stale sandwich


“Audrey?” says Alex. His voice is a creak. “Audrey. Shit. We were supposed to have lunch…”

“It’s okay,” says Audrey. “One of the copy boys got me a stale cheese sandwich from the café downstairs. No need to feel bad.”

“Urghhh,” groans Alex. “Too late for that. Did Naomi tell you about the absinthe? I’m never touching that stuff again. I’ve never been so sick in my life. I was throwing up for 2 or 3 hours, non-stop. I think I threw up my liver, followed by my stomach lining. I can’t believe the effect it had on me. Usually I can hold my alcohol pretty well, can’t I, Aud? But the absinthe that Amanda brought last night…I don’t know, it’s almost as if it erased half my brain. I can’t remember anything past her giving me my first glass.”

“You know, I think Alex just had a bad reaction,” says Naomi. “It was almost like an allergic reaction. Although Amanda did say he was tossing down one glass after another. You’ll know better next time, won’t you my darling?”

“There won’t be a next time,” says Alex. “Jesus Christ. Could you get me some more water, angel? My mouth feels like the bottom of a budgerigar’s cage.”

Naomi has no choice but to obey. She gives a thin-lipped smile then clatters back down the stairs. Audrey sits down on the edge of the couch, wanting to scoot over and give Alex a hug, but then she notices something.

“Alex, what’s with all this fur everywhere?” she says. 

“What?” says Alex. 

“There’s white hair all over the couch. Look. I think it’s dog hair. Was there a dog here last night?”

“You know, I think…I think Amanda may have had a dog,” says Alex. 

“You think she may have had a dog?” says Audrey. “For God’s sake, Alex. How wasted must you have been to not be able to remember if she had a dog or not?”

“I told you, I was completely hammered,”says Alex. “She could have brought an elephant up here and I wouldn’t have been any the wiser.”

Naomi has returned with Alex’s glass of water. 

“Thanks, sweetheart. Listen, did Amanda have a dog with her last night?” Alex asks her. “Because Audrey just pointed out there’s dog hair everywhere.”

Naomi looks incredulous. 

“Of course she did. Her Samoyed, Shuba. Honestly, Alex. The amount of alcohol you drank last night must have completely destroyed your short term memory.”

“Maybe things will start coming back to me later, “says Alex. “I’m sure I’ll remember the Samoyed, eventually. You know, Samoyeds are one of my favourite breeds. Beautiful dogs. I love them. Absolutely love them.”

Andrew's Unmentioned Habits

Okay so this boy spent his entire life in the foster care system, you can bet your ass he’s picked up some weird habits that confuse people. As a child who was in the system I have had or still have some of these habits.

Clothing habits:

He sometimes buys things that are two sizes too big so he can grow into it, despite the fact that he’s over 20 years old and not going to grow.

He buys thick things like sweaters and jackets and boots. They last longer.

He buys dark clothes because messes are easy to hide on those and they’re usually the first color washed. (I mean he wears black anyway too but also this)

He doesn’t buy new clothes every season or school year, he gets a collection of clothes and wears them until they wear out because they’re still good. (Probably part of the reason he hates seeing Neil in the same 8 outfits. Reminds him of himself when he was younger)

Food Habits:

He will eat anything. Like, anything. He wasn’t always given a choice when it came to food so he had to learn to adapt

Because he didn’t always have enough food growing up, when he got enough he would take some and hide it for later when he didn’t have any. This habit sometimes carries on into adult hood and Kevin usually finds moldy biscuits and sandwiches and stale chips around the dorm.

He can cook. Nothing fancy but he can cook his own meals. Chicken, pasta, some special dishes. Couldn’t always rely on adults to feed him.

Sleeping Habits:

He can sleep in any environment. Cold and heat don’t bother him.

He can sleep through most any noise. Talking won’t wake him.

He can sleep completely still when he’s next to someone so as not to wake them.

“Bromance in the pipe with Alek Oestreng at Oslo Winter Park #SyncronizedSnowboarding #ShareTheMountainWithYourFriends #RK1” -Stale Sandbech
Photo cred Gjermund Braaten

How to Love an Isle Boy

An Auradon girl who thinks she understands the Isle and an Isle boy who pretends he’s from Auradon.

They try to make it work. 

Warning: Life on the Isle is no good. Deals with serious content and mental trauma.

It’s sad that it took a dragon and nearly the destruction of Auradon to bring them closer, but Jane is grateful for it nonetheless. They have open talks and better communication, more love and trust between them. A real relationship. It’s fantastic.

Except for the tight smile her mother is giving her now.

“A date? With…Carlos de Vil?”

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anonymous asked:

Can I have a Tom Holland x reader where reader is in the hospital and he's visiting kids there and he stops in to talk to the reader but then keeps coming back to talk to her because he likes her? And maybe they end up going on a date or something?

You knew it was happening, had known for weeks, it had been circulating around the wards. The staff tried to stay professional, but when the day finally came around, you noticed more than half the staff had put that little bit more effort into their appearance. You couldn’t blame them, not really, seeing as THE Tom Holland was gracing the hospital with his charismatic and bubbly personality.

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Your head flew to the side, a bit of blood dripping out the corner of your mouth as the Irishman brought his fist back down back his side. Your head was throbbing from the numerous punches you had taken. You stopped counting after 7 but you were sure they were way passed that by now. Your right eye was already swollen to the point where you couldn’t see out of it, you were sure you had a gash on your cheek from their rings and your lip was busted to the point of slurring your speech. You were a tough girl, you had made it into the Sons, but you had to admit that things weren’t looking good for you and you had gotten your ass beat.

You’d already been wherever you were for days and your captors hadn’t been the best hosts. They’d only given you food twice in 4 days and when they did feed you, it was just bottled water and a stale bologna sandwich that you could barely eat anyways because of your split lip. You had faith in your club but you were going on 5 days and you were still stuck in this warehouse. The men never spoke in front of you and sometimes they spoke in what you assumed might’ve been Gaelic so you were completely clueless to everything.

Closing your eyes, you leaned your head back and silently talked to Juice and your brother, wishing them to hurry up and figure this shit out so you could get out of here.
At the Clubhouse, all the guys were sitting in their seats around the Reaper table having Church. “It’s been 4 days Jax! They’re going to fucking kill her if we don’t do something!” Juice’s patience was wearing thin with all these debates and discussions about what they should do. He knew they had to be careful when dealing with the Irish but you were his Old Lady and he thought that Jax would be a little more active when he found out they had his baby sister. “You think I don’t know that Juice? She’s my sister and I want her back as much as you do but she’s still a member of this club, which means this still falls into club business. We can’t get all emotional and jump head first into this without having a plan.”

Times like this were when Jax wished he never had the gavel. As just a son or even V.P. he would’ve gone with his instincts and gone with Juice the first day to get you back, guns blazing. But he wasn’t just a Son. Clay was dead and he was the President now. He knew a lot more now than he knew then and he knew they had to go about this the right way.

Jax put his hands together in a praying fashion and leaned his head against them,closing his eyes, trying to keep a level head. The Chapel was silent as he thought. Finally he lifted his head and looked to his Brothers. “Let’s get all our weapons together. Hap,” Happy nodded to him, already agreeing to whatever Jax was going to say. “Get Tacoma down here.”
At this point all you wanted was a warm meal and a bath. Your stomach was growling almost continuously and every part of you was sore from being tied to this chair for hours on end, even sleeping in it. They only let you up to use the bathroom and then put you right back. You could feel the dried blood on your face making your skin tight, pieces of your hair stuck to your face. You didn’t need a mirror to know you looked rough. You closed your eyes, deciding to try and get some sleep.

You had started nodding off when you heard gunshots and yelling in the distance. You lifted your head up and felt your heart rate start to increase. More shots followed by more yelling continued but they didn’t sound like they were getting any closer. Suddenly, the metal door swung open and Jax ran in and coming straight to you, immediately bending down and beginning to work on untying the bindings on your feet. “About damn time.” He laughed a little and stood up straight to untie your hands. Looking to your face, he stopped. It was dark in the room but he could still see you were beat to hell. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart for leaving you like this for days.

Finally untying your hands, he pulled away and you stood up, only for your legs to give out. He caught you before you hit the ground and held you up. “Shit.” Being mindful of your injuries, he picked you up gently and held you in his arms bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head against his shoulder as he walked towards the door. “It’s ok sis. I got you.” you nodded and closed your eyes, grateful that this was finally over.

…Pride comes to see you at your volunteer job and it leaves him with complicated feelings.


Pairing: Pride x Reader

A/N: This one went longer than expected.


You’ve always enjoyed helping your community. New Orleans is still full of so many suffering people that it feels you with the need to give aid. You hate it when people are hurt or sick, which is why to volunteered to help at this little health tent.

You’re not super trained to be a nurse but you’ve had enough classes that you’re allowed to treat patients. You enjoy your work but sometimes the people you work with can get on your nerves. You don’t know what it is about this place but nurses and doctors keep hitting on you. 

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Creepypasta #679: She Is Not Coming Back Home

Story length: Long

When I was seven my sister went missing. She was sixteen - rebellious and pretty enough to have an older, no-good boyfriend whom we only found out about much later, just like the stash of ecstasy pills we discovered under her desk. 

What I remember about those days feels like a dream – her smiling, dimpled face was plastered on seemingly every wall of our town; police officers and well-meaning neighbours flooded our house night and day, offering sympathetic words and lukewarm casseroles in equal measure. She got herself a Wikipedia page, she made it to the national television, in a heart-breaking report by some inspired journalist; she made it to the national radio and to the most read newspapers – and yet, she never made it back home.

Every Christmas my parents hang a photo of her instead of stockings on our fireplace; when her birthdays come round in the haze of August they buy an entire box of her favourite ice-cream and make me eat it with them – we spend the entire day like that, letting the sweet peanut butter-chocolate blend melt on our fingers, sticky with sweat and tears we still try to hide from each other. To this day, my parents firmly believe she is alive somewhere. They made a forum dedicated to her memory. They still put up missing signs, still keep her bedroom just as she left it – I do not think they will ever give up.

However, I know better.

When I was eight, lost and alone as my mom still cried herself to sleep every day and my dad still slept on the couch every night to be there to open the door in case Alex might just knock; I used to sneak away after school and go to the park. Alone, I would play on the swings where my sister had skinned her knee once and then threw sand in my face when I had dared to laugh at her; and eat my packed lunch, in silence, before coming back home to a similar silence.

The problem with the swings, though, was that they were popular with the other children – and that meant that on most days I was left to wander around the park, munching on the stale sandwiches my mom prepared all in one day to eat during the week (or the month). That, of course, was not good for me – and one day, almost eight months after my sister had vanished into thin air, I ended up vomiting in a bush. It went on for a while, and I was shaking and scared that I was going to die alone, at the park, courtesy of an ancient tuna sandwich – I was as dramatic as only kids can be. 

Then, in the midst of a dry heave, I felt a familiar, shaking hand massage my shoulder – and smelt a stench I will never forget, mixed with the scent of those cheap perfumes my sister adored.

“Go home, wake up mom and make her prepare you a proper lunch. Maybe ask her to give you a haircut, too.” murmured my sister in a tiny, trembling voice. “Don’t turn back!” she snapped, as I tried to look at her. 

Since I thought she just did not want me to vomit on her shoes, I obliged. I still managed to ask her when she was coming home – at that, her hand suddenly froze from rubbing circles between my shoulder blades.

“I can’t, Ellie. Just… it’s too late now. I was an idiot.” The sound of a choked sob “Don’t tell them about this, please.” I nodded again and she patted me on the shoulder a couple of times before getting up and wandering off. I waited a couple of minutes before turning around and running home to shake my mom and brush my teeth– but that’s another story.

What is important to this tale is the memory of my first anatomy lesson at medical school, when I was given my first corpse to dissect. I remember bursting into tears as soon as I entered the morgue, and my instructor telling me that is was normal – all the while I tried to reconcile the smell of the putrid flesh belonging to the body in front of me with the one that my sister, years back, had given off as she was telling me she could not go home.

Credits to: politeapple

A Day In The Life - 10th March 1964: Filming continues for A Hard Day’s Night.

On this day Ringo Starr films part of his solo sequence for The Beatles’ debut film A Hard Day’s Night. The location is the Turks Head pub on Winchester Road in Twickenham, Middlesex. Ringo is filmed trying to eat a stale sandwich, ruining a game of shove ha’penny, accidentally smashing a beer glass, and throwing some badly-aimed darts.

A Truth Serum story for Swan Queen Week. Rated R or something like that, for dirty talk. [Warnings for references to het sex]

The Truth Will Set You Free.

“I hate Emma Swan but I also really deeply care about her!” Regina shouted the strange sentiment moments after downing a glass of wine laced with a powerful truth serum.

Emma stared hard at her, not at all surprised…which was weird.

Gold started giggling immediately and had to be hauled from the room by Belle and Ruby. “What did you do?” They heard Ruby hiss from beyond the door, her voice deepening like it sometimes did when anger sent her shape-shifting before the moon’s time was up.

“He spiked my wine and you’re in love with Belle!” Regina shouted again. She shook her head.


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On the Nesting Habits of Frost Giants

Inspired by this:


I have a sudden, nearly-debilitating yearning for a fluffy, nesting!Loki Frostiron fic. Maybe it’s a Jotun thing, or a demi-god thing, who knows. But I want him nicking Tony’s clothes to stow away because they smell like him, suddenly demanding tons of fluffy pillows be added to the bed… And Tony’s completely baffled by the whole thing.

Loki’s either flustered/defensive about the whole thing, or all like “whatever motherfucker, my nest is glorious.”

“On the Nesting Habits of Frost Giants”

Of course Bruce wanted to turn it into a paper or something. Maybe a thesis for another degree to add to the alphabet soup behind his name. Tony thought he just enjoyed collecting degrees like they were Lamborghini or something. Tony was all about the scientific method. Loved it even if his own approaches were a bit…sloppy at times. But hey, you learn the rules to break the rules better. It had only taken Tony staring down the Hulk once for Bruce to learn some parts and applications of the scientific method didn’t apply to Tony’s kids.

Or Loki’s.

Especially the pillow fort.

(To be fair, the Hulk seemed to grasp the concept of ‘pillow fort’ a bit more easily than Bruce.)

It was a bit of haphazard mess. The couch had been crammed into a corner and flopped over on its side to reinforce the exposed edge of the fort that wasn’t flanked by wall. Two armchairs and an ottoman provided structure in the corner and kept the heavy curtains stretched taut across the roof of the pillow fort. Glass knicknacks and porcelain whatsits were laid out along the perimeter in a tight, glittering little moat of sharp edges and expensive Swarovskicrystal.

Bruce said it looked like the sort of thing Tony would build as a kid.

Tony said his would have had more turrets and projectile defenses.

At that point, Pepper had rolled her eyes at both of them and said stuffed dinosaurs and left a tiny blue tyrannosaur in the doorway where they had taken to leaving Loki’s dinner.

The tiny blue tyrannosaur now occupied point of honor standing guard by the dark entrance to the pillow fort.

Tony refused to admit he was jealous of a stuffed toy.

He’d been inside the pillow fort once and the entire time Loki had watched him, quivering and shaking, fingers digging into his forearms and frost creeping up to his shoulder. Crimson eyes never left Tony as he poked and prodded the fort and tried to offer advice on how to shore up one edge or reinforce another, hey, a project was a project, regardless if it was inspired by last trimester boredom or millennial old instincts from a species they were all still trying to come to grips with.

Tony tries to understand. Knows that Loki is trying even harder, knows he struggles with instincts and no context.

Knows that Loki fears himself going feral and mad as the monsters he was raised to hate.

Tony doesn’t tell Loki that the marks and lines are beautiful, that he doesn’t see a monster at all but instead the gloriously bizarre potential of the universe, like Loki’s skin is etched in circuits and diodes and transistors, all Art Deco industrial science fiction and Tony *loves* it.

So when Loki starts fraying at the edges and getting that mad, flighty look that Tony remembers seeing in the mirror in Afghanistan, that need to break and destroy rather than be broken and destroyed, Tony gives him more pillows. Orders them from around the world, finest thread count, cotton and silk and velvet, filled with down and fleece and buckseed, synthetic and organic until he’s half-convinced that a corporate takeover of Martha Stewart would be worth the trouble of dealing with her lawyers again.

Tony leaves his shirts and starts buying them in bulk, cranks up the temperature in the work shop until it’s hot enough he starts sweating just by walking through the door, wears them until the white cotton is sodden with his salt and musk, stiff with the scent of him and the grease under his fingernails he always wipes across his abdomen.

He leaves the shirts by the tiny blue tyrannosaur. Leaves food by the door. Reads Shakespeare and Tolstoy and Nitzche until he hears Loki shuffle and turn over. Does everything he can not to think of the pillow fort as a nest.

Nests are weird. Nests are for birds and dinosaurs and slow, slithering reptile things.

Not for his lover, not for wild and mercurious Loki who should be sprawled across a king sized bed as his belly swells with child, draped with soft sheets and surrounded by strawberries and chocolates and Belgian waffles.

(Pepper keeps accusing him of having no idea of what pregnant people act like. Tony concedes a certain lack of experience in the area.)

Then one day there is a squall and a shriek and Tony tries to dive head first into the pillow fort nest and catches sight of something soft and white and oblong before a foot comes crashing into his face and forces him out of the nest ass first.

The bleeding eventually stops.

Loki doesn’t come out.

Tony waits an hour, then another, sitting and fretting and drinking and eating whatever cold coffee and stale sandwich he takes notice of someone setting beside him. The hours stretch into a day and no, Capsicle, he’s not moving until Loki comes out or groans or something beside JARVIS assuring him both heartbeats are strong and body temperatures are within predicted parameters. It’s not real, none of it, until Tony sees it with his own eyes.

He decides to take his chances the second day.

The nest sort of stinks, thick and musky and Tony can smell himself more than anything else in there, the scent of metal and ozone and sweat, and some distant part of himself wonders if this is Loki’s way of making sure the kids will know Tony. Loki curls up in the distant corner of the dim space, arms and legs wrapped tight around his center as though he can tuck the egg back into the safety of his abdomen. Tony spares precisely two brain cycles to freaking out about the egg thing before remembering JARVIS saying two healthy heartbeats. It’s a nest, an egg only makes sense following that bizarre line of logic.

He curls up next to Loki, slips an arm around his shoulder and tries not to wince at how those lines are now stretches so damned tight across bone. Always tall and lean, but never this painfully skinny. But Loki’s breath is slow and even, grows deeper a moment as Tony snuggles in close, surprised at how *warm* Loki and the egg are. Loki murmurs something under his breath and shifts until Tony can tuck his head under Loki’s chin.

Tony strokes his mate’s back until both of calm and slip into the first proper sleep either of them have known in weeks, the steady heartbeat of their child between them.