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visceravalentines · 10 days

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folger's, eat your heart out

oh my god this got away from me so bad it's wanted in twelve states. but it's done (is anything ever done) and i'm.......i'm quite happy with it. i really hope you like it.

4.3k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. character study, lots of introspection. implied sexual content, nothing too explicit. so much kissing. hand job. light s/m. night terrors and vague mention of canon-typical trauma. mostly soft, so soft. benson is so in love and doesn't know it yet <3

read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.

It’s a Tuesday. Benson knows this because his eyes snap open automatically at five in the morning even though he hasn’t set an alarm in weeks. He opens on Tuesdays, been on that schedule for so long he doesn’t even need the alarm anymore anyways.

Well, he used to open on Tuesdays.

He wakes up slow. Gets a savage satisfaction out of being somewhere unfamiliar, revels in it. With bleary eyes he traces the outline of the water damage on the ceiling and it’s different than the one back home. Room smells different too, stale sweat and dust and complimentary green tea bar soap. The mattress is too fucking soft, folds around him like dough. His spine is electric with pain.

Fuck, he’s getting old. Twenty-nine going on fifty.

He drags a hand over his face and wishes he could fall back asleep. Not going to happen. Not a chance with this marshmallow bed and the sun popping its stupid Raisin Bran fucking face through the blinds. Benson sleeps dark and cold and silent with his back to the wall. Arms locked in front of his chest like armor. Like a corpse on a slab.

Or he used to, anyway.

He can’t feel his left arm. He pushes his chin into his throat at an odd angle to look down at Randy, still asleep, curled up on Benson’s chest like a sandy-colored cat. His hands are tucked together, long, knobby fingers folded over each other, resting in the center of Benson’s ribs. The sun takes each strand of his hair and wraps it in gold, even his eyelashes, laying long and pretty on his cheeks.

Fuck Folger’s. Nothing comes close to this.

It’s surreal, still. Being here, being anywhere, together. Like, together. Unbelievable the way he fits so neatly under Benson’s arm. He rests his lips against the crown of Randy’s head. He does it because he wants to, because he can. He inhales slow and deep and he smells warm and bright and a little grimey. Like summer. Like sweat and mud and the most beautiful blue sky you’ve ever seen. Fucking perfect, he’s perfect.

He's peaceful now, which is saying something. Randy’s a terrible sleeper. Sharing a bed with him is punishing. He thrashes in his sleep, digs elbows into Benson’s ribs and jolts him awake in a panic ready to fight, and then Benson has to stare into the abyss and count to a thousand before he can calm the fuck down and drift off again.

He never talks about his nightmares. Benson knows he has them, but he knows better than to ask about shit like that. On occasion he’ll wake up to Randy tugging on his arm, pulling it around him like a security blanket. He doesn’t mind that in the least, rolls over half asleep and wraps himself around Randy’s sweat-soaked body. He pins his arms to his sides for both their sakes, buries his face against the back of his neck, and that’s that. Problem solved.

Benson, on the other hand, sleeps like the dead–save for the nights he wakes up screaming and doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Doesn't even know he's awake until he sees Randy’s face floating above him in the dark, wide-eyed like some twig-limbed owl. Until he feels his hands on his face, wiping salt from his cheeks.

Shit sucks, because then he has to turn all the lights on and pace the room, chewing on a cigarette and cracking his neck ‘til it's sore, trying to walk it off. Randy sits on the bed hugging his knees to his chest and watches him like a hawk. But he doesn't speak, doesn't try to push it, waits patiently until Benson crawls back into bed and lets him decide where he wants to be.

He can't stand to be touched during and after those episodes, always hated when his ma would try to smother him when he was still young enough to smother, but funny enough, Randy’s okay. Doesn't seem to count. Maybe it's because he lets him set the pace and doesn't get his feelings hurt when Benson curls up on the edge of the mattress with pillows stacked between them. Either way, most times Benson falls back asleep with his head tucked into the hollow of Randy's neck and those skinny arms slung around his shoulders. And the light on.

The night terrors aren’t new, but it’s been a while since they’ve been this bad. It’s like they’ve worked their way to the surface of his brain. Like a splinter finding its way out of the skin. He doesn’t like Randy seeing him that way, but he can’t really help it. He used to sleep on his stomach with his face in the pillow so he wouldn’t wake Ma and have to deal with her on top of everything else, but he had so many nightmares about suffocating he can't do it anymore.

But Randy never lets Benson apologize in the morning, insists he doesn't mind being woken up. He's told him that again and again, so often that Benson’s starting to believe him. They’re both fucked in the head just enough that it makes it okay. No hard feelings.

Last night was quiet for both of them, for once. Benson wishes he was still asleep to take advantage of it, but this is nice too. He can feel Randy’s breath on his collarbone and it’s driving him crazy, a little bit. He’s not used to nice things. He’s always scared he’s gonna fuck them up somehow. Sometimes he wants to fuck them up. Track mud across the carpet, break a dish. Say the wrong thing. Bite down too hard.

He’s learning how to be gentle. He’s trying, like, really trying. Randy doesn’t make it easy, that’s for damn sure. The way he whimpers when Benson’s hands are on him isn’t fucking fair. The way he bares his throat and gasps and begs. And then he shows Benson the marks afterwards like he’s proud of them, like Benson wasn’t there when he got them.

“You did a number on me,” he said last night with this sheepish grin, almost giddy, leaning over the sink to look at himself in the mirror. Prodding at the bite mark on his shoulder, the hickies on his neck. Never mind all the shit he couldn’t see from that angle, but Benson saw it. The shape of his body all over Randy’s in bruises.

Made him feel kinda good and kinda bad, sort of guilty, but then Randy looked over at him with those eyes, hair all mussed, bottom lip cherry red and swollen, and said with unmistakable adoration, “You’re an animal, Bence.”

Un-fucking-fair.

But he’s trying, he is. Trying to ease up on the reins. Trying to be soft, because Randy needs soft no matter what he asks Benson for in the dark. He can’t fuck this up. Can’t fuck him up; at least, not any more than he already has. On the list of things he’s ever wanted to fuck up in the world, Randy is at the bottom.

And it’s good too, the lovey-dovey bullshit. It’s good. It’s great. The way Randy falls asleep on his shoulder halfway through the movie, any movie, no matter how good it is or how loud it’s turned up or how much Benson promised him he was gonna like it. The way he bumps his knuckles against Benson’s when they’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, just because. Just to touch him. He’ll catch him smiling at him for no reason, all the time, just glance over and there he is looking like they’re on their way to Disney World. No one's ever smiled at him like that. He’s not even doing anything to earn it, he’s just living his fucking life. The fact of his existence is apparently an ongoing novelty to Randy.

Crazy fucking kid.

Benson feels like he’s body-swapped with someone on better terms with luck and the skin doesn’t fit quite right but fuck, he’s figuring out how to make it work. He doesn’t get handed things like this. Good things with no strings attached. He’s always kind of on edge, always waiting for someone to break down the door and haul him away. For someone to pause the laugh track and punch through the set. For Randy to suffer a moment of clarity and tell him to go fuck himself.

He’s never had this kind of good, never expected it. Never really thought he deserved it. And Randy sure doesn't deserve this kind of bizarre sideways bullshit that makes up the best that Benson can offer. He deserves better from him. From everyone. From life. Benson keeps trying to tell him that.

Too bad he can't quite convince him. Too bad Benson’s selfish and couldn't let go of him if he tried. Wouldn't even try. Wouldn't turn out well.

He runs his thumb across the angle of Randy's cheekbone, feather-light. He wants to let him sleep and he wants him to wake up and he doesn’t know which he wants more. He draws lines across his cheek, from the corner of his mouth, along the edge of his jaw, carefully, carefully, so gentle his hand shakes. He’s probably never been hit in the face. Probably never had a black eye, broken nose. Shy, scared, beautiful thing.

There’s been a violence in Benson for as long as he can remember. Bone-deep. And it’s a magnet, pulls other violence right to him like wasps to fresh meat. Sometimes he loves it, sometimes he hates it. He always falls back on it, no matter how hard he tries to leave it behind or wrap it up so tight it can’t get out. He fails again and again. But it doesn’t scare Randy anymore. In fact, it’s like Randy gives it justification. Permission. Validates it. Like maybe it’s hung around this whole time just so Benson could learn how to use it, for his sake. To protect him. At least until he figures out how to protect himself.

And Randy’s learning, he is. Stands up taller, takes up space. Orders his own food at restaurants. But Benson kind of likes playing guard dog. Likes being needed in that way, and others. Likes being needed by Randy in particular.

Benson’s already killed for him, so it’s like he’s always trying to find a way to top that. That should be hard, right, but Randy makes it easy. Gets excited over nothing, little shit like finding both their names on some dumb souvenir keychains. Or when he brings him a bag of plain fucking potato chips, his favorite. Or when Benson covers his eyes before the money shot in some gore flick because he’s a pussy and also it dredges up some shit for him that neither of them wants to think about. The way he lights up about that stuff, stupid little stuff, makes Benson feel worthwhile in a way he can’t describe.

For all he goes on about helping Randy become the best version of himself, the version of himself who’s confident and decisive and knows who Trent Reznor is, sometimes Benson gets the feeling like maybe, Randy’s the one making him better. Not changing him, not really, just…making him kind of okay. Making it all kind of okay. There are so many things Benson’s taken for granted, never thought twice about. About himself, about his life, about where both of those things would end up and how they’d get there. Randy makes him reconsider. Makes it worth reconsidering.

It feels wrong to stop him. Might as well let him try. What’s it gonna hurt?

Sometimes he wants to laugh in disbelief at it all. Who the fuck is he these days? Going soft right and left and glad for it. He feels like he’s on another planet. Hundreds of miles from home, no phone, no way back. Shooting towards the sun with everything he needs inside his shitty little rocket ship of a car.

Randy’s a spaceman for sure, no question. Ever since they turned west and hit the desert, he hangs out the window when they drive at night through all that nothing, head craned back to look at the sky.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Benson asked him the first time, when he rolled down the window and started climbing out like a fucking lunatic.

“Looking at the stars,” Randy said. “There’s so many, Benson…you should look.”

“No thanks, I'm driving.”

“I mean…you could stop first.”

“I’ve seen stars, Randy.”

Randy was halfway out the window so his reply was almost lost to the wind. “Not like this.”

Benson reached over and grabbed him by the pocket of his jeans. “If you fall out I’m leaving your ass behind.”

He let Benson pull him back inside then, and stared right at him in this new way of his. This new, brave Randy who had finally shaken some of that paralyzing fear of confrontation and figured out how to be direct. “No you wouldn’t.”

Benson had looked at him for as long as he could without drifting into the other lane, and then looked at him a little bit longer and had to course correct. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

He’s right. He wouldn’t.

Benson lets the memory slide away and finds Randy gazing up at him here and now, eyes crusted with sleep. He feels a twinge in his chest like a guitar string being plucked. The whole room is golden now.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, and even he can hear the velvet in his voice. Feels self-conscious about it for a second until he gets distracted by Randy wrinkling his nose to stave off a yawn.

“Morning,” he murmurs, peels his cheek off Benson's chest and leaves a pink circle behind that matches the one on his face. He rubs at his eyes and gives him that dumb Disney World smile. “Sleep well?”

“Slept great.” Benson swipes away a stray eye booger from the inside corner of Randy’s left eye. “Nice to have one single solitary night where I don't have to fight you to the death.”

Randy bites the inside of his cheek, looks bashful. Benson fucking loves it. “Well, I mean…you wore me out pretty good last night.”

Benson smirks, takes hold of the back of Randy’s neck and pulls him back into his shoulder. “Yeah I did. I oughta do that more often.”

Randy worms his arm beneath the covers and around Benson’s waist and it gives him honest-to-god butterflies. He runs his fingers through Randy’s hair. It's getting fucking long, almost falls past his ears. He keeps asking him to cut it and Benson keeps refusing. It's got this little flip at the ends that he thinks is cute. He bets it’ll grow out into gorgeous fucking waves when it hits his shoulders.

He takes a fistful and squeezes, does that a couple times before he tugs his head up so they’re nose-to-nose. Randy’s eyelids slide half-closed and his lips part on reflex.

“What you wanna do today?” Benson murmurs. He can feel Randy’s breath on his chin, licks his lips.

“...just this,” Randy says, almost a whisper.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not bored of this?”

“No.”

Benson almost smiles. “Me neither.”

He pushes Randy's head back down into the curve of his neck, rides the swell of satisfaction he gets from his frustrated groan. “Don’t worry, babe, we got all day. How about you, how’d you sleep?”

“Good.” His thumb moves back and forth along Benson’s hip and it’s electric, feels like he’s got lightning bolts shooting around under his skin, makes his muscles twitch. He’s still not used to that. Gentle shit like that. “Had a dream about you.”

“No shit?” He’s not sure anyone’s ever dreamt about him before. He’s kinda flattered. “Was it hot?”

Randy snorts. “No, it wasn’t…like that. We, uh…we were at the beach.”

Benson screws up his eyebrows, looks down at Randy. He can’t see his face from this angle. “The beach?”

“Yeah. We were just, like…there. Just messing around. I mean, there were other people there, but they didn’t…matter.”

Benson doesn’t know what to make of this. “Huh. That’s it? Just…beach day?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, until the end. A shark showed up and you…punched it so hard that it died.”

Benson does a genuine double-take. “I punched a shark. And it died?”

Now Randy twists, looks up at him, smiling. “Yeah. It was awesome.”

It sounds kind of awesome. Benson pokes him in the ribs. “You’re a fucking dork.”

“I’m just telling you what happened!”

“Look, Randy, I’ve never been to the beach, but I’ve seen Jaws about one thousand times and I know for a fact a shark would swallow my ass whole. And it would eat you and not even know that it happened. I’m not saying I’m scared, I’m just saying, don’t count on me to save you from a fucking sea monster.”

Randy doesn’t laugh and Benson looks at him and he’s making that face, that little frown and the line on his forehead that means that Benson just said something puzzling. Here we go. He tenses up without meaning to, braces for it. Grits his teeth, pops his knuckles.

“You’ve…really never been to the beach?”

Fuck, he hates this feeling. Like loss except you never had the thing in the first place. Like realizing maybe you’re supposed to be mourning something but you don’t really know what that something is or why it’s so important. He knows his upbringing wasn’t shit compared to Randy’s, compared to most kids’. He just wishes he could grow out of giving a shit about it.

So he gets defensive. He always gets defensive. “No, I’ve never been to the fucking beach. What’s so super-duper special about a bunch of sand? And water that’s mostly fish piss?”

Randy props himself up on his elbow, leans lightly on Benson’s chest, completely unfazed by his attitude. “Well…let’s go. You can decide for yourself.”

“To the beach?” Benson says incredulously. “Randy, we’re in fucking New Mexico.”

“Not–not today.” Randy waves his hand dismissively. “We can leave tomorrow. Make a beeline for California.”

And that’s that. The magical realism of the newly reformed Randy Fucking Bradley. No pity. No shame. Just the simplest solution in the whole damn universe.

“California.” Benson pictures the Beach Boys and hippies on rollerskates, rolls his eyes. “Sounds dreamy.”

“It’ll be worth it, Benson, I promise.” Randy looks at him with those puppy-dog eyes, chews his lip, slides his arm around Benson’s waist. He knows what the fuck he’s doing, the little shit; he’s too smart for his own good. “We don’t have to stay. We can leave as soon as we get there. I just…I think you would like it.” He leans a little heavier against Benson’s ribs, nudges his foot with his toes. “Please?”

Benson huffs. He’s not a fucking pushover, swear to God he’s not, but it’s like he can’t help but fold these days. He’s gonna spoil the guy rotten if he’s not careful. He has to at least pretend to put up a fight, just to say he tried. “What if I say no?”

His brow furrows. The puppy-dog eyes flick down to his mouth and back. “Well...maybe I could convince you.”

One of Benson’s eyebrows pops up. He likes the sound of that. “I’m listening.”

Randy sits up unsteadily on the marshmallow mattress and straddles Benson’s hips, tucking his hands beneath the pillow on either side of his head. Benson looks up at him, the angles of his face kissed by the sun, and feels a pleasant sort of ache in his chest. It's almost the same feeling as when he finally gave in and pulled over and let Randy sit on the hood, leaned back next to him and looked up at the stars and felt big and small at the same time.

“It’s amazing, Bence…you can't even imagine.” His thighs press against Benson's waist, wrists press against his shoulders.

“Yeah?” Benson licks his lips. His eyes can’t move fast enough, trying to take in every piece of his face, of his body, his name written all over all of it in red and purple. “Tell me about it.”

Randy's hair is hanging over his face like a messy kind of halo. He peers through it with this earnest intensity, this lion cub ferocity that might be the hottest thing Benson's ever seen. He shifts his weight to one hand and strokes the sensitive spot behind Benson’s ear with his thumb, sends chills spidering across his skin.

“The smell of the water and–and the sound. You never forget it. And it makes you feel…it’s massive. It’s amazing.”

“You know what else is massive?”

Randy stifles a chuckle, looks away, color rising in his cheeks. Benson grins. “Listen to me, Benson.”

“I'm listening!”

“It makes you feel…it makes you feel small, I guess. But not in a bad way. We could just walk around or maybe…swim a little bit?”

Benson pictures Randy with wet hair, dark and wavy, water rolling down his neck. Salt water, salty skin. “Could be nice.”

“We can do whatever you want.” He curls his toes against Benson’s thighs. “We could get ice cream and sit in the sun.”

The image of melted sticky sugar dripping over Randy’s hand, down his arm, hits Benson like a truck. Knocks the wind right out of him. He thinks about licking it off, watching him suck it off his own fingers. He wraps his hands behind Randy's knees and grips harder than he means to.

“That sounds, uh…that sounds good. I’m into that,” Benson says and he sounds like a moron in his own ears but it makes Randy smile so it's fine. He can feel the blood rushing away from his brain as fast as it can and he’s about ready to give in and end the discussion. Move on to other things.

Randy gets that earnest, uncertain look in his eyes all the sudden and touches Benson's face, brushes his thumb across the lines at the corner of his eyes in this foreign kind of way that Benson’s brain registers passively as tenderness, and all the sudden he can't breathe right. His throat’s fucked up like he’s getting sick. He swallows hard.

“I want to–I want to kiss you in the ocean,” Randy says quietly. “I think…I'd really like that.”

So now this is the only thing Benson cares about. His number-one goal. A shining and glorious reason to be alive. He’s going to kiss Randy in the ocean if it’s the last thing he fucking does.

“How about you kiss me right here, huh?” He cups the back of Randy’s neck and pulls him in, hard, yanks him really, because he can’t fucking help it. Because he wants him right now, right fucking now.

Randy resists, just a little, on reflex, and then gets overeager and his lips crash into Benson’s, but that’s okay. Randy kisses like he’s starved for it, always, no matter how long they’ve been at it. Even now, first thing in the fucking morning, he opens his mouth expectantly and moans when Benson slips his tongue past his teeth, one hand twisting the sheets, the other gripping his shoulder. He’s greedy, wants more, always more, is done depriving himself after fourteen years of solitude.

They’re a perfect match because Benson wants to give it to him. Anything he wants, everything, always, no matter where they are or how much skin is showing. He wants to share his space, his spit, his air, his anger, every inch of the car, every inch of the sky. All the bad nights. All the good ones, too. All the golden mornings that come after.

Benson laps at Randy’s bottom lip, catches it in his teeth and pulls. He digs his fingers into the half-healed shadow of his own hand on Randy’s waist from all the times before, opens his mouth to catch the gasp that wrenches free from his chest and swallows it whole.

“Benson,” Randy says, breathes his name like an exclamation of wonder. He presses the length of his body against Benson’s, weaves his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck and squeezes tight. He moves his hips in short, subconscious little thrusts, makes a desperate, hungry noise in the back of his throat. Benson can feel him hard against his stomach and fuck, he better pop a handful of painkillers for his back because they’re not leaving this shitty bed anytime soon.

Randy leans to the side so there’s a little breathing room between them. He runs his hand over Benson's chest, down his stomach, wraps his fingers around his dick and the sound Benson makes is strangled, animal.

“We can go, right?” Randy says. He strokes him like he can barely contain himself. “We can leave tomorrow?”

Benson arches his aching spine against the bullshit fucking mattress, digs his nails into Randy's back, feels lucky. Feels like a spaceman.

“Fuck yes. Fuck–yes–you got it, baby.”

Randy lights up and it's like staring into the sun. Transcendent. Fucking beautiful.

He twists out of Benson's grasp and ducks beneath the sheets and Benson can't fucking stand it. Can’t believe it’s real. He feels weightless, so light he just might end up way out there with all the stars. Nothing comes close to this, never has, never will. It’s not fair. He probably doesn’t deserve it. But no one ever said life was fair, now, did they? Sooner or later the odds had to end up in your favor.

He closes his eyes and grips the sheets and lets it be, lets it all be for once. Because for once, it's good. He's good. He's great. And they’re leaving tomorrow. For California.

Sounds dreamy.

tagging a couple friends who have gassed me up and been so patient sdlkfjlsk i just adore you guys <3

@crumb @ace-of-hearts-and-spades @cherubgore

#the passenger #the passenger 2023 #the passenger fanfiction #the passenger 2023 fanfiction #stockroom syndrome #randy x benson #ranson

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 1 year

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I Drink Wine (Jake Seresin, Chapter 1)

Summary: Gwendolyn Benjamin did everything she could to run away from her past. From the pain and heartbreak to come to California and live near her Aunt & Godmother, Penny. A hardened soul, she meets Jake Seresin who ends up turning everything she thought she swore off into a frenzy.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Gwendolyn Benjamin (OC)

Warnings: Cursing, Angst

Tropes: Slow burn, Sunshine & Rainstorm

Word Count: 1250

next chapter

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When I moved cross-country to be closer to my godmother Penny in Miramar, the last group of people I ever thought I would befriend were the rowdy group of elite Naval Aviator pilots who frequented the bar Penny owned. In fact, I had crossed my fingers and prayed to the heavens that be that there would be no bonding with anyone in the any format. And I wasn’t even religious.

The breakup with Freddie still felt too fresh and the impact of how I viewed the world had dimmed since that time. I guess that’s natural when someone you plan to marry cheats on you. The breakup pushed me forward, driving me to finish my Doctorate as quick as the accredited university would allow and began applying immediately anywhere on the West Coast – away from my past. Penny was all too excited when I called with the news of accepting a teaching position at a San Diego college.

“I have the most perfect place you can stay,” she shouted on the phone when I told her, struggling to contain her excitement. Now a few months later, I was settled into the quaint beach house on the coast of Miramar. The subtle lapping of the ocean was close enough to greet me in the morning as I drank my coffee and between the open flooring plan and the plethora of windows, I got plenty of light throughout the day.

I was teaching two days a week, grading on the other days, and helping Penny manage the Hard Deck on the weekends when she needed me. I slept in an extra hour or so, just getting my hair up into a bun as I got my coffee pot turned on when my phone goes off. Penny’s name flashed across the screen, and I mumble to myself before sliding it open while grabbing a croissant from the fridge.

“Hi Pen,” I answer, mouth full as the pot begins to hiss and brew.

“Hi darling,” her cheerful tone rings through my ears. “Today’s your day off right?” I pour the freshly brewed pot into a mug, inhaling deeply as the scent curls through my senses. My shoulders sink into a relaxed state. I take a sip, distracted by the beauty of Folgers until I hear Penny’s voice cut through the air again. “Gwennie?” she calls out and I begrudgingly pull away from the ceramic.

“Sorry,” I muttered, placing the steaming mug down and picking up my cell phone. “I’m here. Yes,” clearing my throat, I answer her. “I’m off today – I have a little bit of work to do but shouldn’t take all day.” Penny makes a noise of delight and there’s some shuffling.

“I wanted to see if you wanted a nice change of scenery today. I’m at the bar doing inventory all day and it’s gorgeous so I’ve opened up all the patio doors,” she offers, hope sitting on her tongue. “It’ll be quiet most of the day until after dinner time,” Penny adds quickly, and I glance down at my coffee, to my porch with my makeshift patio table.

“I think that would actually be really nice,” a small smile carves into my features as Penny cheers. “Take your time, I’ll get a pot of coffee brewing for when you get here. Bring your favorite mug.” My aunt knew me too well, a warmth falling over me as I tell her I love her, and I’ll see her soon. Hanging up, I take my steaming mug with me upstairs to shower and get ready to leave the house. I take my time, stepping under the scolding droplets of water and wash my hair.

When I get done, I brush through my hair and dry it enough. I wash my face and moisturize, skipping my full makeup routine to give my face a break and instead just dab on a little chapstick and mascara. I pull the closest thing from my closet, a white shirt with 1/8 sleeves and a pair of worn jeans. I pack my tote bag with my laptop and grading materials, shoving my water bottle into the side along with my glasses. I slide on my comfy slides and leave the house, walking the short two miles to the bar with my mug in hand.

Penny was right, the weather was perfect, sunshine with a light breeze. I inhaled the scent of the ocean and the summer sand as I walked along the pathway until I finally saw the large glow of the Hard Deck’s entrance and the nearly empty parking lot. I pass over the gravel, crunching beneath my feet until I grip the front door, peeling it open.

I call out as I enter the building, glancing around the stacked chairs and freshly washed table surfaces before making my way to the bar counter. Placing my bag down on one of the stools, there is a large bang in the kitchen and a man I’ve never seen before enters the bar area holding a large box. The sudden movement of a stranger is enough to cause me to jump, dropping my mug onto the ground. I stare at it with a frown, shaking my hand of the burning liquid and swear.

“Sorry to scare you darlin’ but we’re closed,” the man has a twang in his words, but I don’t give him much thought. Ignoring him entirely, my face warms as I slide far enough that my stomach rests on the bar top and I grab a handful of napkins to begin swiping at my hands.

“Fuck,” I groan, noticing the swollen and red blotches spreading where the liquid settled.

“I don’t think you heard me,” he repeats from a distance, “We’re clo-,”

“Yeah, no shit,” I grunt, glaring at him momentarily as I not the open cleaning closet. I duck down on my knees, beginning collecting what I can of the wet and jagged ceramic bits into my palms with a heavy sigh. A pain pulls in my chest as I lift a large section with the word best scribbled along it, my eyes tearing away as I begin to stand and organize them on a napkin. Maybe I can glue the mug back together.

It’s then that I realize the man is still staring at me, no longer holding onto the big box as he stands watching me. I glare at him before ducking back down to collect more pieces. I hear footsteps retreat and return a few moments later when a broom comes into view above the broken mug. “I can take care of the rest ma’am,” his voice is tight, and I shove the broom from the battlefield with intensity.

“Are you fuckin’ stupid?” I ask venomously as his brows knit together, his jaw clenching. “If you sweep up the pieces, they’ll get stuck in the broom, and I’ll never be able to piece the mug back together.”

“That mug is gone,” he states, his tone fresh now with a matter-of-fact energy. I narrow my eyes at him and scoff. “And like I mentioned, we’re closed so I’ll be happy to show you out.” A burst of energy from a ruined day, a perfectly good coffee in your favorite mug destroyed but before I have the chance, Penny appears behind the man with Pete in tow from the porch.

“Gwennie,” Penny calls, “It looks like you met Hangman already,” her voice dies off, wide smile melting as she notices my sour expression and the man’s tense posture. Penny’s eyes trail down to my feet, taking in the damage before she frowns.

“Oh, honey.” Penny rushes over and gives me a tight hug, bending down to collect the rest of the pieces. She works with me to organize them on the napkin as Pete clasps the man’s shoulder, leading him out onto the porch to give the two of you a few minutes.

“It’s ruined,” I murmur, eyes watery now that there was space away from the stranger. Penny purses her lips and shakes her head, eyes intense.

“It is not, we’ll work together to piece it together. It’ll be even better than before. I’ll get that good craft glue from the store next week, okay?” I close my eyes for a moment, bottom lip quivering as I begin to nod.

“Do you want a fresh cup? I know it won’t be the same, but I’ve got a few mugs that might help,” Penny offers with a hopeful smile. I can see the support in her eyes, twinkling as she tries to help the situation the best she can. It’s a look that became more and more familiar as I grew up, the frustration simmering into a dull ache in my back that I knew that time could potentially work through. So, breathing out a small smile, I find myself nodding.

“That’d be great, Pen,” I tell her lightly, fingers twirling the ceramic on the damp-stained napkin. “I love you.” I kept my head dipped low as she nodded, placing a delicate hand over mine and squeezing before she rushed out back, returning moments later with a new mug.

A cackle escaped me without processing, a tear sliding down my cheeks as I sniffled. “Fuckin’ fishing,” I tell her as she leans her elbows onto the countertop to present the new mug to me. Though not nearly close to the one in front of me, this one was olive green and there was an ugly fish curved to form the handle.

“Fuckin’ fish,” Penny grins before leaning over to press a chaste kiss to my temple, turning to pour me a fresh cup as I pull my laptop and papers from my bag.

“So, who’s the asshole?” I ask, fishing out my glasses as I log in, “I didn’t know you hired someone new. Doesn’t seem like the friendly staff.” Penny slides the mug in front of me just as footsteps echo behind me.

“Ignore him,” Pete returns alone, leaning over to give me a side hug which I accept lightly before taking a sip of the coffee. “He’s a little lacking in the manners department.”

“Is he one of yours?” Pete nods, his nose crinkling.

“He just got back from a long deployment so he’s still adjusting to be back with non-military folks,” Pete explains, sliding in next to me as Penny slides him a water. I hum, already lost in my paperwork and entering grades into my tracking system for one of my classes.

The feeling of nausea rises within me, and I blink a few times to read through my notes as we sit in the comfortable silence of the lazy afternoon. As the day passes, a few other staff start to show up to start up the kitchen prep for the evening along with Jimmy. The radio strums along classic after classic until the sun begins to dim and my stomach growls.

“Hungry Gwennie?” Penny asks, finally finishing her work as Pete and her run through her final numbers for inventory together to send out the order. Before I can answer again, my stomach grumbles and I crack an embarrassed smile.

“I should probably head home to eat something,” I murmur, sliding from the chair to pack up as Penny moves toward where I’m standing.

“Why don’t you stay and hang out for a few hours,” Penny offers, that same twinkle back in her stare as she awaits your denial.

“Pen,” I start but she doesn’t let me get it out this time. Doesn’t let me give my usual speech, memorized to perfection, and executed with intention.

“You never let yourself live for a moment anymore Gwennie,” Penny almost scolds, gentle as she can muster. “I’m worried about you if I’m honest.” That pulls at my heart, a tight feeling in my chest that only resounds from how much I know she means it. I know a part of me died over the from existence all that had happened over the last year and a half. I could feel a hole within me, nagging for compassion again. I just didn’t know if I could trust myself to take anymore.

But I swallowed that down, one night and a few hours couldn’t hurt. So again, under the influence of Penny’s intense love, I nod. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

next chapter

#jake seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin imagines #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x oc #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun imagine

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sailorshadzter · 11 months

Note

Prompt idea: Jonsa Folgers coffee commercial AU

whoooooo finally knocked this one out.

thanks for the request anon!

send me prompts

The room is thick with the stench of coffee.

It isn’t that she doesn’t like the scent, it’s just, well she’s tired of it. Time after time, she’s still only managed to snag coffee commercials and the like, when all she wants is a single chance at a role that might break her out of her small town and into the big city. She wants to be an actress- it’s all she’s wanted for her whole life; acting in primary school plays, joining local musicals, these stupid commercials, she’s done it all.

And yet, nothing has yet to pan out for her.

“Miss Stark? We’re ready for you,” she turns at the sound of the voice, the producer standing there before her . She sighs, giving a nod as she rises up from where she sits in the uncomfortable wooden chair, following after the older woman towards the set. To her surprise, there’s a young man standing there already, a mop of dark curls slicked back and secured in a bun at the nape of his neck, though when he turns around to face her she’s immediately taken aback. He’s incredibly handsome, with a strong jawline and just the right amount of beard that makes her heart skip a beat. “This is Jon Snow, he’ll be playing opposite you today,” the producer introduces and the man extends a hand for her to take, which she does, her lips stumbling over a greeting. “Jon, this is Sansa.”

“Nice to meet you, Sansa” Jon speaks in a Northern accent that reminds her of home and she can’t help but to smile at the sound. And he can’t help but to stare at the beautiful woman that’s approached him; with long, red hair and big blue eyes, her beauty is striking. “You’re my wife, eh?” He says and her ivory cheeks stain crimson as she giggles, shifting from one foot to the other. They’re playing newlyweds in this commercial, waking the first morning after their wedding in their own home.

She’s never worked with someone this hot and she’s going to blow it.

“Yes, looks like it,” she replies, feeling stupid, though Jon seems to not notice for he merely grins, opening his mouth just as the director steps onto the scene. They both turn to face the man and Sansa takes a single deep breath, calming her racing heart, pushing herself to focus on the task at hand. Besides, hot or not, once this was shot she wouldn’t see him again, so there was no point in letting him get to her.

“Remember, you’re newlyweds, madly in love,” the director is saying and she’s nodding, crossing the set up kitchen to take her place before the coffee pot that’s already been brewing. “And… Action!”

She listens carefully as his footsteps echo on the laminate floor, a slow smile spreading over her lips as she imagines it was her own husband coming towards her, his footsteps known to her as well as her own. She reaches up for the cabinet above, where she draws down a blue coffee mug, her fingers enclosing around its porcelain handle. Then comes his arms around her hips, drawing her in, a twinkling laugh escaping her lips as she shifts into his touch. “Coffee?” She asks as he nuzzles close, so close now that she can smell his aftershave. Somehow, this feels more real than she expected it to.

“Just what I need,” Jon’s husky vocals speak and chills race the length of her spine; unbeknownst to her, he feels it too. “You always make it best,” he continues on as she pours the mug full and only then does he let her go, slipping away so he can take the steaming mug from her hands. “Somehow, it tastes even better when it’s made by my wife,” she’s smiling, leaning in close… Closer still… Hoping the look on her face is as dreamy as the script said it was supposed to be. He’s leaning in too, the mug of coffee caught between them, her hands rising up to slide into place over his, something not written for her to do.

“Cut!” The director’s voice rings out and they spring apart almost at once. “Incredible! Incredible!” He’s shouting as he comes across the set, grinning wildly. “You two really sold it. Are you sure you don’t know each other?” He eyes them skeptically, though they both shake their heads. “I’m going to watch that back, but I imagine we got what we needed with that single take. Great job, you two.”

He dismisses them with a wave of his hand and they both head off set, though not before Jon stops her. “I guess this means our marriage didn’t last,” he jokes and she laughs, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know, at the risk of being too forward…” He pauses, his turn to shift on his feet, his dark eyes meeting hers with a quick glance. “Maybe I can save our fake marriage by asking you out on a date.” She blinks, her eyes widening for a single moment before she nods, accepting his invite without hesitation.

When they’ve exchanged numbers a short while later and he’s climbing into his car to leave, he can’t help but to watch her as she walks across the parking lot towards her own. She’s changed back into her own clothes and he finds he really enjoys the way her slim fit jeans hug her hips, even from a distance. As if she’s aware of his gaze, she looks up just as she goes to get into her own car and he sees she’s smiling, raising up her hand in a silent goodbye before she disappears behind the closed door.

Truth was, he’d nearly turned down this commercial, now he’s thankful he accepted at the very last second.

#jonsa #moden jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #anon asks #writing prompts #my writing #i wrote this

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sheliesshattered · 1 year

Text

Daemon/Rhaenyra holiday fanfic (My Gift This Year Is You)

Daemon returns to King’s Landing to celebrate the New Year’s holiday with his family, and finds Rhaenyra waiting to greet him.

Holiday-themed Daemrya fluff, set roughly in the s01e01 timeframe, borrowing from canon but not really sticking to it in any relevant way. Inspired by the Folgers “Home For The Holidays” commercial, because how can you not?

1600 words, rated a very light T, flirty pre-relationship-y stuff, nothing too scandalous. Posted on AO3 under the same title and username.

—

Ñuha Irudy Bisa Jēdarī Iksis Ao (My Gift This Year Is You)

Dawn had not yet broken over King’s Landing as Daemon guided Caraxes into a slow spiraling glide down towards the dragonpit atop Rhaenys’s Hill. He’d been away for years, but little had changed, certainly nothing that could be seen from above in the gloom that blanketed the city before daybreak. It was difficult not to feel as though he was stepping back in time with this homecoming, returning to the place where he’d grown to manhood. In a different year, long past, he might have expected his father to greet him at the Red Keep, or his grandparents, even. But he knew there would be no such welcome on this first day of the hundredth and twelfth year of the Targaryens’ rule over Westeros.

Since their grandfather’s passing, King’s Landing had been much more Viserys’s home than Daemon’s. In the eight years of his brother’s reign, Daemon had found more and more frequent reasons to stay away for moons or even years at a time, in Dragonstone or yet farther still in the free cities of Essos. He was his brother’s heir, it was true, at least until the Queen could produce a living son — but before his grandfather died, he’d been the spare while Viserys was the heir. That feeling of being extra, superfluous, unnecessary and unneeded, had never really faded from him. The moment Aemma birthed a boy to replace him as heir, Daemon would once again be rendered useless, and the knowledge kept him away from King’s Landing more often than he might have liked.

But, well— it was New Year’s Day. One hundred and twelve years since Aegon was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms. Daemon hadn’t made it home for the last few, and he found he had missed it. The date was hardly noted in Essos, only celebrated by the few scattered Westerosi diaspora, or else marked by nothing more than a passing rude comment directed at House Targaryen. But here in King’s Landing, it was a festival looked forward to by all, lords and small folk alike. By midday, festive decorations in red and black and gold would line the streets, strung across alleyways and hung out of windows. At sunset the city would come alive with revelries, feasting and dancing and music that would last throughout the night, as the people celebrated another year of peace and prosperity under the guidance of the House they had once called Conquerors.

And for those descended from Aegon himself, it was a time to gather together as a family, to exchange gifts and strengthen the bonds of kinship that kept their House so strong. The ship he’d seen at anchor in Blackwater Bay spoke to the presence of House Velaryon, his cousin Princess Rhaenys and her family joining Viserys and Aemma for the holiday. There would be a feast in the great hall, the dancing and drinking far more exclusive than that of the smallfolk of King’s Landing, but no less joyous.

Yes, he had missed it, he thought as Caraxes landed in the dragonpit with a grace that belied the blood wyrm’s size. And though Daemon would admit it to none but himself, he had missed his family as well, these long years away. He and Viserys had never been the closest of brothers, but he missed him all the same. And he’d found an unexpected ally in their cousin Aemma, when she’d married Viserys and come to King’s Landing, and over the years Daemon had come to consider her more sister than cousin. Rhaenys and Corlys were good company, enough to outweigh all the bores in Viserys’s court and council. And then of course there was—

“Good morrow, uncle,” her voice interrupted his musings, as though thinking of Rhaenyra had summoned her by sheer force of his desire to see her. He knew her voice instantly, and didn’t startle at the sound of it, as though some part of him had known to expect her presence. Of all his family, he’d missed Rhaenyra the most. Of all his family, he held the most affection for his dear niece, especially as she’d grown into adulthood, her sharp and witty mind the only match for his anywhere in the court.

“I must have the wrong dragonpit,” Daemon said, turning and looking around as though to check his surroundings. From the corner of his eye, he watched the smile bloom across her face at his jest.

“This is the only dragonpit in King’s Landing,” Rhaenyra replied archly as she crossed towards him. “And the only dragonpit anywhere in the world where you might be greeted by family, this New Year’s Day. Or do you not recognize your own niece, after so many years away?” she challenged, one eyebrow arched to offset the grin still pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“A dragon could never forget another dragon,” he assured her with mock-solemnity. “Not even one so small as you,” he added, tapping her nose affectionately.

“That must be why I have been unable to forget you, either,” she returned, almost a challenge, “even when I sometimes might wish I could.”

He narrowed his eyes at her but didn’t rise to the bait. “What are you doing out alone this early?” he asked instead.

“I awoke in the hour of the wolf, having dreamed you would arrive with the dawn. So I took it upon myself to come and meet you and escort you back to the Keep, in case the King’s Guard has forgotten the face of their own Crown Prince, so long from home.”

“‘Rhaenyra The Dreamer’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

She laughed at that, in the easy and unrestrained way he knew she only allowed herself when they were alone. “I have not dreamed of the doom of our house, uncle,” she assured him. “Only you.”

“If you woke in the hour of the wolf, you must have foreseen my arrival just as I was departing. Prophetic indeed.”

“You did not fly all night?” Rhaenyra asked, a small line forming between her eyebrows as she regarded him with confusion.

“It’s a long flight from Essos,” Daemon said, “and Caraxes will complain if I ask him to cover the whole distance at once.” He pulled off his riding gloves to give the dragon an affectionate pat. Caraxes curved his long neck back towards them, where he was rewarded in his aim of receiving chin scritches from the Realm’s Delight. “We rested at Dragonstone before continuing on,” Daemon added, watching his dragon lean into his niece’s hand, “and left there hours after sunset to time our arrival with dawn.”

In the city beyond the dragonpit, tower bells began to ring, first only a few far distant, but then others taking up the call, welcoming the first light of the new year.

“Ah, there’s sunrise, officially,” she said. “Though I suppose I can forgive you for arriving a few minutes early. Happy new year, Daemon.”

“Biarior arlior jēdari, Rhaenyra,” he echoed back in High Valyrian, unable to keep himself from smiling at her. “I brought you something from far away,” he added, turning to one of the bags that hung from Caraxes’ saddle and sorting through it to find the small package he was looking for.

When he turned back to her, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes lightly. “We exchange gifts after the feast, uncle.”

“Ah,” he said, shaking a finger at her, “but I have another gift for you then, something more public. I had planned to seek you out to give you this in private, but thankfully you’ve saved me the effort.”

“I am not a child anymore,” she reminded him primly, “demanding extra presents at every nameday and New Year's feast.”

“Good,” he said as he took her hand and pressed the silk-wrapped bundle into her palm. “Because it isn't a gift for a child.”

With interest clear on her face, Rhaenyra carefully unfolded the layers of silk, revealing the necklace within.

“Do you know what it is?” he asked, watching her intently.

“It’s Valyrian steel,” she said as she ran one fingertip over the intricate pattern of interlocking circles surrounding a deep red gemstone. “Like your sword, Dark Sister.”

“Here, turn around,” Daemon said, taking the necklace from the bundle of silk and motioning for her to turn her back to him. She wasn’t wearing a necklace, he noted, and wondered if perhaps her prophetic dream had included something of this moment, as well. “Now you and I both own a small piece of our ancestry,” he murmured as he clasped the necklace and settled it against the delicate bones of her neck.

Rhaenyra let her long silver-blonde hair swing back into place and turned to face him again. The gem matched the red of her New Year’s gown, and Daemon wondered again about serendipity and prophecy and fate.

“Gevie,” he said softly in High Valyrian, at a loss of anything else to say. Beautiful.

He looked up to find Rhaenyra searching his face with wide, serious eyes. The eyes of a woman grown, not the girl on the cusp of womanhood he’d left behind so many years before. He held her gaze for a long moment, glad that he’d resolved to give her this present in private.

The invisible string around his breastbone that had always drawn him back to her pulled taut, and then Rhaenyra dropped her eyes down to the necklace, her fingers tracing over the surface again.

“In truth, you needn't have brought me any gifts at all,” she said, her voice strong but not ungrateful. In one swift movement, Rhaenyra rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Ñuha irudy bisa jēdarī iksis ao,” she whispered in his ear. My gift this year is you.

#Daemon and Rhaenyra #Daemon x Rhaenyra #Rhaenyra x Daemon #Daemyra #Daemyra fanfic #House of the Dragon #House of the Dragon fanfic #HotD #HotD fanfiction #Folgers Home For The Holidays #Folgers commercial #reposting this because it wasn't showing up even in my OWN tags much less public tags #hopefully it'll work this time #available on AO3 under the same title and username #please comment and reblog!#my writing #my fanfics #midwinter traditions #or something

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wernerherzogshave · 1 year

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Ceramics & Generalizations (at Sea)

Money owed in teeth or folded hands — Folgers or Maxwell House — pick your very own low point: the sky hasn’t changed.

It’s a big tall room with a wall of glass on one side parallel to a road leading out of a small town on the edge of a big bad happening; slow cold water

all over me: my shirt is covered in printed flowers — I’m flipping through too many

memories; letting too many sounds hit me with the force of a rifle butt; endless sudden walls and emergency doors & people sneezing past magazine racks and racks of comic books and next to everything else — displays going on forever.

I’m a little better than my worst memory; a little worse off now since the Sun took Spring and June and a language we had carved out without money just for ourselves, Virginia.

#poetry #writerscreed #poeticstories #poetblr #writeblr #spilled ink #poetryblr #writerblr #poetry on tumblr #tumblr poetry

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ripeteeth · 1 year

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wip tag game

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

Thanks for the tag @jaggededges123!

Introduction to Natural Philosophy (Victor Frankenstein/The Creature) blood, bones, and butter c.3 (songxuexiao) folgers coffee gross little holiday fic (niecest) long slow love song (fengqing) Revachol Calling c.8 (Harry/Kim) but father's house is full of arrows (fitzier) cleaning out the rooms (wangxian) what sharp teeth you have (wenzhou)

Tagging @mia-ugly, @soft-october-night, @racketghost, @danpuff-ao3, @neonpastelnina, @perverse-idyll, @pearwaldorf, @liladiurne, @itsevidentvery, @ivorycloudscape, @jouissants, @orchisailsa, @rcmclachlan, @wildcard47 and anyone else who would like to!

#wip game #ask meme

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splinter-sister · 2 years

Note

The autumn haze of dawn breaking from it's ethereal shell rolls across the rolling countryside. It'd be peaceful if not for the hooting and hollering of a roving pack of hooligans outside, firing guns into the air and causing a damn ruckus. IT'S NOT EVEN 6 A.M. YET.

Any angry rant she may be gathering for the employees at the farm would be abruptly interrupted by Mack opening their shared bedroom door, fully adorned in his villain gear, save for his mask which has been pulled up above his head, an icy look of loathing etched into his scowl. Her own uniform is tossed into the quilt, "Look alive, Donahue. We's bein' raided."

She is looking in the full body mirror, getting her overalls on for the day. The daily ritual of getting up and ready for the day is put to a temporary halt. Being a slow riser, nothing usually rattled her while still waking up. She’ll bark at the Fleshlings if they’re being too loud, but that’s about it. This though. This is something exciting.

“RAID?!” Folgers could never wake her up as fast as a Raid. Excitement afoot knocked the sleepy right out of her and she’s perked right up. “Does the Syndicate allocate murder for situations like these?”

@valiant-au-save-slot-a

#valiant au save slot a #slot a

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emoji-pro-wrestling · 1 year

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Brock Shamrock

Emojis: ☘️ 🕖

Name: Brock Shamrock

Nationality: Very Irish

Pronouns: Sé/Leis He/Him

Marketable Catchphrases: “It’s Shamrock O’Clock!” “Get shamrocked!” “Death to all monarchs!” “If you insist upon continuing to reap the rewards of empire then too you must account for its sins!” “It’s shamrocking time!”

Character Profile: Brock Shamrock is, at first glance, an ignorant and retrograde stereotype of the Irish people. A second glance, however, reveals a highly principled and outspoken gentleman with a deep and unrelenting hatred towards Imperialism in all its forms. …That’s just more stereotypes, huh? While Brock may have started his career back in the nineties as a one-trick stereotype, the passage of time has rendered depth to the two-dimensional parody. His pure brawn, talent for collar-and-elbow and catch wrestling, and boisterous promo delivery kept him relevant even as similar national stereotypes faded from the main event. Brock’s second coming and career revival came on the 8th of April 2013: The day that Margaret Thatcher died. Delivering a fiery and unscripted promo after a match on that day rallied a new generation of fans to his side (and against that of all Tory Scum). His third career resurgence arrived on another 8th, this time that of September 2022: The Day Queen Elizabeth died. In celebration Brock headlined his own Ireland based PPV event the profits of which went to charities helping the homeless and LGBTQ+ community. Now late in his fifties and showing no signs of slowing down, Brock’s proudest achievement remains having never lost a match to an Englishman.

Finishers: Lion Tamer (called the Red Lion Tamer), Figure Four Leg Lock (called the Four Leafed Sham Lock), and the Curbstomp (called the Seven O’Clock)

Design: I’d just finished designing Nio Folger and was feeling dissatisfied at having created such a brazen national stereotype as a Swiss Accountant. Lo and behold my next randomly selected random emojis, chosen randomly: A shamrock, and a clock pointing at Lucky Seven O’Clock! The sigh I let out was incredible, and so was the vigour with which I threw myself into trying to make an Irish wrestler who was both a stereotype, and who rose above that. Whether I accomplished that… Well, I leave that to the viewer.

#Emojimania Eliminator Tournament #Brock Shamrock #Tournament #Character Profile #Polls #Original Character Tournament #Pro Wrestling #Wrestling #OCs #Tumblr polls #Bracket

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selamat-linting · 1 year

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btw my sims are hilarious. the third child got the proper trait. he went into the bathroom to shower while his sistrr was still there on the toilet and he was mad that she's being improper for a taking a shit in front of him? guy you literally walked in on her first.

speaking of sims 4 sibling tomfoolery. the eldest daughter and the second son got along really well. their adoption date was pretty close so its like they are twins. after i made sure the eldest is gonna be the heir, i renovated her room to be a large fancy one but i forgot most of her personal decor. and it doesnt match her new room. luckily i was able to shove all of her old stuff to her brother's room so now she hangs out in there too. and her bed and his bed are positioned on the same spot just divided by a wall. tbh it doesnt really matter because sometimes they'd just sleep together on the same bed. i'd like to think its a symbolism. shana (the eldest) lost her right to live her life and be a person the moment she inherits the legacy. she is her family, not herself anymore. she cant move out, she must expand her parents garden/orchard, she can't change what she wants to do in life. she must take care of the estate business, build a venue in her family's name, and produce a heir. so, it was her brother who kept all of her old things. it was him that know her when she's just shana and not The Family and expect her to just be herself. he was the only one who truly knew her, and, whenever shana felt alone at night, she knocked on the wall above the headboard of her bed and hear him there.

heck, they even did their last dance in prom together! Insane. i literally prepped shana's date from days ago and she decided to slow dance with her brother. sigh. yeah, her boyfriend is this guy she flirted with during love day just because she has to but i dont have time to make her see other guys so i guess she's gonna elope with generic guy #1 straight after highschool and try for baby. just to get it over with. meanwhile im gonna have her brother owen move out of the house right after she brings her spouse home because she might need his room for the future child. i'll match him with someone nice, a girl he met during his first visit in selvadorada with the whole family. which means he has to go there again. maybe the vacay shouldnt bring an entire entourage. just shana and him since shana is the next legacy founder and should skill up even more. oh wait. a holiday just for the two of them before shana's halfhearted only done out of obligation marriage? Oh fuck. Should have used "folgers" as this family's surname.

#sims 4 #sims 4 legacy challenge #my sims tag #i didnt even use any weird incest mods for this lol

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icoffeeblogs · 2 years

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Top 5 Best Coffee Brands

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For more lists of drinks take a look at our collection of mixed drink recipes, top vodka brands, and top whiskey brands. You'll be able to ensure that you have the ideal drink for every occasion.

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From here, they employ the slow roasting method that brings out the authentic taste of their coffee beans. Don Pablo is going to let you to select various roasts and blends from various regions. You can select from many locations around the globe like Europe, Brazil, Columbia and many more.

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Tiny Footprint Coffee

Company Location: Brooklyn Center, Minnesota

Highlights: Environmentally Conscious, Only Uses the Highest Quality Shade-Grown Arabica Coffee Beans

About the Coffee Brand: They are known as the brand of coffee which puts the environment first. Tiny Footprint not only provides high-quality coffee, they also care about the environment. Tiny Footprint only uses the finest Shade-grown Arabica coffee beans. The organically certified as well as Fairtrade coffee beans are roasted at Minneapolis, MN. The coffee beans are then roasted to perfection before being enjoyed throughout the world.

Folgers Coffee Brand

Folgers Coffee

Company Location: San Francisco, California

Highlights: Lond and Rich American History, Consistent and Quality Coffee Taste

About the Coffee Brand: With a the history going to the 1850s, Folgers has been serving high-quality coffee since. With a long American heritage, Folgers is a brand of coffee that is a symbol of America. Folgers provides a range of ground and coffee bean choices. The options include regular decaf, flavor, delicious, stomach-friendly, and cappuccino.

03. Bulletproof Coffee Brand

Bulletproof Coffee

Company Location: Seattle, Washington

Highlights: Uses Research and Science to Help Improve Health Effects Coffee for Drinkers

About Coffee Brand designed to assist individuals "perform better, think faster, and live better." Bulletproof utilizes scientific research when creating their various products. They offer a wide range of choices of coffee. You'll be able to select from whole ground coffee, coffee beans and cold brew pods and much other options. Alongside a variety of other items be sure to not just stop at coffee with Bulletproof.

04. Maxwell House Coffee Brand

Maxwell House Coffee

Company Location: Tarrytown, New York

Highlights: Started in the 1800s, Quality and Consistency in Every Cup of Coffee

About the Coffee Brand: Maxwell House has been in existence from the beginning of time in 1800. Offering their original, great tasting espresso, the company also offer many other choices in addition. With their consistent quality and consistency, Maxwell House still serves millions of coffee drinkers around the world. Maxwell House coffee is made using a traditional coffee maker, or single-serve K-Cup pods.

Company Location: Clovis, California

Highlights: Protein Rich Coffee Beverages, Great Taste and Health Benefits

About the Coffee Brand The coffee is self-titled as the "coffee lover's protein drink." Click Coffee offers 16 grams of protein as well as a double shot espresso, as well as 23 minerals and vitamins. Click isn't your usual coffee, but because of its amazing flavor and health benefits, it is a must-have on this list of the top coffee brands. To find more protein options, check out our top list of protein brands.

05. New England Coffee Brand

New England Coffee

Company Location: Malden, Massachusetts

Highlights: Over 100 Years of Coffee Excellence, Small Batch Roasting to Guarantee Quality

About the Coffee The brand: New England Coffee company has a history of 100 years of excellence in coffee. Their heritage doesn't prevent them from employing top of the art methods however. New England Coffee is an expert in the importation roasting, cupping and making coffee. You can rest assured that every glass of New England coffee is going to be made in the correct way.

New England Coffee's technique of roasting small batches is designed ensure quality. Each cup is consistent and well-balanced. They also provide a broad selection of different types of coffee. You can choose from seasonal dark roast, medium and light roast and decaffeinated. You'll be able to choose the right kind of coffee for your needs.

Best Coffee Brands Conclusion

It's difficult to define what is the distinction between a high-quality beverage and one that's not enough. When you discover the perfect coffee that is able to speak to your taste buds but, it's an experience that will change your life. With this list of the top coffees we've found 25 different options for coffee that are sure to please you.

Some brands are considered mainstream, and others are specialty or gourmet coffees. They're all highly-rated and are loved by coffee lovers from all over the globe. It doesn't matter if you're searching for a new favourite or you already have a favourite but want to expand your choices. This list of top coffee brands will provide you with the best selection.

There are plenty of different ways to experience these coffee brands. It doesn't matter if it's an espresso machine that is manual, French press, a regular coffee maker or some other method they are adaptable and can be used in various ways.

Also, if you're seeking something to go with your morning cup of coffee, make sure you check out our lists of the top dessert recipes, the best cookie recipes, and top cake recipes. Each of these lists will give you something tasty to snack on while you drink your cup of coffee.

Are you aware of a preferred coffee brand that's not listed included on this list but you believe it ought to be? Tell us about it in the comments section below to let us check it out!

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