#patch the grocer

[vellichorom]

Why don’t we spice this post up with a fact about Shrimp?

One of the most commonly eaten breeds of shrimp --or at least the one you can find most commonly in the grocers-- is known as Key West Pink Shrimp, & they get their pink pigment & namesake from the coral sands they spawn from. 

They are also not currently featured in The Stanley Parable OR The Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe, but I’m sure that’s being patched in with a later update.

Are you still with me, Shimpley-- er, Stanley?

( as always, Stanley design + coloring credit go to @tomi-chuu ~ )

#uwu art #The Stanley Parable #The Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe #TSP Narrator #TSP Stanley #Stanarrator #LOVINGLY BROUGHT TO YOU EARLY AT TOMMY'S REQUEST <3 #look at them they're in love they have RINGS they're MARRIED #STANLEY GETS CRAMMED FULL OF SHRIMP FACTS #these were made as icons for our tuppers on discord but we do love to go ham

[jarofstyles]

Carved

Pumpkin carving blurb for the spooky season 🎃 pure fluff and cute.

I hope you enjoy!

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——

“You’re going with a very ambitious carving.” Y/N gave his sketch in the pumpkin a cautious gaze. It was a bunch of bats, with a moon. He has chosen it from the stencils they’d found on Pinterest. Y/N herself had chosen a signature face, a classic jagged teeth and triangle eyes and nose.

“Your faith in me is beautiful, honey. Really.” He snarked back, giving her the raised brow signature as he went back to the sharpie in hand, finishing up the last bat wing and placing the cap right back on, daringly holding the pen between his lips. “I think it will be beautiful, really. I haven’t carved a pumpkin since I was a teen.”

The spiel made Y/N sigh softly, well aware of the repeated story she was going to get. It was the same one he had told the cashier at the grocer while they picked up the pumpkin. Harry had said it was damn near blasphemy that they weren’t going to an actual pumpkin patch but it was a bit too late in the season. There wouldn’t be enough big ones left for his taste. So they trotted off to the grocery store to make a night out of it.

In the oven were sugar cookies with the image of pumpkins settled in them, dipped in sugar, along with some experimental pumpkin pie flavored ones that he had thrown haphazardly into the basket. The paycheck had hit and they both were feeling especially brave with money. They had stumbled across a good recipe for some pasta they had eaten earlier, and slightly full tummies only set the mood to be especially cozy.

The fireplace was lit in a soft blaze, the crackle heard in between the pauses in her ‘Fall-ing for you’ playlist playing over the speaker in their house. The pair had been trying to do more things together, wanting to make traditions now that they’d settled into the place. Y/N’s eyes stayed on him fondly as he retold the last apparent traumatic experience in cutting his pumpkin.

“Next thing you know, Niall’s cackling like a lunatic into the quiet room and bam. The knife slips.” He sighed sadly. “Real blood isn’t exactly what we want to have on the pumpkins, I feared. So I took it out and had to wash it, and then go and get 4 stitches,, baby. 4!” He said it with the same amount of enthusiasm he had the first time he told it, which only seemed to make her heart grow fonder. It’s why she never interrupted him. The simple excitement to tell a story was something she loved from him. He wasn’t the most outgoing so to see him be excited about talking was something she adored. Y/N never wanted to dampen that light.

“Oh wow.” She murmured, scooping out the inner guts of the pumpkin into the steel bowl. “That’s why you’ve got the scar between your thumb and index, yeah?” She knew because she laid kisses to it every so often when they were in especially soft moods.

“Mhm.” His reply was muffled by the hot chocolate lifted to his mouth. A slight dollop of whipped cream sat on his nose, making her coo. “What?” His cheeks flushed as she giggled, staying still as she appproached his seated figure and leaned in. He had assumed she was going to give him a kiss, puckering his lips but was met with a wet sensation on his nose. “Oi! What?” He pulled back with a crinkled nose, trying to work out what happened. “Did you just lick me?”

“Yeah.” Her shoulders shrugged as she went back to her pumpkin, going elbow deep to get the insides clean. “Had whipped cream on your nose. Couldn’t wipe it off, and we literally lick each other’s genitals. Don’t be a baby.”

Harry sputtered before melting into a laugh, shaking his head as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. A bit of whipped cream remained, making him scoff. “Couldn’t even get all of it. Weak.”

Y/N responded with a simple toss of a slimy pumpkin seed in his direction, nailing him in the cheek.

“Heeeey! I was just joking. No need to result in violence.”

—-

“Do not laugh.” His voice was wavering, trying to keep his own laugh in as he looked at the now lit pumpkins on their front porch. “Do not. I see you shoulders shaking. Don’t do it.” Harry couldn’t blame her when she burst into a slew of giggles.

The carving was indeed very ambitious for someone who didn’t carve a pumpkin since he was a teenager. The jagged bats were a bit hard to make out, and the ‘moon’ was hanging on by a very thin thread. Once the animals got to it.. it probably wouldn’t last too long.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She wheezed, leaning into him, laughter muffled by his Halloween sweater. It was to get in the spirit, but right now he was feeling like it mocked him. The pumpkin carving spirits had betrayed him, really… “You tried, that’s what counts. And the cookies came out great!”

“Ah yes, the cookies I placed on the pan and sprinkled sugar on.” He deadpanned, arm a wrapping around her body. “You’re so lucky I love you. Makin’ fun of me and my pumpkin. It’s a fluke. I will get another tomorrow and show you.” He huffed, a puff of hair blowing from the wind of his breath.

“Harry.” She sobered slightly, looking at him in the eyes. “No. No more massacred pumpkins. We can get some and paint on them with nontoxic paint or something for the dining room. It’s a miracle you aren’t injured, considering your last experiences.” Y/N was being fair. An alternative. Considering the neighbors would definitely be able to see the pumpkin and the fake candle showed the extent of the disaster it had showed, he did think the paint would be the less dangerous option.

“Fine. But let’s get the cool pastel paint from the craft store. I’ll go on Pinterest and-“ Y/N’s hand came up to gently cover his lips with her sweater paw’d hand, giving him a look.

“Let’s leave Pinterest alone for a bit, shall we babe? I’m all for creative expression, but we don’t want to scar our guests when they come for the party. Yeah?”

Harry grunted, sinking his teeth lightly into the sweater covered palm to make her squeak. “A bully.” He grumbled as she wiggled out of his hold. “Wouldn’t think so with how sweet you look, but you’re awfully good at being a deceiving little witch.” He followed her inside the house, hot on her heels.

“Hey! At least I’m honest! Let go. Do not tickle me.” She warned, feeling his arms wrap around her as he kicked their front door closed. Instead of fingers in the stomach, she was given a kiss to the neck, and then she felt it. The wet of his mouth, and the buzzing. Blowing raspberries into her sensitive neck, making her squeak and try and escape the vibrating sensation.

Making her escape, she dove behind the couch with narrowed eyes. “That was cold. Low, even for you, Styles.” She hissed, wiping her neck off. The joyous glint in her eye made him smirk though, shaking his shoulders up and down as he simply crossed his arms. “Deserved, as you and your friends say. Besides, you said not to tickle you. I didn’t. Simple payback for earlier and for being a smart mouth little bully.”

Y/N grumbled to herself as she pulled the fuzzy orange throw blanket printed with pumpkins over her shoulders, sitting in front of the fire. “Hmph. You love me and my smart mouth. Next.”

“That I do, little brat. That I do.”

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles #harry styles writing #blurb #harry blurb #blurbs #harry one shot #harry styles blurbs #harry smut blurb #concept #one shot #Harry styles Halloween #Halloween Harry styles

[sednonamoris]

come all ye sinners

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: Driven from camp in the aftershocks of an earth-shattering shift in John and Abigail’s relationship, you find yourself in an unlikely situation with and even more unlikely ally. Is there a way forward?

Warnings: Gratuitous religious (Christian) imagery/blasphemy/etc., angst, alcohol abuse and intoxication (vague), strong language, lots of dialogue, extremely complicated feelings and situations lol

Word count: 2,464

A/N: AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!! that is all <3

Series masterlist • AO3

—

Your hands ache with the repetitive scrubbing motion as you clean years and years worth of grime off the headstone of Dear Albert C. His is only the latest; you’ve been at this all morning. It takes a few more minutes of scouring against slate to reveal the full inscription:

Dear Husband

ALBERT CALLOWAY

1816 - 1889

The one beside him is for Loving Mother and Wife, Catherine. The one next to her is Dear Departed Maggie. The whole churchyard is filled with graves just like these; epitaph after epitaph on faded stone. Loving Sister. Our Angel Departed. Thou art Gone but Remembered. Even half-eroded and covered in moss the love buried on these grounds threatens to overwhelm you. It makes you think of a different church with chipped white paint, of a different graveyard with different names carved carefully in stone. Your parents wasting side by side beneath the unforgiving red dirt of New Austin, where you haven’t paid pilgrimage in years uncounted. 

You’re sure that if you try to step foot in any chapel these days you’ll catch fire. Even the hallowed ground of this graveyard burns, but when the local Reverend asked for help you weren't exactly in a position to refuse. 

Early last week you rode into town, renting a room at the hotel and then drowning yourself in whiskey at the shittier of Valentine’s saloons. You just had to get away from camp. It was suffocating. Ever since Abigail pulled John aside— 

Well, it hasn’t been good. 

No one knows what it is she said, but everyone knows that they’re not together anymore - really and truly split apart - and neither one has spoken to you since. 

Even as you’d helped John pitch his own tent on the other side of yours he’d avoided your gaze, ignored your questions and your consolations entirely. When you’d tried to ask Abigail over dinner that night if she was alright her red-rimmed eyes looked everywhere but at you. The fire. Her stew. A patch of sky and sunset behind you. Normally Arthur, at least, would break down enough to tell you something, but he’s still out near Strawberry - murdering half a town with Micah, if the papers are true. 

But being ignored you could have handled. The pointed stares ranging between annoyance and pity were what drove you to leave without so much as a goodbye.

You didn’t run far - only Valentine. The whole town wishes it had been farther; you’ve made an ass of yourself here. Between the bar fights and public intoxication it’s a wonder the sheriff hasn’t just locked you up. After drowning yourself in whiskey and fighting half the other patrons you’re banned from Smithfield’s for at least a month, if not for life. The grocer at the general store will barely sell to you, and the only reason you haven’t been kicked out of your hotel room is that you paid cash upfront. 

Keane’s is your last refuge, the rickety old saloon beside the churchyard, which of course is how you got yourself into this latest predicament. You drank yourself under the table with the bar’s only other occupants last night. All the stories about Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway hardly do justice to the way that man drinks. His bespectacled friend ought to go down in the history books beside him, the way he kept pace. The three of you drank and drank and drank some more, weeping into your cups about lives gone by, until finally Ned had enough and closed the place down. Mindless with drink you’d stumbled out the doors and into the street and right into something. Someone.

You’d snapped instantly - slurred, really - like it wasn’t entirely your fault. 

“Apologies, my child,” a serene voice had said. 

“Ain’t nobody’s child no more.”

You’d shoved whoever it was out of the way with a snarl and promptly lost your balance, falling flat on your face and into the mud Valentine is so famous for. It’s hard to remember much after that. A voice calling out in concern. Gentle hands helping you up. A shoulder to lean on.

Then nothing.

You woke this morning to sunlight streaming in your eyes and a pounding headache. The room you were in was small and humble and entirely unfamiliar. It smelled of incense. Burnt-out candles. Hope, somehow.

“Oh, good,” an almost-familiar voice had called out, “you’re awake.” An older man of the cloth with kind brown eyes and a shock of white hair over a wise smile trundled into the little room with a mug of coffee and some bread. “I am Reverend Hampton. You were quite unwell last night, so I brought you here to recover.”

“Where the hell is here?”

He’d smiled at that like he was in on some joke you didn’t know about. “The House of God.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Your blasphemy had him laughing out loud, of all things, and once you fought to keep his proffered breakfast down he had asked, sweet as you please, if you could spare a few hours helping an old shepherd tend to his flock after you cleaned up. You thought maybe you’d be lighting candles for a service or hefting around pews he could no longer move, but since the sun peeked out from behind the Grizzlies’ distant peaks it’s just been you and a scrub brush and a bucket of murky water against the time and decay that has hidden Valentine’s past lives and lovers from view.  

—

You work well into the afternoon. There comes a point when your mind is quiet and your hands are raw, and that’s when Reverend Hampton finally reappears.

“So many names I have not seen in years,” he says, hands brushing over headstones like old friends. “Thank you, truly.” 

“I owed you after last night,” you grumble.

His easy praise makes your ears burn with shame, but he just gives you another one of those secret smiles. “God smiled upon me indeed when our paths crossed.”

“You’re about the only person to think so,” you huff out a disbelieving laugh. “Is that what you were doin’ outside a saloon at closing time? Looking for lost souls?” 

“I was trying to find Mickey, our resident vagrant. I had brought a blanket for him since the nights are still chilly, but…”

“But I ran into you instead,” you finish for him. “Sorry again.”

He waves your apology off with a weathered hand. “I have found that the people who need the most guidance are not the faces I see every Sunday at my pews. Charity sent me out of the church doors so late, but Providence brought me you.” 

“If your God sent me, he must not like you all that much.”

“I don’t know about that,” he laughs softly and takes a seat on the ground beside you, despite the ache it’s sure to cause his old bones, “but I do know He very much likes looking out for those in need.”

“No offense, Reverend, but what could I possibly need from you or Him?”

“A kind ear to listen, perhaps? Something is weighing you down. Where better than here to unburden yourself, with only me and the ghosts to listen?”

“I ain’t the confessing type.”

“It’s nothing so serious, I assure you. Think of it as a conversation between friends.”

You scoff, but it lacks your usual bite. “We ain’t friends, Reverend.”

His eyes sparkle with endless patience and good humor. “We could be.”

And so, in spite of everything, you start talking. 

All your troubles come tumbling out bit by bit. Each story is veiled behind the ambiguity of a killer on the run, and he’s certainly sharp enough to know you’re not the saving kind, but he listens like he cares. Like you really are friends. You tell him how John rescued you when you were just kids, and somewhere in between growing up you realized it would be you and him forever, ‘til the end of it all. How even after he left for a whole year you never once stopped believing that someday it’d be the two of you in twin graves with matching headstones just like the ones you lean against now. You try to explain the broken family he has with Abigail, now fractured further, and how it’s really your fault because you urged Arthur towards happiness even when you knew, deep down, no one would end up happy. How no one will talk to you and it’s just what you deserve but that doesn’t mean you can take it, so you tried to drink it all away and didn’t even get lucky enough to drown. 

Now here you are, run out of camp and proved right. Some ruined phantom haunting the life you almost had. Haven’t you just lived up to your name? And doesn’t it feel so good to be a harbinger of doom on the outside looking in, scribing the writing on the wall with your own blood?

You don’t even realize you’re crying by the end until the Reverend offers you an embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket. The better part of the afternoon is gone now. Early evening sun does its best to warm you with the late spring grass. Birds sing sweetly overhead. The smile Reverend Hampton gives you is just as saccharine. 

“Sorry,” you croak. “Didn’t realize I’d be such a fuckin’ mess.” 

“It’s alright,” he says, still with that gentle smile. “Let it all go. You’ve held on so tight for so long. Let me be here to catch you today.” 

You’re not sure how long you sit there beside the now-clean graves of Valentine’s churchyard with the Reverend’s calming hand on your shoulder and his handkerchief in your hand. It takes several shuddering breaths before you come back to yourself. You rise slowly, extending a hand when he tries to do the same. He surprises you by going in for an embrace once he’s up, but where yesterday you pushed him away, today you pull him close.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay your kindness,” you say into his shoulder. “We both know I ain’t done much to deserve it.”

He pulls back to give you that bemused smile once more. “Kindness isn’t about deserving, dear child. Go in peace, and know you will always have a friend here. Always.”

You chance one last glance over your shoulder after saying your goodbyes. He waves serenely from the church steps, haloed by stained glass and goodness. For the first time in what feels like forever, your steps are light as you head towards home.  

—

If Karen is surprised to see you back she doesn’t say so, offering a dry salute from her post instead as you ride into camp. You tip your hat to her and smile as best you can past the nerves. The optimism only lasted as long as the churchyard was in view. 

You have to talk to John. Get him to talk to you - it’s all the same in the end. Just as terrifying any way you frame it.

Once you’ve dawdled as long as possible untacking and unpacking the little you’d brought to Valentine, you begin your search. He’s not in his tent. He’s never there this early in the evening, anyway, and though the thought crosses your mind that he might be away, the scowl on Abigail’s face across camp erases it. He isn’t occupying any of the logs around any of the campfires, even the one Javier strums tunelessly at. But just beyond it, leaning against a tree, you find him.

John says nothing as you approach. Doesn’t even look up from his book, though you know he knows you’re there. He looks like shit. His scars are fine - better, even, than when you left - but his skin is pale and the dark circles under his eyes are prominent. His hair falls in dark tangles around his face, and his brow is pinched like it gets when he’s worried or overthinking - or both. It’s hard not to stare at the razor edge his mouth cuts against the angles of his face. 

“Hey,” you say. It’s stupid and not enough, but at least he looks up at you. The lightning in his eyes - anger and hurt and flash floods - almost makes you wish he hadn’t.

“Hey.” His isn’t as nice. “Surprised you came back.”

You fold your arms. “Surprised you’re talkin’ to me again.”

“What the hell was I s’posed to say, huh?” And here is the anger he had muzzled a week ago. Here is the wounded animal lashing out teeth first; His lip is curled, snarling. “What do you want me to say? You told Arthur to— Abigail left me.” 

It’s worse, somehow, to face this quiet rage than the screaming match you sense itching beneath the surface of his skin. He wants to be angrier. Louder. Meaner. He doesn’t want another scene.

You haven’t forgotten that even blunted knives can kill.

“You think I don’t know that?” you say. “You think I don’t hate that? Look, if I could take it all back—” you cut yourself off with a frustrated growl. “I can’t take it back. Neither of us can.”

“So, what? I’m just supposed to forgive you?”

You can feel your eyes flash, affronted. Angry. Reverends are for forgiving. Saints and Christs and Gods. Neither of you is any one of those. There is no stained glass story painting your hurt in pretty colored shards over open doors and under tall steeples. There is no memorial of pain and sacrifice carved into any cathedrals. There is only you and him and this ugly, hurting thing between you. 

“No, you ass,” you seethe. “You can hold a grudge forever, all I care. Never forgive me! Hate me, even. But if you think you’re getting rid of me you’ve got another thing coming. I ain’t never leaving you, John Marston. Not ever.”

He opens his mouth to argue further, only for it to snap shut just as quick when he registers what you’ve said. You stand there like that for a long moment. Chests heaving. Eyes burning. Just staring at each other. 

“You’re a stubborn idiot,” he finally says, folding his arms and looking away.

You bark out half a laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

 The sharp steel of his earlier glare is tempered soft in the golden evening glow. Something like forgiveness hangs in the air between you, shimmering.

When you stick your hand out for him to shake he eyes you for only a brief, wary second before taking it. His grip is calloused and warm. Gone too soon. But it’s done, and if there’s such a thing as salvation, you think it must be this.

#john marston x reader #rdr x reader #rdr2 x reader #ghost story #fran writes #ch. 18

[aimzicr]

I'm coming to live a new town, tired by the life I've led behind but tethered by obligation to family I barely know. "Take care of this place," he told me, on his deathbed, "It's important to me." I've been thinking the whole bus ride over what might be important to me, and I come to the conclusion that there isn't anything. It used to be my health and happiness, but my dead-end job kind of robbed me of that. I don't really have anything else for myself, except a couple of suitcases and a long road ahead of me.

I'm met at the bus stop by the small town's mayor, and he takes me to a shack in an overgrown plot. The town carpenter tells me she's fixed the place up, making it livable. But they left the land to grow wild? Did my grandfather ever matter to these people? They offer me some seeds to get started, and call me 'farmer'. What a joke. I can barely keep a potted succulent alive.

But what else is there for me?

Unpacking is easy. I barely brought anything and the shack is tiny. What isn't easy is dealing with my future here. It takes hours for me to clear the weeds and rake away the topsoil and plant a neat row of packet-seeds. I'm exhausted, shaking, sweaty. It feels like a full day's work but it's barely lunch time. I have nothing in the kitchen. I wash up, and walk to town. The place feels stiff, still, empty.

The prettiest girl I've ever seen criticises my appearance as she walks by. The doctor wishes me a tentative welcome from the door of his clinic, but there's something about him that makes me so uncomfortable I walk by quickly after my hello-back. A cute guy tells me I can't play football with him because girls can't do that. There's a pub and a grocer's in town, but the prices are more than my strained wallet can handle, so I cross the river and buy from the convenience store. I take my instant noodles to the beach and it helps, for a little while, to sit and listen to the waves. As I go home, two small children and their babysitter stare at me, and two mothers gossip speculation after I pass by. It feels just like being at home: being alone, being tired, and being talked at or about, rather than to.

The night's a rough one. The bed's uncomfortable, the sheets are scratchy, the whole house groans and creaks in protest about my presence and the renovations done to it. I can hear creatures in the woods, bats and owls and possums and who knows what else. I'm just as exhausted waking up as when I went to sleep, but now my muscles ache from yesterday's attempt at living up to the name 'farmer'.

When I find the first early shoots have been decimated by crows and insects, I want to cry. I do, for a little bit, but then I take out my frustrations on the weeds and the rocks, and even a couple of the stubborn old trees. I eat more instant noodles, and look at the patch of bare earth in front of the house.

When I finally grow the parsnips, it feels like a blessing. I can sell them in town and get myself something to eat that doesn't come from a packet. The pub owner doesn't smile at me until I produce enough cash to make him realise I'm not just here for the free water. It's good to have a hot meal.

There's a sign in the grocer's the next day. "Fresh-grown local parsnips." I hear the grocer say he grew them himself. I buy more seeds, and I leave, and I won't be back until next month if I can help it. I won't be selling anything else from my land to him.

People come by to see me, now and then. But they never ask how I'm doing, if I'm struggling, can I help. It's always about what I can do for them: bring them something, grow them something, harvest something from the wild, give them lyrics for a song or an idea for a novel, pick up trash or mend a bridge. I don't know these people, or why they want nothing from me but my labour. Why they want what I can do and what I can make instead of who I am. It feels like I never left my dead end job.

The woman from the next property brings me a dog, scrawny and snarling. "He likes you!" He doesn't like me, I'm not a dog person, you just want him off your property so your chickens aren't in danger. I fill his water dish and leave him scraps, letting him stay fox-keen in the wilderness that should have been a farm. He stops snarling when he sees me, but we never grow close. I envy that about him: the people in this town keep coming to me with their problems and their demands. Perhaps I should start snarling, too.

I've cleared the ground, and built my own fences. I grow my own food and cook my own meals. This place was important to grandpa, but now it's all I have, and it's mine, and the work here feels right for me. Maybe one day the people in town will stop asking me to fill the various voids in their lives, but I doubt it. They let my grandfather's land fall into ruin as easily as they neglect their own lives, so. Not my problem. I have work to do.

Anyway. Stardew Valley.

#stardew valley #I've played over 800 hours #and I will play 800 more #if someone knows of an anti-social farming sim please let me know #look I do love the game don't get me wrong #but at the same time #woof. people. #writing #my writing #writing exercise #project: pen to paper #also: woof. capitalism. #as a haver-of-garden-beds-that-produce-some-of-my-food #no-one ever tells you how exhausting it is #anyway

[leftnotright]

A TEXTBOOK EDUCATION

"This will be a skill-building experience. You've had it too easy. You've had your Family name to back you, and your Right Hand at your every call. It's time you learn to carry yourself, to build from the ground up." Dino Cavallone, the Cavallone Don, fresh out of high school.

Reborn, the deadliest hitman of the modern era, has a special kind of torture up his sleeve for his dear struggling student. Dino will have to see how well he handles alienation, isolation, and worst of all, class participation. “Now, go on, my useless student Dino. Let’s continue your education.” (Or: Reborn sends Dino to Australia. It goes better than he could have ever hoped.)

Parings: N/A Characters: Dino (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Vic Hunt (OC - Original Character), Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Romario (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!)Cavallone Famiglia, Enzo (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Original Characters Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, University, Pre-Canon, Financial Issues, Fluff And Angst

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

CHAPTER 4: AND THEY COME UNSTUCK

The TV - ‘’tele’ as they called it - was playing the morning news on channel 7. Dino had been listening to it since he had rolled out of bed, too sweaty and stressed to get any decent sleep. Fittingly, the news show was called ‘Sunrise’ and Dino had been watching since then, listening to the news and how they spoke about everything. 

There is a fire - ‘bushfire’ - in Penrith, firefighters were trying to keep it under control. Up in New Castle, there was a surfing event. Parliament was discussing the pensioner retirement age. Fundraisers were being held at multiple Bunnings for the NSW Regional Firefighting Service after a particularly bad fire season.

“I think I might pop down for a sausage sizzle,” the blond woman chimed in after the segment, “Been a while since I’ve had one’a those.”

“One’a those,” Dino echoed absently as he moved his pen along a line of text.

Calendar reminder: EDST1001 LECTURE 11:30AM

Dino paused his ledgers and looked at his phone as it beeped on the table. He had spent the whole morning pouring over the few documents he had left from the Cavallone offices, trying to quell that anxiety that bubbled in his stomach and made sleep hard. He only had a few documents left, most of them were copies of the original documents back at the Cavallone. Receipts, mostly, and barters for the last bits of furniture and assets the Cavallone could afford to sell off. 

Everything, spare what was bolted down or irreplaceable, had been sold already. It had left the halls of his home barren. Gone were the antique paintings, gilded statues and handwoven carpets. And gone was much of the Cavallone’s prestige with it. 

A Family selling off their history. 

He sighed and rubbed his nape, free of sweat for the first time since he had landed in this ‘sunburnt land’. That air conditioning truly was his saviour.

Calendar reminder: Meet Vic U-Bar Courtyard 3PM

Dino blinked. Then he gave a sharp heave of panic as he remembered that, yes, he had indeed promised to meet up with Vic today.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, he was just meeting a friend it was going to be okay he didn’t need to panic like this it was just his only peer friend in years and he wasn’t going to screw this up he promised-

Enzo snapped at Dino’s toe and make him jump out of his minor mental breakdown. 

“Ow!” Dino yelped and yanked his foot away from the turtle. “I’ll go to the grocer’s today, so stop!”

Enzo wheezed at him accusingly before slowly turning and began the long plod to his newly found sunbathing patch. 

Dino frowned at Enzo’s back while cradling his toe until his phone buzzed again, warning him he only had an hour until his lecture. He grappled with his drawers and pulled on his most civilian of clothes, feeling blessedly comfortable in a white shirt and cargo shorts.

One thing Dino loved about university was the lack of uniforms. He didn’t think he’d survive this heat with the blazer, vest and tie he wore in high school. He had barely survived yesterday in that suit-

Dino clapped his hands loudly as if to scare off that memory and the incredulous looks of his classmates. He hadn’t had time to change for his Econ class either, but without a tutorial, he had managed to hide in the back rows of his lecture’s amphitheatre without drawing too much attention.

But he had learnt his lesson: No mafia suits in civilian classes.

Dino rubbed his stomach absently as he made his way back to the living room. He hadn’t been eating well since coming to Australia. Hell, the largest meal he had so far was that KFC with Vic and, as she said, it had enough salt to season the sea. He really needed to go to a grocer.

He hated to admit it, but he was procrastinating going to that ‘Woolies’ Vic had mentioned before. He didn’t feel confident in his English enough to go alone, and Dino had - well, he had never bought something in person before. Everything was done by middlemen, through order or pre-emptively in bulk. He’d never bought a carrot before! Could you buy a single carrot? Or did they only come in 20-kilogram packages? Dino didn’t know what he’d do with 20 kilograms of carrots!

Dino filled up a cup with water and took a long drink to calm his nerves before he thought himself into yet another panic attack on this fine, totally normal morning. He took his pills and proceeded to drink another glass of water to fill his stomach until lunch. 

Dino checked the clock on the wall and quickly shoved the last of his schoolwork into his briefcase. He needed a more civilian bag damn it, he stood out too much with this thing since it was from his high school days.

White tee-shirt, cargo shorts, joggers and a briefcase. What a sight Dino must be.

Before Dino walked out the door, his anxiety beckoned him to apply another layer of antiperspirant deodorant. Sweating so much yesterday had kind of traumatised him. He needed to figure out how to clean his suit.

Enzo wheezed when Dino picked him up off the floor but slid into the cargo short’s thigh pocket without fuss. For good measure, Dino tossed a few of his pellets in too before pressing the velcro shut. 

The trees of Wally’s Walk did little to block the swelter of midday Summer, and Dino pulled at his collar to air out his shirt. He checked his phone again to find his classroom, Building 27, the Lotus Theatre. 

“Fancy,” Dino muttered to himself and moved towards the cul-de-sac end of the Walk. 

There was a crowd of students loitering outside building 27, and Dino was quick to join them, standing off to the side to allow the traffic to flow between. He let his eyes scan the crowd, feeling much more at ease with how he blended in. No one was staring this time. Excellent. 

Dino pulled his briefcase closer and pulled out his phone, content to just scroll on the news apps for the next fifteen minutes or so. He was halfway through an article about something called the Powerhouse Museum of Science being moved to a Parramatta location when he felt eyes on him.

Carefully, Dino flicked his eyes to the side, using his peripherals to see who was watching him so intently. If they were a hitman, they were doing one hell of a bad job. What kind of assassin allowed their presence to be so obvious- Oh .

He lifted his head and waved, smiling with a sheepish relief. Vic stood at the edge of the crowd, and came over when she was acknowledged.

Reborn must really have done a number on him. 

“Oh hello,” Vic hummed as she came to a stop next to him, and Dino didn’t miss the quick once-over she gave him with her eyes. “I see we’re going casual this time.”

“Please don’t talk about yesterday,” Dino withered and Vic let out a laugh.

“Kay, got it,” she assured and shifted her weight again. “So we’ve got the same class again today, huh? EDST101?”

“Yeah, I’m happy we are together again,” Dino smiled, putting his phone away to pay full attention to Vic. “What time is your tutorial? Are we together as well?”

“I’m in the 2 o’clock group.”

“Ah, we are not. I am the 1 o’clock group.”

“Fuck,” Vic sighed forlornly and crossed her arms.

Dino tilted his head when he noticed she was wearing another faded band tee, adorning the same logo and name as the last one with a different design. Maybe it was her favourite band? It was a talking point!

“What, uh, song, is that?” Dino asked, pointing to Vic’s shirt.

“Song? Oh,” Vic looked down at her shirt and opened her arms to show the logo splashed across her chest, Smoking Cucumbers. “It’s my cousin’s heavy metal anarchist band. Don’t really know how the anarchist plays into it, but he insists it does. Gives me a shirt for New Years nearly every year.”

“That’s nice of him,” Dino uttered, “Are they good?”

Vic made a noise and rocked her head from side to side, looking off into the distance as she visibly thought about it. 

“Varying quality,” she decided to say.

“I see,” Dino chuckled, then he shifted his weight and reached for the next topic. “Do you have a large family?”

Family, that was a familiar topic. Dino could talk about Family easy! 

“Nah, not really, I’ve only got a brother. But the cousins add up, you know?” She shrugged, “I’ve got like, uh, six cousins from my dad’s side. The youngest is nearly seven months old, I’m going to meet him during semester break.”

Dino smiled as Vic fished around to show a picture from her phone. A child, cute as a button, was cradled in the centre of a mass of pillows, arms and legs askew like it had fallen asleep mid-crawl attempt.

“Ant’s so adorable. He looks like a fucking blobfish,” she cooed and Dino couldn’t help the snort of startled laughter. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

“My Family is large. The house is always busy,” Dino started, recalling all the faces he was so used to waking up to every morning. Oh, he missed those faces. “I have no siblings, but many uncles and brothers.”

Vic blinked at that and Dino smiled sheepishly, wondering if he had misspoken somewhere. She didn’t interrupt, however, so Dino continued. Talking about his Family was cathartic, and made the overbearing sun, innumerable people and unfamiliar terrain, all seem less horrible for a moment.

“Romario looks after me well. I am sure he is the reason I survived so long.” Not that Reborn didn’t try to stop that, with all those bombs and bullets. “My father introduced him to me when I was young, we have been together since.”

He remembered that day, so many years ago. He had clutched the ends of his coat and fought to stand still, surrounded by five of his father’s Guardians as they stood at attendance for the Don’s return. His father arrived with a teen trailing behind him, scuffed up and covered in grass seeds and dust like he had crawled out from the barley fields that surrounded the Cavallone estate. 

“Brutus means well, but he is, uh, a bad influence,” Dino chuckled, recalling how Brutus had ridden a mattress down the spiral staircase and broke through the railing. “He has been with us for a few years now. Growing tall. Too tall.”

That last comment was said with its fair share of bitterness. Brutus liked to use Dino as an armrest in casual settings these days. No respect!

Vic smiled as he grumbled at the memory, another one of her snorted laughs bursting forward.  

“Are you the youngest, or..?”

Dino frowned more, “Brutus is the youngest. Everyone is upset.”

Vic wheezed a laugh and pocketed her phone before rocking back on her heels and asked, “Anyone else of note?”

“Too many,” Dino hummed softly, “I hope to see them soon.” Then he winced and let out a weak laugh, “Ah, but I am sure they will make me pay back all my missed turns in stable work.”

Vic blinked and then squinted a bit, like she was trying to piece together what he had said. Dino watched her for a moment before it dawned on him: Vic didn’t know about the Cavallone Family’s main stock.

“My family breed horses. I will be missing my turns to help in the horse stables. We rotate.”

Vic’s face twitched, then she snorted out, “So, you’re like an equestrian?”

“Uh, I was part of my high school’s equestrian club, yes?” 

The girl sighed through her nose and reached up to massage her forehead as she muttered out, “My God, he’s a horse girl too.”

“Horse girl?” Dino echoed.

“Have you ever watched something called The Saddle Club?”

Dino shook his head and Vic made a dismissing wave of her hand, before turning her head as the crowd began to move, a slow and steady flow of students pouring into the amphitheatre. 

“Time to move,” she uttered and the two of them wriggled their way through the mass of sweaty students. 

Dino winced as a girl's tote bag poked into his arm, and then nearly fumbled his walk as the first step of an incline surprised him. He wheezed and gave a sheepish smile as someone in the crowd gave him a withering glance.

Vic chose somewhere to sit and Dino trailed after her, eager to get out of the river of slow-moving bodies that shuffled along unsurely. They pulled their chair seats down and spent a good few seconds fighting with their flip-up desks before settling down.

“Wow, yours is a bit fucked,” Vic commented as she looked to the hazardous angle Dino’s laptop was teetering on, no doubt only held there by the non-slip pads. 

“It’s…a bit weak. But it will hold,” Dino agreed feebly, trying to realign his desk.

“Nah, nah, mate, not with your luck. Move before that thing snaps.”

Dino fiddled with his desk for a moment longer before making the short shuffle to Vic’s other side. It felt disconcerting, to be stuck in the aisle now. Vic was blocking an easy exit, whether she intended to or not. Dino could feel that anxiety all the way in the bottom of his feet.

Someone behind Dino coughed loudly, before they gathered their stuff and moved a few seats away, still clearing their throat. Dino noticed Vic watch them out of the corner of her eye, a vague grimace on her face.

“But hey,” she uttered suddenly before Dino could ask what the issue was, turning back to idly click around on her laptop to get an empty Word document up for notes. “This way, you’re less likely to get called on for audience participation!”

Dino blinked, then he gave a relieved smile and rested back into his seat. 

“Yeah, that’s…That’s a good point.”

“Yeah, but fuck we’ve still gotta talk during the tutorials. We’ve gotta talk at least once per session to get that twenty percent.”

Dino dropped his head back with a groan. 

Before either of them could say much more, however, the large screens at the front of the amphitheatre lit up with the introduction slide of a powerpoint and a woman took centre stage. The lecture rolled on with the same amount of ease as the others, just another orientation lesson to get the students used to their first week in university and what would be expected of them in the coming weeks. Dino was starting to get more confident with his English comprehension, since a lot of the classes were repeating similar content and using the same phrases.

They were maybe half an hour in, Dino centring all his focus on breaking down the word ‘pedagogy’ when he heard, in the softest and most bamboozled voice possible: “Dino, is that a fucking turtle in your pocket?” 

Dino’s head snapped around and then looked down to see Enzo’s little head peering out from under the flap of his pant pocket, beady eyes peering back at Vic. Dino wheezed and shoved the flap down, trying to cover up Enzo from prying eyes. 

“Uuh,” Dino uh-ed.

“Dino, why is there a turtle in your pocket?” Vic asked again.

Dino fumbled for an answer, before he just shrugged and said, “Well, I, I couldn’t leave him at home alone.”

“But to a lecture?”

“Hey, could you two stop? It’s really distracting.” A young man sitting ahead of them grumbled and Vic quickly tossed out an apology.

Enzo let out a wheeze and wriggled his way to freedom again, head poking out into the fresh air of the air-conditioned amphitheatre. Dino rushed to hide Enzo again, but Vic quickly bent at the waist and cooed in delight.

“No wait, lemme see the baby,” she whispered and pushed the flap away to get a good look at the small tortoise that squinted back at her. “Oh, hello little man!”

Dino watched as Vic reached out and gently pet Enzo’s head with her pointer, grinning like some kind of loon as she did. He thinned his lips in a moment of thought, before Dino reached into his other pocket and produced a small handful of pellets.

“Do you,” he began slowly, unsure but hopeful. “Do you want to feed Enzo, Vic?”

Vic looked up at Dino and utterly beamed. 

Dino kept that in mind: Vic likes feeding Enzo. Good, good, he had a way to socialise now. Enzo truly was the best wingman. 

Dino smiled down at Enzo who was quietly crunching on his pellets. The little turtle squinted up at him. 

  ☁ ☁ ☁

Vic Hunt Class done

Vic Hunt Do you still have Enzo?

Dino Cav Yes

Vic Hunt On my way!!

Dino snorted into his hand and sent a quick laughing emoticon in response. He had already chosen a table for them to sit at for their meeting, a shaded table outside one of the courtyard’s student cafes, off to the side and more isolated than the others. It was most likely for studying, Dino liked the privacy. 

Enzo sat snugly in his pocket happily fed after all those snacks from Vic during their lecture. Dino smiled to himself and patted his pocket, feeling that hard shell. The most secure weight.

“Show me the baby,” Vic demanded as she rounded the corner and dropped herself in the chair across from Dino. 

Not even a hello? Dino couldn’t blame her though, no one could resist Enzo. Spoilt rotten that little turtle was. 

Dino huffed and glanced around, before sliding Enzo out of his pocket and onto the table between them. He stretched his arm out on the exposed side of the table, covering Enzo up just in case.

Immediately, Vic dropped down to Enzo’s height and started cooing, murmuring unintelligible little noises at the turtle. She grinned and giggled as she watched Enzo plod about the table, quietly exploring the area with his usual squint of suspicion. 

“Look at his little feets!” Vic nearly gasped and Dino couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “Oh shut it, Dino. All that talk of horses, why didn’t you mention the turtle in your pocket! ”

“I don’t know… Enzo didn’t come to mind?” Dino offered unsurely. He hadn’t meant to not mention Enzo, it was just that Enzo was such a constant for Dino that he honestly didn’t realise that someone wouldn’t know about Enzo at this point. 

“How did you even get the allowance to bring him?”

…Allowance? Dino blinked. He didn’t know anything about an allowance.

The silence stretched on until finally, Vic looked up, a smile creeping onto her face. 

“Dino, did you smuggle your turtle into the village?” She asked.

Dino thinned his lips before he slowly murmured, “No one told me I couldn’t .” Vic grinned then, something vicious and joyful with so many teeth. “That is to say,” Dino continued, trying to explain himself for breaching university rules. “I need Enzo. I go nowhere without him. I need him.”

Vic let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, before giving a shrug and leant back in her chair. 

“Hey, no skin off my back. It’s not like lil’ Enzo here’s gonna damage the room for the next student. Not like some dog or cat.”

Dino relaxed a bit when she said that, a tension in his shoulders seeping out. Dino admitted it, he hadn’t met many civilians in his time. Most of his social circle consisted of Mafia and their middlemen, the people he knew were utterly steeped in the criminal underworld. 

Maybe it was his naivete getting the better of him, an opinion from childhood he had never had the chance to rectify -- Dino thought of civilians as a rather pure existence. Morally right, law-abiding citizens of the world to counterbalance the presence of the Mafia. 

Dino had broken university policy. A horrified little part of him was sure that Vic would be appalled by his blatant disregard for the established order-

Dino let a long breath out through his nose, slow and steady. It was fine, though. Vic didn’t care. The rules weren’t so cut and dry in the civilian world. Within limitations, of course. 

Vic shifted in her seat, and pulled her computer up onto the table just aside of Enzo. She booped him on the nose for good measure, unaware of the stress Dino had gone through. 

“Anyway, I did a bit of work last night and I think I know what I’m going to be talking about.” She said, and opened a tab to start scribing ideas. “But I kinda wanna talk about your activity. The resources one.”

Dino tried his best to join the discussion as the two began to finally dig into their assessment. Vic scrolled through her document and showed Dino what she had scraped together the night before, which was honestly an obscene amount.

“Uniforms?” Dino asked, seeing how the word was bolded as a heading.

“Yeah, in Australia uniforms are mandatory for Primary and High schools,” Vic explained, “It’s to more of less, stop students from seeing the difference in status. Like if one kid came in fucking Gucci, and another comes in second-hand Kmart. Uniforms stop that shit.”

Dino hummed and thought back to his school, they had worn uniforms too. And they were right, you couldn’t really tell who was from a better Family -- if you were using clothes as a tell. Posture, presence and poise. Those all could tell just how large a gap there was between Families. And the Dons who led them.

Vic continued to scroll to her next point, and Dino scooped Enzo into his hands, thumbing at the edge of his shell to try and soothe himself. 

“I’ve also got ‘homework assistance’ and tutoring.”

Dino’s eyes snapped up from Enzo at the word. ‘Tutor’. God, that sent chills to his very core. 

“People with money can afford to send their kids to better schools, and can afford to support their kids with, ya know, tutoring. Basically, the better off the parents, the better off the kids.”

Dino thinned his lips. It was true, Dino had no doubt that the smaller Families wouldn’t have been even able to dream of having the Reborn as a live-in tutor. He didn’t even want to think about how much of the Cavallone funds must have gone into the little devil-man’s pockets just so he could torture Dino day in and day out for the past year. 

“We got this yesterday,” Dino muttered quietly, almost unwittingly.

Dino could see why Vic wanted to be a teacher, she obviously felt strongly about the imbalances in the education system. Direct action, it seemed very up her alley.

Vic blinked, and then she shrank back in her chair a bit. She gave a huffed little smile and shrugged, sheepishly and kind of drowsy.

“But yeah, that’s just my idea for my part,” she said idly, “And I think it’ll segway nicely into your activity. So, uh, how’re you going with your intro?”

Dino winced, “I have not, ah, started it yet.” Gosh, Vic had already produced all of this and Dino hadn’t even looked over the assessment properly yet. Dino traced the pattern in Enzo’s shell. “English, is, uh, not my strong skill.” 

Vic made a short noise of understanding on the back of her throat, before she gave her own work a look-ver as if to see it in a new light.

“I will have to begin in Italian, and move to English,” Dino said slowly, and Vic waved her hand at him.

“Hey, whatever floats your boat and gets the job done. Do what makes you comfy,” she shifted on her seat and tugged on the end of her shorts before uttering off-handedly, “And, ya know, if you need help, I can lend a hand with those dickish words like ‘pedagogy’ and shit.”

 Vic pointedly looked away from Dino as she said this, eyes fixed on her document that she scrolled through to give her hands something to do. 

Dino blinked, then quickly said, “I don’t want to be a bother!”

“Nah, no, it’s ‘right,” Vic insisted lazily, and took a drink from her thermos. 

Dino could hear ice rattling around inside. God, that was a good idea.

Vic and Dino leant across the table to look at Vic’s computer screen, organising a file for the project. Vic pulled up a powerpoint and wrote ‘SOCIAL CLASS IN EDUCATION by Dino, Jessica and Vic’.  

“Great, that’s enough work. I think we’re due a break,” Vic said and closed her computer.

Dino decided not to point out the fact that they had only been ‘working’ for a total of maybe 10 minutes, and that the most progress had been naming and sharing the group slideshow. 

“Okay,” Vic said suddenly, breaking Dino out of his thoughts as she stood up. “I’mma go get some lunch. You coming?”

Dino grabbed Enzo up off the table and stuffed him into his pocket. Vic stared with wide eyes before she glanced between the pocket and Dino’s face and asked, “Is he, uh, always in there?”

“Usually, I keep Enzo in a breast pocket,” he answered, before patting his chest and added, “Over the heart.”

Enzo’s shell was practically indestructible. Nothing short of Reborn’s Chaos Shots could pierce it. 

“Aw, that’s fuckin’ sweet,” Vic chortled.

By the time Dino and Vic sat down again, they were balancing their chosen meals in their hands. Dino carefully slid his salad and chips plate onto the table, and watched Vic quickly slurp some of the excess butter chicken gravy from the edge of her plate before doing the same. Vic wasted no time in drumming the tabletop with her hands until Dino ‘produced the goods’.

Enzo immediately stole a whole leaf of lettuce from Dino’s salad.  

“ Smettila, Enzo! ” Dino scolded but didn’t try to take the leaf away from the happily munching turtle. 

Vic smiled at the little turtle before using the handle end of her fork to tap on the side of the bottle of water Dino had bought. It was wet with perspiration and creating a puddle on the table with every jolting tap; just as shiny as Dino was.

“Drink, mate, you’re sweating buckets,” Vic urged with a frown. 

She was right. Dino wiped his chin with his arm and grimaced as sweat just smeared on both sides. Dino was as shiny as a newly minted coin, and the back of his shirt clung to his spine, two shades darker than the rest of it. He made an expression of great sensory discomfort as he sat forward to try and peel it off. Australian heat was very different to the Sicilian summers Dino was used to.

“Yes,” Dino murmured and took a sip from his bottle. By the time he put it back down, more than half was gone. 

“You gotta be sun-safe, or I’ll slip-slop-slap a bitch,” Vic warned. Dino stared at Vic for a long moment, before the girl reeled back a bit and asked, “Wait, you know about the slip-slop-slap sun thing yeah? Or is- wait, fuck of course that’s an Aussie thing.” 

Dino smiled as the girl rubbed her face in a mixture of frazzle and embarrassment. 

“I, uh, will be ‘sun-safe’,” he said, “I do not want to be ‘slip-slop-slapped’.”

Vic blinked, and then she grinned with teeth. 

“Okay, but what’s up with the horses?” Vic asked and then spooned a generous helping of rice into her mouth. 

Dino paused halfway through another guzzle of water.

“The horses?”

“Yeah, like, you breed ‘em, right? What for though?” 

Dino quickly swallowed the water that had dammed up in his mouth. He settled back in his chair and smiled a bit, idly spinning his bottle on the table with his fingers.

“Uh, we- we breed them for… Well, every job. Labour, farm, carriage, show. We used to make war horses.”

Vic made a sharp whistle of surprise and leant her cheek against her hand, elbow on the table. Dino stared at it, her elbow on the table, for a moment, before he pulled his eyes up. 

“Warhorses? So, this is like a tradition thing. Family business?” 

‘Family business’. Dino withheld a snort, he smiled weakly and said, “Yes, for at least ten generations.” 

“ Whew, that’s some old blood,” Vic wheezed.

Dino smiled and remembered the history walks down the legacy hall. Walls adorned with past Dons, and those faded faces of the nameless patriarchs who tilled the fields and corralled wild horses long before the time of the Cavallone Famiglia Mafia. 

“We are proud of our horses,” Dino said, an undeniable truth. But it was an undeniable truth also that- “Horses, however, are not very- very, useful. Today.”

Vic winced, “Ah, yeah. With cars and all.” She took a slow bite of her curry and tilted her head. “So with all those horses, surely your family, like, races them? Got any cool ones…” Her voice trailed off as Dino’s face pinched.

Dino ran his thumb along the edge of Enzo’s shell, the little turtle squinted up at him. 

“We are banned. No Cavallone horse may race in Italy.”

Vic thinned her lips and scraped her wooden, disposable spoon along her plate, drawing a random shape with the orange, butter chicken gravy.

“Can I… Can I ask why? Or would you rather just, ya know,” she made a waving motion with her hands. “Not talk about that.”

Dino let out a frail burst of a laugh that was equal parts bitter and vindictive.

“We kept winning.”

Vic paused, and looked at Dino. Looked at the way Dino’s smile had gritted teeth in the corners.

Vic gave a bark of laughter. 

“So instead of beating you fairly, they booted you?” She asked and leaned forward. 

Dino took in a sharp breath. Despite her tone, her smile wasn’t playful. It had an edge to it. Annoyed. Frustrated. Angry. Vic was angry. For some reason. 

But, Dino quickly scanned her over, not at him. Always good, always good!

“Cavallone horses are hard to beat. Very,” Dino explained and Vic scoffed hard enough that Dino thought she hurt her throat.

“Look, unless you’re doping your horses, I don’t see why you should be kicked.”

Dino shrugged, “Our horses are special.”

“I’m not fucking surprised! You’ve been working on them for over ten fucking generations!” 

Vic pinched the bridge of her nose, before Dino watched as Vic clenched her teeth, her biceps, her forearms, her fists, then all the way back up again. Then, like she was suddenly exhausted, Vic slumped back into her chair, shoulders sagging under her loose shirt. She let out a long, slow sigh through her nose. She smiled and started cooing at Enzo.

Dino stared, baffled. What the hell had happened there? Had she gotten so upset that she had to actively calm herself down?

Dino shifted in his seat. He looked down at his salad -- slowly being stolen one leaf at a time by Enzo -- and bit down on the need to smile. 

Vic was upset for him. He didn’t expect that to feel so… Nice. Validating.

“So you can’t race in Italy,” Vic hummed, tone low and almost dragging itself out of her mouth. “Why not race in a -- fuck I don’t know horses,” she tilted her head back and waved her spoon around, “Melbourne Cup is a horse race. Why not race here? Or does the ban keep you?”

Dino reached for his fork and ate a mouthful. He realised what he was doing only halfway through: buying time. 

Did the ban keep the Cavallone from racing outside of Italy? He didn’t know. 

The ban had been his grandfather’s greatest shame. The Eighth Don of the Cavallone hadn’t been able to fight off those little Dons who had climbed on top of each other to seem taller and tip the scales. The beginning of the end for the Cavallone, really.

After that, the Eighth had fallen to illness and Dino’s father had taken the reigns as the sole heir. Everyone knew how that ended.

Dino nudged an olive and watched it roll across his plate. Enzo stole another leaf with a satisfied ‘crunch’ .

Dino had never seen a Cavallone race on a track before. 

Could he? Did he dare? Enter his Cavallone horses into civilian races? How close could he get to the civilians when the Mafia were so careful to keep that strict divide? 

Hell, even their resorts were Mafia and Mafia-adjacent exclusive! It took a whole boat or plane to get to the separate island . 

Dino swallowed the leaf, long gone mushy in his mouth. 

But if it worked? If he dared to start racing their Cavallone-style bred horses -- if it worked? 

Break the tradition, break the rules, break the bonds of debt that tie down the Cavallone. 

“Good idea?” Vic asked, a lazy smile on her face. “You look excited. Practically chomping at the bit.”  

Dino looked up, he hadn’t realised he was grinning.

‘Never race a Cavallone.’ Time to bring that old saying back.

#fanfiction #khr #leftnotright #dino cavallone #ao3 #alternate universe #canon divergence #oc #katekyo hitman reborn

[tinyshe]

Garden Report 23.07.15

The Garden Report & Frugal Living

I’ve decided that I am going to revamp/ rename the Garden Report into The Garden Report & Frugal Living since they are part and parcel to our life. In part it is to jot down a garden journal and also a way to encourage others.

We are having (still) a run-in with creatures from the green zone and surrounding area (the four legged kind). My lack of urban tidy is just too irresistible. We seem to be keeping the rodent population in check. Some have wondered what we do with the carcasses ... I plant them under flower or shrubs to become compost. I don’t put them in places that I will be digging nor that the chickens will dig up. I could let the chickens have but others in the area may be using poison bait and I’m not into taking a chance with my lovelies -- they can have our table scraps. I try to place a good size rock on top of the burial spot as a marker.

The plums off the fruitless plum are ripe and ready. I hope we can get those off this weekend. Much of the produce/fruit I am putting through the dehydrator this year is from the grocer.  It has to be a good deal aka ‘affordable’ in this economic climate. I don’t have the pocketbook weight to donate to their cause. I would love to have cherries and apricots but the market price is out of bounds. At the end of the season (if I can catch it) I will buy a small lot to dry so I can make holiday breads. I do compare to the already dry fruits but often they are treated (preservatives).

The season is still running slow. The elderberries are just now coming into full bloom! I am contemplating: do I pick the blossoms and dry or see if they can pull off a crop before the migratory birds/rains. Part of me wants the fruit because I add them to the fire cider I make. We use that more than the luxury of the dried blossoms for tea. None of the tays nor red raspb’s produced but fingers crossed for a double crop of the golden raspb’s. The crop that is coming off now is crumbly and a fight to get before the other creatures get them. There is one night visitor that is breaking down the canes and I am not happy with that! The blueb’s are coming off scant and the birds take a bite just before they are ripe. Luckily the grocer has plenty at a reasonable price. The dahlia is lovely this year with multiple heads. I love seeing rising above the sea of weeds. The seedlings of greens I brought home from the nursery are not doing well -- the same as my own seedlings. The exception are two tomato starts I got from a friend along with a cucumber. Still no flowers on those plants.

Going through my ammo can aka my seed container I have pulled these packets to plant: beets, peas, mustard greens, swiss chard, radishes, parsley, arugula, turnips, jericho lettuce, carrots. I want to do them in trays to plant out because we have some work to do in the grow beds and around the veg patch and I don’t want the seeds/seedlings destroyed in the process (need to clean the coop, distribute used bedding and lay in new shavings for winter).

This year I am doing less canning and more drying. It kills me in the budget for utilities but BUT I can store more food in smaller space and it can keep longer than the canned/bottled goods. For us, it is more useful as not only less space in pantry/fridge but easy portable and less clean up. In the long run, i think it will become not only the preferred module in keeping the pantry stocked but also more diverse in use. I don’t have to worry about broken seals, broken glass, having it freeze and a whole host of issues. Dried foods, if process properly and stored well, can last a lot longer. And as I slow with some health issues, putting food through the dehydrator is so much easier for me right now.

Sewing more is on the agenda. The new machine we got just started having troubles so that needs to be addressed asap. Unfortunately it was one of those amazing deals from a well known manufacture that is now making everything in china. Made in China: ALWAYS problems. I know better but it was cheaper than taking my husqvarna/viking into the shope for a service. Have some patterns coming in that were being discontinued/ worn envelopes  -- the price was steeply discounted just because of this (new patterns, never used).. Will be sorting through the clothes we have now to see what can be altered, adapted or recycled to quilt or to the rag bag. I collect t-shirts to make a rug (crochet/braided) once they are too worn/ get ripped. I want to start on one soon as the last one was a dense mat for the cat and that just wasn’t satisfying imo. She didn’t like how it felt and I didn’t like how it looked.

So hope you can get out and garden or maybe even get bit by the sewing bug :). Both are very satisfying and bring a bit of self sufficiency into your life.

#catholic gardener #gardening #frugal living #urban homestead #permaculture #self sufficiency #seeds #sewing

[jqbasesave]

Magnolia Promenade Rebuild - No CC, Get to Work Only

Available on the gallery ID: quiescence90

Or download the tray files from SFS

Lot info follows:

1.  Magnolia’s Comfy Casual (The Roadstead) - A clothier. As of the Cottage Living patch, placing lots containing mannequins will crash the game. Therefore, I’ve uploaded the mannequins separately. They are fully dressed except for formal & party outfits.

2.  Nana’s Chocolaterie (JF&S Clothiers) - A fully stocked bakery. There’s also a one-bedroom flat upstairs so you could run this as a live-in business using mods.

3.  Tome Raiders (Paddywack’s Emporium) - So named because they sell books and some metals and crystals. It’s meant to be like a comic book store with collectibles and costumes but we don’t actually have those so we just make do. Since mannequin placement isn’t very predictable I’ve included a no-mannequin lot with said mannequins uploaded in a separate Room.

4.  Gouache & Grocery (Preeminent Domain) - A grocer and art gallery combo.

BONUS.  Paintings from reference, written books I also shared the paintings and books that I had my sims create for these lots separately so you could also use them for your own retail lots if you so wished. Their qualities vary.

(the books include my own Midgard/Oben series which I’ve been trying to write forever and ever but am never done)

#TS4 Download #TS4 World #TS4 Get to Work #TS4 Vanilla #TS4 Magnolia Promenade #TS4 Lot #TS4 Community Lot #TS4 Retail #jqbasesave

[merryfortune]

A Small Stretch of the Imagination

Written for @respectfulshipweek2023

Day 2: A Small Moment | Grand Gesture

Title: A Small Stretch of the Imagination

Ship: Respectfulshipping | Ryoken/Spectre

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,351

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Food as a Love Language, Tickling

   “Hehh.” Ryoken murmured to himself as he watched Spectre try to get something off the highest shelf of the kitchen’s upper cupboards.

   His eyes slitted as he watched Spectre’s tucked in shirt strain as he tried to lift himself upwards. He was unsuccessful the first two times, bouncing on his heel and Ryoken watched closely, particularly to what was happening just above the buckle of Spectre’s belt. He licked his lips as Spectre’s white shirt finally escaped from being tucked in and he glimpsed a small stretch of Spectre’s stomach.

   It was just as this happened that Spectre finally got the good and rarely used sifter off the shelf. He huffed as he went back down on his heel and caught Ryoken staring out the corner of his eye. He half took a step back, half-twisted at his hips so that he could frown at Ryoken.

   “What on Earth are you looking at?” Spectre asked, grumpy.

   “You.” Ryoken replied cutely. His tongue poked out all coquettish as he flirted. He propped his chin up on his hand and tilted his head either side. His eyes never quite leaving Spectre’s midsection.

   “I promise you I am not that interesting.” Spectre said, irked but his mild annoyance of being stared at made him even more adorable.

   “I promise that you are.” Ryoken said, coy, as he got up.

   He sauntered over to where Spectre stood by the cupboards and embraced him. Rocked him. His arms criss-crossing over Spectre’s front, Ryoken ghosted his hands along the flat of Spectre’s stomach. His skin was not necessarily smooth and his clothes, like his shirt, crinkled as Ryoken hugged him.

   “Stop playing with me.” Spectre complained. “I’m trying to bake a cake here.”

   “I know. But you're fun to annoy.” Ryoken said. 

   Ryoken continued to caress Spectre’s stomach, that little patch exposed from under his shirt and Spectre swatted his hands off his stomach, making Ryoken’s embrace around him loosen. Spectre squirmed out of his arms. Ryoken let him but he couldn’t help but feel his own spirits were dampened. Even if he was very much aware of how he was getting under Spectre’s skin.

   Spectre set the sifter down on the island and then made a point of re-tucking in his shirt.

   “Boo.” Ryoken playfully taunted him.

   “Get out of the kitchen if you are going to be like that then.” Spectre huffed.

   “Okay but call me back when the bowl or beaters are ready to lick then.” Ryoken teased.

   “You’ll get salmonella doing that.” Spectre pointed out.

   “Please.” Ryoken pouted. “You loved licking the beaters after making a cake as a kid and you never got sick. Nor did I. I like my odds still.”

   “Fine. But let me make this cake first.” Spectre said.

   “Of course.” Ryoken said. “And does the cook want a kiss first? For good luck?”

   Spectre’s lips quirked. He looked like he wanted to be so mad at Ryoken for being a bother and a nuisance and yet. There was a happy little twist to his mouth as he smiled and sighed, “Yes, please.”

   Ryoken drew in closer to Spectre again, he placed his hands on either of Spectre’s shoulders and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

   “Make a delicious cake, ‘kay? So we can have a good afternoon tea but I’m not worried. You are my favourite baker, I swear.”

   “You flatter me.” Spectre said.

   “I’m serious, I’m looking forward to it but until then, I’ll just be in the living room if you need me.” Ryoken replied.

   “Sounds good.” Spectre said and he continued to get the kitchen in order to bake a cake.

   Spectre then pre-heated the oven and got to sifting to his flour. Yet for all the powder, the kitchen remained pristine as Spectre handled his ingredients. He had fresh vanilla beans bought from a boutique grocer, paired with strawberries freshly picked from his garden. He folded in the wet and dry ingredients with grace, wielding his wooden spoon with the utmost elegance as he mixed the batter.

   The fragrance of the sponge cake began to waft out of the kitchen as Spectre spooned out the batter into a cake tray. From the living room, he heard Ryoken coo about how good it smelt and once the cake tray was inside of the oven, that aroma of the baking cake grew stronger, more mouth watering.

   But that now left Spectre with an almost empty of batter bowl, just the last few scrapings he couldn’t get. May or may not have been on purpose, of course. As well as the wooden spoon. 

   He sighed and collected them up. Yet despite that sigh, Spectre did have a rather fond smile on his face as he placed the spoon in the bowl and took them both to the living room. Where he found Ryoken sprawled out all too relaxed in front of the television and Spectre’s eyes pricked on something.

   Ryoken’s shirt had ridden up and he hadn’t cared to correct it in his slovenly posture. He had one leg hooked over the arm of the lounge, the other dangled by the side of it. He was laid out, kicked back. He looked like the absolute height of laziness and yet, Spectre found it oddly charming.

   Again that little stretch of skin exposed on his stomach particularly eye catching to Spectre - and Ryoken noticed.

   “And just what are you looking at, hmm?” Ryoken teased him.

   “Nothing in particular.” Spectre replied, suppressing a chuckle in his voice as he came closer. “Well, I didn’t end up using the beaters, I really prefer to do it by hand but I hope this is good enough to share.”

   ��You don’t have any complaints of possibly catching salmonella? Or some other germaphobic worry?” Ryoken asked as he began to straighten up, excited by the idea of licking the batter.

   “Only a little but it's not like it’ll kill us.” Spectre replied.

   “That’s the spirit.” Ryoken said and he finally made room for Spectre. He patted the cushion on the lounge next to him.

   Spectre came around and sat on it with him. They shared the bowl between their laps and their legs entangled. They were just a little bit giddy about it, excited like children as they took turns sharing the spoon between their mouths. Dozens of indirect kisses kissed as they really scraped the absolute last of the batter off the walls of the bowl, sucking hard on the wooden spoon to taste all the vanilla imbued in it.

   “You were staring at me earlier.” Ryoken teased Spectre as he poked Spectre’s face with the wooden spoon, leaning in over the bowl. 

   “I didn’t mean to but…” Spectre said and in a tiny voice. “Its oddly cute, isn’t it? Seeing a glimpse of skin not usually shown off.”

   Ryoken laughed, “Yup.” he agreed and he kissed Spectre on the lips.

   After all that gabbing and all those indirect kisses, it felt good to finally kiss Spectre on the lips. He kissed back, chaste but choppy.

   “It's enticing, I think.” Spectre murmured. “I would even say… oddly sexy. Just a small stretch and suddenly, the imagination…”

   “Mm.” Ryoken replied, his voice blurred in a follow up kiss.

   Spectre could feel the smirk in Ryoken’s kiss as his lips widened in the corners. His hand reached around and unsurprisingly, dodged the bowl and he skittered his fingertips on Spectre’s stomach. Spectre laughed wobbly, uncertain laughs that he tried to keep quiet on.

   “Stop teasing me, you know I’m ticklish.” Spectre complained as he was kissed and tickled.

   “I can’t help it,” Ryoken replied, his hand getting swatted away again, “I like seeing this side of you, its oddly cute.” He relished how Spectre blushed.

   “I need to go check on the cake.” Spectre said, harried, not used to unconventional praise. Even after all this time with Ryoken and all his moods.

   “I’m looking forward to it.” Ryoken said as he let Spectre get off the lounge, taking the spoon and the bowl with him.

   “Me too.” Spectre confessed with an amused smile.

#respectfulshipweek2023 #respectfulshipping week 2023 #respectfulshipping #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #kogami ryoken #ryoken kogami #spectre (vrains) #specter (vrains) #writing tag #a small stretch of the imagination #hornee for spectre tummy.......

[lamaisongaga]

LADY GAGA SPOTTED ON GROCERY RUN IN JOAH BROWN, AVIATOR NATION, LOUIS VUITTON & NIKE

Yesterday (May 21st) Lady Gaga and beau Michael Polansky were spotted stocking up on groceries at their local Vintage Grocers in Malibu. Judging by her white eyeliner, Gaga seems to be in the middle of “Chromatica Ball” rehearsals!

The entertainer went for a comfy look in an oversized silhouette by rocking the Joah Brown Empire hoodie in “Terracotta” ($208). This French terry hoodie features drawstrings, a large kangaroo pocket, thumb holes and the brand’s signature logo patch on its chest.

Her orange tie-dye terry shorts with drawstring detaila are custom C.Bonz.

Shop:

Joah Brown “Empire” Hoodie ($208.00)

The hat, she’s hiding underneath her hood, is from Aviator Nation. It’s the vintage nylon trucker hat with embroidered lightning bolt patchwork. Even though Gaga’s khaki color is sold out, you can still manage to get it in a bunch of other colorways for $46.

Shop:

Aviator Nation Trucker Hat ($46.00)

Next, she carried her Louis Vuitton Speedy 25 monogram leather bag she got customized with embroidery of her puppies and other fun motifs by C.Bonz.

Finally, we can spot the Nike Air Max 90 white sneakers with black swoosh logo.

#May 2022 #tops #Joah Brown #pants #C Bonz #hats #Aviator Nation #bags #Louis Vuitton #sneakers #Nike

[birchkillchronicles]

Getting to Marigold

Chapter Two

Grass-Green, Black, Ultramarine

            Jeanie wasn’t signing up for yoga or Pilates classes anymore.  Which was because—for some reason—her classmates seemed far less friendly without Sylvie around.  But, then again, a brisk walk in the open air had always been Jeanie’s exercise of choice.

Today, however, as she crashed out of her house to stride down the Avenue, the late morning heat and the weight of her folding chair served to slow her usual headlong pace.  And, by the time she’d made it over the Rideau Canal bridge and into the more citified Glebe, the physical effort had calmed her down. 

But Jeanie still wasn’t back to her preferred buoyant disposition—and that vexed her immeasurably… 

            Cheer up, Jeanie! she chided herself.  As my mother would say—‘The world’s not against you!’ 

She hadn’t stopped for a coffee or a delicious wood-fired bagel after all.  Those treats had been irrevocably connected to this morning’s disappointment and rage.  But—priding herself upon her practicality—she knew that her Solo Day Out would be spoiled if she neglected her growling tummy. 

A further five-minute walk up Bank Street, the Glebe grocer sold healthy take-out salads and sandwiches. There, Jeanie selected a likely looking item from the ready-to-eat food cooler, as well as a bottle of sweet tea, and got in line for the twelve-items-or-less cashier.   

They should call it the candy lane, Jeanie thought, as she tugged her folding chair strap further up on her shoulder so she could juggle her debit card holder out of her tote bag.  I wonder how many useless calories every checkout line gloms onto gullible people’s waists? 

Still, she selected a plain bar of chocolate from the banked treats and threw it on top of her salad container.

That’ll balance the vitamins in the broccoli, kale and quinoa, she told herself, tucking a free wooden fork and a small wad of napkins in her tote bag.  And my temper sure could use a bit of a sweetener…

After paying for her take-out meal, Jeanie crossed Bank Street and continued several blocks north until she reached the stone steps leading down into the park.

Resolutely, she descended the stairway and began to scout out a likely picnic spot… 

Beneath the leafy canopy of a giant oak tree, Jeanie slung out her chair on the cool grass-green lawn.  Steadfastly ignoring the chime that notified her that her phone had received yet another text, she fastidiously unfolded a napkin on her knee and dug purposefully into her food and drink. 

The tart, tangy salad dressing is okay, she ruled, automatically comparing it unfavourably to her own homemade recipe.  But the sweet tea is almost too sickly.  And overindulging in sugar is never recommended…

Virtuously, Jeanie recapped the tea and stashed it away in her summer tote with the softly melting chocolate bar.  Then—with her tummy rumbles quashed and her salad container laying tidily on the grass beside her—Jeanie sat back in her chair and took stock of her surroundings. 

Under the clearest of clear-blue skies, a variety of people were enjoying the park. 

In a nearby patch of shade, three bronze-skinned women were seated on folding chairs, sipping coffee and snacking on muffins as they consulted their phones. 

On the central pathway, a rosy-cheeked boy zipped by on a skateboard.  While his head ducked up and down to watch out for dogs and strollers, he never lost a beat as he defeated the villains on his handheld game console. 

A bit further in to the park—near where the stage had been set up—a Black middle-aged couple with two kids arrived on foot.  They stopped to scan the site, checked their phones, set up their chairs, spread out a picnic blanket, re-checked their phones, shared out food and drink—and dove back into their mini-screens.

Just past the picnicking family, Jeanie could see a couple of high-school-age kids—one olive-skinned, one tan—in black shorts and tee shirts.  They were setting down what looked like a rather solid white wooden bench on a low wooden stage.  Next, they unrolled several panels of some kind of stiff-ish cloth.  The fabric was painted with what seemed to be a watercolour garden scene, and, as she watched, the kids reached up to hang the panels from metal pipes installed high across the back of the raised platform.  Once those panels were in place, both of the kids unpocketed their phones and wandered off, heads down, behind what Jeanie assumed was ‘the set.’

Then, in the zone where Jeanie expected the spectators would sit, another assortment of black-garbed kids began to lay out neon-yellow ropes.  They caused a wee kerfuffle when the picnicking family had to pause in the scrutiny of their phones to move their blanket and chairs so that the rope-laying kids could clearly delineate what Jeanie supposed was the ‘centre aisle.’ 

            Now the first stagehands—phones holstered—reappeared carrying a folding table which they set up behind the neon-yellow rope.  A third kid soon followed hauling a large plastic bin, and all three delved into it for a ragtag collection of objects which they carefully placed in an obviously fixed arrangement.  Then, the first two kids headed backstage with their phones in their hands, while the third remained scrolling through her device beside what Jeanie thought from her limited knowledge of theatre must be the ‘props table.’

            At this point, the audience area began to fill in. 

A number of unaccompanied thirty-ish women, some grey-haired retirees and a couple of groups of university-age kids arrived.  And Jeanie couldn’t help but notice that all of their eyes seemed to be glued to the screens of their phones… 

A flock of bicyclists wheeled in.  They offloaded their folding chairs from their shoulders and then—even before locking their machines to a nearby rack or freeing their toddlers from their bike carriers—reached into their pockets for their phones. 

Then an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair was pushed into position by his female attendant. 

He wasn’t on a phone, however. 

Nope.  Not at all. 

He was, instead, concentrating on his laptop and barely looked up when his younger companion settled him close to the outer edge of the spectator zone.  And then she took out her phone and proceeded to text a message as well.

            But now the three bronze-skinned women in the shade were stirring and—realizing that all of the prime audience spots were quickly disappearing—Jeanie decided she’d better get a wiggle on too.  Folding her chair for portability, she tossed her salad container into the correct recycling can and loped over to a black-tee-shirted usher who was handing out programs.  Jeanie took one and, after a quick survey of the best spaces that were left, decided to sit close to the back near the centre aisle. 

            That way, she reasoned, it’ll be easier for me to slip away quietly if the play doesn’t live up to its hype…

            Settling into her chair once more, Jeanie opened her program.  It appeared that the work she was about to see—a so-called ‘two-act domestic comedy’ entitled A Tale My Father Told Me—was based on an old story about a mean father who treats his daughter unkindly. 

            Really? Jeanie thought with surprise.  Why would Lindy chose a such depressing plot for a summer show?  Now, if I—

“Jeanie—?”

Interrupted mid-criticism, she glanced up to see her loopy-neighbour-from-three-doors-down, Lindy Styre—playwright and director of this afternoon’s entertainment—regarding her from the centre aisle with what was, frankly, a look of total disbelief.

            Swiftly, Jeanie decided that she’d ignore the implications of Lindy’s expression and greet her—as Sylvie would have—with both warmth and confidence.  “Why, hello, Lindy!  What a lovely day for a matinee.  Your play seems to be drawing quite a crowd!”

            “Um, yes…Jeanie,” replied Lindy with an unsure smile.  “Thanks for coming out.  I just have to—”  And, without finishing her sentence, Lindy fled.

Jeanie rolled her eyes and shook her head. 

What a weird-o that woman was. 

For one thing, she was absolutely scared stiff of all the local puppy dogs.

Why, just a couple of years ago she’d witnessed Lindy melt into a quivering puddle on the sidewalk when a dogwalker had let his friendly mutt bark at her just a teensy-weensy bit.  

What a nut.

Of course, there was also that time when she and Sylvie—but no, Jeanie cautioned herself, don’t think about that…

Although, she now recalled, Sylvie had always been much more sympathetic to what she called Lindy’s ‘eccentricities.’  And she’d repeatedly pressed Jeanie to give the poor, lonely woman the benefit of the doubt…

But then, Jeanie sadly reflected, that old saw is true.  The good often do die young…

Alarmed by the morose direction her ruminations were taking her—definitely not a good place for a woman who prided herself on her unflagging optimism!—Jeanie firmly wrenched her mind back to the topic at hand. 

So, what was she thinking about—? 

Oh yes.  Pride, wasn’t it?  House pride…

Well, for the last few years Lindy has squatted in the Styres’ old wreck of a two-storey without the slightest titch of house pride, frowned Jeanie.  And that’s truly a crime. 

Everyone knows that a house needs tons of Tender Loving Care!

Of course, mused Jeanie, when Lindy’s dad was alive, the Styre’s place did seem a bit less neglected.  But, still, its porch and trim haven’t seen a paint brush for fifteen years…

And Lindy’s front garden—good gosh!—if you can call it that, she sniffed. Well, it’s nothing but a few sparse tulips in the spring, a tangle of ox-eye daisies and black-eyed-Susans in the summer and a raggedy show of purple asters in the fall.  And she only mows her grass when it reaches jungle height…

Of course, Jeanie had to admit, Lindy couldn’t be blamed for the gangly pair of city maple trees that overshadowed her front yard.  But, even with the help of that attractive older white guy who sometimes raked her autumn leaves, Lindy always seemed to be the last one on their Avenue to bag them up for the recycling truck…

I’d be mortified to let my property get so run down, Jeanie snorted to herself.  If Lindy would only—

But, suddenly she was aware that the audience had hushed around her.  A plump and pretty woman in black had hopped up on stage.  She was welcoming everyone and asking that all of their phones and handheld devices be turned off.

Complacently, Jeanie obeyed.  She really didn’t need to hear from anyone she knew for quite a while…

Now, with a musical flourish, the show began. 

And, yes, it was certainly funny—Jeanie had to grant Lindy that.  She was easily caught up in the waves of laughter and applause that rolled through the highly appreciative audience.

But it was all pretty foolish too. 

The characters postured and mugged and hammed up their parts.  The bombastic father bullied his daughter in a completely unrealistic way.  And the father’s nasty sidekick played his whole role with—for gosh sake!—a live chihuahua stuck in the crook of his arm.

At least one element did meet with Jeanie’s complete approval, however. 

The Roaring Twenties costumes—flapper dresses, sailor blouses and plus-fours—were authentically styled, yet sewn in striking flamingo-pink, malachite-green and carrot-orange hues. 

Quite appropriate for an outdoor venue where you have to compete with plenty of visual distraction, nodded Jeanie.  The costume designer, at least, deserves some applause.  Not every colour range would have been so bang on

Although, Jeanie smugly reflected, appropriate colour selection had always been her forte.  When it was all the rage in the mid-nineteen-eighties, she’d even considered becoming a professional Seasonal Colour Palette Consultant.  But then Bernie had been born—and she’d had to drop that idea.  Which was too bad, because a lot of women she’d seen around the neighbourhood could have certainly profited from her advice…

Nevertheless—colour had remained a central preoccupation for Jeanie, and she could never understand why so many folks seemed to simply overlook the fascinating nuances of tint, shade and tone. 

‘Be precise!’ her Algonquin College professor had been forced to remind the duller kids in Jeanie’s ‘Colour in Décor’ class.  ‘It’s not brown—it’s burnt sienna.  It’s not red—it’s carmine.  It’s not green—it’s jade!’

Well, as Bernie would say, ‘duh...’ 

Burnt sienna.  Carmine.  Jade.

What had been so difficult about that? 

As far as Jeanie knew, only a few very unlucky people were colour blind.  So, why had some of her fellow students been unable to distinguish the hues which were plainly in front of their eyes? 

Well, again—duh…

And, with that less than charitable thought, Jeanie returned her critical attention to the play, searching for something else to like.

Upon reflection, she decided, also okay was the live violin and flute music.  And some of the jokes were pretty funny, too.  And she really couldn’t have expected a traveling outdoor theatre company to have constructed much more elaborate sets.  But, still—

That plot.  That idiotic plot.

It was impossible! 

Why did the daughter have to involve her bossy ultramarine-haired neighbour and her father’s lawyer and his banker and his accountant and his doctor in such an elaborate ruse just to get revenge upon her dad?

Surely, in real life, Jeanie reasoned, the girl would have simply told off her domineering parent and stood up for herself when he pushed her around? 

That’s what I would have done, she maintained.  Stood up for myself—and told my evil father to take a long hike off a short pier! 

Although, she further mused, my own father was always pretty meek and mild.  Of course, with Mom being such a bossy-boots, what else could the poor man have been?  In fact, when Dad came down with viral pneumonia five years ago, my brothers and I were kind of amazed that Mom had actually let Dad go ahead and die on his own say-so.

But then—if she were being perfectly honest—Jeanie had to admit that she’d never felt scared of any guy in her entire life.  The only man she’d ever let raise a violent hand to her was her cancer surgeon, and it was his job to attack her with a knife. 

But, whatever… 

As she’d advised Bernie—on that day when her daughter had complained about being a bully’s target in middle school—if something felt wrong, simply bring it to the guy’s attention and then fix it. 

Whining about being a victim wouldn’t help. 

For, as Jeanie’s mother would say, ‘Laugh and the world laughs with you.  Cry and you cry alone.’ 

Now, if Jeanie had been insulated from the worst outrages of patriarchal abuse by her white, Protestant family’s upper-middle-class status—by her mother’s strong and forthright personality—by her father’s kind and gentle character—by Don’s distaste for uncivil behaviour—by her choice of Fine Arts and Interior Design studies at college—by her obliging female boss and agreeable female or gay male colleagues—by her safe neighbourhood and generally benign city—and by so many other extremely lucky circumstances in her life—well, that fact had never occurred to her. 

And—even if Jeanie had been confronted with the truth—she probably wouldn’t have understood its implications anyway.  Like a goldfish, she didn’t recognize the filtered water in which she swam.  So, as the first act wore on, she continued to chide the wimpy daughter in her head. 

When you come right down to it, she lectured, it’s each gal’s own responsibility not to accept that kind of baloney.  And all you have to do with a mean father like yours is speak up and exercise your gosh-darn rights! 

At long last, the twenty-minute intermission arrived. 

While the incontinent stood in line at the portable restrooms and the extravagant snapped up the overpriced souvenir tee shirts at the refreshment stand, Jeanie sat and scanned her program.  She felt it ought to provide some sort of explanation for Lindy’s ludicrous plot.  But, other than learning that the actors were playing ‘in a style derived from 16th century commedia dell’arte, the theatre of the absurd, and classical farce’—“Whatever those things are supposed to be,” Jeanie grumbled aloud—she found the program irritatingly uninformative.  It merely summarized the story and gave short bios of the people associated with all of this nonsense.

But watching the play seemed a better alternative than anything else Jeanie might be doing on this hot July afternoon.  At the very least, the show was amusing enough to keep her from dwelling on gloomy thoughts.  Such as—how on earth could any child of hers have grown up to be such a stick-in-the-mud—?

No!  Don’t let negativity win! Jeanie scolded herself.  As my mother would say, ‘Let a smile be your umbrella!’ 

That was the secret to life… 

Meanwhile, most of the audience had revved up their phones so that—when a bell rang to signal that the intermission was over—the plump and pretty stage manager had to ask everyone to mute their devices again.  

Jeanie didn’t need to.  She’d never turned her phone back on.  In fact, she’d never even checked the messages that she already knew were there… 

Under the lengthening shade of the lofty catalpa trees, A Tale My Father Told Me rollicked by.  And when, in the final scene, the newly rebellious daughter revealed that she and her friends were the ones behind her father’s downfall, Jeanie laughed and applauded along with the rest of the audience at his powerless rage. 

No matter how dumb the story, she thought, it’s always fun to see a nasty man lose at his own game.   

But why did Lindy’s plot have to be so long and winding to get to that end?

All that fuss and foofaraw!

What was the point?

During the standing ovation, Jeanie didn’t jump up with the rest of the crowd.  Well, why should she when she’d found Lindy’s play so completely implausible?  And, when the actors came around begging for cash, she dropped a more-than-sufficient five-bucks into the cloche hat that the ultramarine-haired actress who’d played the cunning neighbour waved her way.

“You know, Madame,” said the actress with a wicked grin, “we take credit and debit card payments too.  At that table over there.”  She indicated a line-up of chattering audience members in front of the table where the black-tee-shirted teens had set the props before the show.

“No thanks,” Jeanie replied with a breezy smile. “I’m good.” 

“Must suck to be so poor.”  The actress gave her a saucy wink before turning to accost the elderly man in the wheelchair who readily threw a couple of twenties into her hat.

Jeanie was tempted to crush the ultramarine-haired woman with a snappy rejoinder, but decided it was best not to lower herself to the actress’ level.  So, she simply made a show of complacency as she folded up her chair and stuffed it into its holder.  Then she fished through her coin purse for change for the bus so that she wouldn’t have to make the hot and dusty walk home.  The seating area was draining very slowly, however, so, as she stood looking for a clear path, her gaze ranged around the park.  And, after a moment, she noticed a very peculiar thing about her fellow audience members. 

Having tossed their contributions into the hat or paid for their entertainment with plastic, most of them were busy folding up their chairs and blankets and marshalling their bicycles, kids and dogs.

But the majority of them were also focussed on their phones. 

Either they were texting, or reading texts, or telling someone at the opposite end of the line about the super-duper play they’d just seen.  In fact, most of them were so busy with their handheld devices—except for the elderly man in the wheelchair who sat perusing his laptop—that they weren’t even discussing the play with each other!

Jeanie, with her phone still turned off and stashed securely in her tote bag, allowed herself to be appalled. 

What are all these foolish folks thinking? she scoffed.  I’ve often heard that kids are addicted to their phones these days, but I didn’t realize that the adults are too!  They ought to be talking to each other.  Not just texting and blabbering away to folks who couldn’t even be bothered to come with them on a fun Day Out!

“So, Jeanie?”  Lindy was suddenly standing at Jeanie’s elbow, regarding her with a tentative smile.  “Did you enjoy the play?”

Good gravy, thought Jeanie.  What should I say? 

She always highly valued plain-speaking.  Say what you mean, Jeanie believed, and let the chips fall where they may. 

But Sylvie had often recommended that—in circumstances where being completely candid might sting—Jeanie ought to dress up her comments a little bit.  Tell fewer hard truths, Sylvie had often advised, to prevent trampled feelings all ’round… 

Therefore, taking a leaf out of Sylvie’s book, Jeanie decided to be gracious.

“Oh yes, Lindy,” she fibbed.  “It was absolutely wonderful!  Really funny.  I could never write something like that.”  Which was true.  Because, if I wrote a play, it would make sense, Jeanie thought.  But—“Where the heck do you get your ideas?” she enquired. 

“Um, I sort of follow the advice that you should write what you know…kind of…” Lindy trailed off.

“Well, it was very good!” Jeanie said, brightly, picking up her tote bag and hoisting the strap of her folding chair onto her shoulder.  “Maybe you should put on another one sometime?”

“Actually, um,…I already did…at last June’s Fimbria Festival, and—”

“Where?  Oh well, never mind!  Next time, you should really let Don and I know!  Imagine!  A gifted playwright living just a few doors down the Avenue!”

“Oh, I’m not that—" 

“Too bad your wonderful plays can only be seen outside at a park in the summertime,” commiserated Jeanie, laying on thick what she supposed Lindy would interpret as Sylvie-like empathy.  “Don and I don’t often—"

“Yes, okay,” hastily interrupted Lindy, “I’m part of a theatre company now, and we’re looking into a permanent space—”

“Oh, good for you, Lindy!” Jeanie was on a benevolence roll. “Maybe, once you’re up and running, I’ll come see another one of your funny little shows.”

Lindy gave her an odd look.  “Sure, Jeanie.  That would be great.”

“But I won’t keep you now.  Places to go!  People to see!” exclaimed Jeanie, as she swung smartly around to make her escape into the departing crowd.  

But, even as she fled, she could distinctly hear the voice of the ultramarine-haired actress asking, “Sooo…who’s that bitch?”

Her spine stiffening, Jeanie didn’t hang around to catch Lindy’s reply.

#original novel #satire #summer theatre #parenting #grief/mourning

[maliciousmalfeasance]

Two years ago I wrote a song about a friend I was missing. I’d just moved back to the city I grew up in and by pure chance I ended up in a unit only two streets away from where me and said friend would practice for a day or two before going into town to busk alone in our high school holidays. At the time I was still trying to figure out who the hell I was, but had gingerly settled on the label lesbian despite the fact it didn’t really seem to fit me right. He was bi and didn’t quite know it yet, 15 and already drinking and smoking daily and dealing weed. I was, in comparison, super innocent. Refused to smoke or drink. Not even sure why, honestly? I think I was just terrified back then. I knew I didn’t fit into what everyone wanted for me, but I was still so scared to step out of line. Got there eventually. He had the confidence to lead me places I’d not be brave enough to take myself. We would sit under a particular tree outside some Asian grocers and cheap clothes stores in a particular thoroughfare of a particular cbd, right across from an old sandstone church. We’d sing hallelujah, and 9 crimes and all these slow sad duets about stuff we’d both never had a chance to experience yet. His voice was low and raspy and mine clear and high. I think we sounded pretty nice. We used to make really decent money. Like about a hundred for an hour. We’d gather up the coins and notes from his guitar case and take it to the bank to get notes. Count it all up. 50/50. Then buy ourselves lunch and head home. For reasons I wont air out here we ended up drifting apart, by the time I made up my mind to move cities for uni I’d already not heard from him for a year. Being back in the streets we’d hang around, so close to his old house... Had me expecting to see him around every corner. I kept just waiting to bump into him like things had never changed. But I knew things had changed. I wrote the song with these feelings in mind. Nostalgia, innocence and teenage rebellion butting heads.

I’m not sure how to introduce the next part of the story honestly.

He died. I guess that’s the simplest way to put it. He died within a month of my writing that song. Not that I’d find out until a year ago. The song has the same lyrics now as they did when I first wrote it, but they mean something else. Or maybe something more. In a way it makes perfect sense. The story starts as a reflection on nostalgia- a wish to reconnect without knowing how to even start- and of course it ends with the ultimate disappointment. There’s really no chance now. I’ve missed it. If I’d tried to reach out instead of agonising over it back then, I might have at least had a chance to patch things up before he died. Maybe I’d even have been able to have that conversation with him again, the same one that went all wrong when we tried to have it as teenagers. I might have been able to actually help him change the course he was on. Or at the very least let him know he still had someone in his corner.

But that didn’t happen. And so. I have a song and a pit in my guts and grief and hurt and only one way to get it out of me. It’s a lot. I know. I’m still on the fence over whether I should even publish it. It’s so much of myself. It’s not enough. It’s a wound in the shape of a song.

#it's so close to being finished and i wrote this up before i did a final vocal take that really changed it up #im gonna put it out. #for me and for everyone else who's still here feeling like i am #grief #music #w r e n • d #long post #if u read this thank you

[mymodhub]

New Post has been published on https://is.gd/AQomah

#Skyrim #SkyrimMods

“Ripe fruit and fresh vegetables for sale!” “Fresh-baked loaves, still warm from the oven!”

carlotta (5)

carlotta (4)

carlotta (3)

carlotta (1)

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This post contains mature content. Login to view.

[Modify] NPC Replacer Skyrim: Arcadia v2

Carlotta Valentia is an Imperial grocer who runs a produce stall at Whiterun Market. According to Severio Pelagia, most of her products come from his farm. Modify Carlotta to make her more attractive, interesting, and challenging to fight and survive alongside in Skyrim. Modify NPC Lite series is as the name suggest a lightweight mod that mostly uses your installed assets to beautify Carlotta. [Modify] Lite uses your installed body meshes and skin textures for ultimate optimization and performance friendly experience. All plugins are ESLify and will not count against your load order limit.

Easy Installation – Meet the requirements

then download and install using your favorite mod manager.

Requirements can be found through the following links:

(Choose only one Unofficial Skyrim Patch)

The Elder Scrolls 5: Skyrim

Unofficial Skyrim Special Edition Patch SE

Unofficial Skyrim Special Edition Patch AE

Login or Register

To Download this Mod

[masonjimenez]

Video Game Accomplishment: Tips For Perfecting Your Body

When you are an experienced video game player or beginner, the subsequent report has some thing for you personally! Discover the most up-to-date profitable tactics, cheat codes, discounts and latest editions coming out soon. Whatever your online game or objective in playing, you are certain to find new things and useful for the tips shown below. If autoclick.vn if a game will continue to work on your pc or perhaps not, look at the "Could You Operate It" web site. The page will show you whether or not your system is capable of running a game. Once you have obtained this game data, you can always delete the obtain. Don't spend your time on the training guide. Discover as you may play. The video game will be a lot more exciting if you physique things out in the process. Should you get frustrated, you generally have the choice of obtaining the handbook and turning through it for support. Test it oneself very first, though. Modify your regulates. Most video games have innovative options that let you modify the way the game is handled. Begin using these to your benefit. There is practically nothing saying you have to fiddle with the game's default options. As an example, for those who have grow to be used to moving with one option and attacking with yet another, and your new video game uses the exact opposite - modify it! If you purchase employed online games, check the disc before they sell it for your needs. Getting residence to find out the activity is damaged and doesn't job is a discomfort. You'll spend time and fuel returning to their grocer. Plus, you could possibly only be able to get store credit score back and this could be the only real backup they had. Be sure you're receiving a great copy. Often a game title should come out after which a number of down loadable information practices. If you want to keep your dollars, then you may want to wait for a while. Simply because there could be a variation from the game that comes out afterwards that includes all of these stuff for a lower price. Don't find yourself in trouble paying for a bunch of extras that you may jump on one particular disc down the road! When playing, it's important to acquire a lot of splits. It's an easy task to get dependent on gaming, and this is not healthy. Remember, video games needs to be fun. You must enable a medical doctor know if you think you are getting enslaved by anything at all, including game playing. Tend not to let video gaming you are not going to perform yet again stack up. Get something back on their behalf to the next video game. Either business them it at the nearest xbox game store or market them at a utilized cd/film store. You can also list them on the web using an auction or categorised listing. In case you are experiencing difficulty locating more mature Laptop or computer online games, or even jogging them on present operating systems, consider in search of online stores that offer down-loadable titles. Shops such as Water vapor or GoG offer a variety of older PC video games that were patched and up to date to run on modern Home windows and Mac's operating systems. These video games during these shops are priced at a fraction of their original cost, leading them to be an affordable game playing option. Make certain you determine what online games your children are playing. Some video games are packed packed with aggressive moments that can be viewed by older adults only. You must make sure that your youngsters are not being subjected to extreme graphic abuse as they are actively playing games. Online video game playing can boost our everyday life in numerous fascinating ways. Video game play can enhance your sports reflexes, GPA or perhaps your capability to create an incredible feast for family! With a little luck this article has presented you with an entertaining way for additional details on games and ways to maximize your advantages of them.

#autoclick

[mcneilkidd]

Xbox Game Success: Tips For Perfecting Your Pc

Should you be a highly skilled game player or novice, the following write-up has anything to suit your needs! Read about the most recent winning tactics, cheat codes, discounts and latest editions coming out quickly. Regardless of what your activity or goal in taking part in, you are certain to find a new challenge and valuable in the tips shown below. In the event you aren't confident regardless of whether a game title work on your personal computer or otherwise not, go to the "Could You Run It" web site. The webpage will tell you regardless of whether your body is capable of doing having a online game. Once you have acquired the video game details, you could always eliminate the acquire. Don't hang around around the coaching guidebook. Discover when you enjoy. The overall game will likely be much more fascinating when you shape stuff out as you go along. When you get irritated, you generally have the option of collecting the manual and flipping through it for support. Try it your self initial, although. Customize your manages. Most online games have innovative adjustments that allow you to change exactly how the game is controlled. Start using these to your benefit. There exists absolutely nothing that says you have to enjoy the game's normal configurations. As an example, in case you have grow to be used to leaping with a single option and attacking with yet another, along with your new activity makes use of the alternative - transform it! When you buy employed games, look for the disc before they offer it to you personally. Getting property to learn how the game is damaged and doesn't work is a pain. You'll hang around and fuel returning to their grocer. In addition, you may only can get store credit history back again and this might be really the only version that they had. Make certain you're acquiring a great version. At times a game title can come out and then a lot of down loadable articles practices. If you wish to keep your funds, then you really should wait around for quite a while. This is because there can be a variation of the online game that comes out in the future which includes all of these points for any discounted price. Don't find yourself in trouble paying for a lot of additional items that you may jump on 1 disc later on! When actively playing, it's vital that you take a lot of smashes. It's easy to get dependent on gaming, and this is not healthier. Keep in mind, video gaming must be fun. You have to let a medical doctor know if you suspect you are turning into enslaved by anything at all, which include gaming. Usually do not let online games you are not going to play once more stack up. Get anything back again to them in the direction of your next video game. Possibly buy and sell them it on your nearest video game retail store or offer them at a utilized compact disc/motion picture store. Also autoclick.vn can checklist them on the internet through an sale or categorized listing. If you are having problems getting more aged Computer video games, or perhaps running them on recent os, attempt trying to find online shops offering down-loadable titles. Stores such as Heavy steam or GoG provide a wide array of more mature Laptop or computer video games which were patched and current to operate on contemporary House windows and Mac's os. These game titles in these shops are priced at a fraction of their original cost, making them a cost-effective gaming solution. Make sure that you really know what video gaming your young ones are taking part in. Some games are packed filled with aggressive scenes that can be observed by older men and women only. You should be sure that your kids are not being subjected to abnormal visual abuse as they are playing online games. Online video gaming can boost our way of life in a lot of fascinating techniques. Video game play can improve your sports reflexes, GPA as well as what you can do to create a fantastic feast for family! With a little luck this information has supplied you having an entertaining way for additional details on online games and how to maximize your advantages from them.

#autoclick

[harrisonbarlow15]

There are actually online games available that a majority of people can also enjoy irrespective of what their ability is. Online video video games is a great way to relax and evade from fact for a time. The following paragraphs incorporate some great ideas about video clip video games, so take notice!

If you are having problems finding significant specifics inside your computer game, adapt the brightness. Xbox game developers typically desire to set a feeling with their video games, but that disposition comes with the cost that essential problem sections can be neglected inside the dimness. Consider rear the handle a lttle bit by enhancing that brightness from the setting's place. Supply the in-game songs the opportunity. If, however, you are frustrated from it soon after 1 hour roughly, don't forget to mute the television set or personal computer and play some audio of your. You should have a much more pleasant gaming experience like that and are unlikely to get a head ache from enjoying. Save your valuable game around it is possible to. Although automobile-protecting is a great attribute, don't depend upon it. Especially, when you initially commence enjoying a game, you may have no idea as soon as the game will save you, which might lead to a loss of crucial data down the road. Up until you know the activity far better, generally stay away from. When you have game regulations to your loved ones, have them in writing and hang up them up for many to view. A visible guide to the rules has significantly greater effect on conduct than rules that are basically spoken, but in no way published downward. Place them in the properly-trafficked place like on your freezer front door. Get in shape with online games. Several video games are interactive and make use of your system activity. When you are receiving tired of your regular workout or don't have 1 nevertheless, buy a xbox game and obtain fit. You will find on your own having a great time and receiving fit and healthy at one time. If you acquire utilized games, make sure the disc just before they sell it for your needs. Receiving property to find out the video game is scratched and doesn't jobs are a pain. You'll hang around and gas returning to their grocer. Plus, you could only get retailer credit score rear and this could be really the only copy they had. Be sure you're acquiring a excellent backup. Engage in games that will help you discover. Games are not just a thrilling time, but they can be really educative, also. If you or somebody you know has a difficult time learning some idea, look for a video game that will assist educate it. You will be astonished at simply how much a video online game can teach you. Understand that some online games have multi-participant alternatives, which may uncover your young ones to other folks online. In cases like this, you ought to be tracking who your children are talking to, as you may not want them to have too involved with strangers. This can help to put your child within the safest situation feasible. Avoid acquiring major name online games in close proximity to their release dates. Waiting around implies that you are more likely to invest in a video game following a area or two has arrived to fix obtrusive openings and little bugs that may affect your entertainment and online game enjoy. Also keep an eye out for titles from studios which are renowned for very good patching and support. If you are looking for a particular online game to get but would like to buy it in the best selling price possible, use the "store shopping"� tab seen on numerous search engine listings. This will assist you to instantly evaluate the values of your online game at virtually all of the stores on-line. You can also see scores for the owner involved, assisting you determine who you should get the game from. The ideal instances to acquire online games are throughout periodic vacations. Retail shops and internet based websites will generally hold revenue across the winter season holiday seasons or throughout the center of summer time in which new and employed video games is going to be marketed at lessened prices. If you take advantage of these revenue, you can get a number of games for the price of a single new game that isn't for sale. Should you be investing in a online game for a kid and do not know what kind of game to choose, make use of the ESRB rating about the circumstance as being a guide. The rating method isn't excellent. It will supply you with a good plan in regards to the articles of your game. However, so that you can make sure the online game is grow older-correct. Regardless of whether you need to own a virtual animal or beat again alien causes on the Planet, a video online game is out there which lets you accomplish that and much more. Getting some tips to help you become a better gamer won't damage! Go through around that you can do gain the information you ought to be victorious!

#ull #https://www.google.com/url?q=https://kaiaq.abs-cbn.com/

[hilda-creatures-guide]

#22 Patch the Grocer

Type: Elf

Rarity: Rare

😌: - - -

🏐: + +

🍃: +

💎: +

#patch the grocer #hilda #hilda creatures guide #hilda creatures