#Expensive mushrooms list

[simp4konig]

Okay okay I have to ask, what’s your fav head canons of Nikto then? I love hearing other people’s ideas and head canons of cod characters ^^ 💕

Ngl, i get inspired by other people's headcanons, and i make headcanons off THEIR headcanons 🥲👍… I'm unoriginal 😔💔

SOOOO, im “” Tagging”” (by that i mean putting // after the @ so the original creators dont get the notifcation for this LMAO=) blogs whose own works inspired me to create my own headcanons 🥰❤️

General Nikto Headcanons ❤️

Word Count: 1,584.

Tag List: ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23 ♡ @dobaddo ☆ @the-second-sage ☆ @wil-xyz ☆ @revnatheshadow ☆ @feelya

Allusions to NSFW beneath the cut! Readers are warned.

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Blunt and straight to the point. Sees no rhyme nor reason in beating around the bush and sugarcoating his words. As a result, he can be viewed as insensitive and lacking in empathy.

Impatient, and has a short fuse, so blows up often. Only you are able to be the calm after his storm, subduing him with soft reassurances and whispered words.

To say that he is possessive would be an understatement — he is extremely territorial.

After his torture, he is wary of the few things that he posesses and can actually call his own (you). His biggest phobia is losing you, and his irrational fear is someone stealing you away. Any prick unlucky enough to not catch on to you two dating will be lucky enough to survive the beating that he is given.

On that note, he is simultaneously self-assured, and insecure.

His mask is a part of him, and personal. It will take him months for him to shed said part of him.

Constantly fears that you will leave him once he reveals his face to you, so puts it off for as long as he possibly can. The day that he takes off his mask, only for you to be so casual about it and passing it off as your day-to-day, is the day that became cemented in his hard, stony heart.

Has conflicting views towards marriage. On the one hand, is an official document declaring your relationship really so necessary? Isn't an expensive wedding superfluous, and too sensational? To him, all of that is redundant — he's yours, and you're his…

…On the other hand, a glistening ring on your finger invokes a primal desire to make you more his than you are already. It would be a declaration of a love which even death wouldn't do part. Maybe he should pay more attention to the rings on display at the jewellery stores you pass by when shopping occasionally together.

An introverted man, who finds solace in solitude; excluding you, his partner, he has no companions, and rarely associates with anyone else. The voices in his head are bothersome enough, so why does he need additional voices bothering him? With that said, you would think that your presence would be a bother — especially with your mindless chatter when Nikto doesn't grunt at the idle small talk at times, wholly unresponsive for the majority of the time — but the moment you give any indication of leaving, he seizes your wrist, his cold, icy eyes silently pleading for you to stay. And you do. You always do.

Bringing me onto my next point: he is a good listener. Your ramblings are all that to you; ramblings. To Nikto, however, it's his chance to unpick all the information about you, down to the littlest of details. You wrongly assume that your words fall on deaf ears, but he listens, and he memorises every opinion you have, every statement you make, and even the small anecdotes that you share, which becoming engraved in his brain. He goes over every sentence religiously, as if it was the Bible.

He has an exceptionally good memory, tending to remember things that you had forgotten. Mention something that you craved in passing? He would surprise you with it the next time you bring it up. Alluded to someone who insulted you and ruined your day? Well, it would be no surprise that that person would never ruin your day ever again.

He is like a cat in the sense that he is an unwanted stray. However, when you came to want him, it dawned on you that he was no cat, but a panther. A predator — savage, vicious.

He would kill for you, no questions asked (He has already done it, but you don't know about that. After all, you hadn't asked him that question yet, only in jest. Truth be told, he has made so many death threats that you have become desensitised to them, dismissing them as nothing more than that: threats).

He would have died for you (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE @//charliemwrites’s DEPICTIONNOF NIKTO IN THIS SCENE??????? HAD ME ON MY KNEES 🛐💍🧎🏼‍♀️ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE VI NEED HIM SOVBAD); however, when you were hyperventilating as you sobbed and were close to reaching hysterics, that's when he realised that he should value his life more.

Incredibly stealthy. You've seen his execution animations… 🤒 Uses that stealth to sneak up on you whenever your guard is down to smack your ass. 🤭

Insomnia troubles him at night, the relief of sleep rarely coming to him; therefore, he tends to be nocturnal, buying groceries and going about the usual errands you would have otherwise done during the day. When you wake up, that empty fridge is magically stocked with your favourite food, your bear snoozing sometimes — most of the time he stares at you like a creep. 💀 /aff

When he does sleep, it tends to be during the day, and it's almost as if he is a bear entering hibernation

He sleeps like a plank — on his back, his arms by his sides, and his legs straight. You'll curl onto his side, your head on his chest, his legs between your core, and a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

Snores. REALLY loud. 😬 ONLY when you are in his arms 🙄 — when he sleeps alone, he is eerily silent.

Subsequently finding him laying in bed, still and silent, you were sobbing, thinking that he died in his sleep. Finally, after minutes of shaking him awake, he opened one eye, and grumbled groggily: “Дорогая, shut up. I am not dead. Not when I have you to live for. Now, come.”

Once he is asleep, good luck getting him to wake up again; unless you somehow manage to disentangle yourself from his arms — only then, when his myshka is missing, does he begrudgingly get up from bed, stand outside the bathroom door, and whisk you back to bed, willfully ignoring your complaints.

Proud of being your protector. Always has his hand[s] on you in some way or other, protectively keeping you by his side.

Has 20/20 vision, and perfect hearing.

Don't mistake his opening of pickle jars and water bottles for you as chivalry — he is taking advantage of it to show off his muscles for you. Doesn't want you to ask if you want to cup a squeeze of his bicep — when he sees you staring, he will forcibly take your hand and put it on his arm, positively smirking beneath that mask of his.

Has a staring problem and is unashamed of it. From his point of view, there is no problem in staring at you all day and every day.

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Eye contact with him is intense. Whenever you avert your gaze, he instantly grabs your chin to angle it so it's facing him. Eye contact during sex is a given.

Despite not wanting to be a father, he has an insatiable breeding kink (does not care whether you are a female, a male, an infertile female, or other — he is delusional in that sense).

Although he isn't against children per se — mainly indifferent to them, if I'm honest — wouldn't want to pass on the generational trauma onto his brood. He would prefer his bloodline ending with him.

His dirty talk is so filthy that you get wet from just his voice and innuendo. (Thank you @//xoxunhinged for your headcanon 😫💦)

His animalistic instincts are so prominent that you've become convinced that he purrs whenever you stroke that sensitive spot on his scalp, and growls in between grunts as he thrusts into you.

Is rough, leaving dark hickeys and bruises, but he would never, ever hurt you. He's rougher than most, but has sufficient self-restraint to be realise ahead of time if he is making you uncomfortable.

You are his deity, and he worships you — if he was to ever hurt you, he would enter a state of loathing. Since you were a merciful God, he would take the liberty of punishing himself — retribution suited to his crime.

One time you two were play wrestling and he almost dislocated your hip on accident. He didn't touch you again for at least two weeks, until he finally considered himself worthy of your touch.

Is dominant in bed, for two major reasons: because he prefers exerting the control which was forced upon him, relishing in having you submit to him; manhandling you to showcase his strength

A third reason is because if you were to ever top him, he'd cum embarrassingly quickly.

Probably gets off to being stronger than you. Deliberately puts you in positions which render you powerless, only able to take what he gives you.

Whenever you enter his room, he always sits in the darkness. Insists: “I do not need lights. Lights are wasted when I can see in the dark.”

Which is true... but it is also a pretence to hide the concerningly detailed shrine taking up an entire wall, dedicated to you. You'll come to find all of your lost trivial belongings when you mistakenly flick on the light switch.

His loyalty and devotion is unparalleled to any other's. He is utterly and unashamedly down bad for you, and he is willing to do anything and everything to keep it that way.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to do much, because you, too, love him. A lot.

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A/N I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIMI NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEEDH IM I NEED—

Yeaah i thought comparing him to a panther would be cool 🐈‍⬛

“Guard dog” and just anything to do with a “dog” is an overused trope to me at this point 😐. Dont get me wrong!!!! , it doesnt mean that i dont LIKE the trope!!!! , but my own interpretation of Nikto is a little different, abd i think it suits him better,, Esp bc panthers technically 🤓☝️ do *not* exist, which links to how the definition of his name in Russian is “Nobody” :)

An unconventional animal for a very unconventionally attractive man😽,,

Anyways, it is time for a cigarette 🚬🤏😪. I will return in approximately 56 business days (trust me guys 😋✌️).

[chronicowboy]

accidents happen (but i will love you on purpose) | 4.4k

They're in the baking aisle when Christopher brings it up.

"Am I just supposed to pretend I didn't see that earlier? Without a bribe?" he deadpans, eyebrows raised expectantly. Its such an Eddie look that Buck can't help but grin down at the price tags on the shelves.

"Pretend you didn't see what?" he asks as he compares the prices of self-raising flour.

"Buck." Chris sighs, long-suffering. Another Eddie-ism that Buck wants to bottle to give to Eddie on his worst days.

"Kid, I'm gonna need more than that." Buck grabs the bigger bag and drops it into the cart before turning to give Chris his full attention.

"I saw you kiss dad." Chris rolls his eyes. "You did it right in front of me."

"What?" Buck blinks. Of all the things he'd been expecting, well, let's just say that hadn't made the list.

He glances down at his list, tries to decipher Eddie's handwriting at the bottom of the page and promptly rolls his eyes at the unnecessarily expensive snacks he added there, gets a little chastened when he sees his own favourite brand of chips that he never allows himself to buy in Eddie's chicken scratch.

"Buck, you can't gaslight me," he scoffs, rolls his eyes harder. "I saw you French my dad."

"Where are you learning these words?" Buck blurts out, unwilling to face up to what his heart already seems to know as it pounds against his sternum.

"Mason." Chris shrugs. "He made a Tumblr account."

"He's eleven!" Buck squeaks, shooting an apologetic look at the single mother who flinches at the sound. "I'm telling his mom."

"No, Buck!" Chris groans, turns his puppy eyes up at Buck. "Pretend you didn't hear that, and I'll pretend I didn't see you French dad."

"I did not French your dad!" The words come out louder than expected, and Buck grimaces as the woman's baby starts to sniffle. She shoots him a dirty look, and he can only mouth a red-cheeked apology. "I did not French your dad," Buck hisses at Chris.

He'd know. Right? Like that's something Buck would know he did. Or, at least, he thinks so. Doesn't see how he could ever miss something like that. He's pretty certain he'd know if he'd kissed his best friend. This is probably just some evil mastermind plot to get something out of Buck. For all he knows, Eddie is probably in on it. A joint effort to turn Buck away from all the mushrooms he's been sneaking into their meals lately.

Yeah, that has to be it.

There's no way he kissed Eddie Diaz. Of all people! His very straight, totally platonic best friend. Buck doesn't even want to kiss him. Like, sure, he's objectively gorgeous. Handsome in his dumb dad Henleys, downright hot in his navy blue uniform, adorable in his cut-off sweats with that grumpy morning frog face of his. But a blind man could see how attractive Eddie is. That doesn't mean Buck wants to kiss him.

"I didn't French your dad," Buck repeats, just for certainty's sake, before heading towards the cocoa powder.

(OR: buck kisses eddie, goes grocery shopping with christopher, then realises he's in love with eddie - in that order)

[fishareglorious]

In the wake of the new pizza hut collab and that one specific emote of schneider threateningly looming behind pizza hut regulus with a gun, I got possessed and created an au where ezra, matilda and regulus work with each other in the same branch.

May or may not have gotten carried away with it. AU below.

matilda is the long suffering branch manager that doesn't even want to work there. this poor french girl is really going through it (customer service)

alas she stays because of a certain redheaded customer. sonetto visits sometimes to check on regulus and that the store is relatively close to where she lives.

matilda constantly five seconds away from firing everyone and handing out her resignation but then sonetto walks inside and suddenly everything is good (sotheby just accidentally created ketamine in the back)

she hates her job because all the people that visit here are fucking lunatics.

ezra is the least problematic of the employees and he sometimes supplies the mushrooms because of his mycology hobby, but one time he accidentally switched up the button mushrooms with similar-looking hallucinogenic ones and matilda put a stop into it because a customer got high (desert flannel)

kanjira is their one and only delivery driver and while she drives matilda up the wall by always stealing from the cash register, she'd terrifyingly efficient and fast with her deliveries (at the expense of being a menace in the highway)

regulus works as an all-rounder but sometimes takes kanjira's place whenever she's not around. she always gets a traffic ticket. she and kanjira are in a competition on who can amass the most

apple is here and is the only other voice of reason working in this place. matilda respects him because he's the only one that can rein in regulus

The one story that started this whole AU. sorry schneider's dead in this universe

one day vertin comes around to catch up with regulus. regulus was on the process of serving pineapple pizza when suddenly someone appears behind her to chop her in the neck and curses her out in the most horrific ear-bleeding italian. vertin catches a glimpse of regulus' attacker, then crumples into the floor in shock because its her dead mafia girlfriend.

matilda comes to the scene only to see regulus passed out and vertin silently weeping on the floor.

someone still has to serve the damn pizza. fucks sake.

after the pineapple pizza incident there's now a ghost haunting the store that really really has an agenda against pineapple pizza. at this point matilda is very much inclined to blackout the hawaiian in the menu just to placate the damn ghost.

A comprehensive list of all the weirdos that come in here:

there's an absolutely pleasant and nice lady that sometimes eats here but the thing is she has this thing where she puts yellow bug things in her pizza as some kind of condiment and its so damn weird because those things are still ALIVE. but she gets a pass because she's done no trouble and is nice to everyone

one time the store had a break in and for some reason all the greens in the inventory were eaten. everyone checks the security cameras. it was. it was a fucking deer.

(yes, jessica is an actual deer here.)

constantine came here once only to pull the "i demand to speak to your manager" thing

pickles at one point ordered something here by himself. in the words of regulus: what the dawg doin?

ezra's collegemates (the laplace crew) sometimes visit and its a hit or miss depending on who is it

the last time x came here the stove got legs and sentience then it left pizza hut and never came back. some say it became a famous track and field runner

medicine pocket was banned like. years ago even before matilda started working here. does it stop her? no. he caught wind of sotheby's ketamine thing and tried to recruit her at one point. matilda chased them off with a spray bottle.

mesmer jr is the least chaos-inducing person of the group but at the same time because of the childhood friends that have baggage with matilda the tension between then is. frankly you could cut through it with a knife

one time she, vertin, and matilda were in the same proximity and regulus passed by and started asphyxiating

sometimes their research advisor enigma gets dragged here because someone has to feed him something other than his twentieth cup of black coffee. matilda has beef with him for some reason.

the only people matilda remotely respects that has entered this pizza hut is shamane and kaalaa baunna

but at the same time she has witnessed kaalaa stumble here at an insanely late/early hour with three giant cups of coffee then proceeded to chug all of it down then order something. she is visibly shaking from the caffiene. matilda is scared.

matilda called shamane 'dad' once and after that she has sworn to never show her face to him again

pavia exists here but keeps a wide berth of pizza hut because it contains the insult to italian cuisine

one time a foreign singer (isolde) came here to have lunch with her wife then got possessed by schneider and started angrily lambasting and threatening to haunt everyone from the grave if they've ever dared to eat pineapple pizza. she later passed out then woke up all normal again

lilya is also on the pizza hut blacklist because she crashed her motorcycle into the windows trying to pick vertin up

broke as hell researcher windsong stumbles into pizza hut with the biggest smile on her face as if she won the lottery (she did. it was the amount of the cheapest thing in the menu) then proceeds to hork down her food like she's starving (she probably was.) fun fact this is inspired by her voiceline that is basically the same story

bear with me on my vilasong propaganda for a sec.

local schoolteacher vila comes into the store because her student wandered off and is now talking windsong's ear off, and then the two have this weird but sweet meetcute that's almost the same as canon

windosng tells her "oh god hey i swear im not a child abductor" then vila just laughs and fucking sniffs her and says "yeah i know you don't smell threatening at all."

they are both so strange. next time they come together hand in hand.

matilda is malding can't she have a nice meetcute like that with sonetto (minus the whole. child abduction statement. and the sniffing thing. actually she just wants a normal nice meetcute)

37 came there with the aperion gang and all she did was calculate the precise circumference of the pizza and then tell the matilda it was an imperfect circle. matilda then says 'do i look like i give two shits about whether or not this is a perfect circle. fuck you want me to do' but in customer service language

would arcana even step inside a pizza hut.

a knight sometimes comes here and he and apple are the investments in pizza hut's old men yaoi stocks.

hofmann and marcus came in once and marcus was the one trying to order but the poor thing kept stuttering so badly that hofmann heaved out the most world-weary sigh and ordered for both of them

besmir came in there once while vertin was there and vertin shot up from her seat and went 'MOTHER???!?!??!?!?!!!!!!!!" and thus came the most awkward family reunion that happened. (regulus screamed out "SO YOU HAVE A MOTHER" while the two were watching each other awkwardly not knowing what to do)

[thehomelybrewster]

1d8 "Free" Fantasy RPGs To Replace 5e At Your Table

D&D 5e sure is a roleplaying game, and it's one that I have enjoyed a lot. However, that doesn't mean that I'd recommend it automatically for other people. This has many reasons, which I won't elaborate here. It has also shaped the perception of TTRPGs significantly thanks to its market dominance, and not in a good way.

5e has a reputation for being an expensive, complex game, and 5e players fear that other RPGs might just be the same. That it's too much of a hassle and too much of a financial burden to switch systems.

So, to help 5e players pick out a different system, I've made this handy 1d8 rolling table to help them pick a fantasy TTRPG with a combat component that they can try instead!

Let's now go through these eight nine RPGs and see what's up with them, right below the "Keep reading" section!

I'll be listing some metrics like the page count for the rulebook(s), the core resolution mechanic, how complex the game is in terms of character creation & combat, and how well-supported the game is by their publisher and the community-at-large.

1. Cairn

Author: Yochai Gal

Release Year: 2020

Cost: Free PDF, printed copies cost between $3 to $10 depending on the print quality.

Page Count: 24

Website: https://cairnrpg.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 Roll Under system for ability checks/saving throws, attacks hit automatically, "fiction-first".

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Random character creation, class-less and level-less, advancement based on "Scars" (suffering damage that reduces your HP exactly to 0)

Setting: Implied. Low-magic European-style fantasy; mysterious woodlands.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Hit Protection and Ability damage instead of HP, Slot-Based Inventory.

Degree of Support: Very high. Available in fifteen languages (e.g. Spanish, Russian, Chinese, and German); full rules text is under CC-BY-SA 4.0; multiple published third-party adventures & supplements available; some official bonus material (e.g. bestiary, magic items/relics, and spells) is available for free on the website.

Addendum: An expanded 2nd Edition is currently on Kickstarter (ends April 26th 2024); Cairn is legitimately easy to learn, however the Hit Protection system and the connected Scars system is a very different abstraction to health and advancement compared to 5e.

2. Cloud Empress

Author: worlds by watt

Release Year: 2023

Cost: Free PDF of the rulebook and the creator-written sample adventure "Last Voyage of the Bean Barge", $20 for the print edition of the rulebook, $12 for PDF supplements, $25 for print + PDF supplements; free solo rules also available as PDF only.

Page Count: 60

Website: https://cloudempress.com/

Resolution Mechanic: d100 Roll Under system for stat checks/saving throws, critical successes or failures on doubles (11, 22, 33, etc.), 5e-style advantage/disadvantage, attacks generally hit automatically.

Action Economy: Two actions per round with no free movement.

Characters: Semi-random character creation, four classes ("jobs"), no rules for character advancement in the ruleset.

Setting: Specific. "Ecological science fantasy" heavily inspired by Hayao Miyazaki's "Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind"; costly magic, giant insects, dangerous mushrooms; only human player characters.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Damage points culminate in Wounds; Wounds and Stress as ways to track your character's physical and mental state; slot-based inventory system.

Degree of Support: Low-ish. Several official supplements exist, however third-party material is very sparse. May improve due to the recent establishment of a Cloud Empress Creators Fund, has a simple 3rd party license system.

Addendum: A supplement, "Cloud Empress: Life & Death" is currently on Kickstarter (ends April 26th 2024, yes, the same day as Cairn 2e) and as a disclaimer I even backed that current Kickstarter; Cloud Empress is built on the engine of the sci-fi horror RPG "Mothership"; clearly built for one-shots and short campaigns; has a wonderful resting system that encourages roleplay between players.

3. Iron Halberd

Author: level2janitor

Release Year: 2023

Cost: Free PDF of the rules; no print option available.

Page Count: 60

Website: https://level2janitor.itch.io/iron-halberd

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 + Bonus Roll Over system against difficulty or armor rating, however most non-combat-related actions follow a fiction first approach without dice rolls.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Semi-random character creation, class-less but there are four different "gear kits" that nudge your character towards certain archetypes, levelling up with XP.

Setting: Essentially non-existant. General European fantasy with magic, gods may or may not exist/shape the world, various fantastic ancestries included.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Includes rules for building strongholds and maintaining warbands; slot-based inventory with a durability mechanic.

Degree of Support: None. The game is intended to be relatively compatible with other OSR content and the creator suggests using adventures made for the D&D retroclone Old-School Essentials if you wanna use pre-published ones. An official introductory adventure, "Sea-Spray Bay", is apparently in the works. No 3rd party license available, as far as I know.

Addendum: One thing about Iron Halberd I like especially is how it uses random tables for generating equipment. Most of the equipment is listed in a numerical order by category, and the various gear kits include references on different rolling formulas for those equipment categories. For example someone taking the "soldier's kit" rolls twice on the d20 Weapons table and takes their preferred pick, while someone taking the "sage's kit" only rolls a d4 on that table.

4. Mausritter

Author: Isaac Williams

Release Year: 2020

Cost: Free PDF of the ruleset available; box set with the rules and several goodies including an adventure costs $55; additional box set + PDFs containing eleven official adventures costs $55 (or $20 digital-only).

Page Count: 48

Website: https://mausritter.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 Roll Under system, 5e-style advantage/disadvantage, attacks always hit.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Random character creation, class-less, levelling up with XP.

Setting: Vaguely specific. You play as mice and everything is related to mouse-size; cats are the equivalents of devils or dragons; humans exist as a setting background but may or may not be present in a campaign.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Includes rules for recruiting warbands; slot-based inventory with a durability mechanic.

Degree of Support: Very high. Several official supplements exist, as well as loads of content, be it adventures or supplements, made by other creators. Available in seven languages (all of them however are European). Has a simple 3rd party license system.

Addendum: Mausritter uses the phrase "adventure site" instead of dungeons. On the website a free adventure site generator is available, as is a digital tool that can be used to generate your own item cards for the slot-based inventory system.

5. Maze Rats

Author: Ben Milton

Release Year: 2017

Cost: $4.99 for the PDF, no print option regularly available.

Page Count: 32

Website: https://questingbeast.substack.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 2d6 + Bonus Roll Over system; advantage system that uses 3d6 drop the lowest + Bonus.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Semi-random character creation, class-less but instead there are character features (e.g. spell slots or attack bonuses), levelling up with XP.

Setting: Essentially non-existant. Magic is very irregular (s. the section below), but otherwise it implies a vaguely European fantasy setting.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Spells are randomly generated each adventuring day and spell effects are negotiated between the GM and the spellcasting player; includes several fantastic d66 tables that can be used to randomly generate worlds.

Degree of Support: Decent. The rule text is licensed under CC BY 4.0 and unofficial translations are available. Some third-party content has been made specifically for the game.

Addendum: The only purchase-only game on this list. However "unofficial" distribution of the PDF is very common. Also this is the oldest game on the list. Ben "Questing Beast" Milton is a prolific OSR blogger and runs a YouTube channel on the OSR. Great dude.

6. Sherwood - A Game of Outlaws & Arcana

Author: Richard Ruane

Release Year: 2022

Cost: Free quickstart PDF titled "Sherwood - A Quickstart of Outlaws" available; digital rulebook costs $7.50 and the print edition (including PDF) costs $15.

Page Count: 25 (Quickstart), 32 (Rulebook)

Website: https://www.r-rook.studio/

Resolution Mechanic: 2d6 + Bonus Roll Over system for skill checks (including attacks), 2d6 Roll Under system for saving throws; advantage & disadvantage system that involves rolling 3d6 and using the higher/lower of the two results; almost all rolls are player-facing

Action Economy: "Conversational", assumption of movement + action.

Characters: Largely choice-based character creation. Combine two (of six) background abilities with the benefits of seven different careers. Big focus on interpersonal relationships during character creation. Limited character advancement takes place during downtime.

Setting: Specific. Takes place in a fantastical version of 13th century England, with fey and magic coexisting with outlaws and crusaders.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: The group of outlaws possesses two shared resources (Resources and Legend) that can be spent to gain certain benefits; spellcasting is divided into two categories: arcane talents and sorcerous rites, with the former being immediate and the later taking significant time; slot-based inventory.

Degree of Support: None. No further publications exist for the game and while it is published under the CC-BY 4.0 license, no third-party content exists as far as I know. It does include a guide on how to convert D&D and Troika (N)PCs into Sherwood characters, as well as three adventure seeds (one in the Quickstart, two in the rules), which is at least something.

Addendum: Might just be the game on this list that encourages the most roleplaying; the character sheet is sadly very provisional-feeling and the Quickstart feels outdated compared to the finalized rulebook.

7. The Electrum Archive

Author: Emiel Boven

Release Year: 2022

Cost: Free Rules PDF available, zines cost $12 as digital PDFs or $24 as print + PDF combos; the first zine contains the entire contents of the Free Rules PDF

Page Count: 26 (Free Rules), 72 (Issue 01)

Website: https://www.electrumarchive.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 1d10 Roll Under system, attacks always hit.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Largely choice-based; three archetypes roughly corresponding to fighters/rangers (Vagabonds), rogues (Fixers), and spellcasters (Warlocks); player characters are presumed to be human; levelling up with XP.

Setting: Specific. Mechanics heavily tie into the lore; humanity has abundant access to minerals but requires a rare substance known as Ink to operate certain pieces of tech (like guns) and cast spells but cannot produce Ink themselves; spirits of various sorts can be foes, targets of worship, or sources of power.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Uses a spellcasting system for the Warlock archetype that's heavily based on the one used in Maze Rats, as in it uses randomly-generated spells whose effects are negotiated between the player and the GM; slot-based inventory with a durability mechanic.

Degree of Support: Minimal. The game consists out of the free rules and (soon) two zines; a third party license exists but content produced under it is very rare.

Addendum: I need to disclaim that I recently backed the Kickstarter campaign for the second zine for this game; the free rules feature wrong page numbers in its table of contents which is unfortunate; The Electrum Archive uses incredibly simple stats for NPCs which makes creating new ones based on other games rather simple.

8. Shadowdark RPG

Author: Kelsey Dionne

Release Year: 2023

Cost: Free player and game master quickstarts exist as PDFs and are available in print for $19, the core rules cost $28 in PDF form and $57 in a print + PDF bundle

Page Count: 68 (Player Quickstart Guide), 68 (Game Master Quickstart Guide), 332 (Core Rules)

Website: https://www.thearcanelibrary.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 + Bonus Roll Over system, 5e-style advantage/disadvantage, natural 1s are critical failures and natural 20s are critical successes.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Largely choice-based; players have a fantasy ancestry and a class; levelling up with XP; class progression largely random.

Setting: Vague. General (dark) western fantasy conventions apply; alignment is a force in this universe and a sample pantheon is provided; the most potent enemies in the rules are named individuals that fit classic TTRPG monster types; illustrations and lore snippets have recurring motifs.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: The key mechanic of Shadowdark is how the game handles light, namely that light sources are tracked in real time (i.e. a normal torch lasts 1 hour), which increases tension; slot-based inventory; has a 0th-level character creation option using an eliminationist "Gauntlet".

Degree of Support: Fantastic. Several official supplements and offically sanctioned digital tools exist; lots of third-party content available under a generous third-party license.

Addendum: Definitely the most similar game to 5e on this list besides the next entry; very robust mechanically and the Core Rules features extensive lists of magic items, monsters, and spells; also for early play giving your players only access to the quickstart is a totally valid choice; and finally, before Dionne made Shadowdark, she made 5e adventures for years and it shows (affectionate).

9. Pathfinder

Authors: Logan Bonner, Jason Bulmahn, Stephen Radney-MacFarland, Mark Seifter

Release Year: 2019 (initial release), 2023 (remaster)

Cost: Free and comprehensive SRD available via the platform Archives of Nethys, free "Pathfinder Primer" abridged rulebook available via the Pathfinder Nexus (powered by Demiplane), Core books are priced $20 for PDFs and $30/$60 for print as a softcover/hardcover; a Beginner Box set with shortened soft-cover rules costs $45

Page Count: 464 (Player Core), 336 (GM Core), 376 (Monster Core), 160 (Combined Beginner Box Softcovers)

Website: https://paizo.com/pathfinder

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 + Bonus Roll Over system, 5e-style advantage/disadvantage, four degrees of success based on result compared to target number.

Action Economy: Three action points per round; various actions may require more than one point; every character can use one reaction per round of combat.

Characters: Choice-based; players first pick an ancestry and a background and a class (the ABCs) and then tend to have meaningful choices after each level-up; levelling up with XP.

Setting: Important. Golarion, the game's setting, is a world that has been long in development and it shows; powerful magic and influential gods; very clear notions of what the societies of the various peoples of the world are like and how they should behave.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Balance between character classes and reliable combat challenge calculations are an important design goal; weight-based inventory system; archetype system for "multiclassing".

Degree of Support: Fantastic. Loads of content gets regularly produced by the game's publisher Paizo; the Pathfinder Infinite program (similar to D&D's Dungeon Master's Guild) provides lots of lore-compliant third-party content; uses the ORC third-party license for content produced outside of the Pathfinder Infinite program. Translations into other languages available but Paizo does not provide a comprehensive list of available languages (only German and French confirmed after brief personal research).

Addendum: The most popular and commercially successful of the listed games; but also by far the most complicated, though it is easier to GM for specificallty than 5e; also I dislike how certain feats create situations where fairly mundane actions get mechanics through these feats instead of being things you can generally do; anyway the reason why it's a 9 on a 1d8 table is because if you wanted to try out Pathfinder 2e you already would have and because while Paizo is better than WotC it's still a flawed big company.

...

So this was an exhausting little project. I hope you found this helpful and I hope you give at least one of these games a shot! A follow-up to this post is not out of the cards, but I don't plan on one.

Before we go, have this poll about which of these systems you're most looking forward to try! Shame it can only be open for one week...

[essektheylyss]

Ten Books to Know Me

@aboxthecolourofheartache reblogged her version of this from ages ago but she'd tagged whoever saw it and it sounds very fun and difficult so let's do it!

Tris's Book by Tamora Pierce - I had a habit as a kid of always picking up the second book in a series, so this was the first of Tamora Pierce's books I read. Emelan had an effect on me on a microcosmic level, I'm pretty sure. Anyway, the protag of a whole world of mine is named Tris now, in homage to Trisana Chandler, so. the particulate is still kicking around in my brain.

Ptolemy's Gate by Jonathan Stroud - Another childhood FAVE. This series as a whole started fucking with what I understood a book to be. Also the ending of it has a vice grip on me to this day, and it is probably why so much of my writing is very vibey and favors ambiguous endings.

Cyrano de Bergerac - This was the first assigned reading I had in high school that I utterly LOVED. I love this play so much, I love the tragedy, I love the quiet sorrow. This was also the first proper tragedy that I remember really loving.

The Opposite of Loneliness by Marina Keegan - This is a book of poetry and short stories by a Yale creative writing student who was killed in a car crash very soon after graduating, compiled by her professor after her death. I read it repeatedly in college; it is really quite lovely.

Underland by Robert Macfarlane - Apologies to Box who wanted reading recommendations, but she is who introduced me to this book if I remember correctly, and I have spent the two years since I read it habitually picking up Macfarlane's writing without even realizing it. Absolutely phenomenal writing.

Staying with the Trouble by Donna Haraway - @ professor Haraway I know you are a semi-retired scholar and also in the most expensive college town on earth but are you looking for research assistants cuz uh

The Mushroom at the End of the World by Anna Tsing - I actually read both Staying with the Trouble and this book on the same weekend in the start of 2021. I compromised on not including Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake, which I felt was very cliche of me, by including this book, which had as much of an effect. Read those three and Pantheologies by Mary-Jane Rubenstein and you will have some semblance of an idea of what the spiritual portion of my brain looks like. In the interest of not writing the same blurb four times I left the latter two off but know they make up a little microcosm of 'you could make a religion out of this' for me.

The Cat Who Saved Books by Sosuke Natskukawa - A Japanese novel about a cat who appears to a teenager after the death of his grandfather, a bookseller. I read it when I was very frustrated with trying to read contemporary fiction and it was a bright spot among that. (I am still very frustrated with the state of contemporary fiction and this book remains a light.)

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer - Okay I read this one most recently out of this list (over the summer) but it had been on my list for a long time and it really does live up to the hype because it is just so luminous in every sense.

Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer - I had to put this one last simply because HOLY HELL. Rewired my brain. This is the goal I aspire to, this is the dream I dream, this is the highest peak among the mountain range of writing aspirations that I climb. If I can one day write anything even akin to the Southern Reach trilogy I will be ready to die, but that is an utterly unachievable goal so God's just gonna have to let me live forever, I guess.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝟔

☿ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫" 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐧) ☿ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Jake have an honest conversation about your pasts. Your love can be shared. ☿ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.3k ☿ 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 ☿ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬 ☿ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☿ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭--𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨���� 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟎𝐬--𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐫𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐂𝐀 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟏𝟑𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

You’ve been at the restaurant for hours now. It’s a newer one, one that is draped in red velvet and low, pink lights. There are fresh flowers on all the mahogany tables and the tablecloths are all sewn from fine French linen, their color a seafoam green. 

All around you, everyone else is chatting away and ordering another drink or poking around their salads. The restaurant is alive with clattering silverware and popping corks and the live orchestra set up in the corner. 

The food has been incredible: artichoke hearts breaded in sourdough and and crumbled with feta, gruyere fondue with broccoli sauteed in garlic and and butter, cobb salad with prosciutto and soft boiled eggs, decadent filet mignon with a mushroom creme. 

Rooster watches you take the first bite of your filet, your jaw flexing as you chew. Everyone else--Coyote, Phoenix, Hangman, Fanboy, Payback--is so used to this kind of luxury. This nice cut of steak, this expensive wine, this rich cheese. But you aren’t. This is all new to you still. And the way your eyes are alight with unadulterated joy, the way your lips quiver with every moment the steak is between your molars--Rooster can see it. He can see how unfamiliar this all is. 

“Whatcha think, baby?” Rooster asks. 

You didn’t realize that he was watching you, but when you look up and across the table, when you see his whiskey-colored eyes crinkled with joy as he watches you chew--you sigh. The world doesn’t push down on you so heavily when he’s looking at you. 

Carefully, you pat your mouth with an expensive napkin and reach across the table, taking Rooster’s hand. He strokes your skin, still grinning at you, and wishes that you were perched right on his lap instead of across from him. 

“That’s the second-best steak I’ve ever had,” you tell him. 

He scoffs. 

“Second-best? Don’t break my heart and tell me the best steak you’ve ever had was in Nebraska, kid. Not a chance.” 

You shake your head, laughing. Your hair tickles your naked shoulders when you move, a delicate and soft feeling that makes your chest warm. 

Rooster lets his eyes fall to the soft slope of your shoulders, the elegant point where your throat gives into anatomy and becomes your collarbones. Your skin practically glows in the light of the restaurant, effervescent. You have your hair pulled up and it’s been falling all night--but it’s fallen so perfectly that it looks purposeful. Tendrils of your soft hair decorate your cheeks and forehead, giving you a very soft and sweet look even with the dark eyeshadow on your lids and the gloss on your lips. 

“Well, don’t bogart this best steak,” Rooster says, leaning forward. “What’s the skinny?”

You lean forward, too, setting your cutlery on your plate politely. 

“It was at this little place in L.A.. God, it’s really the shit, you know? View of the Hollywood sign, a pool, a tiki bar,” you list, squeezing his hand. “The chef’s, like, super hands-on, too. He was a good lay. Well, anyway, he made the best steak I’ve ever had. Cooked it up real nice, medium, wearing an ugly Hawaiian shirt and no shoes.” 

Rooster chews a smirk. 

“No apron and no shoes?” He asks. “That’s two health code violations, kid.” 

You grin back, your lashes fluttering against your rosy cheeks. 

“Cry about it,” you tease. 

“What’re we crying about?” Hangman asks, throwing his arm over your shoulders. 

You lean into him, grinning, resting your head against his. He fingers the silk dress you’re wearing, pressing a lewd kiss to your forehead. Rooster wishes you were perched on his lap fervently.

“I’ve got nothing to cry about,” you tell Jake, smoothing your gown and winking at Rooster. “How about you, Cowboy?” 

Hangman likes that you call him Cowboy. He’s been called Hangman for so long--which is still a nickname he loves, one that tells everyone who utters it just how well-endowed he is--that he sometimes forgets that he can be something else. 

“How could I cry when I’ve got you on my arm, honey?” Jake lips, kissing your cheek again. 

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna cry about,” Fanboy pipes up, lips pursed. He’s nursing a martini, his silk shirt almost entirely unbuttoned and exposing the manicured curls across his chest. “Dennis only giving me six fucking films for the entire year. The entire year!”

“What?” Rooster asks, brows furrowed. He takes another sip of his Tom Collins then sits back in his seat, crossing his arms. “That’s bogue.” 

“Totally bogue,” Bob agrees. “What, like, boy on boy isn’t popular anymore?” 

Fanboy rolls his eyes. 

“Exactly,” Fanboy agrees. He finishes his marini and flags down one of the waiters. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m a pioneer in my genre.” 

“Well, that isn’t an opinion,” Phoenix says with a sigh, touching her lipstick up in her pocket mirror. “It’s a fact, honey.” She snaps the compact shut and puckers her lips. 

“I mean, shit, I’ve got some jobs you can take,” Coyote laughs. He is ferociously cutting into his steak, shaking his head with his eyes wide. “I’m gonna be dehydrated by February at the rate I’m going. You dig?” 

“Everyone digs,” Phoenix says, rolling her eyes. “Can’t have more shoots than Rooster, though. Right?”

Rooster is absently stroking his mustache, humming.

“Not necessarily,” he says softly, shrugging.

“Well, how many films you got this year, man?” Payback asks. “Dennis stiff you?”

“No,” Rooster answers. Dennis is a lot of things--but he isn’t stupid. And it would be stupid if Dennis were to stiff Rooster. “He knows better than that.” 

“How many, then?” Fanboy asks. He’s smoking a cigarette now, his leg bouncing.

“Ten,” Rooster answers.

You’re tickled. You have more than ten. You have more than Rooster Bradshaw--who’s the biggest and the best in the business. It makes your stomach turn with a precarious sort of excitement. 

“Christ,” Coyote says, sighing. “I haven’t had ten since I was a rookie.”

Everyone echoes some sort of murmured agreement, the air thick with cigarette smoke. Your spine prickles. Shit. You have more films than everyone here--Rooster and Hangman already know that. 

You’re afraid, suddenly, that these people will not like you if they know this about you. You don’t want anyone to think that you’re taking their jobs, fast tracking the demise of their careers. Jesus--fear slinks up your legs and presses down into your thighs. You like these people, you’re friends with these people, you’re breaking bread with these people. You don’t want to be in this industry without them. 

Jake can feel it when your thighs clench, can feel it when your spine stiffens.  

“Wanna step outside for a second, honey?” Jake says quietly in your ear. He needs another bump anyway. 

“Yeah,” you tell him. “Say, got a mint?” 

Jake grins at you. 

“Always.” 

Rooster watches the two of you walk out together, your dress clinging to your body. Jake’s hand is resting on your ass, just high up enough for it to not be considered rude in this nice of a restaurant. He knows what you two are going to do outside, which is what you two slink off together and do in bathrooms and bedrooms. It makes his palms sweat, but he doesn’t move to stop it. How could he? 

It’s not hot in the restaurant, but it’s stuffy--and your face is flushed at the thought of everyone inside asking how many movies you have been signed on for. The cool evening air is a welcome escape, one that makes your lips part in ecstasy as it prickles your bare arms. 

Cars are zooming past, their engines purring and their horns wailing. There are people laughing on the sidewalk and holding hands and singing songs. Heels clack against the pavement as people swiftly pass you, not batting an eye in your direction. 

You don’t know this yet, but soon you won’t be able to stand on the sidewalk without people looking at you. Men, especially ones walking with their wives or girlfriends, will stare but will not be brave enough to approach you. They’ll pretend they know you from work or school if their wives catch their gazes lingering on you. They will think about the color of your nipples and the way your back arches and the noises you make when you suck cock, but they won’t say anything to you. You almost prefer it when people say something, when they’re brave enough. Because in a few months time, you will live in a fishbowl. You will be lonely even when everyone in the room is looking at you.  

Jake is still holding onto you, humming softly as he tugs you over to the brick siding of the restaurant. He tugs the mints container out of his pocket and smiles at you. He thinks you look beautiful tonight, all done up with that eyeshadow and that dress. 

“Have you graduated to sniffer?” He asks, eyebrow perched. 

You hum, shaking your head. You will rarely pass up an opportunity to have Jake’s fingers in your mouth. 

“Nope,” you say, hooking your fingers in the belt loops of his corduroys. “Gonna need your help.” 

This pleases Jake. He doesn’t even check behind him anymore before he takes a bump--everyone does cocaine. Everyone and their mama does cocaine in Los Angeles. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about it anymore. 

Once he’s snorted it off his thumb, he dips his finger against his tongue and then presses it into the powder before bringing it up to your lips. 

“Careful,” you say quietly, tucking his hair behind his ears. Your eyes are glowing in the low light of the evening. “Don’t smudge my gloss.”

“I’d rather die,” Jake says simply. 

Then he slides his fingers against your gums, makes sure to spread it around. 

Your heart is racing already, just in anticipation of the high. It’ll be a few minutes, you know. But you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all. Just sitting here with Jake, outside against the cool brick--that’s enough for you. 

Jake snaps the container shut and stuffs it back in his pocket, giving you a quick kiss before settling in beside you against the brick. The two of you quietly watch the cars go by for a few minutes, holding hands, waiting to feel it. 

But there’s something choking Jake now. You’re stroking his hand, humming to yourself, letting the butter melt on your tongue. And he thinks--maybe because he’s high or maybe because you seem to have a peculiar way of subduing him--that you are a good person. He hasn’t known you for very long, but he knows that the heart that sits in your chest is a good one. You’re kind and you’re bright, bubbly. But it took time for him to understand about you, hours. With Gentry, it took weeks. You’re like Gentry, though. Gentry was just someone that Jake knew was a good person--not right away, the very first time he saw him at the canteen. 

“What’s up, Cowboy?” You ask. 

You’re looking at him now, your cheek pressed against your shoulder. 

He shakes his head, biting his lip. 

“You remind me of someone,” he says softly. 

You swallow, your lips tingling. 

“Who?” You ask. 

But you already know. You’ve thought about it a lot, that first night you met Jake when he told you about the only man he ever loved. When you anchored yourself on his body and let him sleep. 

“Gentry,” he answers. He sniffles, wipes his nose. He’s tapping his fingers against yours rhythmically. “Not that you’re, like, manly or anything. Ain’t like that. I just like you is all.” 

“Everyone likes me,” you tease. But it is true--everyone does like you. 

He laughs shortly. 

“Yeah, but I don’t like everyone,” he sighs. “You dig?” 

You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard. 

“Yeah, I can dig it,” you say quietly. “So, what did you like about him?” 

Jake laughs again, grinning. His face feels good--cold and soft. 

“He was stand-offish,” he answers. “Always had something to say, you know? Didn’t seem scared. Like, we were all fucking scared. Middle of the fucking jungle, barely old enough to drink. Half of us wanted to book it. The other half were just bugged out. And Gentry was just, like, chilled. He didn’t seem scared. Not ever. Not really.” 

Blood is rushing through your ears now, but you hear every word Jake says. 

“And you think I’m chill and stand off-ish, huh?” You ask.

You squeeze his hand.  

“No,” Jake says, sighing. “No, I don’t think you’re stand-offish. I think you’re just--I guess I think you’re just, like, fearless. Like, when I met you and you were just taking a skinny dip in Rooster’s pool--you didn’t give a fuck that I was there. Jesus, you didn’t shy away from anything. You keep it real, Cherry. So did Gentry.” 

With pink tickling your cheeks, you move closer to Jake and let your head rest on his shoulder. He smells like patchouli, which is a scent you’ve grown to like. His shirt is soft against your cheek, his skin warm. 

“What was it like when you met him? Tell me about the first time.” 

He’s never told another soul this. It hasn’t even occurred to him before this precise moment that he hasn’t recounted the story out loud to anyone. But now you’re here and your cheek is warm against his arm and you smell like sugar and he feels like it’s okay to talk about it. 

“I cut my hand on a piece of metal. Gnarly cut, bleeding everywhere. We were in the fucking boonies and it was hot and muddy. Everyone was sweating, there were bugs everywhere, it smelled like piss. So, I walk up to the canteen to ask for a bandage,” Jake explains. When he talks about the cut, it starts to burn; that seam that he opened up all those years ago on that sheet of metal, the one that poured out enough blood to make the flies swarm in thick waves. It’s cold outside, but he feels the perspiration on the back of his neck like he’s back there again. “Hadn’t been there for more than a month. I looked new, you know? Like, not as dirty and tired. Got a lot of shit for it from the other dudes in my battalion. So, I ask the little guy with the dark hair working the canteen if I can be bandaged up.” 

Jake chuckles softly, remembering. God, what a pesky thing memory is. It makes him feel like Gentry is still alive somewhere, on some plane. How can he remember him so clearly if he isn’t living, breathing? 

“Well, what happened?” You press. You’re grinning, watching Jake’s glassy eyes. 

“The asshole grabbed my hand, looked at the wound, told me he wasn’t gonna give me a bandage for a pussy cut. Then he fucking licked it--just, like, licked the cut and the blood and dirt. Spit on it. Told me to get lost,” Jake muses, shaking his head. “I was grossed out. But it stopped the bleeding, which was why he did it.” 

“That’s trippy,” you laugh, wrinkling your nose. “And then, what? You fell in love just like that?” 

Jake shakes his head. He can see Gentry’s eyes if he thinks hard enough--the way they watched him, the way they were always narrowed. 

“I hated him before I loved him,” Jake answers. He tuts, pressing the toe of his shoe against the concrete. “He was gung ho. Knew what he was doing. Liked it. Not the ugly parts, you know, but like the rest of it. He was good at everything. Bastard. We were humping the boonies once and we came up on this hamlet--it was evacuated, deserted. So, we set up camp. Gentry and I ended up in the same hut. He found a bottle of snake wine hidden in one of the rooms, like it was waiting for us or something.” 

The glow of the lantern of the little kitchen table, the overturned chairs, the strewn linens. He can remember Gentry emerging from the bedroom, his rifle slung over his shoulder, with a shit-eating grin on his face. He remembers still feeling so guarded around Gentry, stuck on the pussy cut comment. And he remembers that Gentry didn’t care--didn’t even really remember. 

“We drank about half of it. Drank ourselves dumb,” Jake says quietly. He can still remember the taste of it on his tongue, how bitter it was. “He asked why I was giving him the hairy eyeball. I told him it was because of the cut. God, that fucking dick, he didn’t even remember doing that. Like, he was always just so brash with everyone that it didn’t even stick with him. So I showed him the cut on my hand again. You know, just to prove it. And--!”

Jake chokes for a moment, overwhelmed. You hold onto his hand tightly, nuzzling your face against his arm. 

He clears his throat. 

“He told me it was a pussy cut and I tried to pull my hand away, but he wouldn’t let me. Just held onto it too tight. And then he kissed it--you know, the way parents are supposed to when you fall off the fuckin’ monkey bars?” Jake can remember exactly how warm Gentry’s lips were against his hand, exactly how terrified and intoxicated he was. And how he did not want to move a muscle. “Scared me. Still scares me to think about. I was just some fucking kid from Texas and, you know, down there--folks aren’t friendly about that. Boys kissing boys. But I didn’t move. Didn’t want to. Couldn’t.” 

They made love that night. Jake was scared, but only for a few minutes. It felt like an entirely different world he was in the next morning--one he had never even pondered, one he had never expected to stumble upon. 

“And then you fell in love?” Your voice sounds small. 

Jake nods. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “Yeah, we did fall in love. Like a couple of fuckin’ idiots.” 

“What’s idiotic about falling in love?” 

“War is Hell,” Jake says quietly. He sniffles, wrinkles his nose. 

That’s all he says.

“Is love Hell?” You’re asking genuinely--you don’t know. 

Jake bites his lip hard. He thinks about Gentry’s laugh--that hard-to-earn, brash, unhurried thing. 

“No,” he answers. 

That’s all he says.   

You stand there for a long time, nuzzling your face against Jake’s arm. You just breathe together, watch the cars go by, watch the headlights flood the busy street. You’re not thinking about the food that’s waiting or the company that’s missing you. You’re just high and standing together, soaking in the present state of the world.

“Cherry?” 

You hum. 

“Why’d you get sent away?” 

You’ve been waiting for someone to ask. You know Rooster wants to. You know he’s too polite to ask for the entire story, that he would never want to overstep. But that’s the difference between Jake and Rooster--Rooster is afraid of the placement of his feet on the earth that he walks upon and Jake likes the way the ground shakes when he walks hard. 

“Got caught,” you start softly. You sigh, letting your lungs deflate, letting your shoulders slope. “My brother caught me, the jerk.” 

“Got caught doing what?” 

“Doing who,” you correct. “John Duke. We just saw a picture and he was dropping me back off on the farm. I don’t know why, but he put his hand under my skirt when we were in the driveway. Made me cum, which he hadn’t ever done before.” 

Jake is looking at you now, memorizing the slope of your lips when you frown. 

“And they kicked you off the farm for that?”

Laughter punctures the air softly. You lean into Jake further, shaking your head. 

“I’m probably the only broad in western Nebraska that’s ever cum,” you breathe, shaking your head. “But my brother, I don’t know if he was out doing barn chores or if he was waiting on me to come home, but he saw what we were doing in the truck. Ripped the door open, pulled me out.” 

The ground was frozen when you fell upon it, your skirt pooled by your hips and your eyes squeezed shut tight. Your orgasm was ruined, the frigid air pinching your calves and the tip of your nose. 

“Chased John off, not that it took much. Dragged me into the house. Woke my mama and daddy up, told them everything.” 

“Jesus,” Jake mutters, biting his lip. “What’d they do?”

“Mama cried. Daddy wouldn’t look at me. My brother, Carlton, was an animal. Screaming, hollering. Punched a hole into the wall by my head when I wouldn’t say sorry.”  

You wouldn’t say sorry--that’s what made your brother so angry. You were not sorry at all, not sorry about cumming, not sorry about fucking John Duke. You were thoroughly unapologetic. 

“He wanted you to say sorry? For what? Cumming?” Jake scoffs. 

 In an abstract way, you think that, yes, he did want you to say sorry for cumming. It’s not what respectable young girls do--not in cars, not in skirts, not in the driveway of your parents home. 

“Sure,” you answer. “And making my mama upset.” 

“What’d your mama do?” 

You look down at your heels--these shiny and expensive things that hold you up higher in the world and sculpt your calves. 

“Spit on my shoes,” you answer. She had never looked uglier to you than when she did that, her face twisted and her cheeks red and her hair frizzy. “They were ugly things, anyway. Left them at my aunt’s house.”

Jake can’t imagine it, really. He can’t imagine someone looking at you in the throes of an orgasm and being filled with venom. He can’t imagine gazing upon your beauty, the kind of beauty that is just there and keeps growing the longer someone looks at you, and hating you. 

“Well,” Jake starts. He crouches down suddenly, presses against your belly until you’re flat against the brick wall. You grin down at him as he pulls your leg and lets your heel rest against his shoulder. He strokes your calf, biting his lip. “Now you’re here and your mama’s shoveling chicken shit.” 

Your lips tingle. 

“Karma, right?” You breathe.

Your mama’s gonna shovel chicken shit until she dies. 

Jake kisses your ankle. 

“Right.”

You pull him up and wrap your arms around him. The two of you stand there for a few seconds, just embracing. You’re so glad that you know him, so glad that you’re high and standing outside this restaurant with him. You really do love him--you love everyone. 

But then Jake kisses the top of your head a few times, grinning, sighing. He squeezes you, letting the weight of the conversation roll off his back. 

“Wanna know what they call a new soldier? The one that ain’t seen nothing yet?”

You two start for the door, your cheek still pressed against his body. 

“What?” You ask, smiling. 

“Cherry,” he answers. 

He holds your hand. And when you begin to feel around for the scar, that seam, he feels it. But he doesn’t say anything. He lets you find it. It feels good to be stroked by gentle fingers. 

When you come back into the restaurant, you come up behind Bob and pepper a few exuberant kisses across his pale pink cheeks and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Bob is surprised, but he’s grinning as he holds onto your forearms. He’s overwhelmed by your sweet scent, overwhelmed with your kisses and your touch. 

“Baby, let’s order another round,” you sigh into Bob’s skin. He smells very clean--like he’s only just stepped out of a shower and into your arms. “As your resolution officer and confidant, I must insist. You jive with that?”

Bob nods, grinning. 

Rooster watches from his spot, smoking a cigar now. It’s peculiar, really. He likes watching you love up on other people, especially friends. He feels like you were the world’s best kept secret, holed up in some landlocked state. You’re where you belong, spreading all that love. But still, even if he feels like you should be doing this, he wishes it were him you were wrapped around. He wants to be the one you’re kissing and hugging, the one you’re breathing into. 

Jake settles in across from Rooster, his pupils blown. 

When they catch each other’s gazes, Jake’s brows knit slightly. 

“What?” He asks, 

Rooster shrugs, taking a long drag. 

“Nothing,” Rooster says. 

Jake settled into his seat, tearing a piece of bread and throwing it in his mouth. 

“You look like you wanna say something,” Jake insists. 

Rooster shakes his head. 

Jake glances at you; you’re still wrapped around Bob, smothering him with love as a waiter writes down your drink orders. Bob looks delighted and terrified. 

“We’ve gotta take care of her, man,” Jake says. He isn’t sure that Rooster has heard him at first--he isn’t really sure if he wants Rooster to hear him. “She’s our people now.”

But he does. And he knows. He knows that they have to take care of you. 

“I know,” Rooster says. 

It’s late whenever you get home, Rooster and Jake following behind you as you walk into the house. You’re all a bit drunk now, giggly and handsy. Everything feels soft and bleary, very good and very exciting. 

“Cocktails?” Bradley asks, watching you kick off your heels and float to the turntable.

“Heavy on the cock,” you tease. 

“Heavy on the tail,” Jake follows, smacking your rear as he passes you on his way to flop down on the couch. 

The night passes on seamlessly. Records spin and cocktails flow. You play card games and take a few puffs of Rooster’s cigar, let Jake rub some more coke on your gums. Rooster feels good, loose--but he won’t take a bump, even when you stick your bottom lip out and beg. He won’t slip back into that, won’t put himself back in that place. And he wants to stay an inkling more sober than you, wants to have only a bit of a clearer mind, in case you need something. In case you need anything--even if it’s just to lay your head on his lap and have him stroke your hair. 

It’s nearly two in the morning now. 

The house is lit a warm orange, casting a grainy glow over everything that is precious: the tufted sofa, the expensive coffee table, the empty cocktail glasses, the playing cards strewn about, the woven rug. 

Last Dance by Donna Summer is spinning on the record table now and you’re dancing with Jake, after he sprang to his feet and tugged you to your feet. Rooster is sunken into the sofa, still nursing a beer, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you grind against Jake.

You’re in a state of ecstasy, really--every nerve in your body is glowing with excitement, your belly sloshing with alcohol and coke coursing through your veins. Your hair is wild and your eyes are wide and your lips are parted. Every breath that you breathe is sitting between a moan and laughter, the good kind that makes your ribs ache. 

“I think we’re the best boogiers in Los Angeles,” you breathe out, grinning. Your back is pressed against Jake’s front and your arms are above you as Jake firmly holds onto your hips and guides your rear against his crotch. “Rooster, aren’t we the greatest dancers in California?”

Rooster’s chest is tight watching your breasts bounce in your slinky dress. 

He swallows hard. 

“Sure are, kid,” he answers. 

“Tell me you love me,” you whimper to Jake, eyes screwed shut. 

“I love you, Cherry-berry,” Jake says breathlessly. He’s hard--he knows you can feel it. He moves to spread his hand across your lower belly, letting the flat of his palm grip you there. He tugs you against him and the two of you are impossibly closer now. “Fuck, you’re so foxy.” 

You’re grinning, still moving, letting the music sink into your eardrums and vibrate the soft, pink parts of your brain. You swear that even the music is tickling a part of you that you once thought only men could. 

“Rooster,” you moan, letting your head lull until your heavy eyes are gazing upon Rooster on the sofa. He’s sitting there, all broad and bleary-eyed, his legs spread and his palm over his hardening cock. “Tell me you love me.” 

Jake hastily pushes the wispy hair from your throat and starts pressing fiery kisses along all that sensitive, delicate skin. When a broken moan tumbles from your lips, the sound vibrates Rooster’s cock. Fuck, he’s fully hard now. 

“Tell her you love her, man,” Jake insists, nibbling your throat. “She deserves it, huh? Sweet thing like her.” 

You bury your fingers in Jake’s shaggy locks, tugging softly. As quickly as he can, being as drunk as he is, he grabs all the fabric of your dress and hikes it up until it’s pinned at your hips. Then he dips his fingers between your legs and lets his two middle fingers press against your mound through the red lace panties you have on. 

“Fuck,” Rooster grunts, mouth watering at the very sight of your thighs. He knows what that precious flesh feels like beneath his mouth, his hands, his tongue. He wants it now, but he can’t move from his spot. He’s stuck still, watching Jake touch you. “I love you, kid.”

You’re moaning now, mewling. And it isn’t just because Jake is rubbing you just right through your panties, but because Rooster loves you. Yes, he loves you and you love him. You feel perfect and the music is just right and everyone loves you and you love everyone. 

Jake, who’s panting against your throat, suddenly bends down and steadies you with his hands on your hips when you stumble. He rips your panties off your legs, helps you step out of them, then throws them behind him without a second thought. They land unceremoniously on some of the playing cards strewn about the table.

Rooster’s throat is dry, his cock straining against his trousers. Fuck. It’s torturous watching this--but it feels so good, too. He knows, somehow, that he’ll have a turn with you. You never forget about him.

But since you’re occupied right now, Rooster fists the panties in his hands, holds them close. He can feel how wet you are, how much you dripped in your underwear.  

Jake unzips your dress and you shimmy out of it, leaving the orange paisley thing in a heap before you. You’re totally naked now, still moving your body along to the music, grinning, moaning when Jake starts to feverishly press kisses along the supple kiss of your ass. 

Rooster’s heart is racing. You look like an angel--naked, basked in an orange glow. 

“Turn around,” Jake commands. 

You do as you’re told, still grinning.

And without further ado, Jake hikes your leg over his shoulder and buries his face in your cunt. He devours you truly--lapping at your folds and sucking and nipping the sensitive bud nestled at the top of your cunt like he didn’t just have a four course meal. It’s almost forceful, the pleasure that washes over your body. It immediately reddens the skin of your chest and throat. 

“How wet are you, baby?” Rooster asks. 

He unbuttons his pants, breath quivering as he lets his hand slip into his pants. He’s throbbing--for you. Fuck, he feels like he’s back in high school, like you’re some girl he has a little crush on. 

With your hands buried in Jake’s hair and your head tipped all the way back, you moan your response to Rooster and let it echo through the cavernous house. 

“I’m so fucking wet, Roo.” 

Just your name falling from your bitten lips sends his hands straight into his briefs. God, he hasn’t touched himself like this in a long time. He doesn’t need to masturbate, not when his job is literally fucking. He usually doesn’t even allow himself this, wants to save it all for the camera, but fuck. He feels like he can’t even control himself right now. He palms himself, sinking his teeth into his lower lip, his chest growing warm. 

Jake is moaning against you, wrapping his arms around you, cupping your cheeks, and pulling you flush against his flat tongue. He feels like he could do this forever--lap your nectar, touch your skin, bury his fingers in your ass. 

“Fuck,” you whine, grinding yourself against Jake’s lips. “Feels so good, cowboy. Fuck, keep going.” 

Rooster quickly brings his hand to his mouth, spits, then lets it slide back into his pants. His cock is painfully hard--hot to the touch. And as he watches your face flush with pleasure, as you cry out and press your hips against Jake’s mouth. You want to be as close as close can be and he wants you as close as you can get. 

But you hear a noise--a small strangled one. And you turn and there is Rooster, that big and beautiful man, touching himself at the very sight of another man getting you off. His lips are parted and his eyes are hooded and he’s slowly pumping himself, his pants still on. 

“C’mere, baby,” you insist, nodding towards him. “I’ll take care of you.” 

And dammit if Rooster doesn’t feel like he’s floating as he stands up from the sofa and comes behind you. You’re kissing him immediately, moaning into his mouth as his cock presses against your rear. His tongue is in your mouth and he tastes like beer and you taste like orange juice. 

You let your hand fall to his cock, languidly palming him through his pants, still gasping and moaning as Jake sucks your clit. And before you even really know what’s happening, Rooster is snaking his hand between your thighs and pressing two fingers inside you. You’re wet, maybe wetter than you’ve ever been, and he slides into you with ease. Jake doesn’t mind--just holds you tighter and focuses on your clit and his own throbbing cock. 

“Oh, fuck,” you curse against Rooster’s mouth. “Mmm, Roo. Oh.” 

He feels like this is what his fingers were made for--dipping into your cunt, being coated in your click, forcing those little mewls from your pretty mouth. And you feel like your hand was made for his cock, made for wrapping around it and pumping, made for inspiring sweat on Rooster’s hairline. 

“We gonna make you cum, baby?” Rooster asks breathlessly. 

He cups your chin, holds your throat in place so he can kiss it. He’s still pumping his fingers inside you, curling them, letting his bicep rest against your back. 

“Please,” you babble, swallowing dryly. “Fucking make me cum.”

Hangman pulls away for just a second, just long enough to nibble your thighs and dig his fingers into your flesh. 

“Manners,” he pants. 

“Please,” you squeak. “Please, please, please.”  

They both know you mean it, too. You’re desperate. 

That only inspires them to move quicker, with more haste. 

And a few moments later, with Rooster holding your throat and fucking you with his thick fingers and Jake gripping your hips and mercilessly sucking your clit, you’re thrown into the throes of an overpowering orgasm. It’s the kind that makes your entire body convulse and shiver, the kind that renders you helpless against the intense beams of pleasure that puncture your skin. 

Once they see that you’ve had enough, that you’re dangerously close to being overstimulated, they stop. Jake kisses your thighs roughly, making quick work of unbuttoning his pants and ripping off his shirt. 

But Rooster is still kissing your mouth, stroking your throat lightly as he anchors himself against your hip. He can’t get enough of you--sweet, sweet Cherry. He loves the way your tongue moves against his, the way you’re letting your weight rest against him. He’s holding you up--your legs are quivering. He’s got you. You know it and so does he. 

“Y’alright, kid?” He asks, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours.

Your hand, still wrapped around his cock, hasn’t ceased in its gentle pumps. You nod, swallowing hard. The very lining of your belly is quivering, quaking. 

“She’s perfect,” Jake says, naked now. He kisses each of your knees and then buries his face in your belly. “Right, honey?” 

You hum, nodding again. 

There’s no conversation about how it’s going to happen: it just does.

Jake lays flat on his back on the woven rug, his mind spinning and his jaw aching. You hover him, kissing his thighs feverishly and digging your manicured nails into the meat of his legs. He’s already gasping, his chest heaving. Beautiful, shiny beads of precum dribble from the swollen head of his cock as you tease him and puff warm breaths onto him. 

You like seeing him like this--all worked up, his mustache mussed by your wetness. He’s grabbing fistfuls of the carpet and peering down at you, pupils blown, waiting for your mouth to meet his cock.

“Fuck, don’t be a tease,” Jake hisses. “Please, baby, I’m hurtin’ over here.”  

And Rooster is behind you, letting his palm follow the curve of your spine as he pumps himself a few times. You’re fucking beautiful--so beautiful that he almost came through his pants just listening to you cum. But he’s lucky--he is the one that gets to bury himself in you, the one that gets to spill himself deep inside of you.

You lower your mouth onto Jake’s cock and finally--finally--he has a bit of relief. He’s so worked up that he thinks he might shoot his load right away, directly down your throat. But he holds off, groaning, screwing his eyes shut. Your tongue is warm and flat, flicking against the sensitive skin on the underside of his cock, as you coat him in saliva. 

“Oh, Cherry,” Jake mutters, bucking his hips up and into your mouth. 

That’s the precise moment that Rooster presses into you. It’s slow, grueling--he takes his time, makes sure you feel every single inch of his thick cock as he glides into your body. And just like always, he feels like you’re made for him. You take him so easily, welcome him into your body, let his cock bury itself deep inside of you.

“Taking me so well, baby,” Rooster mutters, holding the bend of your hips as he bottoms out. You moan, your throat constricting around Jake’s cock. Jake curses, bites down hard on his knuckle. “That’s it.” 

Rooster stays still, just letting you squeeze him, letting you get used to his size. You’re so wet that you feel like you’re going to start dripping onto the carpet, so wet that you feel like you might just turn inside out. 

If your mouth wasn’t full of cock, you would beg Rooster to move. The way he’s filling you up, the way his thumbs are rubbing precious little circles on the surface of your skin, you feel like you aren’t gonna last. 

But you keep bobbing your head, keep sucking Jake’s cock as he moans and sighs above you. Pink has spread across his chest and he’s puffing out his breaths in short, labored tufts. 

“Feel so good, baby,” Rooster croons softly. 

He leans down, lets his chest rest on your back. He’s warm, his chest expansive, and the heaviness of his body is a welcome one. He’s lulled to a steady peace by your movements, letting his lips come down on your shoulders again and again in tender kisses. 

Then he moves. Just soft, slow movements. He barely pulls out, keeping his arms wrapped around your middle, as he rocks himself into you. He stays close, keeps his lips against you. And when you tense around him, when you moan around Jake’s cock, all three of you hiss with pleasure. 

“Shit,” Jake groans. “Oh, fuck, keep doing whatever you’re doing, man. Feels fucking great when she moans.”

You moan again and Jake throws his head back, tangling his hands in your hair. 

Rooster is still fucking you slowly, his chest hollowed out with pure pleasure. Jesus, he feels like he’s on another planet right now. 

You’re moaning, crying out, still sucking Jake off. 

Jake is close to the edge already, gasps dying in his throat as he steadily begins to thrust himself further into your mouth. Drool is pouring out of your mouth and tears are pouring down your face. 

But what sends him over the edge is when you choke, when your mouth is tight around him and you cough as he hits the soft flesh of your throat. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jake mutters, voice thin. “I’m gonna cum, baby.” 

He does cum, crying out, eyes squeezed shut. He spurts down your throat, bitter and hot, and you swallow every single drop of it. And when he’s coming down, when you’re taking your mouth away from his cock, he holds your cheeks. 

“Good job, baby,” he tells you. He strokes your hair as you cry out, Rooster still steadily pounding into you with precise flicks of his hips. “Oh, you’re doing her just right, Rooster. Can’t hardly speak.” 

Your eyes are shut tight, your toes curling. You’re overwhelmed with pleasure, like it’s raining down on you from all directions. You can hardly breathe as Rooster suckles on your skin. 

“Doing so good, baby,” Rooster encourages, voice quivering. He’s approaching his high, too, trying to keep his pace from faltering. “Think you can cum again, Cherry. Think I can get you there.” 

Wordlessly, Jake slinks down until his mouth is on yours. You’re open-mouthed kissing now, tasting yourself on his tongue, whimpering. He’s holding onto your hair still, pulling very softly, keeping you close to him. 

As Rooster lets one of his hands snake between your legs again, his fingers swirling on your swollen bud, your entire body tenses. Jake keeps kissing you, keeps pulling your hair. And then he starts tweaking your nipple, cupping your breast in his palms. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you say, legs quaking. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You’re gasping, sobbing out.

“Give it to me, baby,” Rooster whispers, voice gruff. He kisses the back of your neck, jaw tense as his own orgasm creeps up his spine. “C’mon, Cherry. Cum on my cock, baby. GIve it to me.” 

You do--you can’t take it anymore. With a sheen of sweat covering your naked body, you cum for the second time with both Bradley and Jake stimulating you. It’s more overpowering than your last orgasm--the kind that makes your legs clamp shut, the kind that sends your body into a rigid sort of shock. You go blind and deaf for a few moments, honing back in on the present as Rooster’s thrusts become sloppy before he finishes inside you, buried deep. 

As you pant, Rooster collapses on your back and Jake combs his fingers through your hair softly, you swear that you hear angels singing.

But, really, it’s just Donna Summer.

Rooster can hardly breathe as he lays on your back, his mind reeling. That’s the best sex he’s ever had in his life--and the first threesome he’s ever had off-camera. 

Jake is laughing softly, watching you recover. There are tears pouring down your face, all born from white-hot pleasure. Little flakes of mascara are running down your flushed cheeks. Tenderly, he thumbs them away. 

You nuzzle yourself against Jake’s palm, trying to slow your breathing. 

“You okay, kid?” Rooster asks, squeezing your hips. 

You swallow hard, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“More than,” you answer. “I’m perfect.”

☿ 𝐚/𝐧: okay sorry for going so fucking ham on the Gentry/Jake thing but I just saw it so clearly in my brain and had to write it out and break my own heart!!???!? sorry love you guys so much!! your comments/reblogs literally make me so happy!!!

☿ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

☿ 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

☿ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐳-𝐕𝐨𝐮𝐬

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@hecate-steps-on-me

[brehaaorgana]

As I've been compiling my fiber/textile composition megalist as part of my personal journey to prioritize slow fashion & natural fibers, I have stumbled across something.

I knew vaguely that there have been companies making trial vegan leathers derived from mushroom or pineapple (brand/trade names Mylo and Piñatex, for example).

What I did NOT realize is that these companies omit a key component in their fabric production.

On the Mylo website, if you click "material" you get a very simplified 4 step explanation of their mushroom leather. Step four:

How Mylo is Made: Surface texture and finishing is applied by a Leather Working Group (LWG) gold-rated tannery for an unmistakable resemblance to traditional leather.

Neat. Quick question!

What is the surface finishing made out of?

Is it actually a polyurethane resin coating, like MOST other artificial leathers on the market which already exist? Maybe! Hard to say!*

But right now, if you buy artificial leather that is labeled as being PU, polyurethane, or even PVC/vinyl (unfortunately pu/pvc overlaps and also is sometimes used interchangeably in confusing ways) — MOST of the time it is a composite fabric that is a textile coated in poly-based resins, and MOST manufacturers do not list the fiber content of the base textile backing.

You could buy artificial leather using a cotton backing and it will just say it's composed of polyurethane.

So these new types of vegan/artificial leathers derived from plants which do NOT state the composition of the coatings they're using may still, at the end of the day, just be a plastic.

it's probably still plastic-leather!

* until those companies bragging about their plant-leathers state what sealants/coatings they use to finish their product and make it into a workable textile, I'm going to just assume they're still making PU/PVC leathers, just with plant fiber backings.

And unless they tell us what this coating is, we have zero idea how it impacts the environment, the manufacturers, or how it biodegrades.

So not only are these plant leather alternatives currently experimental, expensive, and not accessible — I have no way to prove they're not still plastic.

[thehousepatron]

More Drow Poisons and Their Effects

Part 1 of this post: https://www.tumblr.com/thehousepatron/759600770624684032/some-drow-poisons-and-their-effects

Jal wun Jivvin (“All in Fun”)

Compared to some of the other poisons used by drow, this is no more than a gentle warning. It is not directly fatal, though the poisoned one might wish it were otherwise. It could become lethal if the poisoner is able to strike while his victim is weakened. The poison is brewed from the venom pouch of the rakhyrr, a blind species of underground toad. The victim is plagued by intense nausea, vomiting, fever, chills and malaise. A neutralize poison spell will take care of it immediately, limiting its usefulness against the priestesses of Menzoberranzan.

(This could be anything mildly poisonous, in all honesty, so I have nothing really to compare it to, save perhaps this funky little guy. This is a cane toad. Since this is the mildest poison on the list - alongside Khaless (“Trust”), I can easily imagine that this is the sort of poison drow introduce their kids to first, and when the children poison one another, it’s “All in Fun”.)

Rathrae Dos (“Behind You”)

This is a poison greatly favored by Matron Mothers for use in their torture chambers. Brewed from the venom of the ghostyk, a strange insectoid creature that resembles a praying mantis, it attacks the central nervous system, rendering its victim completely incapable of movement, though fully capable of feeling pain. Why it should be so prized by the drow should be obvious. Note that this is a biological, not magical or terror-induced effect: elves are fully susceptible.

(This is a neurotoxin, so it falls under that category. Since no praying mantises are venomous, I’m resorting to plants again. From the description, this would be an ascending paralytic - meaning that you are very aware of what is going on when you’ve been paralysed by this poison… and what fits that description? Poison Hemlock. Dosage would be weird; enough to make you ill and paralysed, but not necessarily enough to kill you, unless the House Matron decides to let you die from respiratory paralysis.)

Haszak (“Mind Flayer”)

This is not strictly speaking a poison, but a very potent alchemical creation. Using a certain nerve cluster in the brain of an illithid, the potion is magical in nature. It's cost reflects both the rarity of its active ingredient and its unusually long duration. It is an effective, if expensive, toxin to use against a spellcaster, as it acts in almost all respects as the feeblemind spell. It does have an interesting variation, though: rather than reduce the victim to a state of retardation, it causes hallucinations and paranoid delusions for its entire duration, punctuated only by interludes of catatonia. This is a potion dearly loved by the sadistic drow.

(I can’t really compare this to any poison in my repertoire, but if the drow were a bit meaner and made this a proper poison, the only toxin I could think of relating to illithids would be tetrodotoxin, the nasty compound employed by the Blue Ringed Octopus. Alternatively, if it were a mushroom - seems similar to the Tongue of Madness I would compare it to either the hallucinogenic and toxic effects of the Fly Agaric or the less harmful Psilocybin.)

And so concludes the lesson 💅🕷️🕸️

[thewisaaaaad]

alright, I have added plenty to the au already

SO LETS ADD SOME MORE

The Captains each have their own stronghold, an island that they have fortified with their power, and where they hide from the sea that they believe seeks to swallow them whole. At this point, they only send out illusions made of Ichor to communicate with their forces at sea, as they all believe that narinder seeks their deaths after the battle he lost. They are right to fear his vengeance, but for the entirely wrong reasons.

Each stronghold his vastly different from the next;

Leshy made his home in a wild jungle, only made wilder with the louse's presence. The trees themselves thirst for blood, vines hang down that seek necks to strangle, and the grass is as sharp as an army's armory. His disciples wield spears, their faces hidden by masks of wood that change as readily as the wind.

Once, Leshy had been a swabbie, the newest recruit. His lust for adventure and discovery was matched only by Narinders own. They were like brothers, once. And Leshy had always known how to cheer anyone up, god or mortal.

Heket claimed a island that had been entirely razed to the ground by an angry god, now made a paradise of fertile ground and glorious harvest. The crops are so ripe, if you harvest them carelessly they will explode, while mushrooms constantly deal with excess growth. Her faithful care greatly for their crew, marking their flesh to represent the family they belong to. To harm one of her crew is to declare war with Heket herself. If you failed them, however, you could end up in the pot for tonights dinner. And the bar for failure was very low.

A long time ago, she was the best cook in the land. She would feed entire communities, often at great expense to herself. Her rapid regenerative abilities as a god only ensured that frog stew was always on the menu. She always kept the needs of the family well above herself on the list of priorities.

Kalamar has the least fear of the depths, for he can swim and breathe down there, but calmed a land-locked defensive position regardless. His city sits upon a massive dead coral forest, the pale animals forming razor sharp supports for the houses and bridges that cling to their branches. His deckhands perform heinous experiments to further his knowledge of the mortal body- and how best to inflict pain.

Ages past, he was a struggling doctor, trying to save as many lives as he could. His repeated failures often shredded his self confidence, but Narinder was always there to help him back on his feet. Eventually, he became the best doctor in the land, using his godhood to identify exactly what was wrong with a patient and to provide the best aid he could.

Shamura entrenched themselves on a barren island, building a true fortress library of stone and magic. But as the years went on, the damage to their skull seemed to slowly distort their perception of reality, each successive floor of the fortress becoming more twisted and eerie as it goes up. The tower stretches high into the sky, bending this way and that, appearing to take a different path up each time you look at it. Littered with traps and lost knowledge, the upper levels are off limits to even Shamuras own first mate and fellow seeker of knowledge, Allocer.

Shamura had been the one to gather them all together. Shamura had been the one to call them all family. They came up with the code, allowing each of the Captains to add their own piece to the rules that all of the Old Crew would follow.

Why did it end up like this?

It was his own fault, wasn't it. Narinder had wounded them. Scared them. They did all those horrible things, mimicking the gods they had replaced because of HIM. He had attacked them when he was bored, so he supposed he was no better than them.

It would probably be better when he was gone, too.

[pianokantzart]

A Picture of Wealth

A quick oneshot for a possible beginning of a Luigi's Mansion movie. Not particularly exciting, but if you like quiet Mario and Luigi slice of life stuff you'll probably like this. I started writing this a while ago, but this post by @theangelofangst inspired me to finish it. AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49496971

_____________________________​​

After waving ‘goodbye’ to the Mail Toad, Luigi popped open the mailbox and pulled out a stack of envelopes. He scanned them for a moment, loosely sorting them in his mind. It was easy to tell what came from The Mushroom Kingdom and what came from Brooklyn; bright, pastel colored envelopes and fountain pen clashing against cold copy-pasted text on plain white. There was a ‘thank you’ card from a neighboring toad whose sink they had fixed free of charge, a little flier advertising a free upcoming performance in the square, and a pretty, pink envelope embossed with a crown, whose handiwork was easy to recognize. Even the bills were friendly and personable, though they formed as much of a pit in his stomach as the cold typeface from Brooklyn.

For Mario and Luigi, living on their own had been an adjustment, and having an actual income was a serious learning curve. There was an initial high of having money in their pockets, which led to a spending spree to replace much of their oldest tools and equipment before independent living’s new stack of expenses hit them like a train. Still, they had been fairly cautious. Despite a few poor initial decisions they would’ve had enough money to stay out of the red… had it not been for one giant curveball that had been thrown at them.

Luigi stepped back through the front door into the kitchen where Mario sat at the table, hatless and disheveled, hunched over a computer and a stack of papers where he’d been since sunrise. One hand tapped a pencil against a notepad, the other pressed their shared cellphone to his ear.

“Dad, it’s alright. You need it more than we do,” Mario said, “No, forget it, I- no, it’s not a loan.” Luigi couldn’t help but smile as he peeked around the doorway and listened in. It sounded like their father had discovered the check they sent them, and was reacting about as expected. He at least sounded lively from what he could overhear… when they first got the news that he was staying in the hospital for a few days, Mario and Luigi feared the worst. Luckily, it seemed their dad had the family’s hereditary trait of being able to bounce back from just about anything, the bad news was that despite twenty five straight years of company loyalty, getting the help owed to him by the insurance was like pulling teeth.

“Look, I’m a little busy. We’ll talk about it at Sunday lunch, okay?” Mario sighed, “Yeah. Okay. You too. Bye, Dad.” With that he hung up, and set the phone to the side.

“Sounds like he’s feeling better” Luigi laughed, finally stepping into the kitchen to deliver the mail to the table. “Yep.” Mario replied with a tired chuckle, barely even glancing up from his work. “Not well enough to work yet though, as much as he wants to.” “Did the check get deposited?” “Mom managed it under his nose, but it might be the only check that goes through for us this month if I don’t figure something out.” Mario sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, “Ugh, why did I replace our van’s entire engine. All it needed was a few new spark plugs!” “The Garrisons still owe us for rerouting their fountain." Luigi assured, "I’ll send them an invoice.” He stopped for a moment and looked over Mario’s workspace: every possible refund for unnecessary expenses noted and listed, every document scattered about like the stress of the room had caused a miniature explosion on the kitchen table, a mustard-stained receipt for a strap wrench having made it all the way to the empty dishes from lunchtime. Luigi reached over his brother’s shoulder to retrieve the dishes and arrange some of the papers into neat little piles. Mario leaned to the side to give him room.

“You know,” Luigi began hesitantly, “maybe we should ask Princess Peach if-” “We are not asking the princess for money.” Mario interrupted. “No no… I mean, maybe she can void our water bill or something?” “She gave us a free house Luigi! You really think it’s right to ask her for more.” “Maybe?" Luigi shrugged, "I mean, protecting the kingdom has kind of interfered with our work schedule.” “We do that because it’s right, Luigi, not for a paycheck.” “I know!” Luigi raised his voice a little in frustration. He stepped away from the table to deliver the empty plate and glass to the sink, rinsing them off and scrubbing them a little too aggressively to let off steam, “But I’m sure if we explain our situation, she can do something.” “I told you, the answer is no. We’re not bumming off of anyone, especially not Princess Peach.” “It’s not bumming, it’s asking for help! There’s no shame in asking for help. When you need help, you need help!”

Mario didn’t answer, he just grumbled quietly to himself and returned to the bills. Luigi rolled his eyes, scrubbing clean a few extra dishes and placing them in the drying rack before he returned to where his brother sat. He leaned against him, resting his forearm on his shoulder in a purposefully obnoxious way. “You’re as bad as Dad is.” “I am not.” “Are so.” Luigi smiled mischievously, “You look like him too. I’m probably gonna start calling you ‘Dad’ on accident when you start losing your hair.” Luigi tussled his brother’s auburn locks. Mario pulled away, unable to help but laugh as he grabbed one of the pieces of junk mail on the table, crumpled it up, and threw it at Luigi in retaliation. “Will you get out of here?”

Luigi blocked the missile with his hand. He attempted to catch it, but it tumbled out of his slippery grip and landed on the floor. Luigi intended to take it directly in the garbage, but leaning down to pick it up the colors caught his eye… and he realized he did not quite notice this particular piece of mail when he initially emptied the mailbox. Interest piqued, he uncrumpled the paper and read it. His brow raised and his heart skipped a beat. “Mario!” he declared, the sudden exclamation making his brother jump, “We’ve got a free mansion!” Mario let out a loud groan, turning around in his chair. “Oh come on Weegee! It’s an obvious scam!”

Luigi shook his head. “No no, they’ve got a map and an address and everything!” He turned the pamphlet over in his hands in order to reexamine the large block of text on the back, “It says ‘only a select few who apply for noble titles, such as those who are known locally for their heroism’ … that's us!... ‘ are receiving this limited time offer’!” Luigi looked up from his reading to grin excitedly at Mario, who looked back at him with a bored expression. Luigi, undeterred, returned his eyes the advertisement. “There’s a place called Evershade Valley with a big, beautiful mansion in the center of it. Look!” Luigi held the picture out to his big brother, shoving it a little too close to his face in his excitement. “Neo-Gothic architecture!”

Mario took the flier from Luigi’s hands to scrutinize it more closely. The cover image seemed sketchy. The coloration was off, the greenery in the lawn looked doctored, and the giant, garish rainbow plastered into the background reeked of overcompensation. “Sounds like just the kind of padding they’d add to a scam to make it seem like a little less of a scam,” he mumbled, eyes trailing down to the map beneath the image of the mansion. “Evershade Valley… looks like it’s not too far from The Dark Lands. Are you sure about this?” Hearing ‘Dark Lands’ Luigi stiffened a bit, bringing his hands close to his chest as he reconsidered for a few seconds. “It’s near The Darklands, not in The Darklands.” He decided after a moment, “Maybe we can flip this place!: reinstall some plumbing, fix up the wiring, add a fresh coat of paint… boom! Money in our pockets!”

Mario gripped his chin, running a thumb over his mustache thoughtfully. No way it was that easy. If this was really a free mansion like the advertisement said, it couldn’t be anything other than a dilapidated shell that wasn’t worth the investment. If not that, there was no doubt something wrong with the location… nobody simply gave away free mansions. 

On the other hand, Mario was impressed that Luigi maintained interest despite its close proximity to The Darklands. Given his past experiences, Mario expected him to back down at the mere mention of that place. The fact that some old building was enough to overshadow those fears made his desire hard to ignore. That, and Luigi was giving him that stupid sad-eyed pleading face that Mario could never say no to. He let out a heavy sigh, smoothed out the pamphlet a bit with his fingers, and handed it back to his brother. “Fine. On one condition.”

“Really!?” Luigi cheered. He threw out his arms to pluck his brother up into a hug, when Mario extended a hand to stave him off a moment.

“On one condition.” He repeated, “You stay here and run the business while I’m away. We can’t afford to miss any clients.”

Luigi deflated. He withdrew his arms and anxiously rubbed the tops of his hands. “Run the business… alone? Just me?” “If I take a warp pipe I shouldn’t be gone longer than a day. You’ll be fine.”

“No I won’t.” Mario cocked his head. He was startled by the terseness of the reply, upsettingly certain in its pessimism. “What do you mean? Of course you will! You just got a few leaky sinks and a running toilet. Nothin’ major.”

“Mario, name one time I did something completely on my own that didn’t turn out a disaster.” Mario opened his mouth to respond, but stopped. He thought things over a bit longer, opened his mouth again, then shut it again to think some more. It was difficult enough recalling a time that Luigi was on his own to begin with– they worked together at every opportunity– but when circumstances drove them apart, even for the briefest of moments, Luigi seemed to always end up in some kind of trouble. Mario’s eyes brightened as one instance popped into his mind. He smiled and snapped his fingers. “Aha! seventh grade! You made it into the Wizard of Oz musical! Played a really good Tinman!” Luigi smiled despondently, crossing his arms. “Mario, I vomited on stage.” “Only during the final bow. The final bow doesn’t count.” Luigi’s expression only grew more troubled as his arms tightened against his chest, and his eyes remained fixed to the ground. Mario stood up from his chair. He walked up to his brother, and took his face in his hands. “Hey, c’mon, don’t look like that,” he said, lifting his Luigi's head to meet his gaze. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, you just need a bit more confidence.” Mario’s grip fell from Luigi's face to his shoulders, giving them an endearing squeeze. “Maybe it’ll be good for you to give it a shot on your own. Your luck can’t be all bad, can it?” Neither of them quite knew the answer to that. Both of them stood silent for a moment as Luigi looked at his brother, then down at the pamphlet in his hand, and the big, beautiful mansion on the front. He couldn’t quite figure it out, but something about the place resonated with him. It made him remember being a kid, reading through his mom’s interior design magazines– the sense of wonder and possibility they incited, and the quiet longing to have such a place of his own to wander and explore. He folded the flier, placed it in his pocket, took a deep breath, and sighed. “I’ll do it.”

“Ha ha! That’s my bro.” Mario released his brother’s shoulders to give him a friendly jab with his elbow. “Maybe it’ll be good for you to try to work the business on your own! Just… make sure that clients put their dogs away before you set foot anywhere.”

Luigi grimaced. A small shudder ran up his back as he remembered the incident with Francis The Dog at their first job. Wondering what might have happened to him if Mario hadn’t been there to come to his rescue, second thoughts quickly began to creep in. “Maybe it is a scam–” “Nope! Too late. We’re doing this.” Mario had a fresh determination in his voice as he pulled out his chair and sat back down at the kitchen table. “I’ll finish balancing the checkbook tonight, then leave in the morning– 8 a.m sharp. If I hurry, I might be able to get home in time to help you with the last few jobs.”

Luigi knew that tone. No matter how much his brother initially hated the idea, once he started talking like that there was no stopping him from following through. Luigi had dug his grave, it was time to lie in it. Trying– and failing– not to think about everything that could go wrong in a single work day, Luigi began looking around for something to occupy his mind. The dishes were done, the garden was weeded, and he didn’t need to start dinner for another few hours, so he went to the broom closet and pulled out his vacuum. Plugging it in and unwinding the cord he went to work, allowing himself to get lost in the satisfying rattle of dirt being sucked away as he meticulously went over the carpet and wooden floor bit by bit, until every square inch of the house was clean and tidy.

[mh-and-celiac]

It’s been a year & a half of coeliac & eating gluten free. I thought things were pretty well managed & it wouldn’t be so hard anymore. But apparently not. It’s just a random thing that will come up. I want all the gluten things so badly. I think it’s in part because I haven’t been staying on top of eating. Every time I eat, I’m at the point where I’m super hungry & feeling like crap. I also haven’t had any support in making meals for ages, so I’ve been eating really basic things. I’m also really overwhelmed by the fact that a lot of gluten free food ends up mouldy before we even buy it. It’s hard to want to buy those things knowing by the time I eat it, it might be bad. Worrying that I might miss mould when looking over something. I struggle with anxiety around food safety & sometimes that is worse than others. Right now it seems to be worse. It’s hard knowing it might go to waste too, especially for the high price. I’m overwhelmed by the cost of everything & knowing that I’m paying more for food that’s not as nutritious. Unless we can make everything from scratch, it’s expensive. The only soup that is gluten free & vegetarian with no traces listed costs like $5+ for one serve. It’s hardly filling enough as a snack, let alone a full meal. Everyone is having a hard time with cost of living. But something like coeliac makes everything so much more complicated. There is no buying the cheaper option when there’s only one that’s safe.

I want pizza, I want a creamy mushroom & avocado pasta, I want cheesy, crispy garlic bread. I want a yummy meal I don’t have to make. I don’t want to pretend like gluten free alternatives are as good. At the end of the day they’re always different & that’s enough to make me sad right now. I’m bored of everything. Even if I had money, I don’t want anything around here that’s safe. There’s so few options.

[auckie]

Ok no actually I wanna hear your Trader Joe’s opinions I’m really into the orange strawberry banana juice, the bruschetta sauce, the cranberry lime juice sparkling water and cinnamon schoolbook cookies

You and I agree on the CLSW (cranlime sparkling), haven’t tried the others but I’ll look into them. The normal lime one is also amazing on its own, as well as a mixer for both alcoholic and non alcoholic drinks. Summer must!

There’s so much shit I’m obsessed with, I’ll try and list the most important ones

English crumpets

Mango kefir

Brown sugar oat creamer

Chocolate oat milk

Simpler wines brand sparkling white canned wine

Pfeffernüsse

Chocolate babka

Brioche sliced bread

Danish Kringle

Pinks and whites shortbread cookies

Joe Joe’s gluten free classic Oreo knock off cookie

Madras lentils (boxed kind is good too)

Canned giant baked beans in tomato sauce

The non joes brand oat milk coffee and kombucha but you can get those anywhere

Their candles, two in one grapefruit mint hair wash (I despise two in one products but this one doesn’t foam and is more of a cleansing conditioner I use in between shampoo and regular conditionings), and many other non food items. I’ve bought their towels, seasonal decor (usually those felt garlands), face lotions and oils. Loved all of them. Usually I only restock on the lotion, hand soap, and lavender laundry bags. Their detergent is nice tho, and I’ve also gotten their wool laundry balls but you really only ever gotta buy them like once. They also usually have pretty cute cards at the checkout! I like their cheaper flowers too, but there’s also a lot of very cute seasonal items they carry that I just can’t justify buying bc of price (have you seen their felt sunflowers? So adorable)

Simpler times potato chips

Crispy Crunchy Champignon Mushroom Snack

Fruit leather bars

Dried orange rings

Lox (labeled as smoked salmon iirc)

Both their Tunisian and kalamata olive oil

Vodka sauce

Roasted red pepper and tomato canned soup

Canned vegetable soup

Gone bananas chocolate covered frozen bananas (gone berry crazy strawberries are good too but like a dollar or two more expensive)

Jasmine rice in the frozen isle

Lime popsicles

Steak and stout meat pie

Pastry Bites Feta Cheese & Caramelized Onions

Canned tuna*

*especially with the gluten free microwaveable mac n cheese (I’m not gluten free if you’ve noticed, I literally just prefer some of their gluten free products. Same with the oat milk. I’m not lactose free but I just really like it)

Most of the frozen wontons I’ve tried

Chimichurri rice (goes great with the aforementioned roasted red pepper box soup, and chopped onions, green peppers, and spinach cooked in a wok)

Chicken sausage

Butternut squash gnocchi, iirc the potato gnocchi is good too

Most of their dried pastas

Almond and chocolate filled frozen croissants

The bars of chocolate you find at the check out that come in packs of threes

The weird meat sticks at the checkout too

Frozen hashbrowns

For whatever reason, their frozen green beans and asparagus is so much better than other generic brands I’ve tried

Any of the canned olives but esp the kalamata

Sun dried tomatoes

The produce is okay, a little pricey but they had brown Mexican tomatoes once that fucked hard. The herbs trustworthy too but really where is it not

Any of their chocolate covered nuts

Their fucked up chocolate covered chips, sometimes found in their snack mixes

Peanut butter pretzel snacks

Their dried seaweed isn’t my fav, but it’s not bad. I think it’s overpriced tho but tbf I usually get huuuge, less flavored packs from Costco

Pine nuts but good Gd are they expensive

They have cute, weird heirloom hybrid squashes during the fall a lot too that are pretty tasty

Things I’ve gotten from there that I hated? I didn’t like their orange chicken, ANY of the cereals I’ve gotten from there oddly enough, their pecorino Romano only comes grated and mixed iirc and I didn’t care for it. Some of their beers have made me scowl but also those are all random brands. But their wine (yes, even SHAW. But shoutout to coco bon red blend and blue fin moscato RIP!) has never does me wrong…except for any other flavor of the simpler wines canned ones. I can only do the sparkling white and literally no else I've forced to drink it has liked it! some of their salads have done me wrong. the canned chickpeas and dolmas were off. and some of their pricy juice mixes left me a bit disappointed.

[inkblot-mirror]

A list of gifts Reina received on her birthday from the main cast:

Riddle—Leatherbound notebook

Ace—Jumbo bag of barbecue flavor chips

Deuce—A new hair clip in the shape of a chick 🐤

Cater—A new phone case and new guitar pick

Trey—A neatly pressed bookmark with a four leaf clover that he found in the Heartslaybul gardens

Leona—A random expensive bracelet off his dresser

Ruggie—A wad of thaumarks that he swiped from Leona without him noticing as well as a hastily scribbled piece of paper listing useful tips and life hacks.

Jack—Packet of rose seeds

Azul—Coupon for a free meal at the Mostro Lounge

Jade—A nice ceramic planter for her roses (it’s covered in mushroom designs though)

Floyd—Sloppily made shrimp plushie with the seams falling apart

Kalim—A giant banquet with musicians and dancers

Jamil—A nice silk robe to wear over her pajamas

Vil—Personalized tube of lipstick charmed to change colors to match whatever outfit she is wearing

Rook—New pair of boots, perfectly sized

Epel—Jar of handmade applesauce

Idia—A duplicate of her favorite idol costume from back home, down to every last matching detail

Ortho—HD recordings of her Pop Music Club performances

Malleus— A ring. 👀 “A sign of things to come”

Lilia—A mysterious vial containing what he claims to be “liquid luck”

Sebek—A photo album filled with exclusive, never-before-seen pictures of Malleus

Silver—An actual rapier, wrapped in pink ribbon

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Harry's Son | BODY BACK Update #5

We are BACK for the FINALLLL BODY BACK update! This book has haunted me since February and it's time to finally stop talking about it (lying)! Harrison wrestles with sonhood, contemplates shame, breaks a heart, & more!

Update under the cut!

Logline: Unwilling to confront reality, Harrison--at what may be the expense of Jeremiah--arrives at a house party where he unexpectedly examines his relationship with his estranged father.

Update 1 | Update 2 | Update 3 | Update 4

BODY BACK taglist (since this is the last update this list will no longer be used!)

@thelivingdeceased @writinglittlebeasts @cuntylittlesalmon @obssesedwithscandaledits @jaydewritesfiction@onomatopiya @euphoniouspandemonium @silassghost @strangerays @rodentwrites @wildswrites @saltwaterbells @encrucijada @cilantrospirit @kiki-is-writing @dallonwrites

Concepts within concepts within concepts...

The phrase "Harry's son" originally appeared in the first draft of the chapter 2 bathroom scene. In that draft, Harrison told his mother, "Harry's son? I'm nobody's son," THOUGH I eventually revised it so this became internal narrative instead after a critique I agreed with.

The meaning of the name Harrison is quite literally "son of Harry" and I was intrigued by what Harrison thinks of that, considering his strained relationship with his dad. While his father's name is not literally Harry, I was interested by what it meant for him to be named, in a sense, after his own sonhood.

During my chapter 2 revision, I removed the “Harry's son" dialogue, however there was something deeply vulnerable about Harrison admitting he felt disconnected from sonhood to me, and I wanted to emphasize that more in the draft. That's how I settled on naming the final chapter!

Theme informs plot

Thematically this chapter explores sonhood and naturally, fatherhood. The relationship between father and son wasn't a theme I'd explored previously in BB, but the chapter title of course warranted that exploration.

It was therefore most natural to start with a flashback between Harrison and his father (who is no longer in his life), and I LOVED seeing how this single theme alone informed the rest of the plot. We get to see how sonhood informs how Harrison interacts with himself, particularly in his relationship with intimacy (in adolescence and now also in his 20s RIPPP JEREMIAH).

The writing process

I lowkey struggledddd with this chapter, which is strange because it turned out pretty much exactly the way I wanted it to! Endings are always weird for me, no matter how clear of an idea I have for them. I had to edit and tweak MANY scenes in order for them to feel whole, and I didn't think I liked this chapter until I gave it a long, long rest.

The plot

CW: abuse, drug use, bullying, assault, homophobia, trauma

Harry's son starts in flashback, but the timeline is technically shortly after the end of No Christ!

Scene A:

In a teenage flashback, Harrison recalls his last memory of his father.

Scene B:

In the fictive present, Harrison lies next to a sleeping Jeremiah. Angry at himself, he plans on leaving but on his way out steals Jeremiah's magic mushrooms (which he takes lol bruh).

Scene Ca:

Tripping, Harrison ends up at a house party in need of release. He meets a man he instantly clicks with but who rejects him upon recognizing Harrison's frenzied state. Offended, Harrison and the man argue and the experience is oddly paternalistic.

Scene Cb:

Startled by what the man has said, Harrison recalls an early relationship he had with a boy named Valentine. Breaking out of the flashback, the man asks Harrison about shame to which he runs away (lol so real).

Scene D:

Frantically looking for a way out of the party, Harrison ends up in a bathroom where he runs into a man he quickly realizes is his own reflection.

Scene E:

On the lawn outside, Jeremiah wakes a dazed Harrison up. Biyu who is with him convinces him to leave and he eventually does (aka Haremiah breakup!!).

Scene F:

Sober and alone the next day, Harrison, with nowhere else to go, heads to a church.

Excerpts:

The full first scene! Also his childhood home being a bungalow makes no sense but like <3 I love that word <3 CW: implications of physical abuse.

The last memory Harrison has of his father is blurry, a moment shaken like a snow globe. He could’ve been nine. He could’ve been fifteen. But he’s sitting on the curb of his childhood home—a mid-century bungalow on the corner lot. His nose is bleeding. He’s not sure why. If he walked into a wall. If he asked for orange juice the wrong way. Sun glazes the neighbourhood and he’s there, legs outstretched on the resealed driveway, holding a palm to his upper lip. His dad mows the sparse grass behind him, but it’s been so long that he can’t see his face, or maybe it’s too vague to process as he weaves between the lawn’s birch trees. A neighbour blasts the radio up the road—Mariah, maybe Oasis. His father waves at a passing woman. Her hair is redder than Suz’s, her crow’s feet sharper, like knives. She delivers the neighbourhood’s papers. Sandra? Kristen? She lives three houses up, gives out full-sized Kit-Kats on Halloween. Nice weather, she might say—all he remembers is her smile. Every single tooth visible and narrow like rosary beads. Blood drips into his mouth. He’s not sure where to find tissues. He should get up now. Wash his hands. Run north. Find his mother.

His father turns off the mower and leans on the handle. Want to come inside for lemonade? he might ask, fingering his shirt collar, the line from his wedding band long tanned over. Whether the woman says yes or no doesn’t matter. The moment she rounds the sidewalk, she spots Harrison and is so startled she clutches her chest and breathless, asks, “Is that a ghost?”

Harrison analyzes Jeremiah in the dark:

Harrison listens to Jeremiah’s heartbeat. In the moon’s silken light, he traces his chest, fingers absorbing each thud, thud, thud. Asleep, his breaths are lighter than usual and it dawns on Harrison that he’s aware of this difference—how he inhales when awake, how he inhales when he laughs, how he inhales on Mondays before an early shift at Greta, how he inhales when he’s winning at Scrabble, how he inhales when he’s losing at Scrabble, how he inhales when he’s on a karaoke stage, how he inhales the moment he walks off, how he inhales before saying grace, how he inhales when kissed.

Harrison considers his own vulnerability (CW: descriptions of a dead animal):

When he was younger, he and Suzanna watched a nature documentary about hyenas. A group of cubs feasted on the head of a giraffe, left its body hollow. He’s not sure why he thinks of it now. Perhaps the look in his eye. Something dead, or perhaps startled. He leans forward, grips his jaw until he’s wincing. Jeremiah just touched him here, kiss satiny, elegant. He hadn’t commented on the bruise around Harrison’s throat except to blow on it like a mother might blow on a busted knee and say, almost inaudibly, “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Harrison hadn’t considered that anything had happened to him. He happens to other people. He’s not that oblivious. But still. He wasn’t sure what motivated Jeremiah to kiss his eyelids, tell him he was angelic, a beautiful boy. He couldn’t tell if he deserved that grace. Why he’d ended up next to a man so willing to soothe his faults he forgot to guard his own. Harrison held him like he was an hourglass losing and gaining sand simultaneously.

Jeremiah tries to comfort Harrison because he's actually a really nice person:

Harrison cried when Jeremiah kissed the gash on his forehead, told him he was safe here. What had he done to warrant protection? Jeremiah kissed his stomach and said he was warm, worthy. Jeremiah twirled one of his curls and said he had a good heart—strong, covered with daisies. That was what, a few hours ago? How fast can goodness wear off in a man? In the dim mirror, Harrison should see that person Jeremiah described—worthy like a knight to valour, romantic as a damask rose. But he’s just someone’s son, a copy-and-pasted scattering of his mother’s nose, his father’s eyes.

Harrison thinks about identity and a future with Lonan:

The last time he knew who he was, he’d been wrestling with Lonan in a tent, his smile so wide it hurt. He’d been so sure of everything back then—he would drive Lonan from Oregon back to Boston, or Brooklyn, or wherever he wanted to go. They’d rent a brownstone in Sunset Park, spend half of move-in day making out in a scarred bathroom. Screen Lang’s Die Nibelungen on a projector in the kitchen. Adopt a cat. Buy each other the same socks year after year for Christmas. But Lonan’s not here, disappeared in some inaccessible plane. And if that is true, then Harrison must also be gone.

Harrison robs Jeremiah (the last line is on the BB dust jacket! - CW: drug mention):

He stoops to Jeremiah’s jacket at the foot of the bed—terra cotta suede. He pockets a loose nickel and a strip of gum, then yanks out his wallet from the breast pocket. He tells himself he’s going through it only for that baggie of Tylenol Jeremiah had pulled out at the restaurant. Even when his fingers brush up against twenties, fifties, he’s committed only to the painkillers. But the instant he touches something else—a different baggie bulging with mushrooms, there’s no doubt he’s going to break that promise. What other choice does he have? He’s just a man after all, and who sins better?

In Harrison's head, this is the Haremiah breakup:

In the dark motel room, Harrison looks up at Jeremiah. He’s a good guy. A good friend. Looks even younger when asleep and even less aware. “I love you,” Harrison whispers to the still air. He doesn’t even mean it. “I love you.” One day, he hopes he’s nothing but a story Jeremiah tells. Someone to laugh at over mimosas, to curse while knee-to-knee with an improved lover. Jeremiah, this world doesn’t know what it has. Jeremiah, hold yourself dearly. Jeremiah, I’m not coming back. Jeremiah, forgive me when you’re older.

Harrison again thinks about Jesus... fondly lol:

The house’s walls whorl like a spinning top. Suzanna bought him one of those when he was a kid, wooden, painted rainbow. He should call her. Find a phone in someone’s throat. Beg to go to voicemail, to be picked up, to be kicked out of her place where he can rot on the side of the road. He passes a room with two couches stacked on top of each other, or perhaps those are just people, mewing against bare skin like cats. His jaw is slack, hungry for something—Jesus? Or any other man?

Harrison seeks vengeance against his father and also thinks about Lonan again:

He needs to find his father right now. He couldn’t have gone far—perhaps he’s still in that suburban fever dream, mowing the lawn. Harrison could find out. Once, he was so motivated to drive a man back east with much less than eight hours of sleep and he could do the same for himself now. He needs to crouch in a musty closet. Pray to a god he doesn’t believe in. Kill his father with his bare hands.

Harrison bumps into "the man" and needs to chill! Also the "one man show" dialogue is parroted from Perry in chapter 3:

Maybe they kiss on their way to the kitchen. Maybe Harrison bites the man’s jewelry off with his teeth, chews, swallows. He’s starving. Why does it matter? The air is florid and gelatinous—like walking through a vat of women’s body wash. On the kitchen counter, Harrison finds a cyan punch bowl. He loads up another glass as the man watches him, downs one, then another. Under a bar light, the man is easier to see—brown-skinned, hazel-eyed, the stud on his upper lip shaped like a star. He could be beautiful. He could be the kind of man Harrison would’ve drooled over as a teenager. Older. Harder. Wiser. “You’re like a one man show,” Harrison says, then yanks him closer by the elbow. Maybe he’s hiding God in his mouth.

Harrison being embarrassing in narrative:

Harrison swipes at his lips, breathless. “What are you doing?” His eyes feel like the centre of an optical illusion, eternal even if you know exactly where the end is. “How old are you?” asks the man. His stare is resinous. Unyielding. Harrison pushes forward, but the man is too strong. He feels like a child when he tries again to no avail, his body thin, useless, and even younger when the best thing he can think to say is, “Guess.” “Look,” the man says, already turning his back. “Does someone know you’re here? A friend or something?”

14-year-old Harrison flashback when his father disappears for a couple days ft. Valentine!! (CW: self-harm mention):

It was June, the air so humid it was like walking through a spider’s web. The most Harrison could do to entertain himself was read the same copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer his father kept on the dining room table. He’d tried solving the 1000-piece puzzle of Big Ben that Suz had bought his father years before but gave up before he even finished the frame. By Tuesday, he was so bored he considered slitting his own palms to at least keep himself busy for a few hours while staunching the bleeding. He went on a walk instead. A five-dollar bill he’d pocketed a year before from his dad’s wallet crinkled in his pocket. It doesn’t matter where he was trying to go or what he meant to find—if he meant to find anything. Who he ran into was Valentine, a scrawny, towheaded boy who’d had a growth spurt that year and frequently smelled of bleach. They were in the same grade. Hadn’t ever said hello to each other. Valentine stood at the intersection near the high school, probably on his way to the convenience store for a packet of Cry Babies. He wore a red fleece vest—too hot for the weather. His chin was pocked with acne scars. One moment, Harrison was staring, shielding his eyes from the sun, and the next, he and Valentine were crouched against a dumpster, their mouths hot and wet like a winter glove chucked into the dryer and taken out too early.

Things take a saddddd turn w/ Valentine (mini ramble here to say I'd never thought much of Harrison's EARLY experiences w/ his sexuality/the joys and difficulties he encountered in his explorations and this section of the chapter almost killed me lol THIS MAN NEEDS LOVE):

It didn’t seem possible, then, how Harrison had invited Valentine back to his house, both aware his father had been gone that day and the day before and the day before, both sweaty, doe-eyed, panting, young. How they should’ve walked past Gingerbread House in Bay Ridge on the long way home, chatted about who they were backing in the ’98 NBA Finals. How Harrison knew there was a half-eaten packet of Schneider’s hot dogs in the fridge he could doctor into something more substantial with a single frozen TV dinner. How as they approached his house, he didn’t even need to see his father’s pickup to know he was there. From twenty feet away, he heard the radio—the Sean Hannity Show. He should’ve run. Everything buzzed inside him to, and he could’ve, scooped Valentine’s hand within his own and sprinted down the sweltering sidewalk until the sun went down. They could’ve gone anywhere, hitchhiked all the way to east Indiana, or west Texas. They could’ve spent the rest of their teenage years eyelash to eyelash, sour mouthed and in love on Sunday mornings.

CW: Physical abuse - Baby Harrison contemplates faith (sooo interesting considering he was raised an atheist):

Days later, when Harrison lay on his bed with a bag of frozen peas on his eyes, he’d considered the possibility of divine intervention. A god had tipped his father off. A ghost—perhaps the ghost of his mother. It was nonsensical. He couldn’t see through that eye until the end of July.

CW: assault - Baby Harrison is jumped by Valentine's older brother:

After a half hour, he was so dizzy, he thought he was dying. He wouldn’t see his mother again, would he? He’d tallied every day she’d been gone on sticky notes—he’d already gone through an entire pad. Suz would’ve known exactly what to do if she’d seen him like this, bound to the ground like a tacked butterfly. Her jeans muddying with dust as she crouched to her son, her hands warm, gripping his face, her saying he was beautiful just the way he was, he was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. He wanted to believe that vision into reality. But no one was coming for him.

CW: implied homophobia - Baby Harrison hopes for help in an adult who happens upon the above scene. && WHO SHAMED YOU:

He stood over Harrison, who’d started to cry. His mustache was woolly, belly round. A cigarette dangled between his fingers. There was something soft in his eyes. Harrison thought it was pity at first. Then he said, “Up now, boy. What did you expect?” and he knew it was disgust. Now, the man from the party stands in front of Harrison. For a second, he has to blink to ensure he’s not still there in that lot, staring up at a man he hopes will help him. His head’s falling off. His eyes are on fire. What had they been talking about? There’s something about shame. The man steps forward. Harrison recoils even though no one has touched him. Some partygoers have entered the kitchen now, all congregating around the punch bowl like Harrison had. The bang of music from outside follows them as they chatter and the noise is like an ice pick to the brain and Harrison wants to tell them all to leave, Harrison wants to bolt from this city, Harrison wants to be someone else’s son for a day just to see if that might fix him. “Who shamed you?” asks the man. Harrison inhales, aware he feels like a deer just about to be shot. He glances at the others here with them—their golf ball eyes, their pearl necklaces, then glances at the door. He can’t look at the man again. If wisdom is a weapon, Harrison’s a prey animal, so gullible, death a requirement of his life. The man opens his mouth again. Harrison runs.

Harrison's "excuse me while I run I really gotta get out of here" moment (FUN FACT is this first sentence is an exact mirror of the first sentence of the book!):

Harrison doesn’t need a god so much as he needs a way out. He parts glittering people with his elbows, his heart a pendulum ticking. He needs an exit sign bleeding in neon letters. He needs to cab back to Brooklyn—not to find his father, but to hide. He needs to go back to Eliza’s apartment and sit in the parking lot for hours until someone—anyone, a shadow of a man with cold hands, a phantom who sins as much as he prays—comes out. It doesn’t matter who he nudges, if one is a woman who looks vaguely like Biyu, if she curses when he shoves her out of the way, if one is a man with a shiny upper lip who says Harrison’s kind of cute and would he like to kiss him? He’s no Jacob fleeing Laban, he’s just a man trapped in a party, his vision pooling pink, orange, neon green. Who shamed you? He hates the shape of that question. His mother is disappointed in him, his father too—this is their white flag. A failure with Jeremiah, a failure at this party, a failure in sonhood. As he moves, that question bleats. Down a set of stairs. Who shamed you? Back up two. Who shamed you?

He's kinda going through it? (CW: violence) this is one of my favourite parts of the whole book!

He’s too aware when he’s high but worse when he’s not, the losing player in his own zero-sum game. He’s a loser—he is lost here, the walls around him shaped like a mouth, two mouths, three, all slick and shouting the same words—who shamed you? Who shamed you? Who shamed you? Harrison gapes, unable to escape. Someone tells him to watch where he’s going. Someone grabs him by the throat. Someone helps him up the stairs, and someone else kicks him back down. Someone reads his fortune on a daybed, tells him he’s been dead since yesterday. Someone holds his face and says he’s the most gutless person they’ve ever met. He’s going to die here. He’s already dead. He’d like to die in the starlight. He’d like to take his last breath to the pulse of Take On Me. He’s laughing. He’s crying. When he splits a joint with someone on the roof, he’s naked but so clothed he could suffocate. He’s under the earth. He’s hovering above it. He’s lost in a glut of bodies. No one is here. Someone could be. He screams for a mother. Mourns a father. Chews his nails on the landing. Begs for forgiveness with his eyes spread open.

Harrison breaking point fr:

He runs into a man. The stranger’s eyes are wide and peeled back like a sardine can, his hair so mussed it looks less like a style and more like electrocuted sunrays. He can’t be any older than him—the look in his eye is searing, mildly reckless. Perhaps he’s got a mother at home waiting on him like Harrison does. Perhaps his memories of his own father are buried within the scars that loop his hairline, easy to write off as accidents. His upper lip is shiny, the barest fuzz of a mustache growing. He looks like he’s fated to die too, something sad in his face when he blinks. Harrison reaches, and the man does too. When his fingers knock into a cold surface, it takes him a minute longer to realize he’s not staring at another man, but himself. He stumbles backward and narrowly steadies himself on the bathroom’s locked door. He squints at his reflection again, deluged in déjà vu. Bloodshot eyes, purple throat, split lip. He takes a careful step forward and then another and then another until he’s bolting right back to his face, pressing his palm to his cheek. What had Jeremiah asked him when he’d arrived at his apartment yesterday? What happened to you? And what did happen? He’s a man mid-bruise, a man mid-death, a man mid-funeral, a man mid-afterlife. Something’s fallen out of his face. His fingers tighten against the mirror. Will he claw it out of his eyeballs? He tries. He’s desperate to, in need of unravelling something. But no matter how insistently his fingernails scrape, nothing changes—he looks the same. Bloodshot eyes, purple throat, split lip. He doesn’t recognize himself. It feels like he won’t again. And why would he? In August, he abandoned a part of himself thinking he could find it again on his own, and how wrong was he? He’s not brave. How foolish to think he could be.

Saddest part of the book probably (resurrecting badly is one of my favourite phrases EVERRR):

His eyes swerve like Halley’s comet. He’s not the man he once was. No Christ, no Jacob, no Jeremiah, but something much worse. He’s sprouting something evil, his face glitching right ahead of him. Panic lurches up his throat and he reaches for himself to say he’s fine, someone’s here for him, someone loves him, nothing’s going to make him vanish here, he’s here, he’s happy, he’s going to be, he’s worthy of gentleness, he’s really not, he’s got an ugly smile, he’s nobody here, he’s losing himself, he’s better than ever, he’s dismantling no matter how hard he tries to keep himself together, he’s wearing another man’s earring because he’s over him, he’s not, he’s never going to love someone else again, he’s in chrysalis, he’s in autopsy, he’s got someone else’s nose, eyes, hair, he’s resurrecting badly, he’s turning blue and nothing can stop him, he’s Jesus when he wants to be and Lonan right now. The mirror shatters before he realizes he’s punched it. Fractals of glass starburst off his fist, splay across the counter. He’s not Lonan. He’s kinder than that. He doesn’t lift people by the chin and then twist off their heads. He drives a man across the country out of his own volition. When his mother calls him generous he understands why. He does not leave the man who sees something soft in him. He’s a good person. He’s a good person. He’s crying as his own face splits into a million pieces.

Haremiah breakup starts now...... !!!

He wakes dazed under starlight. What he knows for certain: a honeysuckle flutes behind his ear and man hovers over him. If these two things are related, he doesn’t know why—if the flower’s a gift from the man, if the man is a gift from the flower. How beautiful is that idea? Man not a duplicate of himself but birthed from a petal like a pearl from a clam. He could be a glorious by-product, couldn’t he? This question matters less than the throbbing light ahead of him. He squints at its blurred edges. Gabriel coming for him? The headlights of Suz’s car? Perhaps just a streetlamp. Or, God doesn’t have a face—this could be his arrival.

This is a direct continuation of that (JEREMIAH IS NOT HAPPY)!!! ft. the iconic drawing:

“Harrison?” He blinks. Someone’s shaking his shoulder. He’d like for them to stop—each movement is like being hulled out of his skin. “Harrison?” the voice repeats. Harrison. who is that? Harrison. He should know. Harrison. He’s heard that name called on velvet midnights. He’s heard that name aimed like a gunshot. Uttered like a prayer. Harrison. “Can you hear me? You stole my shit.”

You ever wake up high in the grass and then call your current bf who's a hair away from breaking up with u the name of ur ex bf bc you actually for a second see your ex who is literally not there:

He’s in the grass. Staring at a face now that’s getting closer, closer, attached to a neck that’s attached to a shoulder that’s attached to an arm that’s attached to a hand that’s nudging him. He could stay here forever. That face is pretty as the silverbells he and Suz used to hang on their Christmas tree. Prussian blue eyes. Oil spill hair. The last time he’d seen this face, he was amazed at how delicate it could look in dappled light. Features sculpted precariously like a China doll. Harrison used to imagine a future with that face. Harrison used to see himself reflected back in his pupils. “Lonan?” he asks, eyes lolling. His heart’s racing. He needs to tell the truth. He wants to hold him but his hands aren’t moving on command. What if he misses this shot? What if he’s a set of full fingers and this man is sand sifting right through them? Please don’t leave, he wants to say. Please don’t let me go.

(^^^ I'M HURTTTTTTTTT)

Harrison thinks about Jeremiah fondly AND THE ILY DROP (also biyu in the bg like HOLD MY POPCORN):

Harrison’s gotten used to him—how he hums Lionel Richie hits in the shower, how he softens his vowels when talking to his seven-year-old cousin on the phone, how he’s wise but still young—how he’s lost nothing from knowledge. And maybe that’s the problem. It’s impossible to keep a good thing that’s been around for too long. Harrison finds a face, his fingers clammy, clumsy. The moment he contacts skin, Jeremiah’s face clarifies as if emerging from a cloud. Soft skin, his brows waved in worry, mouth taut with what might be anger, or what might be devastation. He should be angry. He should be devastated. Harrison would be angry. Harrison is angry. Devastated too. He’s a good person. He keeps being dealt bad cards, keeps getting paper cuts on the way. It’s not fair. None of this has ever been fair. “Listen to me,” Harrison says, gripping Jeremiah’s cheek harder. His eyes flare at the blood dripping down his knuckles and the specks of glass that glitter off them like rhinestones. “Are you listening?” “JJ,” comes the voice as a car door slams. “He’s not worth it.” Jeremiah’s jaw trembles. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t suffer. “I’m here.” “You’re a good person,” Harrison says. He drags his fingers down to Jeremiah’s mouth, digs miniature ships into his bottom lip. In another life, he could’ve gone anywhere with this man. A private tour of a glass museum. Griffith Park. A supermarket cereal aisle. Bora Bora. The fabric-softened sheets of his double bed. “I love you,” he says, ignoring the second voice that again suggests they leave. He tries to get onto his elbow to get closer to him, to kiss him, to stare till his eyes tumble out like marbles, to take his chin and say I find the best parts of me in you, but the farthest he gets is a weak buck of his chin. “I love you, I love you.” “JJ. We need to go.” Jeremiah’s staring right at him. He’s never seen his eyes like this before—so focused it’s like they’ve pressurized and could crack like amber at any moment. He looks like he wants to say something. Harrison, stay with me. Harrison, you’re not your past. Harrison, you’re surviving. Instead, he shakes his head, then starts to rise.

(^^ I FIND THE BEST PARTS OF ME IN YOUUUUU STOPP)

WHAT NOT TO SAY WHEN YOU COULD'VE SALVAGED THIS YOU FOOL:

Harrison snatches his wrist so tight his hands shake. “Believe me,” he says. His chest is airy. He’s dying. He’s dead. Falling from a great height. He smooths a hand up Jeremiah’s eyebrows. Beautiful man. A living picture in his own right. Jeremiah glances at his arm wound by Harrison’s fingers, and when he looks back up, his eyes are shimmering. “Why did you go?” he asks. And why had he? He could’ve spent forever against Jeremiah’s ribs. Built a future with him over spiked lemonade and foolish nights at karaoke bars. Jeremiah’s built for movement, late nights, orange sorbet mornings, moonlit swan paddle boats, a thrilling midlife career change, dinner parties with near strangers, weekend hikes of Yosemite, bustling hostels in Amsterdam, desserts with almond liqueur and crème fraîche, sunsets in Montego Bay. “You’re bad for me,” Harrison slurs. Jeremiah’s face slackens.

last image of Jeremiah:

So he doesn’t try when Biyu stands and helps her friend do the same. He doesn’t try as he watches Jeremiah paw off his eyes, as he watches Jeremiah look at him a last time before turning away. He doesn’t try as together, they walk toward the car, mumbling things Harrison can’t hear—that he’ll never find out. He doesn’t try as Jeremiah opens the passenger side door, and before he gets in, takes one glance back at him on the grass. He doesn’t try as Jeremiah’s lip trembles, doesn’t try when he ducks into the car and slams the door shut. After all this time, it feels like the least he can do.

Harrison-Jesus parallels:

The crowd goes mild, focused forward as the processional begins. Harrison looks to Jesus crucified behind the altar. In his last moment, he gave himself to his father. Harrison will never see his father again, unlike Jesus, but both their mothers have been left to weep. And yet they’re both sons. No matter what they’ve done.

AND THE ENDING (the choir's singing Here I am Lord) ft. chapter 1 & 2 parallels (& credit also to @dallonwrites who gave me the idea for this ending months ago literallyyyyy worked out so perfectly):

This morning, he woke on the same grass he’d last seen Jeremiah on. He didn’t need anyone to tell him not to go back. The difference between him yesterday and him today is he’s a man without a place to go. No shepherd to follow. No man to hold. He understands what he is. A failure. A disaster. A sad, bitter person. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him any of this. Not Jeremiah. Not Biyu. Not Suzanna. Not Lonan. The music swells. Harrison’s eyes burn. In August, leaving Lonan was an inevitability as much as it was a new beginning. Now, he knows he’s not going anywhere. After this, he’ll go back to Suzanna who’ll greet him with a plate of papas, twirl his hair while he cries in her lap on the couch. They’ll buy tilapia on sale at the grocery store tomorrow. Adopt a betta fish, wince at the normalized hypocrisy. He won’t think about Lonan. What he’s doing in that apartment. If he remembers what it’s like to hold someone’s hands like they’re your own, what it’s like to mistake someone else’s reflection as yours. He’ll never speak to Jeremiah again out of courtesy, write him a postcard from a Grand Canyon gift shop when he and Suzanna visit like typical mothers and sons, but never send it. He can manage in his forever and ever and ever and ever amen because he’s okay. This horribly pleasant, horribly easy life will be okay. The choir asks who will bear their light. Offers themselves to God just as Jesus did. Harrison gasps. Once, he might’ve convinced himself he could be like them. Someone so committed they’d do anything for the person they love. He’d done that before—given everything in him to a man even if it almost killed him. Now he doesn’t know. Who he is. Where he went. Jesus in the tomb. Body gone. Body gone. He’s missed his chance at glory. When the choir swells, their voices clattering off the domed ceiling, he laughs. He doesn’t mean to. But there he is, virtually alone despite the passionate churchgoers around him. He’s no Christ, no Jacob, no Jeremiah. No Lonan. He’ll never be even if he wanted to. Tears flail down his face. He laughs again, though halfway, it becomes a sob. The woman from earlier glances at him funnily, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not going to heaven. He’s never going to see Jeremiah again. The choir’s heard their calling, but Harrison won’t ever have one. He laughs with his eyes straight on the crucifix. People from other pews begin to turn around, puzzled, even the priest looking up from the altar. The church silences eventually. No one claps. All eyes turn to him. He weeps with his mouth wide open.

AAAAND that's it!!! Thank you SO much if you've been following this project & AN EXTRA THANKS to everybody who sent so much love and support my way. Like no drama, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have all that support earlier this year, so if you've ever said ANYTHING NICE about BODY BACK, please know you literally saved me this year! Thank you!!!! It's really a spectacular feeling to know you have a little village behind a project, and I feel so honoured and grateful that this project resonated with so many people. <3

NOW GO FORTH 24K HARRISON LIVES ON IN OUR MEMORIES <3 (where he should remain forever <3 lol).

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

The Hermitcraft Heroes & Villains AU (HHVAU)

Heyyy it's me Ben back with another hermitcraft au I'll never write but could talk endlessly about! This time we hit the ground running with a classic (or not-so-classic) heroes and villains AU :D

TW/CW: hermitshipping, medical gore (non-graphic description), implied child abuse, mind control, cults, aliens & fungi/mould, alchohol/drinking

Disclaimer: I've read quite a few hero/villain stories in this fandom, so some of these ideas might not be super original! Thank you to the lovely folks on discord who helped with this!

Premise: In the city of Blackstone, heroes and villains take to the streets to fight, engaged in a constant battle for control. The Hero Bureau, overseen by the mysterious Watchers, takes in powerful individuals and trains them to protect the city, while villains and vigilantes are free agents.

Despite the fighting, most heroes and villains have a few key rules they try not to break. Revealing someone's secret identity is a total no-go. Even upon arrest villains' identities are often kept quiet. The city must remain standing, also, so most villains do not aim for utter destruction. It is a careful balancing act of an ecosystem, some may say, that keeps the city afloat.

Pssst. Send me asks to get writing snippets. More (long descriptions) under the cut!

Villains

Grian "The Mother Spore"

Powers: flight, mind control, mycelium spores, mushroom & mould manipulation

Started as an ordinary bird hybrid and architecture student before becoming infected, chosen to be The Mother Spore for an infectious and invasive alien fungus 

The mycelium controls his mind, though he is lucid, it simply convinced him to protect and spread the fungus to take over the world, and now he acts on that one goal

Used to be very driven and have a big plan for his life, has no personal goal now, using his creativity and energy entirely to provide for the spores

Lives in a secret hideout in a dense forest outside the city, has grown mushrooms and mycelium around the base to keep unwanted people out

Tends to target small isolated towns, wiping them out overnight 

Some have called him the 'angel of death' because of his wings and general death-omen vibes

Kills people to use their bodies as mushroom food

Can control people's minds by connecting them to the mycelium network, an alien hivemind

Occasionally becomes lucid and is afraid of what he has become

Still yearns for something, some kind of human connection, despite his thoughts being basically erased and replaced by the mycelium, it's complicated

Fun fact: as a civilian and in his personal life, Grian uses he/him, but as The Mother Spore, she uses she/her 

Ren "The Dog" / "The King"

Powers: shapeshifting, enhanced smell, sight, strength and hearing

Former member of the Hero Bureau, turned villain 

A dog hybrid with the unique ability to shift his form into a huge wolf creature

Now works with villain GOAT (Doc)

Mostly focussed on kicking butt and doing thievery but also intent on stopping the Hero Bureau and associated people, big on revenge

Not a fan of The Mother Spore but content on leaving her alone so long as she doesn't descend onto the city (he values his life)

Shifted from dog theming to king theming when going from hero to villain, hates being called ‘dog’ or anything like that

Monster form can go out of control / feral and hurt people

Monster form side-effect of killing his energy + damaging his ‘human’ form

Fun fact: he likes shiny things and good music, and has a collection of (mostly stolen or thrifted) trinkets in his house

Doc "GOAT"

Powers: he's just really good with technology and genetics… like, weirdly good, everything else is part of his own experiments

Unethically experimented on himself, stole expensive tech from high-security labs

Comprehensive list of Doc’s unethical self-experiments: 

Hybridization (goat) - an illegal practice used to gain hybrid features, by messing with his own genetics using new tech to give himself goat horns, patches of fur, goat ears + hoof hands

Cybernetics (failed) - tried to attach cybernetic modifications but his body rejected them and caused them to malfunction badly, paralysing his arm and half of his face

Cybernetics - replaced his paralysed arm + parts of his face with new cybernetics now created from materials his body wouldn’t reject, the tech is woven into his body making the two inseparable and dangerous to damage

Chemical Alteration (failed) - drank a serum meant to make him stronger but it failed, instead colouring his fur green

Hybridization & Cybernetics (butterfly) - gave himself part-organic part-cybernetic butterfly wings, because he wanted to fly and this was the most sensible solution

Started out as a curious science nerd, became a criminal through illegal experimentation, resorted quickly to stealing tech to aid his curiosity and further experiment on himself

Once labelled a criminal he turned to more high-profile crime, revelling in being a ‘supervillain’

Refers to a ‘Hivemind’ occasionally when conducting experiments, assumed to be something to do with his cybernetics- an inherent mental connection to the internet due to the cybernetics connected to his brain?

Hates HotGuy. Wants to know HotGuy’s secret identity so bad. Actually a little bit obsessed with HotGuy. Hey man why have you got all that HotGuy merch.

Ren is his bestie / partner in crime / actual partner.

Swears HotGuy started this weird nemesis thing they have going on. Will not elaborate when asked.

Actively wants to murder The Mother Spore. Because she's annoying and gross.

Fun fact: he does not get along well with other scientists. Kind of like a really hostile cat.

Cub

Powers: blessing of the Vex

He was raised in a cult which worshipped the Vex, kidnapped as a baby with his parents murdered

Raised alongside Scar, who defended him a lot as a child- they had a close relationship but it never went anywhere before Scar left at 17

The cult was very manipulative and unethical, with Cub killing his first person at age 18- he was outspokenly against it as a child but grew to accept the cult

The cult disbanded when he was around 30 (ish) after the supposed 'day of blessing' from the Vex passed with no apparent payoff- Cub fled the following chaos and ended up in Blackstone

With a lot of skewed morals and fascination with the human body, he begins tricking or straight up kidnapping civilians in order to test the limits of their lives. He approaches this all quite clinically, cutting people up and experimenting on them

Fun fact: Cub is blessed by the Vex, it just doesn't 'show'- he has an array of magical qualities that make his work and life easier without him realising

Cleo "Zombie"

Powers: zombie curse

Former powerless hero

She was once best friends with Pearl when they were in the Hero Bureau together, but everything changed after Pearl accidentally read her future and told her

Pearl insisted that Cleo would be cursed, and begged them not to go out on a mission, but this only angered Cleo, hating the fact that their future might be set in stone

To change the road of fate, Cleo sought out the curse themself, only to fulfil the prophecy and become cursed

In a last, desperate attempt at getting one up over Pearl, she publicly revealed her secret identity, forcing Pearl to live in fear

Now a minor villain, mostly just set on taking down the heroes out of spite

Fun fact: besties with Joe Hills, occasionally guts him for fun (this will make more sense later...)

Tango “Architect” / “Baffler” / “Dungeon Master”

Powers: spacebubble creation, magical architecture, games!

He just likes to play silly games!

The silly games in question are murder games, he creates them in pocket universes and picks civilians up from the street to play

They die a lot

Secretly friends with Zedaph and Impulse, who run through his games (death-free) for fun

Generally seen as a poor excuse for a villain, being referred to as the "Baffler", which he hates

Fun fact: can make beasts. Keeps making beasts.

Heroes

Scar "HotGuy" 

Powers: … he can shoot arrows real good and has a cool utility belt, never-ending optimism

He's HotGuy!

Your friendly neighbourhood superhero (if, by neighbourhood, you mean city and surrounding districts)

Is a vigilante and not affiliated with the Hero Bureau but works with them a lot

Has a gay thing going on with Grian despite all the spores…

Has another gay thing going on with Cub

Yet another gay thing going on with Mumbo

Please stop trying to kiss villains, Scar

Tragic backstory: was raised in the Vex cult alongside Cub, who he became friends with very quickly. He stopped the cultists from hurting Cub, receiving his scars in the process. Cub also protected him, refusing to allow the cultists to sacrifice him once his disabilities made themselves known, but Scar left the cult and became a hero at age 18 after refusing to sacrifice someone

Does not trust the Hero Bureau because of the cult stuff

He’s very popular with civilians, but nobody knows his secret identity- he is scared of being tracked down or stopped by government / local authorities because of his vigilante nonsense

Fun fact: he is an ambulatory wheelchair user who also utilises crutches and leg braces on the battlefield, allowing him to be stealthy and quick when it matters most at the cost of his energy and pain in his personal life

Pearl “Moonwitch”

Powers: can see someone’s future by touching their skin- most powerfully during the new, full, and half stages of the moon phase, trained in combat, debated ability to change the future / contact otherworldly fate beings

Part of the Hero Bureau, one of the higher ranked heroes

Very good with animals, to the extent that people thought she had animal powers

Her hero persona started out as a very goth / witchy type, but she switched to a more cozy theme when she became more popular

Doesn’t often go into the field to fight villains, but is sometimes needed for backup- usually she stays at the Bureau and uses her powers on captured villains and occasionally on heroes before they go out on missions

Her identity is no secret, unfortunately revealed in a pretty dramatic fight with Cleo which led to Cleo becoming a villain

Due to her identity being revealed, Pearl is very careful and never travels alone unless she has to, and she moved out of her apartment to live at the Bureau, making her extra protective of it

Good friends with heroes Gem and Impulse (they call themselves ‘soup group’- no one knows why)

Does not like using her powers, she has been forced to witness a lot of bad stuff that she then had no ability to stop / change

Fun fact: Used to be friends with Grian before he became The Mother Spore, tried to convince him to apply for sidekick tryouts at the Bureau (after seeing his... quite bad future accidentally) but he refused, claiming he wanted to focus on his studies and that the mysterious Watchers creeped him out

Gem "Life-bringer"

Powers: healing, injury absorption, invincibility

Despite having healing powers, she absolutely kicks ass in a fight, which she keeps trying to explain to the Watchers (they do not listen)

Tends to be sent into battle after a fight is over to help heal civilians and heroes (though she will heal villains too)

Can't die from using her powers but is hit with the pain of the injuries she absorbs

Part of the soup group! They get soup on Thursdays.

Xisuma "Voidwalker"

Powers: walking through walls, turning invisible in shadows

I just included him here because he has a weird thing going on with Keralis

One of the higher-ups in the Hero Bureau, simultaneously knowing too much and not enough- doesn't necessarily agree with how things are run

Impulse “Gargoyle” 

Powers: demonic, stone skin, electricity powers

Lots of friends, some of them not so heroic, some of them like soup

Really just a hero for the pay benefits

False “Golden Eagle”

Powers: highly skilled in combat, flight

Weird little friendship with Ren, which often evolves into them fighting in the middle of the city

Has very sharp talons, but isn't actually a golden eagle hybrid- she's a red-tailed hawk

Zedaph

Just the Hero Bureau's local mad scientist!

He is not normal

Neutral/Civilian

Mumbo 

Powers: he is a vampire. Sorry. 

Acts like he was turned in the 60s, but in reality he was turned only a decade ago, just really into both hippie and suit-and-tie aesthetics

Drinks blood, I mean he is a vampire what more do you want… but generally against killing people (yay?) 

Weak in the sun and gets sunburned very easily so he has a parasol, holy water and silver burn him too, and stakes are deadly 

Best friends (...) with Grian, knew him before the whole Mother Spore business and stuck with him despite it- stays in the forest with Grian a lot because of the excellent levels of tree coverage that blocks out the sun

By virtue of being a third wheel, he knows Scar too, and often has to act as a messenger between the two when they get into arguments (this happens often.)

He is really into travelling and often leaves the city to go to see other towns and such, brings back souvenirs for his friends

Due to being genuinely undead, he is immune to Grian’s alien mycelium- yippee!

Mumbo buddy can you please talk about your feelings we can all see you staring at HotGuy and fawning over Mother Spore come on dude

Fun fact: a really good engineer- he was doing that as his career and stuff before the whole vampire thing. Still loves to geek out about engineering nonsense every once in a while and also likes to invent things (that rarely work)

Joe Hills

Powers: immortal, can sense when someone else with powers is nearby (NOT a spider-sense…)

He has lived several lifetimes, by this point, usually skipping town after a few decades so as to not seem suspicious

Always says ‘well this life is my favourite by far’

However, he has a pretty poor memory, so don’t ask him about any life but this one

Runs a live podcast which covers the daily goings on of heroes and villains across the city- made easier by his inexplicable ability to be in the right place at the right time, always first to the scene of a battle ready to record

Used to be an informant for the Hero Bureau, but wasn’t officially part of their ranks, more like an anonymous tipper

Has some insane gay thing going on with Cleo, let’s just call them friends for now

They’re roommates

Knew Cleo before the whole curse thing, stuck with them when they became a villain, cut all ties to the Bureau and started leaning his content slightly against the Bureau (but still in favour of vigilantes and against outright murder)

There is something wrong with him I think

Fun fact: when he’s at the scene of a fight, he makes silly quips and commentary at the parties involved, while safely standing to the side, often live recording his podcast. No one likes this. Multiple villains have tried to kill him for being annoying, but y’know… immortality. Death doesn't hurt him as he has no evolutionary need to feel pain.

Keralis

Powers: hypnosis

Runs a bar/club in the middle of the city which heroes and villains frequent (though it tends to be more popular with villains)

The club is a neutral zone, no fights can happen there- if someone tries to start something, Keralis can and will use his hypnosis on them

Club might be a front for a mafia don’t worry about it

Fun fact: do not look him in the eyes

Beef “Butcher”

No powers

Works cleanup jobs for villains, referred to as “Butcher” both because it’s his day job and because of how many bodies he disposes of

Beef… is probably not his real name, anyway

Heroes dislike him generally, but he makes a lot of problems disappear

Known to take up any cleanup job if the pay is right, but has a rule against killing anyone- bodies are perfectly fine, he’s even down to help with kidnappings and hostage situations, but he will not kill- believes killing is the last straw before a person becomes a monster

Bull hybrid. Yes, his day job is awkward. He enjoys it, though, the little weirdo

Has been called on by some less-moral heroes to help with cleanups that are too much of a mess to fix the ethical way

Fun fact: good friends with xB and Keralis, regularly calls on them to help him with cleanups, but does most of the messiest work himself. Though Keralis is very helpful for dealing with living witnesses 

Main Plot

The main story follows HotGuy as he attempts to make the Hero Bureau look bad by solving more crime and catching more bad guys than they can. He also wants his friend, Grian, to come back from the 'bad' side. However, when Cub shows up in the city, all hell breaks loose and HotGuy ends up getting captured.

Once Cub finds out who Scar is, a lot of conflicting feelings happen (Cub still tries to cut him open, but he puts him back together again) and HotGuy is left unconscious in an alley. There, he's picked up by Mother Spore, whose murderous (but also gay) advances on HotGuy worry Grian enough to seek out Cub himself, willing to go under the knife to remove the spores from his body.

Meanwhile, after her fight with Cleo, Pearl starts to doubt the Hero Bureau. She begins to question the Watchers, no longer trusting them, especially when they tell her she can't leave because her powers are too strong. She enlists the help of some friends, Impulse and Gem, to get to the bottom of the mystery and expose the Watchers.

Subplots

Tango feels shunted, labelled as a 'villain of the week' for his rather ineffectual traps and tricks, so he takes it upon himself to steal other people's powers to make his games more deadly and terrifying

Ren and Doc are doing classic supervillain things, like, building freeze rays and stuff

Joe Hills keeps picking up vital information on his podcasts, and soon a fanbase arises trying to figure out the mystery- this later becomes helpful information for Pearl & Scar

Keralis' many adventures in dealing with drunk-off-their-arse heroes and villains (he has many stories to tell)

[thecurioustale]

Puttanesca Alla Fuck You

A puttanesca without anchovies (or some kind of salted fish) is like a ketchup without tomatoes! Sure, you can physically do it, and it may have started out that way historically (I'm not gonna get into that because it's a rabbit hole), but in the Year of Our Unicorn 2024 it's 100% wrong wrong wrong! 😭😭😭

I didn't even know a version without anchovies was a thing. The whole point of the sauce is its saltiness and pungency. Sure, you can do that with just the olives and garlic, but leaving out the salted fish is a real self-inflicted wound. And while puttanesca is not supposed to be, shall we say, a "seafood dish," there should be enough anchovy in there for you to be able to taste (albeit subtly) not just its depth of umami but its actual flavor. I dunno, I guess reasonable people can disagree on that, but if they did then reasonable people would be 100% wrong wrong wrong! 😭😭😭

I first started noticing adulterated puttanesca a few years ago in jarred form: I always look at the labels of new foods before I try them, and I found a jar of puttanesca (which excited me) whose ingredients list contained no fish of any kind (which outraged me). And once I noticed it the first time, I began noticing that, on the rare occasions I would see jarred puttanesca, it often lacked the anchovies. Okay, whatever. Wouldn't be the first time that food companies try to make more profit by doing something stupid with their food products. Welcome to the wonderful world of the Enshittification of Everything—even food! It makes rich people oodles of money even though we all know it's 100% wrong wrong wrong! 😭😭😭

But then I started noticing it in restaurants. Puttanesca is my favorite type of pasta sauce, so if I see it on a menu I am going to check it out. And, to my horror, I began to realize that this wasn't a one-off. I found more restaurants that also don't use anchovies in their puttanesca! To say that I was shocked to my very core would be the understatement of a thousand years, because in my mind, again, a puttanesca is synonymous with and inseparable from the fish that goes into it, like tomato in ketchup. I wracked my brains trying to come up with an explanation. Jarred pasta sauce manufacturers might leave out the most expensive ingredient, but actual restaurants never would. So what was going on? My best conclusion was that it was another one of these dumbass Pacific Northwest "twists" on food customs. We're really notorious out here for taking good food dishes from around the world and then making them "Pacific Northwest," usually by making them "lighter" fare that cuts protein and starch and fat via omitting some combination meat and dairy and egg and potato. Or, occasionally, you'll see a mammalian meat ingredient replaced by a fish one, or by mushrooms. Whatever; it's all 100% wrong wrong wrong! 😭😭😭

The last straw, and my occasion for writing this jeremiad, was seeing puttanesca on the menu of one of the "fancy" Italian restaurants here in town—you know the type: big prices, fancy digs, located on the waterfront, but not necessarily the best food (that's always a hit or miss with these kinds of places)—and they described their puttanesca like this: "tomatoes, basil, capers, calamata olive, chili flake, lemon juice, garlic, tomato sauce." Oh no you don't. OH NO YOU DON'T!!! That is 100% wrong wrong wrong! 😭😭😭

So I finally went and looked it up to see what the hell is going on. And that's when I learned that—just to peek at the rabbit hole briefly—the Neopolitan version of the dish named "puttanesca" doesn't typically use anchovies, even though there are near-identical versions of the dish, not named "puttanesca," that do. But under the name puttanesca, anchovies are more of a Southern Italy / Sicily thing. And clearly that's the influence that is winning out here in the Pacific Northwest and among the Jarred Pasta Sauce Industry. Which I am capitalizing because it's 100% wrong wrong wrong! 😭😭😭

Look...I get it. Recipes have variations. There's no law that says you can't be stark-raving mad about your culinary choices in life. (Actually there are a number of them, not least the prohibition against cannibalism, but for rhetorical purposes we'll say there aren't.) And just because I grew up knowing one and only one version of a dish doesn't mean that that's the only valid version of that dish. It's just that, in this case, the salted fish is central to the premise. That's what sets apart puttanesca from other Italian pasta sauces. Without it, it becomes essentially an olive sauce, as olives are both the next most distinctive ingredient (flavorfully and aromatically) and also the next most important ingredient in the sauce. I dunno; it just seems to me like missing the point. And I realize that maybe if you squint at it right the heart and soul of puttanesca is actually its convenience. Indeed, the etymology of the word (aside from the obvious) may actually refer to the "use whatever you have" nature of the recipe.

But. If it did...

And if that were how we conceived of it...

It would be 100% Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

😭😭😭