#new england barbeque

[gaytravelinfo]

Durk’s Bar•B•Q - Providence, RI

Durk’s Bar•B•Q – Providence, RI

DURK’S BAR•B•Q, 33 ABORN STREET, PROVIDENCE, RI, 02903, 401-563-8622 INFO@DURKSBBQ.COM Serving up authentic Texas-style BBQ, craft beer, craft cocktails and a whole lotta American Whiskey. Located in downtown Providence! LOVE & TIME: Marked by a dry-rub spice blend and 8-14 hours cooking low and slow over local oak in “Stella,” an Ole Hickory smoker, OUR Texas-style barbecue is the best you…

[skbeaumont]

Texas Heat | A Joel x Reader Series

Summary: You've just finished a Masters back home in England, and, with little idea of what you want to do next, decide to spend the summer in Texas, staying with your mum's cousins, the Adlers. What you didn't bank on was living next door to Joel. The two of you strike up a friendship, and then something more, as the Texan summer heats up.

Tags/warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU! no outbreak, porn with plot.

Chapter 1 You've just finished a Masters back home in England, and, with little idea of what you want to do next, decide to spend the summer in Texas, staying with your mum's cousins, the Adlers. But its not the Adlers who pick you up from the airport: it's their handsome neighbour, Joel.

Chapter 2 Your first tutoring session with Sarah goes as expected, until Joel gets home and sends your head spinning.

Chapter 3 You get a job at a coffee shop. It just happens to be across the street from where Joel's working a construction job.

Chapter 4

Saturday brings a barbeque, a whole lot of flirting, and a perfect storm of tension that might just push you and Joel to the brink of something new.

Chapter 5

[repulsiveliquidation]

La Princesa

[Ona Batlle x Reader] Part 1.5 of [She's going to be okay.] [Royalty] [Angel in the House]

Days with La Princesa!

“Patri! Help me with the cake, will you?” you yell through the house. Lucy is helping Kiera bring out the hors d'oeuvre as you were tasked with the massive cake Alexia had gotten. Ona’s mother insisted on having dinner with everyone so a large table was set up outside. The whole team was here, some of your England teammates had made the trip too since the party was during Christmas break.

Speaking of Ona, she was sat on the back porch with a virgin margarita in hand chatting away with Alessia, Ella and Grace. Leah was helping set the table as Georgia fanned away at the barbeque. There wasn’t a quiet corner anywhere, everyone buzzing since the announcement of the baby’s gender. La Princesa was the talk of the town, Ona’s hand rubbing her belly affectionately every time anyone spoke about her. It was a new habit, one that you had many pictures of on your phone.

There were steaks, seafood and piles of vegetables as everyone helped themselves to all the food. You were cutting up some steak for Ona (because she’s the OG La Princesa) when Mapi cleared her throat at the end of the table. Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes when she stood up, signature grin on her face. This couldn’t be good.  

“I would like to propose a toast to our team mom and dad. Y/N, you take care of us and make sure we’re okay. You notice things that many people would simply ignore. You’ve been there for us more than we deserve. Ona, you’re always ready to help any one of us at the drop of a hat. You are the sweetest person I know, I love you for that. The two of you are perfect together, no need to thank me for setting you two up. But because of that I propose we name La Princesa after me. Thank you, I love you both, ¡Salud!”

“As touching as that was Mapi, we are not naming our daughter after you.”

“A middle name will do.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, okay! We have presents to open, cake to eat! Let’s head inside!” Leah called, ushering everyone inside as the girls began to quickly clean up. Once everyone settled inside, you helped Ona on the couch beside you, wrapping your arm around her shoulders as she leaned into you while everyone else brought over their presents.

“Are you okay, darling?” you ask her, kissing her forehead softly as you rub her arm.

“Sí, she’s been kicking a lot. I’ve also needed to pee too many times today.”  

“Our little footballer. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, mi amor.”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you of just one name; we are Spanish, she can have several names.”

“No, Mapi!” you both yell at her, Ingrid yanking her to the kitchen to help serve the cake.

//

“Oh Patri, it’s adorable!”

“How did you even get that?”

“Mamí, Esto es perfecto!”

“Girls, I didn’t think they MADE these!”

You heard Ona and the girls opening gifts in the living room. You were putting away all the extra food in the kitchen when Alexia walked in with another dish. She smiled awkwardly, being quiet. You didn’t push it, wiping your hands and moving the containers into the fridge. Suddenly she cleared her throat and you turned to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ona told me.”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“That you wanted me to be La Princesa’s godmother.”

“Oh, yes. Do you want to be?”

“It would be my greatest honor. But, why?”

“When we were thinking about it, only you came to mind. Don’t get me wrong, I would die for all those girls out there and I know they would do the same for my family. But I know without a doubt that if something happened to me, my girls would be safest with you.”

“You are my family too, I will protect them with my life; I promise you.”

“I love you, Ale. You’re a sister to me, I don’t think you understand how important that has been to me over the years.”

“And you for me, hermosa. I love you too.”

//

“Baby? We’re home, love.” You shook Ona softly and as she woke, you walked over and opened her door for her. She climbed out slowly, feet swollen and aching from being on them all day. She was too stubborn to ask you to carry her, walking gingerly into the house. You were grabbing stuff from the boot of the car when you saw her walking slowly. You put everything down and walked up beside her, gently picking her up into your arms. She giggled and held onto you as you walked into the house with her and laid her in bed. She kissed you cheek and whispered an accented “thank you,” before you walked back out to grab all the gifts and bags from the car. Dropping them on the dining table to be dealt with tomorrow, you walked into the bedroom to find Ona already asleep again.

Chuckling, you slowly take her shoes off and slip your jersey she was wearing off before pulling on one of your hoodies over her small frame. It swallowed her but she snuggled into it anyway. You make quick work of yourself, changing into shorts and a sports bra before climbing into bed behind her. She searches for you in her sleep, reaching out and holding onto your arm as she goes back to sleep. You smile fondly, hand rubbing soothing circles over her belly and whispering “I love you girls,” before falling asleep yourself.  

//

“That’s not the right one.”

“What do you mean, this is exactly what you sent me to get.”

“No, I wanted the blue one, this is red.”

“Angel, you asked for red.”

“I remember asking for blue, Y/N.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. Ona was having a bout of crazy cravings that began at 3 in the morning. She sent you to the shops to look for Chips Ahoy (a/n don't ask, they are my current obsession.) the other night but they didn’t have them so you bought a different kind and put it on a plate for her with a glass of milk like she requested. She took one bite and knew they were wrong, immediately starting to cry.

“Please Mi Reina, it’s late. You have a checkup tomorrow, we need to sleep.”

She sniffled, “But I wanted Chips Ahoy.”

“I know baby but all the stores I went to didn’t have them. I’ll go look tomorrow and buy them for you, okay? Please darling, you need to sleep.”

“You better buy all the Chips Ahoy you can find, amor or it’s the couch for you.”

“Yes, your highness.”

//

“Love, please stop moving.”

“You try sleeping with a literal football inside you kicking like there’s no tomorrow.”

“When we have a second baby. What can I do for you?”

“Talk to her please. She always calms down when you do.”

You throw the covers off and move over to lay between her legs. You can just about see her face above her belly. She's smiling, eyes sparkling as she watches you talk to the baby. You rest your head on her thigh, left hand holding Ona’s, right hand rubbing her belly softly.

“Hello princess, it’s Mama. I’ve missed you, you’re getting so big already. I had a pretty good day at training, met all your aunties too. They can’t wait to meet you, you’re going to be the most spoilt little girl out there. Now, mami is trying to sleep okay? She needs her energy so we can see if you’re being a good growing girl tomorrow hm? Can we put your striker skills to the side and let your beautiful mother sleep? That’s my girl. I love you, I can’t wait to meet you.” You kiss her belly softly, leaning over and kissing Ona too.

“For your information, she’s going to be a defender.”

“Please darling, she’s already showing signs of being a wonderful striker like me.”

[writtengalaxies]

{Questions anon} folklorist brain you say? (eyes-emoji-goes-here) lemme just slide this over. Vampire!reader with darkiplier, anti annnnd hmm murdock headcanons?

Questions anon. add-on for the vampire one. just to yeet some ideas cuz i realized i was kinda vague. like Do the boys help their beloved get blood? did they offer their own? if they did, did it go well with anti being well anti and darkiplier technically being dead? What sort of vampire is the reader and what challenges do the boys help their s/o with? (running water, sunlight, home turf, invited in.) does the reader use their vampire abilities to mess with the guys? Go feral plz

Mmm feral yeeees good >:3

SO FIRST AS A DISCLAIMER, I'm working mostly with the modern popular media concept of vampires, if only because do you know how many different kinds of vampires there around the world in folklore? And that's just counting the straight up vampire ones. We're not talking any of the fun funky ones that are technicalities, like the leanansidhe (a type of fae creature that targets artistic types by giving inspiration and then literally sucking out their life essence so they die young!) or ones like the VAMPIRE. GOURDS. WHERE IF YOU DON'T HARVEST YOUR VEGGIES AND FRUIT, THEY'LL TURN INTO VAMPIRES AND ROLL AROUND AND GROWL AT YOU DO YOU KNOW HOW FUNNY THAT IS. Or you know, touching on real life accounts and accusations of vampirism. (Yes, Elizabeth Báthory de Esced, but also the case of Mercy Brown in Rhode Island (which in turn was part of a larger pile of accused vampire cases in New England! And that was 1892! That's recent in terms of history!). Both of which are fascinating looks at the cultural responses to folklore!

(I...have had a single cup of coffee, so...pardon the rambling.)

But anyway, working with a little closer to pop media vampires, if only because it's the most consolidated, understood concept of them. I won't get into some of the finer nuances (like it's garlic flowers in some cases for vampire warding, while others say the bulbs proper, which in turn is just generally part of the "consume this to purge off and ward from evil spirits AKA sickness").

...This got away from me.

SO HERE WE GO.

Dark

Despite having basically stolen someone else's body, the influence over time means that the blood in it isn't...really....blood any more.

That said, he does offer, if nothing else, out of politeness. But it's like going to take a sip of chocolate milk, and discovering the chocolate is barbeque sauce. It's not pleasant.

He's not great at the whole concept of feeding, or the fact that vampires can be...attractive. Most of the media he was aware of (before the whole...events of everything) was Bram Stoker's Dracula and the 1922 film Nosferatu...the man's been too caught up in revenge to really follow media trends.

Still, he's an ooky spooky man who seems to be able to craft entire dimensions of darkness, and that helps. If you have a 24 hour personal night time filter, well...that's choice.

Mirrors...are a touchy spot to him, even if modern ones are aluminum backed and not silver backed (and really silver was the whole problem with mirrors before), so you don't really have them. Makes it harder to get ready in the mornings (evenings?), do skin care, stuff like that...but hey, the thought counts.

Anti

THIS GLITCH BITCH. He already possesses bodies. He's a demon, after all. It's so easy for him to get you a snack. He'll ask what in particular you're craving, go find someone.

It helps he likes how the biting feels. I'm not saying Anti's into biting but...........................he's into biting.

And if you want to have fun and not worry about invitations into places? He'll just body hop into someone who's staring into their phone and take care of that for you.

He kind of takes a little bit too much joy out of the terror and panic your dinners have sometimes.

Someone starts shit with you because they feel like you're encroaching on their territory? Good news, you have a demonic guard dog of a boyfriend. You never have to lift a hand to expand your turf.

Murdock

For someone who isn't a vampire, this man has too many goddamn experiences with this.

First off, he's going to invite you along to jobs. Sometimes he treats it like an art gallery, bringing you several of his choices of victims.

It...gets weirdly romantic and sexy? Murdock, blood, and the way he's bringing you choices, letting you taste like it's a wine tasting and he's a sommelier...

He's obsessed with watching you feed and feast. Sometimes it's almost too much, even for you.

However...when you confess you can't cross the nearby river because running water? He does research, figures out the specifics. You just need a bit of dirt from home to be able to conquer that? Easy. A bit of resin, a scoop of dirt, and a locket is all you need. 

Oh, and he gladly offers himself to you for feeding. He may be covered up most of the time, but that makes those times where he bares his throat to you as he tugs down his turtleneck, or pulls back the sleeves to expose his wrist all the more tempting. 

After all, he can't let the taste of anything less linger in your mouth for too long.

[rabbitcruiser]

McDonald’s Day 

McDonald’s Day takes place on the anniversary of the day in 1955 when Ray Kroc opened a McDonald’s in Des Plaines, Illinois. This was the first restaurant of his franchise, but the ninth McDonald’s restaurant overall. Kroc helped make McDonald’s the most known fast food restaurant in the world, but the story doesn’t start with him.

Brothers Richard and Maurice McDonald opened a barbeque restaurant in 1940 in San Bernardino, California. In 1948, they changed up their restaurant and introduced the “Speedee Service System.” Instead of having waiters bring food to tables, their restaurant had self-service counters. They used an assembly line format in the kitchen. Prepared food was wrapped and placed under heat lamps. They also simplified their menu to include only hamburgers, cheeseburgers, french fries, potato chips, sodas, milkshakes, and apple pies. All of these changes helped make food preparation and service quick and efficient, and kept their prices lower than competing diners. They sold their hamburgers for just 15 cents apiece.

Ray Kroc was a salesman who had sold malt and shake mixers to the McDonald brothers. He stopped at one of their locations in 1954 and convinced them to let him open a franchise for them, which he did on today’s date in 1955. At that time, Richard and Maurice McDonald claimed they had already served 15 million hamburgers over the previous seven years. In 1961, Kroc bought out of the McDonald brothers for 2.7 million dollars. By 1970 there were 1,000 McDonald’s restaurants, and by 1988 there were 10,000. By 2017 there were more than 37,000.

Over the years, McDonald’s has expanded to other countries, while also expanding their menu. They set up shop in Canada in 1967, and are now in over 120 countries. Their menu is often reflective of local tastes. For example, poutine is on the menu in Canada, and the McLobster sandwich is sometimes available in the New England area. Hamburgers and fries have remained a staple at McDonald’s, but there are many other foods that can be found at most McDonald’s as well. The Filet-O-Fish was created by a Cincinnati franchise owner in 1962 so that Catholic customers had something to eat during Lent. The Big Mac was created by a Pittsburgh franchise owner who wanted a sandwich geared for adults. He used ingredients that were already available at the restaurant. It debuted nationwide in 1968. The Egg McMuffin debuted in 1973, and Chicken McNuggets came out across the country in 1983.

Ronald McDonald has been the face of the restaurant since 1963, and for a time other characters of McDonaldland, such as Grimace and the Hamburglar, were part of the company’s marketing strategy as well. Happy Meals were introduced in 1979, in which a toy is included with a child’s meal. Yellow arches adorned the rooftops of early locations, but “M’s” started appearing outside of the restaurant in 1962, and have since been its most popular symbol.

McDonald’s has been criticized for its role in spreading obesity, although in recent years it began adding healthy items and getting rid of trans fats. It also discontinued its “supersized” portions offering. The company has also been criticized for paying its workers low wages. On the other hand, the company has been praised for its charitable work. The Ronald McDonald House was founded in 1974. It gives families of children in hospitals a place to stay. Today there are more than 360 Ronald McDonald Houses. The Ronald McDonald House Charities was founded in 1987 and has been involved in various charitable efforts that are focused on children.

How to Observe

Celebrate the day by eating at a McDonald’s! You could visit the spot where Ray Kroc opened his first McDonald’s in 1955. The restaurant was demolished in the 1980s and rebuilt as a museum. Sadly, the museum has since been demolished as well. There is a McDonald’s across the street you could eat at though! The first restaurant the McDonald’s brothers had, located in San Bernardino, has long since been closed. You could still visit the location, though, as there is a museum there, and part of the original McDonald’s sign remains. The oldest McDonald’s still in operation has been serving burgers since 1953 and can be visited in Downey, California. You could also watch Super Size Me, or The Founder, a biopic about Ray Kroc.

Source

[questioned-quetzalcoatl]

30 Days of OTP - Day 12, Making out

Rating: K

Verse: Canon

AN: Making out is really awkward to write so if this is bad then I'm sorry qwq

I wanted this to be Christmas themed (even though it's October right now). Basically the story is just New Zealand and Tonga resolving their sexual tension in a closet at Arthur's Christmas party. It was supposed to be just a Mistletoe kiss but then James decided to be a horny git again.

James was a lot more reluctant this year. The New Zealander preferred to spend his Christmases in the summer heat, cooking on the barbeque on the beach under a blooming pōhutukawa tree. Spending it in the watery snowy streets of England was not his ideal type of a fun Christmas, above all, he despised the cold and Arthur.

Stood outside the door, Kainga turned to James to fix up his scarf. Only to he met with a bright red stuffy nose and a frown that told him 'I don't want to be here'. Not to mention he was dressed like a homeless person who'd just been dragged through a sewer. "For godsakes James, it's a Christmas party and your dress like a tramp. Can you not be formal for one night?"

"If I'm the Tramp does that make you me lady?~" James replied with a smirk.

"At least I have the decency to dress properly. You can be warm and fashionable you know. Not dressed like a bloody vagrant hobo."

"I always dress like a vagrant hobo darlin."

Kainga jerked his hand when tightening James's scarf, not so much to choke him but enough to give him a good gag for his own entertainment. Soon making up for it by a kiss on his nose that Jack Frost had not only nipped on, but taken a full bite of. Someone could mistake him for Rudolph out here with how red nosed and sanguine cheeked he was. Stick a pair of antlers on him and no one would be able tell the difference.

"Whatever, let's just go inside. We're already late because you spilt coffee all over yourself before he got here."

"It was really hot!" James protested with a whine, Kainga just rolled his eyes and took his hand with his gloved one, dragging the Kiwi inside before he could say anything more.

Kainga stares at his friends with content and amused eyes from where he stood, taking small sips from the Coquito that Francis had made as he watches the small but lively party that he and his friends had created for the night of Christmas Eve as Christmas music resounds inside the room where the party was being held. James had disappeared into the crowds to get more alcohol laced Christmas Eggnog, leaving Kainga unknowingly under the mistletoe to drink his Coquito in his oversized Christmas sweater.

A quick but sharp pinch on the back of his neck made him jump and turn around quickly, giving his smirking New Zealander an irritated glance.

“Seriously? What are we? Four?”

He's not surprised to find James's grip around a handle of a jug full of Eggnog, a red Santa hat draped over his head with the white cotton ball tip hitting his face every time he hiccupped. James just contorted his face into a half drunken grin. "Maybe! But it got yer attention!"

Kainga gave him a grimaced huff, crossing his arms against his chest. "Yeah, it did. How on earth can you even stomach that thing? It's revolting!"

"I think it tastes good! Not as good as yer taste~" James pulled him in with a arm wrapped around his waist. Making Kainga gasp and rest his hands on his chest.

"Please do not compare me to a glass of Eggnog-" Kainga stood up on his tippy toes, placing a kiss on his hairy stubble. James's crocodile grin only spreading across his face. "And I'm not kissing your mouth with you drinking that shit."

"We're under the Mistletoe darlin', yer can't not kiss me now~" he pointed up to the hanging Mistletoe over the pair. Verdant green leaves wrapped in a crimson bow that dazzled under the golden light away from the party. Over their heads, hung a single mistletoe; a simple, little plant that was now causing Kainga's stomach to turn itself into knots. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t even know that mistletoes were being placed inside the party.

As Kainga’s thoughts begin to spiral, he took a chance to look at James, who had been looking at the mistletoe with a contemplating expression on his face before turning away to stare at him with a grin. The sense of dread that Kainga was feeling before was replaced with wariness as James gave him a leer, a devious look in his eyes as he turns fully towards him. The Eggnog James was holding is soon placed to the side before both hands find themselves on Kainga's waist.

"James-"

"Oh c'mon love," James coons at him. "Give us a kiss~"

Kainga was speechless, trying to stammer out protests like he didn't want this. James knew all too well that he did. With James's hands exploring other places, he really couldn't help himself. He grabbed onto James's scarf pulling the bigger man down to meet his lips while straining his height on his tippy toes. James hunched over to meet him in the middle; now that he was expecting it. Kainga let himself feel the rough texture of James’s lips and the heat of his breath, that tasted awfully of brandy and eggnog in equal measure.

Kainga broke away for just a second, regaining his breath back with the faint drift of James's name on his lips. His sudden change of tone catches James off guard when the smaller Tongan grabs his arm and starts to drag him up the stairs.

"Kai-?!"

It was all he could manage out when Kainga pulled him up the stairs and into a closet. He hardly ever gets this reaction from the other, when he takes charge in their relationship. James has a very secretive enjoyment for it.

It’s cramped in the closet, the roof too low for the other or at least Kainga assumes because James is leaning over him, knowing it wasn’t wide enough because they’re not only pressed against the opposing walls but also each other, legs between each other’s and he can’t help but swallow every time the other seems to get closer. Against the rows of hung up clothes on their coat hangers, James pressed him up against the back wall. Their mouths intertwined, he allowed himself to feel out every part of James he was willing to give and he gave just as much of himself in return. This was more than just a kiss, it was fiery and passionate. Ones they hardly ever got to experience without the additional aid of the alcohol in their system.

Hand's trailing up James's body as items of thick clothing were removed from the other, whispers glide through Kainga's ears between hasty breaths that never draw out for less that a second. Kainga's breath hitching a little under the New Zealander's remarks that drove him to his breaking point, the bastard knew how fragile he was. He felt like a tea cup in James's sturdy hands that gripped and groped down his body as they kissed. It doesn’t matter how many times they have kissed, Kainga feels like he’s being kissed for the first time; butterflies fluttering inside his stomach, a subtle tremble in his knees that would make him hold on to James with all but desperate need.

Unfortunately James is a bit of a horny git. He can't just make out with Kainga without wanting to get into his pants for hot sex in Arthur's closet to end the night with. The brandy leaving a buzz of excitement in his brain, only being sparked further by the half naked Tongan below him. Somehow they'd both ended on the floor of the closet, James still pushed up against him leaving hardly any breathing space between them. It must have been pouting because James chuckles lowly—and with how close they’re pressed together, he could feel the vibration of the gentle laugh against his own chest, making him smile.

"James we're in a fucking closet." Kainga finally strings together a sentence when James takes interest in kissing his neck and undressing him further. His long thin arms wrapping tightly around James's strong board shoulders, like a weak feather resting on a strong rock. Still he lifts his neck up to allow James to kiss up his neck, giving the odd bite or so only to be met with the Tongan poking the back of his head when he does so.

"So?" James asked, finally lifting his head to meet the Tongan's pink flustered face. Only visible in the weak amber light that shone through the rows of clothes, he found it adorable.

"I'm not letting you have sex with me in a closet-" he hissed weakly, but the smirk across James's face indicated he had other ideas.

They'd just started kissing again when there was a sudden bang of a door swinging open from behind them, then a blinding light as the clothes were drawn to each side with such force that it made them screech along the rusty metal bars. There was the astonished yet outraged face of Arthur Kirkland, who proceeded to shout at the both of them as such actions are not performed by coat hangers.

[tergridguy]

Cigar of the Day: Davidoff Aniversario Entreacto

This blog is mostly going to be about tabletop gaming and mental health issues, but I can't help but also talk about another one of my passions which I have no other outlet to write about; cigars, pipes, and other premium connoisseur-grade tobacco products. This might seem to be out of place in a blog dedicated to gaming and recovery, but more than just gaming, this blog and a lot of my work ultimately revolves around how we can use hobbyism in general and embrace our own passions and personal interests to aid in our recovery and sustain our wellness. Cigars fit into that picture for me.

I was a very heavy drinker for a long time, and although I spent many a night polishing off a pint of Fireball or Sailor Jerry, I was also a connoisseur-- that was something I often used as a smokescreen to justify my drinking in public, but it was also sincere to a certain extent. I knew everything there was to know about premium dark rums and new england IPA's, I knew how to handicap a 20 year old bottle of port, and I had strong opinions about various liqueurs and cocktails. When I stopped drinking, I missed that, and I wanted something I could do when hanging out with my guy friends, some of whom drink, and some who don't. Cigars have come to fill that gap for me. I can indulge in a cigar at a bachelor party or backyard barbeque when others are knocking back beers, and I can nerd out about the pedigree of my collection and the stories behind the great cigar makers and pipe carvers. Cigars also allow me to indulge in something which permeates a lot of my passions; collecting. That's something I was never able to do with alcohol due to the severity of my dependence. I may have known all about 25 different premium rums that I favored, but I could never keep a bottle of any of them around long enough to grace a stately home bar.

Today I'm going to talk about one of my favorite cigars, the Davidoff Aniversario Entreacto. This is a premium offering, as with all Davidoff flagship products, and although just about any cigar that isn't a Philly Blunt or a Dutch Masters labels itself 'Premium' in the same way that every corner liquor store says "Fine" wines on the sign, Zino Davidoff means it. At a diminutive 3.5" and a 43 ring gauge, this pocket rocket is about as long and wide as my middle finger. A highly unusual size, the only other cigar on the market that comes close outside of Davidoff would be the Arturo Fuente Hemingway Short Story, which is a different beast entirely.

The Aniversario comes in a range of sizes, and all of them are superb, but the Entreacto has a special place in my heart and part of the reason I like it is the unique size, which is why I will focus on the Entreacto specifically for this profile-- however, my commentary on the flavor notes and smoking experience can be extrapolated to apply for the most part to other Aniversarios, particularly my other favorite, the Short Perfecto, which is only slightly bigger and mostly differentiated by the difference in shape which leads to a more gradual crescendo. The Entreacto's compact size and relative brevity make it a convenient inclusion on an elegant evening, providing a rapturous interlude to any formal affair without sidelining you for an hour or more when there are festivities to attend to. It's also the perfect duration for an indulgent morning dog walk, which is something I look for.

I have this stick on my mind because I ordered 2 boxes today to lay down in my humidor for about ~15 months in advance of my wedding in August 2025. That set me back $516, which might give the layman a little sticker shock, but it has to be taken in context. $258 for a box of not 20, but 25 main line Davidoff cigars is an unbelievable bargain. The Entreacto was the first Davidoff I ever smoked, because the licensed Davidoff dealer in Boston, L.J. Peretti and Son, which is a favorite haunt of mine when I find myself with extra time on my hands downtown, sells singles for around ~$20, whereas most of the full-size Davidoff offerings go for $50 a stick or more. Oh yeah, by the way, you won't find these at Watch City cigar or just any old smoke shop, you need a special license from Davidoff to even carry them because Zino Davidoff takes the integrity of his flagship band so seriously he won't allow for the possibility that a store owner might not store or care for his namesake product properly, which could result in a substandard experience for the consumer, a blasphemy which must never be allowed to occur.

Last week my work took me downtown as it often does, and with a window of opportunity between appointments I decided to swing by Peretti's and pick up a few treats. I always tell myself I'm going to try something new this time, but I find myself at the Davidoff cabinet every time I come through. How can I buy anything else when perfection itself is on offer? Any time I walk out of there without an Aniversario I come to regret it, so I grabbed a few Entreacto's along with a few Davidoff Nicaragua Petit Coronas, an entrancing limited edition Figurado from La Flor Dominicana, and an ounce each of strawberry patch and No. 8 slices for my pipes. I decided this time, I wasn't going to try to save them. I always try to save these for special occasions, but it just hurts to reach into my humidor and grab anything else when an Aniversario is sitting there taunting me. It ruins the experience of every other stick I smoke when I'm wishing it was this.

As I have indulged in these over the weekend, I realized this is what I have to have for my wedding. I always knew I wanted the Aniversario on offer, but I imagined I would put out a more conventional size until I realized that the brevity of the Entreacto lends itself to a wedding reception, where many of the guests won't be regular cigar smokers, and celebratory cigar smoking can take place without sidelining the smokers from the rest of the party for over an hour. Davidoff lists the smoking time of the Entreacto as 20 minutes, but in my experience it can linger for about 25-30, especially if you smoke it down to a nub, which it's hard not to do. Furthermore, the aesthetic of the Davidoff white label series, of which the Aniversario is a distinguished member, with the understated white double band and unpretentious Davidoff insignia, seems, and probably is, thoughtfully designed to serve as a matching accessory to a tuxedo or dinner jacket.

The Aniversario also lends itself to an event like a wedding because it is a relatively mild cigar. Typically I don't tend to skew towards more mild offerings, but the Aniversario is a notable exception. Nothing about this cigar leaves me wanting, it is mild without being bland or flat and possesses a distinct and sophisticated aroma and flavor profile. The distinct experience of the Aniversario for me is the strident dryness and pleasant astringency that defines it. It manages to have bite and complexity without being brutal or pungent. It is the elegance it embodies, proving through its existence the distinction between quality and potency.

The other thing to make note of, for those who aren't familiar with the Davidoff line, is the exceptionally high standard of quality control to which every Davidoff cigar is held. When you buy a Davidoff cigar, you know without any reservation that everything about that cigar will be perfect, not one single stick will leave their factory being anything other than exactly as Zino Davidoff intended. Every one will have impeccable and uniform construction, perfectly fitted bands, every cigar in a box will have an absolutely uniform coloration and wrapper texture. You may be paying, at baseline, at least double what you would pay for almost anything else, but for that extra investment you get the peace of mind that every stick is guaranteed to be of the utmost quality. When an occasion calls for perfection, for unquestioning quality, look no further.

Even the renowned Cuban flagship Cohiba is known to have quality control issues at times, with some cigars being deficient and many collectors know that the Cuban labels cannot be trusted to properly age their offerings, as the cash-starved Cuban government puts pressure on producers to push product out before it is fully mature to provide capital to the state. If I buy a box of Cohibas today (which of course I would never do; that's illegal!) I can't even be certain those will be suitably aged by the time my wedding rolls around. I have no such compunctions with Davidoff. I know that if their product is available for purchase, that means that is a cigar Zino Davidoff stands behind from that moment on. That man hasn't let me down yet.

[zooterchet]

The Story of Salvatore "Lucky Charlie" Luciano

Lucky Luciano, was a Canada Department police officer, his family Arab and Italian (Sicilian), entrusted as a prison minister's office in Canada to deported French and English, for the crime of refusing to masturbate and stealing semen, then suing, instead of visiting a sperm donor's bank in London for their wife, the end of gay rights and the groundlings in England.

He was charged with one of many assignments, for the United States government, under Calvin Coolidge. The FBI was being formed, an international counter terror and mercenary hire service, assisted by the nascent imperial power that was America, to replace the declining Comstock undercover services, the Sicilian Union, before it was replaced by the Mossad, the Sicilian Mob, in the 1940s.

Lucky, was in charge of comic books and media, DC Comics.

He went to Chicago, New York, Boston, Providence, and Newark, out of the Hague, "Attleboro Carpet", a shell company he set up to install carpet for casinos out of Atlantic City, the booking real estate investment for the Episcopalians, fake Catholics that practiced Sura Buddhism, an element of Buddhism called Sangrinism, which is not Buddhism, the first stage element of Catholic martial civil defense force training, Vatican logic; the Sacraments.

There were dozens of badges, working for Calvin Coolidge, during Prohibition, that Coolidge had set up, to destroy Warren G. Harding, for inventing the German police unions for prisons and deportations, centuries prior. Harding, had been deported by Ben Franklin, for treason, to Egypt, and had returned, an Evangelist, a prison czar. Coolidge hated him, and the FBI project, for using deported families, for mob hires, the bearer bonds unit, from the Dales, a Boston family of spies and diamond hedges, a diamond broker theorist that disrupts a diamond trade when cops are abused, the children of soldiers.

Lucky, had to kill a shitload of cops. But now, you have DC Comics.

The family survived, by taking the Arabic term for "bad luck", sawa al-hadh, in cursive resembling "Charlebois", a male stripper, and in Italian, "disgratzia"; Arabic, being the language of disadvantage in the courts, but bad luck, making only bad luck impossible in courts, disabling the last name from speaking Arabic, only Urdu, the language of the courts.

We survive today, as the Bridgewater Triangle Charlebois family, the Stewards of COINTELPRO, merged with the Bombardiers, the Arab pilot drug runners, and the Booths, the Scottish banker pornographers. The FBI, the Canadian logging industry, and the Narcotics Bureau, are merged with us, for COIN. The alliance with the O'Neills, Prince Philip's line of England, U'Niall of the Nine Hostages, the Sharif Tongue, the barbeque man, through the Garfields, the Hague's founder (the South Shore of Massachusetts), opened up endless opportunities, for political assassination, of those opposing the national cause of abolition of contract slavery, under Boudica, Hannibal, and David's mutual creation, per line being the same, of the contract holder of labor, being flipped into the slave, by stealing a shell company and creating a new liberty organization.

America was founded on slavery, but so was Rome.

The problem is, that the Germans, disrupt the entire system, of both America, and Rome, by assuming a slave, works for free, and then dies; not freedom, at test of contribution, a guarantee for labor. Germans, are Arab blooded, they're Muslims, without the proper religious system, ejaculating with urine, instead of semen, therefore capable of breeding. It's not Vatican, or Sangrinism, it's Socialism.

The Vatican, is the concept of support of police unions, by feeding the families of the tax burden's protectors. Sangrinism, is the concept of the sacrifice of a life, through accident of family bigotry, to the care of those disabled. But Socialism, is the concept of government, providing protection of finance, instead of the people.

[kenovele]

Bogs Blog 26

21st May 2023

The half year of full on building and our new social life has been wearing me down and I feel like I am currently in the constant state of tiredness. I am definitely looking forward to having the house done and some time to relax and settle into a more chill groove of life where our weekends are not dictated by lists and running around trying to get things done. Although this week as been a especially busy one, with Jamies big birthday party last weekend, then our few days in Te Aroha, followed by Jamies actual birthday dinner on Thursday night. It has been rather full on.

A few stand out moments from the week.

Chips in New Zealand. On Monday night, Benoit and I went to the pub in Te Aroha for dinner. We went at 5.30pm, so very early, and the place was packed. We went early because we were hungry and decided to have an early dinner and then make the most of our motel with the big tv and spend our evening watching tv in bed. I know. What luxury! So we went to the pub and were surprised to see that at 5.30pm all the tables were either full or had reserve signs on them, it was rather shocking to be honest and we were surprised that the English culture that we experienced when we were traveling the Uk has also made it to New Zealand. Apparently the closer you are to the equator the later you eat and the further away, the earlier you eat. In Spain in summertime, you can go to a restaurant at 9.30pm and still be welcomed for dinner service, whereas in England, in summer, at 9.30pm, well you would be pushing it to find a restaurant open that late. And apparently it is the same for rural New Zealand. So we arrived to a very full pub, but we were set a table in the back and still managed to order our favourite burger and chips for our dinner. So back to the point, chips. Although, yes, Belgium is known for its impressive quantity of friteries, the quality of the chips has been known to vary. I think the most impressive thing for me with the Belgium fries is the choice of sauces that you can have with your chips. There is no argument or even competition there, Belgium wins hands down when it comes to choice of sauces. However, the competition for the most reliable and steady quality of chip is much closer. Belgium I found had rather variable quality, some places were incredible, other left you wondering when they last cleaned out the deep frier. However, both Benoit and I have noted that New Zealanders can really cook a good chip. Whether it be at your local pub, a fancy restaurant or a local fish and chippy – the chips are good. And there are options, you can have thin cut, thick cut, the fancy curly fries, the good old potato wedge or even the sort after kumera chip. The options for chips are vast and the quality has yet to let us down. No soggy or over fatty chip yet. We are happy. And for a Belgian moving across the world, at least he has moved to country that also knows how to appreciate the value of a good potato. So despite having to eat your hot chips before most Belgians have even started their apero, it is well worth getting in early.

Another highlight was Jamies birthday. His 25th. A big milestone and a stepping stone birthday for him as it marks the near beginning of his world wide trip around New Zealand. He came home late, so at least that gave us time to get everything ready for the big night. He was spoilt with presents and messages of love which he deeply appreciated. We gave him some accessories for his barbeque and a good transportable speaker, a UE megaboom, so there will never be a dull moment of silence if he doesn’t want it on his van trip. He was so happy with his presents so I was happy as I love giving them. And the family could not stop raving about our pisco sour. There were many questions on what is pisco, how do you pronounce it, did paul make up this cocktail by himself, how did you buy the pisco, but all the questions died away while the delicious cocktail was being slurped up. As per the tradition we made large quantities and everyone got served a big glass complete with a metal straw. Fancy. We used my smeg juicer for all the limes and I was finally able to appreciate the importance of this present. For the juice of 20 limes would not have been easy to do by hand. After the success of the pisco, I think we are going to have to make it our traditional tiny house cocktail, so with a nod to our Belgium family, I shall now go and put in a standing order with the local pisco supplier (of which there are only a few in New Zealand).

Tiny house! Yay we have officially finished. Well as close as you can get to properly finishing. We have tiles, water and gas. So I guess that is really all you need to make it liveable, like properly livable. Of course we still have things to finalise like our grey water system and our vege garden and the final decorating touches, but all those will come with good time and for now, we are happy to say we are done. The big expenses are finished and the smaller details and design touches will evolve as we move in. I think that the final layout and design will slowly evolve as we get used to living there. But after our mammoth effort tiling on Saturday and on Sunday we went on a big road trip to pick up a beautiful native timber Kauri dresser. I want to refurbish it a little, but it is part of those little details thing. So for the most part, I am happy to announce the completion of Le Moulin Henry and extend the invitation to anyone who wants to come and visit!

Until next time - Love Kate xxx

[skbeaumont]

Texas Heat | Joel x Reader Series

Chapter 3 - Coffee and Confessions

Series masterlist

Chapter Summary: You get a job at a coffee shop. It just happens to be across the street from where Joel's working a construction job. Later, things heat up when Joel drops round to pick up Sarah. Rating: Teen (for now) Tags/warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU! no outbreak, porn with plot, a lot of sexual tension in this chapter. Word Count: 2.8k

Taglist: @mysterialee @amyispxnk

You wake late the next morning, head filled with half-remembered dreams about warm arms and a solid, broad chest. The mid-morning sun is already streaming through the bedroom curtains, and you can hear Connie downstairs, pots and pans clashing together as she finishes making breakfast.

You’re halfway down the stairs when she appears at the bottom, clutching a torn-out sheet of note paper which she holds out to you.

“I know you mentioned you’d like to get a part time job,” she says as you reach the bottom step, “so I called around a few places. There’s a coffee shop in town who are looking for new staff. This is the number, if you’re interested.”

She hands you the paper and beckons you into the kitchen, where there are fresh eggs and toast and a stack of steaming hot pancakes. You load up your plate with food and slide onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. Connie whistles as she starts washing the dishes. You’re halfway through your breakfast when she turns back to you and wags a finger as though she’s just remembered something.

“The Cuthberts are having a barbeque this weekend, for the neighbourhood,” she says, “they live a few houses down. You’re invited, of course.”

“Sounds good,” You say, immediately wondering if Joel will be there.

“They’ve got a pool, so make sure you’ve got some swimwear.” Connie adds, and, like a teenager with a crush, you can’t help the blush that settles in your cheeks at the thought of Joel in swimwear, wet hair swept back off his forehead and curling at his ears.

Trying to distract yourself, you examine the number for the café Connie gave you. The job sounds good, so when you’ve finished your breakfast, you pull out your phone and call them.

*****

Three hours later and you’re hopping off a bus in Cedar Park, trying to remember the directions Connie gave you. You find your way, eventually; the coffee shop is a couple of blocks from the bus stop. It’s a pretty nice area, sun-bleached grass lining the wide streets made up of modern shops and restaurants opposite a community college. Inside, welcomed by the dark wood floor and familiar smell of coffee, you feel instantly at home; you’ve done barista work before back in England, in between classes and during the summer.

“Aha,” a woman behind the counter says as you introduce yourself, “fresh meat.”

She’s attractive; mid-forties, maybe, with thick blonde hair tied up in a spotless bun and a pristinely made-up face. A badge on her polo shirt tells you she’s Gina, the manager. She hands you an apron and tells you to make her a coffee. A younger girl – probably twenty, twenty-one, with a name badge that says ‘Diana’ in bubble writing – gives you a grin and offers to help.

And so the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of grinding and brewing and steaming. The café is busy throughout the day thanks to its prime position opposite the community college. You get to meet an array of students and professors, and although you feel a pang of envy as you watch younger, fresh-faced students settle themselves at tables to sit and write papers, you enjoy the routine and hum of the barista work.

You’re just finishing up when the bell above the door tinkles. Gina’s voice immediately greets the newcomer, and you almost splutter at the sudden enthusiasm lacing every one of her words, the slightly over-the-top, sickly sweet quality that has entered her previously no-nonsense tone. Curious about who is causing your new manager to turn into a simpering dolt, you look up.

It’s Joel, of course.

Joel, in his toolbelt and faded jeans and tight t-shirt. His hair is slicked back with sweat, and there are flecks of plaster on his tanned skin and splatted down his toned arms. Your heart stutters – actually stutters – as though this is a cheap cheesy romcom and he’s the romantic lead. Gina’s batting her eyelashes at him and he’s grinning lopsidedly at her, all southern charm and polite gentleman. Diana shoots you a look from where she’s cleaning tables in the corner, grinning.

Joel doesn’t see you immediately – you’re mostly hidden from his view by the coffee machine you’d been cleaning when he came in – but jealously rises up in your chest when he laughs at something Gina says, at the way he leans against the counter to talk to her, knee popped out, one hand resting on the top of his toolbelt. It’s maddeningly attractive – he’s maddeningly attractive – and you think of how he looked standing so close to you yesterday, the way the heat of his body rolled off him and his scent: wood chippings and soap and something uniquely him.

Finally, Gina stops flirting for long enough to take his order, and his eyes flick up as she passes the receipt with the coffee order to you (americano, no cream). You step out from behind the machine, smiling at him politely, and he does something of a double take.

“Hey.” You say as you crank ground coffee into the filter basket.

“Hi.” He gives you a smile – warmer than the one he offered Gina, you think smugly – and asks, “what’re you doin’ here?”

You point at the apron you’re wearing, at the handwritten name tag, “As of about three hours ago, I work here.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

It’s almost criminal how he can make such a simple, inoffensive question sound so intimate, so flirtatious.

“It picked up significantly in the last few minutes,” You say, holding his warm gaze and biting the side of your mouth to suppress a grin.

He flushes a little, caught off guard, and you push on, not wanting to leave the sentence hanging awkwardly between you, aware of Gina’s presence a few feet away, “How about you? What brings you to this side of town?”

He points vaguely behind him to where the community college is, “’m working on a project across the road at the moment. Big expansion.”

You try to eke out making the coffee for as long as you can, taking care to clean the filter after each shot fills the cup, keeping your eyes on Joel as he explains about the job. He’s easy to talk to. He asks how you’re finding the job, if you’ve done barista work before, and when you answer he really listens, leans in and keeps his eyes right on yours, like you’re the only person in the world who’s interesting. It’s dizzying and electrifying. The fact that Gina is hovering in the background – clearly keen to butt in and join the conversation but not getting a chance as Joel asks you question after question – makes it all the more intoxicating.

After several minutes you push the finished coffee across the counter to him. He wraps a hand around it, his thick fingers and large palm making the cup look tiny.

“Thanks, darlin’” He says, raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip. “I’d better head back, but I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” You say, then, remembering, ask, “oh – are you going to the Cuthbert’s barbeque this weekend?”

“S’long as I can get this plastering finished by Friday.” He replies, and then he’s taking long strides away from you, pushing the door open and stepping through it.

Immediately, Gina is all over you.

“You know him?” She asks, sidling up to you and leaning on the counter conspiratorially.

“He lives next door,” You explain, wiping down the coffee machine absentmindedly, still watching Joel’s broad back as he jogs across the road back towards the college.

“You lucky thing!” Gina exclaims. “He’s been coming in regularly the last couple of weeks, but I’ve never managed to get his name. Or his number.” She gives you an over-the-top wink with this last and you force a polite smile, wiping the milk steamer perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“Can we agree,” Diana says later that evening, as you both wind your way to the bus stop from the café, “that Gina is gagging for it.”

You laugh and Diana bumps against your shoulder, her own laugh high and clear against the hum of the traffic. It feels nice to be hanging out with someone who’s not related to you or thirteen years old or the object of an intense crush. And Diana is quick to laugh and easy to talk to. Her company makes the homesickness for your friends dull a little.

“No but seriously,” she says as you reach the bus stop, “I’m gay and even I can tell that Joel guy is hot. You sleeping with him?”

“What? No.” A pause as Diana raises a single eyebrow at you, and then you add, “I mean, I want to, but I haven’t. As of yet.”

This sends you both into another round of giggles as you flop down onto a bench.

“You think he’s into you too?” Diana asks when you’ve got your breath back.

“I think so, but it’s hard to tell. A couple of times I’ve thought he’s flirting with me, but then I’ll say something back or he realises what’s happening and it’s like he… panics.”

You tell her about last night, about how he looked at you in the half-light of the living room doorway, about the way he suddenly backed off but then sent a text asking you to come back again next week.

Diana shrugs, “Maybe he’s just shy?” “Yeah, maybe.” You let your gaze drift to the row of shops opposite the bus stop, think about Joel’s face earlier when you told him he’d made your day better, about the blush that coloured his tanned face.

“You know what you’ve got to do, right?” Diana says then, her blue hair almost purple in the fading sunlight.

You roll your eyes, grin, ask, “What?”

“Well, if he turns up at this barbeque you mentioned in the café, you’re gonna have to flirt your ass off.”

“Oh, God.”

Diana cackles as the bus pulls up, and you bury your face in your hands.

*****

Joel works late the next two nights. You know because Sarah comes round both evenings and leaves only when his work truck pulls up onto their drive, at gone nine both Thursday and Friday. You help her out with maths homework, show her how to do differential equations without having to resort to tears, which proves popular.

“Usually,” she declares on Friday, as you sit at the kitchen bench while Danny feeds Nana in the lounge and Connie takes the trash out, “it’s very boring here. But since you came, it’s about a million times better. Even with the math.”

“Especially with the maths.” You reply, grinning, and she rolls her eyes.

Connie bustles back into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I think your daddy’s home, Sarah.” She says as she comes in.

There’s a tap on the front door as she says it. You rise from the bench, brush cookie crumbs from your jeans and make your way down the hall. The silhouette framed by the glass of the door is broad and tall, and your stomach does a strange little jolt as you step towards it.

Joel’s face is drawn when you open the door, the bags under his eyes accentuated by the porch lights, the lines on his tanned forehead deep. He’s in his work clothes, as usual. The tool belt is off, though, which is strangely a disappointment.

“Hey,” you say grinning, and he smiles back, his tired eyes creasing at the corners.

“Hi, darlin’. Is my kid here, by any chance?”

“She is indeed. She’s just packing up her things.”

He nods, and you take in the sag in his shoulders, the yawn that suddenly stretches his mouth.

“You’re working too hard.” You say, and he chuckles.

“Been tryna finish this plastering, because someone wants me to go to a barbeque.” He quips, grinning, and you feel yourself blushing.

“Did you finish it?”

He holds his hands out to his sides, lets you take in the beige splodges that cover his jeans, the dust that coats his t-shirt, the caked soles of his large work boots.

“Reckon most of it’s on me, but there’s enough on the walls to do the job too.”

“I assume you’ll be wearing this outfit tomorrow, too?” You say, laughing as he tries and fails to brush off a particularly well-dried patch of plaster from the leg of his jeans.

“Oh, ‘course.”

Sarah appears at your side, Connie behind her. She tucks an arm around your waist and you slip yours over her shoulder.

“We did differential equations.” She says proudly, and Joel smiles at her.

“Might as well have done Greek for all that means to me, baby girl.” He says, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“Oh, your lawn mower’s in the garage, Joel.” Connie says, as Sarah hops out of the front door and starts down the porch steps. “I wouldn’t ask you to move it now, only Danny wants the space for the beer cooler for tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Joel says, “I’ll get it. Sarah, go on home and open the garage up.” He tosses her a bunch of keys.

“I can open up our garage,” You offer, taking the keys from Connie as she scrabbles to change her slippers, gripping the door handle and wobbling precariously.

“Thank you, dear.” She says, sighing and straightening up.

Outside, you press the key into the garage door and let it swing open. Joel stands by, grabs the top of the door as it swings open, lets it gently rise the last couple of inches. The movement pulls the top of his shirt up, revealing his stomach, the dark hairs the trace a path down below the waistband of his jeans. You swallow, avert your eyes a few seconds too late, straight up into his face. He’s smiling cockily, hand still up on the open garage door.

“Concentrate, darlin’,” He says, and the Southern drawl of it goes straight to you core, has you pressing your thighs together, heat building in your belly.

“I think the mower is just over- ugh, what the fuck!” You bat at the cobweb that you’ve just walked straight into, spluttering and clawing at it, dragging it off of your face.

Joel lurches forward in a split second, panicked by your outburst, then, realising what’s happened, falls back and starts laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” You say, pulling long silky threads from your face. “It’s all over me!”

“Here,” Joel steps toward you again, raises a hand, brushes a single fingertip over your forehead, pulling one of the web’s tendrils away from your skin.

“Thanks,” You say, suddenly stilling, letting your own hands fall, leaning into his touch.

“There’s some in your hair.”

“Can you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

He reaches up, threads a hand into the front of you hair and combs through it. He’s so gentle it almost makes you whimper, his fingertips just brushing your scalp, side of his thumb barely tracing the side of your jaw, down to your neck. You feel goosebumps erupt in the wake of his hand. He’s looking at you – at your hair, his eyes wide and serious, mouth slightly open. You watch his arm, watch the muscles shift in his bicep as he moves his hand back through your hair, pulling the last of the cobweb out. He slows as he reaches the ends, lets his little finger glide almost imperceptibly under your chin, lifting your face delicately so that you’re looking right at him.

His pupils are blown wide in the dim light of the garage, that same look on his face as he had in the doorway of the lounge a few nights ago. He moves his hand from your face, hesitates, closes it into a fist by your shoulder and then sighs, a resigned, drawn out sigh. Before you can speak he’s pushing his hand back into your hair, caressing your jaw, drawing your face up, towards his lips, which are parted slightly, plump and beautiful. You’re inches from him, your breath mingling, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he leans down to meet you in the middle.

“Dad?”

You spring apart at the sudden sound of Sarah’s voice. You’re both flustered; Joel’s cheeks are ruddy and you can feel your own burning scarlet.

“Coming, we’re coming.” He says, turning from you to Sarah, who steps round the driveway into the entrance of the garage.

Joel steps past you to the mower, lifts it up easily in one arm and carries it back towards his daughter. He turns as he reaches her, looks you up and down in a way that makes you suddenly hot all over, his eyes sparkling with something deliciously dark.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.” He says, and then he’s gone again, and you’re left alone with a thumping heart and a deep, unsatiated hunger.

[pick-em-pool]

WEEK 5

The madness doesn't stop people! 💣💥🤯 five weeks in and folks are still flying up and down the rankings like Juliette flies up and down the pool 🥽 One thing is for certain this season: no one is safe 😨 so if you want your share of the $350 prize pool, it's time to shoot for the moon, and if you miss you will land among the stars might end up in last like Abby, so don't get crazy 🤨

PEYTON - 12 POINTS

It was a VERY strong week for a lot of people, and Peyton was no exception, pulling off the highest point total of the season. In addition, he mercilessly knocked Juliette out of the top spot 😳 Here is a football reenactment of Peyton's flying kick to Juliette's face 👟👟

JJ - 12 POINTS

Do my eyes deceive me, or has the legendary, Stanley Cup winning, guitar playing, golf ball slicing Jean Jacques Francais Escargo Baguette Daigneault reeled off TWELE POINTS THIS WEEK 🔥🔥🔥 He absolutely REFUSES to get last place this season, mercilessly tossing Daigneault home-team favorite Pittsburgh under the bus in favor of Buffalo 🚌🚌🚌 Get your tickets now people, because the JJ revenge tour is in full swing 🎟🎫🎫

RUSTY - 12 POINTS

lets. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 📯📯📯 Rusty and JJ have swung from the Boys in the Back to the Boys Who Will Beat Yo Sorry A#% (They are now a gangster rap group, apparently 🎤) 🥊🥊🥊 Either way, Rusty is willing to do anything to win now, even if it means sabotaging the other players. Just this week he sent me 10 metric tons of barbeque he cooked. Obviously, I had to eat it all in one sitting... The food coma lasted 3 days 🤢🥴 Not cool Rusty. Not. Cool.

LOGAN - 12 POINTS

Our fearless commissioner is as talented as he is handsome, racking up 12 points this week in style. Honestly, it's amazing he finds time at all to even make the picks, much less the write-ups 😎 Seriously, how does he fit all of this into his packed schedule:

JANIE - 12 POINTS

You know what, I'm sick of Janie! She gets to score 12 FREAKING points again, and she's MAKING HER PICKS FROM A BEACH RIGHT NOW 😒😠😡 She's watching football, drinking margaritas, eating chicken wings, and soaking up the sun in Daytona. She's literally living MY dream and she's doing it BETTER than me 👆👆👆 (This will have to do because there is no middle finger emoji, UGH) Congrats, Janie, I GUESS

GABBY - 12 POINTS

And rounding out our 12 pointers is the ever lovey GABRIELLE 👏👏👏 This girl doesn't just pick teams, she IS a team 🏐🏐🏐 This one-woman volleyball squad has been serving up TROUBLE for opponents the past couple weeks 😍 She serves, she digs, she sets, she... doesn't really spike the ball because she has a 0.3 centimeter vertical jump 🦘 Seriously people Gabby is what you would get if you combined the raw power and athleticism of a Bengali Tiger with the jumping ability of a tortoise 🐢🐅

LISA - 11 POINTS

Not far behind, Big Mamma racked up 11 points with nice picks on New Orleans and New England 👌👌👌. And now she's helping out the great commish with picking out a friend's wedding present. That is most appreciated because there is just a slight difference in gift-selecting ability between these two:

Lisa: I got you this beautiful bike that you have wanted since you were 6, hand made because I know you love bespoke items. It has your name engraved and a custom drink holder for your favorite water bottle, and a 5000 year warranty that I negotiated myself

Logan: I got you a can of lima beans

JULIETTE - 8 POINTS

The Daytona Diver had an OFF week for sure this time 😨😬 dropping her down to 3rd place. We'll have to wait and see if her first place was deserved or just a mirage 🏝🏝🏝 Me, I'm not too worried. Juju leaves no TikTok undanced and no Team unpicked. I'm just waiting for her to reclaim her spot. Go off queen 👑👑👑 hmm, yeah I'm definitely not cool enough to pull off 'Go off queen'. Go get 'em tiger 🐯 OK that's 10 times worse, I'll get back to everyone next week on this 🥴

ABBY - 8 PIONTS

it's only 5 weeks in but I'm going to go out on a limb here and say Abby's hopes for a victory this season are already on life support 😢😢 Even worse, she didn't send me her picks until about 10 PM on Sunday. I GAVE her the chance to sneak a peek at the scores. My weakness for my own SISTER meant she had the chance to do amazing this week 😨😨😨 it was right there on a silver platter! And what happened? she got an 8. Here's a live look at Abby's pick-em-pool chances after this week:

VAL - 6 POINTS

Val is a woman of many talents. She makes (for real) the best margarita I have ever had. She is going to law school on a scholarship 🤓 She is going to defend me in court when I'm taken to trial for embezzling the pick-em-pool money. She got to a hospital by HERSELF when her appendix tried to pearl harbor sneak attack her in her sleep. SHE BOWLED A 140. But folks... I have to say 😞😢 we all have our weaknesses. Even superman has his kryptonite. Val's weakness - understanding the game of football 🏈 SIX POINTS LMAOOO WHO EVEN DOES THAT BAD (ignore my score from last week 🤐)

Folks I have to thank you for keeping it interesting 😵 with all these wild scores. I never know what to expect, but one thing I'm sure of is someone is walking home with HUNDREDS 💸💸💸 at the end of this season. So never give up, never surrender AND I WILL SEE YOU NEXT WEEK 💰

[mainsindo]

Lakehouse tavern

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[newenglandsausage]

[truedarkhunter]

Most Beautiful Death Weekend/April 1st.

Good day to all the Eric and Alan fans. My friend and I tried to work out when The Most Beautiful Death in the World occurred in the timeline. Agni and Soma were in December. His Butler, Friendship appears to have occurred in January. Grelle's punishment ran a month from early January to early February.

That last one becomes important.

Since London Dispatch is often short manpower, William has to cover for Grelle in the field. That means someone had to man the helm of Dispatch while he was away. That person was probably Alan. His demeanor is serious and similar to William's. In fact, William (despite appearing cold on the surface) likely took on field duty just to keep Alan from getting worse from the Thorns of Death.

With both Grelle and William out of the picture, Eric likely took advantage to increase his kills. He could offer to 'help' Alan and thus scramble the ledgers to hide his atrocities or tell Alan that he's just new to the position and probably adding it up wrong. They'll get it sorted, don't you worry. Either way, this is the best time for Eric to make his move.

Now then. I also researched the weather in England during March and April both in 1889 (as best I could) and in the past decade. March is often still rather chilly, but it isn't impossible that some intrepid souls might have a picnic on a warmer day. I've seen people barbeque in 50-60F weather, so a picnic lunch in the same with layers of petticoats doesn't seem out of the question. That some areas might have had a little more sun and been warmer than the average is also possible. Thus, March is the earliest that Most Beautiful Death could have occurred with the picnic scene that the play opens with.

It takes time for everything to unfold and we know that Undertaker is gone by April when the Campania Arc occurs. They also include an egg hunt for Easter in the manga, so the very end of March into the first of April has been the best guess we have been able to come up with here for when this event from the live action musicals could have occurred. Do you agree? What are your theories?

[rabbitcruiser]

National Swimming Pool Day 

National Swimming Pool Day falls on July 11 each year and is not just a celebration of swimming pools but also of all the paraphernalia that accompanies pools, such as pool toys, accessories, and swimwear. Think back to your favorite pool memories, and make today worthy of adding to your memory bank. What makes the perfect pool day? Is it the chance to show off that summer bod, looking fabulous in the latest swimwear designs, or maybe the fact that you love the exercise that swimming provides? Or perhaps you love poolside barbeques and the very thought of it gets your mouth watering. Whatever the reason, we are sure glad that someone long ago thought of the concept of a swimming pool, which makes summer a lot more enjoyable (and the heat more bearable) altogether.

History of National Swimming Pool Day

While there is no clear intimation of when National Swimming Pool Day was first founded or observed, we can track the origin of the swimming pool itself. Some sources trace the first swimming pool-like structure all the way back to 3000 B.C. in Mohenjo-Daro (in modern-day Pakistan), where a 40 by 23-foot pool was discovered, lined with bricks and covered with a tar-like sealant. Years later, the Romans built artificial pools in which to conduct military exercises, nautical games, and athletic training. The Roman emperors would often have private pools with fish in them, hence one of the Latin words for ‘pool’ is ‘piscina,’ meaning ‘fish pond.’ A rich Roman lord and patron of the arts, Gaius Maecenas, is said to have built the first heated swimming pool in 100 B.C.

By the mid-1800s, swimming pools gained popularity in Britain, with the earliest indoor pools with diving boards being built in 1837. The Maidstone Swimming Club, founded in 1844 in Maidstone, Kent, is one of the oldest surviving swimming clubs in Britain. The idea behind its formation was to teach people to swim and therefore survive drowning — following a spate of drownings that happened in the rivers in the area. The oldest known swimming pool in the U.S. is called Underwood Pool, located in Belmont, Massachusetts. It was only after World War II that home swimming pools became popular in America, and Hollywood movie stars’ luxury homes with pools made this an all the more desirable symbol of status. Nowadays, the U.S. has more than 10.4 million home pools, though New Zealand holds the record for most swimming pools per capita. And here we thought they only had a lot of sheep!

National Swimming Pool Day timeline

3000 B.C .First Swimming Pool is Invented

Mohenjo-Daro is the site where the oldest swimming pool is discovered.

100 B.C. First Heated Pool is Built

Gaius Maecenas, a Roman lord, builds the first heated pool.

1844 Maidstone Swimming Club is Formed

The Maidstone Swimming Club in Kent, England, is formed, the first of its kind.

1906 Swimming Pools on the Ocean

The swimming pool goes out to sea on White Star Line’s ocean liner, Adriatic.

National Swimming Pool Day FAQs

When should I open my pool?

You should open your pool when the temperature is consistently above 70 degrees during the day. This helps prevent algae from growing, keeps pollen from collecting in the water, and doesn’t cost much more than opening later in the spring.

Can I be a competitive swimmer?

Joining a swim club or community swim team offers regular practice, supervised instruction, and opportunities to compete against other athletes. Olympic-level swimmers generally train five hours a day for three days a week and then two to three hours daily for the remaining four days each week.

What temperature can you swim in a pool?

According to the World Health Organization, water temperatures ranging from 78 to 86 degrees Fahrenheit are generally comfortable and safe for those engaging in moderate physical activity in a pool.

How to Celebrate National Swimming Pool Day

Take a dip

Opt for a luxury pool experience

Visit a water park

This one was obvious. What better way can there possibly be to celebrate National Swimming Pool Day than diving right into the cool waters of your nearest pool?

If an ordinary pool day doesn’t quite cut it for you, there are many luxurious options for you to celebrate this holiday in style. How about a staycation at an exotic spa, paying a visit to hot springs, or looking up the most fabulous five-star hotel pools to pay a pretty penny to take a dip in (this will be great for your Instagram, too).

A fun day out for the whole gang, visit a water park near you or plan a road trip to some of the more famous ones. There’s no doubt this will be an enjoyable excursion for everyone, young and old! Whether you seek thrills by zipping down water slides or prefer just lazing in a tube and gently drift around, there’s bound to be something for everyone.

5 Kinds Of Pools You’ll Want To Take A Dip In

Infinity pools

Jacuzzis/hot tubs

Rockpools

Grotto pools

Hot springs

Giving the illusion that there’s no water’s edge, these pools are usually located near stunning views.

Small in size, these can be very relaxing and are often used for hydrotherapy too.

Also known as tide pools, there are natural pools by the sea that exist as pools during low tide.

Often hidden and only accessible from the water, they also usually have a waterfall feature.

Produced by geothermally heated groundwater, these pools contain minerals and can be amazing for a soak.

Why We Love National Swimming Pool Day

Swimming is universal

Many different types of pools

Pool days are fun

It is a truth universally acknowledged that swimming is a favorite summertime activity all over the world, therefore, knowing that people all over are swimming, too, makes it all the more an enjoyable pastime.

The myriad forms that pools can take are exciting to learn about, and (hopefully) experience. There may be some pools you want to visit that are even on your bucket list.

Source

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 3: Charlotte

Summary: High school AU, 1985, Winter. The year’s off to a strange start as Charlotte and her friends find out that not only does Lola work at the new diner that opened up in town, but her dad owns it! Charlotte humbles Nikki in a very un-Charlotte manor, and Vince’s parents decide to host an English exchange student in an attempt to give him a good role model; instead, they get Razzle.

A/N: 8466 words. Do I care too much about this AU? Yes. as always, for my dears @misscharlottelee and @newyeareva ft. a softer world quotes

the city sometimes feels like a movie set. maybe this is the big scene. maybe i can be an extra at least.

Charlotte’s only a few practice hours away from being able to get her provisional license, and she berates her past self for not getting it sooner, especially not when her Winter Break has been kind of a shit-show and she’d rather tear off her own arms than ride in Tommy’s shitbox of a car with Vince Neil. 

Since his blowout house party, Vince had essentially been grounded for the rest of the school year, had his car privileges revoked, and the only people his parents apparently trusted him to hang around with outside of school, were Tommy, Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach. Tommy was delighted. The girls, unsurprisingly, were not. Vince himself was downright somber, and had sulked for the remainder of the semester, and well into the break.

He had been in a particularly sour mood since last night, New Year’s Eve, when his parents had announced they were going to be hosting an exchange student from England for six months. Vince is convinced it’s an attempt to give him some sort of role model his own age, and spent most of his parents’ New Year’s Eve party ranting to Tommy and the girls while they played cards in his basement.

Her saving grace is Eileen, of course, who’s father had bought her mother a shiny, new car for Christmas, and had given Eileen the keys to her mother’s old station wagon. 

“It’s kinda dumb that we’re taking two cars,” Peach, Eileen’s little sister, pipes up from the back seat, hands fiddling in her lap. It’s New Year’s Day, and while their various parents were sleeping off their hangovers, they’d suggested the kids check out the new diner that was opening today. Vince jumped at the suggestion of freedom, and everyone was in agreement, but Eileen and Charlotte took Peach in Eileen’s car the moment Vince slid into Tommy’s front seat, holding the flyer he’d gotten at the mall that told them all about the diner’s opening day, “just saying, we could all fit in one.” But she’s met with silence, “are you going to be mad at him forever?” She finally sighs.

“Yes.” Both Charlotte and Eileen answer automatically. Peach sighs as dramatically as she’s able, and sinks as low into the seat as she can. Charlotte turns on the radio, and hums along to something familiar, but that she doesn’t quite recognize, staring out the front window at the back of Tommy’s car. Vince turns around in the front seat and flips them off.

“I’m gonna ram them,” Eileen says, with absolute sincerity and serenity, leveling an intense glare at where Vince was now waving.

“Don’t,” Charlotte advises, equally level.

“I don’t get why you’re still mad, I’m not even mad,” Peach huffed, pouting. Charlotte and Eileen share a look; at sixteen years old, Peach was top of almost all of her math and science classes, but she was still a teenage girl, and an absolute fool for a blonde boy who made her cry. Charlotte knew that feeling all too well, but thankfully she’d moved on from the ‘wondering why she wasn’t enough’ stage to the ‘realizing her ex is a cheating douchebag and it was never her fault’ stage. She really hopes Peach can move on to ‘realizing Vince made her cry and hasn’t even tried to change since then and deserved to get his car keyed’ stage quickly.

The diner was bustling when they arrived, a large decal on the inside of window, black, thick and flowing lettering, outlined in gold, reading Leo’s. Through the window, several booths were already filled, as were a host of the stools along the counter. It looked warm inside, inviting in golds, yellows, peaches and oranges, neon signs and rusted street signs, band and comic book memorabilia, and photos. Behind the counter -

Lola. Smiling.

“I’m freezing my butt off, can we go in?” Peach asks, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parker, the only person who did not recognize the girl currently pouring coffee for an elderly gentleman at the counter. 

Inside, the diner is warm, filled with the sounds pleasant chatter, and of the Beatles coming from a cherry wood jukebox in the corner.

“Lola!” Tommy can’t help himself, lighting up at the sight of her, and once Lola finishes pouring her customer coffee, she looks to their confused little group, and waves.

“Find yourselves a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment,” she calls back, smiling bright and wide, hair tied back with a bright, red bandana. 

The teens do as they’re told, pulling off jackets and gloves and scarves, sliding into a booth by the window, looking around, wrapped up in the smell of warm food, and the confusion of Lola’s presence, and completely unfamiliar demeanor. There’s an uncertain kind of quiet among them, having just expected to spend lunch at a cool new diner, but this has shift everything, only Peach, blissfully unaware of who Lola even was, seemed at ease, rearranging the sugar packets in their little holder.

Lola comes by with menus, and cups, and a pitcher of water for the table, looking pristine and put together in a tight, black blouse, skirt, and scuffed black combat boots, little peach-coloured apron tied around her waist. She pulls a notebook and pen from the pocket of the apron, looking around at them all, as if finally taking a moment to assess the situation.

Charlotte picked up a menu.

“You work here?” Tommy asked, and Lola confirms brightly, but doesn’t give any further details. She does, however, thank them all for coming, and recommend a few of her favourites.

“I’m also partial to The Lola, for obvious reasons,” she gives an actual laugh at that, as if implying one of the burgers was named after her was giving away too much information, and Charlotte was quickly scouring the menu.

Beef patty, double bacon, American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a home-made smokey maple-barbeque sauce, on a toasted bun.

“The menu’s kind of misleading,” Lola admits, moving to look down over Charlotte’s shoulder as she was reading, “all the patties are home made too, with Leo’s signature blend of herbs and spices.” That asked more questions than it answered. No-one’s quite sure what to say.

“Can I get a milkshake?” Peach pipes up, and Lola’s smile grew wide as she asked what flavour, “chocolate, please, and do you have curly fries or regular?”

“Hand cut,” Lola tells her proudly, but that means very little to Peach, who’s just glad to be having food, “still need time to think?” Lola asks the rest, and they all give her awkward, quiet smiles and nods. 

Lola leaves, heading back to the counter, and the moment she’s gone, the whole table explodes with whispered confusion, leaning in, asking questions and not getting any answers. 

“You guys are being super fucking weird,” Peach hisses loudly at them all, while Charlotte and Tommy argue about how the other should have known. Eileen, quietly delighted by the chaos, demands to know if anyone else thinks Lola might secretly have a twin, and Vince, who’s had the least contact with her aside from Peach, is babbling about how it’s weird to see Lola so chipper; their mutual confusion is enough to set aside Eileen and Charlotte’s hatred of him, at least for the moment. 

When Peach demands they explain what they’re all whisper-shouting about, disturbing the booth behind her, they all quiet down, and Tommy and Eileen take it in turns explaining their full understanding of Lola. Charlotte takes the time to actually look around the diner now that she was inside.

There’s two other waitress, one behind the counter, the other always moving on about the various tables and booths on one side, making sure the customers are happy and food and drinks are delivered, both in the same outfit as Lola, though with varying footwear. 

The view to the kitchen is unobstructed behind the counter, a half wall where meals ready to be delivered were sat, but a clear view to where three people in the kitchen, two by the grills and fryers, turned away; a broad-shouldered man towering over the grill with the longest hair Charlotte’s ever seen braided neatly down his back, and a comparatively shorter man, also with far shorter hair, though enough to be pulled up into a messy pony tail. The shorter man’s working the fryer, and putting together burgers as the taller man cooked up their various ingredients. There was also a strangely familiar kid with a mop of dark, curly hair washing dishes on the other side of the kitchen, barely visible.

Lola worked diligently, smiling and chatting away; she collected dishes, and ferried meals, and handed out slices of desert from the cute, multi-tiered desserts display on the counter. When she came back, milkshake in one hand, basket of fries in the other, Peach is fully caught up on each of her friend’s short but confusing histories with her, and blurts out -

“You’re Lola?” Injecting new meaning into the words, into the name, as if anyone else at their entire school had the same name. Lola’s smile goes a little tight as she places the fries and the milkshake before the redhead. Standing back up, she taps her nametag, which reads Lola, with little flowers drawn around it, and confirms, though it’s clear she’s more on edge than she was before.

“You guys ready to order?” She asks, still trying to keep up her chipper attitude, pulling out her notebook again. Everyone’s quieter this time, looking over the menu and finally deciding on food.

“My mom heard the owner was a chef, is that true?” Tommy asks, looking up from the menu to Lola again, and the tense set of her shoulders loosens considerably at the question.

“Leo is a chef,” Lola nodded, grinning broadly, “trained at the Culinary Institute of America back in the sixties, and worked his way up to being the head chef of Parker House in Boston, which I know probably doesn’t mean much to you guys, but it’s,” Lola laughs a little struggling to describe it, “it’s fine dining at it’s finest, but for the past twelve years, he’s been running Leo’s in Salem, and now he’s here, still using all that fine dining training for the anyone who wants a good meal at a good price.”

“Is that something they have you memorize in training?” Vince says, a little awed, and Lola gives a strange little smile.

“Leo’s my dad.”

Everything kind of fell into place after that, finally making sense, and the gang’s confusion quickly shifted to understanding, and the air around the table seemed to clear. It was easier after that, the teens in the booth ordering quickly, and the chatter picked up to a normal level as she moved away, shouting their order back to the kitchen once she was back at the counter.

She doesn’t spend much time at their table, still in charge of waitressing half of the tables and booths, but she always gives them a nod as she passes, and their meals are being delivered efficiently, so there’s no reason to complain.

The food itself, for diner food, is nothing short of spectacular, which kind of just raises more questions - why if Leo can cook food that tastes this good, and with all the experience he evidentially has, would he open a diner in suburban LA, and not a high-end restaurant? But it feels kind of intrusive to ask, so Charlotte simply enjoys her food, and her friends’ company.

Up until Vince starts complaining about the exchange student again.

“His name’s Nicholas, he shows up in a week, and mom’s making me clear out the basement so he can sleep there,” he’s despondently poking his milkshake with one of his fries, head propped up on one hand, “I’ve been asking for years if I could move into the basement, and this fucking Nicholas just gets it?” His whole expression scrunches up at the thought, and he angrily eats his fry.

“Wait, so the issue isn’t that you have to clean up the basement, it’s that he gets to use it as a bedroom and you don’t?” Charlotte frowned, lowering her own burger, “why would you even want to sleep in the basement?”

“Privacy!” Vince throws his hands in the air, eyes wide, “Tammi keeps complaining about getting cramps in the back of my car, but my bedroom walls are paper thin,” he huffs, “I need my own space.”

“Tammi?” Peach asks, her voice high and almost painfully chipper, “Tammi Frisk? She scored the winning goal in the softball final, right?” She’s not looking at Vince, when Charlotte looks over to her, she’s looking at her plate of fries, pushing the few left around without eating any, smiling in a way that’s clearly forced.

“You were at the softball final?” Tommy asked, frowning slightly. Peach did not look up.

“For the school paper,” she explained, voice still strange.

“You’re still with Tammi Frisk?” Eileen asks, making sure the disgust is clear in her voice as she draws the table’s attention away from the clearly uncomfortable Peach. Charlotte’s lip curled; she wanted to make sure her expression was as judgmental as possible when Vince turned back to her. 

It’s not that she cared about who he was dating, she was mostly apathetic to Tammi, and knew little more about her than the fact that she was on the softball team, but Charlotte knew Vince had been dating Tammi when he’d decided to crush Peach’s heart publicly at the start of the last semester.

Neither Peach nor Eileen had told any of them exactly how, but apparently Eileen’s hatred was well warranted, both against Vince, and according to Eileen, Tammi too.

Vince, immediately sensing Eileen’s shift in tone, and seeing the look on her face, frowns.

“Kind of,” he responds flatly, and his gaze flicks to Peach, “not really,” he backtracks, and his indignation at the whole situation seems to fizzle out with a sigh, and he slouches, going back to paying attention to his burger, “she’s sort of hanging out with one of the second-string football guys, but they’re not... and we’re not really...” he trails off, despondent once more.

At least Vince seemed to be self-aware of the fact that he was an asshole to Peach, at least he had the decency to feel bad about it. Why he kept inviting Peach to hang out, despite the fact that he knew Eileen, who hated his guts, would come along too - invited or not - baffled Charlotte. 

Tommy was his friend, and a guy, Charlotte was a cheerleader and technically popular, and so was usually begrudgingly invited too, but Peach, sweet Peach, recent Science Fair Winner, junior reporter for the school paper, treasurer for the AV Club, by all accounts ‘a nerd’ when judged by her interests, was still on the guest list of Vince Neil’s life, even if he wouldn’t admit that out loud. 

It kind of made Charlotte want to punch him in the face.

But that’s not news.

“I hope the English exchange student is a decent influence on you,” Charlotte tells him. Vince scowls.

“You sound like my parents.”

you make me want to pretend to be a better man.

Now that school has started back up, Vince has thankfully had his car privileges returned, and Charlotte can return to not glowering in the back seat of Tommy’s car when he picks her up on the way to school, and drops her home on the days they both have practice. 

But it’s Wednesday, first week back, and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he’s babbling about practice, or cheerleaders he thinks are pretty, or Lola, but today, he meets Charlotte in the carpark, leaning against the trunk of his car, hands in his pockets, quiet. It’s decidedly unnerving.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” Charlotte asks, yanking the passenger door open once he unlocks it, sliding into the seat and putting her bag by her feet.

“Nothing,” Tommy voice betrays the lie, the thoughts so clearly on his mind that he was trying to avoid talking about. Charlotte won’t push him, if he wanted to tell her, he would, and he usually does, “put on some music, will you?” And Charlotte obligingly opens the glove compartment in front of her to look through the collection of 8track tapes he keeps in there, several of which had been Christmas gifts from Charlotte herself.

Feet on the dashboard, Charlotte’s more than content listening to Bon Jovi, bopping her head to the beat, when Tommy finally finds the words for his thoughts.

“Lola and Nikki Sixx are friends.” 

Up until now, Charlotte was under the impression that Tommy, like her, thought Nikki and Lola would be great as friends, Tommy’s current tone implies otherwise. 

“Is that not good?” Charlotte’s careful about her words, still not sure where Tommy’s hesitation was coming from.

“No, they make sense,” he’s quick to try and backtrack, words spilling from him almost too fast, “they make sense as friends.” He deliberates, before asking, “Charlie, you’re not friends with Nikki Sixx are you?” And it sounds like he already knows the answer. Charlotte hesitates.

“He keeps bothering me during my free periods, I wouldn’t exactly call us friends -”

“He called you Charlie,” its deadpan and accusatory in equal measure, and Charlotte shrinks back into her seat as Tommy keeps talking, “he called me ‘Charlie’s cousin’. It was weird.”

“I thought you wanted to be his friend -” she tries, right as they pull up to a red light, and Tommy fixes her with an unamused look, the only expression that makes him seem older than his years.

“Did you tell him I was obsessed with him?”

“No!” Charlotte snaps, automatically defensive.

“Because I’m not -”

“I never said - I told him you were a fan! That’s all! Like Duff was!” Charlotte tries to clear up, and Tommy looks back at the road, though this time he thankfully looks more pensive than angry. Only Bon Jovi cuts through the tense air between them for the rest of the drive back to Charlotte’s house, and when Tommy pulls up outside, he doesn’t say anything to her when she gets out. 

The next day, like clockwork, fifteen minutes into her free period, Nikki Sixx comes climbing over the school’s fence, into the garden Charlotte had been trying to force herself to study in. In all honesty, she’d been waiting for him, picking at her nail polish beneath the table and reading the same sentence in Moby Dick over and over again.

“Miss Lee,” Nikki nods to her, a little gruffer than usual, “you seem more tense than usual; I can help you with that if you want,” but he still manages to smirk his way through an unsubtle come-on, and Charlotte rolls her eyes, not in the mood for their usual banter.

“I’d rather sit on a cactus,” she tells him icily, without even a teasing edge. Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up at the hostility, and he puts the packet of cigarettes that he’d about to offer her on the table, knowing she’d turn them down anyway, “I thought people weren’t meant to know that we know each other.”

“What people do?” Nikki frowned, raising his lighter to the cigarette between his lips, “is this about yesterday? I talked to your cousin, big deal. Everyone knows you two are related, and everyone knows you,” he looks pointedly to the embroidered logo on her cheer uniform, “I wasn’t even looking for him -”

“Dude,” Charlotte felt as though she was about to tear her hair out, “you called me Charlie to him, people don’t just call me that!”

“Plenty of people call you that! That leggy redhead you’re always hanging around calls you Charlie -”

“My friends call me that -” Charlotte snaps, “and I know you know that’s Eileen Austen.” And Nikki’s wearing a dreamy look, like he’s thinking unholy thoughts about Eileen as Charlotte speaks, before snapping out of it as the first of her words register like a bucket of ice water to the face.

“I’ve called you Charlie before. To your face.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Charlotte tells him dryly, crossing her arms, “it’s less effort if I don’t correct you. We’re so not friends that I don’t even care about correcting you.” Back when this school year started, Charlotte wouldn’t have dreamed saying half the nasty shit she’s thrown at Nikki Sixx, and at some point she may have to confront the idea that being around him has made her meaner, “but did you tell my cousin that I told you he was obsessed with you? Because I never -”

“I said I was glad he was a fan!” Nikki scowled, sitting back and glowering at her across the table, “all I wanted was to ask Lola if she wanted to sit on the roof with the rest of the smokers, and your fuckin’ yappy, dumbass of a cousin -”

Punching someone in the face hurts a lot more than Charlotte had been anticipating, but it’s worth it to see Nikki toppling backwards off of the picnic bench and onto the cold grass. His cigarette lies some few feet away while he lays groaning, clutching his cheek, and Charlotte’s standing, leaning, thighs pressed against the picnic table for support as she’s staring down at him, breathing heavy through her nose while the adrenaline rushes through her system.

“What the fuck, Charlie?”

“Don’t talk shit about Tommy,” her heart’s thundering in her chest, she can feel the blood rushing in her ears, and when she looks at her hand, she sees the skin of one of her knuckles has split enough to draw blood, “he has done fucking nothing to you apart from support you, and think you’re really fucking cool, for whatever dumbass reason, so don’t you dare talk shit about him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nikki groaned, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath after being winded so thoroughly, hand still cradling his cheek. That’s how Charlotte leaves him, slinging her bag onto her shoulder, and stalking towards the library to finish the rest of her free period in peace.

When Tommy drives Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach home after school that day, he’s quiet once again, but it somehow feels completely different to the oppressively accusatory air of the day before. The three girls were chattering away, trying to plan a trip to the mall for the upcoming weekend, and only when Peach and Eileen were waving goodbye in the rearview mirror did Tommy speak up.

“Did you punch Nikki Sixx in the face?” There’s a smile in her cousin’s voice, and Charlotte’s not quite sure how to react.

“I had good reason to,” she says, carefully guarded.

“He said you guys were friends, and then he thanked me for being coming to the gig a while back; told me he’d asked you to bring me specifically,” Tommy’s tone was oozing pride, and if Charlotte had been looking at him, and not frowning out the window, she would have seen how he was all but preening.

“He told you all that?” Charlotte’s anger at her memory’s of the morning’s altercation was fading fast.

“He hung out with me and Lola by the carpark for lunch,” Tommy paused, snorting a laugh, “didn’t want his buddies to find out a cheerleader gave him a black eye.”

“I - what? No I didn’t...” Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and finally she looked at her cousin’s beaming face.

“You definitely did; Lola laughed at him for a full ten minutes because of it.”

“Serves him right,” Charlotte said, with a begrudging little smile.

Nikki sits with Tommy and Lola on Friday too, which Tommy is delighted to inform Charlotte on Saturday while he’s driving them both to Vince’s, where his parents have invited them over to meet the exchange student. Nicholas.

He arrived on Wednesday, but Vince’s parents have given him the rest of the week to settle in, and had invited around the few friends Vince has that they deem to be a positive influence, if only so he knew a few faces around school. 

Charlotte had been picturing some over-gelled boarding-school boy, used to itchy uniforms and strict rules, and about to get a good deal of culture shock hanging around Vince and the rest of their motley little pack, but when Charlotte brings this speculation up in the car, Tommy’s quick to dismiss it. Vince, from the little Tommy had spoken to him in the past two days, was over the moon, claimed that Nicholas - Vince had called him Razzle - was amazing. If Charlotte felt an quiet sense of foreboding at that sentiment, she felt it was justified.

The first thing either of them hear after being directed down to the basement by Vince’s mother, is Alice Cooper playing almost obnoxiously loud; Charlotte’s not sure why, but it eases something in her chest. 

Nicholas’s - Razzle’s? - room, first and foremost, is possibly the coolest bedroom Charlotte’s ever been in. He’s decked it out with movie and band posters, though most of the band’s she’s never heard of. There’s string-lights above a desk, a bed crammed into one corner with a bright duvet, and even a sofa, and a few beanbags all crowded around a low, wooden table that had mostly been taken up with a record player, which is where they found their friends. 

The name Razzle suited him, Charlotte considered, as she took in the newcomer’s appearance, all spiked up dark hair and ostentatious clothing, animatedly telling a story while Peach and Vince hung onto his every word. He looked almost wild, like collection of half-thought ideas all vying to become a reality through the texture of his clothes, the height of his hair, the hint of amusement that tailed his words, the passion shining in the blue of his eyes when they flicked to look at her and her cousin, standing on the stairs and watching him.

His words grow quiet as he takes them in, as if waiting for something to happen, for someone to introduce them.

“You must be Charlie and Tommy!” His accent, thick and bright, made her nickname sound so familiar on his lips.

“Charlotte,” Vince corrects, giving a surprisingly respectful nod to Charlotte, who tries to shrug nonchalantly.

“Charlie’s fine. You’re,” and Charlotte hesitates for a moment, ignoring Vince’s eyeroll, “Razzle, right?” Razzle’s smile is blinding at her immediate use of the nickname, and he waves them in.

Peach throws Tommy a cushion from the sofa when he asks, and he settles himself on the floor next to Vince, while Peach and Eileen squeeze over to make room for Charlotte on the sofa clearly only made for two people.

“I was just telling these guys ‘bout my band’s very first gig, ‘nd how I had to sneak out just to get there,” Razzle settled back into his own beanbag, hands out and ready to return to his story, eyes still shining with anticipation at the memory, or possibly just glad to have an audience. 

Oh, Charlotte thought, looking at this boy she barely knew, already fighting off a smile in the face of his infectious enthusiasm, maybe Vince was becoming a better judge of character.

“You’re in a band?” Tommy’s eyes light up, and Charlotte gives her cousin a fond smile; Razzle has already won his seal of approval.

we need more good crazy. it'd be nice to watch the news, and think, 'that's fucking insane', but feel a little jealous instead of just alone.

Heather hasn’t been glowering as much at lunch, and the rumour is that it’s because she’s getting laid. Well, it’s less of a rumour to Charlotte, since Heather confirmed as much to the rest of the cheer squad when one of the girls asked her, but she’s being coy and secretive about who she’s with, which is the really weird part; Heather won’t say, and no-one’s coming forward, and lord knows that most guys at their school would jump at the opportunity to claim they’re banging the Vice Captain of the Cheerleading Squad. 

But Charlotte knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead just smiles back when Heather gives her a sunny smile in the cafeteria.

Tommy is less than thrilled with the news when Charlotte brings it up in the car after school. Nikki’s still sitting with him and Lola during lunch, despite his bruising going down considerably over the weekend, and Tommy is equal parts delighted and uncomfortable, for reasons he can’t seem to put into words. 

“At least Pam’s single,” he says it with as much of a dreamy sigh as he can manage, though it comes out more forlorn than anything else. Charlotte pets his shoulder, and reminds him that so is over half the squad; he perks up a little at that. 

They pull into Mick’s gas station, and Charlotte waves to Mick and Lola, who are sitting on the step by the door sharing a cigarette. Lola waves back.

“Meant to give this to you,” Lola says to Charlotte, still sitting while Mick begrudgingly heads inside. Tommy follows him in, not needing to fill up the tank, but rather just looking to drown his sorrows regarding Heather in a jumbo slurpee. Outside, Charlotte waits with her hands in her pockets, giving Lola an amused smile, watching as the dark haired girl pulls a pin off of the jacket she practically lives in, and hands it over.

It’s a piece of black card stock cut into the shape of a star, barely an inch in diameter, taped to a safety pin. It say Punched Nikki Sixx in silver pen, one of the points of the star already a little bit crumpled. 

“You’re a little bit punk, so you get a pin,” Lola tells her, smiling around her cigarette, looking quietly pleased, and perhaps even a little bit proud; whether of herself or of Charlotte, Charlotte can’t tell, but it still makes her flush.

“I thought Nikki didn’t want anyone knowing that a cheerleader gave him a black eye,” Charlotte mused, looking at the little pin, and Lola’s face scrunched up, expression falling.

“So? Who gives a shit?” She shrugs, looking away tone having shifted to almost forcibly neutral in an instant, “wear the pin or don’t, I don’t care.” Lola stands with a groan, without giving Charlotte a chance to respond, and calls to Mick that she’s heading to the diner. Mick waves, Tommy calls out a farewell, and Charlotte frowns, wondering what just happened.

“I hate that,” Nikki says flatly, the moment he spots the pin where Charlotte’s fixed it to the strap of her backpack. There’s no hard feelings between them after last week’s altercation, thankfully, though they don’t talk about it. If Charlotte’s glad that he still showed up, if she’s realised she may, in fact, enjoy his company, she keeps that information to herself.

“Lola made it for me,” Charlotte tells him. Nikki leans in, squinting at the handmade pin.

“Of course she did,” he sighs, leaning back. Surprisingly, there’s quiet between them for a few, long moments; maybe, Charlotte considers, this will be one of those mornings where Nikki uses their time together to catch up on sleep, and Charlotte can actually use her free period for it’s intended, study-related purpose, but then Nikki sighs like he wants her to ask what’s wrong.

So she does.

“I need a new band.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I know,” Nikki nods with resignation, “I was gonna ask this guy I work with, Slash, he plays guitar, but he’s already in one -”

“Wait, you don’t mean Duff’s friend Saul Hudson, do you?” Charlotte frowned, intrigued despite the stab of anger she felt at the mere mention of her ex. Nikki seemed taken aback by her question.

“You know Duff McKagan?”

“I dated him for a year and a half,” Charlotte finds herself suddenly very interested in drawing connecting triangles in the back of her notebook, not looking at Nikki, who’s quietly processing this information.

“He’s in a band now,” and neither of them seem to be quite sure why he offered that information, but they both let is hang between them for a moment.

“Makes sense,” Charlotte nods, tone flat, “with Saul - Slash?”

“Yeah,” is all Nikki has to say.

“Slash is a good kid, I always liked him,” Charlotte offered, and finally she looks up, “Tommy plays drums.”

“Marching band isn’t exactly -” Nikki begins, but Charlotte’s shaking her head.

“No, like, legit drums,” she enthuses, “his parents fixed up their whole garage to make it sound proof for him,” but she doesn’t want Nikki to think she’s pushing her cousin on him too hard, not after last week, so she sits back, and crosses her arms, trying to play it cool, “I mean, you can ask him yourself, see if he’s any good.” She shrugs, but Nikki looks like he’s already considering it. 

“How many musicians do you know, Charlie?” He finally asks, giving her a faint, amused smile.

“Probably too many,” Charlotte responds with a longsuffering smile, before her mind turns to the things Tommy himself had told her, “I heard you and Lola are getting along; what’d I tell you?” She teased, and much to her surprise, what she could see of Nikki’s face, for his hair, was turning pink.

“She’s a bitch; you know she’s a bitch, right?” He asks, but he’s grinning, all sharp and dangerously amused.

“I knew you guys would get along,” Charlotte gives a pleased little sigh, as if she’d manufactured their whole friendship herself. Nikki rolls his eyes at her, and the bell goes.

Tommy, as it turns out, thinks they’re sleeping together, at least that’s what he tells Charlotte when they’re on their way to Leo’s after school to meet up with Vince, Razzle, Peach, and Eileen. The news of Nikki and Lola’s potential affair surprises Charlotte at first, but after a moment of consideration, she thinks she should have seen it coming. 

Tommy’s reasoning is that they’ve become friends far quicker than he’d realised, and Nikki’s always giving Lola lifts after work, like they’re going in the same direction, even though he’d pretty sure Nikki doesn’t live near Leo’s. It also turns out that that was what had been bothering him about Nikki and Lola being friends; he still tries to insist he doesn’t have a crush on Lola, but he and Charlotte both know that’s mostly a lie.

So Charlotte can see how conflicted he is when he tells her that Nikki’s looking to start a new band, and that he asked about Tommy possibly playing drums. A beat of silence follows, and then, without looking away from the road, Tommy mutters a quiet thanks, knowing without asking that Charlotte had been the one to recommend him. Charlotte leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder in unspoken acknowledgment. 

“Duff’s in a band,” Charlotte’s voice is soft and a little unreadable.

“Sorry,” Tommy mutters, tone somber like it’s the worst news in the world, “we could throw rotten tomatoes at him?” He suggested, at the mental picture alone was enough to make Charlotte laugh, “or is that just in the movies?”

“I think that’s just in the movies,” Charlotte says, amid giggles, “besides, the rest of his band doesn’t deserve that.”

In the week that Razzle’s been in LA, Vince and his family have taken him to several, sophisticated restaurants in the vicinity, and Razzle had apparently loved them all; Leo’s was no different. He was sitting across from Charlotte in the booth, at the end of the table, reading the menu intently as the others chattered away about their day, making noises of intrigue every time he spotted something new he wanted to try. His knee knocked hers under the table, but it barely seemed to register, so engrossed in the menu that he muttered the faintest apology.

“Afternoon, guys, welcome,” Lola at work never failed to startle Charlotte, despite the fact that she’d been here once already since the first time. At least her chipper introduction seemed to bring Razzle back to reality. 

“Hi, yes - oh! I know you!” Razzle lit up at the sight of Lola, and the rest of the gathered teens watched with interest, trying not to give away how intrigued they were to see Lola’s reaction, “Miss Honky Cat, you work here?”

What?

“Alright, Razzle, you found me, did you wanna order something?” Lola says, with a good-natured eyeroll, and an easy grin, hip cocked to one side. Razzle asks her what she recommends, and orders that, and then the rest of them, who had been sitting in stunned silence, are quick to order for themselves.

When she leaves, it’s mere moments before Tommy asks what that was all about, and Razzle’s eyes go wide.

“That’s Lola, innit? From school? She’s in my music class, was playing Honky Cat on the piano in the second music room, the Elton song, you know, when we had some free this morning,” he explained, confused, “she called me Rocketman when I picked what she’d been playing, but I told her my name’s Razzle.” 

“You’re an enigma,” ironically, it’s Eileen who says this, wearing a fond little smile, while Razzle just looked bemused.

“I think it’s the accent, chicks fuckin’ love it,” Vince pipes up, smirking, and Razzle tries to hide his own pleased little grin since he can’t very well deny it, “Pam was all over him in Phys Ed yesterday -”

“We were just having a conversation -” Razzle was quickly turning red, while Vince clutched at his arm, putting on a high voice, twirling his blonde hair around one finger as he pretended to be Pam.

“Oh Nicholas, tell me more about The Clash, please, I want to know more!” He ended with a fake moan, which had Eileen and Peach laughing, while Razzle grabbed Charlotte’s hand and exaggeratedly mouthed ‘help me’. 

“Pam’s into Razzle?” Tommy groaned, breaking the moment, falling dejectedly against Vince, who was already leaning pretty heavily on Razzle, who was then ejected from his seat and onto the floor, while Vince was draped over where he was just sitting, and Tommy was draped over Vince, “I’m gonna die alone.”

Despite Tommy’s despair, the rest of the table was greatly amused.

Thankfully for Razzle, it wasn’t a far fall, and he’d held tight to Charlotte’s hand, so at least he hadn’t ended up flat on his back, and Charlotte gave him an apologetic grin as she helped him to his feet. He lets go to dust himself off, and it’s here Charlotte notices his maroon, velvet pants, and black and white leather shoes with their little heel.

“Fancy threads,” Charlotte points out, notes of approval in her voice. Razzle makes a move to straightening a jacket he’s not wearing, and clicks his heels together, drawing the attention of the rest of the table to his shoes, of which they all make various noises of approval, or at least interest.

“I dress to impress,” and judging by his tone, if he were as crass as Vince or Nikki, he would have winked, but Charlotte’s kind of glad he refrained. He then shoves Vince, and by extension Tommy, back up to a sitting position, retaking his seat across from Charlotte, this time purposefully knocking his knee against hers.

Charlotte’s glad that Lola’s back with their drinks, so she can look at something that’s not Razzle’s sunny smile, because she doesn’t want to think about how pretty it makes him look. Stupid, British, band boy and his stupid, blue eyes.

But then she’s looking at Lola, and all she can remember is Tommy’s dejected expression when he told her that Lola and Nikki were possibly sleeping together, and Nikki’s half-hidden, bashful grin when he calls a bitch with a kind of fondness that Charlotte had never heard from him before. The urge to protect her cousin, from harm, from heartbreak, is carved into her bones, but part of her knows it would him hurt more to let him keep falling for Lola when she’d never really end up catching him. Suddenly staring into the depths of her soda became the safest option.

i have loved since you. but when the new paint gets scratched, there you are underneath.

Heather, of all people, is holding a party, and she tries to limit the amount of people she tells - the squad and her friends were the first to be invited - but of course, the guest list spirals out of control, and it’s exactly one and a half days before Tommy’s mooning over the fact that he’s been invited to a party at an actual cheerleader’s house.

“Dude, you’re killing me here,” Charlotte tells him at lunch; she’s finally sitting with him, Lola, and Nikki, though Nikki’s late. Heather had coyly asked her to ask Vince to bring Razzle - the cute English guy, specifically - and Charlotte had picked up her bag and left. Something about Heather in a good mood was worse than when she was being catty.

“You don’t count, you’re my cousin,” Tommy waived her off, and Lola snorted a laugh from where she was laying in the grass, using her backpack as a pillow. “You going?” Tommy pokes Lola in the ribs and she smacks his hand away, but makes an affirmative noise, and throws her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Something about how that makes Tommy smile, almost pleased, has worry sinking heavy in Charlotte’s gut. 

“Heather asked me to ask Vince to invite Razzle,” Charlotte’s not quite sure why she says it, or why it makes Lola bark a laugh of her own, but at least it get’s Tommy’s mind off of last time he and Lola were at a party.

“Of course -” Tommy sighs, but then, in the very same breath, he lights up like a lightbulb, “wait! If Heather’s preoccupied with Razzle, and Pam’s going, then I -” he turned sharply to Charlotte, eyes wide, “is Pam seeing anyone?” Charlotte gives him an amused, but longsuffering look, shaking her head.

“You gonna put the moves on her?” Lola’s smirking, and Tommy’s steadily turning red, but refusing to be embarrassed.

“It’s now or never, you know? She’s graduating in a few months, will go to college and date some meathead, college footballer, this is my chance,” he enthused, and Charlotte pet his shoulder in solidarity. 

Nikki joins them halfway through lunch, right as Lola and Charlotte find themselves playing angel and devil on Tommy’s shoulders regarding how he should dress for the party. Charlotte’s firmly of the opinion that he should be be wearing bright, eye-catching things - “Come on, you know Pam likes those new-wave guys!” - while Lola was adamantly recommending to go all-out punk. 

“Don’t ask Nikki’s opinion, you know who he’s going to side with,” Charlotte implored, and as if to prove a point, Nikki throws his bag to the side, and lays down with his head pillowed on Lola’s stomach. 

“Because Nikki has taste,” Lola throws her arm above her head, into the grass, neck at an awkward angle as she looks, wide-eyed to Tommy. 

“Thank you,” Nikki grumbles, and immediately closes his eyes, “what are we arguing about?” A pause, then, “and why is Charlie here?”

“Heather asked Charlie to bring Razz to the party next weekend,” Tommy says, the words sounding rote off his tongue, before he gets into the meat of the argument, laying himself back in the grass. Somehow it makes Charlotte feel left out, being the only one left marginally upright, and she slouches a little lower against the fence. 

Tommy explains his conundrum, and much to everyone’s surprise, Nikki refrains from giving his opinion, sighting that he has no clue what Pam would like, and that he’s not taking the fall if Tommy looks like a dickhead and crashes and burns while talking to, arguably, the most popular girl in school.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole,” Tommy groans, without really thinking, and as the realization and subsequent horror took over his expression, Lola barked a laugh, and even Nikki was grinning.

The moment was surprisingly light, Tommy’s face buried in his hands, though he’s now hiding a smile, and Charlotte is surprised at how easy it is to smile and laugh here, these people accepting her presence without another thought. The politics of the cafeteria make it all feel so foreign, but Tommy said ‘Charlie’s sitting here now’ and Nikki and Lola took it in stride.

And later, Eileen will ask her where she was at lunch, will go on to sigh and roll her eyes as she recounts barely sitting through five minutes of the cheerleaders buzzing like cheerful, little hornets, discussing who would be at the party, and how they would coordinate their outfits. She’d spent another five minutes with the swim team, who spent the entire time picking apart her backstroke technique since she ‘finally decided to join them’.

“This is why I don’t sit with them,” Eileen had frowned, sitting in the McDonalds carpark, absentmindedly violating her soda with it’s straw out of frustration, Charlotte, wide-eyed, quietly eats her terrible, oily fries, and lets Eileen vent, “if I have to listen to one more five-am-gym-going-wannabe-sports-scholarship tell me my form is off, I’m going to go full Carrie-At-The-Prom at our next meet,” Eileen warned, and reached over to snatch a fry. Very few people were ever privy to Eileen’s frustration, as the redhead seemed to do a rather good job of bottling it up, but Charlotte personally felt honored that her friend could be so honest around her.

“I was thinking of joining yearbook, maybe? Or the school paper with...” a strange moment of hesitation, “with Peach,” Eileen paused, taking a long moment to think, and take a sip of her drink, eyes glass as she stared out at the highway as cars passed before them, “auditions for the school play are on Friday,” she adds, like she’s seriously considering it, “it’s Singin’ In The Rain, Keanu actually suggested I should audition.” The idea that Keanu and Eileen have talked enough for him to suggest that she audition for a musical and for her to serious consider it is kind of baffling; Charlotte doesn’t process the meaning behind any of this now, however, just files it away in the back of her mind for later.

“Macy moved to Portland over the Summer,” Charlotte feigns seriousness with her suggestion instead, trying not to give away how amused she is, already anticipating Eileen’s response, “we’re holding cheer tryouts to replace her on Tuesday,” Eileen’s expression is already souring, almost comedically disgusted at Charlotte’s implied suggestion, though she lets the blonde finish, “you were the best bottom-right to the pyramid we’ve ever had,” she said, barely stifling giggles as Eileen turns to her.

“I’d rather die,” her lip curled, and Charlotte leaned over the center console of the minivan to press her forehead against Eileen’s shoulder, and Eileen reaches up with her free hand to scratch gently at Charlotte’s scalp, before bursting out with, “and my form’s not even bad! The coach loves me, Charlie, she loves me, they just think they’re better than me, bunch of clique-y, insular, webbed-toe bitches.”

The words hang in the air, a surprising outburst from the usually reserved and thoughtful girl.

“Do they really have webbed toes?” Charlotte asks, turning so her temple still pressed against the soft cashmere of Eileen’s sweater, but she was following the ginger’s gaze out to the highway ahead. Eileen gives a tired, little laugh, as if her outburst had left her exhausted.

“No.”

Charlotte wants more than anything to ask her what’s wrong, but knows better than anyone that Eileen only says exactly what she wants someone else to know. Instead, she offers her fries silently. Eileen takes one.

“Peach and I got into a fight today,” voice barely above a whisper, Eileen follows her words with a sigh, and suddenly her out of character frustration made complete, and utter sense. For all that she’s known both Peach and Eileen, Charlotte has never known their altercations to be quick or painless affairs, “Vince invited her to Heather’s party.”

“He invited her himself?” Charlotte’s not sure what the issue is beyond their general dislike of Vince, but if Vince himself is starting to possibly change, then it’s hard to see the issue. 

“Yeah,” Eileen seems to know what Charlotte’s thinking, and pauses to find the right words, “I don’t trust him, and I don’t know how she can trust him either.” There’s a quality to her voice that Charlotte’s only heard rarely; uncertainty, “and I don’t want her going to Heather’s party, I barely want to go myself, and what if she drinks, and what if she does terrible things she regrets -?” Eileen cuts herself off, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning her head back against the headrest.

“I get it,” Charlotte says, so gentle, so understanding, but Eileen’s still quiet.

“She’s my little sister, Charlie,” Eileen sighed, “and it’s like our parents couldn’t care less, so I have to protect her, and I have to keep her from the guy she thinks is the love of her life, and I have to be the one to always remind her of all the shitty things he’s done and remind her that life isn’t a goddamn fairytale.” She sounds close to tears, soda cup between her knees and hands clutching, white knuckled, at the steering wheel, or else she may have been tearing her hair out. 

There was a shake in her voice, tight and exhausted in equal measure, like the words had sat, unspoken, pressed against her teeth, for far longer than Charlotte had realized she’d been thinking them. Charlotte rests her hand on Eileen’s. 

“She loves you more than anyone else in the world, you know that right? She’s just sixteen, you know all the drama and shit we went through last year -”

“I can’t watch her go through what you went through with Duff,” the words escaped Eileen in a rush, and she clamps her mouth shut, sitting forward in the driver’s seat, lips pressed into a thin line, as Charlotte’s heart sank in her chest, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Charlotte sat back in her own seat, nodding dejectedly, fiddling with her bracelet. 

“You... Charlie, you know you’re my best friend, and I love you, and seeing you in pain with no way to help,” Eileen’s hands slid down the sides of the steering wheel as she forced herself to relax, though her words have Charlotte’s heart swelling with fondness, “it fucking killed me,” she admitted, leaning back, letting her shoulders sags with the weight of her words, like the weight of the world, and as she leaned back, she looked to Charlotte, so unguarded, so sincere, “I can’t let Vince break Peach’s heart like that.”

Eileen has always looked and seemed older than her seventeen years, but it’s strange to see her like this, to be reminded that she holds within her this unassuming duality. To protect is her first instinct, herself, her feelings, her friends, her family, but she’s still so young, just a kid; she still deserves to be protected too.

“I’m so tired,” Eileen murmurs, gaze dropping to her hands, now folded in her lap, and she huffs a humorless laugh, “I’m seventeen, Charlie, I’m fucking tired of feeling thirty.”