#Gas stove 2 burner

[raajrajasharma]

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[preethihomeappliances]

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[arunarura]

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[intertexts]

dressing in pure colorblocked black and white to signify both my mod, avant-garde sensibilities & my neutral moral alignment

[mephistopheleswasrobbed]

Finally I'm back to list all of the evidence that Peaceful Property On Sale is gay, actually!

This week again, our boys were fighting out their differences. But while last week they were fighting about class differences and the arrogance of the rich, this week their fight seems a little closer to home (pun intended) as we're talking about (chosen) family and home-cooked food as one of its signifiers. But more on that later. For now:

1

Pangpang's audience have seen Peach and Home interact like three times but they already ship it. Seeing as we, the show's audience, have seen even more of their interactions, and more intimate moments at that, we clearly have to ship even harder.

2

Home is still going with the pigtail-pulling strategy to deal with his crush.

He tries to make Peach say he's handsome:

And then he makes Peach dance for him:

All the while pretending he's doing all of this because he's some kind of old-school Bond villain and not because he likes him.

3

Aside from their more serious fights, Home and Peach keep bickering in a way that is supremely couple-coded.

Pangpang has also noticed.

Peach, at one point, is so busy complaining about Home that he even forgets to be scared of ghosts.

4

Speaking of people being uncharacteristically unscared: Home also experiences a moment of courage in the face of Peach trembling all over the place, when he steps up to deliver the coffee to Ride.

The fear only comes back when the ghost appears next to Peach, so. Make of that what you will.

5

Back at their base of operations, Home, very subtly, marks his territory by just plopping down on the siblings' new bed, while the bed owners in question sit on the sofa instead.

This is now the second time Home has actively chosen to lay on their bed. (It is also the second time he proceeds to stand on their bed once he goes back to fighting with Peach) One has to wonder why he feels so comfortable making himself at home (höhö) in Peach's bed. (It's because of gay, clearly.)

6

Relatedly, Home has given Peach and Pangpang a home in his place. He could have had them move into any of the many properties he owns, but he chose to let them stay in the one place that is "reserved for" him, that clearely means something to him.

We can see how much this place means to him, both from the flashback and from the fight he starts with Peach over the gas burner. Because it is important to him, he doesn't want it endangered by open fire. However he doesn't just say this, maybe because he doesn't want to appear weak or thinks that the others wouldn't understand or maybe because he's not fully aware of it himself. Instead, when his order is met with protest, he gets grumpy, starts a fight with Peach and leaves.

Because this bar is important to him and, (even though he might not fully admit it at this point), so is Peach's opinion, he gets visibly disappointed when Peach talks negatively about it after Home offers to let them stay somewhere else,

only to perk up again and reminice about his grandpa when Peach says that he wants to stay anyway.

Honestly this, coupled with the ep 1 grandpa flashback about the meaning of "home" is giving me CLW vibes of recently dead (grand-)father meddling from beyond the grave to get his (grand-)son a boyfriend.

7

Once Home has calmed down from his immediate anxiety over the safety of his bar, and has come back because he was lonely and scared by himself, he attempts to genuinely understand why cooking is so important to Peach and why his "solution" of "Just order takeout" was not met with agreement.

We can even see that he feels a little bad about Peach having to cook with a microwave,

leading to him compromising and getting them an electric stove at the end.

(Of course he's still disguising his kindness as a gotcha moment)

8

We learn that Home has been pretty lonely since his parents died, symbolised by his having to eat alone. While he's alone in the masion he doesn't even want to admit his lonelieness out lout to just himself. But when he's talking to Peach in the next scene, he talks about it easily and freely with little to no prompting from Peach. Because he feels safe with Peach.

This is also why, after Home gets lonley and scared in the mansion, he comes to Peach and Pangpang in the first place. Not to his uncle or Kan or Suradech (we see later in that scene, that he's clearly not too worried disturbing people outside their working hours when he calls Kan). Because being with them (especially Peach) makes him feel safer and less lonely.

9

In parallel to Thansai, who did this with Ride, the guy she liked, Home uses the excuse of having ordered too much food to spend more time with Peach (the guy he likes).

Credit to almayver for this point, not sure I would have caught that myself.

Adding to that, after the first time where Thansai lies, she does actually order extra food to share with Ride. Home, meanwhile, has ordered too much food from the beginning (sharing it with gramps the first time). He's always orderd extra food because he's always wanted to have someone to share it with. And now he's finally found them (him ^^).

10

After Home opens up to Peach, he lets Home in a little more, in turn, by inviting him to help him with his cooking.

And even though he words it more like an order than an invitation, Home clearly recognises the olive branch and gets to looking for the soap to wash some vegetables, without any complaint. (Oh Home you sheltered little rich boy) (Although I can't make fun of him too much for this. It sounds exactly like something I would do had I never cooked before)

This leads to the wonderful, very subtle moment of the two of them cooking together under the "Cok Long" sign. (And since there is such a clear shot of this, no one can convince me this wasn't done with full intent)

Peach continuing to warm up to Home, is further exemplified by his willingness to play along with his BS after the successful exorcism

and the fact that he unconciously prepares a fourth plate for Home at the end of the episode. For which he promptly gets called out by Pangpang.

11

Peach feels safe with Home. He has (maybe subconciously) taken note of the events of the previous episode, as he's now turning to Home when he gets scared by the ghost.

Interesting to note, even after he confirms that Ride has left, he doesn't fully let go of Home. Someone's looking very comfortable clutching Home's arm even though there's no ghost anymore.

12

I think the entire scene of Pangpang calling them the mother and father of their little family speaks for itself.

It's okay boys, Thailand passed gay marriage, you can both be the dad.

13

And then we get another moment of absolute boyfriend behaviour in the end credits when Home steals Peach's glasses to play with them.

Him putting the glasses on Kan at the end is also the only moment this episode that could maaaaybe be interpreted as slightly flirtatious towards Kan, but if you do interpret it that way, you also have to admit that he was flirting with Peach a lot more in that scene.

BONUS

Peach didn't punch anyone this episode, so instead I'm bringing you

Lesbians

It startet with them holding hands last week as they fled from Rak

and turned into bickering over whether or not Kan gets scared by ghosts. (A topic which I assume will give these two grounds for further bickering for at least the next couple of episodes.)

(Judging by the smirks on Peach and Home's faces whenever these two go at it, Pangpang might not be the only shipper in the group anymore)

When Home doesn't want to come to her party, she proclaims that she "has got Kan", so that's okay, and then batts her eyelashes at Kan.

Pangpang said "I see your 'emotionally constipated boys trying to pretend they don't like each other' and I raise you 'unashamed and uncompomising flirting sunshine x grumpy style'"

Looking forward to see how Kan will answer that going forward.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Cautionary Tale on Carbon Monoxide

So, for the last 2 weeks or so my smoke alarm/carbon monoxide alarm has been beeping sporadically. I paid it no mind because there was no smoke, nothing was burning and I did not think it could be anything else. I assumed the alarm or batteries were going bad because they had been here forever ago.

So, we changed the batteries and bought a new alarm, and installed them through the house a week ago. The beeping stopped. However, a few days ago while I was cooking the beeping came back. Again, no smoke in the home and nothing was burning. We are searching trying to figure out why it keeps going off.

I constantly have my essential oil diffuser plugged in and running so some searches came back saying certain essential oils might set off the alarm if strong enough and my 16-year-old has been fear rubbing herself with Citronella essential oils(repellent for mosquitoes) because whenever the door opened these new breed mosquitos fly in and she is terrified if her face and body looking like a swollen pepperoni pizza🙄😂. (The concerns of a 16-year-old who was looking out for her upcoming first day of school face card status lmao)

Finally, after some YT videos and Google searches, we began to suspect it was beeping because of carbon monoxide. So we hurry and get out of the house, food still on the stove half cooked, and wait for the gas/electric company to come to investigate and fix the problem.

When the tech comes he walks inside the house and instantly the machine he carried to check the PPM set off a reading of 41. This level is highly dangerous and prolonged exposure can result in health risks and possibly death.😳

He continued to walk through the house and found pockets in the house where the PPM was 38-41(still dangerous). He goes into the kitchen and instantly says, I see your problem. He goes to the stove and points to my favorite, can't live without have used almost every time I cook 11" Copper Chef casserole pot and says this is the culprit.

Apparently, the size of the pot covers my entire burner so there is no ventilation happening under the pot which is bad. He then points to another favorite pot on the back burner and says this one is also bad because of the size of the pot. He turned on the fire under the Copper Chef pot and instantly his machine went up to 144 PPM😳.

I was appalled. He asked about how we all were feeling and asked who the cook in the house was and of course it was me✋🏽. I felt fine. I usually always have headaches and feel tired, he said I could be suffering from long-term carbon monoxide exposure and should go to the hospital to be sure.

To make this longer story just plain ol' long, I say all of this to caution you guys on pot sizes for your gas stove burners and to say it could be the things/ways you least expect.

Tips from the gas/electric company tech

-Make sure your pot is not bigger/wider than your burner flames.

-Turn on your overhead vent or open your kitchen windows when cooking for either or both of these: 1) If your pots are bigger than the burner flames or 2) To take an extra level of safety.

-If you are using bigger pots try to open closet doors throughout your home because the carbon monoxide can creep into the closed closet and remain there for hours.

-In your gas using ovens do not have any liners or protectors(the ones you put down to prevent spills or drips as you bake) on the bottom of the oven if they come anywhere near the two ventilation slits in the oven(where the flames/heat rises).

-If you have done all of the above and constantly feel lightheaded, dizzy, persistent headaches, fatigue, sleepiness, be safe and just get it checked out in the ER or Urgent Care.

Be safe out there y'all. Carbon Monoxide is known as a silent killer.

[haveatthee83]

Under My Skin (Monkey D. Luffy/Reader) 2/7

Inspo: Under My Skin by Jukebox the Ghost

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Angst, arguing, cursing, angry Luffy, discussion of death and dead relatives, brief descriptions of violence.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You rose with the sun, kicking off your covers and rolling out your back. You peeked out of the window, the sandstorm still raged on outside. You huffed and frowned hoping it would let up soon. You had plenty of chores to do outside to set up for you leaving, animals that you needed to find care for.

You pushed those worries to the side, pushing yourself up and padding to the bathroom, quickly washing your face and brushing your teeth, speeding through your morning routine.

You then crept down one door, slipping into your bedroom, not waking the sleeping Nami before digging through your dresser for clothes for the day, quickly changing into a new cropped tank top and jean shorts before creeping back out the door and into the kitchen.

You marveled at the spotless counters and floors, seemingly scrubbed clean. You couldn’t be impressed for long though, rushing to work. You grabbed out two of your chickens’ eggs out of your fridge, heaving them onto your counter, before grabbing a large bowl out of one of your cabinets. You grabbed a knife and a whisk, washing your hands before returning to work.

You hummed to yourself as you picked up one egg, slapping your knife onto the hard shell a few times, setting the knife down and pulling the shell apart when the crack was big enough. You tossed the shell into the compost before doing the same with the second egg. The bowl was almost full as you stuck in the whisk, breaking the yolks before whisking carefully. When the eggs were thoroughly combined, you grabbed your four burner pan, setting it onto your stove and turning all of the burners on low, blowing out a little flame to light the gas.

You reached back into your fridge and just plopped a whole stick of butter from your neighbor’s cow into the rapidly heating up pan. You carefully picked up the large bowl, pouring the egg into the massive pan as soon as the butter melted. When the bowl was empty you set all your dishes into the sink, washing any egg residue off of your hands before turning back to the pan, the bottom of the eggs barely solidifying, and shook heaping servings of salt, pepper, garlic, and crushed, dried cayenne from your green house into the eggs, ‘not enough to burn’ you thought with a smile, ‘just enough to warm the mouth and soul a bit’ recalling your uncle’s seasoning mantra. ‘Clears out your sinuses’ he’d insist. Besides, you didn’t know how well these pirates could handle their spice, so reserved would have to do for now.

You grabbed a spatula and folded the eggs in the pan, keeping the eggs moving so none of it would brown or burn. When the eggs were looking like they were in a good spot, you turned on your oven and put it very low, just enough to keep food warm, helping it along with a little huff of your flames before setting the pan of cooked egg into it.

You then grabbed out two more large pans, two burners this time, and started to heat them up, moving back to your fridge, grabbing out pack after pack of bacon and breakfast sausage, setting them into their respective pans. As you let them sizzle you easily slid over and grabbed out five four slice toasters, plugging them in and setting slices of homemade sourdough bread into each slot, easily burning through a loaf, sending them down with a click. You rolled over to the pans with popping and browning breakfast meats, reaching to the side and sprinkling brown sugar over the bacon, letting it set in and cook with it. When they were both done, you opened the oven again and slid both of them into it, on the top rack. You had one more rack left to keep food warm, which made you think, should you make more?

You mulled it over, closing the oven up and looking around your kitchen, eyes landing on your massive box of quick grits. You grinned and grabbed out your other four burner pan, getting right to work, quickly boiling water, adding milk, butter and the grits as needed. You let that bubble and simmer, stirring constantly to make sure none of it stuck to the bottom or sides.

When it was ready, you heard all of the toasters pop up in a line, making you smile. You grabbed the grits and slid them into the oven as well, closing it, turning off the stove, and going back to the toast. You grabbed out a large plate, a new stick of butter, and a butter spreader. The butter was solid and cold, so you held it in your hands, gently warning them up, just enough to soften it. You got right to work, grabbing out each piece of toast, buttering it and adding it to your ever-growing stack. When all of the toast was buttered, you sliced the stack down the middle, setting it up in smaller stacks along the plate, setting it up on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, where you’d put the rest of the food when the pirates were awake, which would be soon. You knew that cook couldn’t stay asleep too long.

Next you opened your fridge and grabbed out an armful of fruit, setting it onto the counter before grabbing your favorite fruit knife and a large cutting board you’d also use to serve the fruit up on. You made quick work of the variety if fruits in front of you. You wanted to make sure the pirates got plenty of vitamins, always wary of scurvy. You sliced up Mango, oranges, melons, bananas and your island’s native fruit. No one really had a set name for it, but it tasted like if pineapples and peaches had a baby, but it looks like a cantaloupe that grows in a tree.

After the fruit was all prepared, you set it up onto the counter, turning back to your fridge and grabbing out your pitchers of orange juice and milk, setting them up as well all alongside cups, and plates with forks and spoons, none of which matched, of course. You sighed, taking in your work with a nod before taking out the food from the oven, switching it off. You looked at the clock on your mantle in the living room and sighed, why aren’t they up yet?

Frowning, you thought it over but relented to your impatience, not wanting the food to get cold. You grabbed out a wooden spoon and moved to the side of your fridge, looking right down the hallway, “WAKE UP! BREAKFAST TIME! EAT IT NOW OR GO HUNGRY!” you shouted at the top of your lungs, smacking the spoon against the side of your fridge with a smile.

You heard thumps and muttering in the rooms with the Straw-Hats, content that they were awake, so you put back your spoon and got to work washing the dishes in the sink. You heard two sets of feet eagerly sprinting down the short hallway, Zoro and Sanji being the first ones in the kitchen, bickering the whole way, “Eat up, boys. Take as much as you want.” You said, jerking your head over to the large spread of food.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Luffy’s not up yet.” Zoro muttered, rushing to fill his plate with a little bit of everything.

Sanji looked over the spread with intrigue, “How many eggs did you use?” he asked, noting the massive portion.

You shrugged, laying the last dish on the drying rack, turning to the cook, drying off your hands with your towel, “Just two. No biggie.”

Sanji’s brain short circuited for a moment, eyes flitting between you and the fluffy eggs, “Two? How?”

You chuckled at the blond’s exasperated face, “We have giant animals on this island, remember? I talked about it during the tour. I was going to show you mine, but the sandstorm kicked that plan to the curb.” You explained, opening your fridge up and pointing to your one remaining egg, easily double the size of an ostrich egg. “I own three six-foot-tall chickens you can ride, and my neighbor has two cows the size of my house, and we’re famous for our massive wild boars! They’re huge and really mean, they’re a pain in the ass to kill, but they’re damned tasty. All that bacon and sausage wasn’t even a fraction of what came from that pig.”

Sanji’s mind whirred with possibilities, ‘That might keep up with Luffy’s massive appetite.’  He thought, obliging as you ushered him to go and eat.

Nami came in next, ready for the day, but still bleary eyed and half awake. You laughed quietly at her predicament, “Should I put on a pot of coffee?” the ginger nodded, yawning as she went to fix herself a plate.

“Damn, this looks good.” She muttered, piling her plate high. You shook your head and turned to make a quick pot of coffee, “Got any sugar for the grits?” she asked.

You nodded, grabbing two cannisters from the side of the stove, resting them on a small sliver of space you found on the counter, “This one’s white sugar, this one’s brown sugar.” You showed her, opening and closing each before turning back to your work on the coffee.

Usopp, Robin, and Chopper all filed in next, stretching and yawning. They all grabbed their plates and ushered themselves to their previously claimed seats in your living room. You glanced into the room with a smile, a warm feeling settling in your chest at having a full house again, even if it’s smaller than before. “Who wants coffee?” you chimed, noting all of their hands raised besides Chopper and nodded, “Do you think Luffy will want any?” the whole crew shook their head with quiet giggles. You took that in with a smile, grabbing out five mugs out of the cabinet, filling each with the hot coffee, leaving a bit of room for cream and sugar in each, just in case. You grabbed three in one hand and two in the other, putting them onto the coffee table with a smile before rushing back to the fridge to grab out a small pitcher of cream and your canister of sugar, setting them by the mugs.

A chorus of thank you’s and happy sighs resounded around you. “Aren’t you eating?” Robin asked, adding a spoon of sugar into her mug.

“Yeah!” you exclaimed, looking around you, “I’m just used to making sure everyone else has their plates before I do.”

Zoro snorted a laugh, biting into a sausage link, “You better cut that out with Luffy around.” He snickered. “That man could eat a whole fleet of ships and ask for ice cream after.”

The crew all snickered and giggled in agreement, Nami urging you to grab yourself a plate, “He’ll grab his soon.”

So, you got to work, piling your plate with all of your favorites, fixing up your grits and grabbing a glass and filling it with orange juice before joining Nami again on the loveseat. Right as you started to tuck in, the sound of a slow patter of feet brought all of your attention back to the kitchen. Luffy was awake.

His eyes scanned the large expanse of food in front of him, just going ahead and devouring the food that was left at the counter, making you laugh a bit. Luffy didn’t notice or care, digging into the feast with sparkles in his eyes.

“That’s what he’s usually like.” Nami whispered in your ear.

Sanji scowled, “Aren’t you going to say thank you for breakfast?” he barked, making the captain pause, swallowing the mouthful he was working on.

“Thank you, Sanji! It’s really good. You should make breakfast like this more often; I don’t know what you did different.” He chimed, digging right back into his food.

Sanji went to correct him, but you stopped him, frantically waving at him, ‘NO!’ ‘LEAVE IT!’ ‘IT’S OKAY!’

Sanji frowned deeper and shook his head, calling out to his captain, surely this would make him like you a bit, maybe help him loosen up around you, “I can’t take any credit.”

“Shut up, Sanji!” you hissed quietly, your face heating up in embarrassment, and you tried to hide your face in your hat, holding your hands over your face, your plate in your lap.

“Our beautiful host got up early and made all of this.” He said resolutely, taking another bite of the delicious food with a smile.

Luffy paused, eyes darting to where you hid, Nami trying to reassure you, and set his jaw. Of course you could cook. Of course, Luffy liked it. ‘Of course.’ He thought bitterly, resuming his eating with a frown, swearing it tasted a bit sour now that he knew.

Zoro reached over and kicked Sanji’s foot, and when the blond whirled on him, Zoro just pointed expectantly at you and Luffy, you were just coming out of your hiding place with a frown, and Luffy who was eating with a scowl. Sanji couldn’t help but feel like he deserved the kick this time, even if he was only trying to help, he thought with a wince.

“It is very good,” Robin chimed.

Chopper nodded in her lap, “Uh-huh! It’s real tasty.”

The rest of the crew offered their agreement, even if it made their captain’s eye twitch. “You guys are just being nice.” You muttered, taking a sip of your orange juice.

Nami was about to deny your statement, but she was interrupted, “Probably are.” Luffy muttered lowly, taking a swig of milk straight from the pitcher.

You shrank in your seat, no longer hungry.

“Monkey D. Luffy.” Robin set her now empty mug onto your side table with an audible thump. “You are out of line.”

“You’re being a dick.” Zoro grumbled, taking the last few bites of his food.

The other Straw-Hats nodded, but you shook your head, “It’s oka-“

“It’s not okay.” Robin chastised you before whirling back to Luffy with a stern look, “We let you have your time yesterday, but we will not allow you to treat your crew so poorly.” Luffy scrunched his brows together, and Robin noticed her slip. The other Straw-Hats tensed up a bit, eyes flitting between Robin and their captain, “She’s coming with us.”

“What do yo-“

“She’s going to be part of the crew, frankly whether you like it or not, because I intend on taking her onto the Thousand Sunny and keeping her safe, hell or high water.” Robin held her captain’s gaze with cool, calm control. “So, either get with it, or get over it. You’re too old and too good of a person to be a bully.”

Luffy puffed up like a bird, anger coursing through him, he wasn’t a bully. He wasn’t mean. You just…You were the worst. Every time he looked at you a pang of sadness, rage, or regret coursed through him at full force. You pissed him off. You got under his skin, burrowing deep, making him scratch and dig to get you out.

You rose to your feet, clattering your plate onto the coffee table, bits of your food scattering along the wood. Luffy couldn’t see your eyes beneath the brim of your hat, but he could see your mouth pinched in a wince, a stream of tears coming down your face. You clenched your fists and rushed past Luffy, and he heard you sniffle as you passed him by before you whirled into your room, slamming the door behind you.

‘Shit.’ Luffy didn’t like you, sure, but he didn’t want to make you cry. The thought that he had made his teeth grit, and he slammed his face into his hands with a groan of anguish. Luffy was acting weird. Even he knew it.

“Luffy.” Came Robin’s level anger, and all he could muster was a hum of acknowledgement, “I need you to understand something. This woman showed us around her island, gave us shelter, food, water, she let Nami sleep in her own bed. She has been nothing but kind and has been wringing herself into knots worrying about making you upset, making excuse after excuse for your behavior.” She went on, setting Chopper and her plate aside, walking to be at the opposite side of the counter from him, “Did you know today is her brother’s birthday? Did you know today is the anniversary of her entire pirate crew being slaughtered by Marines? Her entire nakama gone! Just like that! Did you know she has no one else? She was still holding onto hope that she’d find Ace because he was the only person in her life she had left, only to find out he’d been dead for two years.”

Luffy flinched at every word, shame pouring over him, “She’s possibly the only person who could understand exactly how you feel and you’re lashing out at her!” Robin’s voice lowered dangerously as she continued, “Her brother died in her arms after saving her life, killed by a Marine Admiral. When she got me alone, one of the first things she asked me is if Ace died smiling. Did you know all three of them promised that’s how they’d go? Do you realize she’s the only one left?”

Luffy’s eyes watered into his palms, the pain of being the only one left wracking a sob through him. The Straw-Hats sucked in gasps as they heard his quiet cries. “I didn’t know.” He cried, over and over again he muttered through his tears, “I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I didn’t know.” Robin moved around the counter and took him into a tight hug.

“You didn’t know,” Robin whispered as he started to calm down, “but now you do.”

Luffy’s breath caught. She was right. Luffy still held a sour taste in his mouth when he thought about you, but he knew what the right thing was to do. He had to apologize. He had to apologize and change his behavior. He was being mean.

Luffy lifted his head from Robin’s shoulder and nodded, wiping his face with is hands. “I gotta apologize.” He mumbled, turning to walk down your hallway.

“It’ll be okay.” Robin called after him, her brows knit with worry, but she returned to her crew, sitting back down with Chopper.

Luffy stood in front of your doorway, hand raised to knock, but that’s when he heard you. You were still crying, sobbing in your room. Because of Luffy.

‘Fuck.’

Luffy fought through the pull of fear in his chest, racking his knuckles against the maroon painted door. God, nothing in your house matched. Even your doors were different colors.

“Go away.” You muttered, muffled by the door. “I’m crying and it’s not pretty!”

Luffy flinched a bit, but tried the door handle, finding it turning readily. He pushed the door open slowly, trying not to startle you. You were in your bed, to the left of the door, back to Luffy. For once, your hat was on your nightstand. Your shoulders shook with your small cries, and even from behind, Luffy could tell you were holding onto something.

“Go away, Luffy.” You muttered, curling deeper into yourself.

“How did you know it was me?”

“You’re lighter on your feet than the rest.” Luffy blinked back a bit of shock and closed your door, creeping up to you quietly. Luffy hesitated, but he sat on your bed at your feet, his back to yours. “What do you want?” you whispered, the saddest little question he had ever heard, and Luffy swore it felt like a kick to the balls, knocking his breath out of him.

“I-I need to apologize.” He stammered, fiddling with the strings of his hat under his chin. “I’ve been mean.”

You sniffled, but sat up, sitting perpendicular to Luffy, and he saw what you held in your hands. It was another picture. This one was just of you and your brother, sly smiles as you tried to pose formally. You wore a white suit, with vest and gloves and hat, the full shebang, and your brother wore a sparkling red gown, glamorous makeup on and his short hair gelled into finger waves, and in the background Luffy could see a Marine ball.

“He was my best friend, you know?” you whispered, thumb stroking your brother’s face, “He and my uncle were my only family, then when I was five, and he was seven, he started talking about sailing the seas, the two of us with a band of misfits and orphans. We’d make our own family, with our own rules, and we’d be infamous.” You told the story with a melancholy smile, “We both stumbled onto our devil fruits one day and ate them immediately. We trained any second we got between chores, staying up until the sun rose just practicing. The second he saved up enough Berry for a proper ship, we only set foot on land for my uncle’s birthday, then his funeral and to get supplies. We racked up a large crew as we hit island after island. Then we started targeting Marines. We’d always hated those fuckers, and suddenly we could do something about it.” You said with a shrug. “The bounties started pouring in, mine and his climbing higher and higher than we ever expected, but we stayed on course. We knew what we wanted. We wanted to sail together and take out as many marines as we could on the way. They suppressed stories about us in the newspapers, because they didn’t want people seeing some small fry pirate crew with a triple digit kill count.”

Luffy’s eyebrows shot up in shock, “Holy shit.”

You smirked, a little glint in your eye, “We were a pretty formidable little crew. We anchored just short of the Grand Line and set up lights and music, I made a damned feast all for my brother. It was his eighteenth birthday. We did all of that before we were even adults.” You said with a grin spreading across your face. It dropped when you started talking again, “I was giving a little speech when the first cannonball hit. We didn’t know what hit us. We all got into battle stations, but they had a fleet. We stood our ground and my crew died with honor. I convinced my brother to play dead with me, we’d either get out alive or we’d have a better chance to ambush any attackers. It wasn’t hard, we were both so damned beat up. I didn’t know why, but he insisted on laying half on top of me, for realism he said. Bullshit. We both froze and pretended to be corpses as that damned Admiral came down into the guts of the ship, he was stabbing bodies through the heart to make sure they were dead.” Your expression curled into a snarl, “When he got to us, I was waiting on my brother’s cue, he needed to hop up first then I’d pop up and go crazy. He didn’t. He laid perfectly still as that sword ran him through, I just had to not flinch as it dug into my stomach a bit,” you said, pointing to your exposed stomach, a scar to the right, “I held still, I couldn’t let the Admiral know we were alive! When he left, I tried to stop the bleeding, but it would’ve never worked. He was dying. I cried and tried not to scream, and he just smiled, cracking jokes.” You scoffed, “Jokes! He made me promise to get out alive, to move on, to live my life and take down as many Marines as I could in the process.” You said, setting your jaw, glaring a hole through the picture in your hand. “He died smiling, and the Marines lit the ship on fire and left it to sink to the bottom of the sea. I took a dinghy that was left, a bit of food and some water and just rowed my way in one direction until I found an island, boat hopping my way back here. I was the only survivor, but since that Admiral had ‘checked’, everyone thought I was dead. Everyone was spooked as hell when I came home. I’ve been here, laying low between attacks on the Marines ever since.”

Luffy swallowed the lump in his throat, “Ace died taking a hit for me. An Admiral tried to ambush me, he had a magma fruit, and Ace stepped in. Punched him right through the chest. He died right there in my arms, and he did that shit too. He died smiling.” Luffy muttered, fighting back tears.

“He was a great man.” You muttered, shifting to sit next to Luffy properly, your legs dangling off the edge of the bed next to each other. “He really did talk about you all the time. You and Sabo.” You said, nudging Luffy’s knee with yours, “He-“ you huffed out a laugh, “he was convinced that you and I would fall in love, get married, the whole shebang. He even picked out names for our three kids.” You giggled.

Luffy flushed a bit, “He did not.”

“He did!” you insisted, counting off on your fingers, “Ruby Anne, River Lee, and Rocky Viper” you snickered, “He insisted he’d be their god father and that he’d spoil them all rotten. He came up with entire life plans for them after a while.”

Luffy found himself letting out a wheeze of a laugh, “What the hell?”

You nodded, “He was convinced they’d all be pirate captains, and that Ruby would take over for you when you got old as King. He always said she was the only responsible one. Said she took after me.” You chuckled at the memories. “He’d scold me for doing stupid stuff by saying stuff like, ‘Is this a story you want River to hear?’ or ‘Ruby’s gonna make fun of you for that in like thirty years!’.” You exclaimed, a poor imitation of Ace’s voice.

Luffy couldn’t drop the questions whispering at the back of his skull, “I still don’t know why he never talked about you.” You both frowned.

“I don’t either.”

Robin settled further into her seat with a sigh, the letter burning a hole in her pocket. Finally having enough, she ushered Chopper off of her lap and excused herself to the restroom, locking the door behind her. She turned on the tap for a moment so she could rip open the adhesive. Robin knew this was invasive, wrong, rude even, but she had to read it before she let her captain have it. She couldn’t risk another blow up in this tender transition period.

She hopped up and sat on the counter, taking the papers out of the envelope and began to skim over the handwritten words. It was a letter from Ace, alright. It said something about how he was glad that Luffy had found you, that he always knew you’d come together on your own. He apologized for hiding this part of his life from Luffy, and the explanation made Robin sigh in disappointment. ‘Men.’

It went on to detail some of Ace’s adventures with you and your brother, it insisted that Luffy was going to love you both, laying it on thick that you were Luffy’s age, and that you could cook.

Robin found nothing offensive in the letter, so she sighed in relief and folded the letter back up, going to stick the letter back in the envelope when she noticed something inside. She shook out the little square and held it up, an exasperated groan ripping out of her. It was a picture of you, it was from behind, you were in a small bikini, sitting on a dock, talking to someone out of frame as you put up your hair, it was longer back then. The sun was setting behind you and it frankly was a beautiful photo of you, but the note at the bottom made her glower, “She’s perfect for you, lil dude!”. Then Robin noticed the side boob and the way you could see most of your ass.

“She was a teenager!” Robin hissed, shaking the photo in her hand, but she relented, slotting the picture and the letter into the envelope, sticking the tongue of the envelope into its opening, slipping it back into her pocket.

‘MEN!’

[biteofcherry]

Starting off Souptember project with a classic

✨ chicken broth ✨

Ingredients you need:

2-3 pieces of roasted chicken (wings, or legs, or both)

2 carrots (fresh or frozen, I often use frozen)

1/2 leek (fresh or frozen)

1 onion

1/2 celeriac (fresh or frozen)

1 parsley root (fresh or frozen)

a handful of fresh parsley

lovage (fresh or frozen, NOT dried)

a few bay leaves

a few allspice berries

1/2 teaspoon of turmeric (powder)

salt

black pepper

*there's no onion in the picture, because I forgot to put it there and realized the mistake after already started cooking, lol

Of course you can make chicken broth on raw meat, but I use leftovers of chicken roast, because roasted meat gives the broth much more flavor and additional color. So whenever I have some roasted chicken left (from holidays, parties, etc), I freeze them for the purpose of using them later for soup, or a quick meal.

Put the chicken in your pot, fill it with cold water and add a few bay leaves and allspice berries. Then put it on medium heat. Keep it on heat for about 30-40 minutes, but don't let it boil! Decrease temp if needed, but don't let it boil.

2. Char the onion - if you have gas stove, simply do it over a burner, but you can also char it in the airfryer, or on a pan. You don't want it super black and bitter, but let it have some solid burns.

3. Add the onion and the rest of the veggies, parsley and lovage to the pot. I prefer adding everything whole; you can later take it out and cut it into slices, if you want to.

4. Add a handful of salt, black pepper and turmeric (1/2 teaspoon). Stir.

5. Lower the heat to the minimum.

6. Let it simmer for at least 3-4 hours (you can keep it longer). Never let it get to a boiling point!

7. Taste and add salt and pepper if needed.

Enjoy! 🥰

This is the golden, rich broth you get in the end 😊

Add noodles and those boiled veggies and chicken per your own preference.

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

barely comprehensible ramblings under the cut, also spoilers for dune messiah

Figuring out in my head (with close to zero knowledge about nuclear physics & i'm too scared to research it because it scares me, your girl couldn't even watch Oppenheimer ok) how the stone burner in Dune Messiah works/what the hell it is. This likely will not make any actual sense, science side of tumblr please don't eat me.

What we actually know about it. 1) it's a weapon "powered by atomics" (what?) that is somehow barely legal within the in-universe laws surrounding atomic weapons 2) it "emits J-rays" (wikipedia did not elaborate) 3) it has just enough power to fuck up eye tissue of anyone in the vicinity but not enough to destroy skin, bones etc. The explosion itself like, levels an entire block of buildings though so there's that. Also, if "given too much fuel" it can also destroy an entire planet?

What we/I can infer from Dune: Messiah. 1) It's portable and at least somewhat concealable, or else the Tleilaxu not checking spelling on that i'm tired wouldn't have been able to sneak it into the city correct? 2) there are different "settings" or at least different fueling levels that can alter the level of destruction

What I'm not at all clear on: 1)what it actually looks like?? I have zero idea what I'm supposed to be picturing 2) how it's activated. Is it like a firework where someone's gotta run in and light it and then back the fuck away? is it remote controlled? is it a missile? no clue 3) similarly just...how it works?? clearly there's some kind of nuclear reaction going on but there seem to be suggestions that something external is going on too...once again I know Nothing about atomic weapons in our own world let alone this fictional sci-fi one but. it feels like it doesn't make a lot of sense ya know.

And honestly...it doesn't matter that much? I joke but I really don't mind that it's this sort of weird mysterious thing that isn't fully explained in the text. But I remain a very visual person, and it bugs me that I don't know what I'm supposed to be imagining. Also, I wonder how the hell they're going to depict it in the third film, assuming they do so, because while being deliberately vague about a piece of Weird technology can work in a book...in a visual medium that's a lot trickier.

(I've more recently wondered if Denis won't actually have a stone burner be a thing at all...while I'm convinced that, no matter how far from the book they might stray, they'll stick with Paul going blind, I almost wonder if they'll have it happen in a way that's similar but easier to explain just to get rid of the uncertainty around the tech?? Though I hope not bc I want to see what he comes up with)

So my conceptulization of it in my head as I was reading it, was like. Not something that probably makes any sense but I thought it was a cool visual and so tried to rationalize it??

I imagined something of a cross between a firework and a gas camping stove. Bear with me. I pictured something sort of tube-like in shape and a couple feet tall that houses...something radioactive. The "J rays" are the radiation that's released prior to the explosion itself and are somehow "inactive"/somewhat benign to begin with. Then then some kind of "spark" is set off remotely, and ignites at the top of the "radiation bubble", causing a chain reaction of ignition that "activates" the bubble and causes an explosion that remains within the specific radius and also causes the radiation to become dangerous.

So we have the hissing sound of the radiation "leaking" before the explosion, followed by the visual of the ignition spark rising slowly into the air and then sort of exploding downwards. Sort of like a weird firework. I am aware this is not at all how atomic weapons work.

@fuckyeahisawthat coming back to tag u in whatever the hell this is...

[theahole]

How I make chocolate oatmeal

This recipe makes enough oatmeal to keep me going until lunch, or two smaller servings if you don't have my appetite. It can also be halved (half a tablespoon is 1 and 1/2 teaspoons).

What you need:

2 quart saucepan (this stuff bubbles up high and fast, and you don't want it on your stove OR your skin) stirring spoon or spoonula 1 cup dry measuring cup 1 wet measuring cup measuring spoons bowl eating spoon butter knife stove top burner

You can use a metal or silicon or wood spoon to stir this. I use this spoon/spatula I stole when I moved because I was the only person using it anyway. Do NOT use one of those cheap plastic mixing spoons they sell in bags of 4 at Dollar Tree, because this is what will happen:

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon brown sugar, no need to pack it--I use light and dark interchangeably, whatever you got 1 cup cold water 1 cup quick oats 1 tablespoon cocoa powder scant 1/4 teaspoon salt (I forgot to put it in the shot, but it's hiding behind the coffee pot) 1 pat butter (not shown) toppings (optional, up to you)

You are going to want to remember the salt, the oatmeal will be bland without it.

Pour the water into your pot and put the pot on the burner you'll use. Once you get this down to a science, you can start the water boiling and get everything ready before it does, but on a first try you'd better measure everything first and then wait the two or so minutes it takes a cup of water to boil.

I always measure the brown sugar into the bottom of the bowl I will be eating out of first, because I'd rather get sugar in the cocoa than cocoa in the sugar. But do what you want.

Measure 1 cup of oats (I used to scoop and sweep this, but it's easier to just dip the cup in the oats, and accuracy is not a big deal here), and add 1 tablespoon of cocoa. You can mix these in a separate bowl if you want, but I always do this:

Dump the cocoa on top of the oats in the measuring cup.

Which can get messy if you're not careful, but is, once again, easy and fast. The less time I spend on my feet, the better.

Start the water boiling on high, and when it starts to boil, add the salt. Once the boil really gets going, reduce the heat (in my experience it's the 4 or 3 on an electric stove and the lowest setting you can fucking get on a gas stove), and pour in the oats and cocoa. Start stirring IMMEDIATELY! You need to stir constantly so that the mixture all gets wet, cooks evenly, and doesn't stick or burn to the bottom of the pan. Once the mixture thickens, which takes about a minute, maybe less, take the pan off the heat and remember to turn off the burner.

Scoop the oatmeal into your bowl or bowls. If a chunk falls on the counter or over the rim of the pan, you may get an urge to put it in your mouth. Do not. At this point, unsweetened, the oatmeal will only taste bitter and salty.

You have to let the oatmeal sit for about a minute to finish cooking. I like to wash the utensils and such and leave the pot to soak while this goes on. If you want just plain chocolate oatmeal, add your butter and there you go. I like to add toppings, though. My favorites are a big spoonful of peanut butter from a large jar of processed store brand and a handful of chocolate chips. Mini chips melt better, but you get 2 ounces less per bag. You can add whatever you want--flavored peanut butter, other nut butters, flavored baking chips.. though I have tried cinnamon chips and would rather just add cinnamon, and the only mint ones I could find are Andes and they are VERY strong. Just be sure not to add anything cold to the oatmeal until after it's sat for the whole minute.

Stir vigorously (did you remember the sugar?) and enjoy.

This is over-explained and probably posted at the very worst time, but I hope it's useful too.

[kellanved-ammanas]

Rarepair Weekend Day 2: Pyro/Medic - Spicy | Savory | Sweet

For @tf2rarepairevents Rarepair mini weekend event!

~

With Pyro’s tendency to get a bit excited about the stove top burners, banning him from using the stove without supervision was probably fair. He did almost burn the kitchen down not long after they’d moved to this base. But he was having one of those ‘wanting to try something new’ moments that were hard to ignore. The something new he wanted to try was cooking and so… sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night it was.

He could do it in the daytime and just have someone watch to make sure he didn’t set the burners too high but… he wasn’t a child. Being supervised like one was annoying even in cases where it was warranted. Also, he wanted to be able to taste it which he had to take the gas mask off for which he couldn’t bring himself to do when just about anyone could walk in without warning. He could handle being in the presence of flames without being overwhelmed by his desire to feed it until it grew into a roaring blaze.

His resolve almost broke as soon as he started the burner. It was so pretty but so small, making it bigger would mean more pretty to look at it. He reached for the dial but… no! More pretty was also more dangerous and bad for cooking. It would burn the food and that would be bad so he had to refrain. He put the skillet over it, reducing temptation by hiding it.

There not being much of interest in the pantry and not knowing much about what he was doing anyway, he went for something simple; eggs and pancakes. His first attempt at scrambled eggs was underdone and then upon being put back on the stove, burnt. His second attempt was a bit better. He seasoned it with all the spices they had in the cupboard. Which probably would’ve been a poor choice if they weren’t so limited in their spice selection out here in the desert. As it was though, it tasted good enough, to him anyway.

Next was pancakes. Except… how did one make pancake batter? There was flower and vanilla, right? Probably baking powder too. Was that it or…

“Huh? Didn’t expect to find you here.”

Pyro jumped, snapping around to face the kitchen entryway where Medic stood. He wore his pajamas, indicating he’d gone to bed but was now up again and probably looking for coffee. But of all people to catch Pyro here, he was the best option because he already knew what Pyro’s face looked like. And he’d be a hypocrite for caring about anyone else breaking the kitchen rules when just last week he’d done so himself via putting another experiment in the fridge because his personal one in his lab was too full.

“I’m banned from using the burners so I gotta use them at night. I’ve been good though, promise.” Especially now that burners were off while he tried to figure out this pancake batter thing. “I’m not gonna burn the kitchen down… probably.”

Medic gave a tired hum of acknowledgment before walking over to counter where Pyro had left the plate of eggs for now. He picked up the fork next to it and tried a bite. Whether he liked it or not as impossible to guess as his expression didn’t change. But as long as he was here and awake…

“Do you know how to make pancakes?”

“It’s been a long time but I think so. Why?”

“I wanna make some but I’m not sure how to make the batter. Could you write it down for me? I’ll give you some if they turn out good.”

Medic thought about it for a few seconds, still holding the fork. “I’m up anyway so I could just show you if you want.”

“Oh, okay, sure!” That would be even better and a fun time besides.

[poojakumari987]

Gas Stove Service Near Me: Your Ultimate Guide to Reliable and Affordable Solutions

Gas stoves are a vital part of many households, providing an efficient and cost-effective way to cook. Whether you're preparing a family meal or entertaining guests, having a fully functional gas stove is essential. However, like any appliance, gas stoves require regular maintenance and occasional repairs to function optimally. If you're searching for "gas stove service near me," this blog will guide you through everything you need to know about finding the best services in your area, the benefits of professional maintenance, common issues, and what to expect from expert technicians.

Why You Need Gas Stove Service

Gas stoves, while durable, can experience wear and tear over time. Regular use can lead to minor or major issues, which, if left unchecked, may compromise the safety and efficiency of your stove. Here are a few reasons why routine service and maintenance are crucial:

Safety: Gas leaks and malfunctions are serious safety hazards. A professional service can identify and fix potential problems before they escalate.

Efficiency: A well-maintained stove ensures optimal gas usage, preventing wastage and saving you money on energy bills.

Longevity: Regular service prolongs the life of your gas stove, ensuring it remains a reliable part of your kitchen for years to come.

Performance: Maintenance helps ensure your stove operates at its best, reducing cooking time and improving the overall cooking experience.

Common Gas Stove Problems

Before diving into how to find the best "gas stove service near me," let's first explore some common issues you might face with a gas stove. Identifying these problems early can help you know when it's time to call a professional.

Ignition Problems

If your stove isn’t igniting or it takes too long to light, it could be due to a faulty ignition switch or clogged burners. This is a common issue that requires professional attention to fix.

Uneven Flame or No Flame

Gas stoves rely on a consistent flame to cook food evenly. If the flame is too weak or nonexistent, it may be due to clogged burners or an issue with the gas supply.

Gas Leaks

If you notice a sulfur-like smell (often described as a "rotten egg" odor), you may have a gas leak. This is a serious issue that requires immediate professional intervention.

Burners Not Heating Properly

Burners that don’t heat up as they should can make cooking frustrating and time-consuming. This could be due to a buildup of grease or a faulty burner.

Strange Noises

Unusual noises like popping, clicking, or hissing while your stove is operating could indicate an underlying issue. Professional gas stove technicians can quickly identify the source and repair it.

Pilot Light Issues

If the pilot light keeps going out, it might indicate problems with the thermocouple or gas supply line. A technician can troubleshoot and resolve the issue to ensure proper functioning.

How to Find the Best "Gas Stove Service Near Me"

When you're looking for "gas stove service near me," it’s important to find a reliable and trustworthy company. Here’s a step-by-step guide on how to ensure you choose the best gas stove service in your area.

1. Research Local Companies

The first step in finding the right service is researching companies in your area. Look for businesses that specialize in gas stove repairs and have certified technicians. A quick search for "gas stove service near me" will yield several results, but it’s important to take your time to review each option.

2. Read Online Reviews

Customer reviews are a great way to gauge the quality of a service. Platforms like Google, Yelp, and the Better Business Bureau (BBB) provide insights into other customers' experiences with local service providers. Look for consistent positive feedback, especially related to professionalism, timely service, and repair quality.

3. Verify Certification and Experience

Gas stove repair is not something that should be handled by just anyone. Ensure the technicians are certified to handle gas appliances. Certification ensures they are knowledgeable about safety protocols and the latest repair techniques.

4. Ask About Pricing and Guarantees

Price transparency is important when choosing a service provider. Be sure to ask about their pricing structure and whether they offer upfront estimates. Additionally, inquire if they provide any guarantees on their work. A good service company will stand behind their repairs and offer warranties.

5. Emergency Services Availability

Gas stove problems can occur unexpectedly, often requiring immediate attention. When choosing a gas stove service near you, check if they offer emergency or same-day services. Companies that provide quick responses in urgent situations are invaluable.

6. Word of Mouth Recommendations

Sometimes, the best way to find a reliable gas stove service is by asking friends, family, or neighbors for recommendations. They may have had good experiences with local services and can point you in the right direction.

Benefits of Professional Gas Stove Service

Once you find a reputable "gas stove service near me," you’ll want to understand why it’s worth hiring a professional rather than attempting DIY fixes. Here are some benefits of choosing professional gas stove service:

1. Safety

Gas stoves, if improperly handled, can be dangerous. Professionals have the expertise to identify and fix potential hazards, ensuring your home remains safe. They’ll check for leaks, inspect the gas line, and repair faulty parts that could cause issues down the line.

2. Cost-Effective

While it may seem cheaper to try and fix your gas stove on your own, DIY repairs can often lead to more expensive issues in the long run. Professional technicians can identify the root cause of a problem and fix it correctly the first time, saving you money on future repairs.

3. Time-Saving

Professional services save you time by quickly diagnosing and repairing issues. This is especially helpful if you have a busy schedule and can’t afford to be without a working stove for long.

4. Expertise and Knowledge

Certified technicians have years of experience working with different gas stove models. Their expertise allows them to handle even the most complex issues with ease. Whether you have an older model or a modern, high-tech stove, they’ll know exactly how to fix it.

5. Long-Term Peace of Mind

Regular maintenance from a professional service not only keeps your stove running smoothly but also gives you peace of mind. You can cook with confidence, knowing your appliance is in top condition.

What to Expect During a Gas Stove Service

If you're scheduling your first service, you might be wondering what to expect. Here’s a breakdown of what typically happens during a professional gas stove service:

1. Initial Inspection

The technician will start by thoroughly inspecting your stove. This includes checking the burners, gas lines, igniters, and other components to assess the overall condition of the appliance.

2. Diagnosing the Problem

If you're experiencing specific issues, the technician will perform tests to diagnose the problem. For example, they may check for gas leaks, blockages in the burners, or faulty wiring in the ignition system.

3. Cleaning

During the service, the technician may also clean your stove. Grease and food particles can accumulate in the burners and vents, causing the stove to function poorly. A deep cleaning ensures better performance and prevents future issues.

4. Repairs and Part Replacement

If any parts are worn out or broken, the technician will recommend replacing them. Common parts that need replacing include igniters, burners, gas valves, and thermocouples. They’ll have most parts on hand, so repairs can often be done on the spot.

5. Testing

After repairs or maintenance, the technician will test the stove to ensure everything is working properly. This includes checking the flame size, burner functionality, and ensuring there are no gas leaks.

6. Safety Checks

Finally, the technician will perform a series of safety checks. This includes inspecting the gas line for leaks, checking the ventilation system, and making sure all connections are secure.

Maintaining Your Gas Stove Between Services

While professional gas stove service is essential, there are steps you can take to maintain your stove between appointments:

Clean Burners Regularly: Grease and food particles can block the burners, leading to uneven heating or weak flames. Clean them regularly to prevent buildup.

Check for Gas Leaks: Periodically inspect your gas stove for any unusual smells or signs of a leak. If you suspect a leak, turn off the gas and call a professional immediately.

Use the Stove Properly: Avoid overheating the burners or using the stove for purposes it wasn’t designed for, such as heating your home.

Schedule Regular Maintenance: Even if your stove seems to be working fine, schedule routine maintenance at least once a year to ensure all components are functioning optimally.

Conclusion

Searching for "gas stove service near me" is the first step toward ensuring your stove remains in excellent condition. By finding a reliable service provider, you can avoid common problems, enhance your stove’s performance, and enjoy peace of mind knowing your appliance is safe to use.

Remember to research local services, read reviews, verify certifications, and ask about pricing and guarantees before making your decision. Professional gas stove service offers numerous benefits, including safety, cost savings, and long-term reliability. With regular maintenance and timely repairs, your gas stove will continue to serve you well for years to come.

So, if you notice any issues with your gas stove or it's been a while since your last service, don't hesitate to contact a trusted "gas stove service near me." Your stove—and your kitchen—will thank you!

Get Free Call +91-9548855012

[gettheawesomeproducts]

🔥 Upgrade Your Kitchen with the Prestige Toughened Glass Top Gas Stove! 🔥

Looking for a sleek, efficient, and durable gas stove for your modern kitchen? The Prestige Toughened Glass Top Gas Stove is here to impress! 🌟

✨ Key Features:

Stylish Toughened Glass Top: Designed to enhance your kitchen aesthetics and built to last.

Ergonomic Tri-Pin Burners: Ensures even heat distribution for faster, consistent cooking. Perfect for all kinds of cookware!

Compact and Space-Saving: Ideal for modern homes without compromising on performance.

Durable Design: Toughened glass and spill-proof drip trays make it easy to clean and maintain.

💥 Why Choose Prestige?

Reliable performance with efficient gas consumption.

Elegant and easy-to-use, perfect for daily cooking.

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[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

I don’t hate you

When - 40ish minutes after The first Christmas ‘without,’ Part 2. You were unable to successfully nap. And the turkey is still not ready to eat, but there are cookies!

What - there are cookies!, skimming stones, yearning, forgiveness (working on it), reconciliation, healing, found-family and a slow burn Daryl x You at Christmastime, y’all. You spend time with Rick to remind yourself that you don’t hate him.

Genre - found family fluff and slow burning

Perspective - You 2nd person, Daryl 3rd Person

Pronouns - neutral they/them

TWs? - some language, some anger, and Carl looks at mushrooms growing on a tree stump eww

Which stories should I have read first? - A fu--in’ great Christmas, The first Christmas ‘without’ Part 1 and 2. Like a traditional Sunday dinner will help you know what they’re talking about while y’all are eating cookies. There’s reference to souls stripped bare.  Then, read every other chapter!

How much time will I need to read it, troublemaker? - 25 minutes? It depends :D

Do you have a Masterlist? - there are two for The Slowpoke Series, the main one here in publishing order (recommended), and this one here in chronological order if you prefer!

      40ish minutes later

Him

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

“Who got the most?”

Y/N turns from their spot on the ground facing the lake and subtly does that hand gesture thing that means they were finishing up a prayer. “Beth, then Glenn, Mags and me tied for third, Carl came in fourth. Oh, and Glenn was trying to convince us to do a chicken swim at some point while we’re here.”

He hums, smiles (on the inside) at the memory, then wonders how would he have done if he joined the rock-skipping contest?

You know what, why wonder? He’s gonna try skimming stones right now.

“Careful about gettin’ too close to me, Daryl, I’m almost done eating a spoonful of peanut butter.” They hold up the spoon with the extra long handle and wave it a little in warning.

“Nasty.”

Y/N shakes their head and winks. “Delicious.”

Confused at himself as to why he suddenly feels shy, he picks up a smooth-ish rock and looks sideways at his friend and tries to digest all the damn butterflies in his stomach. “Shoulder still good after pelting rocks?”

They nod and take the spoon out of their mouth to confirm, “Very. Not to brag, but I haven’t grieved it up in a over a month.”

He rounds his arm, throws—aw, shit, the only thing it did was go ploosh. Well, that was embarrassing, fuck.

“That was the warm-up, try again,” Y/N chuckles.

He grabs another, flings it.

Ha, that’s right! Three skips, motherfucker!

Take that, you fucking lake.

As his friend bursts out laughing, he becomes aware that he said the lake thing out loud.

Cheeks flaming up like a burner on a gas stove, he holds back a snort and deadpans, “I’m here to entertain,” as he reaches down to find another rock that was flat enough for skipping. He peeks behind him. “Gonna join?”

A pretend whine detailing how they “just got comfy, exceptin’ the fact that my butt is an ice pop,” comes before they stand up and grab a stone of their own. With a twist to the side to fling their rock onto the lake, they naturally mimic his “‘Take that, ya fuckin’ lake,’” as they throw. Their rock makes two big skips and one little one.

That they’re smiling makes him smile. He wonders if they saw him smiling like an idiot when they waved at him from over on the rock when they were sitting with Glenn. He then wonders if they were smiling back…

His turn, so he hurls another one out there and gets—four skips? Hell yeah!

“Four? Nice!” they praise. Already prepped with another rock, they take their turn and toss out there, getting two short hops. With a shrug and a smile, they tell him, “You could give Rick a run for his money, he’s good at this.” Y/N then wipes the dirt off their fingers and looks out at the water, tucking their hands under their scarf to warm up. “Did you notice that asshole’s ambidextrous?”

Which came out…not at all how they sound when they’re joking around. “You feelin’ any better than before?”

There’s a longer pause before they respond, “Y-yeah, I think so.”

“Quarter.”

Y/N makes a little huff and, sorry, that shit still makes Daryl smile on the inside. He unbuttons the pocket of his coat and pulls out his new nicotine gum. Let’s see if the stuff works… “Want me to kick his ass for ya?” he grunts (as a joke), poking out a piece from the foil packet.

Y/N lightly elbows him. Their eyes look brighter. “One of these days I might could say yes—you’d best be mindful of those offers, sunshine.”

He pops the gum into his mouth and shrugs. “I can kick his ass, no problem.”

“Ain’t saying you can’t.” Good, they’re close to giggling, he can tell.

“That ambidextrous thing, though,” he mumbles, “that coulda complicated stuff, thanks for the heads up.”

“Nah, Shane always bested him, you’d do fine.”

“Shane bested me, too, so, I dunno.” He chews the gum and few times and adds, “So did you, for that matter. You even fought T-Dog off unt—”

—ohhh shit. Okay, that was intended as an honest observation, the way they’d been able to fend off more than one person like that was badass and impressive as fuck, but reminding them of that night was brainless as fuck. The imaginary knee that hasn’t kicked his balls in something like two months shows up and knees him good.

That night, most of the group, in one way or another, had helped to either take Y/N’s weapons away, physically restrain them, or talk ’em down.

Then they’d left, which was huge for them. Huge for everyone. It didn’t last long, he’s damn grateful for it, like, they’d even told Carl it was temporary. But still. Them leaving ‘their’ Carl was big.

And he gets one final knee to his danglers when his friend makes light of it. “But together, y’all conquered, and a good time was had by all.”

Always with the making light, this one, even when they’re clearly trying to swallow so they don’t cry, and smiling even though it’s not fooling anyone. Such as right this damn minute. Well done, Daryl.

He can’t seem to grab the right words to smack into a sentence, what’s the protocol for this?

Also, why are they smiling at him? And pointing a spoon at him?

“Uh-oh, dude, if you’re fixing to get all awkward and apologetic or uncomfortable around me, I’ll go scoop more peanut butter onto this spoon and chase you with it.”

Hands up in surrender, he catches himself cracking up. “I’ll go get the jar right now, slowpoke, where’s it at?”

With another head shake and a giggle, they lightly cup their hand on his upper arm. “Alright, s’go back, Dary-bear. Carol, T-Dog and Beth were making a surprise, let’s see if it’s ready yet.”

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

You

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

New baking secret learned today: baking cookies on a piece of tinfoil on top of a woodstove is somewhat tricky and requires flipping, however, it makes the room smell heavenly! They weren’t ready when you and Daryl poked your heads in, but after you and Lori came back from doing laundry, the water department building was toasty warm and smelled like a bakery.

Another secret you learned about two hours ago, unrelated to baking, is to not forget to push the front seats back when napping in the truck. This way, when you roll over in your sleep, you don’t fall into the wedge between the backseat and the floor; your nap was very short (nonexistant), and the mp3 ran out of charge anyway.

Back to the cookies, they were made with farina, corn starch, applesauce from those little sealed cups, some of the sugar rations, other stuff. You started bouncing as soon as you took your first bite. You’re still bouncing at your spot by the window where you’re doing your shoulder PT while nibbling on one.

Lori is cranking up the little rainproof crank radio with the plugs and charging ports (and flashlight!) in it. It’s got a little solar arm out to speed up the process, but all told, it’s not very efficient.

And there’s no turkey ready for consumption just yet, but there are cookies.

“Lore, want another?”

“I want more than just another,” she muses under her breath. “I’m gonna stick with the two I already ate. I might take a walk around the lake to get way from them, in fact,” she laughs. “The mp3 is almost at four bars.”

The nod you make in response that the music player is almost ready doesn’t match the uneasy look on your face. You can feel your facial muscles not cooperating to make you look relaxed and chill.

Best change the subject: “It is Christmas Day, it’s a requirement to eat too many cookies. Besides, you can relax the willpower a little when you’ve got a baby in there. Oh! I’m gonna find the Frog and Toad story about the cookies and read it to your belly!” you babble.

Her hand briefly rubs along her very tiny bump. Crazy that she was able to feel them moving two or three weeks ago, it was so early! “People are already beginning to…” she pauses, then shifts closer to you. “You know how Hershel doesn’t want to be treated as delicate? How you don’t like needing help or admitting when you need to take it easy?”

“That’s never happened ever,” you deadpan, which makes her smile.

“As the months go on, I’m going to need more help, and, and attention, whether I want it or not. So before that, I-I don’t want to accept any special treatment. You understand.”

Munch, munch, munch. You chew slowly in an attempt to make a point. “It’s a cookie.”

“No special treatment. And I’m just so…” Her eyes shut for a moment. She opens them and looks embarrassed. “Oh, Y/N, I’m just so hungry,” she softly confesses. “All the time. At the house, there was an old box of baking soda in the closet.” She opens her eyes and appears embarrassed. “I almost tossed it into the toilet to stop myself from eating it. I had to give it to Carol. That’s what I’ve started craving, it’s — anyway, I’m pretty certain I’ll lose it and pig out in front of everyone one of these days. And we’ve already been far too,” a pause to find the right word, “humbled enough around each other.”

“And she draws the line at eatin’ a third cookie, ladies and gentleman,” you poke fun while pausing your PT to book it over to the med bag for the vitamin supplements. Lori tends to get nauseated when she takes them, but craving baking soda, something non-nutritive? An extra vitamin can’t hurt. “Just a sec, that’s the cute name for this new cookie recipe. Why, we should oughta make ‘special treatments’ every Christmas henceforth!”

“Yo, why are we saying ‘henceforth?’” Glenn calls over with his mouth full.

“I named the cookie special treatments and said we’ll have to make ’em every Christmas henceforth.”

“What does that even mean? That name sucks, dude.”

True. Rude. “Well, what grand name do you got?”

“The ‘water departments.’”

“Eesh, y’all stink at names,” is all T-Dog will deign to say as he paces around doing a little food dance of his own while he savors every bite. “How about: the ‘apocalyptic masterpi’—nah, that won’t work, this ain’t the Apocalypse, it was just an outbreak of a novel or mutated disease, most likely a viral one,” he narrates to himself. That’s what all the news stations had been reporting before they went out. Dr. Jenner had seemed to echo that hypothesis, you guess.

Maggie starts chuckling to herself over “The water treatments, is that a better name?”

“The, um, special departments…” is Beth’s contribution, and the lengthy “special water department treatments,” is what Carl giggles from the floor where he and Beth are laying, staring at out the window while they indoor cloud-watch.

“The water department specials?” Lori offers, accepting the vitamins from you and quickly taking them down with some leftover coffee.

In terms of the other choices, that was pretty solid. Sounds more like a civic tax discount, but, “Yeah, I’d eat those.”

Glenn’s grinning wide. “Now we have something to serve with our trademarked drink.”

Trademarked drink? “Hold up, you mean ‘The CDC?’ Or did we go with the ‘Dr. Jenn—no, not that name, I’m deletin’ it,” you mutter.

Glenn hesitates, “‘The CDC’ is an okay name.”

“I guess,” you start to think, but catch eyes with T-Dog. “Teddy, you remember how Glenn drained his so quick?”

“And all that wine, and how he felt the following morning, yes I do.”

Maggie starts laughing. She’s heard the story quite a few times. You grin at her as you lean against the windowsill by Lori and say, “How about we rename the drink ‘The Glenn?’ That sounds cool.”

The namesake seems cool with it. “Oh heck yes! You know why that name sounds cool?”

“’Cause he is the coolest,” you drawl, as cheerful as you’d felt this morning when you all prepped for making sure Christmas would still feel relatively normal, especially for Carl.

The cheerfulness goes *poof* when you hear Lori calmly tell you in your ear, “It’s charged up, honey.”

You turn.

Look.

She’s holding out the mp3 player and new(ish) earbuds you just been gifted.

To explain: back closer to when it happened, it was how she’d help you to spend time with Rick, how you could stay calm but still reestablish your bond with him. That’s why you brought it up to him earlier, you’d figured it was a good idea…

Lori also knows that during that big fight with Glenn you’d had about a month back, when he name-called you ‘Nurse Ratched,’ you’d taken that very personally. It hit as if he were saying you’d lost yourself the way Shane had, like your conscience had become deformed. Whenever you fight with Glenn about Hershel, you kinda might could still be scared that others see you as a cruel, unfeeling ticking time-bomb.

Back to your music-listening with Rick, a plus was that it gave you full leave to get some of your aggression out via (playfully?) insulting his taste in rockabilly.

Your eldest sister had just about every genre on her old mp3 she gave you; hard rock, screamer, Motown, Gregorian chants, big band, P&W, R&B, Bollywood, reggae, classical, musicals, pop, Latin, Korean—you name it, she had it. She also added music and made playlists for friends and family. Including rockabilly for her good friend’s husband/stepbrother’s best friend.

Which isn’t so bad, it’s just mildly entertaining how into it Rick is compared to stuff like Zeppelin or Jimi or Cash. In his defense, he can’t help but bounce along to Britney, though.

Right, you have to answer Lori, don’t you?

“I don’t want to” is what untactfully hops out of your mouth. You were supposed to be subtle about it, Y/N.

“Honey.”

“I’m meant, um, I’m good now. I don’t need to.” It’s too late, stop trying.

“Maybe he needs you to,” she gently hints.

Needs you to? Did Rick—Rick noticed that you’d gotten angry about him again, didn’t he? That asshole always notices.

“Lori, he’s the resident atheist, he’s not gonna wanna sit though me playin’ Christmas carols, anyways, you know how he gets about God stuff.”

She still holds out the music player.

Fine. Mindful that you are on the grumpy side after your failed attempt at a nap, you accept the mp3 from her hand and put your hat back on. But before you bust out there to listen to music with (say it, Y/N) your brother, you first call out the door, “Daryl, can I have my coat back?”

As much as you don’t want to take off Daryl’s poncho, you’d like your other, deceased brother’s coat back on.

Either to remind Rick of him or because you feel more grounded in that old coat because it still smells like Shane and home a little bit, you aren’t clear.

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

      1 minute later

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

Daryl’s letting you keep the poncho on, he says he’s comfortable in just his leather jacket for now. In thanks, you impulsively took your scarf off and flopped it around his neck (you were worried that he’d get cold in just the jacket. It’s darned chilly out.)

You feel better that you can keep his poncho on. Safer, you guess.

Is that silly? It’s not like it’s armor. 

And why would you need armor in the first place?

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

Him

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

He figured he could keep watch while he and Maggie were about to start guard duty, anyway. It was regular guard duty, by the way; the group stopped being on edge about Y/N being unaccompanied around Rick the second week after their brother was killed, it hadn’t taken long.

And it’s not like he’s gonna stand over them, he’ll just be nearby. No big deal. He’s just — it’s not the weird, nice feeling in his chest this time exactly, it’s more of that damn invisible string thing happening again. When it happens, it feels right to be a little closer to Y/N, make sure they’re safe, he guesses. And seeing them wearing his clothes makes him wanna stand taller, so he turned down his poncho even though he’s kinda cold.

Right, um, anyway, walkers had a way of sneaking up on people, never mind that other living people could be a way bigger threat to his two distracted friends listening to music and staring out at the lake. So, he’ll keep an eye on them.

There are some bolts he needs to sterilize and sharpen, anyway.

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

     1 more minute later

You

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

Sleeping bag in hand so your butts won’t get too cold, you silently walk with Rick around the edge of the lake as to be in view of the little building. You get to the water’s edge and flop the sleeping bag on the mossy part near the bank. The water’s frozen over just a bit.

Through your yawn, you state, “You get one Ronnie Dawson song and Yakety Yak, then it’s carols, Rick.”

He catches your yawn and stretches as he replies, “Sounds good.”

You both sit and silently look out at the water. But it’s in your periphery that you notice you aren’t quite alone. With a glance first at Rick, you turn and stare openly for a moment because you’re slightly annoyed.

Is he the babysitter or something? That he’s whittling the points of his bolts isn’t fooling you.

Murmuring to Rick in a light, self-deprecating tease, “Daryl’s our warden this time,” you hold out one earbud for him and gesture toward where your favorite redneck is loitering.

“It’s not like that,” Rick murmurs back.

What you’d probably describe as a knowing smile spreads across your face. “Is it not?”

“No.”

You nudge him softly with your arm as what anger remains inside you is carried off in the breeze. “Not even a little, though?”

“Go on, troublemaker, let’s listen to some music,” he ribs in response. “And believe it or not, I wouldn’t mind carols. It’s been a fuckin’ great Christmas.”

Your mouth falls open because, first off, Rick doesn’t cuss. Second off (is that a term?), that’s the exact phrase Daryl said earlier. Your cheeks heat again and you’re smiling like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Did my punk repeat something he should oughtn’t have?”

His eyes crinkle and he chuckles, “I ‘might could’ have overheard you and Daryl with him around the fire earlier.”

“Well, now your son is one quarter richer.”

“We’ll have to put it in the bank, save it up for college.”

Once he’s got the earbud in his ear and he gets comfortable, you click play. It’s the live version of one of his favorites. The opening lyrics “Gimme the downbeat, maestro!” bleat out, and, per usual, Rick cannot help but jive along (and snap off-rhythm). It’s very cute.

He mouths along with the lyrics, too, knows them all. Two and a half minutes later, you feel up to joining him in singing along to final words, “Hear me? Whoa! Action packed!”

The next song is equally bouncy and old, so much that you drowsily check to see if your boots turned into saddle shoes.

Your fatigue is briefly overcome when ‘Toxic’ starts to play. Rick snorts and starts to giggle like a little kid while you mouth every lyric (you don’t actually know the exact lyrics, just what they sound like, you feel?) and grooving along to the tempo. His off-rhythm snapping comes back with a vengeance until the song ends.

The Christmas carols finally start after, and your sleepiness returns and goes into overdrive. You lean against the rock behind you. Rick does, too. The sun is shining enough to keep you cozy, the music is softer.

Ricks yawns and stretches again. When the instrumental version of Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel plays, your eyelids are sinking…

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

Him

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

Are they both asleep?

Shit, look at that. Both just snoozing, like, right there.

How long’ve they been like that? Damn, it’s a good thing he’s out here keeping watch—keeping watch in general, not specifically on them.

But yeah, might as well let them cop some Z’s.

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

    ? minutes later?

You

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

A familiar tune that you haven’t heard in over three months stirs you very awake. You’ve been avoiding it on purpose, why is it playing? Make it stop, make it stop, make it st—

—You pull the earbud out and sit up with a sharp inhale.

“Kiddo, you okay?” He only uses ‘kiddo,’ when he’s feeling protective.

“Yeah, um, ain’t nothing, it, it j-just got to be too much noise,” you make up on the spot. It sounded casual enough, right? You blink the grogginess away and blindly stare at the clouds as you rest your arms on your knees.

“I saw you were still out, figured that one would help you stay asleep. Your family’s song.”

“You’d think we was making commission, how often Mama or the girls or Shane played it over the years.”

“Shane listened to that song for everything. Insomnia, break-ups, failed tests, rough calls, arrests he didn’t feel right about. In fact he,” his voice gets softer. “He played that song almost nonstop, absolutely nothing else other than that for three whole weeks after your dad passed.”

“Mama replayed her Boyz 2 Men cassette durin’ that.” You were very young when that happened, but that’s the most vivid memory you have. That and the smell of all the casseroles neighbors and such brought over.

“I still remember the streaky sounds the CD player would make when he’d hit the back button. It was something, he ended up not being able to stand the song for four months after.”

“Imagine that,” you mumble. You’ve got the ‘22’ pendant between your fingers again. “Well, Shane was a drama-king,” you joke.  

“In his defense, so am I,” Rick almost sounds nervous to joke back.

“At least you’re more Shakespearean than he was. Stronger moral backbone, too.” Fuck it, you’ll speak honestly. You loved him, you would’ve killed and would’ve been killed for him, and you pray that he’s resting in peace, but you know what Shane’s faults were.

“Shakespearean?” Rick repeats.

“Yeah, Shane sounded like a hillbilly compared to you, the way you always talk good and give speeches.”

A groan follows you comment about ‘speeches,’ but then he gets a mischievous look on his face. “I talk ‘good?’”

Aw man, you walked straight into that one. Your mildly British accent comes back out. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, I meant to say that you speak well.”

He gets brave enough to use Shane’s old nickname for you. “Weirdo.”

You don’t mind, you gave him an old nickname, too. “Pork-chop.”

The quiet tinkling of the pendant’s loop running over the small links in the chain as you pull it back and forth, back and forth, fills the silence that follows. It’s an okay silence, too. You’re glad that Lori convinced you to do this today, you think, as you snuggle deeper into your coat and inhale deeply—wait.

You sniff again.

Again.

Your stomach drops to the ground.

Crap. “D-did Daryl smoke in this?”

“Barely. You know how he’s been doing short little spurts, less than a minute. Hey, Y/N, why are you taking the jacket off? It’s cold out.”

“Just checkin’ something.” The chill doesn’t bother you as you press the collar to your nose and sniff. Cigarettes. Daryl. Wood-smoke.

You try sniffing the back of the collar. Daryl. Wood-smoke.

You check the shoulders. Wood-smoke.

Finally, when you try lower down on the coat, you relax and hug it in relief.

Shane’s scent isn’t all gone yet, neither is the faintest hint of Mama’s perfume that would always linger on things she wore.

A few tears well up and flow out as you feel your pulse going down.

“Does it still smell like him?” Rick wonders very quietly.

“Mmhm,” you mumble, your cheek resting against the soft, fluffy, very worn lining. You bury your face in the fluff and breathe in again.

“Y/N, I wish th—” he stops abruptly and doesn’t finish his thought.

There’s a lump in your throat you try to swallow away.

The sounds of geese flying overhead fill the air. A gentle, cold breeze picks up and you could swear you get a whiff of peanut butter. You start to feel cold again.

From the little building, laughter reaches your ears. Carl, Beth, Glenn. Lori and T-Dog’s voices you think you hear, too.

“Wanna wear it for a while, Ricky? It’s a good coat,” leaves your mouth.

He doesn’t seem to know how/what to reply, so you decide for him and hand it over. Doing that thing where someone looks at another but not in their eyes, he unzips his coat and trades with you.

Oo, his jacket is warm! You begin to unzip the hoodie you have on, quickly remove the poncho underneath, then just as fast zip your hoodie back on and bundle into Rick’s coat before all the body warmth on it disappears in the wintry chill.

His coat also has a fuzzy lining around the neck so you rub your cheek on it. You can imagine Daryl asking “What are ya, a cat?” and it makes you grin.

Rick’s got the music player in his hand, but you see him peering at you — in the eyes, this time. “Why did you switch coats with him today?”

You’re mid-shrug when you notice how you’re hugging the poncho to yourself like a blankie. “I was shiverin’ this morning and he offered.”

“That was kind of him.” It’s unclear to you whether or not he’s teasing you about it (he never has), but either way, this is good. You’re really glad you’re doing this.

“It was,” you answer simply, feeling at peace.

“So, what are we listening to next? I’ll put carols back on?”

“Can you replay the song, Rick?”

“The Zeppelin one?”

You nod. “You can pick which version.”

“Um, sure, of cour—sorry, there are versions?”

“She uploaded the remastered version, the mandolin cover, a live recording from YouTube.”

The poncho, you finally pull back over your head and wear it properly this time, over everything else instead of under. “I feel like an old-timey gunslinger in this.”

With a quiet chuckle, Rick nods. He click, click, clicks through the mp3 for the song. “Of course she made a playlist of only this one.”

A smile forms on your lips. Yeah, your eldest sister made a playlist of only Going to California, with three versions in a row repeated three times. It was for (her step)Mama and (stepbrother) Shane.

He hands you the earbud you’d torn off. You thank him and place it back into your right ear.

The gentle strumming of the guitar starts to play.

Clouds pass overhead as the song washes over you. Three months, you haven’t listened to it. Barely touched Zeppelin entirely, Shane enjoyed them too much.

The mandolin soon joins the guitar’s pretty, soft melody. You don’t feel sick to your stomach this time.

Robert Plant’s voice begins to sing those silly, nonsensical lyrics. Man, you’ve missed this song.

You hear Rick make a shaky inhale, so turn to look. He’s all bleary-eyed, same as you.

“I don’t know why, but something about the tune gets me going,” he hushes.

A sob forms in your throat, so you nudge him with your foot and tease, “Drama-king.” You scoot closer to him. He scoots closer to you.

“Are we okay?” you hear him ask.

“’Course we are. We have been. It was just the holiday gettin’ to me earlier.” And you aren’t just saying it, you mean it. “We’re family.”

Rick swallows and rubs the scruff on his jaw. His eyes are now completely bloodshot. “So was he,” he whispers.

The sob moved up when you heard him repeat the exact three words you’d said to him that bad, bad night. Four simple phrases, nothing fancy or profoundly heartbreaking. But the first one, “So was he,” you dunno, but it hit him like kryptonite, so you learned.

Like, obviously there’s more to it, but no, you’re not gonna delve back down; what’s done is done.

Forgiveness, in it’s fullest sense (which means your anger has gotta go) is something you’re working on, therefore accepting the past and not living in it is important. And for Rick, your brother, he’s in desperate need of forgiving himself.

Though, because of that night, instead of saying ‘I love you,’ as true as those words are, when things are hard, you have a temporary, different way of wording them with him…

“Rick? I don’t hate you.” It’s a false equivalent, you know, but it’s what needs to be used as the translation for the time being

His breath hitches. Rick turns his head away and tugs at his hair for a moment before turning back. “Y/N? I don’t hate you, either.”

You wipe your eyes and say it again. “I don’t hate you at all.”

He smiles a little while staring at the lake. “Good, ’cause I don’t hate you at all, either.”

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

Him

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

Nice, they’re sitting close. Good sign. And good cookie, hot damn. Carol snuck some more out and was sharing them. “Thanks for not makin’ them peanut butter,” he remembers to tell her. Shit, a crumb fell out of his mouth when he said that. Damn.

“They would’ve come out so much better if we did, pookie, just letting you know.”

“Yeah, T-Dog reminded me.”

“He’s, um…” What’s she smiling all shy about? “He’s actually making peanut butter ones outside over the fire right now.”

He turns to look. Oh yeah, check it out. T-Dog’s got the flat pan thing balanced over the makeshift grill. “Nasty.”

“Better stay downwind,” is her suggestion. She’s smirking only a little.

He did not expect to become such good friends with Carol, of all people, but he’s real happy it turned out this way. Definitely didn’t expect to become friends with T-Dog, neither. Hell, at first, he couldn’t imagine becoming friends and getting close enough for that damn invisible string to tug every so often with Y/N.

Didn’t expect to stay with or get close to any of the people here, to be honest. It was the last idea in his head that he was gonna stay, and that they’d want him to stick around.

“Would you like another, Daryl?”

“Hell yeah.”

She pulls out a napkin-wrapped small bundle from her coat pocket and hands him two more. He shoves a whole one in his mouth, it’s so damn nice to have a fresh cookie.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Baby Spice Beth by the fire, waving to them from beside T-Dog as he calls over, “Carol! I think it’s go-time for our turkey!”

Beth’s teeny little voice shouts what he thinks is “I got all the fixin’s ready!”

He’s not at all ready for Y/N and Rick to suddenly start shouting, handguns out, “T-Dog, we’re coming!” and “Beth, get Carl and Lori and run to the Hyundai and hide, we’ll get you when it’s safe! T-Dog, find Hershel!”

From the other side, Maggie then shouted something like, “Is Beth hurt? What’s goin’ on?”

What the hell?

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

You

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

Today is just full of lessons, ain’t it?

Turns out that you and Rick having music playing loudly in one ear leads to the two of you, upon hearing raised voices but not hearing what they were saying, to immediately assume the worst and jump into action. You’d both thought your people were being attacked or overrun...

A minor ruckus ensued, it’s, um, it’s fine now.

Hershel was amused. You heard him sigh all the way from where he was, then watched as he waved his hand with the yellow walkie in it and continued ambling along on his constitutional around the lake. It’s good that he’s keeping his scarf over his mouth and nose to warm the air while he’s out and about.

Carol told you both that you and Rick looked “kinda cool” when you’d leapt up together and started making for the completely imagined emergency. “It was like one of those movies with the sheriff and the rookie.”

You, obviously, were quick to coo “Aw Rick, you looked like a rookie!”

It was good to see him smiling. When you’d heard the shouts, he’d gone from normal to sweaty in the approximate 10 or so seconds worth of time it took for y’all to get up-in-arms and ready to bust some heads → to becoming some sort of emotion in between embarrassed, confused, and annoyed at having reacted so strongly.

Not that you still won’t occasionally refer to Rick as ‘dicktator,’ but that man is constantly on-alert because he genuinely wants the group safe and protected. He took all responsibility upon himself that bad, bad night. And no matter your opinion on it, the other people in your group rolled with it; you don’t control their choices.

They concluded that it was safer together (which it is, and you’d have it no other way) and they openly accepted those really shitty terms and conditions Rick laid out (which you did not and aren’t pretending to).

You’re pretty sure Rick’s still concerned about the group splitting, or that the group was still “broken,” as Dale had said just over three months ago (which reminds you that you still haven’t done the kaddish thing for him yet today!).

Truly, that stopped being an issue over two months ago. It was only after his initial dick-tator speech and when you were still postal that your people had been flight risks.

The group isn’t broken. It took only like a week for you to calm down, therefore for the group to calm down, but Rick can’t…forgive himself, therefore thinks he can’t ‘fail,’ even in appearance, after having done what he did.

He’ll get there.

While he’s off with Lori and trying to process that today is a good day and he can rest, you took a guard shift early to relieve Maggie. Carl is beside you, just to hang. He’s of course got his deputy hat on, with his little pistol out.

“You’ve got the safety on, baby?”

After a playful whine, he reminds you “Not a baby.”

“Hey. I changed your diapers, you’ll always be a baby to me. Punk,” you correct yourself.

“The safety’s on.”

And you know he hasn’t fired it since two days ago so his gun is still fully loaded minus three rounds. When was the barrel last cleaned and oiled, though? “And you took it apart and cleaned it with your dad earlier, right?”

“Yeah.”

Why did that sound uneasy?

You turn to get a good look at him.

He’s still maintaining proper gun handling, but his head is stooped.

Timidly, he calls your name. “Are you sad about Uncle Shane today?”

“I was. I-I still am, a little,” you confess. Lying isn’t your thing, and besides, that boy notices things the way Daryl does. With a lift of your shoulder, you concede “I miss all of them, just like you do.”

Him and Lori were crying a little yesterday night about Evie (Lori’s sister, Carl’s auntie). After New Year’s last year, she’d secured leave for her first Christmas at home in like four years. When Lori remembered that this was supposed to be the first Christmas with Evie again, she crumpled. Carl, too. “It’s normal that around special days like Christmas, one can feel a stronger sense of loss.”

“But it’s different with Shane!” he blurts out. Wiping his nose, he then starts to shuffle one foot around the twigs and acorns and dried leaves on the ground.

“I know, bud,” you sigh.

He sniffs and starts to pace. You rub your thumb along Dale’s big watch on your wrist and wish there was more you could do to make things better. For stuff like this, it just takes time. Some days are simply gonna be not-so-good. You send up some prayers and ask what to do, then you worry: your nephew didn’t start to feel scared of Rick again, did he?

You’d hoped that was just a one-off thing from that bad, bad night. “Carl, did you feel unsafe around him today or yesterday?”

You have to turn to see him shaking his head. “Sometimes, when he’s angry,” he quietly admits. “But not today. It was, um, it was when I saw…” He sniffs again and runs his sneaker over an acorn. “It’s just that you were playing with the necklace a lot yesterday and today. Then I overheard you talking with Mom earlier…” His little mouth twists and his brows knit close. “Was it okay that I gave Dad the picture with him and Shane and us?”

“Yes.”

“Did it hurt your feelings?”

“Not one bit, I was proud of you.”

Now he’s staring at his shoes. “Are you angry at dad again, Y/N?”

Deep breath. “I was for a short while.”

He gives a little nod and looks down, then back into your eyes, mouth still twisted as if he’s nervous about your answer. “Did you hate him again today?”

“No. I didn’t hate him today, I ain’t truly hated him in a long time.” You shrug. “Today, I simply remembered what it was like to.”

“I know he’s…not a bad man,” he says more cautiously than he should be.

“He’s a great one and a good one. And I don’t hate him, I love him.”

A shy smile twists his mouth and he relaxes his grip on his gun.

Ew, but now he’s staring at some type of orangey, shiny, fairly large fungus. Funguses? Fungi? Whatev.

Grossed-out and wondering how you hadn’t noticed them until now, you automatically guide him back from it just in case of, you don’t know, um…spores (that’s a thing, right? Mushrooms are just so creepy).

But a sudden flashback to the way you’d been holding Carl so he wouldn’t get any closer to that buck—right before they both got shot—causes you to flinch and let go of his shoulders.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, just went back to that day with the buck, kiddo, my bad,” you mumble. “Hey, if um, if you go get your mama, she might will know what that one’s called.” Lori’s the resident mushroom expert. Back in the before-times, you’d thought it was a disgusting unusual hobby. Joke’s on you, now. It’s a great skill to have when civilization collapses.

“They look cool.” His face lights up. “Wanna bet if we can eat those?”

“Ew, I’m bettin’ no way.”

“I’m betting yes way.”

You squint at him. “What’s the bet?”

“If I lose, I’ll give you one of my puddings.”

“High stakes, then. And I would give you what’s left in my can of Crazy-Cheez, but I don’t anticipate havin’ to. Are you sure you wanna bet the pudding, baby?”

What’s that mischievous look he’s making for? “I can’t wear your boyfriend’s poncho instead?”

Oh, that’s why. “Sure, yeah, totally — now since when are he and me behavin’ romantic, punk?”

“Well, why are you wearing his poncho? And he was wearing Shane’s co—”

“—My coat, not Shane’s. Daryl and I switched for funsies, how’s that?”

“Y/N, are you still scared of dating?”

Good Moses, kid. “I’m cautious and careful. Now, go get your mama, a puddin’ cup, and a spoon, please, ya punk-ass.”

“Pretty sure you owe a quarter for that,” he teases, holstering his pistol. He takes a few steps to head back, but turns around. “Don’t you like him?”

“I like everybody here.”

He huffs in a way not dissimilar to how you tend to. “You know what I mean.”

“I guess I don’t hate him. Happy?”

When you watch the punk-ass raise his eyebrows, redden, and start to giggle, you smile, confused, because: what just happened that you’re missing?

Well, whatever it was, Carl wags his fingers and scurries off to the little water department building, so, you shrug and get back to your guard duty. You chuckle despite the good/scared sensation in your stomach.

Sometimes, you get a tugging sensation from your chest toward that darn mangy hick, ever since that day he’d almost gotten himself killed trying to find Sophia. Other times, it’s just your standard butterflies. But every so often, it’s a good/secure/safe/nervous feeling in your gut.

Peeking back through the trees to make sure nobody is looking in your direction, you wrap the poncho tighter around yourself and you happily swing back and forth, grateful for the temporary peace and solitude. Your people are healthy, together, and happy…they’ve begun teasing you about you and Daryl…you get to wear his poncho…you can listen to Going to California again…

Tipping your head skyward, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Then it hits you: Carl noticed two and a half months ago how you (and his dad) started saying “I don’t hate you,” instead of “I love you” to each other…

Good Moses, and you just told him that…you didn’t hate…Daryl.

Oh my.

Ohh my.

Oh, poop, that punk-ass! That wasn’t what you meant, you love that mangy hick the way you love everybody here!

“Carl!”

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

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15 inch Black Tempered Glass Panel Built-in LPG Gas Hob Cooktop Portable Gas Cooktop LPG Gas Stove Countertop Dual Fuel Cooktops Gas Cooker for RV Camper Caravan Outdoor Apartments (2 Burners)

[6833bricks]

Stomach Aches

I don't know about you, but sometimes smoke gives me a stomach ache. When people grill during the summer months, especially around the 4th of July, I feel like I can't escape how (un)comfortable smoke (of any kind) makes me.

With wood burning in my backyard, the smoke smells a little better than coal, or gas does. When I can put aside how my body feels and just focus on the smell, I can actually bring myself to enjoy it. The nuances between the different types of wood become more clear as more smoke taps on my nose. Its grain, soft to hard wood make its way unto my path of awareness, and mixes with the elements of my wondering mind.

I like the smell of soft wood best. Red.

With gas stoves that I use to make my breakfast (normally eggs), I almost always start to panic a little when I first ignite one of the the burners. If I miss those few initial CLICK-CLICK-CLICKs before the flame, and zoom straight to "mid-flame", my body can normally tell when the natural-gas is on despite my inability to taste it.

I can feel it as it creeps along my tongue and as it seeps into my lungs.

With coal chucked onto the bottom of a grill, I can feel them burning, almost compressing me along all my sides. I can taste it, I can hear it pop (not quite like wood, but close enough to bring out my interested ears), I can see how my time has past and how much I have left of these tiny burning blocks of compressed carbon.

The colour: sheen-black to dusk-gray to heather-gray to burning-white ash entrance me enough to make it hard to walk away.

With gunpowder poppers, I get excited. Every nerve ending under my skin feels alive. I know gunpowder can kill__ or be used to kill us, but when gunpowder flicks to life, I feel my interest swelling in my chest. It's fast working. It propels me back to when I was four, when poppers were harder to come by; having had no money of my own at the time, but now I could legally go pick up a pack at the 99 Cents+ store for little over $2.

Why don't I? IDK.