#pickle juice always comes in clutch

[nukebag]

for christmas fives got hungover as shit got kicked out of 79s for being too silly and now has to undergo the slav pickle juice remedy

#pickle juice always comes in clutch #arc trooper fives #fives #fives tcw #ct 5555 #ct-5555 #star wars clone wars #clone trooper #star wars #tcw #clone troopers #star wars tcw

[tastesoftamriel]

What kinds of foods were you not expecting certain races to enjoy? Like, things you thought for sure the Altmer wouldn't eat EVER, but they actually do?

There are certainly a surprising number of culinary irregularities all Tamrielic races have, despite the overwhelming number of picky eaters (Skyrim and Valenwood, I'm looking at you). These are some of the ones which caught me off-guard...

Argonians

Traditional Argonian cuisine is known for being spicy and a whirlwind of flavours, so the mildness and complexity of foam frog soufflé was not what I expected! In terms of taste and texture, it's comparable to the classic Breton orange liqueur flambéed soufflé. The naturally-occurring foam generated by foam frogs is whipped with coconut milk and scuttlebloom nectar, then gently baked in delicate clay ramekins in a traditional stone oven. It is then sprinkled with a bit of coconut sugar, and drenched in sweet banana liqueur before getting blasted with a Flame spell right at your table! Don't think you can try this at home though- this recipe takes a lot of skill to pull off, and is considered one of the most impressive dishes in Saxhleel cuisine. And yes, it's Breton-approved, but don't tell them that the frog foam is actually residue from mating and is filled with tadpoles.

Breton

On that note, the Breton kitchen is full of surprises! It's well known that High Rock gastronomy is very focused on sit-down meals and the correct use of cutlery, so finger foods aren't very traditional, even among the common folk. It blew my mind when I first visited Daggerfall and found taverns and market stands selling Orcish kebabs! These messy, enormous rolls have been downsized (and underfilled) to suit Breton tastes, but the strongly spiced goat meat, frost mirriam yoghurt sauce, and tasty radish balls are true to the original! You'll even find nobles sending their butlers out to procure a hot kebab for them to eat out of view of the public eye...it would be mortifying if somebody saw a drop of chili sauce dripping down a noblewoman's chin!

Bosmer

Green Pact Bosmeri food isn't known for its sweets, so the very existence of meat-based desserts was initially baffling to me. A Valenwood favourite is the boiled pudding, which is made from eggs, milk, suet, and cricket flour, and sweetened with imported sugar, sweet condensed milk, or candied fruit. As such, these dense puddings are sometimes known as Falinesti Forbidden Fruit, and they're sometimes decorated to look like large oranges, apples, or coconuts for the shock factor! And if you're curious to try this strange but tasty dessert, you'll be pleased to know that a new recipe is coming soon...

Nords

I admit it, Skyrim cuisine can be a little bland compared to the food of most other races, but this little gem is a dish most outsiders don't know about- Akaviri casserole. I don't know if it's actually Akaviri in origin, or if somebody just thought it sounded exotic, but it is deceptively spicy, and not in a way most Tamrielic people know it. Its key ingredient is frost peppercorns, which grow at high altitudes in Skyrim and around the Druadach Mountains, are coveted by alchemists, but also pack a serious punch in any dish. While regular chilis have a sharp burn, frost peppercorns leave a numbing, tingly feeling that spice masochists love. Anywhere from a couple of peppercorns to a whole fistful of them go into a casserole dish with an eidar cheese sauce, venison, juniper berries, and vegetables like potatoes and carrots. In other words, it's just another Nord dish...but painful.

Redguards

I mentioned a while ago that Redguards detest moldy or fermented foods, due to the close association with rot and death. There is an exception to this however, and it's surprisingly something that's served in every Hammerfell household: fish paste. Similar in taste to the Imperial garum, fermented fish paste is literally made from leftover fisherman's offcuts which usually have been left out in the sun all day. Rather than leaving the scraps to the vultures, at the end of the day they're shovelled into stone amphorae containing gods know what (it's a closely guarded secret) and are left to ferment for two days in a cellar. Of course, there are plenty of posh Redguard fish pastes on the market with Abecean longfin caviar, but this is first and foremost a food of the common people, with humble (if slightly gross) origins.

Imperials

I've always loved the predictability of Cyrodiilic cooking...until you find something like barbecued minotaur ribs. Ribs aren't anything surprising, but Imperial ribs are usually tender, delicate lamb or faun. Eating is a serious, dignified affair, so this is a completely astounding defiance of customs. Minotaur meat is a rare delicacy, and they're normally basted in a red wine, honey, and mustard sauce, and grilled on flaming coals. The end result is a meaty, sweet mess, and definitely just as undignified to eat (if not moreso) than the Breton kebabs. If you're willing to get your hands dirty and abandon haughty Imperial decorum, you've found a carnivore's dream.

Khajiit

Gryphons can be dangerous pests to the Khajiit living outside city walls in Elsweyr. When they've snatched enough sheep or wounded people, villagers will often band together and hunt the responsible gryphon, and eat it at a communal feast. A successful gryphon hunt is a cause for celebration among Khajiit, and is seen as a good omen and blessing from Hircine, the Hungry Cat. The reason this is fascinating to me is that gryphons are sort of like a cross between turkey and beef in form and taste, and no other race eats them. After it is plucked, gryphon meat is hacked into chunks and distributed by the clan chief between households, who then cook and share it with the village. Gryphon dishes range from red curried gryphon with saffron rice to a simple roast gryphon with moon sugar.

Altmer

It's an industry joke that cooking for High Elves is like trying to milk a kagouti; it makes no sense, they're probably going to get mad, and it's impossible. Imagine my astonishment, then, when I learned that even haughty Summerset is not immune from the delicious clutches of...macaroni and cheese. They'll opt for ingredients like cave-aged, 80 year old vintage indrik cheddar or authentic Cyrodiilic buckwheat  orrechiette, but I was shocked that this humble dish was a treat that's well-loved in Summerset, despite its lack of technical complexity. It's a rare treat though, because all that cheese grease is bad for the Altmer complexion!

Dunmer

Nothing is particularly surprising from the old guard of traditional Vvardenfell cooking- after a few kwama eggs and guar steaks, you get the general idea. What I do find surprising is the emergence of Skyrim Dunmeri cuisine. It's been a couple of generations since the refugees fleeing Morrowind settled in Solstheim and largely Windhelm, and those born in Skyrim have developed a cooking style of their own. Based on traditional Dunmeri dishes like crab meat and scuttle, you'll find local ingredients used as substitutes. Apparently, the juices from Nord pickled herring makes the perfect substitute for kwama egg whites...I'll leave it at that.

Orcs

It's known that the radish is an Orc's favourite vegetable, and it's served tender, crunchy, baked or raw in any Orcish dish under the sun. Radish tea-sandwiches are therefore one of the more confusing foods I've come across, though they're mostly served by Wrothgarian and High Rock Orsimer. Soft wheat bread is buttered and layered with horseradish chutney, raw radish slices, and cucumber slices. They're cut into dainty triangles are are usually a snack food, though other races view them as canapés served at high tea or parties. However, when I asked an old hearthwife on Betnikh about radish tea-sandwiches, I was threatened a beating because it was embarrassing, and to tusk off and find some mammoth. If you never hear from me again, you know who got me.

#the elder scrolls #tes #world building #Worldbuilding #Asks #long post

[zambie-trashart]

Land of the Free and Home of the Wayne pt 8

masterlist

ao3 full story so far

Summary: Two-Face attacks and three superkids come up with a plan.

.................................

Damian went to look at Two-Face carefully but a loud grunt was heard and Red Robin came barreling in. Damian saw Marinette try to get up out of the corner of his eye and ran over diving on top of her and a split second later, bullets were racing over them.

"Thanks," Marinette said beneath Damian looking up at the youngest Wayne.

"Believe it or not, you dying is my most pressing concern at the moment," Damian said starting to crawl toward the back exit.

"What about your boy toy?" Marinette asked obviously referring to Jon.

"We're close but not that close, Jon's got eyes for someone else," Damian said keeping his composure. He hated it when people thought him and Jon were a couple, there was an entire month where the news called them a "Super Couple" and said that they were adorable together, Damian just shivers at the thought of that month where people wanted pictures with them.

"I don't know, he's got a cute kind of innocence to him don't you think?" Marinette asked remembering when her pen pal sent her something saying that he thought his best friend liked him as more than a friend.

"He's too innocent, not my type, and like family. Can we talk about something else like why that girl hates you so much?" Damian asked as they popped into the back alleyway.

"She lies to everyone, I tried to expose her. Haven't we already gone over this?" Marinette asked frowning.

"Yeah, I just wanted to change the topic to something you were uncomfortable with," Damian said. "She turned everyone against you and them some of your friends saw through her lies thinking better than what they wanted to hear. They used logic. Jon, Mar'i, and I are going to fix this and it all starts tomorrow," Damian said grabbing Marinette's hand. Marinette looked up at Damian smiling.

"Thank you," Marinette said feeling like a magnet was pulling them closer together their faces inched closer, heads tilting, lips practically touching when the door slammed open.

Jon watched Tim fight and kids cheer him on. Adrien was herding up students in a corner and crawled over to Jon offering his hand to come over to their side. Jon moved quickly and a thug went flying across the room almost splitting them up but Adrien grabbed Jon pulling him into his chest on the floor. All the thugs and Two-Face were taken down and Red Robin was panting in the front of the arcade and he waved to the students before grappling off.

"Where's Damian?" a student asked looking around and Jon started searching for his friend.

"Where's Marinette?" Nino asked looking around too.

"Uh oh," Jon said and ran to the back of the arcade swinging the back door open with Adrien behind him. Of all the things Jon expected to see, he never expected to see them practically kissing. "Dang it! So close!" Jon yelled almost pulling his hair out at the two who jumped apart looking anywhere but at each other. He stomped back into the arcade seeing Tim talking to the students.

"Wow so crazy," Tim said unenthusiastically. Jon ran over to him and whispered something in his ear. "Damn it," Tim said hitting his head into the wall. "All right, let's go back to the Manor to get ready for dinner," Tim said leading the students back to the streets and to the Manor. They were mugged a total of ten times on the way back handling them with grace and dignity. Tim pushed the Manor door open walking through to see his brothers at the front with Miss. Bustier who asked how the trip was.

"Entertaining," Nino said from the back dragging his roommates to their room. Dick raised an eyebrow walking away. There was a scream from the corner and everyone turned panicked. Lila was standing in the corner clutching her wrist.

"Marinette pushed me earlier when we were walking back to the Manor I think it might be broken," Lila said wincing in "pain".

"What? I never pushed her!" Marinette said and Miss. Bustier dragged her off to talk about her "behavior".

"She always says that but it's never true, she's a liar!" Lila yelled and cried falling to the floor. Damian and Jon just watched mouths wide open.

"Really?" Damina asked looking around."That's bullshit!" Damian yelled and Bruce gave him a warning look. The students stayed crowded around Lila and Marinette cried in the corner being scolded by her teacher. Damian grabbed Jon's wrist dragging him up the stairs toward Mar'i's room.

The room was dark and a single light shone in the darkness and Mar'i turned around slowly in a rolling chair slowly petting Alfred the cat who was purring on her lap and her other hand had green light coming from it. "Is it time?" Mar'i asked and Damian slammed his head into the wall.

"What if we were someone else?" Damian asked thinking about how cliche Mar'i was trying to be. Jon just shoved his friend.

"Yup, it's revenge time, what do we need?" Jon asked rubbing his hands together.

"Raw eggs, pepper, peanut butter, silly string, pickle juice in a small bottle, and ketchup," Mar'i said thinking of just about everything.

"I believe it's time for a good old fashioned prank war from one side," Damian said smirking at his friends who just smiled back with insanity in their eyes. Time for part on of the three-part plan.

1. Make Lila miserable 2. Scare Lila/ Threaten Lila's power over everyone 3. Prove Lila is a liar

Easy.

...............................

JPS:  @wannajointhecrabcult @loveswifi @ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole @liquid-luck-00@mochegato@thatonecroc@mochinek0 @toodaloo-kangaroo@moonspiritwolf1 @professionalfangirl1738 @ranger-gothamite @crystalangelluna

Tag list: @abrx2002@finallyaniguana@danielslilangel@chocolateherringtacofan@animegirlweeb @fleur-de-jasmin-fdj@pawsitivelymiraculous@justcourttee@ayamestudios@greenteacz@thornalchemist23@vixen-uchiha@readeracctagmepls@tomanyfandomsinmymind @t1dwarrior-of-earth@michaelshadow7779 @i-is-mysterious

#jon kent #jon and damian #jon x adrien #marinette x damian #damian wayne #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #miraculous class #lila salt #lila rossi #tim drake and jon kent #tim drake

[phobidawg]

Six Fanfic Collab

Colds and Cuddles- A little Anna sickfic, featuring some KatAnna fluff and a bit of Anna angst. 

With US!Queens and Mack!Howard

“Guys I’ve got the plague!!”

Anna’s proclamation was met with a look of fear from Jane, slight concern from Catherine, disinterest from Anne, nothing from Cathy, and wide worrying eyes from Kitty.

In truth, Anna knew she wasn’t dying. Her head was hurting badly, and her nose was running, and her sinuses were most certainly clogged, but she was nowhere near death. 

Not that the other queens needed to know that. 

“Plague?” Jane asked tentatively, taking a small step back. 

Catherine looked Anna up and down. “You look fine to me. Maybe a little head cold.” She gestured to Anna’s red and stuffy nose. The sick queen sneezed loudly into her sleeve. Jane winced. 

“Go upstairs and nap, make sure you sleep, get lots of water, and vitamin C. Maybe orange juice.” Cathy didn’t look up from her phone and she ordered this to Anna. Anna wrinkled her nose. Sleep? Orange juice? Water?! How boring. 

“I’m on the verge of death, and you’re telling me to nap?!” Anna’s voice was congested, but no less reproachful.

“You’ll survive,” was Cathy’s short response. 

“But Anne may not.” Catherine interjected, with a disgusted side-eye to Anne, who was stirring a concoction of chocolate milk, pickle juice, and french fries.

The queen shrugged at Catherine’s comment, the smile of an overexcited evil genius taking over her face. “My three favorite foods together can only mean the ultimate drink.”

“You’ll say that, until you puke.”

“You insult me. You think my stomach can’t hold this?”

“No one can hold that.”

“Bet.”

Anna was filling to the brim with frustration.

She was sick. They should be looking at her, not Anne’s stupid drink. 

“Fine! I’m not going to die, but I actually do feel sick.” She admitted. She got no response, the other queens had tuned Anna and her dramatics out. A pang in her heart startled her. She coughed loudly in her arm, and blew her nose with all the force of a trumpet. “Does anybody care?”

But the queens had all turned to Anne, who was taking a sip of her crazy creation. Except Jane, who had seemed to disappear at the first sign of sickness. 

Anna stomped back up the stairs, and it wasn’t until she was at the entryway of her room that she felt tears sting her eyes. 

Why wouldn’t they look at me?

Ever since Henry had rejected her, she had a deep set fear and despise of being considered unworthy of a person’s attention, and therefore always needed such attention to feel good about herself. With the other queens blatantly sidelining her, she just… 

Anna rapidly swiped a single tear away. She banged open her door, regretting it when it made her head throb, and collapsed into her bed. As she buried her head into her pillow, dark thoughts began crowding her mind.  First, they were reproachful and angry. How dare they not consider my sickness a real issue. Well, maybe I was being overdramatic, but I told them that I was really sick! And they still didn’t care!  They’re my friends, don’t they feel bad for me? Instead all they would look at is Anne and her ridiculous drink...  

However, the thoughts quickly turned on her.  I am overdramatic so they tuned me out, but what if…  I really am not that important to them? The thought was startling, and terrifying. 

After all this isn’t the first time they’ve ignored me like this…  but then again we’ve had fun times together. But fun times don’t exactly ensure that I’m as important as the other queens.  After all, I’ve always stood out. The only one without a sob story to tell, the only queen who didn’t really suffer at Henry’s hand. Heck, we were friends! I’ve always known that, but what if they’ve been more aware of it than me all along? Maybe I’m not worth their time. After all, Anne and Kit were out there getting their heads chopped off, while I rode horses and had parties. 

In the midst of her worrying if the other queens held this against her, Anna began to hold it against herself.

Her whirling inner screams were interrupted by a small voice. 

“Anna?”

Anna peeked her head up from the comforter. Kitty was standing in the doorway, eyes wide. 

In a second, she had thrown herself across the room, and taken a stunned Anna into her arms. The sick queen was too shocked to move as Kitty squeezed her tightly. 

“Oh Anna, I’m so sorry you’re sick.” Kitty said into her ear. The girl was sure and comforting, and her hug soothed the million thoughts running through the German girl’s head. Anna finally came from her stupor, and wrapped Kitty around with her arms as well. 

Anna tried to recall the last time she’d be held like this… if she ever had. Many times she had hugged Kitty when she was panicking, but she always had to be the initiator. Even then, it was only to calm her down, so the embraces had been rather one-sided. 

But here was Kitty, who had just run at her and was holding her tightly and lovingly. Anna sunk into the warm embrace. She felt her tears coming forward again as Kitty petted her hair. There was no explanation, if anything Anna was happy in her arms. Yet, they came.

“Shhh…” Kit murmered in her ear soothingly. Anna sniffled, baffled at her own tears. 

The girl gently broke them apart and climbed to sit properly on the bed. She propped herself against the headboardz and took Anna’s head in her lap. Anna’s eye widened at the sensation of being in the position of weakness, but there was also a tempting sense of comfort to it. Besides, she told herself, it’s Kitty. She’s harmless. 

And pretty, sweet and smells nice. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Kitty pushed something soft into Anna’s arms, and she looked down. It was an adorable little stuffed seal. 

“Meet Princess Bling Bling Sparkle Bling Bling!” Kitty beamed. 

Anna settled her head back in Kitty’s lap, petting the stuffed animal. 

Kitty smiled down at her, and began to rhythmically push Anna’s hair off her forehead. Against her own will, Anna’s eyes started to close. She clutched the plushie close as Kitty tucked the blanket around her with her free hand. 

“Kitty?” Anna asked, words thick with sleep and sickness.

“Yes?”

“Do the other queens… care, about me?”

Kitty looked at her in confusion. “Of course they care about you, why would you ever think they don’t?”

“I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if they’re mad that I had such a good life…”

Kitty shook her head slightly. “That’s silly, they are not mad at all. If anything, we’re happy that at least one of us got to enjoy life to the fullest.” She had a sad sort of smile of her face, and Anna was hit once again with a sort of guilt. Kitty absent mindedly tucked hair behind Anna’s ear as she said, “I know it wasn’t easy for a lot of us wives, but even though we bash each other because of it in the show, in reality we don’t care about that, and just want the best for each other. I know you know this, but I hope reminding you helped?”

Anna thought about that for a second. We just want the best for each other.  Maybe they hadn’t looked twice at her during breakfast, but she knew that wasn’t the whole story. She thought of the times when she and Catherine had talked about their past lives and countries to each other, and the times when she and Jane had worked together to soothe a panicked Kat. Or when Anne had lent Anna her wheelies, with disastrous results. And the times Cathy would watch American Ninja Warrior with her when no one else would, just so she wouldn’t be too lonely (though Anna knew she liked the show as well, even if she wouldn’t admit it.)

The queens might not always give Anna their complete attention, but that didn’t mean they didn’t love her. And Kitty was right, they all did want the best for her.

“That actually did help, a lot. Thank you Kitkat.” Anna turned to sneeze.

Kitty brought the tissue box next to her, and resumed her hair petting. Anna, finally content, found her eyes getting heavier. Kitty leaned down to brush a light and sweet kiss on Anna’s brow, and the sick queen smiled before drifting into sleep. 

Links to the other parts- 

Aragon- https://woulddieforkhoward.tumblr.com/post/190945870568/six-fanfic-collab 

Boleyn- https://vidyamakan.tumblr.com/post/190964963034/six-sickfic-collab 

Jane- https://czuritaa.tumblr.com/post/190982058564/six-sickfic-collab

#angsty fluff #six the musical #us!queens #courtneymack!howard #mack!howard #kitty angst #six fanfic #my fic #britt!cleves #adrianna!aragon #andrea!boleyn #abby!seymour #anna!parr #six fluff #six sick fic collab #katherine howard #anne of cleves #my first time writing a proper six fic should I write more?

[cuthian]

Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure Chapter Six

Hi all!

I couldn't leave you hanging too long with that cliffhanger. This is, for now, the last chapter.

I have one more "prequel" of sorts that I want to write, about how Alex and Reggie actually ended up fooling around, but other than that I don't have anything planned just yet.

Please, do let me know if there are things you'd like to see in this universe though, and I'll definitely consider writing them!

Lots of love Annaelle

SIX

“I May Not Have Gone Where I Intended To Go, But I Think I Have Ended Up Where I Needed To Be.”

—Douglas Adams

ALEX

Alex prided himself on being the levelheaded one.

Luke was the impulsive one, the proud one, who ran into things headfirst with no consideration for circumstances or consequences whatsoever—unless it concerned the band—and Reggie just went through life without thinking too hard about anything.

Alex couldn’t help but think too hard about literally everything, but even he hadn’t seen this coming.

“What do you mean,” he said shakily, blindly reaching out behind him until he found Reggie—too few rings on his fingers to be Luke—, who took his hand and squeezed it so hard it nearly hurt.

Maggie looked between them with wide eyes, swallowing thickly before she said, not looking away from them, “T’Nia, can you take Reg? I think she needs her diaper changed.”

T’Nia nodded wordlessly and took the baby, turning to Julie with a small smile. “Can you show me the bathroom, please? And I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee, if that offer for a drink still stands.” Alex tried to smile at Julie when she looked at them, but he wasn’t sure if it came across right.

“Sure,” Julie said. “Let’s go.”

Maggie folded her arms around herself and heaved another heavy sigh. “Okay,” she began, chewing on her lower lip. “Okay. Uh… What do you… what do you remember, exactly?”

“Just,” Reggie choked, “Just getting sick, and… the ambulance.”

Alex nodded shakily but didn’t say what he knew Luke was remembering too. Reggie had been the first to—to go. Alex remembered, hazily, turning his head to look at the others and finding Reggie throwing up blood, paler than he had ever seen him, his eyes rolling back into his head and then a lot of shouting—

He was pretty sure he’d heard one of the paramedics say, horrified, “Jesus, there’s nothing we can do—he’s bleeding out on the inside,” before he had passed out and then floated out of his body too.

In hindsight, maybe he should’ve known that it hadn’t been just food poisoning.

“Right,” Maggie said faintly. “Okay. Well. You’re not entirely wrong.” She looked down briefly and Alex had a bad feeling about this whole thing. “I found out all of this,” Maggie continued, “when I was in my twenties. I looked up court records, police reports, autopsy results… I didn’t know, when I was younger. Our parents… well, they weren’t exactly concerned with keeping up to date with what happened to you.”

Alex squeezed Reggie’s hand, because he didn’t need to be looking at him to know that this would hit him hard. Even though he and his dad had parted on really shitty terms after he’d caught Alex and Reggie kissing—they really hadn’t been as sneaky as they’d thought—Reggie had always held out hope he’d be able to go home someday.

“You can say it,” Reggie said hoarsely. “That they hated me.”

Maggie’s expression crumpled. “They didn’t. I mean,” she shook her head and exhaled shakily. “Dad was an absolute miserable asshole, but I still think he hated himself more than he ever hated you or me. And mom…”

“…was a drug addict and a drunk,” Reggie whispered, Alex winced a little.

They’d all known, really. Reggie’s parents had insane, violent arguments about money, Reggie and Maggie, work and their drinking habits nearly every day, and when they weren’t fighting, they were drinking or smoking, together or separately.

Even before he and Alex had started fooling around, Reggie had spent a fair few nights sleeping at Alex’s house to get away from the constant shouting.

“Yeah,” Maggie sighed. “Yeah.”

“So what did you find out?” Alex asked, scooting his chair a little closer to the other boys.

“You were killed,” Maggie admitted, and Alex inhaled sharply as Reggie squeezed his hand hard. “The man who did it, he’s in prison. He got life, without parole for your murder. He tried to claim insanity, say that ghosts made him do it, but…” she shrugged. “It was pretty clear that it was premeditated.”

“What?” Luke choked faintly.

“The man that sold you the hot dogs,” Maggie elaborated. “He confessed. He spiked everything with sulfuric acid.” Alex blinked in confusion, and he supposed the other two must’ve as well because Maggie immediately added, “Car battery acid. He dipped everything, from the hotdogs to the condiments, even the buns, in it. He didn’t kill anyone else, he must’ve changed the containers when you guys—”

“He was putting out fresh stuff,” Luke said suddenly. “When we got there, he was putting out new containers, he said—he said it was a busy night.”

“That’s why he wasn’t concerned when I spilled pickle juice on his battery cables,” Alex murmured, staring off into the distance as he tried to… tried to understand. They’d been going to that specific street dog cart for ages, they’d known the guy by name—

“Why would he—” Alex choked. “What did we—”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said softly. “He never gave a reason beyond ‘ghosts made me do it’.”

Alex felt like throwing up all over again, and when he looked at Reggie and Luke, he could tell they felt the same. It’d been one thing when it’d been their own bad luck that’d gotten them killed—being murdered though… by someone they’d known…

“You read my autopsy report?” Reggie asked quietly, looking at his sister with an expression that bordered somewhere between horrified and confused, and yeah—

Yeah, that was easier to focus on.

“You said you’d seen our bodies too,” he piped in, ignoring Reggie’s horrified gasp. “When I talked to you… after the restaurant, you said—”

“Yeah,” Maggie sighed. “Yeah, I did. When we got the call—mom was… She had to go identify you. And Alex.” Alex startled, and Maggie shot a small, pained smile at him. “Your parents wouldn’t—they said they didn’t have a son, so they asked mine and Luke’s parents. Mom… Mom couldn’t really handle it. They wouldn’t let me in at first, but she insisted, so I—I saw.”

“God,” Luke choked and Alex let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, tears rolling down his cheeks. He’d known his parents weren’t okay with the band, with him being gay, with… with him, but he hadn’t thought they’d blatantly refuse to acknowledge him.

“Mags,” Reggie started, but Maggie shook her head sharply.

“Look,” she said, “I’ve gone through a lot of therapy. It’s not okay, but… I’ve dealt with it.”

Alex swallowed thickly and looked away, refocusing his attention on his and Reggie’s hands, on the way their fingers looked all tangled together, on the difference between their hands, because this whole thing was threatening to overwhelm him and to pace, he’d have to let go of Reggie and Luke and he didn’t think that’d help him at all.

“You’re buried together,” Maggie said then, and Alex looked up at her with tears still burning in his eyes. Maggie smiled a tremulous smile at him and said, “Luke’s parents arranged it all. Your dad even helped me get out of school so I could attend the funeral,” she told Luke with a small smile.

“He did?” Luke rasped. “They—they buried us together?”

“Yeah,” Maggie nodded. “There were so many people. I don’t remember… a lot, but I remember standing up front with your mom and dad, and… I just… I couldn’t see the end of the crowd.” She smiled through her tears and added, “They played all your favorite songs, and there were pictures of the three of you everywhere.”

“Oh,” Luke choked, and Alex kind of broke. He slipped out of the chair and shoved Reggie and Luke over just a little so he could squeeze onto the beanbag with them. Luke immediately slung an arm around him and Reggie turned to bury his face in Alex’s shoulder instead, clutching at Alex’s shirt with a desperate grip, and Alex exhaled shakily, hiding his own tears in Reggie’s hair, clutching at his two friends as desperately as they clutched back.

When he finally looked up again, a minute, ten minutes, an hour, a year later, Maggie was crying too, watching them with her hands pressed to her lips, grief and heartbreak all too easy to read on her face.

“Your mom,” she whispered when she realized he was watching, “visits every year. Twice. Once on your birthday and once on the day you died. She paid Luke’s parents back for the funeral. I don’t think she—she loves you, Alex. I thought you should know that.”

Alex felt much like she’d grabbed inside his chest and squeezed his heart, but he managed a choked, “Thank you,” before he buried his back in Reggie’s hair.

---------

REGGIE

It took them a while to stop crying, although Reggie didn’t mind being sandwiched between his two favorite people so very much, even if he’d have preferred a happier, less teary occasion.

“Thank you for telling us,” he told Maggie hoarsely, sitting up as much as he could with both Luke and Alex half on top of him. Maggie nodded at him with a small, pained smile on her face, arms still wrapped around herself, and suddenly Reggie couldn’t stand being this far away from her.

“Guys, get off me,” he told Alex and Luke, tapping Alex’s hip—the nearest part of him that he could reach—and elbowing Luke in the side. “Let go.”

He got to his feet as gracefully as he could manage and told his sister—his little sister, who’d gone through her entire life without him, who’d grown into a woman with a wife and a daughter and an amazing job without him—“I’m going to hug you. And I’m probably gonna cry again, so no judgement, okay?”

Maggie snorted a laugh but nodded nonetheless and got to her feet to, looping her arms around Reggie’s neck as soon as he was within reach, holding him so tight that if he still needed to breathe, he’d probably be choking, but as it was, he hugged her back just tightly. “I missed you so much,” Maggie whispered, her voice a little muffled against Reggie’s shoulder, and Reggie could barely keep from falling to pieces right then and there.

“Me too, Mags,” he choked, tightening his arms around her. “I’m so proud of you.”

Maggie let out a soft sob at that, and Reggie regretted saying it immediately—he hadn’t meant to make her cry—he wasn’t even sure what had made him say the words in the first place.

“Thank you,” Maggie told him in a hushed whisper. “I love you, Reg.”

A few tears rolled down his cheeks, and he felt warmer and stronger, just like he had when Julie had told him and the others that she loved them, and he squeezed his sister tighter. “I love you too, Mags.”

They broke apart when the garage door opened and Julie and T’Nia walked in. Reggie wiped at his eyes and smiled a little when he saw his boyfriend and his best friend surreptitiously do the same from the corner of his eye.

Maggie smiled too.

“So,” she said, her voice just barely trembling. “Do you wanna hold your niece?”

Reggie nodded jerkily, although he probably looked just as freaked out as he felt—what if he dropped her?—and the others chuckled at him. Luke and Alex came to stand next to him as T’Nia walked over with his niece cradled in her arms, and for the first time since he’d died, Reggie felt that everything might actually turn out okay.

THE END.

FOR NOW.

------------

For everyone who wants to cry with me over their shared grave. 

------------

Start from the beginning:

Unfinished Business:

(1) (2) (3)

Becoming a Memory, Becoming a Treasure:

(1)  (2)  (3)  (4)  (5)

Or read it HERE (BaMBaT) or HERE (UB) on AO3 :D

#jatp #jatp ruke #luke/reggie #Luke patterson #reggie #Alex #julie molina #julie and the himbos #Julie and the phantoms #BaMBaT

[jmeelee]

oh jmeelee, my absolute favorite sterek crack dealer... i read something somewhere once about how this persons grandfather told them about when the grandma gets mad at him, he tightens the pickle jar lid so that she'll have to talk to him and in my head i see sterek... hook me up??? stiles is pissed at derek and derek does whatever he can to get stiles to talk to him...

As Mason orders his typical post-workout smoothie, Stiles valiantly fights a grimace, and loses. He’s 99.9 percent sure drinking something so green, when it’s not a shamrock shake from McDonald’s, is illegal and punishable by death. Stiles rattles off his usual strawberry-peach-banana combo, and they fall into the uncomfortable art-deco chairs at the juice bar.

“Sixty days, man!” Mason crows, tapping the rim of his plastic cup against Stiles’. “We are on a freakin’ roll. You feeling stronger? I know I am.”

Mason’s a superb gym buddy. Aside from the fact they are the only two human members of the pack, they have a lot in common. They’re similar in body type, so they can easily spot each other during workouts. Both naturally curious individuals, their conversation between sets flows effortlessly from rare books, research and possession, to the pros and cons of having a werewolf best friend. They’re both in love with supernatural creatures.

It’s like they’re the same person, if Stiles were a gay black man.

Stiles does feel stronger. He looks stronger. Derek’s been admiring the cut of his shoulders and biceps when Stiles dresses for work in the morning, eyes and mouth appreciating the hint—and due to his curly fry addiction, it will forever remain only a hint—of definition in his abs and Adonis belt. Stiles can do a dozen pull ups now, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah, definitely,” Stiles replies through his teeth as he gnaws on the end of his straw. “There’s just… one little problem.”

Some days, he can’t open a friggin’ pickle jar.

Mason sets down his drink, and gives Stiles his full attention at the declaration. “What?”

“It’s insane, dude. I have no idea what the hell is going on! I even bought one of those hand worker-outer thingies.” Stiles curls his fingers, makes grabby hands in front of Mason’s confused face.

“You mean a grip strengthener?” Mason asks, brow furrowed.

“Yeah. Like I said, a hand worker-outer thingy. I use it, like, six times a day. I’m telling you, if I do it anymore my hands will be so strong”— he lowers his voice, mimes jerking off under the counter—“I might break Derek’s dick off. Or worse, my own.”

The barista behind the counter squints menacingly at him, so he places his hands back on the counter-top, digits encircling his frosty drink. “It doesn’t always happen, but sometimes I still can’t open stuff. It’s so weird.”

Mason squints. “What do you do when you can’t open things?”

“Derek opens them for me.” Stiles feels zero shame in the admission. He’s dating a super buff werewolf; he’d be an idiot not to put Derek’s bulging muscles to work.

Mason is quiet, biting at his full bottom lip. Stiles assumes he’s deep in thought, until he spots a grin trying to peek out from behind the curtain of white teeth.

“What’s so funny?” Stiles asks.

The smile comes out to play. “It’s Derek.”

At first Stiles thinks he means Derek has physically walked into the cafe, and glances around, but he quickly realizes his mistake.

“Wait… what? No! Derek would never.”

“Think, Stiles,” Mason prompts, leaning over the counter. “You said it doesn’t always happen, right? What was the last thing you couldn’t open?”

“Last weekend I couldn’t open the green olives. Hey, isn’t it weird green olives come in a jar but black olives come in a can? I wonder why…” He reaches for his phone.

Mason smack his hand. “Focus. By any chance did you and Derek get into a fight before you couldn’t open the olives?”

Oh, shit. Stiles burned the grilled cheese, and when Derek had tried to offer unsolicited, unhelpful advice, Stiles had thrown a spatula and ordered Derek out of the kitchen. That night, his salty midnight snack was foiled by a too-tight top. A few weeks ago, Stiles had made fun of Derek’s boxers because they had tiny wolves on them, and his tortilla chips went salsa-less. A month and a half ago his BLT was dry because he couldn’t get the mayo cap unscrewed after he and Derek loudly disagreed on a paint color for the bathroom.

“Corey does the same thing to me, so I’ll quit giving him the silent treatment when we argue. Oh, and black olives come in jars, too. The ones in cans are artificially ripened.” Mason sips his green concoction and watches realization dawn across Stiles’ face. “Mystery solved.”

+++++

Stiles stalks into their house like he’s the predator. “Damn it, Derek! I know what you’ve been doing!”

Derek lowers the volume on the television and raises a bushy eyebrow. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The pickles! The pickles, Derek!” Stiles flails his arms. “How could you? You know I love pickles!”

“Stiles, what the f—”

“You’ve been tightening all the jars so I’ll have to talk to you after we fight!”

Derek blinks, eyes wide and innocent, and leans back into the leather couch cushions. “Does that seem like something I’d do?”

“Uh, yeah!” Stiles squawks. “You’re almost as big of an asshole as I am, and that’s totally something I’d do if I’d thought of it first. Admit it, Derek.”

Derek smiles, the self-satisfied smile of someone who thinks he’s won. “Never.”

Stiles’ fists dig into his hips. “Fine. But you get none of this”—he motions up and down his own body— “until you admit I’m right.”

“So, to be clear, we’re arguing about how we argue?” Derek deadpans.

“Damn right we are.”

Derek unmutes the TV and turns back to his cooking show. “You won’t last three days.”

Stiles huffs. We’ll see about that.

+++++

He so could have lasted three days, except on day two Derek went out for a run in the preserve and Stiles knew he had at least forty-five minutes of alone time, so he flung off his pants and flopped into bed, grabbing the lube from the nightstand drawer.

Only to find the plastic flip-top cap glued shut and the whole cover screwed so tightly he knows he’ll never get it open.

In his rage, he pulls on his jeans and hops down the stairs, bottle clutched firmly in his fist. He shoots into the woods as fast as his legs will carry him, screaming his husband’s name at the top of his lungs.

Derek, barely breathless, silently slides up next to him fifteen minutes later. Stiles shakes the bottle in his face. “How dare you?”

Derek has the audacity to laugh at Stiles’ pain. “Is this any worse than you not speaking to me when I put the toilet paper roll on the ‘wrong way’?”  The words are punctuated by bitchy air quotes and a massive eye roll.

“The paper comes over the top, Derek. It’s science.”

“Or how we almost got divorced because you insisted the person who takes out the trash shouldn’t have to replace the garbage bag in the can?”

“That’s teamwork!”

“Stiles.” Derek gently takes Stiles’ free hand in his sweaty palm. “We’re married ten years. Can we please agree to solve our problems like adults? No more pettiness, from either side. Truce?”

Stiles’ glare lasts all of ten seconds. “Ugh, fine. Truce. But you should totally make this up to my poor, disappointed dick.” He shoves the sloshing liquid into the middle of Derek’s firm chest. “Now can we please go home?”

Derek smiles, all sharp teeth, and whips his damp grey t-shirt over his unfairly attractive head. “We could walk the half mile back to the house.” Derek’s head cocks in the direction of their home, hidden from sight through the trees. “Or I could make it up to you right here.” He pops a claw, and pierces the lube bottle.

Stiles fumbles for his zipper.

Here works.

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #sterek fic #sterek ficlet

[cecilspeaks]

143 - Pioneer Days

We are thirsty. We cannot see. We don’t know what time it is, we are nearly here. 

Welcome to Night Vale.

Pioneer Days are upon us again. This is, of course, just the folksy rebranding that the public utilities department gives to randomly selected days throughout the year, when they cut all services without notice. The lights go out, the air conditioners grow warm, the food spoils, the water supply dries up. All residents are required to dress in the costumes of early settlers to make the whole thing feel festive and patriotic. Failure to dress in era-appropriate clothing, such as overalls and soft meat crowns, will result in punitive measures. Including being called a time traveler in a pejorative tone of voice, as was traditional punishment for all real time travelers back in the early days of Night Vale.

Polls show that these civic holidays are increasingly unpopular, but this time it’s going to be different, the utilities department promises. “It’s going to be way more fun, we swear. Just bear with us, you’re so brave. You’re all my brave little pioneers,” the pamphlets scattered around town assure us. “After all,” the pamphlets continue, “what is bravery but endurance? What better way to honor the struggles of our ancestors than through personal discomfort and grim acceptance? These are the values our town was founded on, aren’t they? Aren’t they?!” the pamphlets shout. The pamphlets writhe on the ground. The pamphlets inhale sharply and become still. In an effort to sway public opinion on pioneer days, the utilities department has unveiled an interpretive boardwalk and historical display, set up in an open expanse of desert miles from town. The intention of the display is to bring a sense of local pride and education to the community, and to be a fun family centered activity that can take people’s minds off the panic inducing existential questions that come from being so very alone in the dark.

And now traffic. You had a dream when you were young. In the dream, you woke up on the couch after a nap just in time to see your family driving away, leaving you alone in the house. They’ve never done that before, you’re much too young, too small to be left alone. There are no lights on and everything is soft with shadows. You see a brown paper bag on the table. They must have left it there for you. Is it food? You don’t know how to feed yourself yet. The bag suddenly lurches and tips over onto its side all by itself. A snake slides out onto the table, drops to the floor, and slithers rapidly toward you. You try to scream.

This is the moment you were supposed to wake up, but it isn’t a dream, is it? Your whole family really did abandon you. You grew up in this house alone after that, just you and the snake. It wasn’t poisonous but that doesn’t mean it was a good companion. It came and went without consideration for you at all, sunning itself on rocks or squeezing rodents to the death whenever it pleased, sometimes not coming home for days. You cleaned up its discarded skins during the molting season. You let it sleep curled next to your body for warmth in the winter months, even though it could only give back cold indifference in return. But you had no one else, that’s just how it was. You still see each other once a year during the holidays out of a sense of duty. You follow each other on Facebook, but neither of you check that site anymore. You waited to wake up from this dream of your youth to find your family had never left, that they were still there with you. You are still waiting to wake from this dream. This has been traffic.

I’m getting more details about the Pioneer Day’s display and celebration. Along the interpretive boardwalk, visitors will come to several viewing platforms where they will see the bleached bones of select citizens’ ancestors, scattered across the sun scorched earth. Those who won last night’s raffle must remit their ancestral bones by noon in order to be featured in the display. Further along the walk, spectators will be treated to an animatronic re-enactment of the battle for the scrublands, an event in which several key town founders bravely fought against the giant benevolent arthropods that used to exist in this area. As visitors will see, the beasts were all slain easily by our intrepid settlers, as the animals were unaccustomed to violence of any kind and regarded the human newcomers with only gentle curiosity. “They had to die,” intones the robotic voice of a mechanical man in a waistcoat, as he stands triumphant among piles of enormous multi-pointed legs. “For they were too visually disconcerting to live,” he booms.

There will always be a booth sponsored by the historical society displaying repurposed slide film from random strangers’ family vacations that have ben collected at garage sales over the years. Accompanied by plaques with made up historical narratives about the pictures. For example, there’s one of an elderly woman playing shuffleboard on a seniors’ cruise entitled “Griselda Fords the River”. It tells the tale of when pioneers first got to the sand wastes and there was a big scary river running through it, and how they had to risk their lives just to reach the land that we now have the privilege to take for granted. A lot of plaques have a kind of passive aggressive tone like that, actually.

If you make it to the end of the walk, you will be greeted by Earl Harlan, who will demonstrate how to make cherries jubilee, a staple dish among the early Night Vale frontiers people. “You feed a goose cherries until it can no longer walk or stand on its own,” Earl explains. “Then you light the goose on fire until its screams become whimpers, and when it’s finally silent, you extinguish the flames. The goose’s blackened flesh is full with tar enzymes that are very good for your skin and eyes. The red liquid pooling around it is only cherry juice. Only viscous cherry juice,” he explains as he dishes out samples of the boiling native cuisine directly into people’s outstretched ravenous hands.

That’s not all. The fully immersive interactive theater segment is last. You’ll be blindfolded and placed in the back of a cargo truck. Hours later, you will step off of the wooden blank and be free to enter into the desert, to try and find your way back home. Just like the pioneers did it. You don’t realize how the boardwalk is designed to be completely disorienting until this moment, when you step into the endless desert and look to all horizons and see only identical sagebrush and chaparral and nothingness. As if you’ve entered a mirrored fun house made only of hot dirt.

More on Pioneer Days, but first The weather.

[“Vines” by Super Boink https://superboink.bandcamp.com/]

As you wander lost in the desert, you first experience a dizzying sense of freedom. You can go wherever you want, the future is yours to shape. The possibilities seem as endless as the vast wasteland in front of you, but when you look behind you and realize you can no longer see the interpretive boardwalk or any other sign of human life, that sense of freedom becomes abject despair. You realize that taking risks is only fun when you have safety net. When that risk is a choice.  Now that you’ve been swallowed up into the blistering wilderness, you learn that choice has always been an illusion. You must go forward. The sun sinks lower. The dark air blurs the edges. You feel a cool breeze sweep over the sand – and you are grateful for that. Your lips bleed.

It’s nightfall when you come to an old homestead. It has no roof and leans to one side. There is no door, but there is the shape of a door, the black rectangle of absence. You feel compelled to go in, as would anyone confronted by a structure with an entrance, but you hesitate. You recognize this place, yes. You saw it in the slide film display by the historical society. There was a picture of it taken many years ago. It depicted the same house, only it had a roof back then. It did not lean to one side, and two children, barely toddlers, were standing out front. They had no heads, they had chickens roosting on top of their necks instead. The accompanying explanation said that it was a double exposure, a photographic art form that early Night Vale settlers dabbled in to pass the time. There was a whole collection of these photos displayed: a bath tub filled with blood. A levitating skull on fire. A baked ham with long luxurious hair. “The first Night Valers were incredibly adept at trick camera work,” the historical society insisted nervously when questioned. “Cameras had come to town at least a hundred years before cameras were invented, due to the rampant time traveler problem back in those days,” they explained. “We found the pictures in a locked trunk buried near the railroad tracks,” blurted a younger historical society member who was immediately shushed by the elders and relegated to selling merch.

You hesitate in the yard, until you can no longer ignore the siren song of the wind through the broken bones of this place, screaming at you to enter. Inside, the only piece of furniture left standing is a kitchen table. On top sits a sealed jar packed to the brim with pickled eggs. Your child asks if she can have one. Your child is with you, she’s ben riding on your back the whole time and you forgot all about her. That’s incredibly alarming. How can a parent just forget their own child like that? “Yes, honey,” you say, trembling with the effort of keeping your voice calm. “You can have one.” You set her down and she scampers across the dusty boards, and she feeds. She feeds ravenously. She asks for a bedtime story next, it is her bedtime after all. At least she says it is. You don’t know what time it is, but somehow she senses it and you trust her instincts.  Habits are comforting, rituals are important. It’s what keeps us grounded. It’s what prevents us from shouting uncontrollably and clutching at our eyes. “Once upon a time, there was a child who looked very much like you,” you begin. “No,” she interrupts, “the child looks like you.” “It doesn’t matter,” you say, “because it was actually a dog, not a child, be quiet now. Here’s the story. A dog ran away from home and had many adventures and then returned to its family and everyone learned lessons.” “What kind of adventures?” she asks. “Unspeakable adventures,” you say. “Is this a true story?” she asks. “Every story is true,” you say. She’s still awake. You point through the roofless void and tell her to count the stars, hoping to bore her into unconsciousness. “There are no stars,” she says. You acknowledge that the thick dark air obscures any light that might be in the sky, but “we can see them anyway,” you tell her, “because we know the stars exist.” “How do we know?” she asks. “Go to sleep,” you say.

After she’s asleep, you walk through what’s left of the old house and wonder if this is your new home now. There are many things you think you see standing in doorways or huddled in corners. Luckily, most of them are not real. The only thing that’s truly there is a nest of baby arthropods, bedded down in the tattered remains of a blood stained prairie dress. They appear to be orphaned, but they are together, intertwining all of their legs and blinking all of their eyes and wriggling as one large familial mass. You know you don’t belong here. This is their home now, as it was their home before, long before there was ever a house. You lift your child’s sleeping body and enter the desert once more. You look behind you and see the silhouette of a chicken-headed toddler standing sentinel in the yard. It’s not real, it’s just a double exposure.

As light lifts itself above the horizon, something shiny catches your eye in the distance. You move towards it, because it’s the only thing to move towards. You don’t feel hope or motivation, only the pull of a random focal point that keeps you going forward. Eventually you come upon an enormous parking lot full of vintage cars. Some are early models made of skin and mud and some are mid-century coupes with fins and hardtops and spinal columns. Hundreds of chrome bumpers glare in the blinding half-sun of dawn. What’s all this? you wonder in the daze.

“Hear yee, hear yee!” shrieks an individual in a tricorn hat, ringing a handbell. “What is this?!” you shriek back, grabbing them by the lapels. They do not acknowledge you. “Hear yee!” they cry again, but do not elaborate further. Suddenly the pounding of drums and deafening squawk of brass, a marching band is playing. Colorful streamers trail through a clear blue sky. It’s the city parade. You made it to the end of the Pioneer Days interpretive display and celebration! You accept another liquid handful of scalding cherries and stumble home with your drowsy young still clinging to your back.

As you enter your own silent house, completely free of all public utilities in celebration of Pioneer Days, you are overpowered by the scent of rotting kale in the stuffy air. And you breathe it in deeply. You rejoice. You weep. The only source of water is the puddle on the kitchen door, fed by the constant drip of the defrosting freezer. And you kneel down and drink from it, until you are satiated.

Things don’t look as bad as they once did, do they? The walls aren’t closing in on you anymore, they embrace you. The dark screens of your electronic devices no longer reflect your own boredom back to you, they reflect only relief on your haunted face. The inconvenience of no public services pales in comparison to the night you spent merely surviving in a howling unstable universe. It’s all about context. It’s all about managing your expectations. That’s what the utilities department pamphlet was trying to tell us all along. And of course about celebrating the Pioneers spirit, something something forefathers, vintage cars and other stuff like that.

But now that I think of it, we do spend a lot of our days distracting ourselves from physical reality. Maybe we really can use this time to experience life more solidly in the physical world, the way our ancestors did. Who needs modern conveniences when we have each other, right? Hold your loved ones close tonight. After all, you have nothing better to do. I’m coming home now, Carlos. I know you can’t hear me. No one can hear me. The power’s out here in the station just like it is everywhere else. We haven’t been broadcasting anything for days now. And even if we had bee, your radios don’t work anyway. but habits are comforting. Ritual is important.

Stay turned next for – whatever you think you hear. Good night, Night Vale, Good night.  

Today’s proverb: The leading cause of death is having a body.

#welcome to night vale #episode 143 #pioneer days #wtnv transcripts

[seiya234]

It started with a bag of potato chips.

Namely, a bag of artisanal potato chips Mom had gotten for them (for Mabel) (for them) at the farmer’s market that week. They were pickle flavored, made their entire room reek of dill, and came in a handmade paper bag. Before the Transcendence (before he had died) (no) Dipper usually let Mabel have the potato chips in favor of the soft pretzels Mom bought at the market for him and Dad.

But Mom had forgotten the pretzels (forgotten that he was still there) (no, just forgot that he could still eat), leaving only the potato chips.

No one had summoned him all day and he and Mabel had quickly realized that it was…. best that he not follow her to school. He could have gone to the Mindscape, could have danced in the dreams of a thousand sleepers, gone from Pisa to New Delhi to Nome just because-

The chips haunted him. As soon as he realized he couldn’t have them he wanted them more than anything else on the planet. It was dumb-part of Dipper knew this-to obsess over freaking potato chips. Perhaps it was his new nature, his new form of being. To want, to hunger, endlessly.

Also to his now far superior senses, they smelt impossibly good.

He looked at the clock (you don’t need to).

3:08 (20 seconds, 14 milliseconds, the feel of the earth slowly turning on its axis, the whirl of a body in motion around the sun-) PM. Mabel would be home soon and then she could give him some chips and he could put this whole stupid day behind him.

Mabel sighed with relief as she exited the building. Another school day done. She began the long walk home and once again tried to tell herself it was because she liked being outside and not, say, because her bus driver was a poop butt (be nice) and wouldn’t let her on his bus anymore.

She used to like school. School was where her friends and art class were. But they had had to cut art class this year because of dumb budget thing. And yeah, Mabel did art stuff all the time at home but that wasn’t the same as actually getting to go to a special class for it every day. How was she going to learn new things now? Dipper had rolled his eyes at her and just told her to use YouTube but that wasn’t the same. And as for friends-

Mabel blew out a raspberry. She was half way through the school year. She should be used to this by now. Used to not having Cherry or Eddie or Christina talk to her any more. Used to sitting alone at lunch, to having her teachers look over and pretend not to see her raised hand. Thanks to one or two…. thingies from Dipper at the beginning of the year, no one made fun of her or messed with her anymore, outwardly at least.

They just ignored her now. Oh, and left notes in her locker, notes which made her feel dirty just to read, notes that sometimes had an adult’s handwriting on them.

(She read each one then threw it away. Her parents couldn’t do anything about it and she was scared what Dipper would do if he knew.)

Mabel kicked a rock in her path and sighed. Used to be, her and Dipper would take the Alcor Express to Gravity Falls and spend the afternoon at the Shack. Soos would make her Magic Milk, Melody would do her hair in a million tiny braids, and both of them would show her and Dipper the new attractions they had made. After Paz and Grenda and Candy got out from school, they’d come over too, and they’d all chase Dipper through the yard until dinner time in Piedmont. But Mom and Dad had made them stop, saying they didn’t want them hanging out with strangers two states away.

(“But they aren’t strangers!” she had cried. “They’re our friends and we love them!”

Mom had pursed her lips and Dad had sighed. They gave each other one of those long looks that they thought Mabel was too stupid to understand. Finally, Dad said, “We will try and stop at Gravity Falls on our way to Seattle in January. Meet this Mr. Ramirez. Then we will discuss this further-”

Mabel opened her mouth to argue, but from the looks on her parents’ faces, she knew she shouldn’t push it.

Also that they expected her to break the news to Dipper.)

She blew out her breath in a big raspberry and stepped over a branch on the sidewalk. Remember.

Remember to be nice. Remember to be fair.

Remember that this was hard for Mom and Dad too. Remember that she could have made things a lot easier for herself if she had just lied about Dipper at school. Remember to remind Dad to set a place for Dipper at dinner tonight.

Remember, no matter how hard she had tried to forget, the scream Dipper let out as she saw him burn from the inside out.

Her steps sped up.

Remember to think about everyone but herself. Remember to not think about how lonely she felt, and no she shouldn’t feel that way, she talked to the girls on the phone all the time, be fair Mabel.

Was she running now? Yup, Leftie and Veronica were definitely running now.

Remember how tired she was. Remember how much Dipper relied on her for everything. Remember to try and control her emotions somehow by the time she got home because now Dipper could tell when she was upset and she didn’t want to try and explain why she was upset. Remember to stop being so upset, to stop being such a big weenie crybaby, because Dipper had it so much worse than her and she shouldn’t forget that and she needed to be better she needed to be nicer she needed to not

To not remember the mean, ugly, snarly thing in her chest that felt like it was going to claw its way out at any second.

Mabel swallowed the scream that was welling up in her throat as she finally saw the front porch of her house. She took a moment by the front door to calm down. She thought about kittencorns and snadgers and a snadger riding a kittencorn through a rainbow explosion in the Gumdrop Duchy, and that did the trick. Somehow, she managed to pull a smile out of her brain pocket.

Besides, there was that bag of fancypants potato chips Mom had got for her at the Farmer’s Market waiting for her inside.

——

Finally, finally the door opened to their bedroom and Mabel came in. He tried to ignore the way her aura was muted and damp, deep ugly puce and magenta and sqarporple. The way she threw her horse backpack to the ground instead of placing it lovingly on her papasan chair, like she did last year.

The crick she was getting in her neck from constantly looking down.

He wished he was ignoring it because it would hurt Mabel to draw her attention to his awareness of her dejection, but honestly, it was because dissecting her emotions would delay the delivery of potato chips from Mabel’s hands into his mouth.

“Mabel!”

She tiredly smiled. “Hey Dippinsauce.”

He went on. “My favorite Mabelrooni!”

“Hi.”

“Mabellina!”

She raised an eyebrow, a skill she had learned at age seven and refused to teach him (not that he needed her to do that now) (no, stop it Dipper.)

“Whoa there broseph,” she said, picking up the potato chips. “I thought we agreed- no talking like each other because that’s weird and like, we’re twins but not like, horror movie psycho twins.”

Despite the need surging through his system, Dipper shuddered. “Like that one convention last month,” he said.

Mabel grimaced. “Yeah.”

He knew how many individual grains of salt were on each chip. He knew how many chips there were in the bag (57.) He knew that there were chips from four separate potatoes in the bag, and that said potatoes came from a factory farm in Idaho and not from a backyard in Piedmont as was claimed by the proprietor. But the pickles and pickle juice that flavored the chips were handmade, that much was true. It felt like his stomach was going to crawl out of his mouth to get at the chips.

It probably felt like that because that bad boy was currently trying to squeeze its way out. Dipper frowned, and gulped hard to push his stomach back in place.

Mabel had grabbed the bag.

Mabel had opened the bag.

Mabel was saying something or the other but she always blathered on for a bit after school it wasn’t that important what was important was chips in his mouth now-

“Mabel, can I have the potato chips?”

There. That was polite. Ish.

Mabel smiled. “No offence Dipperino, but I’ve been looking forward to these all day. But I don’t mind sharing! We can do ‘one for me, one for you,’ and make it even even!”

Dipper frowned slightly. “Yeah but I’ve been waiting for them all day. I’d reallylike the whole bag if that’s okay.”

His twin’s smile wavered, but then re-fixed itself. “I’m sorry Dipper. Normally I’d let you have them all to yourself since I know… I know it gets lonely during the day. But I was really looking forward to these.”

“Well, so was I.”

“Well, me too! Can’t we just share? Like we used to do all the time?”

“N̦͉̝̼͈o̴̦͖̭̺͇̮!̣̼” The force with which the word came out of his mouth surprised him, but he kept on going.

“You don’t understand Mabel. I spent forty minutes today tracing the history of each and every potato that went into that pack- and I didn’t even want to! It just happened! Dad came in here to vacuum, and he walked through me, and I didn’t even notice because I was so busy thinking about the chips! I don’t wantto want them but I do! So just. Give them to me? Please?”

Dipper was really upset, she could tell. And he was right. He had a rough day. She should stop being selfish and give him the chips. Be a good sister and all that. Besides, there was some Lays and peanut butter to dip them in downstairs. Ignore the hot, mean, ugly snarly thing screaming in her stomach.

She opened her mouth to say okay, she extended her hand to give him the bag-

Mabel clutched the bag to her chest and snapped out, “No!”

Her brother had gone still, stiller than a person could ever get.

“What do you mean ‘no,’ Shooting Star?”

Ohhhh no he wasn’t going to get her with that trick.

It was the mean snarly thing in her stomach that spoke for Mabel, the mean snarly thing that had been born when she woke up in a dark, pink place, that had only continued to grow since then.

“I mean no! I’m… I’m tired too Dipper! I know this is harder for you, but haven’t you ever thought about that it’s hard for me too? I’m tired of… Of giving you everything! Just this once won’t you let me keep something for myself?”

The room in Dipper’s vision turned red, every single thing in his sight a shade of throbbing, angry crimson.

“It’s hard? For you?! At least you’re not dead!”

“Dipper you aren’t dead though-”

He laughed, and the glass of Mabel Juice she had poured for herself got lumpy and gross like old milk.

“Tell that to Mom and Dad! They had a funeral for me remember? There’s a stone and everything!”

“You are alive-”

“Ń̛ót̴͝ ̡to̶̧ ̧t̢h͘ę͠m̷͜!̀̕”

Dipper had burst into flames at that last part, but before she could remind him to put himself out, he kept talking.

“They walk through me even after you tell them I’m there. They visit my grave once a week even though they… they know I’m there with them. They’ve stopped worrying about my allergies. And you know they haven’t told Grandma Lorie and Grandpa Lou about… about me, not like they would have told Grandma Shermie. They don’t correct people when they say I’m dead, not like you do. They… Mark and Anna-“

“Mom and Dad-“

“They… they forget about me sometimes.” Dipper paused. “Well, maybe not forgetting all the way, because in the back of their minds is the constant thought about the Son They Lost and Mabel don’t look at me like that I’m just saying what’s there…”

He pointed a claw tipped finger at her.

“They don’t set a place for me at the dinner table any more Mabel! Haven’t you noticed that?”

“Yeah, but you don’t eat so why does it matter….”

Too late Mabel realized that she had said the wrong thing.

Dipper looked at her.

She was aware, for the first time in a very long time, of his black eyes, of the ears that grew more pointed and long with every passing day.

Fingers tipped with claws that were twitching.

Maybe she should be scared (and she was, a little bit) but this was Dipper. This was her twin, her bro-bro. And no matter how many arguments they had, she had never lost one yet. And while there would be time to apologize later, the key in arguing with Dipper was not letting him get a word in. Once you did that, he’d use his dumb “logic” and “sense” and, worse of all, “facts.”

“You’re tired of being overlooked? Of being treated differently now? Of having people look at you and think of bad things only? Well so am I.”

Mabel put the bag of chips down on the bed behind her, out of Dipper’s line of sight.

“You know; I can’t remember the last time you said ‘thank you.’”

The aura of menace that was building around Dipper shorted out.

“What… what does that have to do with anything?”

The hot snarly thing was still in her chest, screaming in anger, but at this point Mabel just felt tired.

"Dipper.... Dippindots. I spend like, almost my entire day doing stuff for you-"

"No you don't, what about when you're at school and sleeping-"

The look that Mabel gave him shut Dipper up immediately, jaw clicking audibly shut. She went on.

"Since you can't or won't show up for Mom and Dad, I'm the only way you three can talk to each other- and it's not just me telling them what you've said! They've been telling me... mom and dad stuff. No, it’s not that, it’s-"

She shook her head, "They've been telling me adult stuff and expecting me to deal with it for them and I know they don't mean anything bad by that but it really makes my head hurt and-" Mabel blew out a breath. "Then I got to decide what won't hurt your feelings, what you need to hear, and how you should hear it."

"I-"

"There's only so many scrapbooks and macaroni pages I can make to deal with this Dipper!"

Her eyes narrowed. "You have been looking at my 'Mom and Dad Stuff For Dipper' book right? I leave the pages open for you-?"

Dipper was silent and that alone was all the answer she needed.

“Wow. Great. Fantastic.” Mabel didn’t recognize the voice that was coming out of her mouth, all adult sounding and snarly and mean. She looked down into the bag, at the potato chips waiting for her.

“You know what? Fine. I’m done trying for you-“

(no, no Mabel you don’t mean that)

(she did mean it though. Not for always and forever, but for here and now, Mabel Anna Pines was done with this)

She put a hand in the bag.

“Mabel.”

She pulled out a chip.

“Mabel, I thought I told you those chips were mine.”

Mabel put the chip back and Dipper sighed in relief… only to see her grab out five chips and shove them all in her mouth.

The sound that came out of Dipper’s mouth wasn’t human. 

Human voices didn’t shatter car windows four blocks away and make ears bleed. 

Mabel pushed through and pulled out another chip. 

“S͎t̯̱o̞p̤̩̯̥̱̯͘”

His twin froze. Dipper could still see the rise and fall of her chest, the trembling of her arms forced to stay in one awkward place.

He reached out.

He grabbed the bag of potato chips- and he could touch them! He could have t͈̜͙̣͕͚̥́h̢̠̱͚ḙ̴̲͔̜͚m̦̬̥̘̳̞̯͠.

They were his and they were his and he ate them all in front of his sister’s eyes, ungraceful shovels of chips into his mouth, one, two, three handfuls and they were gone.

They were the most utterly disappointing things he had ever eaten. They didn’t live up to the day long hype in his mind... but they weren’t rotten or gross either.

They were just potato chips, and looking at his sister’s face, they tasted like ashes in his mouth.

#transcendence au #seiya writes!

[abhisheksingh098]

Dragon Ball Rap Cypher - Gameboy Jones

Dragon Ball Rap Cypher - Gameboy Jones

Dragon Ball Rap Cypher - Lyrics | Gameboy Jones

**Lyrics**

Gameboy Jones:-

Who's the man, That got the power of the gods Who will take on all opponents like it was his normal job Got these people up in arms to weaponize a spirit bomb Laughing in these villains faces with a Kamehameha I'm the face of a franchise if you take a look I got a game made by Bandai, cause I keep demand high Flying on my Nimbus this a dope view You all know the name call me Kakarot or Goku

<![CDATA[ (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); ]]> Dreaded Yasuke:-

Rise up only with a strong I claim affiliates If you see me in my Sayian Armor now I'm serious Some benefit being superior to idiots If I'm dead and gone then feel the fury from my lineage Red run down on my head, Drumming inside my heart, tread Water when I'm parched, when a demon Controlling who gets fed Bottom from start but never kneeling to be pledge Allegiance only perfect the art of fighting on the edge

Connor Quest:-

Krillin here to kill um, my skills is hitting the ceiling I'm kicking in any villain Destructo disc, get it spinning From training with Master Roshi, I'm tackling any foe see And known to be one thats shining Bright like sun rays off my dome piece This monk is hard, couldn't beat me with a jumping start These burns are sick like my six moxibustion marks Unnatural ability and fighting as a Z now Messing with 18 get opened with the ki, POW <![CDATA[ (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); ]]> VGRB:-

Flowin' like a sacred water Roshi be the looker That is heating up the battle like a brought a rice cooker That had sealed up Piccolo you better be brave If you meddle with the maker of Kamehameha waves It now it's time to make your name here at the turtle school Have a seat I'm the trainer of the toughest thugs the world has seen In the game for centuries you know I'll never stop My Ki begins to rise, the panties start to drop

Shwabadi:-

People always lump me in among the worst But I'm in the top 5 ever born on earth At the Tenkaichi, I ain't ever come first I bounce back easy, I ain't ever felt hurt Hair? Iconic. Speed? Supersonic Yes, I'm on it, scour top 10's, I made the list Mission? Ending wrongdoers with a stylish maneuver There's no mover cooler than the wolf fang fist

<![CDATA[ (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); ]]> KickFlamez:-

I'm like the Pillsbury doughboy Jedi mind tricks toss ya body In the snow boy squad of shooters Ki-Blast will leave you destroyed They underestimate the shiny head and then they get Floyd Be careful you are fucking the al-quide Bomb, a living terror threat I'm the rocket city Saddam the kamikaze Jet hellfire send you to heaven Small package do big damage like 9/11 I'm the mother fucking weapon

Baker the Legend:-

Tien, The king of Tri-Beam, think about it You can't name a stronger earthling With my third eye, I can see ya whole destiny Meant to be a killer, till I met Goku and Roshi Green Gi, On my body and its good for combat Solar Flare, Dodon Ray, Nah you don't want that See me and Chiaotzi, Better turn corners Tien, I'm putting the world back in order Kidd Rap Piccolo, I do this for the souls lost on Planet Namek Tell Kakarot to come correct because I'm doing damage I got that special beam cannon when I handle Saiyans This is nothing new Born from an evil dude so if I'm in a mood I might just blow up the moon Get the dragon balls tell 'em that I'm coming soon I had to fuse with nail just to get a boost as well When I shoot this hell better know I shoot to kill <![CDATA[ (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); ]]> Nytexing:-

Biggest Samurai with a sword yea I'm well-equipped plug with the senzu bean I know where the bag is, see me on the battlefield I'll knock you with a fat kick, one slash to ya Spinal Cord will make ya backflip I'm the strongest human with a katana I cut very well I roll with a bunch of warriors I see as fairy tales Clutch when Vegeta first attacked Goku Would've failed if didn't fly through the sky cutting off his tail

Nemraps:-

Gohan, The most Hated when I rip through teams I'm juiced up! Injecting myself with concentrated senzu beans Go hard or go home, I was trained by Piccolo Ya girl saw the bone now. she getting pickled on the low Seeing me run in the battlefield, pounding my fist And I'm ready to kill Putting my entire arm in ya body. I'm wondering how does it feel? Punch you all the way to hell you know what I did to cell I'm about to go ape-shit and I don't even need a tail None like Joshua:-

This ain't a cypher it's a tournament of fighters And I'll be number one soon as Kakarot retires If you were claiming I'm second best you in the line of my fire Prince of the Saiyans is coming to slay it Vegeta, you know me, my armor is staying on Limits are breaking my intimidation is greater than any in the squad Kakarot anything that you can be, well I can be it too Super Saiyan 1, 2, God, or Blue Don't you get to thinking that I ever want to fuse Got the final flash and I'll be saving it for Buu At least I know that my son will be cool Out of everybody that was once an enemy And then lost to Goku I'm the best one that used to be evil

<![CDATA[ (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); ]]> Cilvanis:-

Imma blast to the past then it's back to the future And I hate androids like an iPhone User ha Apocalyptic when I hop on the track Cus' every time I spit bars it's a burning attack If you ever talk shit to me or my father Vegeta I'ma slice ya body up and leave the pats in a Frieza Then I break em down until I see that ya cells warp Take you to my hometown and package you at capsule corps

Rustage:-

Act like a rebel soar high like a treble Note, Battle me? I'm a machine ay Hot as a kettle, and harder than metal an android call me 17 ay Rocket like firing beams imma get mean Charging my Ki like it's my gasoline call it obscene Blow like tetrafluoroethylene Changing my tone like it's major guess it's apart of my nature But if you want to mess with me you're messing with a ranger Shocking I put you in danger I'm just not constructed for failure Cus I'm a hardened warrior inside a steel container

<![CDATA[ (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); ]]> Savvy Hyuga:-

Underestimating cuz you think I grew softer But soon you will find out I'm still that deadly monster Ready to Scrap for my Hubby or daughter No hesitation I was made to slaughter Even the future knew my threat was initial Cowering in fear though I'm artificial Aim to take em out, yeah that's simple L on your belt to make it official Now if you wanna fall back with the speed of my Ki No backing down I wanna make you bleed for my creed Ain't no stoppin dop to your knees and plead Mercy ain't what you'll see from 18 Enough with the chatter let's resume our session Coming in with the speed for the hits thats venom Few quick combos to teach you a lesson Bout to get schooled by a blond in denim Data Dave:-

This isn't a facade I'm beating all the odds You know that I'm am a boss with more power than the gods Cell was formed and then Cell was warned He'd be clapped Even harder than the cheeks before Videl was born You are messing with the Champ now All I know is fire like I'm working on a campground And when I'm around every single villain seems to curdle Didn't you know I'm the strongest in the world bro MAT4YO:-

Hey! Look down here, Pops, If you wonder whos on top It's the youngest son to have his dragon balls drop 10 out of Goten stunting on punks With a power level that'll have you wetting your trunks I'm a Fusion, A Hybrid, I'm so fuel-efficient Been martial artistic since I was an infant I'll strike you up to heaven if you question me again It's in the name, Baby, I'm to GOAT, end Mark Cooper:-

I'm doing good, I pulled a number two Out with the skinny buu saw the world how I never knew Evil Residue transform into revenue John Wick a man for Hercule and the puppy too I've been excellent way before the hatching Way before the distractions The attempts of body snatching So just imagine, my stomach when It needs to be filled My Appetite is too sweet its diabetic skilled

<![CDATA[ (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); ]]> Diggz Da Prophecy:-

I like my peace don't forget it I'm legit tho Living so aloof but in a sec I'll get lit bro You gotta problem? That's your biz I'ma dip so I can get some cake and chill with Bulma on the ship go Get ya team, I ain't worried in the least N Bulma really like me cuz she heard I like to eat Or better yet since you thinking you the one I'll stop everything you throw with a pinky and thumb

DizzyEIGHT:-

Young Beerus the God of Destruction. I bring fear with my name If you wanna spar then I'll put you all shame Listen I'm a god so I rage Your life is something even Shenron couldn't save You don't wanna Clash Cause if I punch and it land I turn your whole planet into ash Me and you are not the same, I'm a different breed Check yourself before you ever try to step to me DaddyPhatSnaps:-

Legendary Power level Unlimited Sent away by the cowards I was living with They would cower when they figured I was Imminent So they sent me to another planet primitive Now I'm coming for the people who abandoned me And when I find them I won't be the only one with tragedies Level Up! Bury any bit of my Humanity And take my place Broly greatest Saiyan in the Galaxy

https://img.youtube.com/vi/E_PjXJ9Cp90/maxresdefault.jpg from Blogger http://bit.ly/38dMznc

#Song lyrics

[backtothestart02]

The Burglar in My Kitchen - 1/?

My submission for the @westallenfun event #westallenatthemovies. The movie, The Host, was supposed to be used for my inspiration, but I honestly only looked at the scene when Jared & Melanie first met...with a surprise attack at the refrigerator in the middle of the night. lol. So...a very loose connection here, but there you have it.

Title: The Burglar in My Kitchen

Rating: T/PG-13

Synopsis: AU!Westallen - Iris wakes up in the middle of the night to a strange man taking food out of her refrigerator. Turns out he’s not a burglar and he’ll be staying a few nights in her house. Sparks fly in close quarters.

Chapter(s): 1/?

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for being an excellent beta in a time crunch. :)

The clatter woke her up at half past three.

She waited for a few moments, wondering if she’d imagined it. Another sound came from outside her window. Already tense from the clatter that seemed to be emanating from downstairs, she flinched and whipped her head towards the sound. She breathed a sigh of relief and mentally scolded herself when she saw it was a just a tree branch hitting the glass panes.

Thirty mile-an-hour winds… The meteorologist had said that on the news some hours earlier.

For all she knew it was the wind causing objects to hit the house from the first floor.

But then the sound came again, and she knew she hadn’t imagined it.

It was a thump on the floor followed by the cooling sound that always came when someone opened their fridge. The clatter earlier had sounded eerily similar to the sound of someone coming in the back door, someone who was unaware that was where they kept their bags of recyclable garbage.

A loud sigh came from downstairs now, then a groan. She was positive she heard the shuffling of feet and opening of cupboards.

She’d hated how sound traveled in the house when she was a teenager, but now she was sure it would save her life. And her dad’s, since she assumed he was asleep in his bed just down the hall.

What a story it would make too, she thought with no small amount of pride. Reporter Stops Thief During Break-In…from stealing food? She rolled her eyes at her pathetic lack of creativity in the middle of the night.

Pushing further attempts at headlines aside, she slowly pulled back her blankets and quietly went to her always half-opened closet. In the far back, guarded by piles of shoes, lay the heavy silver bat her dad had given her when she was ten.

“Don’t use it unless absolutely necessary,” he’d instructed, after which she’d initially pouted and whined, “but I wanted a guuuun.”

She decided now that attempted burglary of food maybe didn’t warrant getting shot – or death.

She shook her head again at the morbid direction her thoughts had taken, and instead fished out the bat. She tied her floral, silky robe around her waist and opened her bedroom door. She crept cautiously down the hallway, cursing that one creaky spot on the floor that she’d forgotten about – that she always seemed to forget about – and made her way to the staircase. Upon reaching her dad’s room, she paused momentarily and listened for the sound of heavy breathing or snoring. She heard both.

Tensed and legitimately starting to feel afraid, Iris clutched the baseball bat tighter and made her way down the stairs.

…

 Staring into the contents of the refrigerator, Barry started to despair.

Where are your pickles, Detective West?

He’d told him about his late-night pickle cravings. He swore he had. Detective West had nodded along, so Barry had assumed he was taking notes. Now though, he recalled how distracted Joe had been looking at his phone and then having to take a call.

Having spent the greater part of the last fifteen minutes tearing apart the fridge and opting for a glass of milk in the process, Barry had to admit defeat and settle for an orange.

He wrinkled his nose as he eyed the fruit in his hand.

He had nothing against oranges, truly. It was just that they were so messy. And sticky. And he hated pulp. And to be perfectly honest, he had yet to discover where Detective Joe West kept his napkins or paper towels. Or even regular towels if Barry decided to wash his hands in the sink.

He was just about to close the refrigerator door, resigned to his fate, when a voice sounded behind him. And it wasn’t Detective West. It wasn’t even a masculine voice but for some reason, it sounded familiar.

“Don’t. Move.”

Barry froze, then slowly lifted his hands, one still holding the orange and turned to face who was behind him.

His eyes widened when he saw her. Iris West, adorned in a loosely fitting pink silk robe covering up her extra-large navy CCPD t-shirt and knee-length duck pajama bottoms, all of which made him smile, until he saw the very real silver baseball bat she clutched in her hands. Her expression was filled with no-nonsense determination. He tensed, causing some of the juices from the orange to dribble down his arm.

Prepare for a concussion.  

“Who are you and why are you stealing –” She paused and analyzed the orange that was starting to flatten in his grasp. “An orange?” She started to lower the bat, but then refocused and raised it again. Her eyes narrowed, burning holes into him. It further encouraged her when she saw his Adam’s apple bob in reaction to her intensity. “Why are you stealing fruit from my fridge in the middle of the night?” she demanded.

“I –” he began.

She lifted her bat higher and let it sway a little in the air, making him aware – as if he hadn’t been already – that she was quite prepared to swing right at him if he gave her the wrong answer.

“I’m not stealing,” he said carefully.

She laughed. “This isn’t your house, and you’re taking food out of my fridge. How is that not stealing?”

Barry sighed. His shoulders slumped.

“Your dad didn’t tell you.”

Iris’s brows furrowed, and she lowered the bat entirely so that it almost hit the ground.

“Didn’t tell me what?”

“What the hell is going on down here?”

Iris spun around, eyes wide. Barry looked towards the sound with the same reaction.

Joe relaxed as he came closer.

“Oh, Barry. It’s you.”

“What?” Iris’s head whipped around twice – once to look back at Barry and the other to zero in on her father. “Dad, you know him?” Joe’s lips parted to speak, but she kept going. “How? When? And why have I never heard you talk about him before?”

Barry and Joe shared a look, which only served to irritate the young woman between them further.

“Okay, one of you better start talking – right now.” She turned to Barry again, her eyes condescending. “And not you. I don’t trust you.” Barry gawked. “You were trying to steal fruit from our fridge.”

“He wasn’t stealing, honey.”

“Thank you,” Barry muttered with a sigh.

“He was!” Iris insisted, eyes ablaze as she focused in on her father. “I was right here. I saw—”

“Is that a baseball bat?” Joe frowned, finally noticing. Then his eyes registered the orange in Barry’s hand, mostly because the juice from it was dripping into a puddle just behind where Iris stood and so near the bat hovering above the floor.

“Well, yes, Dad, you said to use it in emergencies! I thought this qualified as…” Iris was saying, but Joe didn’t hear her.

“You don’t even like oranges, Barry.”

Barry blinked, then quickly set the orange on the counter, causing the juice to travel across the space between the fridge and its new destination. Joe almost whimpered aloud.

“I was looking for pickles,” Barry admitted.

Joe exhaled as the realization hit.

“Pickles,” he said, sounding nearly awestruck. “You did say you love pickles.”

“Both of you!” Iris nearly screamed. They both turned their attention on her. “Will you please tell me what’s going on? I want to know why I shouldn’t hit this boy,” She nudge her head in Barry direction, “with this very nice baseball bat and call the police about his breaking and entering.”

Joe cleared his throat and closed some of the distance between them.

“First of all,” he began, gently wrenching the bat from her hands, “I’m the police.” Iris released the bat, but she still glared up at him. “And second of all, he’s not breaking and entering. I gave him a spare key.”

Iris’s jaw dropped. She turned around again, her hair flying around her and saw that her father was not lying. Barry held up the spare key between his fingers.

Her shoulders slumped and she turned back to her father, looking defeated.

“I don’t understand.”

He sighed.

“Barry, here…” He gave him a nod in the direction of the paper towels that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and Barry proceeded to clean up the mess he’d made.

Joe guided his daughter towards the living room where they found the large bag Iris had begun to presume was for stealing things in was actually a duffel bag filled with clothes and essentials. It was sitting next to the couch beside a light blanket and pillow.

“He’s the son of one of my good friends from college. Henry Allen.”

Iris blinked, rapidly trying to search her mind for some familiarity to the name.

“The doctor who stitched me up many a time during my early reckless years as a young cop.”

She made the connection.

“That Henry Allen,” she whispered almost reverently.

Joe nodded. “Yes.”

“But what does that have to do with—”

“When Barry was about ten, his mother got very sick, and…” Joe paused, glancing across the room to see if Barry was tensing up, but he couldn’t see him. He hoped he was maybe washing up in the bathroom and not just crawling on the floor still cleaning up his mess.

He lowered his voice just in case.

“Henry moved Barry and his mother to the East Coast for the remainder of Nora’s last days.” He turned towards her so his voice traveled only between them. “She had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and they weren’t early enough to stop it.”

Iris felt a heavy weight set on her chest. She suddenly felt incredibly guilty for having contemplated bashing Barry’s head in with her heavy silver baseball bat.

“After her passing, Henry felt that where they were living at the time and Central City seemed to be too full of painful memories. Since Barry always wanted to be a CSI, and one of the best schools for that is Midway City University, so he moved them there and they’ve been there ever since.”

“What changed?” Iris asked, so engrossed that she failed to hear Barry’s footsteps as he re-entered the kitchen.

“I did,” Barry said, approaching them.

Iris turned around and looked at him. He was tall, especially when she was sitting. But he also looked tired.

“I wanted a change of pace.” He shrugged. “I wanted to get out of Midway City.”

Silence lingered between the three of them while Iris mulled that over.

“And so,” Joe said, getting to his feet and gesturing to Barry, “Henry gave me a call last week and asked if there was a CSI position open at CCPD. I found out Jerry was looking to retire but Captain Singh was refusing to let him go with no young blood to come in to replace him.”

“I believe he wanted some, er… older blood to replace him, Detective West.”

Joe blinked, startled by the formal name.

“You can call me Joe, Barry. I’ve told you that. I’ve known your father for years. The only place you’d call me by my title is at the station.”

Barry shrugged that off.

“Anyway,” Joe resumed. “I talked to Singh, and he said that if Barry shadowed Jerry for a few days, and there were no problems, he’d take him on and let the old man retire.”

“He’s hardly old, Dad,” Iris said, really entering the conversation for the first time. “He just turned sixty last month.”

“He’s worked at the precinct since he was Barry’s age,” Joe said. “Plus, he got that heart condition last year. I think that qualifies.”

Iris sighed loudly. “So, why is Barry here?”

Barry laughed. Iris refused to give him her attention.

“I’m here because it’s the middle of the night,” he said. “My train just got in an hour ago.”

Reluctantly, she turned to look at him.

“Your dad is doing my dad a favor until I can find a place of my own.”

“Which should only be a few days,” Joe put in. “A week tops. There are a lot of good places not far from the station.”

Iris sighed quietly and sunk into the couch.

“I see.”

Barry looked at Joe, briefly panicked. Joe shook his head, dismissing it.

“So, I guess you’re not a burglar,” Iris finally said, and then looked up at Barry.

He smiled slightly. “No more than you’ve got pickles in your fridge.”

Joe closed his eyes. “I will get you some pickles tomorrow, Barry.”

His smile widened into a cheeky grin. “Thanks, Detec—Mr.—Joe West.”

Joe eyed him strangely and then nodded.

“We should probably all get some sleep.” He looked down at his daughter who still looked deep in thought, staring at nothing. “Iris?”

She looked up at her dad and blinked.

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” She stood up suddenly and turned to Barry, who still towered over her by at least a foot. “Good to meet you, Barry.” She held out a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he shook it. “Sorry for almost pummeling you with a baseball bat.”

Barry grinned again. “No worries, Iris. I was being loud.”

“Yes.” Joe’s eyes narrowed. “You were.”

Barry dropped Iris’s hand and swallowed hard, muttering another apology under his breath.

“Okay,” Joe said, turning his gaze to Iris. “Bed. Now.”

He nudged her a little, and she moved away from the two men. She gathered her bat and started to climb the stairs, looking once more over her shoulder to see her father asking this strange, new man if he needed anything else as far as his sleeping arrangements went.

There was something about this Barry Allen that intrigued her. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, but she did get the nagging feeling that she was going to be on her guard as long as he was staying in their house. She also decided that come morning she was going to try and dress a little sexier just to see how he would react.

*Also available on AO3 and FFnet.

#westallenatthemovies #westallen #westallenedit #backtothestart02 fanfiction #@westallenfun #the burglar in my kitchen #chapter 1 #au

[marklipinski]

ARTspiration

Artists or art that turns me on and feeds my soul.  This piece is called FIRST CLASS by James Rieck, painted in 2016.  It’s 84″x60″ oil on canvas and its current price is $24,500

  YOKE DU YOUR

A father buys a lie detector that makes a loud beep whenever somebody lies around it. The son comes home in the afternoon. Father asks him, “So, you were at school today, right?”

Son: “Yeah.”

Detector: “Beep.“

Son: “OK, OK, I went to a movie.”

Detector: “Beep.”

Son: “Alright, I was drinking beer with my friends.”

Father: “What?! At your age, I wouldn’t touch alcohol!“

Detector: “Beep.”

Mother laughs: “Ha ha ha, well, he really is your son!”

Detector: “Beep.”

DESIGNspiration

Look around you. Design is everywhere! How can you incorporate the beauty that surrounds you into your art or craft?




IDEA I LOVE

I LOVE this folded felt bag.  When Jodie and I were filming Quilt Out Loud, we shot an episode from Brooklyn General Store in, of course, Brooklyn. They had an amazing selection of heavy felt and I’m sorry, to this day, that I didn’t buy some while I was there.  Here’s the tutorial for making this Fold Up Felt Bag (which I think is perfect for holding craft supplies):

http://www.instructables.com/id/Fold-up-Felt-Bag/?ALLSTEPS

EMBROIDERYspiration! 

Who doesn’t long for “Home Sweet Home” (especially when everything seems to be utter chaos)?   Settle in and embroider this easy and colorful pillow.  It’s the next best thing (or in my case, even better than) ever going back to Mayer Drive! :)   Here’s the tutorial:

http://www.homedit.com/embroidered-throw-pillow/

YUMMY DISH!

Thai Beef Stew with Lemongrass and Noodles

Ingredients

lemongrass stalks

garlic

kaffir lime leaves

chopped peeled ginger

Thai chiles

boneless beef chuck

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

vegetable oil

star anise pods

cinnamon stick

reduced-sodium soy sauce

fish sauce (such as nam pla or nuoc nam)

light brown sugar

unsweetened coconut flakes

shallots

carrots

scallions

wide rice noodles

Lime wedges

FOR THE FULL RECIPE, CLICK HERE  http://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/thai-beef-stew-lemongrass-noodles

  IDEA I LOVE

I’m kinda hoping that using this skin-loving, winter-hating coconut oil lotion bar won’t eat away your nail polish … I’m also hoping that the manicure above isn’t a new trendy fashion statement.  If the cold winds has your skin stinging and singing “How Dry I Am” then you might want to whip up a few lotion bars for yourself (wear gloves?!?).   Here’s how:

http://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Coconut-Oil-Lotion-Bar

BREATHLESS INSPIRATION 

Needlepoint artist, Ulla Stina Wikander of Sweeden, transforms old items and transforms them into needlepoint art by covering them in gorgeous needlepointed designs.  Take a look.  For more, here is a link t0 her website:  http://www.usw.se/konst/index.htm

SO DRINK, CHUG-A-LUG CHUG-A-LUG

WILLIAM FAULKNER’S HOT TODDY RECIPE

Faulkner’s niece gives directions for making his version of this hot wintry cocktail.

“Pappy alone decided when a Hot Toddy was needed, and he administered it to his patient with the best bedside manner of a country doctor. 

He prepared it in the kitchen in the following way: Take one heavy glass tumbler. Fill approximately half full with Heaven Hill bourbon (the Jack Daniel’s was reserved for Pappy’s ailments). Add one tablespoon of sugar. Squeeze 1/2 lemon and drop into glass. Stir until sugar dissolves. Fill glass with boiling water. Serve with potholder to protect patient’s hands from the hot glass.” 

Pappy always made a small ceremony out of serving his Hot Toddy, bringing it upstairs on a silver tray and admonishing his patient to drink it quickly, before it cooled off. It never failed.

Ingredients

Bourbon

Sugar

Lemon

Boiling Water

For original resource, CLICK http://literaryman.com/2012/09/25/faulkners-hot-toddy-cures-everything/

IDEA I LOVE

Sorry, you’re going to have to live with the bags under your eyes and crow’s feet that can hold a 3-day rain.  But if you want to get rid of wrinkled clothing without ironing, try this simple DIY Wrinkle Release Spray.  Here’s how:

http://www.popsugar.com.au/smart-living/DIY-Wrinkle-Release-Spray-42366839

WORDS TO LIVE BY

   IDEA I LOVE

Gather your indigo blues and make a patchwork clutch with sashiko!  Look, I know what traditional sashiko is.  I think I might up the ante of this generous tutorial and start mixing different colored threads, and even fabrics to make this project “my own.”  Start here for wonderous inspiration and for the tutorial:

http://www.lindseycrafterblog.com/2017/01/make-patchwork-clutch-with-sashiko.html]

MAN CAN LIVE BY BREAD ALONE!

MARZIPAN TWIST SWEET BREAD

  Ingredients:

Dough: milk sugar yeast flour salt butter lemon egg

Filling: almonds eggs sugar water almond extract

Glaze: powdered sugar, sifted emon juice water 

For the full recipe CLICK HERE:  https://cookiescakespiesohmy.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/dscn06802.jpg

MEMBA?

Formica kitchen tables . . .

And now a word  . . .

Now that the weather is cool, I’m heading back upstairs to continue clearing out my studio.  Get first dibs on all of my eBay listings when you follow the  Pickle Road Stash Busting page on Facebook!  Here’s the link: https://www.facebook.com/groups/PickleRoadStashBusting/

I also started a YouTube page and will, eventually be doing some live broadcasts and probably a few online classes there.  I will be uploading all of the Facebook Live videos to my channel first (and adding retroactive links to this blog).  I already have some uploaded and am working backward — hopefully, I can organize them later. Then, I’ll think about creating and adding original content.  Please subscribe to my channel, here:   https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCeWRvfCwPVqbXXvphw6bsVg

If you missed the last Facebook LIVE, you can watch it here…

If you’d like me to address anything, comment or answer any specific questions on my live feed, please just email me and I’ll get right to it.  Email me at [email protected]

COOKIES!

BUTTERMILK COOKIES

Ingredients

For cookies

all-purpose flour

grated lemon zest

baking soda

salt

unsalted butter

granulated sugar

eggs

pure vanilla extract

buttermilk

For glaze

confectioners sugar

buttermilk

pure vanilla extract

FOR THE FULL RECIPE, CLICK HERE  http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/buttermilk-cookies-241199

LOL

JUST BECAUSE, I SWOON 

This is a superb and early example of the brilliant Marimekko textiles that were made into simple clothing that went with the Marimekko lifestyle brand. The Marimekko company was founded in 1951 by Armi and Viljo Ratia and they quickly became known for making pieces of boldly printed fabric. The label on this dress dates it to the late 1960s and it is very unusual and striking in its cut. It is cut slim through the shoulders and then expands with a massive amount of volume from there. The sleeves mimic this with a narrow shoulder and then end in a wide cut sleeve. Both the hem of the dress and the sleeves are cut in gentle curves with the front portions of each significantly shorter then the back. The effect if these giant curves against the sharp angular print is genius. It is an amazing piece of fashion history. $625.00

IDEA I LOVE!  CROCHETspiration

This is called the OH MY crocheted blanket.  What a pretty stitch and the colors take me away from snowy Pickle Road to the beaches of San Juan, one of my favorite getaway places.

FOR THE FREE PATTERN, CLICK ON THE LINK:   http://www.mooglyblog.com/oh-my-blanket/

  BE DAZZLED!

  Chaumet Hortensia ring in pink gold, set with rubies, pink sapphires, diamonds, red tourmaline drops and an 8.6ct round faceted pink tourmaline in the centre.

PATCHWORK, BABY!  QUILTspiration!

WINGIN’ IT QUILT

Adapted from a Quilt Designed by Sandra Clemons for McCall’s Quilting

This free queen size quilt pattern is super easy and fast to piece! The Diamond Panes quilt blocks go together quickly and give an illusion of sashing when set together. Don’t miss the Wingin’ It lap quilt pattern in the McCall’s Quick Quilts issue

Download the FREE Wingin’ It queen size quilt pattern.

SHOEspiration

Don’t judge . . .

  IDEA I LOVE! VALENTINEspiration

Just about 4 weeks until Valentine’s Day. That means you have enough time to have this ‘Encircled Love’ mini-quilt table topper pieced and then actually quilted by Valentine’s Day 2037.  Here’s the tutorial:

http://kittensandthreads.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/EncircledLoveMiniQuiltPattern.p

IDEA I LOVE!  KNITspiration!

LOVE this KNITTED afghan worked in the Slip Stitch. The waffle weave it creates is perfect for the men in your life. The color choices here are terrific, too. No, we don’t need another Granny Square and/or Clam Shell stitched blanket, but thanks for asking.  Here’s the PDF pattern:

https://www.michaels.com/on/demandware.static/Sites-Site/Sites-siteCatalog_michaels_US/default/v1411505193064/project_pdf/54711_revised.pdf

GARDENspiration

This little fairy cup garden is super cute and easy to take care of (that is, if you’re not packing it with orchids).  It’s also an amazing little gift for a hostess, a sick friend, birthday surprise, or a just because I’m thinking of you.  Here’s how to make one:

http://www.thecraftaholicwitch.com/2016/08/20/create-a-cute-cup-garden/

MUST HAVE

Are there words for this? Are there?  Words?

Well, I don’t care. I don’t even have a cat and I want this handicat kitty finger puppet.  And it’s on sale.  Get yours here:

http://www.perpetualkid.com/handicat-kitty-finger-puppet/

IDEA I LOVE!

So you’ve spent a crap-load of dough on making a new quilt, to match your room.  Why not use your scraps to cover your switch plate for a total custom look?  All of your friends will be green with envy and begging you for the name of your decorator.   Start here:

http://tidymom.net/2010/fabric-covered-switch-plate-tutorial/

IDEA I LOVE

This DIY Coiled Rope Tassel Bowl would be great for holding all of your crochet hooks, rug-making hooks, spools of threads, notions or small rulers. Filling anything with ‘power bars’ is so foreign to me that it confused me. I mean, when you’re on a diet, don’t you eat all of them at one time?   Here’s how to make a rope bowl so you can put what you want in it:

http://fallfordiy.com/blog/2017/01/06/diy-coiled-rope-tassel-bowl/

IDEA I LOVE

Move your weave so you can hear me!  THIS PROJECT LOOKS LIKE HUGE FUN. Here’s how to make your own DIY woven scarf without a loom!  It’s like magic.  Here’s where you start:

http://www.hefty.co/dyi-woven-scarf/

DESSERT!

CLASSIC LEMON MERINGUE PIE

January 23, 2017 is National Pie Day

Ingredients

all-purpose flour

salt

shortening

cold water

FILLING:

sugar

cornstarch

all-purpose flour

salt

water

egg yolks

butter

grated lemon peel

lemon juice

MERINGUE:

sugar

cornstarch

cold water

egg whites

vanilla extract

FOR THE FULL RECIPE, CLICK HERE  http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/classic-lemon-meringue-pie

IDEA I LOVE

The first time I saw a truly remarkable piece of Mexican yarn art was in the design studio of Karen Kay Buckley (I hope I’m remembering correctly).  I remember thinking then, “I wonder how they did that?”   This piece is super easy, elementary, and fairly uninspired, but, Oh cupcakes, imagine learning the technique then soaring with your own creative interpretation.  Learn the fundies here:

http://www.zombieswearinghelmets.com/2011/06/paint-with-yarn.html

 IDEA I LOVE

Judging from what I’ve been seeing online, it seems like avocados are the new trendy thang. I have to be honest, I would NEVER paint on a new shirt (unless I found it super cheap and then 75% off) but I would get a second-hand store blouse or shirt to customize.   Why look like everybody else?  Do your own Project Runway unique design challenge. Start with painting and changing buttons here:

http://studiodiy.com/2017/01/12/diy-avocado-buttons/

PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD

If you’re liking this blog Please tell your friends about it! I’d really appreciate it!  

Just cut and paste this into an email or post on your Facebook and Twitter pages:  

I LOVE this blog and think you will, too! Check it out:  https://marklipinskisblog.wordpress.com

PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT

PLUS . . . Recipes, Videos, Inspiration, Creativity, Ideas, and More!   ARTspiration Artists or art that turns me on and feeds my soul.  This piece is called FIRST CLASS by James Rieck, painted in 2016.