#my sandwich shop expands

[the-chance-wizard]

In a collaboration with @the-shrimp-that-fried-rice, my sandwich shop

Possibly a sandwitch

Has a new sandwich available

The fried rice sandwich

Available at all not a sandwitch restaurants (because there is only one)

[luveline]

a hotch x bombshell!reader, where it's cold and reader's adamant that the only solution is to hug and cling onto hotch like a leech lol? <3

With Gideon nowhere to be seen, Morgan face down in his phone, and Spencer and Elle off doing who knows what, you and Hotch are alone in your venture for lunch. It's exactly how you like it. 

You shrug into your coats and escape the precinct. A short walk lands you in the middle of a crowded town centre, farmers market stalls shielded from the rain by their thatched roofs, families zipping in and out of stores to hide from the rain. You pull the expandable umbrella from your bag. 

“Do you want to hold it?” you ask. 

Hotch rolls his eyes. 

“What? If I hold it, I'll stab your eyes out. It would be a shame, Hotch, they're a beautiful shape.” 

Hotch takes the umbrella gently, his fingers brushing yours. They're warm where yours are cold, a little bigger with calluses on the skin beneath his first and second finger. You'd love to squeeze your fingers between his, steal his warmth, tether him to you for a while before work starts again and everything's tense. 

The wind whips hard. Hotch doesn't seem affected, holding the umbrella over your heads like the wind is breezing straight through him. 

You shiver. “How far is the place?” 

“You cold?” 

“Like, ten minutes? Fifteen?” 

Hotch laughs to himself. “Five. Button your coat.” 

“My outfit,” you grumble, buttoning your coat reluctantly.

Hotch walks closer to you after that, the arm that's holding the umbrella behind your shoulder a slip of warmth. He's very, very warm, and he keeps the umbrella over your head diligently. An idea begins to take shape.

“Hotch, would you say you're a gentleman?” 

“That… depends on what you're about to ask me.” 

You look up into his face. He's certainly handsome, and he always holds the door for you, always brings you a coffee even though you tease him about being in love with you. His frown is curiously missing as he slows his pace, the two of you walking a meander through the street. “What level of unprofessionalism is acceptable between us?” 

“Again…” 

To his credit, he smiles at you. Doesn't waver as you slip your hand through his arm. “Is this okay? Please?” you ask. 

“It's okay,” he says steadily. 

“So you're obsessed with me. Got it.” 

He doesn't laugh, but you'd like to think he wants to, he's too maddeningly serious is all. You check his face a few times to make sure it truly is okay, leaning into his side once you're certain. 

“Not far,” he assures you. “Next time, we'll drive.” 

“I have never been so cold in my life.” 

“No? What about Alaska?” 

“No, because Morgan is a better man than you are. He kept me stocked in hot chocolate and he bought me that hoodie with the moose on the front.” 

Hotch transfers the umbrella from one hand into the other to wrap an arm around your shoulders. You squash a cheesy smile down and replace it with a smirk in case he looks at you, ever-pleased as he pulls you in as tightly as he can without tripping over you. “I offered to get you a sweater,” he murmurs, sounding about as irritated as he can be with you, which isn't a lot, “I offered you my coat. You wouldn't say yes.” 

“A real gentleman wouldn't have to ask.” 

He sighs and rubs your upper arm. “Of course.” 

You cling to him for the rest of the walk, and for some time in the sandwich shop too. He doesn't try to remove you nor tell you off, doesn't argue his case. He doesn't so much as mention how he ordered your lunch exactly as you like it —with all your alterations and add-ons— though you know you didn't ask him to. 

A gentleman after all. The urge to loop your hands together on the walk back is extreme, but you deny yourself the pleasure once again. 

Maybe some day. 

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER SIX

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER SIX - COFFEES, PANINIS, AND MUSEUM DREAMS.

"When Marc mentioned he had a twin, I never imagined you'd be 'identical'," you quipped, shaking your head in amazement as you sized up the man in front of you, who bore an uncanny resemblance to your recent acquaintance, Marc Spector.

Steven flashed a mischievous grin and shrugged apologetically. "Should've given you a heads-up, right?"

You chuckled in response. "Absolutely. But I have to admit, it's a pleasant surprise. I'm thrilled you could make it today."

Amusement danced in Steven's soft brown eyes as he replied, "Wouldn't have missed it for the world. Only a complete fool would pass up this opportunity."

"I like your way of thinking," you said with a grin. "How about grabbing a quick coffee and panini before the program starts? It should kick off in a few minutes. You can join me on the way or hang out with the others inside, your call."

Steven's stomach rumbled in agreement as he chuckled sheepishly. "Haven't had lunch yet, to be honest. I'd love to join you."

"Of course!" you exclaimed warmly. "Let's get some fuel in you before the tour."

Together, you exited the British Museum, basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun casting its radiance over the historic building's ancient façade. The museum's grandeur never ceased to amaze you. After a few walks, you stepped into a cozy coffee shop just around the corner, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and toasted sandwiches filled the air. At the counter, you both placed your orders—cappuccino for you and Earl Grey tea for Steven—along with a scrumptious panini to share.

With snacks in hand, you made your way back to the British Museum's majestic entrance hall, where your professional duties awaited. Clearing your throat, you addressed the eager group of potential tour guide applicants who had gathered there.

"Thank you all for being here today," your voice resonated through the room, capturing the rapt attention of the aspiring tour guides as you introduced yourself. "I'm Mira Batala-Carter, a curator specializing in Egyptian Art, Sculpture, and Written Culture here at the British Museum."

A hushed awe filled the room as the applicants regarded you with admiration. They had come to vie for the coveted position of exhibit tour guide at one of the world's most prestigious museums, and now they were about to learn what it took to secure such a role. Among them, Steven stood out, his demeanor relaxed and enthusiastic as he absorbed every word of your introduction.

"I've had the privilege of working with the Department of Egypt and Sudan for many years," you continued, "beginning as an assistant to one of our previous curators, may he rest in peace. Egyptian culture has always been my bread and butter, and it should become yours as well, considering you've all applied for this position."

The applicants nodded, some exchanging glances filled with nervous anticipation. They knew they were in the presence of someone who lived and breathed the subject matter they so dearly cherished.

"In a few weeks, we will be hosting an exhibition featuring The Great Ennead of Ancient Egypt," you informed them. "We're looking to expand our current roster of tour guides, and judging by the turnout today, it's going to be a highly competitive process."

Pausing for dramatic effect, you let the gravity of the situation settle in. Then, you offered a warm smile, easing the room's tension.

"However," you said, your tone encouraging, "don't view this as a competition. We're searching for advocates—individuals who can convey the rich history of Egypt to a group of five-year-olds and make them want to return. That's your mission."

The applicants exchanged intrigued glances, some breaking into smiles. It was evident that you sought not just knowledgeable guides but passionate storytellers capable of igniting curiosity in young minds.

"Now, let's get into the nitty gritty details of the application process, shall we?" you continued, your voice businesslike once more. "Each of you will have a brief one-on-one interview with me. Following that, we'll proceed with a guided tour for my evaluation."

The applicants nodded in understanding, their faces reflecting a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was their opportunity to prove themselves in the world of museum education.

"One more thing," you added with a compassionate note, "I will personally inform the shortlisted candidates and provide feedback to those who don't make it, allowing them to explore other opportunities. We value the effort and passion each of you has brought here today."

With that, you concluded your introductory speech, leaving the room buzzing with anticipation. The aspiring tour guides were about to embark on a journey that would test not only their knowledge of Egyptian history but also their ability to share that knowledge with the world in the most engaging and enchanting way possible.

Among the applicants, you spotted Steven, his supportive smile eliciting a reciprocal one from you. Today promised to be an intriguing day, and you eagerly anticipated how it would unfold.

As the tour guide interviews commenced, candidates streamed in and out of your office, their resumes showcasing impressive credentials, extensive educational backgrounds, and impeccable work experiences. They approached you with heads held high, eager to make a lasting impression.

However, you couldn't help but notice the stark contrasts in their demeanor. Some appeared so nervous that they struggled to form coherent sentences, fidgeting in their seats and avoiding your gaze as if you held the secrets to the universe. Their anxiety tugged at your sympathy, despite your efforts to create an informal atmosphere.

On the other end of the spectrum, a few candidates exuded an air of entitlement, seemingly the embodiment of nepotism. They rambled on about their achievements, leaving little room for your questions. It appeared they believed their qualifications alone guaranteed them the position.

A handful of candidates did capture your interest but fell short of something intangible. It wasn't just their impressive qualifications but something in their character and presence that you sought.

Outside your office, Steven Grant sat patiently on a wooden bench with fellow tour guide applicants, engaging in light conversation about their experiences as guides. The amiable British man radiates warmth, drawing some applicants toward him.

Steven shared his journey, describing his transition from a gift shop attendant to aspiring tour guide. Some were impressed by his audacious career change, recognizing the determination it took to make such a leap. Others, however, scoffed at the idea, doubting Steven's chances in this competitive field. Still, a handful of individuals remained encouraging, genuinely wishing him luck with his application.

As the afternoon faded into early evening, the number of applicants dwindled to the final four. Interestingly, Steven would be the last to undergo the interview—the ultimate contender.

"I can't believe this," Steven mumbled, his nerves palpable to the American man residing in his mind. "I think I might be sick."

Stay calm. Marc reassured, ever the embodiment of encouragement. You just need to be yourself and let your passion shine through.

"I'm trying, mate," Steven muttered, exhaling deeply as he adjusted his collar repeatedly. "This is the biggest opportunity I've ever had. I can't mess this up, bruv."

You've got this, Steven. Marc declared with a reassuring smile. You've prepared for this moment your entire life. Remember, you know more about Egypt than all these tour guide applicants and curators combined.

Steven nodded, his confidence bolstered by Marc's words. As the time for his interview with you approached, he took a deep breath, ready to make the most of this opportunity. You finally called his name from outside your office, and he knocked softly before entering. Steven stepped inside with a tentative smile, a mix of excitement and nervousness evident in his demeanor.

"Good evening, Steven," you greeted him with a warm smile, gesturing to the chair across from your desk.

"Good evening, Mira," Steven replied, taking a seat as his voice tinged with a hint of nerves. "Great to see you again."

"Nervous?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you leaned back in your chair, regarding him with sympathy.

"A bit, yeah," he admitted, shyly scratching the back of his head.

"Don’t be. I don’t do the old-fashioned way of job interviews; they're quite dull," you chuckled, aiming to put him at ease. "Let’s treat this as a normal conversation between friends, yeah?"

"Oh, sure," Steven replied, his eyes lighting up with pure relief as he visibly relaxed. "Just a casual chat then?"

"Exactly," you affirmed. "So, how have you been?"

"I've been doing pretty well," Steven shared, his nerves slowly fading as he launched into his job-hunting journey. "I've applied to a couple of museum and library jobs in the past few weeks. This would be my seventh job interview."

"Interesting," you mused softly before offering an encouraging nod. "Maybe this is your lucky seventh, I hope."

"I hope so too," Steven replied with a hopeful smile.

"Now, I've had a look at your CV," you continued, shifting the conversation to his work experience. "You worked at a gift shop in the National Art Gallery, right? I think Marc mentioned it to me a few days ago."

"Yes, that's right. I worked at a gift shop," Steven confirmed, recalling his most recent job before his dismissal. "I sold museum merchandise—everything from toys and sweets to accessories."

"I see. How was your experience there?" you inquired, genuinely interested.

Steven hesitated briefly before deciding to be honest. "Not too bad, except for some colleagues who barely remember my name, and my old boss who's a living nightmare–”

You couldn’t help but let out a hearty guffaw, prompting Steven’s eyes to widen as he slowly realized what he just blabbered. “Oh, bollocks, I shouldn’t have said that”

"Don't worry about it," you reassured him with a soft chuckle. "It's normal to speak candidly about our superiors, especially if they haven't been good managers, right?"

"I guess," Steven agreed, grateful for your understanding. “Still, me and my bloody mouth doesn’t know when it should shut up”

"I'd rather you be honest and open with me, especially if we'll be working together," you emphasized. "I want us to have a good professional relationship, yeah?"

"That's actually a good point," Steven agreed, feeling more at ease.

"There you go. Much better," you said before finally getting to the heart of the matter. "So, you want to be a tour guide here at the British Museum. Why?"

"Why? Well, that's pretty self-explanatory, innit?" Steven replied with enthusiasm. "This is one of the best museums in the world. Why wouldn't I want to work here?"

"I can't argue with that," you admitted, nodding softly as you made a few notes. "But why the interest in Egyptian history and culture?"

Steven's face lit up with passion as he began to explain. "Egypt is a treasure trove of wonders—mythology, mummification, the study of ancient texts, and archaeological discoveries spanning thousands of years. I could talk about it all night."

"I don't mind," you replied with a curious smile, jotting down a few more notes. "It's fascinating the way you talk about Egypt. Your enthusiasm really shines through."

"Thanks, I guess," Steven shrugged, not quite sure how to respond to the compliment. "I've read and studied a lot about it, for sure."

"I can tell," you said with a knowing smile before moving on to the next phase of the interview. "As you may have heard, part of the application process includes a guided tour."

"Yes, I remember," Steven nodded.

"Don't be nervous. It's designed to assess your tour-guiding skills," you reassured him. "Just be yourself."

"Natural, got it," Steven said, his determination returning. "I'll be myself."

"Are you ready?" you asked, standing and offering him a reassuring smile.

"As ready as I can ever be," Steven replied, taking a deep breath as he prepared to seize the opportunity to prove himself as the ideal candidate for the job.

END OF CHAPTER SIX.

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[quibbs126]

Can u make a parfait x sandwich fankid pls?

Here she is, Strawberry Sandwich Cookie

Let’s see, my characters thoughts on her…Well, she’s a peppy city girl, but I also don’t see her having a huge passion for any career like her moms do. She does however like fruit sandwiches, and she also likes selling them at food stands, just sort of as a hobby. She’s probably also gotten Sandwich to start selling them at her shop. I can also see SS having a bit of a passion for dance

Her name comes from strawberry sandos, because it’s a sandwich and also because the fruit and whipped cream kind of fits with Parfait’s theme

Strawberry sandos:

I’m gonna be honest, I wish I gave her more yellows and whites, honestly the jacket was supposed to be the main source of red/pink outside of the hair, but the yellow and white I thought didn’t look good on her arm and leg things, so it ended up being more pinks. But ah well, I like her design anyways

I know the red eyes is me taking creative liberties, but it looked good with the hair, and same with the bottom red streaks. I want to try and take more liberties with these designs, make them more unique

Speaking if unique, recently I’ve been trying to expand on making different eye and mouth shapes, and while I think I’ll need to practice more, I think it looks good on Strawberry Sandwich

I gave Strawberry Sandwich her arm and leg things (I’m not really sure what they’re called) just to try and give her design a bit more flair. I think it works with her design, it’d be too plain otherwise

Also she’s supposed to be wearing shorts, I’m not sure if you can see them

But yeah overall I quite like her, and I hope you enjoy her too

[graendoll]

Marvel Phase 4 is literally the best phase and here is why.

Imagine the MCU as a restaurant. When it started out it served a very specific type of food, let’s say it served cold sandwiches. Now, I don’t really like sandwiches and I have a low tolerance for gluten. So while there were a couple of sandwiches worth eating from the MCU, I couldn’t really go there a lot and when I did I often left feeling a little off. Some people love sandwiches and that's great! The MCU was an incredible sandwich shop! But I, personally, can’t eat that many sandwiches.

Over the course of phase 2 and 3 the variety and ingredients in the sandwiches has changed. Maybe they got hot subs, vegetarian sandwiches; maybe they’re experimenting with different cultural foods and flavors in their sandwiches but...they’re still just all sandwiches.

Phase 4 is like...what happens when that amazing sandwich shop starts expanding its menu. Suddenly they have gluten free bread, they have dosas, they have tortillas, they have injera! They’ve expanded to serving soups.  They’ve started to offer “bread-less sandwiches” in the form of creative salads - all the same ingredients, different delivery system. The nice little sandwich shop is now a legitimate lunch restaurant, and the expanded menu has increased the number of diners who can enjoy the food.

Sure the sandwich purists are maybe annoyed their little sandwich shop is suddenly busy and the menu looks different, but they can still get their sandwiches so its not like the menu has excluded them.

All the previous phases of the MCU were leading to, and focused on, a single story line that culminated in the final film of the Avengers Saga. And now the MCU is branching out into an entire universe of ideas. And yeah, you’re not going to like all of it, but ultimately that doesn’t matter. The fact is that the MCU is getting creative and serving up a whole lot of things. And if folks can’t get over their parasocial relationship to the MCU, that’s not the MCU’s problem. I, personally, am grateful they’ve branched out because up until very recently, I couldn’t eat at the MCU restaurant very regularly, but now? They have my favorite meal.

So, to wrap up this long winded food metaphor...Phase 4 of the MCU is the best phase because of it’s diversity not only in characters, but in format, story, and relationship to the larger MCU universe. Variety is the spice of life, baby.

[sam-monroe]

Summary: Following after the film, Sam starts to realize that the time after his father's death only started to hurt him more than let him thrive. However, how can you thrive when you seem cursed to be doomed in misery? Characters: Sam Monroe, Robin Kimball, Adam and Ryan Kimball, various OCs to fill the gaps LOL Warnings: minor character death (? maybe can be considered major, but he's not from the film), teenage angst, sam re-emofying himself Ships: None Word Count: 6.9k words A/N: This directly follows after the film (with some time gap because funeral planning), and it does have a minor character death in it. I wanted to expand on Sam's story, and I really didn't like the "feeling lighter looking lighter" trope they had with him. Let him stay emo... :( Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. I'm currently crying over it for the 3428794237 time. VERY loosely based off Your Graduation by Modern Baseball. Edit 02.29.24: Major rework, adding details, fixing punctuation, etc etc. I'm sorry I'm a shit writer. Read here on ao3

Normally summer breaks would be marked with back to school shopping, maybe a few more parties or something else to bring a close to the months of break from school. However, this wasn’t the case for Sam this summer. The summer wasn’t marked with the rushed supply shopping for all three kids, no. It was marked with another divorce and a funeral. Luckily, they didn’t have to move, and due to his stepfather’s shit talk of Sam behind his back, Sam didn’t have to see him anymore. 

Good riddance.

Unfortunately with grief things seemed to get better for the family, getting closer again, but Sam had felt so much more lost. He headed up the light wood stairs as they had come back from the funeral as the sun poured into the mostly white and light wood decorated home. He was wearing muted earth colors, having one of his father’s flannels on him as he felt so puffed up from crying so much. Even Adam and Ryan cried a little. His mother guided them to the kitchen to make a snack, but he moved to his room. He got the left door open, looking around at the walls covered in spray paint, Manson posters and other various things from magazines. 

Maybe his room could use a makeover like the house did. No idea what it would be changed to. He moved to his built in bathroom, moving the beads of the Sacred Heart to the side to get in the surprisingly clean bathroom. Compared to his room, his bathroom was always clean. He got to the sink to get some cold water on a washcloth before pressing it to his face. Hopefully this would help the swelling, and hopefully he didn’t cry again. 

He held the cloth there for a few moments before ringing it out to get it draped over the faucet before moving back out. There was a knock from his door and he silently came over, opening it. His mother was there, voice soft,” I’m going to make some sandwiches, do you want one?” “No… I was thinking of cleaning my room.” “You haven’t eaten since breakfast,” she gently prodded,” come on. The room can wait.” 

It still felt like a trap. How she was suddenly nice to him. He didn’t know if he should like it, but still, he was hungry and his energy felt nearly depleted. “Alright,” he grumbled, moving to follow her back down to the large kitchen. He sat at the little bar area in the middle of his half-brothers, sighing softly. 

Robin moved to get ingredients from the double door fridge, absently flicking the radio on to fill the silence. She got plates set up before getting started on the sandwiches,” what drink do you boys want with it?” 

Ryan chimed for apple juice which Adam nodded for and Sam was just quiet. She glanced at her oldest, voice soft,” Sam?”

He finally came back from the zoning out he was in as he looked at her. “Apple juice is fine.” After he spoke, his eyes dropped back down to the gray tile of the counter as she just opted to work on their lunch. 

Plates were soon placed in front of them before she moved to grab three glasses for juice. Getting them placed on their table setting, she got a bag of chips open and dumped into a bowl before placing it in front of Sam. “Now, eat up you three. It’s the best thing you can do after crying a lot. Your body needs the energy back.” Ryan and Adam didn’t have to be told twice, but the new kindness was still unsettling to Sam while he grabbed a handful of chips to place on his plate before munching on one. 

Eventually, Robin made herself a plate and leaned against the counter as she ate, watching Sam a moment. “What do you think you want to change in your room?” 

“I dunno … maybe everything. Maybe some doors for my closet.” 

“If you won’t break them, I can get a contractor to see about the space.” 

“I won’t … Can I paint the walls?” Glancing up, he gave a small shrug, popping another chip into his mouth afterwards.

“Anything but black.” 

He took a bite of the sandwich, thinking for a moment as he tried to think on what he even wanted to do. “I was thinking of a slate color.” 

Robin nodded a moment as she listened,” that would be nice, especially with all the windows you have there.” And it would hide all of the spray paint you sprayed everywhere. She took a chip, hiding her mouth with her hand while she chewed momentarily,” would you want new furniture? I don’t know if the wicker can be salvaged from the spray paint on it.” 

“I can paint it over… it just needs to be sanded and primed.” 

“Alright, if you’re sure, we can go get paint after lunch for the walls. Do you want to do your bathroom also?” 

“Yeah, a light gray.” 

“First, we’ll do your room then the bathroom.”

“Can we redo our bedrooms, Mom?” Ryan chirped out, grinning at her with some mustard smeared on his cheek. She chuckled as she came to wipe it off. “If you want, but Sam’s first because he’s the oldest.” And I hate the sight of that room. 

After lunch had been eaten and dishes were taken care of, she took a brief trip to get paint samples. Returning, she told him to make patches of the colors on a section of the wall to figure out which one dried best. He nodded as he moved back to his room, getting inside with the bags of four samples. He first moved to get all of the posters and images down around his room before getting the dresser pulled back from the wall holding his bathroom door in the corner. He got squares painted up and penciled on the wall beside them which color was what before he looked to his room. 

Well, might as well clean it. He began with gathering up the clothes, working in silence before he couldn’t handle it anymore. Getting music flicked on, he steadily worked on cleaning his room out. He gathered up the makeup he had stolen from stores, throwing it out along with the various materials he used for huffing. He started to go through his clothes, clearing out some of them. It felt like he had just started when he was called for dinner, but his room was finally cleaned for the first time in forever. Well, at least he could see the floor now.

It was strange to see the walls so empty. He brought the beads he had gathered to the side from the bathroom door down first before he headed down, stomach aching finally while he registered his hunger. Cleaning was a good distraction though ... Maybe the renovation would help.

The time for his first day of school came, and god, he didn’t want to face the bullshit of introductions and trying to find his classes … Or getting shit on like usual. Alyssa tried to talk to him, but the summer had been such a shit show, he didn’t want to really talk to her. Not after she admitted to kissing his father when he was on morphine. He moved through the halls to get to his locker, and Nick came up to him, confused at his appearance. 

“Yo, what the fuck, dude. Where’s your piercings and shit?” His eyes were wide while a brow arched, glancing over him.

“Gone. Stuff happened this summer, okay?” 

“Yeah, dude. We were wondering why you weren’t at Lake Tahoe with us, it was so fucking fun dude. I was high most of the time or fucking,” he grinned lazily at Sam. 

Well, at least Sam’s guess of how that trip would have been was right. “I was with my father working on a house.” Sam shrugged absently, glancing over to Nick. You know … just before he died.

“Duuuude , that sucks. I bet that was boring.” 

He remembered demolishing the old house, thinking about how stress relieving it was. At least, when he had finally decided to help. “… It was kind of fun.” He shrugged as he swapped out a few textbooks for his starting class. 

“Sam, you hate your father. What the fuck? It was fun?” Brows furrowed as Nick looked over him trying to piece who his friend had become in a few months. No piercings, earthy tones, the blue in his hair had severely faded out and his hair wasn’t as styled as usual. Not to mention the clear lack of makeup.

Sam slammed the door shut as he looked down at Nick,” I said stuff happened. That’s all you need to fucking know. Okay?” There was the normal Sam.

“Chill out dude,” Nick rolled his eyes,” you know, this might be the year I finally dump your ass.” 

Irritation was already building up in Sam from the conversation,” then just fucking do it already like everyone else. I don’t give a fuck,” he moved past him to get to his science class, weaving through the crowd. 

As the school day progressed, Sam just isolated himself more and more, focusing on the work for once. He got to his car after the last class dismissal, getting inside with a slow sigh. He hit his forehead against the wheel for a moment before starting the car up. He could get some coffee. He got his window rolled down a bit before he lit a cigarette, starting to drive to the nearest coffee shop. 

Getting parked when he had his black coffee in hand, he just sat and smoked as music played. On day one, he lost his friend, nearly fought someone at lunch, and already got a threat of going to the principal. He sighed softly as he leaned his head back, shaking his head absently while taking a slow drag.

“Fuck this.”

It was never going to get better, was it?

Unfortunately, it didn’t really seem to. As the weeks of the new year went on, he started to fight with his mother again. To Robin, it seemed like the summer with his father didn’t change him as much as she hoped as the winter break started to approach.

Sam just focused on his room, the walls now painted while the bed frame as it dried in the garage. His mattress was flopped on the floor for now as he laid on it after completing his homework. He had his headphones on with his eyes shut, absently holding some of his comforter as he had locked his door once again. 

He knew that the niceness from his mother was just fucking performative as he laid there. His eyes slowly opened to look at the ceiling as he thought things over. 

I will never be good enough for her, would I? What the fuck am I doing? Why did I destroy my room? All in the name of Dad's memory? No. Fuck this. This isn’t who I fucking am, he thought as he moved to pause the CD before making his way downstairs. Luckily they hadn’t donated much of what he had been through and he hauled the bags of clothing back up to his room. He dumped them near the mattress on the floor, some shirts spilling out before he left his room to hunt Robin down.

He found her in Peter's previous office on her computer, brows furrowed in concentration before looking up as her eldest entered. Here we go.

“Can I borrow $40? I'm going to the mall," he asked, arms crossing over his chest while his gaze bore into her slightly.

“Alright, be back for dinner.” She sighed softly, getting a $50 bill out for him. “Use the extra ten for whatever or food. I don’t have smaller bills.” Something was happening with him again, but she didn't have the energy to try to fight him back on it. Landing them right back to square one before the summer.

Sam took it from her, getting it shoved into his pocket while he gave a small grumble of thanks. "I'll be back soon."

He got to the local mall before navigating his way into the Hot Topic he had definitely stolen from before. he had gotten a little too good at it, and the employees never knew... Though, theft wasn't unheard of in the store. What was another person using the five finger discount? This time, Sam was hoping he could find some new AP magazines for posters and maybe some new jewelry. Maybe I could get a job too. Then I would have more money for shit. 

He got past the metal doors, brushing absent strands of curls back from his forehead as he entered the dimly lit store. God, there was so much new shit. He started to look around, noticing there was a hiring sign out. He asked about it to an employee and was soon at the back counter filling out an application for associate while leaning against it heavily as the manager watched him on occasion after returning from her break. After he filled it out, he moved to flip through the stack of magazines on the side display case. He wasn’t so sure he wanted Manson everywhere again, but he could try to find maybe a Nirvana one or something. Anything to take up the space on his walls. He found a few that interested him before he moved to get to the jewelry racks until a cool looking pair of pants had caught his attention. Still, he knew that pair would eat up half his money. He started to look through the jewelry once again, grabbing a few rings and a necklace before moving to find the hair dye.

He looked over the items he had before calculating how much he had already spent before determining he could buy dye. Picking bright red, he made his way back to the register while smiling a moment. A nice change. Something different than blue. While leaving the store, he absently checked his phone for the time, making a soft sound. Still some time until dinner. Getting to the FYE store, he started to browse through CDs, quiet as his head absently bopped along to the music from the speakers. The hours started to pass as he began to look through CDs, starting to accumulate a pile of possible purchases. It wasn’t until his phone started to vibrate that he realized the time. He answered it as he grabbed a TOOL CD, heading to the register,” I’m checking out at the CD store. I lost track of time.”

His mother gave a slow sigh,” fine. Just be here in thirty minutes.” It wasn’t long before she hung up after that, and he soon paid for the CD silently with the employee. He tucked it into the Hot Topic bag, heading out with a small nod of thanks to the cashier. 

He felt a little better as he got into his car, setting the bag in the passenger seat as he started it up. He knew it just wasn’t a fucking phase. He had felt so miserable, and constantly like he wasn’t even himself while working on his grief. Not  He had experienced bad moments of a dissociative state, and God, he hated every single one. It was unnerving that he wasn’t fucking high but his body just doing it. 

A horn going off somewhere in the lot caused him to come back, breath soft as he backed up to head home. Maybe one day he could find more posters or tapestries or something. One day, his room will be back to normal and maybe he would feel better... more like himself again. He headed on the route to home, fingers tapping along the steering wheel. The drive had been uneventful and honestly, Sam didn't remember most of it while he parked in the drive way. He sat in his car for a moment, lighting a cigarette again to just have a few more precious moments before an awkward, silent dinner. Once he finished it, he soon came inside, heading up the steps quickly to toss the bag onto his mattress before heading to the garage.

He poked at the black painted headboard experimentally, pulling his fingers back to check his skin. Thank fuck it was dry.

Moving back inside, he got to the dining room where his mother and brothers waited for him before he sat down. He didn’t speak as he ate, his brothers chatting about school and their friends. He didn’t have any updates of his own, so why would he talk? His mother was more than happy to have silence from him instead, listening to Ryan and Adam as she ate. 

As soon as he finished his plate, he moved from the table to take care of it before he moved to the garage to get the pieces of his bed frame back into his room. He got some help from the live-in maid, Trish, getting the pieces into his room before he set to work on reassembling it. Setting the bed in the same spot as before, he got the mattress back on before he half-assed made his bed again. He would just kick the sheets around in his sleep, it didn’t matter if it was made or not.

Sam grabbed his CD player that was on the floor and got onto his bed once again, getting the new CD unwrapped and popped into it. Soon settled down on the bed, Sam was again staring at the ceiling. God, I would do anything to have weed right now. A flash of the summer came when he was about to sell himself out for money before he pushed that idea away as disgust came at himself. Why am I so fucked up? Besides, if I get a job, then I don't have to fucking do that.

Easy answer: he was nurtured into it. He thought of the previous years, and he hadn’t truly been happy since he was six before the divorce. Nothing ever seemed like it would get better. Not since his mother remarried that fucking asshole, not since he got half-brothers, not since he started using when he was twelve to just feel something. He was fucking depressed and it felt like no matter what he did, it was never good enough or that he wasn’t enough. 

Robin had walked in on him having a fucking scarf tied around his fucking throat in his broken closet and she still didn’t ask if he was okay. Instead, she went to her then second husband saying he needed a man in his life. He had lingered in the hall to see if maybe she would say something good, but there was no concern. Just disgust. He was disgusting to his family. He doubted that it had changed since George's death.

So, why should I try to make them feel better by conforming?

He shut his eyes slowly, letting out a slow breath, fuck it.

Fighting with his mother was beginning to be a daily occurrence as Sam got a nose piercing and got his lower lip piercing again. Luckily, since he had taken care of his ear piercings, he was able to get some back into the lobes but not tragically not the cartilage. He started to swipe makeup once again from the drugstores, and he believed he felt a bit better. His teachers were surprised as he slowly looked like himself again, yet he wasn’t neglectful of the work this time. In fact, he was getting almost straight As now. He was sober even if begrudgingly, and left his shitty friends behind. In September, he did finally make a new friend, a boy who just moved from New Mexico, and he was just happy with that. 

He had gotten a little close to his history teacher, often lingering in the classroom after school ended to do homework and ask about certain eras. He was lingering now with Matt beside him as they worked on a science project together, each of them having an earbud from Matt’s pair as they listened to the TOOL CD. Matt moved his pencil to circle an area with the eraser on Sam's paper,” that’s supposed to be a different formula.” 

He looked at the formula, brows furrowing as he glanced over to Matt,” that’s the one we were given.” 

“It’s the work formula, not for the kinetic energy that you need.” Tilting his head, he leaned over again to get a better look at Sam's paper while brushing some dark brown strands back from his eyes.

Sam let out a slow sigh as he slowly melted to lay his head on the desk. “I can never get it no matter how much I try. I’ll pay you to finish it. I can’t focus. I give up." 

Mrs. Nellings watched the two of them with a soft smile as she heard the struggling while she worked on grading. It was still good to see Sam making some connection that was within his age group. She had certainly heard about his behavior through the years, but she couldn't believe that it was him now. Then again, he did lose a loved one.

Matt watched Sam with softening green eyes, patting his back,” it’s alright. I can do it. I know things have been hard again.”

That was still strange, being comforted and reassured. Still, Sam was reassured about it as he lifted his head, nodding. “Alright … But I’m buying us tacos or something.” 

“You know I can never deny my love for Taco Bell.” Matt dramatically said as he placed a hand over his heart as he watched with a brow arched up in amusement. 

“I was thinking more like a taco truck since … y’know. California. Maybe some elote too. Y'know, not that shit they slop around at the Bell.”

“Hey, don't talk about my beloved," he grinned, eyes lighting up at the mention of a truck. "Oh, fuck yeah. Just give me all the papers, and I’ll make a page so you can write it down another night.”

Sam nodded as he gathered up everything to give it to him for far better safekeeping than he could ever do himself," alright. I guess that'll work. I doubt I'm going to ever use physics ever in my life."

Placing everything into the project folder, Matt soon was shoving it into his backpack with a small shrug. “Never know, dude. Might be handy one day ... Buttttttt, I am hungry, so I’m demanding payment now.”

Sam snorted as he rolled his eyes briefly while getting up after zipping his bag up,” alright. Let's go then.” Motioning Matt to follow, he navigated through the empty halls of the school to get out into the parking lot. Grimacing at the familiar heat, he led Matt out He opened the trunk to throw his bag in after getting his wallet from the front pocket as Matt chucked his into the trunk with a grin.

After getting inside and getting it started up, Sam started the way to find one of the taco trucks, humming along with the CD in his car playing. 

Matt absently drummed on his thighs as he watched the passing scenery, glancing at him. “I did mean it, though. It is okay if you can’t grasp concepts. Not everyone’s brain is wired for physics or science and math.” He looked over to him again, a soft, reassuring smile on his lips before looking ahead to the road.

Sam glanced at him briefly, scoffing momentarily,” yeah, but I’m not good at anything.”

“That’s not true. You’re pretty good at art, and you’re very talented at writing. Maybe you could be a comic writer one day.” Matt's thick brows furrowed, letting his gaze return to his friend then as he tilted his head.

“I don’t know about that. I don’t have a story to tell.” 

Matt moved his hands up in a wild, grand gesture,“ You could scream from the mountain tops how parents shouldn’t be shitty. Show how much it damages someone.”

“There’s been enough media about that already.”

“Yeah, but I think your story is pretty unique.” Matt shrugged absently before looking out the window,” not every day or every summer you build a fucking house with your dad before he’s gone.”

“Yeah, and if I publish it, Mom’ll be pissed and screaming at me again for how I portray her and her exes.”

“It’s just the truth though. They’ve dragged you through fucking hell, dude. Yeah, you have your anger moments and you sometimes say shit that hurts, but it’s not purely malicious. It’s literally because you’re hurting.”

“Okay, don’t turn into Freud.” Sam shook his head, glancing at him.

“It’s the truth, Sam. I know you for you, and I’m happy I’m able to. People have beaten you down so fucking much you think you’re nothing and that isn’t right. You’re really the only person that actually started to talk to me after I moved here from New Mexico. Plus, I know the shit others say about you at school.” 

“You had a cool Metallica shirt. I had to say something.”

“And I appreciated it and now you’re stuck with me,” Matt laughed softly, grinning brightly at his friend. 

Sam glanced at him, a hint of a smile coming before he shook his head as he pulled into a lot,” more like you’re stuck with me.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me, motherfucker. I annoy everyone.” 

“You’ve never annoyed me … Well, minus when I’m already irritated.”

“That doesn’t count because it’s usually your family or an asshole at school.” 

Matt leaned back, and Sam nodded,” yeah. Usually. I can’t wait to fucking graduate … Hopefully I’ll be able to move out fast.” 

“You can move out with me when we get jobs and shit. Maybe find a third person to bother the both of us.” He nudged him, grinning as Sam was able to park,” we’ll get you out of there, Sam. You deserve better … Maybe some therapy too. But for now, we get tacos and elote and have a good time.” He moved to slide out as Sam watched him, shaking his head absently before getting out. 

They got to the truck, getting in line as the after school rush hit food establishments around town. He was quiet as he looked over the menu, deciding on lengua tacos with a coke. It was such a good combo, he couldn’t help it. Too bad he didn’t have any weed to fucking ascend into another dimension for a bit. He looked to Matt,” what are you gonna get?” 

“Probably two beef tacos with jalapeños like normal. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it, know?” He shrugged as he looked up at Sam,” What are you gonna get?” 

“The lengua with the green sauce on it.” 

“Oh shit dude, you’re like a taco connoisseur.” 

“No, I’m not,” he snorted, shaking his head,” it’s just good. Especially with the onions and when you have a cold bottle of Mexican coke.” 

“Oh, dude, always the bottle,” Matt grinned again,” fuck it. I’ll try your order. See if you got a good palette.” 

“I don’t know about that,” he snorted, shaking his head as he got to the window. He at least knew how to speak the order in Spanish, three shitty years of it coming to his vague aid. He paid in cash, moving to the other window to wait for the order to be called out. 

Matt followed along,” this is gonna be so good.” 

“Yeah, they also have trays so we’ll get everything on one, then we can sit in the trunk of my car and eat.” 

“Sounds good, here, I’ll put our bags in the back seat,” he held his hand out as Sam fished the keys from his pocket, holding it to him.

Matt plucked the keys from his hand, grinning before he started the trek to the car that was a good distance from the food truck. Sam watched him as he absently listened for their order with arms crossed loosely to make sure he made it. Squealing tires soon filled the air as a car turned fast into the lot to barrel through to the other side, and Sam noticed before Matt did, calling out for him. 

It was a few seconds too late as Matt was hit by the speeding car that only sped off faster after the collision, a few people screaming as Sam immediately ran over to his friend. “Matt! Fuck. Matt,” he crouched down to see his friend covered in blood with body crushed from the tires. He didn’t hesitate to call for an ambulance, hand shaking. Matt was unconscious already, blood starting to stain his shirt on his side.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

He stayed beside his friend as the police lingered at the truck for eyewitness testimonies after securing the scene. Luckily, he was allowed to go with Matt to the hospital, watching him closely as he chewed on his thumbnail as he rocked a little. An EMT was focused on driving while another was in the back with them, trying her best to reassure Sam that Matt had a high chance of survival. Sam knew better. That speed and the sounds that came from the impact. Matt would be lucky if he bounced back. 

At the hospital, he gave as much information as he could to the receptionist and nurse to contact Matt’s family, but he was soon sitting in the lobby. He pulled his phone out, shakily calling his mother then as he rocked back and forth again, fighting tears back. 

She answered in irritation coating her voice while she tried to fix a necklace,” where are you, Sam? It’s late.” 

“M-Matt got hit by a car,” he said shakily as he wiped his face. Fuck. However, his voice and tremble caused her to put the pliers down as her irritation melted to worry,” what? Are you okay? Is he okay? What hospital are you at?” 

“I’m at Healdsburg General … just in the l-lobby. I'm okay, but I don't know what's happening with him.” 

“I’m on my way, did you drive there?” 

“No. My car is in a lot … uh ... 34th Avenue near a taco truck. My spare key is in the kitchen.” He leaned back against the back of the chair, staring at the florescent lights until his eyes began to burn.

“Okay, I’ll get Trish to drive it home, but I'll come to you … Do you need anything?” She stood up, glancing at the clock. God, it was already so late.

“F-Food.” He whimpered out as he shut his eyes tightly leaning over his legs. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in a moment. Trish will bring your car.” She moved to find Ryan in the back in the pool, calling for him to come with her as Adam looked up from his book as he sat at the patio table.

“Everything okay?”

“Sam’s friend got hit by a car and is in the hospital. I need to have Trish and the two of you help get his car back here while I go to him.” 

Sam was still on the line, hearing them as they started to move around the house quickly. Robin soon spoke again to him,” I’ll be there in about an hour and a half, maybe two with traffic. Okay?”

“O-Okay.” He quietly said, sniffling, hanging up only moments later as Robin moved to find the housekeeper. First, she would have to help her find the car before heading to Healdsburg, and hopefully somewhere close was a place that Sam liked to eat from.

Stacy watched from her reception desk, heart softly aching for Sam as she watched him sit with his head in his hands. God, he already seemed in shambles, and he had said he needed food. She absently told Denise she would be back before she moved closer to him, voice soft,” do you want some money for the vending machine while you wait?”

He looked up, nodding while she gave a soft smile,” alright. Hold on.” She moved to the staff room to get $10 out from her purse, pausing to grab some tissues as well. Making her way through the lobby, she saw Sam pathetically leaning his head against the wall, staring blankly at the doors leading into the main hospital. "Here, it's not much, but it's at least something to help you until they come."

He took the tissue box from her first, using up a few to blow his nose and wipe his eyes. “Th-Thank you.” 

“And as promised,” she held the bill out,” the machines are down the hall to the left.”

He nodded as he took it, straightening up then with a weakened thanks to her. He got to machines, looking over prices in the soft glow of the lighting before getting a Sprite, Doritos, and barbecue chips. He returned to the lobby, giving Stacy the change with a soft thanks once again before sitting down. Staring at the packaging, he tried to wrap his head around the evening, focusing on food to avoid his head from wandering too much as the harsh crinkling of the package soon echoed in the lobby.

The doctor came out only thirty minutes later, pausing while looking over paperwork. “Sam Monroe?” 

Sam lifted his head, giving a little nod as he straightened up. “Yeah?” 

“Is Matt’s family here?” Making his way over, Dr. Keller's tall frame gracefully weaved through other patients and family members before the blond was next to Sam.

“No … our families are a bit away. My mom said 90 minutes to two hours. I … don’t know how long it’s been, but I can try to call her.” He started to get his phone out from his pocket after rubbing the barbecue dust off his fingers. 

"You don't have to do that Sam." The doctor sat beside him, letting out a slow sigh as he gently placed a hand on Sam’s back,” unfortunately … Matt has passed away from his injuries.” 

Sam stared at him as he stopped, brows furrowing as he blinked rapidly,” I don’t understand.” 

“His ribs punctured his lungs in three different places, his spine was shattered and had a lot of internal organs bleeding from the hit.” 

Sam shook his head,” no. No. No. ” His voice started to get desperate," he can't be gone. He's the stronger one out of the both of us. He can't fucking die from a fucking car!"

Dr. Keller’s lips pursed as he watched as the tears started to fall again, pulling his hand back cautiously as he started to try to comfort him.

Standing up, Sam's hands started to shake,” Fuck.” God, I could really use a fucking blunt right now. Ignoring the doctor, he moved outside before he started to hit at one of the columns with his fist to at least avoid some public humiliation,” fuck, fuck, fuck!” His knuckles soon were bloody and aching from the concrete tearing the skin before he crouched down, tucking his hands into his chest. "FUCK." His shoulders started to tremble and chest began to ache as he started to sob, trying to stay quiet.

The doors to the ER soon opened, and Dr. Keller slowly made his way over after telling security that it was alright. He's just grieving. He's just a teenager. It's a lot for him right now. Leaning over to place his hand against his back gently, his voice was gentle,” come back in, Sam. I’ll get your hand bandaged up. You can’t have an infection or leave that exposed.” Taking a moment, he knew that the doctor was right, soon following in one of the side rooms to get his hand wrapped. 

Dr. Keller softly spoke as he started to clean the pale knuckles,” I can see he meant a lot to you Sam. I’m sorry we couldn’t have done more, but I’m assuming the car was traveling at a high speed.”

“It w-was,” he choked out,” it happened too f-fast. One m-moment he was heading to m-my car, and another he was on the fucking ground.” Breaths were unsteady as his brows scrunch in pain while his knuckles were disinfected, hissing out softly in pain.

"You're going great, Sam. I need to make sure it's cleaned up before I can put any ointment on it. Looks like you got some particles actually in the wound," Keller lifted up the cotton ball with his gloved hand, looking at the little specks of dirt he had cleaned off from the wound. "Unfortunately for hit and runs, it's common. It's rare that aid is ever given."

“Can I see him? ... Please?" Blue eyes lifted up to the doctor for a brief moment before watching the cotton ball be discarded. 

“I don’t suggest it,” he shook his head,” that would be the last memory you have of him. That impacts a lot of people more negatively than if they didn’t, even if they witnessed the trauma.”

“I’m going to see him at his funeral,” Sam grumbled out, wincing again as a gauze pad was placed on top of his knuckles.

“Yes, but with that, he is at least prepared for viewing ... wounds are mended with putty and makeup to make him presentable. Right now, it’s the early stages and frankly, he looks like hell. I don’t suggest it, Sam. Please.” Green eyes were gentle towards the teenager as he gave a soft pat to his forearm, offering a weakened smile to try to comfort him from the loss.

Sam watched him for a moment as he started to wrap his hand up,” … Okay… I won’t.” 

“Good. I promise it will be better in the long run for you.” He got the wrapping secured, standing,” come on. Let’s go back to the lobby.” As they got out, the families were there, and Sam moved to his mother who held a McDonald’s bag in hand,” Sam.” She held onto him as he buried his face into her shoulder, and the doctor moved to Matt’s family, delivering the somber news. His mothers started to cry, holding onto each other as his biological mother wept into her partner’s shoulder. 

Sam took a moment to pull away as they looked at him, Mary’s voice soft,” thank you for coming here with him, Sam. I know you meant a lot to him.” Sam only moved to hold onto her, and Jessica held onto the both of them. They soon ushered Sam to go back home and rest and they’ll tell him details for the funeral. He had waited long enough for them to just arrive. He took a moment, but Robin softly reassured him that it was okay and that there was nothing else he could do. However, she asked how much it would be to pay for bandaging his knuckles and the doctor dismissed it,” don’t worry about it Ms. Monroe. Just get home safely.” They gave another hug to Jessica and Mary before they headed out of the hospital. 

He somberly followed her back out as she passed the bag to him,” two cheeseburgers and fries with honey mustard. No pickles. I have a Coke in the car for you.” He nodded as she got him there, texting Adam and Ryan that they were on their way back before she restarted her car.

On the drive, he was slow to eat, but he ate everything. God. Winter break was going to be the worst. He shut his eyes as Robin glanced over at him, voice soft,” just rest, Sam. I’ll wake you when we get home.” 

He moved the seat back to lay down all the way back as she turned the radio off, letting him fall asleep. She was more worried now. Sam had at least been a bit more tolerable with having Matt around, but now he was gone. Not only was he gone, but the night was traumatic for her son. She only wondered how this would affect him and if he would be worse. She couldn’t handle the havoc of Sam anymore. She really couldn’t. 

When they were home, Sam at least took care of his trash before Trish gave him the key to his car,” I also found the original, it’s in the glovebox for now.” Sam just slowly nodded at the housekeeper, softly thanking her for her help. He moved up the stairs to his bedroom, getting the key on his shelf unit that had his CDs and record player before he moved to his bed after shutting the door. He thought a moment before working off his shoes and socks, getting at least his shirt changed before he crawled into bed. 

It never seemed to end. Would it? It felt endless. 

He got settled in bed, getting himself bundled up in his maroon comforter before he was asleep once again.

Winter break and the rest of senior year was difficult for him, but since he had clearly been through something, luckily most teachers were understanding and more than happy to help him. As he graduated, he only hoped that Matt was there. Somewhere in the crowd watching as he walked across the stage and out of high school. Maybe it could end now. Maybe it could be better…. Just maybe.

[drinkcrywrite]

DERRY GIRLS APPRECIATION WEEK

↳Day 2/7: Funniest Quotes

ID under the cut

[image description: 6 large gifs from various Derry Girls episodes Gif 1: From 106, Aisling speaks to Sister Michael in the newspaper room. Blue text with a white outline on the left side of gif says, "Pray for her?" as Aisling speaks. The shot switches to Sister Michael who responds condescendingly. Blue text with a white oultine on the right side of the screen appears saying, "Ach no, what use would that do?" and the previous writing slides down out of the gif. Gif 2: From 101, Ma Mary, Aunt Sarah, and Da Gerry stare angrily at the kids off-screen in Sister Michael's office. Yellow text with a white outline on the left of the screen says, "Why were you pissing on her dead body and making sandwiches?" The word 'sandwiches' slowly gets erased as if being eaten, with only the white outline remaining. Gif 3: From 104, Michelle snarks at Clare off-screen at Jenny's party as Erin looks shocked beside her. Blue text with a white outline on the right of the screen says, "Have you got a Union Jack splashed across yer tits, Clare?" The words 'Union Jack' flashes between blue colouring and the Union Jack flag colouring. Gif 4: From 307, Dennis at his shop yells at a child cutsomer off-screen. Yellow text with a white oultine says, "You tell your Ma to eat it with the fucking lights out!" The word 'lights' flashes on and off, with only the white outline remaining. Gif 5: From 106, Erin angrily stands up in the auditorium during the talent show. Blue text with a white outline on the bottom of the screen says, "Yeah, she might be a dick. But she's my dick!" On either side of the writing are three white droplets that spurt upwards. Gif 6: From 201, Michelle snarks at Erin next to her outside the boy's room as Erin purses her lips. Yellow text with a white outline in the middle of the gif says, "I said be sexy, not be a fucking blowfish." The word 'blowfish' expands and contracts.]

[chronically-ghosted]

Hello, hello, hello!

it's been a fantastic, exciting, and reinvigorating two weeks! I've been lurking hard on tumblr mobile for a bit, but now we're back with consistent internet access and a working keyboard! i'll be responding to all your lovely messages and tags over the next few days, so if you've sent me something, i promise i'm not ignoring you! 😭

in doing the unthinkable and not being glued to tumblr for days, some kind of cool things have happened:

i got to meet @therosejamjournal ! we met back in the midnight mass days and she was as lovely in person as she is over the dreaded tumblr messaging system.

in my travels, i found a Miller Brother's Sandwich shop in Edinburgh. Nice to see Joel and Tommy expanded their operations! 🥪😆

i got engaged??? The Boy says hello to you all and is shocked about all the lovely messages you sent in when i posted about it! 😆"so you've never met these people before?" "only online." "how do you know they are who they say they are?" "if they're catfishing me, their commitment to TLOU is shocking."

(i broke 200 followers) 🫣and i still haven't finished with the previous milestone event . . . y'all are to good to me! thank you thank you thank you!

spooky season is around the corner and i'm not gonna lie, i am stupidly excited over the icon i've got planned! 👻🧹

I can't wait to share with you what i've been stewing on the past few weeks! get ready for some sex pollen in Bogota, some illicit chocolate fountain debacles, and laundry day with the most boyfriendshaped man alive: frankie morales!

happy hauntings!

[lovesosweeet]

better left unsaid

chapter nine

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn't know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapters

july 26th, 2018 los angeles, california orion

Even though I don't want to, I feel myself pulling away from Calum. Of course, that’s not fully possible when we live together. I just know that the more we talk and are happy in each other’s company, the more I’ll want to talk about what’s actually happening, and I can’t do that. I can’t put him through that. I'm crying the minute I'm alone every time, whether it's while he's at rehearsal or when he takes Duke outside. He can tell I'm sad, surely, but I think he just thinks it's because he's leaving.

So instead of pulling away fully, I just find myself scrolling on my phone more often while he’s home. I don’t start as many conversations and I’m less likely to initiate any kind of physical contact. If he notices the small shifts in our dynamics, he doesn’t say anything.

My heart is torn between wanting to savor our time together, clinging to him like glue, or taking a step back so I don’t have to bring myself to painfully expand upon the lies I’m building as a wall between us. It’s hard to pretend like I’m okay and happy, but I have to. I can’t let him know things are going wrong, so when he asks if I want to come along for rehearsal today, I say yes.

I dread having to see Ashton. We haven't spoken since our interaction in the hospital parking lot, but he's texted me several times saying things like "I just want you to know I love you" and "please let me be there for you if you need someone." I just reply with hearts each time.

"Do you want to grab bagels on the way?" Cal asks me while I'm in the bathroom doing my makeup.

I nod, smiling slightly. "Yeah, sure. Rosie's? Or is there somewhere else on the way?"

"Nah, let's do Rosie's."

He doesn't leave the bathroom after that, just stands in the doorway, watching me in the mirror. I'm brushing some brow gel on when he speaks again.

"Are you feeling okay? Did the sinus infection come back?"

So he has noticed.

I clear my throat and nod. "Yeah, not feeling the best."

His eyes show some kind of emotion I can't place. "I'm sorry, do you want to stay home today? You can come to rehearsal another time. We've still got a few more."

"No, I'll come." I shake my head, offering him another small smile.

"Let me know if you want to leave, at any point. Okay?"

"Sure."

Once my makeup is finished, we head down to the lobby, hand in hand. I've always loved holding hands with Calum. Mine are small and always freezing, and his dwarf mine and are always so warm. His hand tattoos have also always been my favorite, mostly because I love the thought that his parents have a hand in everything he does. We're both close with our families, and I absolutely adore his family. We've not spent a ton of time together, but Joy, Mali, and I have a group chat that we talk in a few times a month.

When we get in the car, he doesn't let go of my hand while he drives, except when he needs to use a turn signal or something. Feeling tethered, grounded in the moment — it's a great feeling. It's helping to keep me sane this morning.

I wonder if he'd hold on tighter knowing that I'm dying.

I've placed on online order for Rosie's, so Cal just turns on his hazards in front of the shop while I run inside to grab our bagels and coffees. I always feel kind of rude hopping in front of the people in line, but it's not worth waiting when our food is already ready and waiting for us.

While Cal drives to rehearsal, I unwrap his sandwich in a way that makes it easier for him to eat while driving. He gives me authority over the aux chord, which he rarely does, so I try to make it worth my while. I play some Still Woozy, The Wldlfe, and Medium Build. Part of the reason I rarely get the power over our music is because I like to mess with him and play his own music. I can tell he appreciates today's choices.

We get to the rehearsal facility and are the last ones there, but we brought bagels for everyone, so they don't mind that we're slightly late. Luke lights up when he sees me, setting his guitar down quickly and runs over.

"Orion!" He practically squeals. "I've missed you!"

Laughing, I give him a hug, which leads to him lifting me off the ground and spinning us around. My mood is instantly lifted. "Hi Luke."

"Cal, you should bring her everyday, she's so fun to have with us."

I scoff. "Luke, I literally just sit on the couch and watch you."

"Yeah, but you actually sing along and you always bring snacks."

My feet are back on the ground, and I'm quickly met with hugs from Mike, Ash, and Matt. Ashton's hug lasts a little longer than everyone else's, and his face is sad in the midst of everyone else's grins. It doesn't seem like anyone else notices.

"Cal's the one behind today's snacks, don't give me the credit," I tell him, but he just shrugs and throws his arm over my shoulders.

"Still, you always sing along and dance sometimes. It's nice to have an adoring fan."

It is kind of funny that I wasn't a fan when I met Calum two years ago, and now I'd say they're my favorite band, and not just because I'm dating one of them. I truly just really love their music, and I love dancing, so it's not hard for me to want to dance when they're performing or rehearsing. It's not like they've been performing a ton in recent years, but that summer I remember quickly learning every song so I could sing along whenever I visited Calum across Europe.

"Wish you could come with us," Michael adds.

"Next time," I say, even though I don't know that that will be possible. I'd like to think it is.

"Can I get that in writing?" Cal chimes in.

I playfully stick my tongue out at him. "I'm gonna miss you guys." I look over at Ashton and meet his eyes instantly. He looks like he's trying not to cry, and I have to look away before I start to dwell on it.

Luke wraps me into another hug. "You're so tiny, we could just put you in a suitcase and sneak you on the tour. Your professors won't even know you're missing." When he lifts me up again, Matt decides to cut the conversation.

"All right, you've told Orion you love her. Let's get to work."

"Such a buzzkill, Matty," Michael whines, grabbing his water bottle off the ground and walking over to his guitar on its stand.

Luke still has me wrapped in his hug and awkwardly carries me over to the couch. I wish Sierra or Crystal or Kay were here to sit with me, but it's nice to be able to put my feet up on it. He ungracefully drops me onto the leather cushions before he heads back to his own guitar and mic stand.

I look over and catch Cal strumming a few random chords on his bass. At least, they seem random to me. I'm sure he's got some intention behind it. Everything music-related goes above my head.

It's nice to get to watch the set before they show the world. I've always loved the way they try to offer a different experience for their music when they perform it live. Of course, there aren't any lights or anything in this essentially empty building that's just a step above a warehouse, but that gives the music a chance to shine as what it is. Art.

Watching them do what they love reminds me that this time apart is necessary. This is what they love. This is why they do what they do. Performing, bringing their work to the people who make it all possible. I love that they get the chance to do this. I've never had resentment towards Calum for going on this tour, but still, watching them practice the set is giving the time apart an additional level of worthiness.

While I'm getting treatment, Calum will be doing what he loves most in this world with his favorite people. I'd feel so selfish taking him away from it.

I nearly start crying when Cal practices his speech for his talking break.

"Los Angeles, this next song is dedicated to my best friend, my partner in life, and my biggest fan. This is Better Man."

It's going to be fine. It has to be. He's going to go on this tour and then when he comes back he can be by my side as I continue to deal with whatever leukemia throws at me.

—

"Matty, we're gonna go to the beach after this, wanna join?" Michael calls across the room. He's the only one who calls Matt 'Matty' and naturally Matt hates it.

None of us have swimsuits, but we all agreed that the beach sounds like a good idea. It's still hot out, since it's the middle of summer, but it's not quite as hot and humid as it has been for the last few weeks. Rehearsal also didn't take too long today, so we have a lot of the day left.

"I'm tired of you guys and about to spend four months with you. I'll pass." Matt actually loves the guys, but he's a grumpy person in general, and he does have a point. "See you tomorrow." He walks off then, going through a door that leads somewhere that I've never been. I can understand finding them annoying. They can be a lot — but I love them and I love being part of their shenanigans.

We all head out, everyone hopping into Cal's Jeep to minimize beach parking chaos on a beautiful day. I offer to sit in the back since I'm the smallest and the guys are all very tall, but nobody lets me and the three of them cram in like sardines in the backseat. We drive with the windows down, and Cal even lets me control the aux again, so I just keep the playlist I'd had on earlier.

Once we get to the beach, as soon as the car's in park, Ashton opens his door and jumps out. "Last one in the water is a loser!" He screams, running full force down the wooden walkway and ripping his shirt off in the process.

Luke and Mike scramble out to follow him, also stripping their shirts and trying to kick their shoes off while they run. Luke trips, giving Mike a lead, but naturally Ashton gets to the water first. I have no hope of trying to beat them, so I've not even opened my door yet, and I'm surprised to see Calum still sitting in the driver's seat when I look over.

"You didn't want to race?"

"I know you're not feeling too great. I didn't want to leave you and make you the loser. That's not a fair fight," he explains. "C'mon, let's go after them."

I frown. "You could've gone."

"I'm about to leave you for four months. I don't need to leave you yet."

He makes my heart ache. Why is he so good to me? How can someone love me like that?

Instead of revealing how I feel, I plaster on my best fake smile, kick off my shoes, take off my shirt, and get out of the car. "Let's go!"

He follows suit, and then we walk hand in hand down the beach. The other three are already in the water, each trying to push the others to fall over, which ends up with all three of them falling over. When Cal and I reach them, they're all yelling, "LOSERS!"

"You are literal children," I tell them, wading into the water. I love the beach. Floating in the water, laying in the sun, looking for shells. All of it.

"You're younger than all of us," Ashton points out, laughing.

"Shut up," I say, leaning back so I can float in the water. I don't let go of Calum's hand, and he keeps me anchored so I don't drift off.

I can't get to a point of relaxation, because before I know it, Michael splashes water in my face, making me jump and turn upright. I splash him back, and when he splashes me again, it hits Cal. Once Cal's in on it, the other two join in, and we're all just splashing each other, squealing with laughter and squinting from saltwater hitting our eyes.

When I can't see because of all the water that's hit my eyes, I halt my splashing. While I rub at my burning eyeballs, someone must notice, because they stop.

"Man down!" Luke yells.

I feel Calum's hands grip my forearms, stopping my movements. "Stop rubbing and let your tears flush it out, babe," he says.

I do what he says, dropping my arms and trying to open my eyes, the sting making it impossible to try to look. "It burns!"

He laughs. Seconds later, I feel him pull me closer to him, hugging me against his damp torso while waves lap around us. I keep trying to blink and get the water out of my eyes, but it feels pretty futile so far.

It's kind of strange to think about this life. I'm just swimming in the ocean at a random beach access near LA with my boyfriend and his three best friends. Those four people happen to be internationally famous musicians who are about to embark upon a world tour. They're massively famous but so normal, just four more guys at a beach splashing water at each other.

And I'm just a random girl at a random beach access who happens to have leukemia. The odds that we're all here, right now, together, feels so special. The universe put us here for some reason, and I'm so happy I'm here with them. I'd say I feel lucky to have been handed this deal of fate, but I know that this blip of a moment pales in comparison to my recent diagnosis.

I try to soak in the feeling of the sun on my face and the weight of Cal's arms around me; the smell of salt and the coolness of the water. I even try to memorize the way my eyes burn. I just want to remember the way this feels forever.

We hang out in the water for an hour or so, then go back to the shore to lay out and relax. Luke and Michael are turning pink quickly, so we don't stay out too long. I make sure we get a selfie of all of us on the beach together before we pile back into the Jeep.

Calum drives everyone back to their cars, and we all get out to say goodbye. Everyone is damp and sandy, but I don't care. I give each of them a bear hug, squeezing them as tightly as I can. Luke picks me up and spins me around again, and Ashton's hug feels nearly bone crushing.

"See ya tomorrow, Cal!" Mike says, giving him a quick hug. "Bye, O. Thanks for coming along today!"

"Love you both," Luke adds in. "Have a nice night!"

"I love you guys. Let me know when you're home!" Ash calls.

Once everyone has given each other a hug and we're sick of feeling sticky, sweaty, damp, and sandy, we all clamber back into our own vehicles and head out.

"How ya feeling?" Cal asks once we're on the road.

"I'm okay," I tell him. It's not wrong. I'm okay right now, and I'm not feeling that sick. The beach was mostly a nice distraction from the heaviness that's been consuming me.

"Ice cream?"

I know he's just trying to make the last of our few days together as special as he can, but for some reason it almost makes me feel more sad. I'm lucky to have someone who makes such a big effort, but I feel bad. It's hard to put words to the idea.

"If you want ice cream, sure," I say. "But I think we have some at home, too."

He doesn't take his eyes off the road while he places his hand on my thigh. "Let's get ice cream and take a walk while the sun sets. We can get some golden hour selfies."

read next chapter

[stuffedteen]

Nick & the Witch - pt.3

Nick sat at the sewing shop, his protruding belly straining against the confines of his tight pants. Luna, always mindful of his growing appetite, had brought him a generous feast for lunch—a spread of mouthwatering delights that would push his limits even further.

Luna approached Nick, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Hungry, big boy?" she purred, placing the tray of food in front of him. "I made something extra special for you today. Dig in."

Nick's gaze locked with Luna's, a hunger not just for food but for something more igniting within him. He felt the pressure building in his belly, yearning for release and satisfaction.

With an eager grin, Nick picked up a sandwich, its layers of succulent meat and creamy dressing tempting his taste buds. He took a large bite, savoring the explosion of flavors in his mouth. As he chewed, his eyes never left Luna's, the intensity of their connection fueling his desire.

Luna's voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "You know, Nick, I've noticed something about you. Your belly, it's growing bigger every day. Does it feel tight? Do you feel it straining against your clothes?"

Nick's chest rose and fell with each breath, his desire intertwining with the sensations coursing through his body. He looked down at his bulging belly, its girth pushing against the button and zipper of his pants. The strain on his belt was becoming unbearable.

A devilish smile played on Luna's lips as she leaned closer, her voice dripping with desire. "I want to see you let go, Nick. I want to witness the moment when your hunger and indulgence overpower the restraints holding you back. Will you let it happen?"

A mix of anticipation and a primal need coursed through Nick's veins. He reached down and tugged at his belt, loosening it ever so slightly. The relief was immediate, his belly finally allowed to expand freely.

But it wasn't enough.

Driven by a ravenous hunger and the desire to please Luna, Nick pushed his limits further. His hands trembled as he unbuckled his belt completely, the leather giving way to the pressure of his engorged belly. The button of his pants strained against the force, threatening to burst open at any moment.

A low growl escaped Nick's lips as he leaned back in his chair, his belly now unrestrained. He relished in the feeling of freedom, his fingers grazing the soft, round expanse of his bloated stomach.

Luna's eyes widened with delight, her voice thick with desire. "That's it, Nick. Embrace your true desires. Let your hunger consume you, just as I consume you with my gaze. You're a gluttonous, insatiable beast, and I want to witness every moment of it."

Nick's breathing grew heavy, his arousal intertwined with the sensations of his bulging belly. His mind swirled with the raw intensity of the moment, his desires laid bare for Luna to witness.

In that instant, with a sharp snap, the button on Nick's pants gave way, launching across the room. His waistband strained against the weight of his burgeoning gut, threatening to burst open at any moment.

"Fuck," Nick moaned, his voice a mixture of pleasure and satisfaction. "My belly... it's too much. I can't contain it."

Luna's eyes gleamed with delight as she leaned closer, her voice a sultry whisper. "Let it all out, Nick. Indulge in your cravings. There's no turning back now."

And with that permission, Nick's pants surrendered to the might of his growing belly, the fabric tearing apart as his waistband snapped open, giving his swollen midsection the freedom it craved. **buuurrrpp**

[sleekervae]

Past Lives [0.1]

Masterlist

A/N: Hi, and happy Sunday! I've been wanting to expand my writer-verse for a while, and I've found it's tough depending on the person I'm writing about. However, I thought this was a cute idea and Austin fit it perfectly. Just bear with me :)

Summary: As the filming for Elvis wrapped, Austin found himself flush in an identity crisis. His body ached, his head hurt, it was tough for him to get excited about anything. However, his interest was peaked when he found he was in the same city as Jade Theodore, a once good friend whom he'd been separated from thanks to time and circumstances...

Warnings: some mentions of InFiDeLiTy

Two years is a long time in hindsight. Add on sleepless nights, countless injuries, little to no contact with your loved ones, and a pandemic? It was any wonder Austin hadn't checked himself into a psyche ward when filming had wrapped. That last day, when the cameras were finally shut down and all the make up came off, he locked himself in his bedroom. He was positive he'd slept for almost three days, but it still didn't feel like enough.

By the end of that last week, Austin stared at himself in the mirror, poking and pulling with unfamiliar curiosity at his own face. His stubble was beginning to grow back, a mismatch to the black dye that would need time to fade from his usually burnt blonde hair. His eyes were opaque and his skin felt raw and plasticky, almost like a doll. He couldn't explain it then, but never had he felt so unnerved to stare into the mirror, and for once in his life, not recognize the person who was staring back at him.

This was the shell of Elvis Presley. Where did Austin go?

It was a week before Austin had gathered enough of his faculties to get his shit together and pack up. And before his eyes, he had traded the long, hot and humid country landscape of Australia for the rain-filtered stone neighbourhoods of London. His manager had afforded him a break before he would be whisked off to shoot his next project. It was a small break; three weeks to recover from two years. It seemed like a joke to most, but a break was a break. Any time he could take for himself was greatly welcome.

Austin's eyes cracked open, for once not at the behest of a blaring alarm. His brain was still wired to expect sun and native birds chirping away, though instead he woke up to rain pattering against the windows and traffic echoing from below his apartment.

He had taken to walking up and down the neighbourhood, exploring the hidden shops in small streets and wandering Trafalgar Square. Nobody paid him any mind, masked up and avoiding touching him and each other. He had to wonder, if this movie was as big as Baz had promised, how would this all change for him? Walking down the street would become a luxury he could no longer afford without becoming mobbed, if not by fans than by paps. And they would all watch this movie, all of them with the highest of high expectations...

On a bleary Wednesday morning, Austin sat by the window in an obscure little cafe. His coffee was becoming lukewarm and his breakfast sandwich only partially devoured as he scrolled through his phone. His mind was empty, colors and eye-catching headlines only holding his focus for mere moments before he'd move on to the next. However, he stopped suddenly at a particular paparazzi post of a singer.

Jade Theodore Sports Pleather Jacket with Sandals in London

He couldn't give a damn about whatever fashion fad the news outlet was focusing on, Austin stared intensely at the blurry photo. Slender, small, her usually long chestnut hair was cut short and a mask hid half of her face. But Austin was struck by an odd twang of nostalgia. He hadn't seen Jade in years, it felt like a whole other life since he had.

Jade Theodore had been conquering Billboard hits since 2014, exploding onto the alternative pop scene after ditching a go-no-where career at Disney. She was a force of musical talent to be reckoned with, speaking the most beautiful truths in her music that could vary from tasteful and classic to raw and raucous. Austin had seen her perform a couple times and he had a few of her songs on his phone. But he hadn't spoken to her in years.

And she was here in London, too...

Austin had spent the last two years in near full isolation from his friends and family. He felt like a stranger in his own skin, unaware of himself and trying to root himself back to who he was and why he did what he did. So it was a familiar comfort to him as he looked her up on instagram. Her page was full of gorgeous selfies and shots of the food she made. He remembered how much she liked to cook and she was good at it, even at a young age. And of course, she had pictures of her dog; a golden mini doodle that she took everywhere with her.

Jade's most recent photo was a window selfie with downtown London in the background. Her large green eyes twinkled in the reflection of the light, some makeup stained just beneath her lashes and pushed the grunge aesthetic she toted. She was younger than him by a couple years, she had to be twenty-six or twenty-seven by now, and yet she still held that teenage mischief in her stare.

His fingers moved before he could realize just what the hell he was doing, and he stared at the message he had ready to send in her DM.

Hey Jade, saw you're in London. How are you?

Austin stared at the message long and hard, his mind spinning with the fret of whether or not he should send it. And furthermore, would Jade bother to read or respond to it? Nevertheless, his thumb twitched once, twice, and then he pressed send.

Not two seconds later, he slammed his phone down on the table screen down. His rationality told him not to worry; she'd see he wasn't just a random user awaiting a response. Maybe she'd be happy to catch up with him? The irrational part however of his brain was screaming at him, wondering why he would message someone who was a point blank stranger to him. And he was to her, too. They hadn't spoken in nearly a decade, there was a slim to fair chance that Jade wouldn't give Austin the time of day. After all, she was probably really busy with her music and --

His phone buzzed, and Austin would admit he was a little too quick to turn the screen over and check. His heart dropped when he saw it was just a message from his agent checking in on him. He set the phone down again and his gaze shifted out the window again. He was being utterly ridiculous, but the constant thumping of his knee would easily give away his flicker of anxiety. He should just delete the message, she probably wouldn't see it anyway --

The phone buzzed again. Austin huffed, figuring for good reason it was just his agent again. However, his eyes blinked swiftly, and he stared in almost disbelief as he read Jade's response.

Hi Austin! Wow, it's been a while! I can't really complain, how are you?

He could still hear her voice in his head as he read the message over again, her honeyed Canadian accent penetrating his ears. His lips began to curl up in a small smile and he began to type back.

I know, it's been too long. Guess I can't really complain, either.

Austin considered himself an introvert, he had never been the type to throw himself at people or at social gatherings. However, he seemingly jumped at the chance when Jade offered to get a coffee together the next day. She had some off time and wanted to catch up a bit.

That Thursday afternoon Austin found himself sitting on a bench, overlooking the lush rolling hills of serene Regent's Park. Jade had texted him that morning telling him where to meet, and Austin kept looking to the same dented lamppost just to be sure he was in the right spot.

His knee continued bouncing, his long fingers tapping incessantly against the cold wooden bench planks. He didn't pay any mind to the footsteps crunching on the gravel trail before him, keeping his eyes glued just to his phone before the familiar honey voice took his attention.

"Austin?" his head snapped up, and his bright blue eyes met Jade's lush green ones. She smiled politely, one ankle locked behind the other as she stood there, and suddenly a rush of old memories flooded through him.

He stood up slowly, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans quickly as he approached her. Her eyes immediately went to his hair, needless to say she hadn't expected him to dawn a drastically different color to the burnt blonde she had come to know earlier.

"Jade, hi," he rasped out. Jade noted how his voice had changed, too; husky and thick. If smooth bourbon had a voice, Austin's voice would be it.

"Hi," she continued to smile, her cheeks tinting red despite the cool breeze whipping through the park.

Austin looked her up and down, he could see the small curls of her tattoos peeking out just below the cuff of her sweater. His smile suddenly curved into a playful smirk.

"Were you always this short?" he raised his hand to her height; the top of her head would just barely graze his chin, "Or was it my imagination?"

Jade scowled, her scorned grin still plastered to her lips as she rolled her eyes, "You know, I was gonna' hug you, but I could punch you instead if you want," she offered.

He began to laugh, taking a stride forward and pulling her in for a hug. She smelled of flowers and citrus, a reminiscing scent of seasonal turnings with the promise of spring break and refreshing decadence.

There was a quaint coffee stand at the end of a trail they stopped at, and Austin surprised himself with the fact that he could still remember Jade's typical order: black with two sugars. They took a seat on a bench shortly after. The sun was shining down so that was an added bonus, and they watched with little interest as other people lay out over their picnic blankets and played rounds of soccer football in the fields.

"So, how long have you been in London for?" he asked.

"Well over a year, now," she replied, "I had an opportunity to take up a residency for some work, and I had a friend who lives here so I've been rooming with her. Figured with all the bullshit going on back in the states, could England really be worse?"

"Wow," he simpered, "How long are you here for?"

"Two more weeks. My agent gave me the word, label wants me back in the pacific time zone," she said, "It's nice here, but it's not Australia,"

Austin smiled, "Yeah, it's absolutely beautiful over there,"

"Did you meet any koalas?" she asked with some giddy.

"Truth be told, I didn't have a chance," he replied, "Everything was shut down for about six months, so I mostly spent my days on the beach during that time. And when filming opened up again, I didn't really have much time for tourism,"

"Really?"

"Yeah,"

"Damn," Jade shook her head, "How hard did they work you over there?"

"Oh, we had eighteen hour days. And I maybe got three or four hours of sleep a night. I can't complain, though," he admitted, "Everyone on set was great, and the experience was just once in a lifetime, you know?"

"I suppose," she shrugged, "Not just anyone could pull off the King of Graceland,"

He huffed, "Yeah. It was a lot. I feel like I've been cramming for an exam the past two years and my body is finally coming out of it,"

"I'm glad you said so, because I didn't want to sound heartless," she said.

"Why would you sound heartless?" he popped a brow.

Jade smiled sheepishly, "Because -- you look like shit,"

"Oh, thank you. I looked in the mirror this morning," he smirked back.

Jade began to laugh, "I'm sorry. Okay -- but aside from physically, are you okay? I heard how intense these biopics can get. I mean, at least with Rocketman, Elton could give his notes if needed,"

He understood where she was coming from, "I got advice from the right people when I needed it. I'm just starting to come out of the fog, though. I need to either put my focus on something else or just not think about Elvis for a little while. At least until the press tours start,"

"I get it," she nodded, her lips pursing, "Is that why you messaged me out of the blue?"

He simpered shyly, "Well, no, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I just heard you were in town and thought it might be nice to catch up,"

"Well, of course! It's only been... what? Nine years we last spoke?" she suggested, watching him carefully.

"Five," he noted, "I watched you perform at Coachella in 2017,"

Jade popped an eyebrow, "Oh? Why didn't you come say hi?"

That one, Austin didn't have a good answer for. His circumstances at the time were different, he was distracted to put it lightly. His social circle looked much different and his priorities were aligned elsewhere. It wasn't a very valid excuse, though.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully, "That's a shitty excuse, but the truth is I don't know why I didn't. I should've. I don't even know why I messaged you in the first place,"

Jade cocked her head, her gaze averting to the fields. The echoes of football games and chatting passerbys intermingled with the distant drawls of traffic in downtown. Regent's Park however was quieter. Jade turned to Austin again.

"I think I do," she suggested, "And correct me if I'm wrong: but from everything you've told me, coupled with some... unsavoury things that've come out in the past year, I think you're lost. Not just with yourself but in your reality as a whole. You've spent over two years pretending to be somebody else, and it's not exactly a children's game of dress up and make believe. So, when you saw that this familiar stranger," she stopped and pointed to herself, "you haven't spoken to in a while is suddenly within arms reach of you, you jumped for it like a seal doing circus tricks. You have to rebuild yourself, and how fortuitous you happened to stumble upon me,"

Austin sighed, nodding slowly as her words sunk in, "Does that make me a selfish prick?" he asked.

"Not at all," she shook her head, "It does make you a little whiny, I'm not gonna lie," that got a chuckle out of him, "I'm not exactly innocent, either. But still, I'm honoured you picked me,"

"I'm honoured that you even came out to meet me in the first place," he grinned, "Does it make me whiny to admit that it's really good to see you again?"

"Then we're both pretty whiny," she bumped his arm, "It's good to see you again, too,"

Time wasn't a thing as Austin and Jade continued to talk. It was as though years hadn't passed and it felt just like it used to when they were sit on set together. He told her about some of the upcoming projects he had in the works, including a possible call-back for the sequel for Dune. Jade had been a fan of the books as well as the newest movie, and regardless to say she was excited to hear about that prospective venture.

Jade meanwhile had a show coming up, her first in nearly two years at the Brixton Academy. After so much time lallygagging around she admitted she was a little flustered putting a set list and rehearsals together. Though the tickets were close to being sold out, Jade's nerves had a way of getting the better of her as the show loomed closer and closer.

The early morning soon turned into late afternoon and then the evening. Jade was surprised when she checked her watch and saw the time was bordering on five o'clock. Austin noted the time too, and he looked both ways up and down the park as he realized the crowd had thinned down considerably.

"It's getting dark," he said.

"Time always flies, I guess," she replied.

"Yeah," he collected the discarded cups, his mouth moving before his brain could register, "You wanna' get something to eat?" he suddenly asked.

Jade shrugged, "I mean -- if you have no where to be..."

"I have no where to be for another week and half," he told her.

"Alright," she stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder, fluffing up her hair, "There's a little pub down the road that make the best truffle fries. And I'm not even exaggerating," she chuckled, "They're deadly,"

Austin laughed as well, "Can't say no truffle fries now, can I?"

They ventured out of the park together, jacket sleeves occasionally brushing up together and the conversation kept flowing between them. He regaled her with a story from filming, some on-set shenanigans between him and his cast mates that helped lift the pressure. Jade watched him curiously, picking out the mischievous glint in his eye, the way his fingers fiddled with his coat pocket, how his smile was still the same as when he was seventeen. It felt so strange, content that she knew him and he seemed just the same, and yet he looked and was so different.

The gastropub was relatively empty at the time, a dark interiored venue that smelled of hops and fresh leather. Austin and Jade were given a booth in the back, a single candle accompanying the low dimmed sconces across the walls. Two pints of beer sat on the table, in between them a plate of steaming truffle fries.

"So... would you chew me out if I asked?" she asked meekly.

Austin had an unsettling feeling in his gut, but he nodded nonetheless, "Ask me what?" he asked.

Jade huffed, giggling nervously to herself, "About you... and a very long term relationship that didn't go the distance?" she was trying not to squirm in her seat.

Austin tried to put on a smile, but his fingers tapped slowly against the hardwood table, his eyes averting just the same. The side of his face was lit eerily by the candle, he was hauntingly mesmerizing.

"You know what? Forget it," she said quickly, "I shouldn't of -- I mean it's none of the my business --"

"No, it's okay," Austin assured, though his fingers continued to tap on the table, "Truth be told, I fell out of love," he scoffed, "Not as Lifetime as it sounds, I guess,"

Jade wasn't sure what she was expecting when he answered; probably something scandalous like one of them cheated, or there was a major fight. But what wasn't heard very often was the very thing he described, and seemed to still feel guilty over.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I get it, though,"

"You're one of very few people," he admitted, "Even my dad thought I was crazy when I told how I felt,"

Jade picked at another fry, "Ten years with somebody is a long time, Austin. But it's not a lifetime, either. And at the end of the day, you have to make a choice for yourself," she said, "Do you regret it?"

It was a question he had been asked often, and every time that relationship flashed through his head like a movie reel. He reminisced the good, the bad, and all the beautiful moments in between. However, his answer was always the same.

"No," he shook his head.

Jade shrugged, "Then, you can lift that burden off your shoulders," she said, "You know what's best for you, public opinion be damned,"

"I never thought of it that way before," he said, "As a burden, I mean,"

"I've found responsibility and naivety can be confused in situation-ships; whether that's for us or our significant others depends," she explained.

Austin sipped from his beer, "You sound like you've had some experience," he spoke before drinking.

Jade simpered, somewhat bitterly, "Suppose this the part where we discuss my failed relationships?" she asked.

"You asked me first," he smirked.

"Fair," she sighed, sitting back in the booth seat, "My partner and I are currently on a 'break'," she made air quotes with her fingers. Austin simpered with intrigue.

"Okay, Rachel. What happened?" he asked.

Jade shook her head, "Well, the shorter version is he caught covid really badly. So badly to the point where he had to be ventilated. His mother is a super sweet lady, but she's also super religious. She was concerned about his sins or whatever, so she told me -- while he was under ventilation -- that he had cheated on me,"

Austin popped an eyebrow, "Fuck..."

"Yep,"

"Hold on, lemme' get this straight," he said up, "He cheated on you, didn't tell you, told his mom, and now that he's in a coma his mom told you?"

"Oh, he's out of the coma now. He's fine," she replied.

"Holy --" Austin was at a loss for what to say. Not even the most twisted Hallmark movies could come up with such drama, "I can't imagine -- Jade, I can't even imagine what that must've been like,"

"So, you are blessed," she grinned.

"I assume though, that you did tell him?" he asked, "That you knew?"

"When he was well enough, I confronted him. And then he gave me the classic excuse 'she meant nothing!' and all that. Nothing concrete enough to forfeit him another chance, anyway. And don't even get me started on his mom," she squirmed in her seat.

Needless to say, she couldn't have dreamed up a more stressful situation. Jade had been so torn up, so angry with her boyfriend, and then guilty for being angry because he was so sick. But she also wanted him to pull through, partly because she needed the opportunity to confront him. And when she had, it still wasn't enough to satisfy her. Never before had she felt so violated, not just by her boyfriend but also by his family.

Though, she wondered in the back of her mind if she perhaps deserved it?

Austin was baffled, nonetheless, "When did all this happen?" he asked.

Jade's smile was bitter, regretful even, "About a year ago," she replied sadly.

He nodded, "So, when you had the opportunity to move to London amid a mass pandemic..."

"Like a seal in a circus," she admitted, "I'm nervous to go back because he's going to be waiting for me and promising over and over that he's changed and realized he can't live without me and all that bullshit,"

"So, break up with him!" he said.

"I have. Twice. He won't accept it," she stared off into space, teeth chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip, "He's telling all our friends and family that we're just on a break..."

Her hand rested over the table, her index finger tapping impatiently. Austin couldn't help himself, he slid his own hand across the table and folded it over hers. Jade met his eyes again.

"I'm really sorry, Jade," he said, "If there's anything I can do..."

"Don't worry. I'll have him off my back soon enough," she shrugged, then her lips upturned into a gleeful smirk, "And hey, I'm a B-list celebrity! I could have a restraining order on him with a snap of my fingers if need be!"

He began to laugh, "Fame and its perks knows no bounds,"

The night dwelled on, the conversation moving on to more pleasant things. However, neither were privy to the fact that one hand always seemed to be in close contact with the other for the rest of their meal.

The restaurant filled up with people, endured its dinner rush, and then settled down again for closing. Austin and Jade were still in their booth, lost in their own bubble. That bubbles was popped however as a server came by and dropped off their bill. Austin felt a little guilty as he looked around, realizing they were the only table left in the place.

"Guess we became those people," he joked as he pulled out his wallet.

"Means we had the best time," she popped a brow, "What're you doing?"

"I'm paying the bill," he answered simply.

"Not by yourself," she countered, "At least let me get half!"

"Nope," he couldn't help the smug leer on his face as he pulled out some pound notes, "I invited you out, it's only fair,"

Jade opened her mouth to argue, but he had already closed the money into the booklet and gave it to the server. She relented nevertheless, following as he slid out of the booth and they made their exit.

The evening was chilly, but the sky remained clear, its pale visage looming down over central London. The streets were clear for the most part, though a good amount of cars were still driving up and down the roads. Austin and Jade walked side by side in the general vicinity of his apartment.

"This has been really nice. I almost hate to leave," she told him, chuckling bashfully, "But Cam is gonna bop me in the head if I'm late to another soundcheck,"

Austin simpered, "I understand. How long does your soundcheck run?"

"About two hours," she smiled politely, they both stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, "What are you doing next Wednesday?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Nothing, I guess," he replied.

"Why don't you come to the show? I can get you a ticket," she offered.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "I mean, I'm good for the ticket,"

"And you just bought me dinner, so you'll take it. I mean, the vibe's not exactly Mean Woman Blue, but..."

"Jade, I would love to come," he nodded.

She started rocking back and forth on her heels, "Cool, I'll send you the information," and she put her arms out for a hug. Austin obliged her happily. Her head fit snugly under his chin and his sharp cologne tickled pleasantly at her nose, "Thanks again -- for reaching out,"

"Hey, thank you for coming," he grinned, "And I'm sorry it took me ten years,"

Jade shrugged nonchalantly, "Hey, until the next ten years," she started walking backwards, "Bye Austin,"

A renewed excitement flooded over Austin, a shy smile on his lips as he began to turn, "Bye, Jade,"

[pix4japan]

Plums and Pipes: Unveiling the Unique Charms of Mukoyama Shoten in Yokohamabashi

Location: Yokohamabashi, Minami Ward, Yokohama, Japan Timestamp: 17:33 on December 19, 2023

Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter ISO 3200 for 1/125 sec. at ƒ/8.0 Astia Soft film simulation

Step into the vibrant Yokohamabashi shopping district, and one of the first shops you'll encounter on your left is an establishment named Mukoyama Shoten, offering an quirky mix of tobacco and plum products.

Several years ago, the store underwent a renovation, transforming its appearance into a more modern and inviting space. Originally specializing in tobacco-related items, Mukoyama Shoten has expanded its inventory to include a totally unrelated selection of renowned plum (ume) and pickled plum (umeboshi) products, notably the Nanko-Ume.

Nanko-Ume, a distinctive plum variety, thrives in the historical region known as “Kishu,” encompassing present-day Wakayama Prefecture and southern Mie Prefecture. The coastal climate in this area is particularly conducive to the cultivation of these flavorful plums.

Beyond their unique origin, pickled plums (umeboshi) are served with vinaigrettes, salad dressings, noodles, sandwiches, and rice balls. A popular way to enjoy umeboshi is to pair them with rice, complemented by side dishes such as fish, meat, or vegetables like cucumbers and carrots.

For those inclined towards homemade drinks, buying unripened green plums in late spring or early summer opens up the possibility of crafting umeshu—a delightful fruity liqueur. Made by steeping unripened ume in distilled liquor with sugar, the steeping time is left to the brewer’s discretion. Many of the older parents of my Japanese friends, treasure personal umeshu recipes passed down through generations. These homemade concoctions are served warm in winter and served cold in the summer months.

Yokohamabashi, like many other shotengai shopping streets in Japan, boasts the charm of small mom-and-pop shops, each with its own quirky blend of products. The juxtaposition of tobacco items and plum specialties at Mukoyama Shoten exemplifies the unique character of these establishments, making a visit a fun exploration of diverse offerings.

Google Maps links, references for further reading, and source materials can be found at the latest blog post at pix4japan.com: https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20231219-yokohamabashi

[the--morning--room]

RESURGAM (Arthur Harrow x F! Reader) Chapter 15: A cold, solitary girl again

"That bitter hour cannot be described: in truth, 'the waters came into my soul; I sank in deep mire: I felt no standing; I came into deep waters; the floods overflowed me.'" -Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

AO3

I don't know if you're aware of this, reader, but the human body is quite poorly made. The temperature in the desert that night was not nearly low enough to freeze one to death, but it was enough to harden the Thorn's joints until she could no longer move her fingers to wipe the sand from her eyes and mouth. Her breaths came painfully and haltingly, and once her knees failed her she knew she had no choice but to rest. She clutched the thin, whitish hairs of the jackal and let it lead her, half-crawling like a primordial beast, to the relative safety of a cliffside, where she sandwiched herself between the chilled, sandy rock and the jackal's body.

"Thank you," she told it, and patted its slimy head.

There was a faint silver line along the edge of the horizon. The coming dawn, or the distant Cairo skyline? Either way, why was the light growing so quickly?

The whiteness expanded until it enveloped the sky, erased the desert and the jackal, and the Thorn knew nothing but white.

She'd been here a while, she thought. Of course, she'd just gotten there, but she knew that place, didn't she? The columns, the checkered floor. The information desk, where a "Tomb Buster" poster sat upright in a swivel chair. The gift shop with its window full of ushabtis, standing like a tiny army. And of course, the art. Stacks of prone statues, safely mummified in protective wrapping.

Everything was white and silent.

"...And here we have—oh, you! Yes, you. I'm supposed to come and find you. Hellooo..." The friendly Scottish voice cut through the quiet, and an arm was waved in front of her face. That tattoo looked so familiar. She turned to him.

"Billy!" The relief nearly knocked her over. She threw her arms around him, and was met with a sickening squelch.

"Oof. Sorry, love. This happens," Billy said, red-faced, as his stomach fell open and spilled its slimy contents onto the pristine floor. The two visitors he'd been leading, a crocodile and a hippo, exchanged annoyed glances before turning and walking away. Both wore tutus and oversized pointe shoes.

"Can I, um...get someone for you?" the Thorn asked awkwardly. "A doctor, maybe?"

"'S fine. Just something I have to get used to," Billy replied, gathering up his intestines. "Reading room's back that way," he jerked his head, "through the armory, then take a left."

She followed his pointing finger, wove through the suits of armor and past one massive, silvery-gray getup made of material resembling a mummy's wrappings. It was holding a sign: "Reading room this way," then the Thorn's name and an arrow.

Thoroughly creeped out, she followed the arrow. What other choice did she have?

A rush of book-smell swept over her as she crossed through the doorway. It was a wide, cylindrical room lined with shelves of books and a staircase that spiraled endlessly into a ceiling of clouds. Despite the seemingly infinite shelf space, the floor was crammed with stacks of even more books. For once in her life, however, the Thorn had no interest in books. She could only stare in astonishment at the man in front of her.

He said her name, smiling through his beard. "We meet in person at last!"

Indeed, she had never seen his face outside of a computer screen. She knew him, though. The beard, the glasses, the smile that radiated both kindness and intelligence, and that fuchsia scarf he was never seen without. She remembered the first time she'd seen him, years ago, presenting a paper to a livestreamed conference. He had been wearing a simple blue suit, and the bright, cheerful color of his scarf was a welcome contrast to the general stuffiness of the event.

The last time they'd spoken was over email. He'd sent a letter of recommendation to Lowood, he wished her luck and promised to meet her in person the next summer. That never happened, of course. Dr. El-Faouly was dead before summer.

He was dead, and yet there he was now, standing before her. In order for this meeting to be real, one of them must have traveled between worlds. The Thorn knew which of them it was more likely to be.

"Is this the Duat?" she asked.

"You figured it out much more quickly than I did. But, of course, I am actually dead. Well, fully dead. There might be a difference in the way one's consciousness reacts to the change if—"

"Wait, I'm not 'fully' dead? What does that mean?"

He pursed his lips sadly. "Your hands."

She looked down to see her fingers flickering. Invisible—then not. Gone—and back again. She blinked, and in that tiny fraction of a second she felt a shock of excruciating cold, her body crying out with hunger and thirst, her heart wailing its brokenness, and sand everywhere. There was even sand in her throat—had she tried to eat it?

"Your body is unconscious," Dr. El-Faouly explained. "Your only hope now is to be rescued, but I'm afraid at this point it would take a—"

"—Deus ex machina." She blinked again, and heard the roaring of the desert wind. Her fingers were frozen.

"Yes."

She let out a hopeless laugh laced with tears. "I think the gods might be a little busy right now," she said. "I'm probably the least of their worries, especially since..." Her voice caught." Since I helped...I helped Arthur..." She broke down.

He looked at her with weary eyes. He said her name, lifted a hand to her shoulder—it passed through. She felt no comforting touch, only cold and wind and sand and hunger.

"Come," he said, and two plump chairs appeared nearby.

They sat. The Thorn pulled her flickering knees into her chest, sobbing into them.

"It's peaceful here," Dr. El-Faouly said. "You're in a good place. Don't cry."

"My scales are unbalanced," she said through a curtain of messy tears. "I won't be staying here."

"Who told you your scales lack balance?"

"Well, Ammit."

"And you know better than to take Ammit's word as law, don't you?" He laughed scoffingly. "For goodness sake, the Ennead doesn't even regard her as a proper goddess."

The Thorn's lips quivered with a sudden, familiar need to defend her goddess. No—not her goddess, not anymore. "Praise revoked" and all that. She looked down at her flickering forearm (the flickers were fewer and further between now). Bare.

"The goddess Taweret weighs hearts on the scales of Anubis," Dr. El-Faouly explained. "Ammit has no say in deciding the fates of the deceased." He smiled. "Your heart is safe."

"Even without Ammit, I don't think my scales are going to balance," the Thorn confessed.

"Why do you think that?"

She dragged a hand across her face, and it came away slick with tears. Her flesh was completely solid now. "Like I said, I helped Arthur. I found the scarab for him, I protected him from Marc and Khonshu. And," she heaved a wretched, shuddering sob, "to be honest, I don't regret any of it. I don't regret loving him, no matter what I did for him, what I let him do..." She covered her face, drowning in shame.

He looked thoughtfully at her. "Do you regret leaving him?"

She nodded, sobbing violently.

"Even after he betrayed you so terribly?"

She paused to try and breathe, disgusted by the feeling of so many sticky tears racing down her hot cheeks.

"You didn't want to be Ammit's avatar, did you?" he pressed.

She sniffed. "Of course not."

"Well, that was Arthur's plan for you. Do you think he would ever change his mind, regardless of how artfully you may have argued against him?"

"Never," she admitted, wiping her eyes.

"Then what exactly do you regret?" he asked kindly. "Sparing yourself from a fate you would have hated?"

"I could have handled it," she said sullenly.

"Really? You could have handled committing murders in the name of a deity whose cause you don't believe in? You could have handled living under her abuse?"

"I could have sucked it up," she said after a stubborn pause.

"You have done more than enough 'sucking up' in your life," he frowned. "No more. You deserve to be treated well, to make your own choices and live your own life."

"What about love? I deserve that too, right?"

"Of course you deserve love, but not if it comes at the cost of your freedom."

Freedom. What was it she'd said to Arthur about freedom? "I have a free, independent brain." She pictured herself as a bird triumphantly escaping its cage, soaring out into the bluest of skies only to find itself promptly shot down. Would that little bird miss the safety of its cage as it plummeted to its death?

"Will he be okay?" she asked. "If he really loves me like he said he does, and he finds out I died while leaving him..." Her eyes were drowning all over again.

Dr. El-Faouly reached out and took her hands. Her flesh was solid now, no more flickers. "You are not responsible for his feelings toward you."

"He was always trying to protect me," she said. "He's going to think he failed."

"It's not your responsibility," he repeated, gripping her hands. "He's a grown man; he can take care of himself."

"But what if he..."

"He will grieve, he will recover, and he will move on. And you will do the same."

"I can't." She shook her head at the wall of books, unable to look her mentor in the eye. "I can't."

"I said the same thing when I arrived here, knowing I was leaving my loved ones behind. I worried so much for my daughter, thinking she would never be able to move on. But of course, she did. She had to."

"You don't know Arthur. He's," she interrupted herself with a high, panicked laugh, "he's a professional sufferer. He never gets over anything. He needs—"

"He needs a kind of help that you were never equipped to give him. Either he gets that help, or he doesn't; either way, it has nothing to do with you. You renounced his love. He is no longer yours to worry about."

She was remembering the nights she spent pulling shards of glass from Arthur's shredded skin, and how each shard would leave a sickening deluge of blood and pus in its wake. That's what Dr. El-Faouly's words had done to her heart—not that she herself hadn't caused the wound. She had left Arthur behind. She had rejected his goddess and broken off their engagement.

He would never have abandoned her. She would have only had to stay by his side, loyal and silent, and let him make her Ammit's personal killing machine. In return, he would have loved her, cared for her, kept her company for the rest of his life. A few million sinners' blood on her hands, in exchange for a lifetime of romantic bliss...if that wasn't a fair trade, what was?

No. No, she would have hated it. It would have been hell, serving Ammit, and living with Arthur would have been even worse. Didn't his goddess always bring out the worst in him? Ammit would have been a plague on their marriage. The most loving, sincere religious fanatic is still a fanatic, and even his most passionate kisses would never have been able to love the sticky sheen of guilt off her heart.

She bent her body into a pathetic curve and let out a long, slow wail into her knees. Waves of hot sand beat at her dying body. She could feel the brightness of the sun behind her closed eyes. There were voices, two of them, arguing above her.

"What if I hurt her?"

"Steven, look at her. You carrying her to the car isn't going to damage her any more than the desert already has."

"I just don't know, she looks so frail..."

An exasperated sigh. "Fine, let Marc do it then."

"No! Wait! I can do it, just let me—"

Her hands were disappearing, blinking away before her eyes. "I'm going back," she said. "No, I don't want to. No, stop," she cried in a panic, unsure of who or what she was pleading with. "Let me stay here, I want to stay here!"

"It looks as though your body has other plans," Dr. El-Faouly said. "We'll see each other again someday. Say hello to my little scarab for me."

"Your what?"

He smiled. "She's right next to you. Tell her—"

She blinked, and was alive.

The first things she knew were yellowness and hot air, then a sliver of morning creeping in through a pair of thick curtains. There was just enough light for her to note that nearly everything in the room was broken, and the various pieces of things had been scattered across a loveseat in the corner. Someone had apparently begun cleaning up, but never finished the job. A cracked mirror across from the bed showed the Thorn that she was in a white bed, and wearing white clothes: A man's T-shirt and baggy shorts. Her hair felt clean, and smelled like an unfamiliar shampoo. Nearby, another woman sat cross-legged on top of the bedside table. She was balancing a laptop precariously on her knees, and seemed either unwilling or unable to look at the Thorn. The light from the computer screen exaggerated the pronounced circles under her eyes.

"Morning," said Layla.

"Little scarab." The words slipped from the Thorn's mouth so unexpectedly that she almost felt as if the words weren't her own.

Layla slammed her laptop shut with a ferocity that left the cracked mirror vibrating like a cowering animal. Her face was stony. "If one of you people," she growled, spitting out the word people as if it were a deadly curse, "ever calls me that again..." Wet bullets of grief shone in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," the Thorn said reflexively. "I don't know why I—"

"Just stop." Layla shook her head and put a frustrated hand to her face. She took a single loud, tremulous breath, lingering on it as if considering making it a sob. She stood up suddenly, nearly knocking the small table to the ground, crossed the room in a few staggers, and flung the thick curtains wide to reveal a stunning panopticon of Cairo, pyramids and all.

"Wow," the Thorn breathed.

Layla paused in front of the window, her back to the Thorn. "Yeah," she agreed, apparently with some reluctance.

"Thank you for, uh," she could think of no less awkward a way to put it, "saving m—"

"Thank Marc," Layla said curtly. "And Steven. One of them, can't remember which, but he saw you in the sand when we went back to get some stuff we left in that car."

"Are they here?"

"No." She moved away from the window, started to sit on the sofa only to note the mess covering its cushions, and sank down to the floor instead. "No, we're...we're kind of taking a break."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Layla's face was shifting oddly. Sometimes the shadow of a beard, the glint of a pair of studious glasses, and the shout of fuchsia-colored fabric around her neck would appear, just for a glimmer of a fraction of a second. It seemed to the Thorn that she had yet to entirely leave the Duat—or maybe the Duat wasn't ready to let go of her. Or, it could simply be the ghost of Dr. El-Faouly materializing around his daughter. Of course, she could also have been hallucinating. Even I'm not certain what the truth was.

"Well," said Layla, "don't you want to know what happened?"

A clump of dread had been growing in the Thorn's stomach, anticipating this subject. Clearly, Layla and Marc had survived Ammit's wrath. That fact didn't bode well for Arthur.

"I don't know," she said.

"He's alive," said Layla. "Does that help?"

A tear slipped down the Thorn's cheek and hovered saltily on her upper lip.

"You were supposed to be Ammit's avatar, weren't you? Is that why you left?"

Avoiding Layla's gaze, she nodded.

Layla mirrored her nod, an infuriating knowledge in the way she pursed her lips. "Yeah," she said, "I saw that one coming."

"You did?"

She shrugged. "I always thought something about you and him together didn't really add up. It seemed wrong. And this explains it."

"What do you mean? Are you saying you don't believe he could love me?"

"No. Well, maybe. I find it hard to believe he could love at all."

"And what gives you the right to make that judgment?" the Thorn retorted wildly, her voice climbing in pitch. "Who do you think you are, saying something like that about another person's relationship? As if yours is so perfect."

Immediately she felt herself tense and recoil, shocked by her own cruelty. Layla, however, only hardened her jaw. A deadly silence followed.

"I guess that's fair," Layla said. "But I do know what it's like to be lied to."

The Thorn, of course, wasn't sure what Layla was referring to—but she nodded anyway, wary of opening her mouth for fear she might let loose another needless barb of cruelty.

"I had to hear the truth from Harrow before Marc had the balls to tell me himself. How fucked up is that? To have to learn something like that from the man who shot my husband?"

The Thorn swallowed. "The man who what?"

Layla closed her eyes. "It was so loud," she said, "and the echo...and the blood on his white clothes..." She was shaking.

"He shot Marc?" the Thorn heard herself say. "Arthur did?" His name had never felt less pleasant in her mouth.

Layla nodded, swallowing a sob. "I wanted to kill him."

"He would have killed you first."

She let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Yeah. For sure."

From there, she told the whole story, up to and including the battle between the three avatars in Cairo.

"Stop," the Thorn said suddenly.

"Really? Now?" Layla had reached the point in the story where, sutured to the side of an overturned van by one of Marc's crescent darts, she watched Arthur approach Marc's prone body while Ammit and your humble narrator tangled in combat on the horizon.

"I don't want to hear any more." Tears were dripping from her chin and staining the white sheets between her legs. "Not yet." Never, she thought.

"Suit yourself," Layla said with a tired shrug. "You probably want some food or something, right?"

The Thorn shook her head. Her stomach cried out pathetically, earning an unamused look from Layla.

"I'm getting you some food," she said. "After all that's happened, it would be really stupid if you died of hunger now."

She left, and the Thorn let her body descend into convulsive sobbing—but not before crossing the room to yank the curtains shut. The pyramids would not be a witness to her suffering.

[crsentfairy]

get to know a blogger! ☆

tagged by: @alltimefail-sims - love u angel <3

☆ show ur wallpaper [changed to this one like a few days ago! lmao]

☆ last song listened to: soja by ckay 🫶🏿

☆ currently reading: my own unpublished works. lol [also last official book i began to read was The Door by Magda Szabó]

☆ last movie: paranormal investigation [2018]

☆ last show: revenge [2011]

☆ food craving: wendy's. and also that one specific sandwich order i place at my local deli shop

☆ currently wearing: spaghetti strap tank top with orange shorts decorated with cacti/sunrays [desert themed pjs <3]

☆ height: a semi-solid 5"8. i think. haven't gotten checked up in a min haha

☆ peircings: the default aka ear lobes. i'm a boring bitch i know

☆ tattoos: none. again, a very plain girl SMH

☆ glasses/contacts: glasses! contacts put the fear of god in me

☆ fave color[s]: pink, green, yellow and orange!

☆ current obsession: well besides my boyfriend, obviously my OCs and expanding their lore. also *drumroll* Ted Roswell! and just strangerville in general i always find myself crawling back to that bombafuck town and scouring the landscape in admiration. OH! and i've been suppressing the urge to give in and watch the anime, blue lock because holy FUCK those fan edits are plaguing me bad

☆ last place you traveled: new york, but that was a good 4 years ago. i've been within my city/state for a while since :)

tagging: @myungsooism , @missatan , @rottenbubblegum , @veone , @musetrait , @khadijah551 , @trendyarthoe and basically anyone who wants to do this lol!

[herzgeist-writes]

2) Check Mate

Pairing: Law x fem!reader | Word count: 1.3k | Warnings: none

Dividers by cafekitsune

The penetrating sound of expanding metal heating up in the sun wakes Law from his short lived sleep. Still drowsy he looks to the night stand and reaches out for the glass of water, which tarnished due to the cold that night. Outside the corridor is the already up and about crew, preparing for their duties.

The doctor pulls himself out of the sheets and sits on the edge of his bed. "Coffee“, is the only thing he gets to grumble. What a strange night he thinks to himself. Will the day be just as curious?

He strokes through his messy raven hair and stretches his soul awake, feeling quite tense. While getting dressed he peers over at the book he wanted to take a look at before all that commotion.

With the hat now back on his head, Law flips through the pages. Hovering over some cheesy quotes, his gaze gets stuck on one: "True love is seen by the heart, not by the eye.“

In thought he narrows his eyes and closes the book. Normally these kinds of observations don’t leave a wide impression on him, but this time it's clinging to his mind. Putting the impertinent literature in his pocket, he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Hey, where's my coffee?!“ - „You just drank it you oaf!"-"Can someome please hand me the egg rice?" The gang fights it's way through the breakfast buffet . Whilst the men rowdy and shove eachother around, you and Bepo enjoy your food in the corner of the room, grinning from ear to ear.

As the Captain enters the kitchen, the door closed shut behind him for everybody to hear, he musters a dangerous glare at his disorganized crew: "Good morning“. In no time everybody is lined up and alert. Suddenly everyone is well behaved and quiet. The bear can‘t hold it in and giggles to himself while munching on a tuna sandwich. So do you, you join the low belly cramping snickering. Little tears of joy forming in the corners of your eyes.

This ends as soon as the Captain joins your table with a cup of coffee in his hands: "What are you guys being so chipper about?" - "We just love to see your epic entrance, Captain.“, you explain to him taking a bite off your chocolate croissant.

Disgust makes itself vacant on Law's face, seeing you chomping down the pastry. To your notice you apologize. trying to set it aside. "Don't worry, as long as I don't have to eat it“, he reassures you, taking a few sips of his strong brewed coffee.

Bepo jumps in with a proud grin: "Captain, I found the monster this morning and brought it outside. Though I was really scared it would bite me I used all my courage to bring it to safety!“

You observe how Law's stern face turns softer to the slightest, feeling yourself smile timidly in response. "Way to go, Bepo", he praises with a hint of delight. It's more than his usual deep monotone voice.

The mink happily goes to the buffet for a second round. Or was it his third? You couldn't tell anymore. After all, he's a bear, of course he needs a certain amount of food to function.

"You two still need something?" - "Oh, an Onigiri please." the man asks his Vice Commander, but gets a shaking head as an answer: „I believe we’re out of that, Captain." Not sure why, but the crew had an intense hunger today, leaving the kitchen crumbless. One thing is certain, you had to go grocery shopping to fill the stock again this afternoon.

Law sighs waving off Bepo: "Well, back to the off-". Without a word you tug on his sleeve, getting his attention. You rummage in your bag and put a freshly packed Onigiri on the table: "Please take it. I can fetch my lunch in town".

Eyeing the rice ball on the table he declines, but his rumbling stomach tells you otherwise. It‘s almost like a whale lives in there. "Always so humble“, you smirk at him and give the Onigiri a little nudge in his direction.

Though embarrassed he takes it, lowers the tip of his hat and mumbles a low: „Thank you“. You adored his soft side peeking through the stone cold wall he built around himself. The tips of his ears turn the slightest bit red. It was reward enough for you.

Unexpectedly, Law's steel colored eyes fixated on you while you took a sip of your hot bevarage: „What happend to your forehead?" Pointing at his own he tries to turn your attention to yours, mirroring you.

Shyly the fingertips of your hand hover over the bump that comes out through your hair. "Oh that? Uh…at kitchen duty I hit my head at the narrow shelf back in the storage this morning.“, you explain, a sweat drop forming on your temple.

He's gonna know, he’s gonna know, ran through your head. Nervously bouncing your leg you smile as if nothing happend. Boy are you bad at this. To Trafalgar's amusement he smirks, putting his white hat aside and shifts the black strands out of his face: „What a coincidence. After a nightly walk through the sub, Bepo nearly gave me a concussion again. I can’t keep track of how many times this happend already.“

Acting wasn’t your strong suit. It never has been. With an overreacted gasp you lean in closer taking a better look at his head. It’s too obvious (Y/n)-ya, he thought.

„Was it the monster Bepo talked about?“, you ask briefly while taking another sip of your cup. The man nods grinning to himself: " Yes, a cockroach crawled onto his bed." - "Wasn’t it a spider?". You swallow empty. The surgeon of death has you right where he wants you.

„Oh yeah, right. It was. How did you know?“ - „Oh, umm…y‘know. Intuition?“ This isn’t going well for you. In awkwardness you scratch your neck and chuckle like a little girl.

There's still hope, you ask about his night and if he even took a shut eye. Smoothing his smile he stretches his inked fingers. Damn those fingers! Law plays his cards elegantly: „Just the usual. Worked on a mountain of reports and started a…"good" read before the walk." Poor you, walking right into his trap. "Which book did you start?“, you ask, his fingers hypnotizing you to a certain extent.

It tears you out of your focus as his hand slips into his jacket pocket pulling out a very specific bundle of paper. The Captain puts it on the table infront of you. Your face grows pale. It's your book. Law flatout hums triumphantly as he unpacks the Onigiri and takes a big bite of it. Check mate.

Game over, you can’t talk yourself out of this one. Page after page you flip through the book playing coy: „Interesting. Since when are you into such things?". The man suppresses a chuckle, trying to meet your gaze. Nonetheless he doesn't reply, making you shuffle in your seat.

After a short while which felt like an hour he finally replies, his deep voice nearly vibrating in your ears: "I have a hunch who this might interest more-", you rapidly turn your head to the side and hold your hand around your ear shell to exaggerate a listening gesture: "What was that Penguin? You need help with the plates? Sure thing, yes!“.

In a rush you heave yourself out of your seat and begin to gather the dirty dishes from your table: "Sorry Captain, duty‘s calling.“ This confirms his thesis. You were that shadow running from him and you definitly know something about this book.

The doctor only gives you a knowing sneer, dismissing you with a nod: "Well, back to the office I guess.“

So, will the day be just as curious? Yes, it definitely will be. After your little conversation, Law was certain this isn't over yet.

[scotianostra]

November 26th 1908 saw the birth of Charles Carmine Forte in Casalattico, Italy

This has a wee connection with my home town, Loanhead, it was Baron Forte, as he was to become, worked in his relative,  Alfonso Forte, Italian cafe, from a young age after emigrating from Italy.

His father’s distant cousin Pacifico Forte had moved to Scotland and according to family legend, this cousin met a Scotsman who was believed to be a grocer. However, he did not own just one grocer’s shop but many.

The family always believed that this was Sir Thomas Lipton. He said to Pacifico ‘if you ever come to Scotland come to see me and I will help you.’ but truth be told we will never know if it was Lipton.

He opened up what was known as a hole in the wall shop in Kincardine in Fife. There he sold chocolate, lemonade and cigarettes.

He went on to open an ice cream shop in Dundee and with the business expanding, he persuaded some of the family to move to Scotland. In 1911 Rocco Forte arrived in the country.

During that year Mr Forte found a job in a small shop in Loanhead near Edinburgh. Three years later he wrote home and asked his wife and their family to join him, and they arrived at Waverley Station in 1913.

They then left Edinburgh bound for Alloa. Here Forte established the Savoy Cafe.

It sold lemonade and coffee and soon became popular with locals. It was situated on Mill Street and could seat between 50 and 60 people.

As time went on, they employed two or three assistants to serve ice cream, cakes and sandwiches.

Charles was beginning to speak English but with a Scottish accent. He attended Alloa Academy but was teased by the other boys, which is what happens in schools.  At the time, the nickname for an Italian was tally wally and they used to taunt him with this.

Soon though he was accepted because he was friendly and good at sport.

While there he wrote an essay for his teacher Miss Hunter. She showed it to the headmaster as she was so taken with his grasp of English.

ONE of the things Charles Forte remembered about The Great War was the arrival of the Black Watch in Alloa.

He also recalled seeing Lloyd George standing on a box in a doorway, speaking to the crowd of around 100 people.

When Forte was 12, he attended Saint Joseph's College in Dumfries. While there he got into fights nearly every day, and he loathed the place.

After a week he wrote to his father saying: ‘unless you come and fetch me, I am going to run away’. A few days later he arrived at the school and took him home.

He was then enrolled in one of Italy's most prestigious schools in Rome and during his time there, he only returned to Alloa for the summer holidays.

When he was 17, Forte decided to follow in his father's footsteps. Rocco arranged for him to work in a cafe in Weston-Super-Mare in Somerset.

It had been formed in partnership with two cousins and was one of the first of a string of cafes and ice cream parlours which members of the family opened all along the English coastline.

The caveat was that he was to remain in Scotland for six months to study book-keeping and accountancy.

When he was 26, he opened his first milk bar in Regent Street London. From there his business went from strength to strength, opening many more cafes.

During World War II, he was interred on the Isle of Man, but was released three months later. In 1943, he married Irene Chierico and the couple went on to have five girls and a boy.

By the late 1940s he was head of Forte Holdings Limited and in the 1950s had branched out into catering at Heathrow Airport.

He also opened the first motorway service station at Newport Pagnell in 1959. By 1970, following mergers, he was at the helm of Trusthouse Forte which owned the likes of Little Chef and Travelodge. It was now a multi-billion pound empire.

In 1970, Forte was knighted by the Queen Mother and in 1982 became Baron Forte of Ripley in Surrey. He was also appointed Knight of the Sovereign Military Order of Malta.

In 1992, he retired and handed over the reins of the business to his son Rocco. A hostile takeover bid by Granada was successful and the business fell out of family hands.

Charles Forte died in his sleep in his London home on February 28th, 2007. His wife died in 2010 and was buried beside her husband in West Hampstead Cemetery.

Charles’ son Rocco has built his own hotel “empire”  Rocco Forte Hotels might be modest compared to what his father owned, but the 14 hotels “ From London to Rome, Sicily to Florence, Berlin to Edinburgh each Rocco Forte Hotel is as Unique and Special as the Place it Calls Home.”  The Fortes own The beautiful Balmoral Hotel at number 1 Princes Street Edinburgh.

The first four pics are of Charles, the rest are some of the businesses across Scotland, in order they are Charles at Horsemarket in Kelso., Loanhead,  Friars Street in Stirling, Girvan, Biggar, and Galashiels