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pedigreebypedagogue · 1 year

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I~ am going nutsobonkers, come with me on a food adventure!

Hi, I'm Alice and I have anxiety. Right now, it's about being Alice because there are things Molly needs to be doing, but I'm not Molly.

I'm Alice.

So!

Now, I don't know about you, but whenever my anxiety I want to eat. A lot. So I thought I would share one of my favorite recipes for when I'm feeling just so stressed out that I could... well I could scream.

But we mustn't do that. We've got to hold all that in because we've got to talk about potatoes!

I'm so picky about potatoes! If I wanted mush, I'd make mashed potatoes! So when I'm cooking with potatoes, and don't want mashed potatoes, my absolute favorite potato is the Kennebec potato! It's got such a delicious flavor. Earthy and lightly nutty with a very subtle sweetness which to me makes it a step above other potatoes?

Most Kennebec potatoes in the United States go into producing Lay's Potato Chips and In-And-Out Fries so they can be a little fickle to get. Where do you go to get them? Wholesale Produce Retailers! Sure, you can only buy them in a fifty pound box, but that's-

Well, that's life isn't it?

Now with potatoes... storage is a bit of a tricky mickey because actually putting potatoes in the refrigerator causes them to produce sugars and for this we want a nice starchy potato that tastes like a potato so this is something you have to make when they're still nice and firm and new!

When you see them, if you see them, you're going to say to me "Gosh, Alice, those are some big sexy potatoes." to which I will reply "Who are you and how did you get this number?" but you'll also be right so I won't be mad about it. These are potatoes the size of your head. These are potatoes so big that half of one is a whole meal.

Though shockingly they're actually one of the quickest growing potatoes and has a stunningly high yield. It's impressively hardy and also stores very well in the right conditions. They're the perfect potato and they're also the choice potato of this place called Oinkers in Clayton, Georgia that Jonathan took me to when we were celebrating his one year anniversary working at the University in Maine. We packed up one day and took just the funnest car trip down there and you should too, it's a bbq place and they have food that will just knock your funky little socks off. I had their Porky Melt, highly recommend it.

Anywhoozle.

Wielding one of these things feels like you're a prehistoric human relative that just discovered the way too big version of a potato and you're not sure if you should eat it or use it as a weapon.

You could probably kill something with it. With enough determination.

Really give it a heave ho and I think you could...probably take down a medium sized bit of poultry or... maybe a particularly over friendly deer, perhaps? A rabbit definitely... Wouldn't have to even hit it yourself, you could probably throw it and it would do the trick....

What was I talking about? OH! Right-

We're going to be making a pie. A potato pie. Pommes Anna. We're going to need... four. Four potatoes or more if you're a coward with smaller potatoes.

Peeled. Which I always enjoyed doing when I would cook with my mom because I was being helpful, I love being helpful. Such a good feeling. I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't helpful. If I can't be of service then really why be at all?

Speaking of helpful, as much as you're looking forward to cutting these up by hand, I recommend a mandoline.That way they're all the same thickness which is going to be really important because this is a layered dish that all has to cook just right or it'll burn or not cook in the middle.

That's how you get potato poisoning.

It's specifically called solanine poisoning which is the effect a glycoalkaloid poison found in species of the nightshade family within the genus Solanum such as potatoes and tomatoes. It mostly just causes gastrointestinal distress, but at higher levels you start seeing neurological side effects such as headaches and even hallucinations though it's only something you really need to worry about in still green potatoes and the leaves and stalks.

And since we don't want any of that make sure you get them nice and thin so they cook all the way through! But not too thin. Not see through. We just want them to get nice and crispy on the outside, that's very important. Otherwise you'll just have a potato pie with no crust and that's a bit of a bummer, but it would still be delicious so only a little bit of one.

Once you and your fingertips have survived the potato and the pendulum, put about... half a stick of butter in a cast iron pan. I'd say a whole stick, but really as much as I'd love to Paula Deen it, there's such a thing as too much butter. Just let it all melt and coat the pan then pour it into a cup. Don't throw it out! We need it! I promise.

Start layering your potatoes once the pan has gotten nice and hot. In nice concentric circles and you want to have the slicing all done before this point or your potatoes will start to warp in the pan while cooking and you won't have a pretty pie or one cooked right because they'll probably burn while you're trying to finish and they need the weight to make nice neat layers.

If that happens just slap a piece of parchment or wax paper on the top and smoosh it down with something heavy while it cooks.

Because someone has made that mistake before. Hi, it was me. Hello!

Speaking of layers! Add the butter in every now and then between the layers. and once it's all in there cook it until you start seeing bubbles around the edges. Some steam. This is The Fountain rules, there are no rules. I have 1 allotted amount of time in this and it's after you see those bubbles and steam you put it in the oven for 30 to 40 minutes. At what heat? My oven's default is 350 so I'd go with that, but all oven are like cats and so none are the same or work with rules and logic so...

Do what you can with what you have.

It's done when you can stick a knife in it and it comes out clean.

After the longest 30 minutes of your life is over and that knife comes out clean you're going to want to take a plate, a big one, or a big cutting board and place it on top of the pan so you can flip it and the pie should escape the cast iron onto the plate/cutting board and that is it.

You are done.

Throw some parsley on it, some cheese. I like parmesan. You can slice it up and serve it to guests or you can do the brave thing and just eat it yourself with a fork in a dark kitchen way past your bedtime.

Thanks for reading! I feel much better and I hope you are able to make and enjoy your own pommes anne! Or have someone make it for you!

Not me though because I'm not sharing.

Unless you're Toby.

#//.drabble.//

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clouseplayssims · 2 years

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Medieval Traits Project

So I know I’m supposed to take it easy, and I’m trying to do that, but there are limited ways for me to shut my brain up when it wants to think about THINGS.

That said, I haven’t forgotten about my interest in traits - specifically, I want all the sims 3 medieval traits in game. I’m fairly certain I can make the objects without fuss, but I would like for them to do something, you know? Trouble is I’m not sure what I even want some of them to do, or I have ideas but they might be out of my realm of experience. So I’m gonna try but I’d love to idea source a bit.

Under a cut because it’s long. Please keep in mind my intent is to just make the objects and then if I’m feeling squirrely try and make them function.

Adventurous

Ideally I’d like if a want to go to a community lot rolled up more frequently, or hiking wants. it would be super cool for a rabbit hole interaction of “go on an adventure” but again, I am but a simple creature and it makes me a bundle of nerves thinking about it. A boost to fun after completion would be top notch.

-Giving Discuss Adventures and Describe Exotic Locales social options.

Call of the Sea

Fishing wants rolled frequently, regardless of aspiration. If the rabbit hole thing is even possible, “go on a whale hunt” would be cool.

Chivalrous

I love the possibilities for this trait and romance sims. You have no idea. Now what can and can’t be done, especially by me... different story. Best option: if a sim is dating/married/engaged, all romantic options with other sims are unavailable. No flirty, no touchy, no thinking about touchy. If that can’t be done, then they take a mood hit for cheating. Single chivalrous sims would have a boost to any romance they begin.

-Give donate to the poor at mailbox option.

Creative Cook

Preparing meals is quicker. Meals are more filling (like the seasons crop bonus but always for these sims?) and give a medium mood boost to fun as well. These sims can also eat rotten food without penalty. Potential way to unlock whale stew only for them?

-Give Gush About Cooking social

Dedicated

Genuinely, I have no idea how to translate extra responsibilities to TS2.

-Give Complaint About Work friendly social.

Earthy

Better mood when outside - similar to loves the outdoors. Increased percentage of finding cool stuff hiking? (without breaking hiking mod) Finding bugs more easily than other sims? I’d love to tie this to Sun&Moon objects when it comes to herbs too, not sure how.

Eloquent

-Give Comfort with Well-Chosen Words, Pontificate Poignantly, and Give Inspirational Speech friendly socials.

Entitled

An available allowance via mailbox? Starting funds for careers less? I like the idea that these sims don’t get along with non-noble/royal sims unless they’re also entitled and it takes longer to build those friendships.

Evil

Not sure if it’s possible to give them a mood boost when they witness “evil” but boy howdy I’d love it so they always did the evil witch hand-rubbing grin whenever nonsense like a brawl or public woohoo went down.

Excitable

10 neat points and asked to clean levels of excitement about everything. Mood boost for socializing, cooking, or fulfilling a want. Would it get annoying? Maybe. Would it still be adorable? Obviously

Friendly

Friendly interactions are accepted more often.

-Give Compliment Garments and Say Kind Words friendly socials.

Fun-Loving

Mood boost when having fun. Wants to do “fun” things more often like juggle, jump on the couch, go to community lots, etc. Mood tanks when “bored” aka fun gets too low.

Good

Committing “mean” socials causes mood decline. Able to donate to the poor at mailbox. Other sims get a small mood boost when completing friendly interactions with these sims.

Greedy

Mood boost when they earn money. They can also borrow money without having to pay it back from other sims - small and large amounts.

Haggler

Wholesale prices available always? I like the idea that sims with the merchant trait have a harder time building relationships with haggler-traited sims. Not sure if they can haggle at sim-owned businesses or not, like... asking for the “offer at” lower price option?

Hopeful Orphan

The one that started it all. I had a sims in TSM with this trait and I’ve always wanted it in TS2. Not sure if the game can randomly send them information about their parents - the only thing I can kind of think of is the thing where you get products to “try out” from random townies.

-Give Ask About Parents, Tell Life Story, and Talk About Parents friendly socials.

Jokester

Funny social are jokes have greater positive effective. Mood boost for other sims after hearing jokes.

-Give Jest About Dragons, Jest About State of Kingdom, Joke About Peasants and Nobles funny socials.

Loves Family

I want this different from family-oriented. One should be more direct family, the other should be like... I just love my whole family I’m showing up to all their nonsense with a supportive banner.

-Give Talk About Family and Spread the Love friendly socials.

Scholarly

Wants to read books come up more often. Examine everyday objects? No idea how to include that.

Solitary

Positive mood boost when alone. If the rabbit hole thing can work, “go on a solitary quest” would be a nice option for them, just to make them different from loners. Negative mood when around crowds.

Unkempt

Can sleep anywhere - no naps, we sleep on the floor like MEN! Mood increase the lower their hygiene is. Can eat spoiled food without penalty. Not sure if they can generate some type of grunge overlay, but that would be a delight.

Vain

Gussy up increases mood. Possible mirror interaction to “Admire Beauty” that increases mood? Rolls mirrors wants a lot. Like. A lot a lot. Think of the normal pet wants in the game, replace them with various mirrors at assorted prices.

-Give Enthuse About Self, Extol Personal Virtues socials.

Whale Ate My Parents

Listen if we CAN do rabbit hole off the lot nonsense, WHALE HUNTING. Random mood tank in these sims resolved by going whale hunting to simulate whale rage. Shout At Ocean interaction would be a delight. If buying things like specific-priced deco that’s meant to signal to the player “go buy this whale bone” is possible that would also be a delight.

-Give Shout Out Ocean interaction, Talk About Whales, Share Whale Story, Discuss Whale Hunt social

Bloodthirsty

Rolls want to win a fight frequently. Will want to fight sims with lower relationships as well.

Compulsive Gambler

To make my addiction system easier lets build these addictions in my good dudes! Rolls want to play poker and darts frequently. Not sure betting between sims is an option, but would be cool.

Cowardly

Mood decrease when outside at night. Rolls more random silly fears because why not. Would love if they could do the “run away from fire” interaction just, because why not. Fainting too.

-Give Warn Sim About Monsters, Warn Sim About Darkness, Warn Sim About End Times socials.

Cruel

Not sure how to show off pent-up anger, maybe just mood boost when they’re mean?

Cursed

Random sad moods because they’re ~cursed~ and stuff.

Drunkard

Drunkard already exists, boom de-ada.

Fool

Skill slower, drop tasks? It would be so annoying, but so right for them.

Glutton

Hunger motive decreases faster and is harder to fill up.

Guild Enemy

Pay higher prices? Somehow?

Hubris

...no idea how to blinded by hubris in TS2.

Insecure

Not socializing with sims causes mood to lower. Bad social interaction super lower mood. Sometimes wake up with low mood/nervous.

Insomniac

Wake up frequently at night. Sleep less than other sims and sometimes fall asleep just because why not.

Licentious

Mood lowers considerable if they haven’t kissed or had woohoo in a while. Boost in romance socials.

-Give Compliment Ankles flirt

Misanthrope

Mood decrease from interacting positively from other sims. Autonomously behave meanly.

Morose

Negative mood if they have a long rest.

Puny

Can’t win fights, or it’s very difficult for them. Tire easily - they work out as long as long. Would love to tie it in to Sun&Moon objects where they are quitters who quit stuff sooner. We support them. Get drunk faster?

Uncouth

Autonomously insult other sims. Using “gossip” interaction always results in relationship decrease.

Weak Constitution

Already exists, huzzah!

Dread Pirate

Rabbit hole “lead pirate raid” option with chances of finding objects. Can “collect pirate tribute” from sims - sort of like unsavory charlatan interaction.

Famous

Decent relationship boost when meeting. Friendly socials accepted more often, and friends can be kept longer without needing to contact them every four seconds. Free drinks?

Guild Connections

Discount on furniture in buy mode - better wholesale discount than previous traits? Clothing costs lower?

-Give Discuss Fashion friendly social

Herculean

Sim will become muscular and remain that way. Higher change of winning games and fights?

-Give Boast About Strength and Heroic Speech friendly socials and Brag About Strength romantic social.

Industrious

Able to give money to other sims as charity, increasing mood. Recieve larger incomes from careers?

Natural Leader

Can cheer up other sims in bad moods?

Patient

Extra lock for wants/fears?

Satiated

Hunger bar fills up easier and decreases at a slower rate.

Seductive

Romantic socials are more successful. Possible to give them a sexy red aura? idk. Maybe they can sparkle we can lean directly into the nonsense.

Strong Constitution

Impervious to lower-level sicknesses. No pentalties from drinking or eating spoiled food.

Wise

Gain experience at work faster. Win more often in games?

-Give Impart Wisdom social.

#clouse's trait project

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healthypetsnacks · 2 months

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mariatogel · 10 months

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parableworks · 1 year

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nypcorp15 · 2 years

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ashleyrosaa-blog · 5 years

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completeblood-blog · 5 years

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kaitlynkristy012-blog · 5 years

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ashleyrosa10-blog · 5 years

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imaginesbymk · 3 years

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“Find Me Under The Giant Rabbit.”

Reservoir Dogs/Pulp Fiction One Shot

SUMMARY: I read a Reddit fan theory that Mr. Pink survived, escaped the cops, got arrested and was then put on parole - leaving behind his old life and lying low as a waiter at Jack Rabbit Slims. What happens when you show up to the restaurant one night?

PAIRING: Mr. Pink/Buddy Holly waiter x Reader

TAGS: swearing, smoking + mentions of basically everything that happened in reservoir dogs which is the heist, violence, etc

NON REQUESTED

WORD COUNT: 2,870 (it’s long i’m sorry)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is probably the cheesiest thing i’ve ever written, and it’s nothing tarantino would ever put in his films, also there’s no way PF and RS can legitimately tie in together 100% even though there are some factors to support otherwise, but i wanted to write this and see something lol :( leave a like/reblog + feedback!!!

[gif credit]

YOU put your car in park, shutting off the engine, and observed it from afar. It was one hell of a big restaurant, almost a bit too cartoon-like. There was a giant anthropomorphic rabbit on top, and the lights claiming the name were glowing a bright red and yellow. Mind you, this was in Los Angeles, so who wouldn’t blame you if you took one look at Jack Rabbit Slim’s, and mistake it for a restaurant at Six Flags?

Dozens of bikers came in with their motorcycles, yet their engines couldn’t even overpower the chatter coming from newcomers left and right. You ignored a heavy tattooed biker dressed in all leather and denim catcalling you from afar, and you reached the front desk.

A man dressed in uniform, most definitely in character, tipped his hat at you and led you to a table with only two chairs. You weren’t expecting anyone to join you in the other seat across. So what if you went for dinner by yourself? You didn’t bother asking anyone to join you for that matter. Not anyone you could think of at the top of your head would be any less boring.

You began tracing your fingers around the rim of the ketchup bottle when not even five seconds after sitting down, a lady approached your table with ruby red lips.

Of course, you thought. Servers were dressed up as icons from the 50s era.

“Marilyn,” you say in awe.

“Close enough,” Instead of being seated in the Marilyn Monroe section being served by a Marilyn Monroe-looking Marilyn Monroe, you were greeted with a tall Mamie Van Doren, who is just as breathtaking as Marilyn refilling everyone’s coffee mugs from the other side of the restaurant. “How about I get you started with drinks?”

Ricky Nelson’s performance on stage came to an end when Mamie arrived with your food. You looked around the place while eating. People weren’t eating by themselves. Families, friends, dates, all of them occupied their seats. Now that you’ve noticed, you sort of wished you brought someone with you, otherwise the seat across from you is used as a footrest.

So there, you propped your feet on top, and relaxed… then you sat upright. Your eyes fixated on the waiter in his section, which were the cars back in the 50s used as booths. You watch him walk towards one of them. The couple was a young woman in a blunt bob cut with bangs, and a man wearing a black suit with long black hair tied back.

You squint your eyes. It couldn’t be...

“Hi, I’m Buddy. What can I get ya?”

You blinked, dropping the half bitten French fry from your mouth. Holy fucking shit.

It was all coming back to you. The news broke out about the heist going wrong at the wholesale, all dead except for one, a cop who laid dead on the ramp inside the rendezvous was identified as Mr. Orange. Since he wasn’t supposed to know where you were from, Mr. Pink never turned up to your door as an emergency hideout, or to drag you with him on his getaway because he never had one. You never heard of him ever since.

Here he was, Mr. Pink, alive and well, wearing glasses. What the hell happened? How long has he been working here? Is he supposed to be Buddy Holly?

“How do you want that cooked? Burnt to a crisp or bloody as hell?” you hear him ask the man in the suit who ordered a steak.

“Bloody as hell, and oh, yeah, look at this- vanilla coke.”

You noticed the irony. He left you in a black suit - and he comes back in white. Like he’d ever want to be caught dead in white, or pink.

“What about you, Peggy Sue?” he asks the woman, jotting in his notepad. You recognized the pun.

“I’ll have the Durwood Kirby burger, bloody. And… the five dollar shake.”

Were you about to laugh? Call out his name? That was enough for you to get antsy in your seat, but you didn’t want to draw attention. You saw him again while finishing up half of your meal, giving the couple their drinks and disappearing back into the kitchen. He was doing his job, but it wasn’t like he was giving his one hundred percent. For someone who preached to the Gods about professionalism, Mr. Pink sure lacked work ethic. Every employee was on point with their character impersonations as if you had travelled back in time. Meanwhile, he acted like himself and seemed bored while wearing an emotionless face, as if he hated his job and epitome of his existence. It was never a dull moment for him whenever he was with you, though.

You got up to use the restroom.

“We’re lucky we got anything at all. I don’t think Buddy Holly’s much of a waiter,” you heard the man at the booth tell the woman as you walk past them, spotting their food from the corner of your eye. It’s no surprise hearing that. Mr. Pink never looked like the type to work at a job like this.

You sat back down and soon, Mr. Pink reappeared, standing over to the side and watched the announcement of the twisting contest, smoking a cigarette. You see him eyeing two pretty blonde women walking past him, and he looked back his way, now in your direction.

He finally did what you wanted him to do, and he stares at you for nearly a solid minute.

You waved awkwardly.

Mr. Pink tosses the cigarette in a random person’s ashtray and disappears behind the door once again. You darted out of your chair, and marched your way to where he headed, just as the couple he served got up on stage to participate in the twisting contest.

A Zorro waiter jumps in front of you. “Stop right there, mi amor!” his eyes darted at you through the cheap black mask he was wearing. “I believe the bathroom’s on the other side of the bar.”

“Where’s Buddy?” you ask Zorro.

“I’m afraid Mr. Holly is taking a quick break from unenthusiastically serving love birds in their cars.”

“Can you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Once I see him.” Zorro then took out his sword and pointed it at you, a grin plastered on his face. “Now, shall I escort you back to your dining spot?”

Although you were aware this guy was only in character, you didn’t wanna risk getting kicked out, or having a realistic looking sword ripped through your body. You sighed and turned around, heading back. You noticed at your table a folded napkin beside your empty plate. Mamie Van Doren was last seen there, her back facing you with her heels clicking away on the tiles.

“Excuse me!” you called after the waitress. She ignores you, smiling down at new customers at an umbrella table.

Cocking an eyebrow, you used your finger to flatten the crease and read the note in bold handwriting.

FIND ME UNDER THE GIANT RABBIT. - BUDDY

You threw the door open and ran outside, precisely under the giant rabbit of the Jack Rabbit Slim’s sign, just like he said on the napkin. You felt like an idiot checking every direction to find no one. Not a lot of the bikers were seen riding or hanging out around the parking lot, some people were coming and going, but you couldn’t find Buddy Holly.

Defeated, you turn to walk back inside.

Mr. Pink rushed out the door and caught his breath. It looked like he was chasing you down before you could take off. A song used for the twisting contest kept playing from inside.

You didn’t run up to him and jumped in his arms or anything dramatic in that matter. You both stared at each other.

A few days before the heist you two stood across each other waiting for Mr. Brown and Mr. White inside the hideout. It was a quiet moment, not an awkward one. He just took that opportunity to study you, as you did him. It took him that moment to realize he was warming up to you.

“Well hello there, Buddy,” you smile smugly.

YOU and Pink loitered at the side of the eatery, where the back door to the kitchen was located. He had taken off his fake glasses, showing his full frame.

“Okay,” you watch him lean against the wall, lighting his cigarette. “Talk to me. What happened to you?”

“What the hell do you think? Cops tagged me when I tried driving away. I was put behind bars, and by some fucking miracle this place took me in when I needed money.”

“You didn’t know any other crime bosses looking for a lanky dude?” Pink rolls his eyes at your joke. “I know the heist went terribly wrong, I saw the news. Everyone’s dead as Dillinger.”

“That briefcase had a shit load of two million dollars worth of stones,” Pink blew smoke out. “I swear, if that asshole undercover cop was never sent to set us up, I could have been enjoying a cocktail in Santorini. You’re lucky you called in sick that day.”

You shuddered, remembering how god-awful the illness was. “Never again. I felt like I was being hot glued to a sauna.”

You remembered the day of the heist. In fact, you mentally prepared yourself for something that you’ve never done before. You braced for what was supposed to go smoothly as Joe promised. Instead, you were woken up by the worst case scenario above 38 degrees. You were thankful Joe took it easy on you and promised another job next time.

“All right, your turn. What did you do after that shit show went down?” Pink asks you.

“Just did my own thing. I wasn’t there so the cops never searched for me.” Pink took a slow drag, staring at nothing. He didn’t really look the same as before. Still lanky, except his hair was a bit more darkened and styled in curls, possibly because Buddy Holly had it permed that way. But his face read that he had been through a lot. Normally you felt zero pity for assholes like him, but you managed to blurt out, “I missed you.”

Pink, blowing out smoke in the air, eyed you up and down and furrowed his brows. “Likewise.”

Not only did it suck not being able to make money, you also couldn’t do it with Mr. Pink. As much as he kept his professionalism to a T, he squeezed in time to get along with you. It was no wonder Joe hired you - you were different than the guys, you moved differently and never felt small. Mr. Pink was drawn to that.

Maybe that was just an understatement. He grew intimidated by something he expected to experience the least from in the job, and of course, straight out of a fairytale, you had to stop and ask yourself if you felt the same way, and if what you felt was right. Neither of you had any idea. It was against the rules to give out personal information to each other, and Mr. Pink took those rules very seriously, even if it was just one job that he most likely wouldn’t come back to unless a higher pay was involved and Joe Cabot liked him enough to recruit him again.

If Mr. Pink grew too attached, if he let his guard down for one second, God forbid something would have happened to you. Without a doubt, he would have heavily blamed himself and walked away from the job without saying another word.

His options were to wait until after the robbery to make a move, or do his job, get paid and leave. Whether or not it was out of selfishness was out of the question. Mr. Pink is already selfish in an intuitive kind of way, he’d rather avoid spiraling into a wave of emotions for one person - so he chose the latter.

“What?” Pink looked at you, feeling a bit tense. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Huh? No. It’s nothing,” you blinked, realizing you were staring at him longer than you should have. You shook your head, most likely shaking off the intrusive thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to tell him what’s on your mind.

If anything, he’s most likely sleeping with the Marilyn Monroe waitress. “It’s just… you shaved the goatee.”

Pink nodded, looking a bit annoyed that there was no facial hair left on his chin to rub. “Buddy Holly had a clean face. For the record, the only advantage of this job is that I’m under disguise. Other than that, this place is a circus. I’m zooming back in time whenever I clock in.”

“It’s a 50s themed restaurant,” you state. “Working here sounds like fun. At least you get to dress up and experience pop culture.”

He scoffs. “No, fuck the 50s. Shit was all I Love Lucy and those puffy ass dresses.”

“They’re called poodle skirts, Pink.”

“Like I give a fuck what they’re called.”

“You know Buddy Holly smiled. He was a singer and a guitarist. If you keep up the attitude, no one’s gonna tip you. Nice Guy Eddie told me about your rant on tipping.”

“Ha! And? You will never find me up on that stage performing That’ll Be The Day, moving like a fucking animatronic.” Halfway finished, Pink tossed his cigarette aside and looked at you. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

You felt your cheeks flushing. Fuck. “I am?”

He nodded, putting his Buddy Holly glasses back on his face. “Yeah. It’s a breath of fresh air seeing you here.” He stares down at his wristwatch for a moment.

“Your break’s done?”

“It’s been done,” he says. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

You shook your head, chuckling. “You’re so fired.”

“This isn’t the first time I stopped caring, so my boss isn’t gonna bat an eye.” He had his hand wrapped around the back door which was supported by a wooden block to keep it open. “Look, I’ll see ya arou-”

“Pink?” Your heart rose up to your throat.

He turned back to you. “Hm?”

You just had to do it. You reached up and kissed him softly. Pink didn’t shove or curse at you. His features softened, pulling you close to him and kissed you deeply. Even when you two pulled away, his arms didn’t unwrap from your waist. His forehead was pressed against yours now.

“My name’s Y/N,” you tell him.

He stares at you, no snarky, sarcastic comment left for him to give.

“I know you’re not willing to give your name up just yet, you can’t fully trust me, and I get that, but I won’t tell anyone what happened. You got lucky, I think… but I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m serious.”

“Y/N,” he says your name for the first time. “You don’t have to go all sappy for me. Karma came in hot. Jesus Christ, I mean, I left you.”

“Not really. You didn’t know me. The cops had the place staked out the entire day, there was nothing you could do.”

He looked down at his shoes. “All right. But still, I feel shitty. Can I at least make it up to you?”

“How?”

Pink shrugs. “I get paid tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” you reply. “Save it like you’re gonna lose it.”

“I’ve had this job for a while now, I got enough to last. But once I win the lottery, I’m gone.”

“To Santorini?”

“With a cocktail in my hand. But that’s besides the point, right now I got enough to take you out on a date… if you’re down.”

“Where would you plan on taking me? Here?” you laugh.

“You’re funny. How about the movies? Overruled, I’m taking you to see a movie. I gotta know where you live first. It’s okay to know now.”

You nodded, you couldn't argue with that. Besides, you two would just be making out in the dark the entire time.

His hand was back on the handle of the back door. Pink pulled it open, looked back at you and smiled for the first time tonight. That warmed your heart, and you were certain it warmed his. He watched you stuff something inside his pocket square as you told him your address. He went back inside, shutting the door on you. You walked back to the front of the restaurant to pay for the bill, and went straight home.

Mr. Pink shuffles past the chefs in the kitchen, feeling through his suit pocket to pull out his notepad and whatever you stuffed inside just moments ago.

I didn’t even serve them. Is this supposed to be for Mamie Van Doren? He stares down at the dollar bill crumpled in his hand. His frown suddenly transitions to a small but genuine smile.

Fuck it. Nothing could stop him now. He definitely owes you a date night. He quickly stuffs the tip back in his pocket square, and comes out the sliding door.

THE END

—

TAGLIST: @locke-writes @aryn-the-bearheart

#reservoir dogs x reader #reservoir dogs fic #reservoir dogs fanfic #mr pink x reader #mr pink #reservoir dogs imagine #reservoir dogs #mr pink one shot #reader insert #reservoir dogs one shot #one shot #imagine #mk's faves

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healthypetsnacks · 2 months

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Rabbit Ears are a fantastic chew alternative to pigs and cows ears, especially for our smaller dogs! They are low in odour, high in protein and are a great snack for dogs of all sizes.

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laequiem · 3 years

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The siege on Costco

/ This is a crackfic inspired by a liveshow Holly Black and Leigh Bardugo did. Leigh said she pictured Madoc going to Costco and I never got over it. So here, have this Madoc meets r/entitledparents fic. It's probably OOC, it's stupid, enjoy.

Fandom: The Folk of The Air, Post-Book 3

Characters: Madoc, Vivienne Duarte, Heather & Oak

read on ao3 • part of Tales from the Mortal Realm • masterlist

Older siblings do not always know better.

This is the lesson that Vivienne is now learning as she watches her father argue with the butcher to buy the whole sheep he has hanging behind his window.

Jude had warned her that taking their father to shop at Costco could only go horribly wrong. Vivienne had been convinced, after an incident allegedly involving Madoc and the death of a local farmer’s award-winning Jersey cow, that their father needed to learn to shop at the wholesale warehouses. If he could buy most of their essentials in the same place, the rate of incidents would go down. Oriana had her garden and a small coop, but that was not enough to feed the three of them, especially with Oak currently going through a growth spur.

“Sir, if you don’t calm down, I will have to call security,” the butcher says, his voice calm but stern.

Vivi should have known when even Oriana refused to come with them that this was a bad idea. She sighs, grabs her father’s arm and pulls. Even in his human glamour, he is huge. 300 pounds of muscle and fat, a real scandinavian strongman-type with close shorn blonde hair and a goatee. Thankfully, Madoc lets her pull him away from the counter, not without a snarl towards the poor man only doing his job. When they leave, Vivi pushing the cart, she hears Heather apologize to the man, Oak in tow.

“I just want to carve it myself,” Madoc grumbles under his breath, “I'm sick of that processed garbage."

“I know, dad, I know," Vivienne reassures him.

They could get him a hunting permit, but she doubts he would stick to the government-approved weapons. A glamour can only do so much when you see a man rip into a deer with a sword before dipping a weird crusty cap in its blood.

As they make their way through the refrigerated aisles, Madoc grabs more blood pudding than any regular human would ever consume and tosses it in his cart. Heather cringes when he grabs a couple of rabbit carcasses, a package of chicken feet and one of pigs feet.

“Where will he keep all of that?” Heather whispers to her girlfriend as they leave the refrigerated section of the warehouse.

“They have a huge freezer,” Vivi replies, “but I don’t think this will last him more than a week anyway.”

Heather makes a face. Vivienne knows how her girlfriend feels about eating meat, but Heather also knows better than to try to change Madoc’s way of life. Documentaries about the treatment of animals in slaughterhouses would only make him more likely to go out and hunt for his own food, which isn't ideal in the middle of Portland.

For a few aisles, all goes well. They get some cans of fruits and veggies, boxed juice for Oak’s school lunches and baking essentials for Oriana.

Oak’s eyes light up when they get to the aisle filled with candies and snacks. He bolts down the aisle with a squeal.

“Oak, wait—" Heather snaps before running after him.

Vivienne was picking out some chips for her and Heather when Oak came back, boxes stacked in his arms. The tower was threatening to fall at any moment.

“Oak, we can’t afford that much,” Vivienne tries to reason with him, “You’ll have to put some back.”

“We can just make more money!”

The kid was starting to adapt well to the mortal world, but he was still too young to understand the value of money. Vivi was trying to set an example by using actual money to pay and not only glamoured leaves, keeping the leaves only for when she absolutely needs to. It seems like her brother did not quite understand yet.

“Oak—" Vivienne started, but was cut short as a woman approached them.

“EXCUSE ME! Is this brat yours?”

Vivienne and Madoc both turn around to face her. She is a middle-aged woman with a blonde bob. A few meters behind her, Heather stands with her arms crossed, looking completely exasperated.

“Yes," Madoc replies matter-of-factly.

“My son wanted fruit roll-ups and your brat took the last box," she says as she puts a hand on her hip.

“So?”

"Look at all he took!" she gestures wildly towards Oak, "He could share!"

Madoc looks at Oak's stash, back at the lady, then back at Oak. He holds out a hand and, with a half-hearted protest, Oak gives him the box.

"Dad," Vivienne interrupts, frowning, "you don't have to give it to her."

The redcap general looks at his daughter with a conspiratorial grin, then opens the box on the spot. One by one, he tears open the packages of fruit roll-ups and drops them on the floor. The lady gasps as she turned bright red with anger.

Once Madoc is done opening all the packages, he reaches out towards the top shelf and knocks over a row of boxes.

"There are so many options, surely your kid can find something else to eat."

"I-I… you're insane!" the woman blurts out, "SECURITY!"

Jude is going to laugh herself hoarse when Vivienne tells her that she was right, that this was a terrible idea. As it turns out, it is possible to get kicked out of Costco. It also turns out that they don't refund your membership when they do.

When they get back in Heather's car, Oak sulks in the backseat.

"I wanted ice cream," he complains with an overly dramatic sigh.

Vivienne can't help the snort that comes out of her. This whole thing is surreal. Madoc sitting in the front seat, hunched over because he is too tall for Heather's small energy-efficient car. Them getting kicked out and banned from a store.

"Me too, kiddo," Vivienne replies, ruffling her brother's hair, "me too."

#the folk of the air #tfota #madoc #fanfic #vivienne duarte #queen of nothing #the queen of nothing #crackfic #leigh bardugo #holly black

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emmaliam1-blog · 5 years

Link

#wholesale small animal products #wholesale small animal supplies #distributor small animal products #distributor small animal supplies #wholesale small animal accessories #wholesale small animal cages #wholesale small animal food #wholesale small animal treats #wholesale small animal travel accessories #wholesale ferret products #wholesale hamster products #wholesale rabbit supplies

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peacefiresky-archive · 3 years

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hunting song

Eleski’s brows furrowed, her anger ebbing further upwards. “Everything falls to an arrow to the chest.” “Not everything,” Ma said. Her arms began to tremble - she would sometimes have fits of weakness, where she could barely hold herself upright. “No arrow can fell the Fanged Stag.”

the beastfolk company belongs to @mothermara !

Eleski Ahlealdottir hadn’t earned her name yet. She had just seen her seventeenth winter, and she thought she might starve before she had the chance.

Shor’s Stone was a mining town, making their meager profits from the iron inside the mountains; they were poor, they were tired, and they were hungry. Eleski started hunting when she was young, apprenticed under her father, running through the forests of the Rift with laughter in her lungs and joy in her heart. Pa said she would be a natural, and she was - she could track a stag from Ivarstead to Riften without losing its trail, always knowing just where to land her arrow that it would fall without suffering.

“Easy,” her father would whisper. “Focus your breathing. Keep your eyes on the stag.”

It was as easy as drawing breath for her, her heart beating to the notes of a song she knew since birth. Her mind felt clouded and cleared all at once. Her eyes focused, her muscles tensed - and her arrow found its mark.

“Blessed by Kyne!” Her father cheered in his rolling accent, clapping her back when they came into the village. The doe was taken from around her shoulders, and Pa’s voice was like thunder congratulating her. The miners ate well that night, and Eleski crawled into her furs with a full stomach and a new deer-hide cloak. She hovered on the edge of sleep, imaginary scenarios drifting through her mind.

What if I find a dragon, she thought, her mind conjuring up images of the glorious beasts. What if I kill a dragon? Can you eat dragons? Can you ride them?

Just as she was about to drift off, there was a voice - on instinct, she laid still, quiet, silent, as her mother - when had Ma came to her side of the house? -whispered something she couldn’t understand, caressing her forehead. She traced the mark of the Eldergleam and Eleski fought back a flinch. It felt wrong when Ma did it. She couldn't explain why. “Child of the chase,” she sighed wistfully, before drawing away.

They were prosperous, her and Pa working jointly to bring in enough food to keep them fed through the winter. They never took in excess - Ma had warned her of a deer, with antlers crafted by Kyne and teeth sharpened by the daedra, who came in the night to steal away those who took more than they needed.

She had been terrified, and her Pa was amused, but compliant. “It’s about respect,” he told her when she was curled into her furs, clutching his hunting dagger in case the deer decided to take her away. “Respect the creatures you hunt, respect the woods you stalk, respect the men and women you work to feed, and Kyne will protect you.”

It was a lesson she learned easily. Every other day, she would disappear into the woods, listening to the steady music of her heart, and return with rabbits and deer and, if she was lucky, a wild pig, wolf, or moose.

That was all before Helmar Thaneson.

His father was some noble from Solitude, coming to Shor’s Stone after a scandal involving ties with the Bear of Windhelm; despite living among the miners and poor folk, he managed to afford his son every entitlement, every privilege. Helmar got away with anything he wished.

He was huge, and terrifying, and Eleski’s best friend, though not by choice. He would hurt her if she tried to leave him - he had said as much, and proved it through the scars on her face. He was touched in the head by Uncle Sheo - he was strong, sure, and a damn good brawler, but messy, uncaring, stupid. He chased the foxes and rabbits around the village and when he caught them - and he always caught them -, he’d throw them into the boiling stew, still alive and squealing. He thought it was funny to pounce on her like a wild cat, leaving her features marred and slashed by ribbons of red.

He hunted with her, too. Not properly; there was no careful footing, no learning the land, what creatures were mature and which were too young to give good meat. He left that to Eleski. That was how he grew so attached to her- they would venture off together into the thick woods, Eleski wincing at the sound of his heavy footfalls as he marched carelessly through the Rift. If she strained her ears, she could hear the wood’s creatures fleeing through the trees.

He was also bloodthirsty. She had watched, helpless, as he used his warhammer to savagely crush a stag’s ribs; all the while, he just laughed as it died, slowly and painfully. The meat was unusable, and the poor creature suffered a cruel death. Helmar's eyes were bright with mirth and joy - and that laugh set frost in her heart. Eleski didn’t like to watch her marks suffer. It was cruel - they were living creatures, just as much as she and Helmar. When she objected, he marched right up to her and cracked her cheek, the sound like wood splitting. The bruise had yet to heal after three weeks, and there was still a divet in her cheek where the bone had cracked. It ached in the winter.

The rabbits and foxes stopped appearing in the village’s outskirts. The deer were slaughtered wholesale, and so stopped grazing in the woods nearby. The wolves, starving, followed their prey; all that was left were the rats and vermin. Even the skeevers were skinny and disease ridden, barely enough meat to cook into a cabbage stew, but that was only when it didn’t fester moments after harvesting.

“We’re cursed,” she told Ma. “We’re cursed and it’s Helmar’s fault.”

“You seem so certain,” her mother replied, voice light and airy. Pa always said that he mistook Ma for a wisp mother when they first met; her hair was blonde, nearly white, her skin a luminescent alabaster, unmarred by freckles or moles. Even her eyes were ethereal, bluer than the glaciers to the north. Eleski took more after her father - tawny skin, thick, honey-gold hair, dotted by freckles and moles and crinkled, laughing eyes.

“I am.” Eleski set her bow down, slamming the door shut and roughly tugging her braids loose. She didn’t bother combing them out. “He killed the fawns before they could grow and mate. He ate through our crops like a starved rabbit.” She sat at the wooden bench, crossing her arms. Her father was tending to the hearth, the ghost of a smile on his lips. His amusement only angered her further. “He and his pa grow fat with fortune and food and the rest of us starve!”

Pa clicked his tongue, stirring a pot of boiling water. A chopped, skinny carrot and wilted cabbage leaf floated lazily within it. “And just what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll kill him myself,” she replied. She knew she might just be mad enough to do it.

“Don’t be silly,” Ma hummed. “You’re not a killer.”

“I’ve killed plenty!” Eleski stood from her seat, eyes flaring. So fierce for one so young; wolf-blooded, Pa always said. “I’m a hunter! I’ve killed more than anyone in this village!”

“Don’t be so naive.” Pa tapped the wooden spoon against the pot, and set about pouring the soup into bowls.

Ma just laughed, the sound hollow and empty, shaking her head. “No, she may be right. But it would do her well to remember there’s a difference between killing a deer and killing a person.”

Eleski’s brows furrowed, her anger ebbing further upwards. “Everything falls to an arrow to the chest.”

“Not everything,” Ma said. Her arms began to tremble - she would sometimes have fits of weakness, where she could barely hold herself upright. “No arrow can fell the Fanged Stag.”

Pa raised his brow, and Eleski paused. Ma’s eyes stared dispassionately towards her, and slowly, she lowered herself to sit back on the wooden bench. Pa placed a bowl in front of Ma, then Eleski, and then took a seat for himself.

Ma raised the bowl to her lips, drinking deeply as though it was something holy, and sighed longingly as she placed it back onto the table. Her hands were shaky as she flattened her palms on the table. “He always collects the Hunter’s debts. May he take that blasted child’s heart and use it to breathe life back into these woods.”

Eleski’s ma looked like a woman out of a fairytale, and acted like it too, always reminding Eleski and Pa of old superstitions to be mindful of, murmuring vague prophecies and curses. Pa’s eyes, bark-brown and softened by age, met Eleski’s, sharp and vengeful. They never quite understood. Eleski wasn’t sure they ever would.

They didn’t speak until late that night, when her father traced the mark of the Eldergleam on her forehead - a nighttime blessing, his thumb connecting the leaves to the trunk. Eleski sighed and flopped onto her cot, and prayed that sleep would ease the pains of her stomach.

Her rest was fitful, as it always was. She dreamed of chasing, of being chased, her legs aching as the Game reversed; she dreamed of her frost-bitten hands warmed by blood, her mother’s, her father’s, Helmar’s; she dreamed of a red moon, hung in the sky like a blood boil ready to be lanced -

She woke to the sound of a scream.

She jolted upwards, her heart racing; she had a nightmare, but couldn’t recall of what - there was every chance that the scream was just an echo of her mind’s terrors, she told herself. And if it wasn’t that, it was a fox - she used to bolt out of the house every week, convinced some poor woman was being slaughtered, only to find Shor’s little fox laughing gleefully, satisfied at his prank.

The scream echoed again. It was deep, guttural; too human, too pained to be a fox’s cry. She pushed herself from her bed, flung the doe-skin cloak around her shoulders, pulled on her leather-soled shoes, and rushed towards the door, grabbing her father’s hunting dagger from its place by the hearth as she went. She threw open the door, the cold air stinging her face and eyes, before she gasped -

Her mother, ethereal and half-present in the moonlight, stood facing her. Her eyes, silvery blue and unblinking, bore into hers. She looked like a ghost, a fae, a wisp floating in the fields. She looked anything but mortal.

“The Stag always repays the Hunter’s debts,” she echoed, her voice like a bell.

Eleski tried to calm her racing heart. “Ma?”

“He comes and He hunts and He chases. He is His Father’s Son, though he wishes it not so.”

“Ma, you need to go inside.”

“He’s calling for you,” Ma sing-songed, pausing just long enough for that terrible screech to echo, bouncing through the village. “Can’t you hear him? You should go, watch the hunt; partake, if you want. I would. Oh, how I would.”

Eleski stared at her mother and saw a stranger. Her mother stared back, without warmth, without love - her eyes were empty.

“Go inside,” Eleski said, before turning towards the woods and running.

It was harder to navigate in the night, the only light being the dappled moonbeams filtered through leaves. Her feet thumped steadily below her, twigs snapping softly in time with her heartbeat. Tha-thump, tha-thump, her blood sang. A tree trunk in the shape of a bear marked the one-mile mark. An eagle’s nest marked the second. The thickening of the tree trunks marked the third. She ran, following those shrill wails, ears straining - before hands grabbed her from behind.

She stifled a scream as she was pushed against a tree trunk, a meaty hand muffling her - she slashed uselessly at it with her dagger, before the figure suddenly backed away. It left something on her face, some kind of liquid, warm and smelling of copper.

“Eles?” The voice was shaky, deep and familiar.

“...Helmar?” She hissed, panting, wiping away the liquid on her face with her sleeve, still brandishing the dagger threateningly. “What in Oblivion are you doing out here?”

“Running,” he whispered. She could see him trembling, even in the low light. “I’m running.”

“Running from what?”

“From it-” He tried to take a step forward, his knee buckling from under him. He groaned as he fell, reaching out to her - though she only took a step away from him, staring as he laid there, kneeling.

“Help me,” he whimpered. “Please. Please, I don’t wanna die.”

Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, and she could see the wound. Her first thought, superstitious and silly, was the Stag.

Don’t be so naive. “What did this?” She asked, looking down at him. Some great beast had taken a chunk out of Helmar's leg. She could see the bone, and it called to her. Her heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm. She heard music.

“I - I don’t know, I didn’t see-”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

The boy faltered, his breath hitching. Eleski’s voice had chilled from a fluttering panic to a strange sort of calm. “Y-Yes,” he muttered.

“I bet it does.” Her chest was still heaving, her voice breathy. “You’ll never walk again, not with that wound.”

“I - I -” Helmar stuttered uselessly. She had leaned forward, her body moving on its own accord; he fell backwards, palms pressing against the dirt as he tried in vain to scramble away. Eleski felt a rush of power, looming over him. Quietly, she kneeled beside him.

The forest was silent, save for his heaving breath, and the wind through trees.

“You’re - you’re nice, Eles,” He pleaded, smiling fearfully. “You’re nice. You can - can help me walk again, help me - help -”

“It’s nice to put animals out of their pain,” she hummed, blood pounding through her ears as she raised the dagger.

“No,” he sobbed, voice cracking, smile fading. “No, please, I’m sorry -”

She raised it higher, her free hand going to clutch at the hilt. The music soared joyfully.

“Eles - Eles, please -”

The sound of a branch snapping broke her out of her torpor, the melody broken; her head snapped towards the sound.

Her eyes searched in the darkness, but - nothing. Nothing, save for the flash of a stag’s antlers. She glanced down to the sobbing boy beside her, and shakily lowered her dagger.

“Let this be a lesson,” she whispered, voice not entirely her own.

She pushed herself to her feet, glancing back to the source of the sound. There, barely visible in the moonlight, she could just make out the shape of a huge deer, his antlers stretched above him like the branches of the Eldergleam; as its gleaming eyes bore into hers, she clutched her dagger so tight the hilt made an indent in her palm.

It could feed us for weeks, she thought. She felt herself shake with the force of the thought, images of her parents well-fed, her hands bloody, flashing through her mind. The beginnings of a melody sounded in her ears. That meat could save us. Hunt it. Hunt it. Hunt-

She took a step backwards, not breaking its gaze. It stepped forward in time, hooves leaving no tracks. She paused, before shakily lowering her head.

It stared, and lowered its head - it seemed to nod, and so she turned and she ran. She pretended not to hear the sound of bones cracking under hooves, of flesh squelching between teeth. She pretended not to hear Helmar’s wailing screams, broken cries for mercy, and bitter curses. As she bolted further away, lungs burning from the exertion, she pretended not to hear as Helmar Thaneson’s dying screeches came to a sudden stop.

She broke from the treeline, dried blood still caking the side of her face. Ma wasn’t on the porch; in fact, it was as if no one in the village was awake. She came to a stumbling stop, chest aching as she struggled for air. She rested her hands on her knees as she doubled over, and emptied the cabbage-carrot soup by the porch of her home.

***

When Eleski Kyne-Blood, who had just passed eighteen winters, returned to the village, she was dragging a moose on a skiff behind her. It had taken time, but nature’s blessing returned to Shor’s Stone - birds sang in the trees, hearty meals of venison and goat and boar were had every night, and the rabbits and foxes played at the village’s edge.

Her eyes looked forward - her father was there, as he always was when she went off on her own, awaiting her return. He seemed to be talking to a group of adventurers - that’s what she assumed, at least. A moss-skinned Orc in heavy armor, a scaled Argonian in mage’s clothes, a green-eyed Khajiit in robes, a wood elf in light armor, a Nord in an iron cuirass, a gold elf in master’s robes - they were outsiders, and Pa seemed happy enough talking with them. He loved outsiders.

His amber eyes lit like a wildfire when they fell on her and her prize. “Just in time,” he called. Eleski squinted against the sun, waving in response as she grew closer. “We’ll be having guests tonight!”

Her arms ached from dragging the damned moose as she finished her approach - a fact the Orc woman seemed to notice. She gave a tusk-toothed smile, and Eleski went a bit red despite herself. The Orc gestured to the skiff. “Here, let me get that for you.”

“Ah, uh - thanks.” Eleski moved so she could take hold of it. She watched as the woman dragged it with ease to the center of the village, until her father clapped her on the back.

He cleared his throat, and with a dramatic flare that made him seem much younger, he declared, “Meet the Beastfolk Company! These fine mercenaries took care of a few bandits who’d planned a raid. Stopped them before they could get to the village.”

Eleski again looked over the Company. They were raggedy, a bit bruised, and covered in dirt and mud. She smiled. “Wind be at your back,” she greeted. “You’ll fit in just fine.”

“We’re not planning on staying long,” said the elf. “Ah - I am Syrabane. We ask for nothing but a warm meal and a place to sleep.”

“And a bath,” said the Argonian towards the elf. They turned towards Eleski. “Hi. I’m Weedum. Praise be to Todd.”

“Oh, are we doing introductions?” The Khajiit’s ears perked up, their tale lashing excitedly behind them. “I’m Aldra!”

“I’m Maces,” said the Nord. He seemed a bit quiet.

The wood elf was silent until Weedum poked his side. “Rindolin,” he said simply.

“Badbr!” called the Orc woman, armor clanking as she jogged over to join them. She flashed that same toothy grin. “Good to meet you.”

“Eleski,” she responded. They were a motley crew, and yet something about them struck her as warm. Welcoming. “We’ve a few bedrolls to spare, and I’m guessin’ my father already opened our hearth to you.”

Pa beamed.

“Make yourselves at home,” she continued, nodding to the group. “We’ll get some stew started.”

They made their way around the village, chattering among themselves. Badbr and Syrabane went first, with Rindolin following them, and Weedum following him. Aldra spared a glance towards Maces, before disappearing into the hut. Soon, all that was left was Pa, Eleski, and Maces-the-Nord.

There was a short silence, before one spoke. “There’s not normally just one hunter in a village,” Maces said, staring off into the woods. “It’s safer in groups. What happened to the others?”

Pa answered before she could. “I’m gettin’ too old. We’re a small enough village - we make do with just the one.” They didn’t talk about what happened to Helmar. No one really knew. Maces hummed absentmindedly, eyes still trained on the forest, and Eleski got the feeling he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

“You should get inside,” Eleski said. “Sundown’s approaching.”

Maces glanced towards her, raising a brow. “You don’t stay out past sundown?”

“Strange creatures lurk in those woods.”

He laughed quietly, eyes glinting, and Eleski went to bed that night after endless stories with a full stomach, a warm cloak, and a secret shared.

#god. god this took me forever #eleski kyne-blood #friend's ocs #i'm tired of looking at it so hERE #/lh

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