doing?”

                “Communing with your stomach. Speaking its language.”

                Leo laughs again and Jake shifts away to standing, hunting around for underwear and jeans, pulls a clean t-shirt from his bag before deciding he might as well have a quick shower. He tugs Leo out of bed, ignores his grumbles about the promise of food and turns the water on, busies himself with kissing Leo while they wait for the water to warm up. It’s a nice way to pass the time before they’re both stepping into the shower and actually rinsing themselves off and it feels alarmingly and wonderfully domestic.

                “So… I’ve been thinking.”

                Jake turns and raises an eyebrow; he’s almost finished but apparently Leo has decided to wash his hair. So much for a quick shower.

                “Yeah? When? Hopefully not while I was trying my best to make you come…”

                “No,” Leo says. “Just before, lying in bed… and I haven’t looked into it, haven’t had time obviously, but depending on where and when you have shore leave, I could potentially meet you there.”

                Jake’s hands still with the quick rub-down wash he was giving himself.

                “You’d travel to see me for thirty-six hours?”

                “You might get forty-eight.”

                “You’d travel though?”

                “Well, as I said. I haven’t looked into it, but if I could get a work gig either side of your leave, then… yeah. I would.”

                “Holy shit.”

                “I mean, no promises. But I’ve got pretty good incentive huh?”

                “My dick’s that good huh?”

                “You’re a dick…” Leo mutters, but his half-hidden smile makes the insult completely pointless.

                “Your dick,” Jake replies with a grin, and the smile Leo gives him is beautiful.

FORTEEN

[whyamistillhere63]

Girl makes a hunger curse on her roommates

The more they ate the hungrier the stomachs become

Bottomless Brunch

“Okay, full disclosure,” said Rowan, brushing croissant crumbs off her shirt. “I may have accidentally cursed us.”

Across the kitchen table, her two roommates — Harper and Jules — both froze, mid-bite.

“Cursed us how?” Harper asked, slowly lowering her fork.

Rowan reached for the enchanted grimoire she’d been using as a cookbook.

“I was trying to enchant the pancakes so they’d taste better and… not run out.”

Jules narrowed her eyes. “And instead?”

“Well.” Rowan cleared her throat. “Technically, I succeeded. They don’t run out. But… also… neither does our appetite.”

Harper blinked. “Wait. Like… we’re going to be hungry forever?”

“Not starving,” Rowan assured them. “Just… hungry. The more you eat, the more you’ll want to keep eating. That kind of thing. It’ll wear off after a day or so.”

Jules stared down at her plate. “Is that why I’ve eaten four pancakes and still want ten more?”

“…Yes.”

Harper stood and walked to the counter, grabbed the maple syrup, and poured another waterfall over her fifth pancake.

“This is amazing,” she said. “Why don’t we do magic meals more often?”

Jules laughed. “Speak for yourself. My stomach is gurgling like it’s trying to start a band.”

Indeed, all three of them had grown noticeably louder — playful stomach growls rising and falling around the kitchen like background music. But no one looked sick, or uncomfortable. Just… endlessly ready for the next bite.

Rowan shrugged. “I mean, as curses go, this one’s pretty friendly.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon on the balcony, devouring muffins, fruit, toast, and the now-famous magical pancakes. Laughter, shared snacks, and the occasional absurd belly grumble echoing off the stone walls.

At one point, Jules leaned back in her chair and declared, “I think I could eat the moon.”

Harper, mid-crunch, pointed a chip at Rowan. “Next spell: edible moon?”

Rowan grinned. “Let’s finish brunch first.”

——

By late afternoon, the brunch table looked like a battlefield.

Stacks of empty plates. Crumbs everywhere. Juice glasses half-drunk and refilled too many times to count.

And still… the hunger hadn’t stopped.

Rowan pressed a hand to her belly — now noticeably rounder, a firm curve beneath her soft t-shirt. It gurgled insistently under her palm, sloshing like it was just getting started.

“Oh my god,” she muttered. “This spell is too good.”

Harper, lying dramatically on the couch, reached for another slice of toast without sitting up. “I’m both full and starving. I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

“Same,” Jules groaned, halfway through a bag of trail mix. Her stomach gave a loud, wet growl and visibly shifted beneath her hoodie.

The three of them paused — and then burst into laughter.

“Seriously,” Rowan said, “should we… maybe stop eating for a bit?”

Harper shook her head. “Can’t. Must. Feed. The beast.”

Her belly let out a GLURRRP of agreement, and she laughed so hard she almost dropped the toast.

Jules rolled onto her side, belly rounded and noisy, still grumbling long, melodic rumbles that made the kitchen feel alive.

“You did this to us,” she pointed at Rowan with mock accusation. “Now you have to keep cooking.”

Rowan sighed dramatically, standing with effort. “Fine. Pancakes, round four?”

“Yes!” Harper and Jules said in unison, both bellies growling as if answering roll call.

As Rowan pulled out the enchanted flour again, she looked back at her friends, lounging, noisy, happy, and just a little swollen with magical brunch.

Maybe she wouldn’t reverse the spell after all.

END

I hope you enjoy!!! Thanks for requesting!!

[knivestothroats]

Fletcher 9-17 or however many you’ll do 🥺🥺

I answered 17 in another ask so I'll do 9-16 here

9. favorite food? least favorite? are they a picky eater? do they have any dietary restrictions?

They go ham for a really good strawberry. Sometimes when they're drunk they get a craving for a garbage plate. Big fan of breakfast foods.

Not a picky eater, no dietary restrictions. They like to collect recipes from students and have a cookbook going, like various mafia family recipes for sauce or meatballs or whatever.

10. if they wear jewelry, what kind? do they prefer silver or gold? do they have a favorite gem?

I've thought about Fletcher having a necklace they wear every day and just tuck under their shirt that has some sentimental value. Like maybe dog tags for them and Tommy (Soup). Otherwise I don't think they wear a lot of jewelry because they don't want anything that will get in the way, get snagged, fall off and get lost, etc. I could see them maybe wearing some leather or braided bracelets or something maybe.

11. what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

I have been accused of making them a self insert lol. Which they are not! I have an actually self-insert-became-its-own-character OC and they are different from Fletcher. I made this chart back in the day lol

12. how long have they been around? do you know their birthday? is their birthday the day you made them or another day? what do they think of celebrating birthdays?

I only came up with them when I came up with the initial idea for the story, they were not kicking around my head before that. I never decided on a birthday for them. I don't think they would do much for it these days. Maybe just take a day off.

13. what languages do they speak? how fluently?

The only language they speak fluently is English, but they know a decent amount of ASL, and then they know a tiny bit of a handful of other languages. Some phrases in Spanish and Italian, a handful of words in Gaeilge.

14. are they any good with numbers?

I think that they're decent at numbers but not like a math whizz.

15. how big or small is their family? who did they live with growing up? do they live with anyone now?

Fletcher is a middle child. They don't talk to their family, not because of any falling out, but because they don't want their family to know/get involved in what they do. I was thinking maybe they told their parents they were going to travel around with Tommy (Soup) and do seasonal work and just kind of be nomadic, so that gives them an excuse of never having an address their family can visit. And they were kinda like, "ehh, they have my brother and sister; I don't have to be around for the holidays."

16. do they have any pets? what do they call their pets?

They SHOULD have a dog. But they don't because they would worry too much about it. TBH they healthiest course of action for them at this point would be to shut down the lodge and get an emotional support dog. But at least they have Tommy (pro/vic)

[diamondzoey]

More bug army incorrect quotes!

Vincent : Operation no more distractions is a go! 
*not even 10 seconds later* 
Vincent : Oh, look! A butterfly!

————————————————————————-

Duarte: Who the fuck broke the toaster?

Emerald: It was Keres.

Nash: It was Keres.

Cameron: Keres broke it.

Keres:

Keres: ...yOU PROMISED-

————————————————————————-

Amber: Why is Azren crying on the floor?

Xanthe: They're drunk.

Amber: And?

Xanthe: They saw a picture of Jemma’s spouse.

Amber: But they're Jemma’s spouse.

Xanthe: I know.

————————————————————————-

Cameron: Be careful about succumbing to these sorts of destructive... urges. Addiction can be a powerful thing.

Calamity: So am I. Bow down before your new supreme overlord, bitches.

————————————————————————-

Easton : So are you gonna explain how the hell you crashed my car?

Korey: Well we were driving and there was a deer in the road, so I said "Calix , deer!"

Chester : ...And what did Calix do?

Korey: ...They said "Yes, Honey?"

————————————————————————-

Random person : You know, sometimes I really think I can be too straight.

Lamia, covered in bi merch and sipping an iced coffee: Sucks to be you.

————————————————————————-

Cameron or Xanthe: Twilight Sparkle was the main character because she represented the element of friendship—

Hunter, tied up: PLEASE, I JUST WANT TO SEE MY FAMILY AGAIN!

Cameron or Xanthe: I'M NOT DONE!

Cameron or Xanthe: And Rainbow Dash was the sporty girl—

————————————————————————-

Korey: What's the worst thing you guys have done?

Nash : Rickrolled my teacher in 4th grade.

Calamity: I kicked Lamia in the shin-

Lamia: -So I kicked Calamity between the legs.

Also Calamity: I burned a town down.

Korey: What?!

Emerald: What the hell is wrong with you?!?

Xanthe: A lot of things.

Adriana : No shit.

————————————————————————-

The demon Victoria summoned, standing amidst the destroyed kitchen: How? How were you able to summon me?!

Victoria, flipping through a cookbook as fast as they can: I don’t know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!

————————————————————————-

-When Sammy gets in trouble-

Azren: We are not mad. We are just disappointed.

Jemma: No, we are mad.

Azren: Yes. We are. We are livid. But we are going to let this one slide.

Jemma: No, we’re not!

Azren: I am not a mind reader, Jemma!

————————————————————————-

Lucy , looking at a selfie of Duarte ’s: I hate this photo.

Duarte : I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly.

Lucy : You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something.

Duarte : Up to kindness.

————————————————————————-

Korey: You are an absolute fucking dork.

Calix , singing: Yeah, but I'm your dork!

Korey: *sighs* Yeah, you're my dork.

————————————————————————-

Victor: What do people in relationships even do?

Amber: Care about someone with your whole heart and dedicate your life to making them happy.

Atticus: Okay. Didn't ask.

Adriana : Asks question

Adriana : "Didn't ask"

Duarte: Thanks for the play by play, Captain Fuck.

————————————————————————-

Azren, after getting a job as a life guard: Hmm... I wonder what those things at the bottom of the pool are..

Chester: THOSE ARE PEOPLE DROWNING!

————————————————————————-

Cameron: *on the phone with Adriana * I can’t talk right now, I’m doing hot girl shit.

Adriana : You’re pulling Oreos apart and saving off the frosting to make a mega Oreo, aren’t you.

Cameron: Maybe.

————————————————————————-

Calamity: Today at 7 am, Lucy poured a Monster energy drink in their coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing.

Lamia: I watched Duarte brew their coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think they ascended into the astral realm.

Calamity: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me.

———————————————————

Bugs in this

Victor/Vincent- @littlesiren79

Duarte- @puffin-smoke

Emerald- @aspenm00n

Keres- @gatorboys22

Victoria- @headstrashdump

Nash- @lightdragon789

Amber- @astralbulldragon13

Chester/Xanthe- @not-5-rats

Korey- @rozeliyawashereyall

Easton- @itsargyle

Adrianna- @idontevenknow7878

Azren/Calamity- @strayharmony943

Calix- @pinkcocopuff-aqualoid

Atticus- @atonalasmr

Lucy- @castbracelet240

Sammy- @ccstiles

Jemma/Lamia/Cameron- @diamondzoey(me :3)

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of Halloween themed One Direction fics as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Louis/Harry—

😈 knock knock, i love you by beautlouis / @thelovejandles

(E, 86k, uni) Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a hot cocoa date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.

😈 A Twist of Fate by @perfectdagger

(T, 59k, Just My Luck Au) Louis, who apparently is the luckiest man in the world according to his friends, might have his fate and luck twisted when he crosses path with a handsome and mysterious bloke dressed up as Zorro at Syco Entertainment Press Corp’s Halloween party.

😈 love is divine by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci

(M, 25k, witch Harry) Being a witch doesn't help when it comes to unrequited love.

😈 got me feelin' like by @levelofcharm

(E, 12k, party) Strangers, Harry and Louis, accidentally wore matching costumes, leading everyone to think they're a couple when they definitely are not.

😈 Happy HalLouWeen by SunTomato / @sun-tomato

(G, 11k, cat Louis) Harry ends up with a cat. It's wildly stubborn and has bright blue eyes. It's maybe also cute.

😈 Wasn't Looking by @berzerkshires

(M, 10k, soulmates) AU It is well known that the first time soulmates touch they leave a vivid mark on their partner’s skin. Well one morning Louis wakes up with a bright stripe across his cheekbone and no idea what happened.

😈 Rainy Days and Leaves by amomentoflove / @daggerandrose

(E, 9k, coffee shop) Louis works at a coffee shop and spells Harry's name wrong on his cups.

😈 Just Like You by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings

(G, 7k, party) Harry had been planning his perfect costume and looking forward to wearing it all month.

😈 Fallen treats by @sweariwouldnt

(NR, 6k, trick or treating) Harry hates both Halloween and Louis Tomlinson.

😈 My Arms Are Hungry For You by @afirethatcannotdie

(T, 6k, party) the one where Harry and Louis meet at Nick Grimshaw's Halloween party and things go better than anyone could have expected.

😈 All's Well That Ends Better by graceling_in_a_suit / @graceling-in-a-suit

(G, 5k, party) Louis goes to a Halloween party as a Hobbit and finds himself a Gandalf. 

😈 Let You Lick the Lollipop by @allwaswell16

(E, 4k, party) Louis may be throwing a Halloween costume party for a lot of drunk college students, but that doesn’t mean he can’t also hand out candy to trick-or-treaters.

😈 our gentle sin by @phdmama

(E, 4k, uni) A priest and a nun walk into a bedroom.What will happen next?

😈 Cookbooks and Toothpicks and One Lizard by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 3k, witch Harry) It’s as if for 364 days they forget what his profession is entirely, and then all remember at the same moment on the morning of October 31st. Oh yeah! I have a friend who is a witch! 

😈 Messtival by @kingsofeverything

(T, 3k, teacher) Harry just wants some good candy for the school's annual fall festival, but someone buys it all before he can get any.

😈 Cat & Mouse by @jaerie

(E, 2k, secret identity) It's the one day out of the year that Harry doesn't have to hide and can be himself — at least he thought so. Louis is just a little more observant than he anticipated.

😈 Exposed by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

(M, 666 words, art) Louis should really stop agreeing to do favours for his friends while drunk, especially when they result in him becoming a live-art model…

😈 A Halloween M(ass)hap by @lululawrence

(NR, 666 words, costume) He’d been so distracted by his roommate’s cleaning and fussing while he had been looking for the perfect trousers for Liam’s annual Halloween fancy dress party that he’d not realised the black leather trousers he’d chosen to complete his vampire look were arseless.

😈 Vintage Suit by @juliusschmidt

(M, 666 words, masturbation) Louis takes off his Halloween costume.

—Rare Pairs—

😈 leave my life outside (or let me in) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 52k, Zayn/Liam) Halloween is the one night a year where people won’t look at them and immediately recognize them for who they are. It’s the one night a year where their horns or talons are considered to be part of a costume.

😈 wonder what it's like by eynap / @panye

(E, 4k, Niall/Shawn Mendes) Niall uses his Halloween magic to make photos of the male model he's obsessed with come to life. Instead, he accidentally summons the real-life model, Shawn, to his workroom.

[black-cats-crossing]

Polishing up drafts on this sweltering day when I came across this one I ended up having to scrap cause it didn’t fit! Felt it was too good to just sit in my notes forever. I also love writing about Luda Mae point of view.

I originally wrote it to add some background to the whole family dynamic. Maybe I’ll use parts of it in future chapters. We will see!

TW: Themes of pregnancy loss and grief, Hints of generational trauma and familial shame, Brief mention of past non-consensual relations (implied, not explicit), Subtle references to emotional neglect and manipulation, Touches on religious guilt and spiritual burden, Some discussion of self-inflicted injury (non-graphic), Overall heavy emotional tone

—

He’s Still Good

Spring 1915

Luda Mae was just fourteen the day Mara brought the baby home.

The porch boards groaned under her mother’s boots, and the sky behind her was soaked in the bleeding colors of sunset—pink, gold, and fire. A storm was coming. You could smell it in the air. But Mara didn’t care. She carried the baby like a sack of flour under one arm and dropped him into Luda Mae’s without ceremony.

“There,” she said, dusting off her apron. “You’ll raise him.”

Luda Mae blinked, stunned by the weight in her arms. The child was small, but already loud—red-faced, fists clenched, screeching like a hawk. His blanket was just an old flannel, torn at the corners and barely pinned shut.

“Where’d he come from?” Luda Mae asked, though some part of her already knew.

Mara didn’t answer. Just shoved a cracked glass bottle into her hand. “Don’t worry where. He’s yours now. Good practice.”

Later, in whispers and half-heard conversations, the truth bled through. He was her father’s bastard. A Fuller girl’s shame and her daddy’s sin wrapped up in cotton and rage. Barely nineteen, that girl. Nobody saw her after that spring.

Mara said the girl had run off. Said the Lord wouldn’t have left that baby to suffer if He didn’t mean for them to take him.

But Luda Mae remembered her. A girl with corn-blond hair and bruises down her arms. She used to sing in church with a voice like wind in the trees. Now her baby slept in a wooden crate by the stove, cooing and twitching in dreams he didn’t understand.

“You’ll have your own soon,” Mara muttered later, half-drunk, sweeping ashes from the hearth. “You’ll see. This one’s just the first. Best you get the hang of it now.”

But the years passed.

And no child ever came.

No blood. No quickening. No flutter beneath her ribs that meant something was growing inside her. Just emptiness. Month after month. Year after year.

She had been married for several of those years. A wedding sewn up quick as a patch on a busted fence, full of promises made over churned earth and church hymns. Still, nothing.

When she finally broke—when the silence inside her became too much to carry—she’d asked Mara what was wrong with her. Whether the Lord had cursed her, or if maybe there was something she could take, some root or tincture to stir life in her belly.

Mara didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Just folded her hands over her apron and said, like she was reciting from a cookbook:

“It’s penance. For your father’s filth. The Lord took your womb to settle his debt.”

That night, the fire burned low. Katherine slept curled like a kitten in a woven basket. And Charlie—Charlie lay sprawled across the floor near the hearth, gangly now, all limbs and teeth. His mouth twitched in a half-smile as he dreamed. His fingers flexed, curling like he was already ready to take. Always taking.

She sat with her sewing in her lap, hands still.

And for the first time in her life, she felt it.

Not hate for the boy.

Not even hate for Mara.

But something colder. Sharper.

Hate for herself. For being the vessel of another woman’s shame. For failing at the one thing she was raised to believe mattered most.

For not being able to give her husband a child.

For not being able to undo what her father had done.

Years later—long after Charlie was grown—Luda Mae finally conceived.

She was in her thirties by then, long past hope. She hadn’t told anyone for weeks, afraid it would vanish if she spoke it aloud. But it stayed. Grew. Made her sick in the mornings and weepy at the sound of hymns.

She’d felt the baby move once. A flutter like wings behind her ribs. She pressed her hands there for days afterward, praying it meant something real.

It ended in silence.

A stillborn boy. Pale, twisted, slick with the blood of a dream she barely got to hold. They wouldn’t let her name him. Said it wasn’t necessary. Just a loss. Just a fluke. Just another mark in her ledger.

She buried him herself. Behind the house, near the old cedar tree. No stone. Just a memory, weathered like bone.

And then came Thomas.

Not from her body. Not from any place she could explain.

But screaming and alive, left for dead and reaching.

Mara called him a curse. Charlie said he looked like roadkill.

But to Luda Mae—

He was a second chance.

Not a son of her flesh. But one the Lord had seen fit to give her anyway.

And maybe she clung too tight. Maybe she whispered too many stories in the dark, hummed too many lullabies meant for a child who never drew breath. Maybe she looked at Thomas and saw someone who could still be saved.

Even when the world told her otherwise.

—

The house was quiet again—just the ticking of the kitchen clock and the slow flap of sun-dried sheets outside. Luda Mae moved around the table with practiced hands, folding towels still warm from the line. Heat shimmered on the dirt road beyond the window, and cicadas buzzed in the trees like tiny saws.

Something was shifting. In Thomas. In the air itself.

She glanced out the window, half-expecting to see his silhouette near the goat pen or drifting silent toward the treeline the way he used to, when he didn’t want to be seen.

But he was gone—off with Monty at the station.

He used to come to her for everything. Scraped knees, burnt fingers, bad dreams. She’d smooth his hair and hum lullabies, thumb his cheek and promise him he wasn’t cursed, no matter what the other children said.

Now he walked past her like she was furniture. Like he didn’t know how to talk to her anymore.

Or worse—didn’t want to.

She folded another towel, pressing it flat, hands lingering too long as her mind wandered. It drifted to the doctor’s office. That stale, sharp smell. The words she refused to believe.

“Self-mutilation,” he’d said. “Could be trauma. Could be neurological.”

Could be none of their damn business.

She’d tried to be patient. She scrubbed his lesions, changed his bandages, taught him how to hide the worst of it under buttoned shirts and long sleeves. She sat beside him at night, murmuring stories, rubbing balm into his scarred cheeks. She did everything a good mother could do. Everything.

So why did it feel like she was losing him now?

The screen door creaked as she went back out to the clothesline.

Charlie’s boots crunched the gravel as he ambled out of the car, slow and loose, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Hot one,” he said, squinting out at the field. “Air’s thick as sin soup.”

She didn’t look at him. Just pinned a towel to the line.

“Where’s the boy?”

“Monty took him up to the station,”

“He’ll be back,” she said, voice flat.

He nodded drawing close. “Might not.”

She turned, sharp. “What? He always comes back.”

Charlie smirked, lit the cigarette. “Sure. But for how long?”

Luda Mae’s hands stilled on the sheet. The wind pulled at it—just enough to make it sway between them like a warning flag.

“He’s changin’,” Charlie went on. “Gettin’ that look in his eyes. That hungry, far-off kind. Boy’s thinkin’ about things. Bigger things. Past the goat pen, past the dirt road.”

She folded the sheet tighter than necessary. “He ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“You think that ‘cause you raised him on lullabies and ghost stories, he’s gonna stay tucked up under your wing forever?”

“I raised him right,” she said. “Better than any of us were.”

Charlie let out a dry laugh. “That don’t matter. Boys like that—they don’t stay. Not when they start to feel the pull.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You talkin’ about the road? Or them?”

He shrugged. “Either one’ll do it. Both’ll break him in the end.”

A long silence fell.

The sheet between them twisted in the breeze again, a limp curtain of white that kept them barely apart.

Charlie leaned against the porch post. “You know, you had a look on your face. Same one I remember from years back. ’Fore you took him in.”

She froze.

He chewed on the thought. “That ache. That empty place. You always wore it like a shroud. Even after the weddin’. Even after—well, you remember.”

She turned sharply, eyes flaring.

He didn’t flinch. Just tapped ash to the dirt.

“You buried that other one, didn’t you?” he asked, voice softer now. Not kind—just quieter. “Little one. Out by the cedar tree.”

Her face hardened. “You don’t get to talk about him.”

Charlie nodded. “Right. ’Cept now you’re tryin’ to bury this one, too. Just upright. Behind aprons and supper plates. Pretendin’ you can keep him soft.”

“He is soft,” she whispered. “That’s the good in him.”

Charlie’s face twisted. “And it’ll get him killed. Or worse. It’ll get him turned.”

Her lips pressed tight. A flicker of something—guilt or maybe fear—passed behind her eyes.

Charlie stepped closer, voice dropping like an axe. “He’s not yours, Luda. Not by blood. You can’t save him from what’s in him. Or what’s comin’.”

“I chose him,” she hissed. “That makes him mine. More than you ever were.”

That stunned him, just for a second.

Then he smirked, bitter. “And how’s that workin’ out for you?”

She looked away. To the woods. To the sky. Anywhere but him.

“I buried one boy,” she said, barely audible. “Don’t make me bury another.”

He tilted his head. “Then you better let him become what he needs to become. Or he’ll tear outta here like a gut-shot dog, confused and angry and mean.”

She didn’t reply. Just pulled the last sheet down, folding it slow.

Charlie took a final drag and flicked the cigarette into the dirt.

“You can’t keep him from leavin’,” he said, voice drifting. “All you can do is make sure he knows where to crawl back to when the world spits him out.”

He started to turn, but paused.

“Or don’t,” he added. “But if he runs, and you don’t know how to get him back… then maybe it ain’t the curse you oughta blame.”

He left her standing there, arms full of linen and heart full of dread, the old tree-line breathing at the edge of the property like it was waiting to swallow someone whole.

—

That night, she sat alone at the table, her Bible open but untouched. The lamp hummed overhead. The clock ticked on. She stared at the candle stub beside her, wax melted in soft rivers. The flame flickered in a draft she couldn’t place.

Everyone was asleep. Their doors were shut.

Her fingers found the rosary beads again, but the words wouldn’t come.

Eventually, she left the house and walked the worn trail toward the trees. Past the goat pen. Past the old root cellar. To the edge of the cemetery plot no one visited anymore.

There was a small stone beneath the cedar. Unmarked. Weathered. No one remembered who lay beneath it—except her.

She knelt there, palms flat to the earth.

“I’m tryin’,” she whispered. “I’m doin’ my best, I swear. I raised him right. Better than any of them.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed.

“But he’s changin’. And I don’t know if I can stop it.”

The trees swayed. The wind moved through them like a breath, and for a moment—just a moment—she felt a smaller hand in hers.

“If they take him,” she choked, “if they ruin him, like they ruined the others…”

She couldn’t finish.

Thunder cracked far off in the distance.

She rose, dusted off her skirt, and walked back toward the house.

The porch light glowed like a halo in the dusk, but she didn’t look up.

She didn’t need heaven.

She needed Thomas.

Whole.

Hers.

Still good.

[corvidaedream]

drunk in the bathroom at the narcissist cookbook/bug hunter show and my friend laura is here

[spinteresting]

Watching Rick Gomez’s movie The Week. And I shall be putting all my thoughts in this post.

Spoilers below the cut

It’s James Madio!!!

Oh this is funny

He had a blast smashing things with a bat I know it

Ew the toothpaste

Aw the pup! So sweet

Watching on Tubi was worth it for the BSB detergent commercial

Very funny that his name is dick

Richard Speight Jr!!! He’s southern?

Atheist cookbook 😂 amazing

No! Not your friend’s wife. Bad decision.

Fuck… really bad decision

Oh wait. Open marriage? That isn’t working?

using his own words against him! 😂

It is funny though

This got so messy

I’m enjoying it

What a red beard

Oh is it getting gay?

No apparently Rick’s just good at making things feel that way for a moment

Song: Top that guy - fantastic

Another randomly southern person in this movie set in California

Rick almost missing his mouth with his flask 😆

Lotta leg. Not complaining

Feel like a 10 year old might be safer alone than with his drunk ass

The clips from the show

Frank John Hughes with long hair!

Pup with the ball!

At least she checked his breath for alcohol

Good job kid

He’s shifting into dad mode

That’s Rick’s kid right?

Madio again! Yeah!

Horoscopes 😂

Does Rick have these tattoos?

Probably, I doubt he put on fake tattoos for this

The podcast thing is interesting…whoa

Dick, it’s not the time to kiss people

The quacking notification reminds me of my husband

Skype 😂

I like this guy

You go Lenny!

Him and his brother!

All these cuts were a choice

This receptionist

So many red heads in this!

What a pretty pup

Dick you better say something

Though I have a feeling you don’t deserve your wife

The emotion in his voice

He’s off to find himself

I enjoyed this movie and thought it was good. Concept was great. I think with just a little something it could have been even better. Not sure what exactly though.