#but... why root beer barrels

[yardsards]

brains will give you the world's strongest cravings for A Little Snack immediately after you brushed your teeth and got oh so cozy in bed

[rosewaterandivy]

fightin' to get better

modern!eddie x f!reader

summary: eddie does his damndest to get us out of the study to take a frickin' break.

a/n: My blog is 18 +, minors DNI; purely self-indulgent smut and prosaic idolatry here, my usual brand of filth.

🎶 ooh, let you slide up your hand, uh oh, let go all of my plans 🎶

Grad school could suck a dick. A whole bag of ‘em as far as you were concerned. The entirety of your summer had been taken up by this final class— a subject you loved, but far too much reading and work assigned for the condensed semester.

Eddie thought so too.

The man was quick to chime in when you’d had a glass of wine or two and finally extricated yourself from the front room you’d claimed as an office. Couldn’t understand how you would be complaining one minute and then the second he adds his two cents, you’re defending the professor in question.

But then again, you’d always been tender-hearted.

Which more than explained your penchant for collecting strays, present company excluded, naturally.

“That’s it,” he says, fingers working to peel the damp label from the beer bottle. “First thing tomorrow, I’m gettin’ on the horn with this so-called professor.”

“Eddieeee,” you whine, lips falling into a pout. “Don’t do that.”

He leans into it really playing it up, an eye roll and scoff combo, head inclining to rest on your shoulder as he falls on you dramatically.

“Can’t have my best girl pulling all-nighters every other week.”

His voice was softer, not laced with his typical jocular tone. The bright images of the screen dance across your faces in the cool room. Eddie settles against you, warm breath fanning across your chest and neck.

He can see the subtle dark hues beneath your eyes, hates the evidence of your sleepless nights spent in front of the computer, nose buried in a book.

“I know,” you rasp after a beat or two. “I’ll get better baby, I promise. S’just a few more weeks and then I’m army-crawling to the finish line.”

He cracks a smile, unable to hide his elation at your accomplishment— at you.

Eddie Munson and his genius girlfriend, who would’ve thought?

—

So it really shouldn’t be a surprise a week or two later when Eddie wanders into the study to find you up at all hours of the night. Again.

“Babe—”

“Jesus Christ!” You jolt in your chair, startled by the sound, and slowly swivel toward him. A deep breath once you realize who it is, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room.

And, sure enough, your boyfriend is standing there wiping the sleep from his eyes, sporting his Suspiria sweats and looking entirely displeased.

“God Eds, make a noise! You’re like Ruth Gordon just standing there with a tannis root.”

He crosses his arms with a sign, ignoring your barb. Ruth Gordon, with her blue eye shadow and head scarf? Puh-leeze.

“You said you’d be ten minutes.”

You shudder at the timbre of his voice— raspy and low, hitting the sweet spot that sends heat rushing to your core.

“Shit, I’m sorry, babe.”

Glasses discarded and hair askew, you sigh catching the time and start to pack it in for the night.

Eddie is surprisingly quick for someone snatched from sleep and dreaming, he turns your chair away from the desk and fixes you with a look.

The penetrating kind, where he squints and tilts his head like he just can’t figure you out. And yeah, he’s never really understood academia or why the books you’ve had to buy are always so damn expensive. But he does his best to support you, reminds you to eat and sleep more than he’d like because you have the tendency of getting too caught up and distracted.

His gaze softens, “C’mere pretty girl.”

Eddie picks you up and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, despite your protests. Smacks your ass for good measure.

“M’gonna fall!”

“No, you aren’t,” he tuts, “Such a drama queen.”

He barrels through the dark house only to deposit you in the dimly lit bathroom. A shaft of light eeks in from a partially opened closet door, candles flickering on countertops catching their reflections in the mirror.

Right side up again, you pause and take a look around. The bathtub is filling up, bubbles growing in soft peaks of foam, and a bath bomb fizzles away, painting the water in candy-colored hues.

There’s a glass of wine and another of ice water, sweating against the ledge of the tub. An iPad propped up in the corner, your favorite show cued up and ready to go.

“Baby,” you say, turning back to him, voice barely above a whisper. “What is all this?”

He takes a step toward you, the slightest inclination of his chin prompting your hands to rise above your head. Eddie’s nimble fingers find the hem of your shirt and tug it upwards, soft fabric brushing against your skin only to be kissed with damp heat.

“Jus’ wanna take care of you,” he says simply, quietly. As if he’d rather do nothing else.

“Oh.”

His fingers alight on the waist of your shorts, thumbs hooking in and pulling down.

“Hmm.” He says, kneeling in front of you, brow quirked and eyes seeking yours. “Feelin’ lucky today or—"

The heat rises in your chest and neck, hands flying to cover your face while he lazily peruses your bare form.

Not so much luck as it was sheer exhaustion that informed your sartorial choices and distinct lack of underwear today, but you’ll take what you can get.

His breath ghosts along your thighs, muscles tightening inadvertently, the coil in your stomach winding taut.

As you step out of the shorts, Eddie turns off the faucet and herds you back against the sink. A brief lift and you're sitting on the countertop, legs splayed, head falling against the cool mirror behind you.

Eddie buries his head between your legs, and smothers praises between your thighs.

Eddie's pretty sentimental with oral— kissing, kissing, kissing— can't stop his lips from meandering, can't stop his mouth from savoring. He noses against your slit, tongue darting out to taste. A low rumble ripped from his chest as the slick muscle works against your petaled heat, savoring the arousal gathered there.

He gets dizzy off it. Selfish for it. It all goes to his head— whimpers and moans falling from your candy-pink mouth, a prolonged whine of his name.

Left, then right, back over again. Drowsy roaming paths, curving and bending, pleased when you arch into his mouth, forever wanting more. Licks you for hours like you’re the last bit of sweetness in the world, savors it long and lazy and delicate.

"Sweetheart," he sighs, pulling away briefly. Lips ruddy and wet with your slick, smiling slow and dangerous, “You’re fucking delicious, baby.”

You moan on his clever tongue and the sloppy sounds he makes. He's always stunning— eager and devoted to the singular task of lapping at you like a starved man.

Two fingers twist inside before he turns them back and shoves them in his own mouth. He repeats this again and again, like pulling a secret from your body that only he’s allowed to enjoy.

“Yes,” he sighs, “Fuck yes. Fuck—mmm—"

It's as if you're on the precipice of a coming storm, pressure building, and rising, too, in your belly, as he works into your body, heavy-lidded and transfixed on your beautiful face. Deeper until you’re shaking, pulling your legs up over his shoulders, getting him closer, closer, closer.

Your toes curl.

"Eddie—"

You shatter like a splinter of lightning. It bursts across your skin—a bright, brief halo—before it’s gone, chased by the explosion of swollen clouds. He muffles a loud fuck! into the meat of your ass, while his fingers continue to corkscrew inside of you.

He's wet down to his wrist, coaxing vestiges of arousal from you, and rises to kiss your open, panting mouth, your exposed throat. Eddie's lips turned wicked and desperate when he asks, "Think you can gimme another one?"

Nodding dumbly, bath and freshly laundered sheets completely forgotten, you watch as he all but yanks you down further, ass now hanging off the countertop. Swings your legs over his shoulders and dives back in, your cunt now positively flooded due to his velvet tongue.

On the bright side, this all-nighter was exceedingly better than the one you had planned; you wouldn't have it any other way. Well played Eddie Munson.

Well played.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I cannot believe that this is a single family custom built home. It looks like a catering hall venue. It was only built in 2022 in British Columbia, Canada. This large home has 5bd. & 10ba. $9.940M. It hasn’t sold. You’ll see why- it’s ridiculous.

See? The entrance hall looks like a venue. It’s gigantic. They convince that this is a house.

On the other side of the wall in the middle, is this area, another entrance.

Why they would have a snack bar equipped w/a root beer barrel, I don’t know. This must be the entertaining area.

This looks like a commercial elevator.

So, I guess that you take the elevator to the 2nd level and here’s the kitchen. Or, should I say, a kitchen. There are many others.

Check out this crazy light fixture.

I can’t distinguish between purple & gray. This kitchen looks purple to me. 

I’m confused. Here’s another kitchen and a pantry. Well, it’s not unusual to have 2 kitchens in large houses.

Stairs to another level.

So, here’s a bedroom, one of 5. I like the blue effect on the closets.

Built-in dressers around the perimeter.

What is with this house and kitchens? There’s a kitchenette in the bd.

The master bath has a huge vanity and an enclosed jetted tub w/a shower. The bath & kitchen cabinets all match, but they’re nothing great.

Looks like a dressing room.

Here’s another huge room with the same funky fixture and a kitchenette.

In the garage, there’s a turn-about.

Plus a work room/storage room w/more of that cabinetry.

This home is so big, you can fit a backhoe inside. Maybe it’s for plowing the snow.

The elevator comes down here, too.

Or, you can choose to take the stairs.

Another bd. w/a kitchenette.

Smaller bath.

I don’t even know what this is. Laundry room?

And, a closet/dressing room area.

Smaller bd. w/bath. At least everybody gets the same tub.

I don’t know what this is, but there’s another kitchen.

What is this, a heated parking area? It has parking for 12 cars.

The home is 13,975 sq. ft., and is on .99 acre. I can see why it hasn’t sold, it certainly doesn’t look like residence.

https://www.realtor.ca/real-estate/25168516/3355-midland-rd-oak-bay-uplands

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

Final Fuck You to my Undergrad Uni

I personally think it's more like a monologue. But here it goes. A bit of a long piece of explicit writing about my 4 years at this shit hole. Glad to be done here ✌🏾. Grad pic beneath the cut

Tag list (normal poetry peeps and people I saw like the og post): @nanashi23 @winterandwords @vacantgodling @the-void-writes @weirdgirlcroix

Imma have to start this off with the fattest fuck you 

Fuck the campus 

Fuck the board of trustees 

Fuck the professors that should've been denied their doctorate degrees

And fuck you 

For thinking I'd respond kindly to all the times you've fucked me over

I wonder how many times I can curse 

Before you flag parental advisory 

To a campus full of fucking adults 

And those underage kids you drag in wasting potential 

On these hills that make me wanna eat ammo 

And chomp on gun barrels till my gums bleed 

And I get a few more cracks in my back teeth

I wonder how much money I've blown 

On liquor bottles that suck at deluding 

And beer cases that take their sweet fucking time 

In numbing my mental anguish 

Shits got those razor nails that can gouge 

And maybe I'd enjoy the sting 

If the bitch wasn't clawing out my eyes

Then stabbing straight through my stomach 

Twirling my intestines like spaghetti dinner 

With my blood gushing out onto the only carpeted floor in the fucking building 

Wouldn't be the first time this place tried to bleed a nigga dry. 

And my account's touched the negative for vending machine sodas and Monster energy drinks 

But at least they make damn good microphones

Cause I've gotten a little to used to putting on shows

Even if the alcohol, caffiene, and paranoid fuckery 

Warped my heartbeat

And it beats to the tune of decorating my fridge with knuckle imprints

Cause why the fuck would I spend money I don't have on a pretty decoration

And it even beats to climbing through windows for projects that root so deep the only thoughts I think are on the time that ticks by

And hunch a little more into myself as our equivalent of Walmart security roams the lit halls

And the clacking of their keys reminds me that I've imprisoned me

And sometimes my heartbeat matches my fists hitting my desk drawer 

Till the shit up top falls 

And the pencils are the only thing raining 

Cause I already spent all my money by just fucking living

And my heart tries not to beat through my chest 

When my family asking for funds that ain't ever exist

The fattest fuck you goes to 

This hell hole 

Where the flames are white hot with white people

Who love to toss shit into the flames 

And their alabaster babies 

Who ain't ever seen a black kid 

Say the world's most insensitive shit

And act suprised when their "ocean eyes" give reptilian beast instead

And I'd rather drown myself in the lab sink 

Chew on the bacteria loaded chunks along the way

Than pretend they're as gorgeous as this bitch ass campus.

I'd love to say thank you 

Hell I'd even say I'd love you 

It's a lie real easy to slip off the tongue as of late 

And maybe it's the brain damage of back to back all nighters

Or being dragged into unconsciousness on tables and radiators

Could even be the liquor that don't even taste the same 

And sometimes I still toss the cap and drink straight from the bottle

Drink that shit like the holy water I've never dared to bathe in

And I'm sure to keep my head back

Even if the shit tastes like failure and fear 

Then again when does a half assed attempt taste better than a solid victory

So I make sure I don't spill

And I'll beat it into the ground 

A STEM major is a wicked thing 

I lost two family members and couldn't even leave 

You suffer in every nook on campus just to come back home and asphyxiate in your at home lair

And I ain't one for wailing to fabrications 

In books translated beyond their original truths 

But God 

Thank fucking God 

I am done...

Wasn't so sure I'd live to see the end

And for that I'd drink again

And I'd find a use for all those middle fingers about to spawn

But for now I'll spare the vulgaruity

Cause my mouth real good at not being pretty

[icestar-74]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

"Come on Izaya. It'll be fun. A walk in a spooky grave yard?! You love to see what humans are into." Shizuo tried to psych Izaya up.

Izaya rolled his eyes at Shizuo. "You just want the free candy. Where did you even get these hats? They barely fit. Is this a costume? So lazy. You didn't even try. I mean what are we even supposed to be Shizu-chan?"

"Those stage guys with the canes! They're in the movies all the time. Shit...I forgot the canes." Shizuo looked at the candy bags. "Just come on before the good candy is gone."

"Fine, but I'm taking the Boo-tique bag." Izaya grabbed a bag. "And I want all the root beer barrels and black liquorice."

Shizuo picked up his bag. "Ew gross. No one even likes those."

They made their way to the grave walk. Supposedly at the end of the walk you get a ton of candy. Shizuo had found a flyer and he loved free sweets.

"Shizuo, your gripping my arm a lil tight." Izaya turned to look at him. "Are you ok?"

Shizuo swallowed. "Yeah. Just didn't think it was going to be this scary."

Izaya laughed. "Are you actually scared?"

"No." Shizuo snarled. "Shit! What was that?!" He jumped behind Izaya.

"Oh you made me drop my bag." Izaya looked disappointed. "I didn't hear anything. Come on we have to be at the end."

"I'm telling you I heard something." Shizuo spoke into Izaya's shoulder.

"Again, I'm telling you I didn't." Izaya tried to shake away.

A cracking sound came from the tomb stones.

"FUCK IT WE'RE DONE!" Shizuo grabbed Izaya's hand and started running.

"What about the candy?!" Izaya yelled.

"We'll just buy some!" Shizuo yelled back.

Once back home Izaya put an arm around Shizuo. "Shizuo, I've seen you fight a demon army. Why are you so afraid?"

Shizuo was panting. "I can punch...a demon....but....I can't....punch a ghost...."

Izaya burst out laughing then. "You are ridiculous! Come on, I'll buy you a whole trunk of candy."

Shizuo smiled up at him. "Really?"

"Yes, now let's go." Izaya grinned at him. "Before I pull out my Ouija Board."

[incarnateirony]

FBBC are not moving brewing anywhere. All their brewing for distribution was already done off site by a mass non dedicated fbbc facility which will continue to happen. No in-house brewing for the taproom anymore and they laid off their main day to day person (Shelby) their brewer, their social media manager and another tap room staff member. Some of us live and work here, don’t belittle us with “expanding” especially when the people in charge have been apologetic and honest.

"Some of us live and work there" says person trying to incorporate themselves anonymously in "some of us" without committal language, showing definitional psychopathy in the interest of attempting to spread your false information.

They had a 15 barrel keg system. It is not enough to keep up with national distribution. They did lay off the guy, because he has less experience in what they're leaning into for new IPA variants and was essentially an apprentice, they got them a Real Beer Boy Now. Cope.

For people that work and live there you sure are shit at knowing what he's told his friends and employees

I know you miserable hobgoblins in wigs love rooting for failure but you're just gonna come up empty handed here. You're all such miserable piles of shit that hate your lives you want to pretend you understand his P&L, or his business assets. Or his supply and demand issues being the good kind. Or his upped hiring requirements. Or anything. You are miserable leeches that want everyone to be as much of a miserable failure as you are and look online for people to peck at for it, and it doesn't change reality. He's successful, you're not. And FBBC is fine and on a growth curve. Sorry to disappoint the banshees in the room looking for blood to feel better about themselves.

Pretending, anonymously, and fakely, that you working there as Rando McGee, which you probably don't, because it actually has a very limited staff, and they're basically all accounted for, that you "working OR living" near him gives you insight to why he's buying up larger facilities and moving production/releasing the old apprentice for a new master. You don't get business wits about what the actor is doing because you share air with him.

Now, if you are, somehow, amidst a group where SOMEONE is telling the truth of being an employee, you might advise them to shut their trap, because it won't be hard to figure out who it is. Because they'd either need to be an unloyal fan or some part time shitheaded employee that feels important for serving Celebrity Beer. Because anyone who knows what the fuck is happening is accounted for. so you know. If you're this vicious or misinformed you're on a very limited list of idiot candidates.

All this tells me is you spoiled brats don't understand the phase of downsizing and asset redistribution for growth plans. Holy shit. Get a job. Get a business.

Some of us have had far more genuine information for years running direct from sources or at worst second degree. To use your very whiny and sensitive phrase as a reaction to your false narrative shattering and people questioning you, "Don't belittle us."

Go back to your trust fund or husband and 2.5 kids and leave the grownups to talk about business. Yall gonna scream sexist too like that doesn't collectively describe 99% of you lifeless pieces of shit accurately. It's not your gender, it's your self hatred fused to privilege being turned into everyone else's problem while you wave your hands like a toddler telling adults how the world works because it's never been relevant or a challenge you've had to deal with in your bubbles. I am literally fucking over being explained by the upper class middle aged version of basement dwellers how a world they've never acted in works. We don't have to humor your shit, man (gn).

I will ABSOLUTELY belittle the shit out of you until you learn to stay in your lane and stop pretending you can manifest your AO3 RPF fics to reality with a llittle Intentional Misunderstanding And Elbow Grease.

[kritischetheologie]

if you're still doing them, can i request an author's notes version of October 2021, United States from Sing Myself a Lullaby

October 2021, United States

After Max takes the chequered flag [a casual reminder that this season is not going great for Lewis, that sets up the whole tension of the scene], but before Nico can figure out whether anyone is going out on the town for the night or if he should just stay in and read [readers are meant to pick up on the reference to the 2015 US GP from the previous chapter as well as to Valentine's Day from a few chapters ago, and to think about the ways that Nico has grown since 2015, including becoming more comfortable with his solitude and developing a healthier relationship to alcohol, even as he's still the same person], Nico hears a knock on the door of his hotel room.

He opens the door to Lewis, more casually dressed than Nico has seen him in years in a plain Tommy t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans, his braids piled on top of his head [this is basically the same outfit he was wearing in Australia in 2014, which Nico described as dressing like he was making an effort. Nowadays, it's a casual look on him. Lewis has also grown and changed a lot, and is returning to his roots.]. He’s holding a six-pack of Heineken, and he proffers it almost sheepishly, the gap between his teeth barely peeking out from behind his half-smile. [The gap in Lewis's teeth tends to bring up parallels to the Baby Brocedes era, and shows up in tender moments.]

“Hey, man,” he says, so casually Nico almost wants to shake him. “Can I buy you a drink?” [I'm not particularly proud of this line as a piece of writing, but as a pickup line, I love it.]

Nico had known Mercedes was staying in the same hotel as him, the nicest in Austin [Mutuals are encouraged to ask me my story about this hotel lmao. Anyway Nico is still princess and no amount of personal growth will stop him from being princess.]. But Lewis’s room is probably nicer, he thinks as he lets him in. It probably has a proper sitting area [me, forcing myself kicking and screaming to do a bit of exposition about where the hell their bodies are arranged in the space, by also making a point about power dynamics in their relationship. Lewis's success has put him on the same level as Nico, now, where previously, class was a point of conflict between them], instead of the single armchair he offers to Lewis as he takes a seat straddling the back of the small wooden desk chair, facing away from the desk towards Lewis. Lewis puts the beers down on the table next to him and uncaps two, passing the first to Nico.

Nico tries to remember if they shared a drink when he won the title, if Lewis stuck around the obligatory team party long enough, and if not, when the last time was that they did this, or if it even matters exactly when it was, when it’s been this long. [I actually hate this paragraph and I almost cut it so many times but I needed to pause for a moment before we barreled into the dialogue and I also needed to drive home the way the Silver War is still lurking like a ghost in every room they're in.]

“What are you doing here, Lewis?” he asks, toasting faintly in Lewis’s direction and bringing the bottle to his lips. He and his father did an ad for Heineken’s alcohol-free line a few years ago [this ad is a cinematic masterpiece. Also, Heineken 0.0 is unironically one of my favorite drinks. Also also the ad itself is such Nico characterization, because it's all about his desire to live up to his father's example. There's not a whole lot of Nico's parents in the present day timeline, because that era of his life is over, and he's done trying to impress them. He's finally grown into himself as an adult. The ad, and all that it represents, is a few years ago]. He wonders if Lewis saw the ad, if that’s why he brought this brand, or if he actually likes it.

“I wanted to apologize,” Lewis says. “I shouldn’t have blown you off in Zandvoort, it wasn’t cool of me.” [Cue me desperately asking all the Brits I know if Brits actually say "blow you off" before deciding I don't mind some Americanisms, especially for someone like Lewis, who spends so much time in the USA.]

“It’s fine,” Nico says, shrugging. [It's not fine.] “I know how it is before a race, especially in front of your opponent's crowd. I haven’t thought about it since.”

He hasn’t lied to Lewis in years, and he must be out of practice, [the old patterns of bad behavior are still there, but Nico has grown and changed, and now they don't fit him anymore] because Lewis gives him a look, skeptical and judgmental all wrapped into one.

“Nico,” Lewis says softly. [This is really scary for Lewis, too.] “I’m apologizing, alright? Let me.”

Even after years, Nico recognizes the beginning of the downward spiral. The next move would be for him to insist again that he’s not upset, as if refusing to acknowledge that Lewis has hurt him will deny him the satisfaction of knowing he’s able to, and then to get offended that Lewis would even imply such a thing. Then Lewis will withdraw, acting like Nico is the problem, when he’s the one who fucked up in the first place. They did this dance for years; he still knows the steps by heart. [We see them go through a similar progression a few times in the Silver War era, though not in such a perfect step-by-step fashion. Nico has done a lot of therapy by this point, and identified the recurring patterns of behavior, but the reality also felt messier than he's making it out to be now, because he has had the distance to simplify it in this way. Anyway, one of the things I was trying to do here was prove to the reader that It Will Be Different This Time, which I think is the big question with a getting back together plot. Nico being able to notice when things are going the way they always used to, and to act differently this time, is evidence that they can make it work now.]

Instead, Nico forces himself to take a few deep, centering breaths, to act counter to his instincts [The word instinct comes up a lot in this fic, given the a/b/o of it all, but I realized that I use instinct and habit pretty interchangeably when it comes to Nico and Lewis, and when I went back to try to tease them apart, I decided that it was better to let them stay intermingled, because part of Nico's Whole Thing is that he doesn't know how to know the difference between them. By this point, the two decades of history are as much a force acting on him as the biology of it all, for better or for worse.] “Thanks for apologizing,” he says, finally. “It was pretty shitty of you, I’ll be honest.”

Lewis’s face cracks open with a laugh. [Every single time Lewis laughs in a Good Way in this fic feels like a goddamn miracle to Nico] “God, Nico,” he says, “if you could see the shape your face just made saying that. I didn’t know it could still move that much.” [I went out on a limb with a Botox joke, but I really wanted to stress that they're Old Now. I mean, 36 is not that old, in the scheme of things, but-- they're not the kids they were anymore. And they're not 30 year olds who can't stop hurting each other anymore. They've grown, and they've aged, and after all of that, they've found their way back to each other, and Lewis is as amazed at that as Nico is. How are you still the person I loved, after all this time Lewis is asking here.]

Somehow, that jab doesn’t offend him—[because he picks up on that subtext] maybe because it’s so brazen, the kind of comment he doesn’t let anyone get away with [alexa play The Only Exception]. He can’t resist laughing, and he sees Lewis’s smile turn smug. [This is the moment Lewis fully commits to making the move on Nico, though he came over hoping to.]

“You’re really no good at apologies,” Nico teases, “coming here to apologize only to turn around and start insulting me.” [The only thing I hate more than describing rooms is dialogue, particularly when it's flirting.]

“I can think of a much better one,” Lewis replies, putting down his beer. Nico recognizes the glint that flashes through Lewis’s eyes [f a m i l i a r i t y], and he has just enough time to prepare himself for what’s coming in the time it takes Lewis to stand up and cross the room to stand in front of him, to tip his chin up and kiss him.

It’s awkward and uncomfortable, the back of the chair pressing into Nico’s sternum, his neck craning up even though Lewis is bending down [a begrudging reminder of where their bodies are in the room, but also an important acknowledgment that this isn't a perfect fairytale kiss, it's a messy attempt at figuring things out that's going to take work]. Lewis’s lips are too tentative by half and his tongue is too aggressive, sloppy. It’s the worst kiss they’ve shared since they were teenagers. It’s the best thing Nico has felt in years nonetheless. [It's a fresh start. It's a new beginning. It's more important than Good Sex-- because as we know from the whole Silver War era, the sex never stopped being good, even as everything else was awful. And also maybe Nico hasn't slept with anyone but Lewis since, or ever.]

Nico pulls away first, standing up and stepping around the chair to be chest to chest with Lewis. Lewis reaches for him, ready to pull him into another kiss, but Nico stops Lewis with a hand to his chest. [Nico's indecision about doing this, emotionally, is made clear in his physicality: he wants to get closer to Lewis, but only so he can push him away. But that's not a bad thing: there's a lot of boundary-setting in this scene that both serves to keep the slow burn going longer and also establish that they're both approaching this from a place of self and mutual respect rather than just falling mindlessly back into it like they always did during the Silver War.]

“Lewis…” he warns. “If this is just because Max won today…”

Lewis takes a step back from him.

“No, Nico, that’s not what this is about, fuck.” He looks at his hands, at the beers on the table, anywhere but Nico’s face.

Nico wants to tell him to come back and hold him again, that he’s sorry, that he didn’t mean to say it. The problem is that he did. [Again, fighting against his instincts: Nico doesn't want to stop advocating for himself just to have Lewis. He's done that too many times.]

“I just don’t want to do anything stupid,” Nico says. “And I can’t just be the thing you do to make yourself feel better about how this season is going. You can understand that, right?”

Lewis nods. He picks his beer back up from the table and takes a long swig. Nico watches his throat as he swallows. “I should go,” Lewis says finally, his tone unreadable. [We don't see a lot of Lewis's emotional state, because he's so hard for Nico to read. I wrote here about Lewis's perspective on Zandvoort. TL;DR Lewis had been freaking out about the way he's letting himself fall back into things with Nico, and when he came here to apologize for that, I think he was also expecting that they would just keep falling. Because Nico does feel like home to him. Nico is safe and familiar, and this season is going badly, and maybe he feels rightly called out by what Nico just said. Lewis is going to have to go have a long conversation with himself about what he actually wants from Nico, but the answer is going to be that he wants Nico to keep pushing him to grow. He doesn't want it to be easy. We're going to get some indication of that in the sex they have in Brazil and then more of it in Abu Dhabi, with the "and a better teammate" comment, and finally, in the last chapter.]

Nico lets him.

[elderflowerchampagne]

157

I skipped writing one of these for the visit before last. Nothing of note happened except my realizing I've been missing out on root beer barrels. This one is horribly late, too, but after my birthday visit I was toppled by a cold and then had to come home to Connecticut and do real life stuff.

Lord, I've turned thirty, but judging by my reaction to seeing McNally as Speakeasy, in my head I'm still nineteen. I won the "find the candy" game and saved the strawberry wrapper the same way I did when I got his porter ring in 2012.

I never noticed before that when Boy Witch gets crammed into the box in the speakeasy he's essentially getting kicked out of a bar. We've all been there, pal, and some of us have been there in Key West in 2016 but it doesn't really matter cause our friends forgave us and we're never gonna see those people again anyway.

My first time getting the nurse's 1:1 since reopening, thanks to dearly beloved and soon to be dearly missed Robi. I never noticed before that there's a male statue without a head in that room, which is a clever foreshadowing of what happens to Macbeth.

I'm pretty sure this was the first time I've seen Jenna's Lady Macbeth since the reopening, and she's gotten a lot more tormented and tortured than I remembered. Instead of sitting at the top of the bed for her nosebleed scene she curled up in a ball at the foot of the bed and pulled the blanket over herself. Incidentally that was how I spent most of 2020.

I don't know if the person made out of fabric and standing in the middle of the tailor shop is new but it scared the shit out of me, so well done all.

Nobody's ever gonna find Grace if they don't stop changing her picture.

Since my birthday is also my SNM-versary, I always get a little bit emotional when it comes to birthday visits. Eleven years, good lord. When people ask me why I've stuck around I usually say it's because in all those years I haven't found anything better to do, but of course that isn't true. It means so much to me to have a place where everything remains so blessedly unchanged, and where I can go and remember and see where my own life has overlapped. So many times I'll be passing through and find myself thinking, "There's where I sliced my arm open in the rep bar hallway. There's where I found out I got into my MFA. There's where I lost my green square earring." Anyway, it means something to me.

I probably won't be back until March, and hence this was my last show before whatever mass exodus is coming comes. I've long stopped getting upset when people leave because more often than not leaving means "leaving," but still. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

[apieters]

My last-minute partial submission for the @inklings-challenge (I forgot to tag you, I submitted it at 11:50-ish on October 21). As per the Intrusive Fantasy prompt for Team Chesterton, the story will eventually involve some fantastical elements influencing the main timeline. For now, we have to establish the weirdness:

Swashbucklers of the Magic Kingdom

Episode 2: The Storybook

Chapter 1: Early to Rise

Kopa, Prince of the Pridelands, awoke bright and early to the joyous tolling of Notre Dame cathedral’s bells as the first rays of light streamed through the window of the small room where he and his parents’ two fencing masters, the tyrannosaur Chris Carnovo and the young man André Caron, had spent the night. The lion cub was always up with the sun—daylight meant playtime, and he wasn’t about to waste a second in bed when the world offered such excitement.

Yesterday had certainly been exciting, though not necessarily as fun as he’d hoped. First, his parents sent him to spend a week in New Orleans Square living with the Pridelands Shakespeare Company’s fight choreographers, completely out of the blue. Then, he’d snapped the spout off a barrel of root beer and André had chased him out into the streets, sword in hand. Finally, he’d almost been arrested just outside the cathedral, only to be saved at the last minute by Chris and André, who had apologized for what he’d done. The three had decided to spend the night at the cathedral, since Chris and André attended Mass there every week anyway, and today was Sunday.

Kopa remembered meeting Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame himself, last night too. Almost soon as he had finished talking to his dad on the phone, the hunchback bell-ringer bounded into the sanctuary, crying, “Sir André! Sir André!” He acknowledged no one else, immediately wrapping his great arms around the black-clad fencing master and spinning him around.

“Quasimodo,” André said, not unkindly, “how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not a Knight?”

“To me, you are Roland himself!” Quasimodo cried, and only then put the young man down and turned to greet Chris, then Kopa. Kopa had been intrigued—obviously, there was a story behind the hunchback’s strange reception, but he thought that for now, it was probably best to let it remain a mystery.

Still, the fact that Quasimodo called André a Knight intrigued Kopa to no end. To be a Knight of the Magic Kingdom was the highest position of honor in the entire realm, superseded only by being Royalty or a Friend of Good King Walt himself. To become a Knight, one had to perform a great deed or service, usually at the risk of one’s life, for a member of the Royalty of the Magic Kingdom—a King, Queen, Princess or Prince—or on behalf of a whole district or principality of the Magic Kingdom, in order to protect their patron’s life or honor, and then be dubbed by a member of the Royalty. For such distinctions, they are awarded the right to be called “Sir,” and their deeds are written, remembered and retold. Kopa had been heartbroken to learn that as a Prince, he could never become a Knight of the Magic Kingdom, and it had taken a talk with his dad at the top of Pride Rock, showing him his future kingdom in all its splendor, to console him.

Were Chris and André Knights of the Magic Kingdom? Kopa had asked before bed the night before. Chris’s usual smile faded, and André himself turned away.

“No,” they had said, almost in unison.

“Then why did Quasimodo call you ‘Sir?’” Kopa asked. “Isn’t that something only Knights are called?”

“It’s a nickname,” André said, then turned over and faced the wall, trying to fall asleep.

Kopa turned to Chris. “I never earned the honor,” Chris said, and said no more before falling asleep.

Despite the rough and strange beginning, though, Kopa had quickly decided that he liked the two fencing masters and greeted the new day with fresh enthusiasm, ready to face the world and all its delights with the two swordsmen—

Who were still asleep.

Chris was snoring lightly, curled up in a tight ball with his long, powerful tail wrapped around him, which Andre had been using as a pillow. The young man looked as stern in sleep as he did awake, but he was, nonetheless sleeping quite peacefully.

Kopa frowned. Why did grown-ups like sleeping in so much? He promised himself that when he grew up to become King, he’d pass a law ordering everyone to get up as early as he did. But that was going to be a long time yet, so he looked around for something to do. The room was pretty empty, except for a small bed. He slowly crept to the door, opened it quietly, and decided to go exploring–as long as he didn’t touch anything, he should be fine.

The lion cub hopped down the narrow, winding staircase, barely able to see even with his better feline vision. The stairway opened up onto a floor full of stained glass windows on one side and a row of low bookshelves on the other. Kopa took a moment to look at the stained glass windows. There were four of them, each one holding a book with a pen, and each with an animal or other kind of companion–one had an angel, another had a lion, one an ox, and another an eagle. Kopa was intrigued by the figure with the lion. He stared at the window for a moment before realizing that something was odd–the pen was not made of painted stained glass, like the others. It was just regular glass. Kopa tried to look through it, but a sunbeam struck him in the eye and he had to blink and look away.

Kopa looked at the books instead. They were old, but not necessarily dusty, leather books. Kopa opened one and saw one of those medieval-style books with the big fancy letters on one page. He took down another, and found yet another illuminated manuscript. He tried to read it, but it was in another language that he couldn’t speak.

So much for finding something to do.

Kopa stepped back, wondering what he was going to do, when he noticed that the sunbeam produced an outline of a pen on the bookcase, with the tip resting on one book in particular. Kopa wondered if there was something special about this book. He took it down off the shelf and openned it…

Chapter 2: A Strange New World

“What? What’s going on?” Kopa thought to himself. He was suddenly outside the cathedral, standing in the rain. Well, he was and he wasn’t. Kopa was sure he was inside the cathedral, with a book–in fact, if he thought about it, and not even that hard, he could see, as if having a really vivid dream or daydream, the hall of bookshelves in the cathedral, his paw resting on the pages of an open book.

He looked down at his paws–and saw that he didn’t have paw’s anymore! He saw human hands. He ran over to a rain puddle–while still daydreaming that he was sitting still, in front of a book–and saw a human face, with mop of brown hair plastered on his brow, soaked by the rain, with a tan doublet and a brown cape. He touched his face, which he could see in the puddle and feel with his human hands was a human face, not a lion’s muzzle.

What was this book?

What was going on?

What was real? Both the rain and the book, his human face and lion face, felt real, although he had to focus on the room of bookshelves in order to be aware of it. He shifted his focus and looked around in the rainy world–he saw a piece of cloth in the puddle. Curious, he picked it up. It was a handkerchief, plain but well-made, with little crescent moons and stars embroidered on it. He picked it up to examine it more closely.

Suddenly, voices caught his ears. “You there! Halt! You’re under arrest!”

Kopa was suddenly focused on the world with the rain and the puddle. He saw two soldiers running toward him. Panicking, he looked around and saw the cathedral looming before him. He ran to the door and started pounding. “Sanctuary!” Kopa called, pounding on the door with his paws. “Sanctuary! Please! Sanctuary!”

“You there!” the one of the guards barked. “Halt!” They ran over to the doors of the church. Kopa saw that one of them was taller, the other shorter. The tall one had a large, pointed chin and a large mustache, and looked down at Kopa with beady eyes and a brutish frown. His partner was short, round of body and face with a dull, oafish expression. Kopa pounded harder, crying out for sanctuary as the guards grabbed him by the collar and held him aloft.

The tall guard, who held him, spoke up. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I’m Charles,” the cub answered, trying to sound confident, then stopped. Charles? His name wasn’t Charles. He had been trying to say “Kopa.” “Prince Charles, the Dauphin.” Kopa tried again. “My father is King Louis.” Why was “Louis” coming out of his mouth. He had clearly said “Simba.” That’s at least what he was thinking. Still, whatever his name was in this world–Kopa, Charles, whatever–he was still a prince. He hoped that by asserting his title, they would treat him with some respect. The guards didn’t seem impressed.

“You’re a long way from home, boy,” the round-faced guard said.

“I—I was just visiting—” Charles explained.

“A likely story,” the tall guard sneered. “Troublemaker, I see! And a trespasser, to boot!”

“What?” Charles gasped. “No, my parents left me with—”

“Trying to get rid of you, eh?” the tall guard. “So would I. Olivier,” he said, turning to the short guard, “what do we do to trespassers and vagabonds?”

Olivier smiled a sneering, unsettling smile with his thick, rubbery lips. “We arrest them and chain them up in the Palace of Justice.”

Charles gasped. “What! No! Please! I didn’t do anything wrong!” He tried to squirm out of the guards’ grasp, but the tall guard was much stronger than him.

“Haha, it’s cute when they squirm,” Olivier said. “I’ll get the chains ready.”

Charles started whimpering nervously as Olivier pulled out a heavy set of chains. He couldn’t believe it—he was actually going to jail! And not just any jail—the Palace of Justice! He used to read scary stories about the things that happened there, but he could only read them in the morning or the middle of the day, when he wasn’t about to go to bed. Now, there was no putting down the book.

Olivier was just about to clamp the chains on Charles’s wrists when the door of the cathedral swung open and an old man in white and red robes opened the door. He had a kindly, gentle face, but when he saw what was happening, his face hardened.

“Bertrand, Olivier, what’s going on?” the old man demanded.

“Sanctuary!” Charles cried, “Please! Sanctuary!”

“You heard the boy,” the old man said sternly. “He has claimed sanctuary. Let him go and I will take him inside.”

“No way, Archdeacon,” Bertrand said. “He didn’t make it inside before we got to him, and you were not fast enough to let him in. He comes with us.”

“You blasphemous demoniacs!” The Archdeacon thundered. “Is it not enough that you have been excommunicated from fellowship with the Almighty God, that you heap greater judgements on yourselves? Unhand the boy now, in the name of—”

Olivier pushed the Archdeacon, back into the cathedral. “Quit yelling, old man,” he said, “your sermons don’t scare me anymore.”

Charles started to cry as Olivier reached for his cuffs again, but then everyone froze when they heard voices.

“Charles? Charles!” The voices sounded familiar.

Charles wiped his eyes and peered through the pouring rain to see two figures. One was a tall man, not very old, with black hair, wearing a blue cloak and an eyepatch over his right eye. The other man had shaggy brown hair, dark clothing, and a dark cloak. Both carried swords–one had a longer, thinner sword with rings to protect his fingers, while the other carried a hand-and-a-half sword.

Kopa was surprised to realize that he could recall their names–Sir Christophe and Sir André–

Wait a minute–if he was transformed into a human, then that meant that Sir Christophe was really Chris as a human. And since André was already a human, he stayed human. As they rushed forward, Kopa looked at the man in black and recognized him as André–or at least, this world’s version of André.

“Here!” Charles shouted before he could stop himself. He suddenly realized what he’d done. He was caught between the French town guards and the two swordsmen who hated him and had finally hunted him down. Kopa tried to remember why the two knights were mad at him. He tried to think, wondering if there was a hint when he tried to think about the book in the cathedral, where he was still a lion. Nothing seemed different, but he did suddenly have memories of a wine barrel spilling and Sir André swinging a sword…Charles struggled even more—the only safe place was the cathedral, just feet away. He squirmed and clawed at Bertrand, even more desperate to get free.

Sir Christophe and Sir André drew their swords. “Brute! Oaf!” Sir Christophe shouted. “Let the boy go! Now.”

Charles felt Bertrand’s hand tremble as he drew his sword, and saw Olivier clumsily fumbling for his. They were completely focused on the two approaching swordsmen. “You can pry him out of my cold, dead fingers,” Bertrand said, trying and failing to mask his now evident fear.

“Your conditions are acceptable,” Sir André snarled. He and Sir Christophe charged the two soldiers just as the bells of Notre Dame began to ring again.

Sir André, meanwhile, had parried the first cut Bertrand had thrown and grabbed his wrist, wrenching his arm around and slamming him into the doors. Bertrand dropped Charles, who landed on his feet and bolted into the cathedral just as Sir André grabbed Bertrand by the throat and lifted him, kicking and wheezing into the air…

The rest of the scene unfold exactly as Kopa remembered in the world where he was a lion–he confessed to the Archdeacon, and then Sir André came in and apologized for his conduct, swearing his loyalty to his liege lord, the Dauphin.

Suddenly Kopa found himself back in the real world–at least, that’s what he decided to call the world where he was a lion. He was in the room with the bookshelves. He looked down, and saw lion’s paws; he felt his face and felt a lion’s muzzle, where it should have been.

He looked down at the book. The page where it was open was blank. Kopa cocked and eyebrow. He distinctly remembered words on the page. He looked around. Nobody seemed to have seen him. He gingerly pinched the cover of the book with his claw and closed it.

“Kopa? Kopa?” Kopa heard Chris’s voice somewhere in the distance.

Kopa quickly stashed the book back in the bookcase. “I’m here!” he called, heading back to the stairwell, where he met Chris and André in the doorway.

“What were you doing?” André asked.

“I was just exploring,” Kopa said. Technically, that’s what he’d been doing when he’d found the room with the magic book. He wasn’t lying to them.

“Well, try not to wander off so far,” Chris said. “We’re supposed to be looking out for you.”

“Sorry,” Kopa said.

“It’s alright,” Chris said. “But let’s head downstairs. I think there’s someone who wants to see you.”

[fakepsychicplanthoarder]

I love the kind of autism men in the 90's had, where they'd say hew the internet is here why not make a website specifically so I can post rootbeer reviews multiple times a week for the next 27 years forming an elaborate community of root beer enthusiasts who I can trade rare and/or regional bottles with

Anyway shoutout to Anthony's root beer barrel, Steve's root beer journal, and Eric's root beer blog

[zonerobotnik]

Okay, so since I don't want to risk being sent "Take this down" messages about the art I was sent again, I'm just going to address the stuff talked about in it. Plus, I'm less likely to lose the art reference if I don't post these. Wish I had thought about that when I shared all the pictures I was sent before, but…well, live and learn.

Submission 1: This was about Hugo and his character description. At one point, it's mentioned that he doesn't drink because he doesn't like losing control of himself, but the submitter said that later picture of him holding mugs of beer contradict this.

Well, let's be honest, just because the mug is full, it doesn't mean he's drinking it. It's a common trope in pretty much every setting that a character buys someone a drink and themselves one for appearances but don't drink it. We see him holding it in pictures, but it's not at his lips. So, he could still dislike drinking.

Also, he could be drinking root beer. Same foamy stuff on top, especially the barrel-brewed stuff. (Though, that stuff is bitter AF and I don't like it.)

Modern Hugo should be a danseur in the ballet or just in some dance troupe. That boy's got legs for days.

Submission 2: A bunch of Pre-V&7K Varigo pictures. Pretty sure that V&7K started because they drew Hugo's DND version with him. The pictures in submission 2 feature Hugo in a normal ponytail and not the V&7K style, so that's 24 year old Hugo the Human hanging out with 14-15 year old season 1 Varian. (Varian, please stop falling for older guys. facepalm) On the other hand, even though he has the ponytail he looks younger, so this may have been them experimenting with aging him down, and the one picture of them actually flirting has Varian looking a bit older. Still, fun reference and bit of history.

Submission 3: A bunch of pictures featuring Hugo the human and his boyfriend Pyrus Bitterfang. Submission 4 continues on this with talking about how Cyrus is based on human Pyrus and so Hugo from V&7K and Cyrus being a couple is totally fine. To that, I say "Well, sure, if Hugo wasn't 19 and Donella wouldn't kick Cyrus' ass for touching him like that." When they were a couple in DND, they were much closer in age and Donella wasn't a factor.

I do like the hammer in this concept art, though. Definitely gotta use that at some point. Also, why did they not keep that braid? Rude to cut his hair. #giveCyrusbackhisbraid2023

Submission 5: A bunch of cute pictures of Hugo being slobby and sleepy. Most of them are of the DND version, though, with only one of them looking like V&7K's. The hairstyle is a big indicator.

Submission 6: Again, an assortment of DND and V&7K. The picture of Hugo smoking is from the DND (ponytail), but the alchemist outfit and gun pictures have the undercut, so that's V&7K. I'm liking the gun picture's outfit, definitely should have him wear it at some point.

Lastly, there's a picture of Hugo the human's new design for a futuristic sci-fi setting and that's pretty cool.

Submission 7: Olivia. She's adorable, and how she is able to move around and be her own mouse is unknown, but these are some cute reference pictures. I think magic was definitely involved, maybe even soul-trapping magic - that'd be pretty dark, though.

Anyways, thanks for the submissions, I will keep them for reference and incorporate some of this information into TREL and any other V&7K-based fics I do in the future.

[nwbeerguide]

A collaboration between Paso Roble's Calwise Spirits and Firestone Walker Brewing Company is finally out! Introducing Axe Hole Single Malt Whiskey.

Press Release

Paso Robles, CA: Calwise Spirits is excited to unveil its latest neighborhood collaboration with Firestone Walker Brewing Company—a special-edition “Axe Hole” Single Malt Whiskey, distilled from a mash of traditional brewing grains and aged for three years in American oak barrels.  

Only 100 cases of Axe Hole Single Malt Whiskey ($75) were produced from a total of three barrels. It is available at the Calwise Spirits tasting room in Paso Robles as well as online at CalwiseSpirits.com. 

The Axe Hole Single Malt Whiskey comes from an all-barley sour mash fermented by Firestone Walker and distilled by Master Distiller Aaron Bergh at Calwise Spirits, which is located just a mile from the brewery in Paso Robles. In keeping with the requirements of American single malt whiskey, it was aged in all-new American oak barrels prior to blending and bottling. Bergh also held some additional barrels back for a second bottling to come in 2025. 

“A lot of people associate single malts with the peaty character of traditional Scotch, but ours is closer to a bourbon with these vanilla and caramel notes that you get from the charred American oak,” Bergh said. “I love how smooth and unique it turned out, with these beautiful fruit and cola notes that can only come from the sour barley mash provided by Firestone Walker.”

Bergh added, “The brew side often gets overlooked when it comes to distilling, but it’s foundational. It was fun to get out of the way and let the masters of brewing handle that side of things, and it’s why this whiskey tastes so good.”

This is the second collaborative spirit created by Calwise Spirits and Firestone Walker, following the limited release of “Old Tom” gin in 2022. 

“These collaborations are another way for us to deepen our artisanal roots and share what we do with a friend and neighbor,” said Nick Firestone. “We’ve been working with spirits barrels for nearly 20 years to create our barrel-aged strong ales, and we see this as an extension of that tradition.”

# # #

 Master distiller Aaron Bergh was destined for this adventure. During Prohibition, the Feds shut down his family’s moonshining operation—but not for very long. A century later, the law came knocking again, because the college authorities didn’t appreciate Aaron making hooch in his dorm. Calwise Spirits is Aaron’s ode to this renegade heritage, and a nod to his homeland of coastal California. Now established as one of the youngest master distillers in the world, he has created a line of premium spirits that embody the essence of the Golden State, infusing them with native ingredients that provide a pure taste of liquid California. Visit CalwiseSpirits.com.

Founded in 1996 by brothers-in-law Adam Firestone and David Walker, Firestone Walker is a second-generation, family-led brewery based on California’s Central Coast. Helmed by highly decorated Brewmaster Matt Brynildson, Firestone Walker's main brewery in Paso Robles produces a diverse portfolio including 805, California's #1 craft beer brand; Mind Haze, a top 5 national hazy IPA; and Cali Squeeze, one of the nation's fastest-growing beer brands. The Firestone brand family also includes iconic beers such as DBA, Union Jack, and Pivo Pils, as well as the storied Vintage Series of barrel-aged strong ales led by Parabola. As a California beer company, Firestone Walker also has two additional locations: the Barrelworks wild ale cellar in Santa Barbara County and the Propagator R&D brewhouse in Venice. Firestone Walker was recently named “Best American Brewery of the Decade” by Paste Magazine. More at 805beer.com and FirestoneWalker.com

[starlight-and-whiskey]

More People Than Ghosts: Ch5 - A Fool's Game.

When Arthur runs into the Blackthornes, Death follows on a pale horse. 18+, TW for PTSD, Abuse, Trauma and SA in the story as a whole - please see prior entries for individual warnings.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The minutes dragged into hours, timed by the thudding of Arthur's heart against his ribcage. The beer sat untouched on the table, along with the other drinks. Trying not to be obvious, and probably failing in the process, Arthur kept sneaking glances over to the back table, Dutch nudging him subtly whenever his gaze lingered just a little too long. The raucous laughter made his skin crawl. The saloon felt too warm, the air hanging thick with tension in such a way that Arthur felt he had to chew down every slow, calculated breath.

"This is a bad idea", John murmured. "We should just go."

"You didn't hear 'em, Marston. What they did."

"Thought revenge was a fool’s game", John muttered under breath, despite the way his fingertips nestled against the handle of the revolver at his hip.

"This is different." “No it ain’t. Arthur… I love her. I do. She’s great. But you know what else she is?” John argued in a hushed whisper, leaning close over the table. “Safe. She’s safe.” “Sure”, Arthur drawled sarcastically, “’til they find her. Slaughter the whole damn lot of us and do God knows what to her!” He jabbed his finger on the table, eyes narrowed. “And what about them other girls, huh? Ain’t just Elle they had in there.” “Stop it, both of you”, Dutch hissed.

“What is wrong with you?” Arthur asked incredulously as though Dutch hadn’t even spoken, shaking his head at the younger man. “You’re normally the first one charging in!” “When we ain’t outnumbered – sure.” “We’re always outnumbered.”

"I said stop it.” Dutch ordered; the untouched glass of whiskey held up in front of his lips as he lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “They're leaving.”

Arthur's fists clenched as the group walked past their table, the creak of the floorboards and thud of muddied boots pinpoint sharp in his ears. His eyes narrowed and fingers wrapped around his gun. Dutch's firm hand on his wrist and pointed stare kept him rooted in his seat. "Easy", he whispered. Arthur held steady as Dutch held his hand raised between them, anxiously awaiting orders like a good loyal soldier, even after the saloon doors had swung shut behind the group. A long moment passed until Dutch nodded subtly, dropping his hand. The signal to move. “You with me?” Arthur asked as he rose, an almost pleading look in his eyes as he nodded at John. “You know I am, brother”, he nodded back, fixing his hat on his head. “Just… try not to get me killed.”

***

They kept their distance, trailing the gang through the darkened streets until they reached the outskirts of town, where the shadows swallowed them whole.

The trio moved swiftly, shadows slipping into the night. The Blackthornes filtered off in the path leading up to the trees, their laughter and voices carrying in the still air. Arthur, Dutch, and John trailed them at a distance, unease prickling their skin, the cold air nipping beneath their clothes. As they reached the outskirts of town, the lights from town gave way to darkness.

Arthur’s senses were on high alert, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs setting his nerves on edge. He scanned the surroundings, a nagging feeling in his gut. “Something’s not right,” he muttered.

Before Dutch could respond, the cold steel of a revolver pressed against the back of his head. Glancing over at John and Arthur, Dutch saw the red kerchief man, a revolver in each hand and the barrel’s pressed squarely at the boy’s skulls. Two. One for John and Arthur, one for him. Two men. Where were the others? Not far by any reckoning which meant time was running short.

“Now why would you fellas be tailin’ us?” A low voice growled behind Dutch. As quick as ever, Dutch raised his hands in surrender, straightening his back and plastering on that winning smile. “Gentlemen! There’s surely been a misunderstanding. Must have just got a little lost. Too much drink.”

His eyes flickered to Arthur, a subtle signal he recognised as meaning one thing. Get ready. On my signal.

He slowly raised his hands as well, discreetly nudging John as he did so.

Dutch chuckled softly, keeping his tone light and unthreatening. “You know how it is. Good whiskey, good company, and suddenly you’re not quite sure where you are. Ain’t that right, John?”

John nodded, his eyes flicking to Arthur's and giving a barely noticeable nod. “Sure is. Just a couple of drunks wandering where we shouldn’t be. That whiskey’s mighty fierce.”

The man behind Arthur jabbed the gun against his head with a dull thud. “You take us for fools?”

Dutch’s smile never wavered. “Not my meaning. Just saying… it’s easy to get turned around in the dark and… stumble into something.”

With a sudden, exaggerated sway, Dutch played the perfect drunk, pitching forwards before ducking and spinning on his heels with expert precision. One hand grasped the wrist that brandished the revolver, twisting it away as his heavily ringed fist connected with the man’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged as he staggered, gasping for breath and leaving himself open to Dutch’s onslaught.

In almost perfect unison, Arthur and John followed Dutch’s lead, if a little less gracefully. Arthur swung his elbow back into the face of the man behind him, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage. The man stumbled, his revolver slipping from his hand as he clutched his nose, blood spurting between his fingers. Taking advantage of the situation, John surged his body weight against him, tackling him to the ground. Having the advantage of surprise, John ended the man’s life with an effortless slash of his knife, no doubt staining the earth the same colour as the kerchief around his neck. “Well”, Dutch panted as he cast a look at John, dragging himself upright from the second body that now lie in the mud, “looks like we evened the odds.” “We got company”, Arthur whisper shouted over the commotion as the remaining three emerged from the shadows. John grasped Arthur’s outstretched hand, dragging himself from the dirt, his chest heaving and knees muddied as he wiped the slickened blade against his pants.

The moustached man spoke first, his gun drawn and pointed straight at Dutch’s head, his voice spitting venom. “You little pig fuckers.” The men drew closer, boots squelching in the mud until they were mere feet away. Arthur dragged in a ragged breath, jaw gritted tight. He hoped to whatever greater power might exist that Dutch had a plan, because he couldn’t quite see how to regain the upper hand from this. Maybe his prayers were answered, because as luck would have it, they wouldn’t need one.  

“No guns, Gibson”, the gold toothed man growled as he calmly pushed down the moustached man’s revolver, spitting on the ground and flexing his fingers. It made sense. Not this close to town, to the law. “We settle this like men.”

Overhead, the night sky gave heed, softening to the impending sunrise. Blooms of indigo cascading across the night sky and drowning out the dimly lit stars in subtle beauty. A serene night pierced by the flurry of punches and slashes beneath its frail blanket. A shoulder ripped from its socket. A stab. A scream. Hot blood sprayed against skin and adrenaline pumped hot and heady.

As Arthur glanced over, pinned in the mud, he saw the moustached man – Gibson – grappling John in the dirt and felt a rage swell. With unrivalled strength, he buried his blade into the tall man’s chest. Right to the hilt. Hauling himself from the mud, blood dripping from his wrists, Arthur staggered towards Gibson, just as John delivered a swift kick to the stomach. “He’s mine!” Arthur growled, grasping the man's collar.

As John glanced up, dumbfounded, he was shoved to one side before Arthur offered a hand to the stranger.

“Get up!” Arthur yelled. John hesitated for a moment before catching Arthur’s eye. It wasn’t often he saw that look. That armageddon stare. That – I don’t give a shit – look.

“Arthur!” John shouted. “Go help Dutch”, Arthur responded, hunkering low. “He’s mine.” Gibson lunged as soon as he regained his footing, forcing Arthur into the mud. The pair grappled for a long moment before Gibson grabbed a rock, pinning Arthur and straddling him, smashing the rock down on Arthur’s side. Arthur felt a crunch. A snap. An indescribably flood of pain cascaded through his veins. A flood of anger. Biting back the pain, Arthur wrestled the moustached man. Jaws cracked and cuts bloomed in the mud, until Arthur straddled him, punching over and over like a man possessed.

A few feet away, John was now locked in a vicious fight with the gold toothed man – Cal - , their fists flying in a brutal ballet. John ducked a wild swing and countered with an uppercut that snapped the man’s head back. As the Blackthorne staggered, John grabbed him by the collar and drove his knee into his gut, doubling him over before delivering a final punch that sent him sprawling. The glint of Dutch’s knife sent him begging, until the blade stilled any voice he had.

Still Arthur’s eyes burned with rage, almost relishing the way the moustached man – Gibson – squirmed beneath him as fist upon fist pummelled his face. “For what you did to Eleanor”, Arthur panted between punches. Then Gibson stared up at him with a bloody grin, teeth missing but chuckling through spurted crimson. “I still had her”, he smirked with a death row grin.

Arthur lost all his senses.

He lost count of the amount of times he rammed his fist into the man’s face. White hot rage filled his entire body in a flood nothing could quell.

“Arthur!” Dutch shouted, the words barely registering. Arthur cocked his fist back for another blow, flinching when someone grabbed his arm in a tense grip. Arthur’s wild eyes met Dutch’s, the older man’s voice soft. “Enough, son.”

Arthur’s breath came hot and heavy, adrenaline coursing through his veins and fist still raised as he looked down at Gibson. Or what was left of him. His face was more pulp than flesh, now unrecognisable. “It’s over”, Dutch said quietly, dragging Arthur up, his once white shirtsleeves stained with thickened blood and seeping mud. Arthur wrenched his arm from Dutch’s grip, leaning close to Gibson. “This is for Elle”, he bit out with distain before hammering his fist into Gibson’s skull for a final time. Hawking throatily, Arthur spat on what remained of the man.

“Let’s go.”

[itsmeutsav95]

Exploring Ashburn's Craft Beverage Scene: A Tasting Tour.

Nestled in the heart of Virginia, Ashburn offers a delightful array of breweries and wineries that are sure to tantalize the taste buds of any beverage enthusiast. From crisp ales to robust reds, the town boasts a diverse selection of libations that reflect the region's rich heritage and commitment to quality craftsmanship. Embark on a tasting tour of Virginia, Ashburn's finest establishments and discover the unique flavors that define this vibrant community.

Old Ox Brewery

Our journey begins at Old Ox Brewery, a beloved fixture in Ashburn's craft beer scene. Founded by a family with a passion for brewing, Old Ox is renowned for its innovative approach to crafting exceptional beers. Step into their inviting taproom and sample a flight of their signature brews, ranging from refreshing IPAs to rich stouts. Be sure to try their flagship Oxorcist II Double IPA, a bold and flavorful concoction that embodies the spirit of Ashburn's brewing tradition.

Lost Barrel Brewing

Next on our itinerary is Lost Barrel Brewing, a hidden gem tucked away in Ashburn's picturesque countryside. With a rustic charm and a dedication to using locally sourced ingredients, Lost Barrel prides itself on producing small-batch brews bursting with flavor. Take a seat on their outdoor patio and savor a pint of their seasonal ale, crafted with care and attention to detail. As you soak in the scenic views of the surrounding landscape, you'll understand why Lost Barrel is a favorite destination for beer enthusiasts seeking an authentic experience.

8 Chains North Winery

No tasting tour of Ashburn would be complete without a visit to 8 Chains North Winery, a boutique winery known for its award-winning wines and warm hospitality. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush vineyards, 8 Chains North offers visitors a serene escape from the hustle and bustle of city life. Sample a selection of their meticulously crafted wines, each showcasing the unique terroir of Virginia's wine country. Whether you prefer a crisp Chardonnay or a velvety Merlot, you're sure to find a vintage that delights your palate at 8 Chains North.

Barnhouse Brewery

Our tour concludes at Barnhouse Brewery, a charming farmhouse brewery that embraces the rustic charm of Ashburn's agrarian roots. Inspired by the agricultural heritage of the region, Barnhouse Brewery specializes in crafting small-batch beers using locally sourced grains and hops. Situated on a historic farmstead, their cozy taproom offers a welcoming atmosphere where visitors can relax and unwind with a pint of their seasonal farmhouse ale. From earthy saisons to zesty wheat beers, Barnhouse Brewery celebrates the timeless art of brewing with integrity and passion.

As our tasting tour comes to an end, we reflect on the diverse flavors and warm hospitality that define Ashburn's craft beverage scene. Whether you're a beer aficionado or a wine connoisseur, this vibrant community has something to offer every palate. So raise a glass to Ashburn's rich heritage and join us in celebrating the spirit of discovery and camaraderie that make this town a must-visit destination for beverage enthusiasts everywhere. Cheers!

[clonghb]

Sugar Me Bakery’s Root Beer Cupcake - A Delightful Blend of Flavors

Welcome to my blog post review of the Sugar Me bakery’s root beer cupcake! In this article, I will take you on a delightful journey through the flavors and textures of this unique treat. Prepare to be amazed by the perfect balance of sweetness and fizz that awaits you!

The Experience

The moment I took my first bite, I was transported to a world of pure indulgence. The root beer flavor was unmistakable, yet not overpowering. It danced on my taste buds, leaving behind a subtle hint of nostalgia. The cupcake itself was moist and fluffy, providing the perfect canvas for the rich and creamy frosting.

The Frosting

Speaking of frosting, let’s talk about the crown jewel of this cupcake - the root beer buttercream frosting. It was a work of art in itself. The smooth and velvety texture melted in my mouth, while the root beer essence added a delightful twist to the classic buttercream. Each bite was like a mini celebration, with flavors that complemented each other flawlessly.

Presentation

As they say, we eat with our eyes first, and Sugar Me bakery knows this well. The cupcakes were beautifully decorated, with a touch of whimsy that made them impossible to resist. From the moment I laid eyes on them, I knew I was in for a treat. The root beer barrels on top added a playful element and served as a gentle reminder of the flavor that awaited me.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the Sugar Me bakery’s root beer cupcake is a true masterpiece. It combines nostalgia with innovation, taking your taste buds on an unforgettable journey. Whether you’re a fan of root beer or simply looking for a unique dessert experience, this cupcake is sure to leave you craving for more.

So why wait? Head over to Sugar Me bakery and treat yourself to this extraordinary delight. Your taste buds will thank you!

[elindae-writes]

I would like information about ratchets rival live streams

Ratchet would use YouTube and would stream right from the main base in front of his computer. The camera is also uncomfortably zoomed in and on his eyebrows in particular. Instead of Soundwave trying to fix the stream it's Optimus instead.

"Hep hep HEP! Optimus, I haven't finished complaining about the Decepticon medic yet!"

Ratchet at first goes on long rants about why Megatron sucks, why Megs is wrong, why the Autobots are the good guys, etc. He decides to try and produce more exciting content because for some reason not everybody wants to watch Ratchet's ranting eyebrows for 3 hours every day. Odd.

I think Ratchet would try go to stealth camping. Hear me out: he clearly enjoys being alone and just sitting around as an ambulance, so he would definitely know all of the best haunts to chill out in as a vehicle.

There's a YouTuber I am very fond of, Steve Wallis. Steve's videos consist of him camping in the backyard of a Home Depot, in a bus, in a meridian, etc. He's just some guy who will turn the camera on and will excitedly shuffle around seeking out a place to drink beer and camp overnight.

"livin' the dream," Steve often says as he cooks a steak behind a sign.

He's not homeless. He starts off many videos by saying "well hai guys, it's me, my wife dropped me off on the side of the road and then went back to the hotel. :) she'll pick me up in the morning."

So he just camps wherever he can for the fun of it. Not even because he has to. Why sleep in a hotel when you can easily do the same behind a Home Depot as well??? hmm?

Ratchet bridges to random locations. Each stream starts off with him rasping as he intensely zooms in on his face. I don't think this is too OOC for him because he gets spotted in canon and mistaken for Big Foot. This is the behavior of a middle-aged ambulance who has just snapped and slaggit he is going to nap near the Cracker Barrel or so help him Primus!!!

"hello," he grumbles. "i am going to stealth camp behind this home depot." Cue 5 minutes of Ratchet recording himself as he stumbles around in the trees while anxiously looking around.

He tries to stay in root mode as much as possible while just loping around. He tries--and fails--to be stealthy. Imagine that you've just finished shopping at Home Depot. You hear the sound of a massive creature shuffling around and snapping whole trees off to your right.

It's Ratchet.

"i will park between the Dairy Queen and this pile of garbage," he wheezes (which is an actual Steve quote btw)

He leans against the back of the Home Depot while cracking open a cube of energon. "refreshing."

Optimus will just randomly bridge in and concernedly say "OLD FRIEND?" each time. This always, without fail, results in Ratchet sputtering and getting upset.

Yes, his alt-mode becomes famous. Megatron imitates Ratchet and also stealth camps but is significantly suckier at it.

"hello, stream. it is your ruler. i am going to park on top of this house." He does so in his alt-mode. "why is everybody staring?"

Megatron is then seen flying through intersections, meridians, and of course, Home Depot parking lots.

Megatron happens to be parked atop the same Home Depot Ratchet is camping behind. Both stream's chats alert each streamer to the fact that the "Other One" is in the vicinity. Megs and Ratch have an intense argument that Ratchet wins by calling Megatron a clown.