#dottie's bookshelf

[polkadottedpie]

Tea time! 🍵

Jeanette cherry blossom children's teacups and saucers in delphite blue!

[polkadottedpie]

Um, um!

I'm learnin' Japanese n it's hard sometimes cause it's a lil more advanced to do immersive stuffs with no structure (at least for me), but I like watchin' these two channels on YouTube if you wanna?

Pokemon Kids TV Japan has lotsa sing alongs n lil cartoons n stuffs n sometimes! They do fun culture things where mascots go to real life places n events to learn about them! Sometimes if I don understand exactly what they're sayin I can still kinda guess from what's goin on in the show!

Bon Bon Academy is another channel for kids that mostly does sing alongs, but I really like them because they put the lyrics on the screen, usually in kana so I can read it n learn wifout havin'a figure out hard kanji!

-Dot

Age Reg question

I was thinking of learning another language. I know English and Sign Language (I don't want to exclude people! I want to be a good friend!) but don't know what I could learn. But I'm confused. My question - any bilingual person have kids shows in other languages I can watch to practice and POSSIBLY learn?

SFW Interaction Only!!

[stunningtoredorsweetheart]

VTM OC Haven Tour: Dottie

To celebrate reaching 100 followers on Dottie's blog, I decided to give a tour of my OC'S haven.

1. Dottie lives in a studio apartment where the kitchen, living room, and dining room are all one space. Dottie has a small kitchen with pink utensils and kitchenware. Noticeably, her kitchen is barely used. Her kitchen is mostly for show as she hunts animals for blood.

2. Dottie's living room/ dining room has a surprisingly large couch that she got when she was mortal. When Dottie was human, she frequently had friends over and loved hosting parties. However, she rarely has people visit to protect her from being found by vampire hunters. She still has a small TV without an internet connection to watch the news.

3. As Dottie doesn't eat regular food, she converted her dining room table into a sewing station in the corner. Ever since she became primogen, she hasn't had much time to sew new clothes. When she has free time, she repairs clothes that she ripped during combat.

4. In Dottie's bedroom, she has a 4 poster queen bed with a canopy. Like all her windows, she uses blackout curtains to keep out daylight. Her bedroom is also where she keeps her sanrio plush collection. It's the most calming space in her haven.

5. On a bookshelf in her bedroom, Dottie keeps her manga collection. Her favorites include, Ouran High School Host Club, Sailor Moon, and Rose of Versailles. She usually buys her books from her coterie's bookshop/bar.

6. Dottie's bathroom has a combined shower and bathtub. One of her favorite ways to unwind after a long night is a warm bath or shower. She gets dirt and blood more often than you'd think. Fortunately, her washing machine is also in the same room. She can just drop her dirty clothes in the machine before she bathes.

[thecluelessdoctor]

What is my PERSONA??

tw: vomiting mention and art implication, death, mean mention, deadly (fictional) illness

@justmwahstruly pst I read ur fic thing and. What you said Abt my Sona inspired me to actually post my sona's lore cuz technically my Sona is a zombie lolz

Dotty Is a voidman. Voidmen are dangerous hive mind creatures while alive, and are even more deadly post mortim.

voidmen exist in voids, or nowhere spaces. Places in-between universes, or that area behind your bookshelf that isn't really used for anything

When a voidmen is dying they are given a moment of sentience, a moment of mind away from the hive. The ability to think.

Some voidmen can live after death, slowly feeling themselves rot away

Like my Sona :)

Carnis morbus is a toxic and poison emitted from a rotting voidmen. It is highly dangerous and painful. It causes the victim to force itself into a malnourished state. Once it has achieved this, it will cause the victim to continuously vomit.

It will rot the vital organs as it continues to throw up, until the victim dies.

The corpses resemble a pile of meat.

Dotty, rather my persona, is a rotting voidmen. They wear the plague doctor suit to conceal its rot, and the dangerous that come with it

[comedydoctor18]

Oh Hai

Kandi was leaping from a small bookshelf... and landed on her face right next to Angel, who was vibin XD play time happens! Meanwhile their loving auntie Dotty is greatly concerned about her half ice type niece XD

[tedgumbo]

Free Brown Wooden Bookshelf

Dottie Mantsch

Saint Charles⁩, ⁨Illinois, ⁨United States⁩

2025

[icedwatersupremacy]

~ Charlie Murdock’s Secret Diary ~ January 1906 I’ve spent the past week in Henford for the Winter break, and I must say, the more time passes, the less it feels like home. I was watching Arthur feed the chickens one day, and I realised that I didn’t know the names for any of the chickens. Every time I return, the village becomes less familiar. Not only do people leave and arrive, but they change. Dottie knows more words every time (she couldn’t really speak about a year ago, but since then I’ve heard she’s been a real chatterbox), and Matilda always digs up another old herbology book from the bookshelf, more outdated than the last. Her eyes lit up like a flame when I gave her a herbology book that I’d found in a bookstore for Christmas. 

It’s nice to have a break from the schoolwork when I can, too. Mother and father can hardly believe it when I tell them how much study I do each night, and for good reason. It’s strange to think that I’m more educated than them, even though they’re nearly triple my age. Of course, I can’t hold it against them, when I could never run the farm, no matter how hard I tried. 

I’d decided to take a break from writing my story, and focus on some simpler, lighthearted things. I suppose Arthur and Tilda had told Dottie about how I told them stories when they were younger, because she was constantly asking for a story, until I gave in. Although the stories were childish, I hadn’t minded sharing them. It was nice to escape the real world sometimes, and eventually I developed a regular cast of favourite characters who would go on adventures. Dottie loved it.

Christmas itself wasn’t so bad, although it was nothing special, either. We exchanged presents, which made me feel sort of guilty. It felt as if I was showing off my fancy rich friends when I gave everyone fancy gifts. Although they certainly weren’t expensive compared to the gifts that Fred had bought for his family, any one of my gifts would have cost more than the sum of what I received in total. Sure, I had bought my gifts with the help of Fred, but it just felt snobbish. I do appreciate what they gave me, though. It’s better than a box of luxury chocolates, that’s for sure. 

Funnily enough, I found myself thinking of Walter a lot more. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t come back to Henford for Christmas, but I kept wishing he was here with me. One would have thought that I spent more than enough time with him ever since he moved to Edgewater, however untrue it turned out to be. I hope he had a nice break, even though it was a lot shorter than mine. 

I’m going back to Edgewater tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see him soon. I’ll miss my family, as usual, but the atmosphere in this house has been getting increasingly sombre, as we approach a year since John’s death. I don’t know if I could stay here much longer, to be honest.

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Subtitles: Episode 1, Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: [Y/N] has been living in Westview for more almost a month now and yet to properly put down roots. What they hadn’t been expecting was to work so much, have unpacking be so hard, and for a new couple to move in the other house for sale, directly across the street.

Word count: 8,425

Warnings: Sit down and grab a snack because this one’s a bit long! Otherwise nothing, really. Maybe second-hand embarrassment caused by a thirsty Reader.

~~~

    Ever since you left both home and family behind some years ago, you’ve always felt a little out of place in the world. It was a hard time for you, leaving everything you knew behind and instead branching out and trying to find your place in the world. Actually, not only was it a difficult time in your life, but a confusing one; when you attempted to reflect on those memories, all you get is a head of foggy feelings, including a particularly sick sensation that leaves you out of commission for the rest of the day if you’re not careful.

    When you settled in Westview, it was like a breath of fresh air. Finding a home in a nice neighborhood was easy and the moving was done in a pinch thanks to a local moving company helping you get the boxes to your door, though you couldn’t afford to pay for them to do more. You were even lucky enough to find a street with not one but two open houses to pick from; you chose the smaller, more modest abode, as you had no family in town and no intention of getting married or starting a family any time soon. Despite this lack of them nearby and generally solid memories, though, you knew you had a good relationship with your family because as soon as you found a place, you were receiving housewarming gifts and postcards and letters from not only your family but close and extended relatives alike. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for your new house’s already installed fridge to be covered in pamphlet-worthy pictures of places across the nation and kind words from your mother, grandmother, and cousins. 

    There was still unpacking, now of both the furniture and gift variety, that needed to be done before anything else. Then there was the question of a proper source of income—while the money you received from your relatives would cover a month or two while you got yourself settled, you suspected there wasn’t going to be anything else for a long while and, either way, you wanted to be able to fend for yourself. Finally, after the necessities were dealt with, there was the matter of making your house and the neighborhood your home and by making some connections; while you were perfectly content living alone, it would be nice to not feel like such an outsider, to have friends to go out on the town with or take the occasional trip with on the weekends. These were normal goals, you figured, and, with as easy everything else has been so far, they should be simple enough to complete.

    Right?

    Well, at least getting a job was easy enough, you thought as you sat on the stack of boxes that, over the last month, had become a chair by the door that you used to pull on your shoes before work, as you were doing now. It also functioned as a coat and hat rack, as proven by your growing collection of jackets and headwear piled on it, and the occasional bookshelf after a trip to the local library. It used to be a place to hold your keys but you have yet to make that mistake again after sitting down one day and getting a sharp jab to the backside. 

    You were right that getting a job was easy enough—you received a callback for a secretary job at a computational services company only after a week of job searching—but you had yet to follow through with your other aspirations. It’s not like you haven’t tried, but when it came to unpacking, your job left you with very little energy to do much other than collapse on a couch-shaped collection of boxes when you get home and only a semi-decently decorated bedroom to show for your work. In terms of bonding with the locals and making some friends, let’s just say that Dottie is convinced you purposely spilled red wine on her perfect white parlor gown—who wears white when drinking red wine?—and now all you received from the neighborhood husbands were side-eyes and grumbling after telling them you found their attempts at humor in poor taste. At least you’d managed to charm your boss and his wife when they came over for dinner and now Mr. and Mrs. Hart invited you over for the occasional drink and gossip; Agnes, a woman from across the street and down a house, was also among your few successes, and she was a hoot to be around in a big sister or wine aunt type of way, despite her loudness. 

    Speaking of which—

    “Hey, [Y/N],” Agnes hollered from somewhere outside, “haven’t seen you out of the house yet! Better hurry up, the streets are antsville today! Or, at least, you could come with me to say welcome the other new neighbors!”

    Agnes came knocking on your door the same day you moved in and since then, she’s apparently committed your daily schedule to memory because if you’re not heading to work right on time, you get a holler from across the— Wait. New neighbors? You hopped up from your boxy perch after making sure your shoes were secure and peeked out the nearest window. Sure enough, the other house that you had considered moving into, the one immediately across the street from your own, no longer had a FOR SALE sign stuck in its yard and the yard and curtains appeared to have been decorated. Your heart lept into your throat as you wondered when that had happened; you desperately hoped that it hadn’t happened too long ago because you’ve been on a work rampage for the past few days and haven’t noticed much else. Yet another thing you haven’t done correctly. 

Agnes was also by the front yard, leaning against the fence and chatting with the mailman as he walked by. After he passed, she looked up and caught your eye, grinned, and waved. “Come on, [Y/N], no time like the present!”

You wanted to join her and introduce yourself to the new neighbors, you really did. Unfortunately, you would definitely get to work late if you didn’t get a move on, especially if the streets were as crowded as Agnes mentioned them to be, and you definitely didn’t want to greet the neighbors without a housewarming gift in hand. Perhaps you could stop by a shop on the way home and pick up a plant or a pie and welcome them this evening.

“Now, don’t flip your lid, Agnes,” you teased back with a smile as you walked outside. This response earned you a mock scowl, then Agnes’s smile again; you walked over to your vehicle and tossed your bag into the passenger’s seat. “I wish I could join you but you caught me; I am in fact looking to wind up late and I’ll be cruisin’ for a bruisin’ if I don’t leave now. I’ll try to stop by after work!” 

“Well alright then,” came Agnes’s reply, while you hopped into the driver’s seat and started your chariot up. “I’ll tell them you say hi. Congrats on no longer being the new guy!”

Too bad I still feel like the new guy, you mentally grumbled, rapping your fingers on the steering wheel. You took a breath, checked that your hair was in place and your shirt wasn’t wrinkled in the mirror and headed on your way.

“Oh, hello dear; I’m Agnes, your neighbor to the right! My right, not yours. Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you to the neighborhood. My mother-in-law was in town, so I wasn’t.”

Wanda watched the woman on her doorstep, visibly a bit perplexed but smiling either way. She was confused about what special event she and her husband were supposed to be celebrating tonight after seeing a heart on the calendar but now that she had an unknown woman—no, not unknown; one of her neighbors—here, Wanda couldn’t possibly be a bad hostess and turn her away. 

Not that the woman, Agnes, would have let her do so anyway. She shoved the plant she was holding into Wanda’s arms and walked inside, talking without giving Wanda any space to chime in. “So, what’s your name, where’re you from, and most importantly, how’s your bridge game, hon?”

Wanda quickly shut the door and trotted after the woman. She was newly stressed over the unknown event but now also giddy; this was the first neighborly welcome of many, she was sure of it! She reached Agnes’s side and stretched out a hand with a big smile. “I’m Wanda.”

“Wanda,” Anges repeated as if to see how the same felt on her tongue, before taking Wanda’s hand in a solid shake, “Charmed.” She paused, glancing around the house—Wanda felt an odd pang of anxiety—then continued, “Gol-ly, you settled in fast! Did you use a moving company?”

Wanda struggled momentarily for an answer. Of course, she didn’t; she’d used her powers to unpack and decorate quickly, but she couldn’t say that to this stranger. She decided to go with an affirmative answer as it was the easiest route. She went to reply—

“If you did,” Agnes went on, “I should get the name from you. Our other new neighbor across the way still has a house full of boxes!”

Wanda blinked, her head tilting to one side out of curiosity. “Other new neighbor?”

“Why the house directly to your front!” Without waiting, the other woman walked to the front window and yanked back the curtains; she gestured to the house in question. “[Y/N]. They live on their own, you see, and probably could have done well with the help. Actually, they were going to stop by with me but they were running late for work. I told them I’d tell you hi for them—Hi for them!”

The loud car Wanda had heard a few minutes earlier must have been this other neighbor rushing off to work. It was nice to know that even though it hadn’t happened, there had almost been a party of two to welcome her and her husband to the street; it’s too bad that he had left for his own job only a while earlier.

Wanda made her way over to the window as well and took a look. It was more modest in size and build than Wanda’s own home, much more suited to house a single person. Despite Agnes’s claim of them having not unpacked, a few lawn decorations were set up and a pair of [F/C] curtains hung neatly framing the home’s front window. Wanda could make out various boxes leaning up against the window, evidence to Agnes’s statement, but otherwise, the place seemed well-kept. The yard was taken care of, though Wanda wondered if it was because the person had moved in just as recently as she and her husband did or if they just enjoyed garden work.

Apparently, she’d wondered this aloud because Agnes responded, “They’ve been here for about a month, just been too busy making a good impression at work and making a fool out of themselves to the other neighbors to make their house a little more homely. Poor thing’s a darling but struggling in the social department.”

Wanda continued to watch the house as if this other, slightly older newcomer was about to drive back up the street to home. Consider her interest piqued. Wanda wanted to know more about [Y/N], all of her neighbors really, but more importantly, why there had been multiple houses open and if it was common. She hoped this neighborhood was as friendly as it seemed and that it wasn’t danger or unkindness that had made multiple people move out. She opened her mouth to ask—

However, Agnes had moved on to a different subject, as well as a different part of the house. “So what’s a single gal like you doing rattling around this big house?”

“Oh no,” Wanda, sighing softly, switched gears with her and replied, “I’m not single.”

You gulped down a gasp of air as you tumbled out of the elevator of Computational Services Inc, which earned you a few odd looks from unknown coworkers passing by. You’d bumped into one of them while skidding to a halt and you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks and ears and you stepped away, apologizing profusely. You tried to reach your desk in a quick but professional manner, only stopping briefly to make sure your clothes and hair were still in order in the reflection of an office window. As you got closer to your desk, a small thing in an area separated from other employees, you heard the comforting sounds of typing and radio music. You got to your desk, pulled out your chair, sat your bag down, and began to sit, only for a voice to catch your attention.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Would you be so good as to tell me what exactly we do here?”

A British accent? Not something you hear every day around here. You pushed your chair back into place to prevent another worker from bumping into it and walked over to peer around the corner. You recognized Norm, a kind and well-mannered employee that filled out computational forms in this section of the building, standing and chatting with a taller, paler, glasses-wearing man that you didn’t know.

The British voice spoke again and now, at least, you could put the voice to a face. “Do we make something?”

The British gentleman was very tall indeed and quite handsome. He had light wavy hair in a side part, with a sliver’s worth that looked like it could fall into his eyes at any moment; you felt the strange urge to push it back before the idea of running your hands through a stranger’s hair made you blush again. His suit fit his lanky body well, though you’d expect nothing less as Mr. Hart was very strict about his workers’ appearance. His tie was interesting, a dark color with a simple, lighter print of four spots, two larger ones encased in a rectangle, and his glasses framed his curiosity-ridden face very well. Above his lovely-looking, light-colored eyes, his brows were furrowed as he looked animatedly around, as though his workplace was a puzzle he was trying to solve. You noticed he talked with his hands quite a bit and you also noticed that his large, long-fingered hands seemed slightly out of place compared to the rest of his body. They seemed like nice hands, though, and they probably did their job well.

Goodness, [Y/N], now you’re just being ridiculous. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your head against the wall you were hiding around. No, not hiding, because that would make your creeping seem even more bizarre. Definitely not creeping. Investigating.

You shook your head to refocus and looked towards the men, listening again. He is a bit of a dreamboat, isn’t he though?

Norm was answering the man. “No and no.”

“Then what is the purpose of this company?” the stranger continued.

“All I know,” Norm replied with a smile, “is since you’ve gotten here, productivity has gone up three hundred percent!”

Three hundred? That was a startling thought, almost enough to give you a headache. So you’re the reason I’ve had more files on my desk.

The stranger picked up one of said files and flipped through it. “Yes, but what is it that we’re producing?” 

He’s quite interested in figuring out the answer to that question, isn’t he? You felt another pang in your temple. How strange.

Your brows knitted together as you, curious, leaned into the pain a bit. The pain seemed to follow the British employee’s questioning, so you focused on it.

What did they do here anyway?

The harmless pangs quickly turned into a full-blown migraine, similar to what would happen if you thought too hard about your past. You grimaced in pain and reached for your head, only to lose your balance completely and fall forward, into the room you were observing. You hissed as your knees hit solid ground and you braced yourself with one hand while the other gripped the hair closest to your temple. You tried to look around for something else to focus on but your vision was blurry and you couldn’t tell if you were even moving your head.

Then there was shouting, which didn’t help the throbbing pain at all, and you felt what seemed like a hundred pairs of hands grasping at you. You couldn’t understand the yelling other than recognizing the voices as male; you tried to tell them you were alright, shake the hands off and get yourself some space, but nothing in your body seemed to be working quite right. Because of this, the voices and the various hands—or was there just two hands?—didn’t know what you wanted and instead of space, they crowded you. You felt grips on your shoulders and arms, even on your back— Then you were being lifted. Completely off the ground or only to your feet, you couldn’t tell.

Then the hands—only one on your back and another pair holding your arm now—guided you to a place where you could properly sit.

It was quieter now and you could feel the floor beneath your feet and an office chair holding your weight. You realized your eyes were closed so you opened them and you found your vision beginning to refocus. You looked around. 

“Goodness, are you alright?”

You could feel how red your face was—it was probably bright enough to be used as a neon stop sign—when you found yourself staring into a man’s torso. A torso that was quite close. You looked up and directly into the face of the British man, who no longer looked troubled by curiosity but rather quite concerned by you. 

Oh, yes, definitely a dreamboat, you thought without really meaning to.

Then Norm came rushing over, a cup in hand. “[Y/N], are you alright?”

“[Y/N],” the stranger repeated. He took the water cup from Norm, who hovered nearby, and squatted down to be at eye level with you. 

You wouldn’t mind hearing him say your name again.

Good Lord, stop it, you almost passed out!

“That is my name,” you managed. You even managed a definitely awkward smile, a couple of seconds of definitely awkward eye contact.

“Here, you should drink this.” He offered you the cup and once you took it, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up!”

I would imagine so, with how I feel. You sipped the water. Maybe you didn’t look as bad as you thought you did.

“Looks like you’re about to throw up too,” Norm very helpfully added.

Thank you for the commentary, Norm.

“[Y/N],” the other employee said, drawing your scowling gaze back from Norm, “do you have someone you could call? You look ill; perhaps it would serve you well to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him. He did not look convinced but you pushed on, whipping up a quick white lie to cover up your jarring headache. “I didn’t eat this morning and I rushed to work to escape the antsville. I must have gotten overheated on the way and I’m sure an empty stomach helped that. Sorry for worrying—”

“What is going on out here?”

You both jumped to your feet; you moved too fast for having just recovered and stumbled but luckily both Norm and his colleague caught you and straightened you up before you fell over. No one wanted to be seen out of place by the boss and you were currently both out of place and sorts. Even though you knew Mr. Hart already saw you—hell, he was standing directly in front of you three—you glanced around for a place to hide. Instead, you saw files and papers scattered across the floor, the result of your migraine-induced fumbling. You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. 

“Well?”

There was a moment of silence. You felt Norm take a step away from you and you expected the other man to do so as well. He didn’t but you raised your head and squared your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

“Sir—” you started.

“Sir,” the British gentleman interrupted, taking a step forward. “[Y/N] here was walking back to their desk and tripped, and in my haste to help them, I knocked over a pile of files on my desk. I apologize for the racket and the mess I’ve caused; I’ll deal with it right away.”

Mr. Hart looked from him to you to Norm, who was quaking in his nice shoes, then back. There were yet a few more moments of quiet before he spoke again. “Vision.”

Vision?

“Yes, Sir.” 

You glanced at the man to your right. Vision. What an interesting name for an interesting person.

“You better hope dinner tonight goes well after this charade,” Mr. Hart barked. “This better be cleaned up by the next time I come out here.”

Rather than looking upset or stressed, Vision looked relieved. He made a heart with his hands and muttered, “Mr. Hart. Of course…”

“And you,” the boss’s glare now settled on your face. “You were late this morning. In my office. Now.”

“Dammit,” you muttered after Mr. Hart had turned his back. 

“Sorry, don’t think I can help you that one,” Vision chimed in. He was rubbing the back of his head and squinting at Mr. Hart’s back. “You’ll be alright?”

“Promise, it was just a bit of the spins.” You gave him a friendly pat on the arm and made your way to hopefully not get fired. “Nice meeting you!”

“You as well, despite the unfortunate circumstances. Good luck!”

    Mr. Hart was waiting for you by his desk when he entered. He gestured for you to shut the door before he sat and as you did, you saw Vision beginning to clean up your mess before the phone on his desk started ringing.

    “Ugh, I’m exhausted.” You were exiting a shop downtown, squinting against the light of the setting sun. You held the door open with a toe of one shoe while you adjusted the bags on your arms, then moved around to properly hold the door for Agnes, who strolled out after you. “Hart was an absolute villain today! Barks at me for coming in late and not getting work done but then does it for an hour! Well now who’s keeping me? Then this British gent—I swear I’ve never seen him before but he’s apparently the cause of my last few busy work days!”

    “The looker?”

    You blushed a bit; Agnes will never you live it down now that you’ve slipped up and said you’d found the man attractive. “I may have mentioned that earlier—but I digress! As charming as the man was, helping me out even after I knocked over a bunch of his things, he’s still a powerhouse of an employee. Tripled my load of work with his own; now I get what Norm meant when he said productivity has gone up by three times! Imagine, being yelled at by my boss—who was one of the few well-off relationships I’ve had since moving to town—for an hour, and then, when you finally get back to business, your desk is buried in files! I’m barely breathing at this point! Ain’t that just a bite.”

    “Who’s flipped their lid now?” Agnes said with a cheeky grin. You responded with a tired glare and she scoffed. She moved her own bags to one arm so she could give your shoulder a good pat. “Just teasing you, dear! We can’t all be superhuman, unfortunately. Although you’re damn near close; thank you for helping me home, by the way. Ralph had a last-minute “meeting” with some “coworkers” tonight and I’m helping out our new neighbor plan a very important date!”

    That’s right, you had a new neighbor across the street. You’d almost forgotten. You knew there was a reason you’d felt the urge to pick up a small houseplant on your way through the checkout.

    “You have the mouth of a sailor, ‘Nes,” you quipped, cracking a grin.

    “And a drinking tolerance that would put any soldier to shame!” Agnes agreed with a short laugh. After a quick pause, she added, “It’s not like I said ‘fuck.’”

    That time both of you laughed and for the first time since your disastrous day, you felt yourself relax. After bringing up sailors and soldiers, Agnes lept into one of her half-complaint, half-stories about how, one time, her husband Ralph got drunk and tried to fight an entire bar—“Everything including the stools!” While she talked and you escorted her to your car, your mind wandered, curiosity about your new neighbors piqued again. You reached the sidewalk’s curb and helped Agnes stepped down, then opened the vehicle’s passenger door and took her bags. 

    Instead of sliding inside, Agnes watched you as you moved around to the other side of the car and put the bags in the backseat. “You’re a bit of a flutter bum yourself, dear. Look at those manners; you’ve been out and about all day and still came to help me with the groceries! And that voice! Absolute apple butter sometimes, when you want it to be. I’m surprised you aren’t already circled with a couple of children along the way!”

    You snorted as you opened your door and slid behind the wheel. “Just not in my plan, I suppose.” You gestured for her to join you in the car and started it up when she did so. “You didn’t see me today either. Creeping around corners, then these annoying headaches got to me and I was stumbling around knocking down everything! Not to mention the new guy, sweet as pie, saw me do all this and go absolutely red just from looking at him. Sweating, cottonmouth, everything. I must have seemed bonkers! It was awful.”

    Agnes offered, “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.”

    “I’m sure if he ever sees me again, he’s going to turn heel and walk in the opposite direction,” you stated. Then you shifted into gear, pulled away from the sidewalk, and turned towards home.

    You were in the one room in your house that wasn’t a part of the United Boxes, your bedroom, standing in front of one of the few pieces of furniture you’d managed to unpack since moving in. You fussed over your reflection in the mirror, pushing your damp hair from one side to the other, adjusting your tie one moment then readjusting it the next, holding up various hats and cardigans.

Your casual wardrobe was much more unique than the business attire you kept for work, which was generally neutral in both color and style. Tonight, you wore a collared button-up in a bright pattern of your favorite color paired with a tie that was darker in shade but equally bright in color, and you were debating between various cardigans in complementary colors. The pants you wore were more muted, a neutral color to go with the shiny black dress shoes and good quality belt that you usually only broke out for special social occasions. For a little more pop, you also wore a few colorful bracelets on each wrist and a ring or two. You even added a little more color to your still tired-looking face, despite you feeling much better after a nap, shower, and change of clothes. 

You finally settled on the combination of a brighter colored cardigan a more muted hat to pull your entire look together. Slipping the cardigan on and flattening out any creases, you flashed your mirror self your friendliest smile for practice’s sake. Then you gave yourself a twirl, craning your neck over over your shoulder to make sure everything looked just as nice from the back as the front. 

Now we’re cooking with gas, you thought. Hopefully, the neighbors think so too.

Satisfied, you made your way out to the living room where your outfit-appropriate handbag and housewarming gift waited. The young plant, a pachira, sat in a pot whose color accented the color of the house you were going to visit this evening as opposed to the simple white it’d come in. The pot itself wore a big ribbon bow that you’d attached yourself and sticking out of the soil was a card welcoming the neighborhood’s newcomers. 

Perhaps you’d finally make some friends tonight.

You picked up the plant-based gift in one hand and placed it securely in the crook of your arm, then picked up your handbag in the other and made your ways outdoors. It was a quick walk across the street and once on the neighboring house’s doorstep, you steeled yourself with a deep breath. You smiled, then frowned, then smiled again and repeated this a couple of times to make sure the first smile your neighbors saw wasn’t a strained one and raised your hand to use the oddly realistic-looking lobster door hanger.

Much to your surprise, however, the door opened before your hand ever reached it.

And there, in front of you, looking just as shocked as you felt, was your boss and his wife. 

“Mr— Mr. Hart?” you stammered, stumbling backward and almost dropping the plant under your arm. Remembering the last time you and your boss “conversed,” your friendly face twisted into more of a deer in the headlights look. “Mrs. Hart? What are... What are you doing here? You didn’t just move in, did—?”

“Is there a problem, Mr. and Mrs. Hart?”

Not only did you recognize the Harts but you recognized the British voice that came from behind them and the face that appeared with it. 

“Vision?”

“[Y/N]?”

The two of you stared at each other in surprise. That is until Mr. Hart cleared his throat; he and Mrs. Hart still stood directly in front of you, with Vision unintentionally blocking them from stepping back inside. You yelped an apology and stepped to one side, then had to catch yourself on the doorframe as you almost tripped down the front steps.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mr. Hart said slowly as he stepped outside, giving you a particularly unpleasant look, “[Y/N] here lives in the neighborhood as well. Say, you live directly across the way, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded immediately with a tilt of your head in the direction of your home. Then you glanced over at Vision and raised the pot you held slightly for him to see. “I was just coming over to introduce myself and offer a housewarming gift.”

Mr. Hart gave a strained nod, clearly still out of sorts about your work performance today. “Well, we were just out the door after the first dinner with the Maximoffs.” He made it sound like having dinner with your boss, while important, was something more of a religious experience. 

You hoped Vision did well. 

“He did just fine,” Mrs. Hart piped in.

There you go, accidentally wondering things aloud again.

“Congrats!” you chirped in Vision’s direction. You noted that he seemed as uncomfortable being in this situation as Mr. Hart acted and you felt. Perhaps you should have just visited in the morning.

Out of the group, Mrs. Hart seemed to be the only one unphased. She gave your shoulder a friendly squeeze and complimented your outfit—the one that her husband eyed distastefully—then lowered her voice so only you could hear. “I heard about your little brawl at work today. Don’t get bent too out of shape about my husband’s behavior; he has to work the weekend and he’s about excited as a cat that doesn’t get fed on time. We’re still on for bridge this weekend, right?”

You always liked Mrs. Hart. She was a good counterweight to her ever so charming husband and she always made sure to make you feel at home here in Westview, even if you struggled to do so yourself. You gave her a smile and a nod. “Of course, ma’am. You look stunning tonight, by the way.”

“Charmer.”

As you were talking to Mrs. Hart, Vision settled things with the mister, and things finally seemed to be calming down. However, Vision was wishing the Harts a safe way home, and you gave them a “Good night!” and a wave while wondering if you should just go home yourself, when a clatter came from inside the—what was it?—Maximoff household.

A voice followed, “Vis? Is everything alright out there, dear?”

You felt yourself deflate a bit; you already forgot that Mr. Hart had mentioned Maximoffs. Maximoffs, not one Maximoff. You were somewhat disappointed that, from what it sounded like, your new dashing British acquaintance had a partner, not that it was a surprise. He must have had people throwing themselves at him at one point in his life before he settled on The One and they immediately got married and moved into their cozy-looking, bigger than your own, house. Or, perhaps, maybe he was the awkward one falling all over himself to impress the person of his interest and when they finally picked him, he felt like his heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that found their home in his stomach.

Of course you were the only one on the block who was single and living alone.

You wondered if they had kids.

“... come in!”

You zoned back in from being lost in your thoughts to catch only the end of what Vision was saying. He stepped back from the doorway and held the door open for you and looked at you expectantly and, not wanting to make more of a fool of yourself that you already have in front of him today, you made your way inside, just hoping he hadn’t said anything important while you had been wondering about his romantic life. You felt heat on your ears and cheeks.

Vision, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Now that the Harts were gone, he appeared much more relaxed, leaning on the door with one leg crossed over the other and even smiling at you as you walked into his spacious and already unpacked living room. 

That was the first time you’ve seen him smile, you noted. He had a very charming smile, one of those that made his eyes smile too and seemed much more in place on his face than any other expression. 

Vision closed the door behind you as you looked around the space with mild surprise—how long have they been moved in? How had they gotten unpacked so fast?—then he gave you a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. It was then that you noticed more clattering coming from behind a door that you assumed belonged to the kitchen.

“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” he said, making his way to said door, “As you know, my wife and I just finished dinner with the Harts, and my darling Wanda is doing all the dishes. I’ll tell her to wait a moment and come join us! Do you drink fluids?” You must have looked at him oddly because then he stumbled on his words a bit before clarifying, “Alcohol? Or would you like water, juice?”

He certainly did talk with his hands a lot. You liked the way he clasped his hands and fiddled with his fingers while trying to untangle his words.

“Water’s fine,” you replied with a friendly smile.

Seeing that you weren’t bothered by his slip-up, he smiled back and made his way into the kitchen. Halfway through the door, he chirped over his shoulder, “Please feel free to take a seat! I’ll return momentarily!”

Being alone again for only a few minutes still had you beginning to feel the weight of the day’s chaos again. You placed your housewarming gift on the coffee table and rubbed where the pot had been digging into your arm, then wriggled your toes; because these were shoes for special social occasions only, something you didn’t go to very often, they weren’t very well broke in and your feet were beginning to hurt. 

The clattering in the kitchen had stopped but now the muffled voices of Vision and Wanda, which was somehow comforting. You looked around, taking in the classy but simple room. How on earth they’d managed to get unpacked so fast unless they used a company or stylist or somehow bought the place pre-furnished, you had no idea—well, you had a few, clearly. It was still surprising though. However they managed, you hoped your own living area looked half as nice. When you got around to it.

You perked up again as you heard the kitchen door creak… and then felt like your heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that immediately found a home in your stomach.

If Vision was a dreamboat, his wife was a, well, literal vision. Wanda wore a dress that was just as simple and charming as the house she lived in, paired with a pretty necklace and pair of heels. Her curled hair perfectly framed her face and despite appearing as frazzled as Vision had when you first showed up at their doorstep, she wore a smile so gorgeous that your heart, which had apparently recovered from its explosion of butterflies, decided it preferred to do somersaults in your throat.

The pair of them were standing hip to hip with Wanda carrying a set of glasses and Vision a pitcher of water. They were chatting lightly about how well dinner went as they walked into the living room before turning their set of beaming smiles in your direction. 

Your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to melt, tie itself in knots, or spontaneously combust. You decided to make it stand to properly introduce yourself instead.

Just living in the same neighborhood as these two was going to be cataclysmic. 

“Wanda, darling, this is my coworker [Y/N], the one I told you about earlier this evening.” Vision detached himself from his partner’s side and began snagging glasses from her hands to fill and place on the coffee table as she walked closer. “And [Y/N], this is my wife, Wanda.”

You and Wanda watched him hop around from her to the coffee table and back two more times with amusement, then Wanda looked at you and gave an incredulous shake of her head, offering her hand. “Hi, hon. Don’t mind him; he’s not usually this dancy but dinner with the boss was a bit unexpected on both our parts. I had to pull something together last minute and he’s trying to make up for it.”

“You did so much in such a short amount of time,” Vision added, finally settling on the couch beside Wanda after the two of you shook hands and got seated. “You deserve a break. I can handle filling a few glasses and doing up the dishes.”

“Speaking of which, I hope you got a break yourself, [Y/N].” Wanda’s comment and concerned look made your eyebrows raise with confusion. She elaborated, “Vision mentioned covering for you at work today.”

You flushed slightly and rubbed the side of your neck. Vision noticed and gave you an apologetic look.

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I get these awful migraines sometimes. One just happened to hit me at a particularly bad time today and I fell and knocked over a bunch of files. Your husband was an angel, did something he absolutely didn’t need to do and said it was all his fault.”

“And yet you got punished anyway,” Vision said, still looking apologetic. He wrung his hands a bit as well; you wanted to hold them to make him stop.

Wanda did instead, giving him the sweetest smile in the process. 

“But if it weren’t for you,” you chirped, “I may have just gotten fired. So I have to thank you for that. And I can’t imagine how that may have affected your dinner tonight, if I had known you were having the big boss dinner tonight, I wouldn’t have let you. I’m so sorry, by the way, for barging in immediately after your dinner, too; you two must be exhausted!”

“Oh, nonsense,” Wanda piped up again. She patted you on the wrist; you kind of wished she’d left her hand there but she went to pick up her water instead. “Dinner went quite well actually, if not a bit ill-planned. We had a bit of a misunderstanding of what the calendar said.” She gave Vision a playful glare and he responded with a bashful smile that he tried to hide by running a hand over his face.

“I drew a heart, for Hart,” he explained. “We forgot and thought we missed an anniversary instead.”

You thought back to when Mr. Hart mentioned the dinner at the office and Vision had made a heart with his hands, then tried to suppress a grin of your own. “That’s an easy misunderstanding. Happy to hear I’m not the only one good with planning, though, no offense.”

“Well, maybe you two should be married.” Wanda glanced between the two of you, the playful look in her dark eyes paired with her suggestion making your throat dry.

“You couldn’t remember it either, darling,” Vision countered, giving her a peck on the forehead, “If that’s the case, maybe all three of us were meant to be.”

You went to swallow and ended up having to suppress a choke. You reached for your glass, only to see it empty—when did you do that?—but Wanda was quick to refill it.

You gave her a sheepish smile and soft “Thanks” in return, took a drink and decided to play along. “That would explain why we ended up living directly across from the street and why I’ve been single almost my entire life.” 

You mentally kicked yourself for mentioning that last part and coming off way too desperate. However, when you glanced the couple’s way, Vision was chuckling, and Wanda was giving an understanding nod with a pleased look on her face. Maybe she thought her joke was going to hit wrong? Maybe it hadn’t been a joke?

Don’t get your hopes up, you thought.

Then Wanda spoke again. “You must be joking. You’re living on your own in that house?”

    You shrugged and responded, “I have a fish.”

    “I’m sure they’re wonderful conversation,” Wanda quipped back. 

    “No romantic interest in sight?” Vision asked. 

    Well, I wouldn’t say that but I’m certainly not going into that right now. You shook your head and decided to shift the conversation to a topic that was less likely to make you feel, if either or both of them did happen to ask you to marry them at that very moment, as if you would immediately throw yourselves at them. “Speaking of houses and all that, what a coincidence that we happen to find each other living next door the same day we meet. That’s what I originally came over to do, introduce myself to my neighbors and give you a housewarming gift.”

    You gestured to the pachira on the coffee table and Wanda reached over to touch its leaves, then used Vision’s still-full water glass to water it. “That’s right. It is a lovely plant, thank you very much. I think it will look nice in the kitchen, or perhaps over by the window.” 

    “It’s supposed to bring good luck to the house,” you offered, “and red ribbons are often associated with it but I’m not sure why.”

    “Well here’s to good luck then,” Wanda said, clinking Vision’s empty cup with your half-full one. She read the card you’d attached, smiled, then picked up the plant and offered it to her husband. “Here, dear. Since you’re taking on the role of house-husband tonight, why not take this and see how it looks over by the window.”

    Vision was already standing and taking the plant from her hands before she finished her sentence. “Of course, darling. Tell me where you think it looks nice.” Then he added to you as he walked by, “I may be skilled many things, like filling out computational forms, but the interior decorating is all her. I’m practically color-blind. And furniture-blind. And generally design-blind. Possibly blind-blind, if I’m being honest.”

    Wanda rolled her eyes but she still giggled, then pointed out where she thought the plant would look best. It was off to one side of the window and she explained that she thought it would be visible from your window as well, and thus give both houses good luck. 

    “Maybe it will give me the luck to finally unpack and decorate like you two already have,” you pondered allowed, finishing off your water a second time; Wanda promptly offered to fill your cup again but you politely declined. “The two of you have been here, what? At least a few days now and your home is already made in the shade. I’ve been here in Westview a month if not more and I usually spend my time lounging on a couch made of crates and boxes.” 

    You noticed Vision glance oddly at his wife as he sat back down but Wanda didn’t seem to catch it. Still, she answered quite quickly, “We used a company.”

    “Ah.” You glanced between them but the strained energy that suddenly appeared just as quickly as it came when Wanda gave you another sweet smile and offered to write down the company name for you. “No need, I couldn’t afford it anyway. Thank you, though.”

    That response didn’t seem to please Wanda all that much. She pursed her lips in a way that looked partially pondering and partially pouty—it was a very cute pout—before leaning over to Vision and muttering in his ear. His attention was immediately drawn to focus only on her and they chatted quietly among themselves for a few moments.

    You suddenly felt awkward again and took to looking around a bit. You first looked at your feet and noticed how close one of Wanda’s own was to yours; in fact, the three of you were sitting so close together that her dress poofed out over your leg. Then you happened to look over at where your arm was resting across the back of the couch. Vision’s was too and you suddenly became keenly aware of how, if he were to start talking with his hands like he does, his would most definitely brush your own. You wondered if it already had while you were too engrossed in conversation to notice, then you wondered if you should move farther to the other side of the couch.

    You began shifting to do so when Wanda suddenly leaned back to her normal spot and grabbed your wrist. “Why don’t we come over sometime this weekend and help you unpack?”

    You blinked. She seemed closer than she had been earlier, or maybe it was just the fact that hand hadn’t pulled away yet. Her eyes were as bright and welcoming as they had been since you first saw them, eyebrows raised in what you could only place as eagerness, and you officially decided that if you were to look up the word “sweet” in a dictionary, there’d be a picture of her smile.

    You were so suddenly flustered that for a moment all you did was stare while you figured out how to talk again. When you did, you were surprised at confident your voice sounded when you replied, “Sure.”

    “Great!”

    Wanda and Vision looked equally excited when you looked at them both, which confused you before you remembered that you were only the second person from the neighborhood to visit them since they moved in. Thinking of it now, you were also feeling energetic from the conversation and not just because you happened to be sitting next to a very attractive-looking pair. This was the first time you sat down with people from the neighborhood and it did not only go well but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself; you also enjoyed spending time with Agnes but Agnes was just outwardly friendly to everybody and even if you ran out of things to say, she had enough stories to add filler to seven different conversations at the same time. Wanda and Vision seemed to be just as awkward as you, making unusual jokes that might not make it through and fumbling over themselves and on occasion just being awkwardly silent at times, but it was a weird kind of awkwardness that also felt comfortable, comforting. You felt like you were among friends. 

    Conversation flowed easily for the rest of the night. The three of you made plans to spend the next day at your place, unpacking and decorating and just getting to know each other better, then conversation shifted smoothly from one random topic to another. Wanda had a lot of questions about the neighborhood and the people in it and she and you swapped stories of first meeting Agnes. You were somewhat fascinated with Vision’s almost eidetic memory and couldn’t help quizzing him on random subjects but luckily, he seemed to be just as eager to answer. Wanda mentioned Vision’s ability to play ukulele at one point and he felt is was absolutely necessary to perform and after mentioning Wanda’s breakfast cooking ability—and your stomach grumbling in curiosity—she brought you to the kitchen and made the best breakfast you’d ever had, despite it not being morning, while Vision kept to his word and washed the dishes. Eventually, though, the night caught up to the each of you and you said your goodbyes, hugs included, at the door and you headed back home with a goofy grin on your face. 

    Upon getting home, you kicked off your shoes that you’d long since forgotten were causing your feet pain and went to your bedroom. You quickly stripped, put on your bedwear, and faceplanted onto your sheets. You laid there for a moment in comfortable bliss before turning your head and catching yourself in the mirror. Though looking utterly exhausted, it was mixed an almost childish happiness. You finally felt content in Westview, like you’d finally found your place. 

    You scrambled around to get under the covers and curled up. Quickly dozing off and still grinning, you muttered, “I think I’ll like it here.” 

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Cookbook Cavities

December 5, 2022

Prompt - Baking

Notes - I know I've done some baking prompts before, however, I recently received an old cookbook from my great-aunt and I’m using it to my advantage, haha.

The sound of children arguing over something or another was nothing new in the Birch house. When Mick would have friends over, they would argue over who got to pick the movie or who wanted the last snack on the table. Nowadays, however, it wasn’t any of Mick’s friends that would cause the typical commotion. With Royce and Bentley being so close to Vivien, the house was abnormally silent most days since they would either spend hours at a time reading and watching TikToks. This was not one of those days.

Apple cider cookies, peppermint patties, and peanut butter bread had been made up the day before, leaving the house smelling like a bakery. This day, however, a disagreement had broken out about what the three troublemakers were going to concoct. Royce had wanted to make potato chip cookies, Vivien declared that she wanted to make eggnog, and Bentley wanted to recreate a recipe from TikTok - pickle cheesecake. Neither Royce nor Vivien wanted to attempt making Bentley’s relish cheesecake after watching the video for it. Knowing how disgusting the cabin was going to smell afterward, most of the other residents of the house hoped they wouldn’t either.

Deciding to put an end to the argument, Brady decided to use the distraction method. He rose from the couch and headed for the bookshelf on the wall, searching for a moment before pulling an old, plastic-ringed book from the shelves. The others in the living room watched him in curiosity as he passed them, but Brady simply smiled their way as he headed into the kitchen.

“The house is going to reek of pickles for a week, Benny!” Royce argued.

“Is that a bad thing?” the blonde asked in return.

“Yes!” both of his companions exclaimed.

Bentley rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything, Brady cleared his throat, effectively breaking up the tension in the room. “I might have a solution,” he claimed, holding up the old cookbook. “This is a book bunch of recipes from different families in my mom’s hometown and it was published in the sixties. My grandmother had sent some of her recipes in like her breakfast pizza and her family’s German potato salad, but there are some questionable desserts in here that might just end this argument here and now.”

The trio shared a look before shrugging. “Like what?” Bentley asked.

With a grin, Brady opened the book and, near the back, read, “Watergate pie, Dottie’s tomato soup cake, ice cream bread. The list goes on and on.”

Cheshire-like grins spread across the teens’ faces, telling Brady that he’d done something right by them. Once Brady held the book out for them to take, Royce quickly accepted it and thanked Brady for letting them use it. Brady brushed off their gratitude with a smile and a simple, “Anytime,” before heading back to the living room where most of his family was sitting, having watched the interaction with piqued interest.

“How’d you do that?” Miles asked from his corner of the sectional, his girlfriend curled up next to him.

“Do what?” Brady questioned with a grin as he slotted himself back into his seat next to his wife, listening to the kids begin chattering in the kitchen about the different recipes they had to choose from.

“Get them to stop arguing,” Miles clarified. “I can barely get two of them to stop arguing at home, how did you get all three to calm down so quickly?”

Mack chuckled beside her husband, “If you can find something to distract them or help them figure out a solution without making them feel like you’re telling them what to do, they’ll calm down pretty quickly.”

Butchy chuckled as he nudged Mick, “I had a feeling you were a difficult kid.”

With a roll of her eyes, Mick huffed, “I was not. Right, Mom?”

Mack glanced over the top of her novel at her daughter, “Well…”

As the small group around her laughed at her expense, Mick’s mouth dropped open incredulously. Mack merely smirked at her daughter and returned to the novel she had been reading, allowing her daughter to flounder and fumble over her words. Ultimately, Mick’s mouth snapped shut and she slouched back into the couch with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “I was not.”

Deciding to add fuel to the fire, Brady grinned and claimed, “You had your moments.”

“Dad!”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the three teenagers had already begun scouring through the old recipes, settling in the dessert section of the book fairly quickly. The first thing on Royce’s list was something a lady named Cathy had sent in called Aggression Cookies - the harder you mix the ingredients, the better they taste. Vivien had selected some Southern Ambrosia, something her parents had told her in the past that they wouldn’t make because it was disgusting so, of course, she just had to make it without them around. Bentley, on the other hand, had yet to choose something since everything sounded fun or disgusting to make.

“How about fruitcake?” Royce sighed.

Vivien turned to Royce in disbelief and asked, “Who even likes fruitcake?”

Bentley shrugged, “I don’t mind it.”

Royce sent his girlfriend a smug smirk, “See? At least someone will eat it if we make it.”

As she looked between the brothers, Vivien smirked and chuckled, “You are what you eat, I guess.” Although Royce laughed, Bentley looked more confused than anything. Instead of letting him think on it for too long, Vivien patted Bentley’s arm and said, “Don’t hurt your brain there, Beemer. Just pick something to make.”

With a shrug of indifference, Bentley shook his head and flipped through a few pages of the cookbook. There were a few recipes with names from different languages, some that were definitely sent in by old people, and a couple that even Bentley knew by name alone, but nothing stood out to the blonde. Then, as Bentley flipped to the last page of desserts, he found it, the perfect recipe to complete their circle of weird foods. On the bottom of page two hundred and eighteen was the perfect, nasty dessert to coerce their family to eat. After their chocolate mayonnaise cake last year turned out to be a success, Bentley doubted anybody would think they had made some other gross concoction out of a cake. Then again, who would think of putting both vanilla pudding and chopped tomatoes in a cake?

Once Bentley had pointed out his intended recipe, Vivien smirked and added the ingredients to the growing list they had created. Their trip to the grocery store would definitely be fun. With everything written down, Bentley closed the book and set it aside, following Royce and Vivien around the island counters and into the living room, proudly declaring, “We’re ready for shopping.”

“Yeah,” Royce agreed with a grin full of mischief as Vivien retrieved the car keys from the dish near the door. “Which one of you poor, unfortunate souls are going to bring us to the store?”

“Not it!” Lela, Carrie, and Mick announced in near-perfect unison, touching their index fingers to their noses with a laugh.

Butchy and Miles turned to Mack and Brady, finding them shaking their heads in return, “Not happening,” Brady stated.

“Those three going shopping together is like leaving these three,” Mack gestured to the three younger girls on the couch, “in the mall together. I don’t feel like sitting in the car for three hours waiting for them to get out.”

“Again,” Brady added with a smirk.

Butchy and Miles shared a groan of frustration before turning to each other and settling the debate the way most things were in the Birch house - with a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. On the count of three, Miles drew a protective rock against Butchy’s scissors, making Vivien toss the set of car keys in the older biker’s lap. Unapologetically, Miles relaxed back into the couch with a smile and wished Butchy a fun time with the kids, earning him two middle fingers once the man was on his feet.

“That’s two bucks for the swear jar,” Vivien teased, feeling oh so proud to be the one to catch the swear jar enforcer in the act.

“I didn’t say anything, piccola,” Butchy claimed as he took a credit card from Mack and headed for the mudroom to take out his coat. 

As Royce opened the door and held it for those behind him, he said, “I’m pretty sure that swearing in sign language is still against the rules of the swear jar.” 

“Yeah,” Bentley began with a cocky little smirk, “if you don’t have to put money in the jar for that, does that mean we can flip people off and not get in trouble too?” 

“Don’t push your luck, cucciolo,” Butchy asserted, shoving Bentley’s hat over his eyes as he passed the younger boy.

It hadn’t taken them long to get to the shopping center the family normally shopped at. At least, it didn’t feel that way to the three teenagers who had begged Butchy to let them play music over the car’s speakers, blasting the twenty-two year old's eardrums to oblivion as they played a medley of Christmas songs and songs from the 80s as loud as he would allow them to. After finding a parking spot not too far from the shops and turning the volume way down, Butchy slid the credit card he’d been given out of his coat pocket and told the three kids to have fun.

“You aren’t going in with us?” Royce asked.

“I was just going to wait here,” Butchy claimed with a shrug. “Why? Do you need me to go in?”

“Well, no,” Bentley replied. “But we usually get distracted pretty easily and everyone else that takes us here gets bored in the car.”

“Besides,” Vivien began, patting Butchy’s shoulder with a knowing smirk, “who else is going to stop me from spending three hours in the sporting goods store, looking at all of the archery equipment and buying two new pairs of skates?”

“Or spending the whole afternoon in the arcade,” Bentley agreed.

“Or the comic book store,” Royce added.

The look Butchy sent in return was full of amusement as he sarcastically replied, “The nonexistent cash in your wallets.” The trio of teenagers being, well, teenagers, rolled their eyes, whining out complaints until Butchy sighed and a fond smile tugged at his lips. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled. “But if we go in, we’re sticking to the list, got it? No wandering the store for random stuff.”

“Deal,” the trio replied.

Butchy nodded, tucked the credit card back into his pocket, and reluctantly pulled the car keys out of the ignition as the kids quickly exited the car, skeptical they’d listen to him at all once they got inside. While Bentley led Butchy inside, distracting the man by telling him about something he’d seen online, Vivien took Royce’s hand in hers and smiled as she said, “He’ll get fed up with us in the first five minutes.”

Royce snorted, “Oh yeah.”

As soon as the sliding glass doors parted in front of them, the group was met with an instant blast of warmth coming from the overhead heaters. After grabbing a cart and making their way into the first store, Butchy turned to Vivien and asked, “What’s first on the list?”

“Well,” the spectacled brunette began, pulling up the list on her phone, “I already crossed off what you guys have in the pantry, so there’s a lot less. My recipe still needs bananas, frozen orange juice, crushed pineapple, coconut, cherries, and mini marshmallows.”

Butchy’s look of disgust was exactly what Vivien hoped to achieve with her recipe. “What the hell are you making?”

Vivien held out a hand, making a grabbing motion until Butchy begrudgingly pulled out his wallet and slapped a crisp dollar bill into the palm of her hand. “Thank you,” she smirked, shoving the dollar into her pocket. “And, for your information, I’m making southern ambrosia.”

“I don’t care where it comes from,” Butchy grimaced. "Ambrosia tastes like cavities and disappointment.” It took a moment for the ingredients to register in his brain as they walked toward the fresh produce, but when it did, Butchy stalled and turned to Vivien in mild horror. “Did you say you’re putting bananas in that monstrosity?!”

Vivien nodded, fighting hard to contain her laughter as Butchy turned away, looking absolutely disgusted with the idea. As soon as there was a little distance between the three teens and their guardian, she muttered, “He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, does he?”

“Nope,” the brothers replied.

Vivien smirked, “Let the fun begin.”

After a while of dragging the older man through every inch of every shop they came across, Vivien began to notice something. Everytime they stepped near a particularly shady or rough looking person, Butchy would use himself as a sort of barrier or make himself look more intimidating. He didn’t need to do much to look intimidating, his six-foot-three frame normally did the trick, but his broadened shoulders and tilted glare would be enough to dissuade any potential attackers.

After watching Butchy straighten up and step to the outside of their group, keeping the kids between himself and the glass storefronts, Vivien felt the need to question the tall man. “Why do you keep doing that? You’re acting like you’re our bodyguard or something.”

Butchy glanced down at Vivien curiously before shrugging passively. “The boys are my brothers and you, by extension, are my sister. I want to keep you three as safe as possible. Too many people in this world have the IQ of a Goldfish cracker and would love to get their hands on any of you. If they want to get to the three of you, they’ll have to get through me first.”

“Ever the momma bear, huh?” she teased, lightly elbowing Butchy in the side as a fond grin crossed her features. “I appreciate the gesture, but you can relax a little. I come here all the time and nobody bothers me. They’re probably scared of my guns.”

Despite Vivien flexing her arms and acting all tough, her muscles were practically nonexistent compared to Butchy’s. The man lightly nudged the teenager and scoffed playfully, “Says the child with wet spaghetti noodles for arms.”

Vivien looked up at Butchy with shock evident on her face but humor in her eyes. Butchy’s smug smile quickly changed to laughter as he took in her expression. Royce and Bentley turned to them curiously, having walked ahead to check out the window display for the comic book shop, but simply shrugged at each other and went back to looking at the new display. In retaliation, Vivien shoved Butchy with a smirk. “You’re such an ass.”

Butchy’s smile widened as he held out a hand, “I’ll take that dollar back.”

Instead of putting the dollar in Butchy’s hand, Vivien high-fived it and took off with a maniacal laugh, “Maybe next time, big guy!”

Hours went by before they got back in the car, but oddly enough, not even Butchy seemed to mind. On the drive home, Vivien was surprised when she noticed Butchy singing along with some of the songs she picked, particularly when he started jamming out to ABBA’s Dancing Queen and a few of the Whitney Houston hits that popped up in between Christmas songs. Although she knew that Mick had exposed her friends to more modern music, shows, and movies, but for some reason, Vivien liked the idea of the big, tough Butchy just rocking out in his room to pop songs from the 80s, singing awfully into a hairbrush and dancing around like an idiot in his free time, much like she did in hers. Yeah, she would definitely be asking Mick about it later on.

When they finally pulled into the driveway of the cabin, Butchy took most of the shopping bags despite multiple offers from the teenagers and helped them separate everything in the kitchen before taking whatever was left and distributing it among the rest of the house members. With all of their ingredients separated, Royce, Vivien, and Bentley grabbed their aprons and got to work. Bentley’s cake and Royce’s cookies required the same heat where Vivien’s recipe needed none, so they preheated the oven and started working on Vivien's ingredients with her. 

With the help of her friends, Vivien’s assortment of fruits, marshmallows, coconut shavings, and whipped cream was mixed, covered in plastic wrap, and left in the fridge to cool pretty quickly, allowing her to help the boys with their desserts. Royce’s five-ingredient aggression cookies only took a few minutes to put together and roll into balls on the baking sheet, but he and Vivien let the mixture sit on the counter while they helped Bentley chop up his tomatoes as finely as possible and stir the nasty concoction of pudding, tomatoes, cake mix, and a handful of other ingredients. Once everything was mixed, blended, and poured into a pan, they put both Bentley’s cake and Royce’s cookies in the oven.

Instead of joining the rest of the family in the living room, the trio sat around the dining table, Bentley and Vivien listening as Royce began reading the book Butchy had bought them at the mall after very little pleading. Before they knew it, the timer on Royce’s phone went off and they pulled his cookies out of the oven, setting them aside to cool while Bentley retrieved the frosting from the pantry. Frosting coated cookies in hand, the three teenagers headed for the living room and placed cookies into waiting hands before sitting on the floor in front of the couch and awaiting to hear their opinions.

“I’m not a big fan of oatmeal,” Mick claimed, “but these are really good.”

“I’m surprised you guys didn’t add something nasty to it like last year,” Lela commended with a grin.

“‘Last year’?” Carrie repeated curiously. “What happened last year?”

“Three words,” Miles began, gaining his girlfriend’s attention as she eyed him in confusion, “chocolate mayonnaise cake.”

Carrie’s curls bounced as her head whipped around to face the three teenagers with wide eyes. “You didn't.” The trio nodded, mischievous grins splitting their features. Carrie cringed, “That sounds disgusting.”

“It actually was pretty good,” Mack said with a shrug. “I have to say, I’m surprised, and almost disappointed that we didn’t get some kind of weird mixture this time.”

“Well,” Butchy began, a knowing look appearing as he spoke, “as far as I know, there are two more desserts coming. There’s still time for something gross.”

Bentley smiled, “Maybe we have the best treat in the world coming and you just don’t know it yet.”

“If you think ambrosia is the ‘best treat in the world’, you are sorely mistaken,” Butchy claimed blandly.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Vivien chortled as she rose from her spot on the floor. “You’re going to have to try some so I can prove you wrong.”

“Not gonna happen,” Butchy chuckled.

“Mick,” Royce pleaded, “could you help us? You’re his only weakness.”

Mick snickered, “What am I going to do? Sit on him while you three force-feed him something?”

Vivien looked between Royce and Bentley before nodding, “That could work.”

With a snort, Mick shook her head, “Considering the fact that he can easily pick me up with one arm, I don’t think that would end well.”

A look of slight disgust crossed Vivien’s face as she groaned, “I don’t want to know how you two figured that one out.”

“Vivien,” Butchy grumbled, bringing a hand up to his face as he shook his head.

“What?” the spectacled brunette questioned with a smirk as she backed her way toward the kitchen. “I said I didn’t want to know. What you two get up to behind closed doors is none of my business.”

Royce and Bentley were quick to follow their friend into the kitchen while everyone else laughed at the couple’s expense. “That’s your sister,” Butchy muttered to Mick. 

Mick quickly shook her head and chuckled, “I don’t know her.”

In the kitchen, Bentley checked if his cake was done and pulled it out of the oven, setting it on the counter to cool. The cake looked surprisingly normal; the yellow cake mix and vanilla pudding muted the red of the tomatoes into a pale pink. The smell wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and three teenagers suspected that, if you had no idea tomatoes were an ingredient, you wouldn’t notice the faint tangy, acidic smell in the air. Using what frosting they had leftover from Royce’s cookies, Bentley and Royce decorated the top of the cake as best they could while Vivien scooped her ambrosia mixture into cups. Once the cake was sliced for everyone and Vivien made sure there were enough cups for everyone to have at least a little, the teenagers stood in the archway of the kitchen and asked the rest of the people in the cabin to grab some.

After grabbing a slice of cake from Bentley, everyone grabbed a cup of the fluffy, fruity concoction Vivien had made. Well, everyone apart from Butchy. When it came time for the towering biker to take a cup from the teenager, she simply leaned on the countertop with her cup of ambrosia, poking it with her spoon and paying no attention to Butchy. 

“What?” Butchy asked with a grin as he nudged the girl. “You’re not going to have Mickie pin me down so I have to eat this creation of yours?”

“No,” Vivien muttered with a small shrug, taking a few tiny marshmallows out of her cup and eating them. “You don’t like it, so I won’t make you eat it.”

Butchy’s teasing smirk faltered at her tone - where was the spitfire he was used to dealing with? “I was going to have some,” he offered, setting his slice of cake on the counter and putting a hand on the girl's arm.

Vivien peered up at Butchy and shook her head, “You wouldn’t have liked it.”

“Why do you think that?”

“You said so in the store,” Vivien claimed as simply as possible. “You said it tastes like cavities and disappointment.”

Shit. He had forgotten all about that conversation. Butchy’s mind raced as he tried to come up with a way to make it up to the teenager. Maybe he could do the same thing he did when he let down Lela, spend the day with her and do some of the things she likes. Vivien was different from Lela, though, and he wasn’t sure how, exactly, to make it up to her. Before Butchy could think for too long, a small cup was thrust into his hand. Butchy’s eyes widened as he examined the cup and its contents. Inside the small glass was a thick, purple-ish pink liquid with a spiral of whipped cream, a couple of marshmallows, a cherry, and a slice of banana on top.

Vivien slid a striped straw into the glass as Butchy looked to her curiously. “What is this?”

She shrugged, a tiny grin tugging at her lips. “I don’t guarantee it’s going to taste any less cavity-inducing, but I made you a smoothie with the ambrosia ingredients.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Butchy said, glancing between the drink and the girl in front of him.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Vivien said. “Besides, it only has some of the ingredients. There’s cherries, bananas, and a few marshmallows, but I didn’t think the orange juice and coconut shavings would taste so good blended in with yogurt, so I-” Vivien was cut off as she was dragged forward, an arm around her shoulders bringing her into a tight, one-armed squeeze. She chuckled softly, maneuvering her cup of ambrosia so Butchy didn’t wear any of it, “Well, this is nice.”

“Thank you, piccola,” Butchy spoke softly.

Vivien smirked, “Anytime, big guy.”

[futurebird]

Dotty Update

Listen I know some of ya'll think I'm just projecting or anthropomorphizing Dotty. But, she really is unique among her colony of 100s. She is always one of the first ones out when I put out food. She gave me a scare yesterday by not showing up.

I suspect Dotty is one of the older workers because she is so small. She could be over a year old. When she didn't show up I feared the worst. (I even poked around in their graveyard.) But, then I remembered that she hates light. And I'd just added a new light to the outworld.

I turned out the light... and only a few moments later there she was! She also is a prolific escape artist. When I was cleaning their tank that same day... she escaped again!

I've learned to first turn on a fan and and a light before opening the outworld. Then I check around the rim for ants who might make a run for it when I open it. I tap near them to get them away and only then do I open the lid. Dotty found a place to hide on a seam.

The dark seam made her nearly invisible so I didn't realize she was near the lid until I saw her running down the side of the tank. She's been out of the tank enough that she knows her way around the bookshelf. She also won't fall for the postcard I use to move them back.

She avoids the card, but at last I got her on my hand and put her back. She was making a be-line for the container where the fruit flies are raised. I think she has some notion about infinite fruit flies. IDK.

I hope she can make it to next spring! If she does she will be the ant equivalent of a wise elder. Just thought I'd give you all a Dotty update.

[silverdragon-imagines-blog]

Picori Festival of Fools

[This was a one-shot that was written for Round 2 of the March write-off tournament thing. This was written on March 23rd 2021. This one was pretty fluffy all-things considered, a bit out of my comfort zone, but I had a blast writing it. As per usual, this is unedited and most likely won’t be posted anywhere else. I hope you enjoy ^u^]

Prompt: Someone's Hyrule is having a festival! The boys are just in time!

The sounds of flutes and drums seemed to echo from far off in the woods, the music immediately causing a smile to erupt on Four’s face.

“We arrived just in time! C’mon!” Four called out to the heroes behind him, breaking into a sprint. The other heroes had no hope of catching up to him, the Smith’s pegasus boots taking him to the entrance of Hyrule Town in no time at all. 

Legend reached him first, looking somewhat annoyed at being forced to run with his magic boots.

“A little warning next time maybe?”

“Sorry, not sorry!” Four shrugged, a giddy smile on his face, “It’s the day of the Picori Festival! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The other heroes caught up eventually, all of them panting as they approached. Four was bouncing on his feet, Legend looking on amused as Warriors flipped him off. As soon as they all recovered from the mad dash, Four cleared his throat gaining everyone’s attention.

“Today is the day of the Picori Festival, there’s a bunch of fun stuff to do! There are food stalls and a sword-fighting competition and a bunch of games with prizes to win!”

“Time? Can we join in?” Wind pleaded, doing his best impression of a begging Wolfie. Time rolled his eyes at the display, nodding in agreement.

“We can join in for today, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to have a bit of fun.”

With a cheer, Four led the way into town. A couple of soldiers saw them immediately and quickly followed the group.

“Any of you gentlemen care to join the sword-fighting competition? The young Princess Zelda has chosen a gift for the winner, no one knows what it is.”

Four laughed, knowing that Zelda- or Dot- had to have chosen something amazing or ridiculous to give the winner. The soldiers turned to him and froze for a moment, then smiled.

“Young Master Hero-Smith! Are you joining the competition as well?”

“No thank you, but any of my companions are free to join in. I’d love to watch them get their asses handed to them.”

Many of the other heroes glared at him, Hyrule and Wind snickering quietly. Time shook his head in amusement. Four watched as Warriors, Legend, Sky, and Twilight signed up and were quickly led away from the front gates to the location of the competition. 

“Well, if you don’t need me, I’ll be checking out the food stalls,” Wild said, starting to walk away only for Time to grab the collar of his tunic.

“I don’t trust you to stay out of trouble, so Wind and I will accompany you.”

“Wait, why do I have to come?!” Wind shouted in outrage.

“No one trusts you to behave yourself, you sticky-fingered pirate,” Wild replied with a smug grin.

Time led them away, the two heroes already starting to poke fun at the other for their habits. Hyrule shook his head, laughing quietly.

“Hey, want to see something cool?” Four asked, holding out a hand to the traveler. He nodded, the Smith beginning to lead him to a building with a large wooden book on the front of it.

The library was empty of people, save for the librarian quietly reading at the front desk. The pair walked further inside, up to the second floor and next to an upturned and cracked pot. Four stopped in front of it, standing with his hands on his hips and a bright smile on his face.

“Do you want to go on a tiny adventure with me?”

Hyrule smiled, already beginning to cast his fairy spell as Four climbed atop the overturned pot. In mere seconds, Hyrule was flying and Four was walking out of a crack close to the floor. Hyrule descended, grasping Four’s arms and lifting the two of them into the air.

“Go to the far bookshelf, the top of it. Once you land, just follow me.”

The traveler nodded, flying to the indicated area and gently touching down. Four held his hand and led the way up a small ladder that led to the rafters above. There, a group of Minish greeted them, hugging the small Smithy. It seemed that they were celebrating the festival in their own little way, a block of wood piled high with treats from the bakery and other food stalls. Four talked to the Minish in their own chittering language while Hyrule enjoyed the food and company of an unseen race. Time seemed to fly by as they talked and danced with the small creatures until soon, Four led him back to the entrance of the hideaway.

“C’mon, I want to see who ends up winning the sword-fighting competition,” he said as Hyrule began the flight to the pot from earlier, “20 rupees says Legend won.”

“How about we see who even made it to the finals first,” Hyrule laughed, letting the Smith down on top of the pot.

With a few whispered words, the two were normal-sized and racing off towards the castle, the streets much less crowded now that the competition was underway. Four held onto Hyrule’s hand as he weaved around the crowd and to the castle entrance where Dot was watching the fight.

“Who made it to the finals,” Four whispered, startling her. He laughed as the princess smacked him on the arm with mock anger.

“This knightly looking fellow called Warriors and a pink-haired guy called Legend. The fight is just about to start.”

A horn blew soon after, the two heroes watching as the Captain and Veteran clashed in the middle of the square. They backed up, getting into an offensive stance and clashing once again in the middle. They were at a stalemate, and Hyrule could see the mischievous look in Legend’s eye. He barely suppressed a smirk as he watched his predecessor kick a leg out, knocking the Captain on his ass. With a smug smile, he held his Tempered Sword to Warriors’ neck. 

“I do believe I win.”

Warriors groaned as he admitted defeat. The soldier keeping track of the fight announcing Legend as the winner to the cheering crowd. The victor was taken to Dot, Hyrule waving as Four tried to hide laughter under his hand.

“Legend, right? Congratulations on your victory,” Dot spoke, smiling politely with her hands behind her back, but her eyes shone with amusement.

“Thank you, it was fun knocking my opponent down a few pegs.”

“To commemorate your victory, I offer you a token of good luck,” Dot smiled as she held out two halves of a bright yellow stone.

Legend looked confused as he took one of them, but then brought the half he held to connect with the princess’s half. The stone glowed as it disappeared, and Dot smiled.

“Now, how about a fight with the hero of our land?”

“Oh, that’s no fair, Dotty. I outnumber him four to one.”

It was quiet for a moment until the joke registered and the crowd mixed with laughs and groans. Legend looked outraged.

“Did you just make a fucking pun on your name?!”

Four didn’t reply, trying to dodge the Veteran’s furious swipes at his head. 

[polkadottedpie]

Welcome!

DNI • Common Tags

Hi! This is an age regression and system little blog for a mixed-origin system. The age of the body is over 25. It’s mostly used by our system’s two cohosts, Polka and Dot, who use regression as a coping mechanism for stress, anxiety and trauma. Please be kind! We have other system littles who may spend their time here, too, and a few system caregivers managing the space to make sure everyone stays safe.

In general, this space is intended for nonsexual age regression as a coping mechanism, however because our regression primarily comes in the form of “vent” regression, some of our posts may have darker, more somber themes. Please curate your own space accordingly.

Regressors

Name: Dot Pronouns: Dan/Gan (a lie) Big Age: 25+ Regression Age: 4-6 Likes: danganronpa, durarara!!, soul eater, learning, pastel blue and purple, soft things, old things, plants, books, and stars Dislikes: loud noises, scratchy or sticky things, being sick, and being alone Tags: #dottie dabbles, #dottie writes, #dottie's bookshelf

Hi! My name is Dot and I made this blog so I can save age regression posts I like! I tried to just save them myself before, but I kept losing them. Now I share it with my cohost, Polka, and system littles! I love blue and purple, especially pastel! It’s my favoritest colors ever and makes me feel super safe! I regress both for fun and for trauma reasons, although more often than not I find myself slipping on accident when I get too stressed out.

I have a few carers I love very much that I might mention sometimes. Some of them are in our system and some are in out partner system. Zachie-nii and Enoch-nii are the most active in our system. Koma-nii, Ranran, Papa, and Cousin Redd are from our partner system! They don’t have blogs though so I can’t show you them. I can talk about them, though!

Thank you for coming to our blog. Stay safe and be kind!

Name: Polka Pronouns: Dan/Gan (a lie) Big Age: 25+ Regression Age: 2-4 Likes: danganronpa, durarara!!, soul eater, music, quiet time, the dark, soft things, being sad, being sick, Puppy, and stars Dislikes: loud noises, too much excitement, scratchy or sticky things, and being alone Tags: #polka ponders, #polka writes, #polka's music box

Hi, my name is Polka. I’m a cohost but I’m not as outspoken as Dot. I’m usually around when we’re feeling mopey and sad and need to let those feelings out. Because of that, my regression is mostly involuntary and stressful. I like listening to music and moping around in bed when I feel sad with our stuffed Puppy. Sometimes I write really sad stuff to help put our feelings into words.

I share a lot of carers with Dot, since we’re cohosts, but from our partner system I also have Chia-nee. She is very sweet to me and I like them a lot.

Caregivers

Name: Lumin Pronouns: He/Him Big Age: 30+ Likes: Space, his husband, his kids, communication, exercise, and cooking Dislikes: miscommunication, assuming the worst Tags: #chichi

Hi! I go by Lumin, and I'm the main caregiver for these two little twin stars here. My main goal is to help guide them through working out big emotions when they're small, and to help them open up and enjoy their small time. I'll probably be the only one of the caregiver bunch to talk regularly. Usually that'll be in response to the twins when they need someone to talk to through reblogs, but I might chime in here and there for others, too!

Name: Enoch Pronouns: He/Him Big Age: 30+ Likes: Japanese culture, kimono design, bonsai, tea, cooking, and gardening Dislikes: disorganization, fighting Tags: #enoch nii

Hello, my name is Enoch. I am one of the system’s caregivers. We are primarily here to supervise our own little ones and make sure they are being safe within their space. We do not seek much interaction otherwise unless it is necessary for us to step in. Please be kind to them so everyone can have fun!

Name: Zacharie Pronouns: He/Him Big Age: 30+ Likes: Dot and Polka, cooking, being left alone Dislikes: other people Tags: #zachie nii

I’m only here to make sure the kids are safe.

[fandomanxiety-library]

“Dream Kiss”

The Outer Worlds Fic

Captain Dottie X Maximillian Desoto

Author’s Note: So, there was this prompt/idea/something that I spotted, and I decided I would do one as well. I believe someone asked another human to write it, and well...I liked it. I decided I would do one as well. Anyway, I will get on with it!

____________________________

Her smile was enchanting, and Max decided this had to be the worst thing that had every happened to him. This was not a part of his original plan, which never consisted of...her. She is an absolutely beautiful, yet annoying to him all the same, the Captain that was not a variable he had considered.

“Cat caught your tongue, Vicar?” She laughed, and he rolled his eyes.

“What in the nebula is a cat? By Law, I think you make this things up,” he spoke, frustrated with himself.

“I forget you folks don’t have cats...too bad, may I add. They where elegant, sassy creatures, and a force to be reckoned with,” she sighed, and he gazed at her again.

“Sounds much like you, Dottie.”

Law, no! What did I just say?! Not part of the plan, Max! Not-!

“Aww, shucks! You really think so, darlin’?” She smirked, and he gave in at the nickname that left her lips.

“Yes honey, I do think so.”

Maybe I can bend the plan just a little- just to have some fun...

Her face turned blood red, and he felt pleased with himself at her reaction.

Just a little...and besides, I have never seen her flustered at any man’s advance.

“In fact, elegance may not be enough, really. You are a fascinatingly beautiful creature- Law, and sassy isn't even enough to describe that attitude of yours’s, dear,” he added.

The smirk that was applied to her lips made him curious to her next move, curious like when they play chess.

What is your next move, Captain?

Her eyes of emerald ore held mischief in them, and suddenly she leaned in closer from her seat towards him.

“You have no idea what you have just done, Maximillian,” she spoke lowly, and he slyly smiled at her.

“What would that be, hmm?” He leaned in closer to her.

Definitely, definitely not part of the pla-.

She pressed her lips to his, and he pulled her in further by the back of the neck. The kiss was somewhere in between tender and...not tender. He couldn’t exactly explain it, but it wasn't one of those tender kisses like in the serials. It was something of a long time coming, and it was a little rough, just like them. She grabbed him by the collar of his vestments, and pushed him back.

“Wake up, Max! Wake up right now or I-!” 

Felix? What?

“Vicar if you don't wake up, I will tell Dot to leave you!” Felix’s voice tore him from sleep.

His eyes peeled open, he wasn't in the kitchen with Dot, and neither where they kissing like feverish teenagers. No, he was surrounded by the hum of the ship and Felix’s awful shouting.

“I am coming! Shut up, you-!” Max snarled back, and he was interrupted by that angelic voice from his dreams.

“Stop shouting, please. I have a headache...just get up, Maximillian,” her soft voice came from outside.

It was soft and small, unlike her confident one full of mischief from his dream. He heard her pad down the hall to her quarters. He pulled himself from the bed, and pulled on his clothes he bought to replace his vestments for outside missions. 

“Are you primping yourself now? Hurry up!” Felix yelled, and Max was already frustrated with this miscreant.

“Please refrain from shouting, the Captain is not feeling well,” Ada spoke through the ship, and Felix sighed.

“Oh yeah. Wait- sorry!”

“She requested everyone be quieter, today,” Ada spoke again.

Max grabbed his “primping bag” (as Felix called it), and opened his door to see the Captain trudging back down the hall. His gaze fell upon her plump lips, the ones pressed up against his in his dream.

“Morning, Dot,” he greeted quietly, minding her headache.

“Morning, Max. Thank you for the hushed tone, darlin’,” she spoke, using the nickname from his dream.

“I heard you are feeling under the weather,” he spoke, and she nodded.

“Yes. Had headaches for a while now, but they come and go, thankfully,” she replied, and he nodded.

“I have some medication, if you would like some,” he replied, and she gazed at him with happiness.

“Really? Oh, I would love some, please,” she spoke, and he entered his room again.

She followed. Max began digging in his drawer for the medicine. She traveled to his bookshelf with curiosity, and she read over the many spines. He turned to hand her the medicine and saw her lick her lips.

How he wanted to kiss them, to kiss them with the hastiness from the dream. To grab her gently by the back of the head and draw her closer. For her hands to tangle themselves in his hair, as she pulled herself even closer. The dream didn't feel so far away, he felt that it could happen right here. Like how it happened in the dream. They where so close now. She was only a step away, he could capture her lips so easily. Just by stepping forward, turning her to face him, and then he could kiss her. 

But that is not the plan...I know its not.

He didn't pull her close, didn't turn her to face him, and didn't snatch her up for a kiss. Instead he watched her turn to face him.

“You don't read the same books as me,” she spoke softly, and she had a book in her hand.

“Well, what do you read?”

“Everything, but I enjoy romance novels,” she smiled, and he stared at her.

Romance novels. How cute.

“Life isn't a romance novel, you know.” Max spoke, and she smiled at him.

“It could be. Just have to meet the right person.”

She's so close. I could easily pull her in, and run my fingers down her arms- or maybe the small of her back. Pressing her lips against mine, could lead me down a different path with her. Change everything. I could kiss her, just for a moment...then we could forget it ever happened...

But I don't.

“Here is your medicine, Captain.”

___________

[respectablesentiment]

i just read your new chapter and it was fantastic as per usual! i was wondering though, with ellie getting her stuff from the farm and them moving into joel’s house, how did you find the balance in the idea of those things being a way of building ellie and dina’s relationship and building a future, as opposed to the idea of it representing ellie being stuck in the past like it was in the game. i thought you wrote it wonderfully well, i’m just curious how you found that balance!

Honestly that’s a difficult question to answer when you haven’t seen chapters 9 and 10. And I think it really depends on people’s interpretation of the ending and where they see it going. 

In short, I will say I didn’t necessarily find it difficult to write but I was careful with it. I wrote an exceedingly long response which you can find below the cut (if I managed to do a ‘read more’ correctly) because I went for it. It doesn’t have spoilers for the rest of my story but it would obviously contain spoilers for what’s already published. 

Within the context of myself and ‘waiting for dawn’ specifically, I see Ellie leaving her belongings at the farm as acknowledging they won’t bring her comfort and they aren’t what she needs at that time. It takes her two months after returning to Jackson to return to the farm and it is important that that is done specifically with Dina. They both have to be in a headspace where they are comfortable to do that, and Dina feels a lot lighter than she thought she would being back in that place. The farm is their space together and it’s only through closing that chapter properly that they can find solace in a new place. 

Ellie has opened up and feels ‘freer’ in her ongoing relationship with Joel at this point in time than she did at the farm. We know she’s surrounded by him at the farm, his presence is felt - in JJ’s name, in his photo (Ellie and Joel at the stables which was in his bedroom, same frame), in his watch, she has his coat there, his eagle statue is in their living room (bookshelf beside fireplace), several of his carved animals are there that we see earlier (bear on top of same bookcase, the howling wolf right in the entryway), and while we may not see physical drawings/paintings of him in her study space - there is the Giants of the Past pamphlet from the museum on her desk and we see him still in her journal.

We know from her same journal that she isn’t opening up and sharing about him because she feels like it would hurt and she wouldn’t be able to stop. She specifically writes that Dina thinks it would be good for her to talk about Joel, she doesn’t understand how Dina finds it so easy, and that the memories “sound like food poisoning” - it’s eating her up something, burning her from the inside out, and her ongoing inability to draw his eyes until the end of the game shows this. 

At the point of waiting of dawn that we’re currently up to, Ellie not only has gone through her end-game realisation but she is working beyond that. She has shared things with Dina more freely than before and shared a deeply deeply special moment to her with JJ (despite his lack of comprehension as a Baby). It is difficult to convey fully in a Dina-centric fic, but Ellie is healing and growing. She is at the point where she feels comfortable to use the term Kiddo and doing so is both special and exhilarating in some ways to her. In some ways I view her using ‘Kiddo’ as an affirmation of her commitment to be a mother to JJ, she’s allowing herself to be a parent again (despite Dina not explicitly saying their son until Ch8) and she’s doing it by recognising Joel as her own. She’s capable of saying Joel was an amazing father in this chapter and actually keeping herself together. Idk if I do the best job at showcasing growth but it’s less about her moving on from his death but finally allowing herself to go back before it. She’s found her peace and now she gets to remember him and see him in herself and her actions (carving wood like him, calling her son Kiddo, etc.). Her memories no longer feel like poison. 

The decision to go with Joel’s house to me is important but very very tricky. Ellie needs to be ready, Dina needs to trust that it won’t be “Joel’s home” but “their home”. The house has obviously been packed up for Joel’s belongings to be at their farmhouse, and Maria mentioning that it’s empty is important. Things won’t necessarily look the same, they’re going to have their own furniture, their own bed, and they’re going to make changes and fill it with their presence and with their love going into the future. 

It was an interesting decision to make and definitely something I needed Dottie to question. I want Dina to walk the fine line of making sure Ellie is comfortable with it and ensuring they will actually be able to treat it like their own home (and not a museum) which is why it was important for her to suggest changes (JJ’s room, a garden, etc.) but then wonder if she’s overstepping. I originally wrote a scene for Ellie first returning to the house and while I liked it, I wanted Ellie to be alone and without Dina there it couldn’t make it into the final cut of a Dina-centric story. 

I’m hoping with how I convey things in chapter 9 specifically I’ll have pulled off that balance between Ellie building her future with Dina and honouring her past. I really like my story as a cohesive work, but I haven’t been writing for very long and I write entirely for myself - so it’s okay if my decisions or how I portray things don’t ‘land’ correctly for others. 

~regardless, I hope you enjoy it :)

[littleindigochildx]

Task 4 ♕

“Come on Savvy! We got’a go!”

Timmy said as he collected his things. Summer break had just begun but that didn’t mean Victoria had off as well. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Eufloria Cafe was scheduled to have its grand opening next week, which meant Vic was busier than she had ever been. She needed to make sure everything was absolutely perfect. The task was easier said than done when she also had her two youngest to worry about. Summer camp didn’t start for another two weeks and David’s schedule didn’t have much wiggle room, not that Savvy would leave her mom willingly. She made it very clear that she did not want to spend her summer break in California. She wanted to stay in Limbo and help with the cafe. She wanted to stay where the bulk of her family was. Limbo was (and forever would be) home.

“Savvyyyy!” Timmy called again. She could tell he was irritated. She could hear it in his tone. Rightfully so... They were always waiting on Savanna. “I’m comin’, okay? I needed ta get somethin’ from my room for…” She paused. Victoria was looking at her with the keys in her hand. “Nevermind. I’m ready.” She secured her book bag (filled with all the arts and craft supplies she could fit into it) on her back and followed her mom and brother out the door.

Today they would be spending the day with Dottie. Savvy was so excited. She didn’t get to see her big sister often anymore. Life had been so chaotic that every time they made plans, something came up and Dot had to cancel. Savanna and Timmy understood. Or at least they claimed they did. Dorothea and Ransom were adults and that meant sometimes grown up things came up. “Mommy...Are ya sure we can’t come help you?” Savvy asked from the back seat as she buckled herself in. Timothy was already buckled. His full attention was on the new book he got from the library. He was getting a jumpstart on his summer reading for school next year. “I won’t get in the way. I promise.” Savanna added, but Victoria knew the little girl would have a better time with Dottie.”

It only took ten minutes to get to Oasis Apartments from their house, and both kids were extremely excited to see their big sister. “Are we gonna go swimmin’ later?” Timmy asked. He knew the apartment complex had a pool and some of his friends from school were going to be there. The water would be freezing, no doubt, but that wouldn’t stop him or Savvy from swimming anyway. They never complained about it being too cold, even when their lips were blue and their teeth were chattering. The only time complaints were made was when it was time to dry off and go home. “Did you bring your bathing suit?” Dottie raised a brow and got eager nods from both of her younger siblings in return.

Victoria didn’t have long to chat. She gave Dottie the rundown like she always did, then hugged and kissed everyone before she got back in her car. Savanna waved until Victoria’s car was out of sight and then she turned back to her big sister to head inside. “I wanted mommy ta let me help with her new cafe. I wanna see how much she fixed it up.” The six year old frowned. “She said I could go when it was all done…” The little one sighed. “It’s got’a be done now, otherwise how’s she gonna have a grand openin’?”Savanna made a valid point, Dottie didn’t know how to respond. She knew that she had to change the subject or coming up with a distraction or her sister would never drop it.

It was only 9:30am. Too early to suggest going to the pool. Timmy seemed content with his book. He already made himself comfortable on the couch after kicking his shoes off into the middle of the room. Dorothea racked her brain for something she and Savanna could do to pass the time.

Dottie looked around the small apartment as she thought… That’s when a box on her bookshelf jumped out at her and she grinned as she went to get it. “I have an idea.” She told Savanna. “You said you want to help mommy, right?” Dottie took the lid off the box and inside were hundreds of pictures. They were candids she took of her whole family over the years. She almost forgot they existed until now. “Why don’t you pick out some photos for mommy to hang up in her new cafe? We can make a collage out of them. She can hang it like she hangs your drawings.” Dorothea smiled and Savanna grinned from ear to ear. This task was right up her alley and she had all the supplies they would need for it in her book bag. “That’s a good idea, Polka dot. This way, when mommy is workin’ she can see the pictures of us and ‘member why she opened up the cafe in the first place.”

Savanna got to work right away. This task even peaked Timmy’s interest and he set his book aside to help dig through photos. Each one held a story and Dottie was willing to tell most of them to her younger siblings. “Ya think mommy will buy me a camera for my birthday so I can take pictures like you do, Dottie?” The six year old asked. If Victoria didn’t get Savvy a camera, Dot would give her an old point and shoot she didn’t use anymore. Her little sister definitely inherited their mother’s artistic talent. She took pictures with an iPhone that were very impressive. Most of the time it was hard to believe they came from a first grader.

The pictures Savvy wanted to use were lined up all along the edge of the table. She had one of almost every family member, even David. The only person missing was Ransom, and her eyes went wide as she spotted a photograph of her brother that looked almost exactly like the one she found of DC earlier. “Is this Rannie?”She asked. For a second, it almost didn’t look like him. “Is he DC’s kid too? Like you?” Savanna looked up at her sister with big blue eyes. Dottie nodded with a smile. “I can tell…” Savvy giggled. “He looks just like DC…” She held up both pictures side by side. “See?” She grinned. “I duno why Rannie always says he doesn’t got’a daddy… He must not’a seen these. Mommy has ta put them up in her cafe, but after we show Rannie them first.”

[davidpwilson2564]

Bloglet

Monday, December 12, 2022

A couple of senior moments.  Couldn’t find the black tie I wore yesterday.  Turned over the living room looking for it.  Finally found it hanging over the tub, where it ended up when I rushed to the bathroom last evening when I got home.  They say what you are looking for is always in the last place you look.  Another senior moment: can’t find a photo that fell off the bookshelf when I was putting a book back.  Odd how...I sometimes fear I’m getting dotty.  Yesterday was quite demanding of my attention and I got through it just fine...but still I wonder.  

At the grocery store.  All of that Christmas music.  A tune I’ve never heard before: “Santa Got Stuck in My Chimney”...OMG.

Marjorie Taylor Greene, appearing at a big rally for young Republicans, said if she and Steve Bannon were running things on Jan 6 “we would have won”...adding “we would have been armed.”  Sounds like sedition, more sane voices commented.  Her reply: they don’t understand sarcasm.  Dangerous, unhinged lady...

Note: Tomorrow will mark ten years since Sandy Hook...

Crazy dream in which I am riding shotgun in a self-driving car. Nothing sleek about it...it’s an old car.  It ascends a hill and stops in front of a nondescript restaurant.  On stopping the doors and trunk automatically open.  Not thinking I’m supposed to be there, I walk away, leaving everything open.  

to be continued