#I AM BOILING A SIMMER POT ON THE STOVE FOR. SOMETHING

[whoslaurapalmer]

oh i am fighting a losing battle against the 25% HUMIDITY IN THIS HOUSE. I CANNOT GET IT TO GO HIGHER. MY NOSE IS SO DRY I CAN SMELL MUCUS. YEAH IT'S GROSS.

[elliewithcellie]

maybe eddie or steve and fem!single mom reader with a son who’s SUPER shy and doesn’t talk much around strangers…but they’re over at reader’s place one night recently after they’ve been introduced to your son making dinner and having a cozy night in…

you’re making dinner and you hear giggles and neither of your boys are anywhere to be found…so you go searching and find them playing with hot wheels or figurines together and it’s just too sweet

This is just such a cute idea I can't handle it. I picked Steve for this. I hope you like it! wc: 1.0k

Dino Drawings

The knock on your door stirred you from your focus.

“Shoot,” you muttered. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.”  Boiling water threatened to wade over the pot’s rim, and the red sauce bubbled, spraying out onto the counters and your blouse.

A little hand tugged on the hem of your shirt. “Mom, a knock.”

“I know, baby. It’s Mr. Steve. Come greet him with me.” You set your stove to a simmer and headed for the door, your son following close behind.

Steve stood in the entryway with flowers in his hands and a trepidatious smile on his face. “Am I early?” he asked.

“No, no,” you sighed. “I’m late. These are lovely, thank you.”

Your son peeked out behind your leg, his eyes wide as he gazed up at Steve.

“Hey, big guy!” Steve said, crouching to his level. “Long time, no see.”

Your little boy stayed put, his eyes now on you.

“Say hi, Sammy.”

A small hi was all his little voice could muster up before sprinting away into the kitchen.

Steve stood back up and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Sorry,” you said.

“I’m not worried. We’ll get there.” Steve’s smile relaxed as he pulled you closer with his free arm. He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, fleeting, but loving, nonetheless. “You’ve got sauce on your face,” he said as he used his thumb to wipe it off. “We having Italian?”

“A lame attempt,” you chuckled. “Come in. Come in before I burn something.”

Steve closed the door behind you and followed you into the kitchen.

“I can take those from you,” you said, hands out for the flowers.

“I got it, hon,” Steve said. “Sam can help me get these in water, right bud?”

Sam stood behind the table, barely peering over, and to your surprise, nodded.

“Come on, bud. Help me find a vase.”

You watched as Sam and Steve worked together to fill a vase with water. Steve cut the stems and handed them to Sam where he placed each flower carefully, one by one. They shared scrunched eyebrows as they focused on the task at hand. A warmth washed over you. Watching the boys distracted you from the food entirely until sauce splattered against your forearms.

“Ouch, ouch, shoot!” you grumbled. You wiped the sauce from your arms and sighed. As much as you didn’t want the cuteness overload to end, you had to finish dinner.

“Baby,” you called out. Both boys looked up from where they set the flowers. You laughed, your cheeks slightly rouging at the miscommunication.

“Sammy,” you corrected, “why don’t you show Mr. Steve your dinosaur drawings in your room?”

“No way, dino drawings?” Steve asked. “You’ve been holding out on me!”

Sam’s eyes brightened at Steve’s words. He remained silent but smiled up at Steve before zooming out of the kitchen and down the hall. He peeked around the corner of the hall and waved for Steve to follow him.

You felt as happy as Steve looked. Steve grinned ear to ear as if he couldn’t contain his excitement. “Alright, bud. Let’s see ‘em,” he called out as he all but jogged to catch up to your little boy. You turned back toward the stove, a smile refusing to leave your lips.

Thirty minutes later, the Chicken Parm was finally to temperature. You pulled the food from the oven. You grabbed three plates from the cabinet and set them down at the table. Seeing the third spot of your table filled pleased you to no end. You set out forks and napkins and dished out the spaghetti onto each plate. You relished in the silence, the lack of distractions. You finished setting the table and stood up straight. No distractions are a bad sign when you have children.

“Boys?” you called. No answer.

“Hmm,” you mumbled. You headed down the hall on your toes, sneaking around in your own home. Sam’s door had shut, but light peered through the crack, muffled ramblings permeating through.

You knocked and entered. Your boys looked up at you underneath a makeshift tent made of Sam’s comforter and a plastic hockey stick. Crayons of all colors and sizes rolled around over the construction paper that splayed across the floor in disarray.

“What do we have here?” you asked, hands on your hips.

“We’re drawing, Mom. Look! Mr. Steve said my drawings were cool, and that his favorite was the triceratops. I told him mine was the pterodactyl, and then I pulled out my crayons, and he said we should draw you one, and”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Your shy little boy going on and on in front of Steve, all thanks to Steve. Sam was comfortable. You kept your tears at bay as you watched your son be himself.

“This one we made for you,” Sam said. He held up a picture for you. In it was a long-necked dinosaur and three people standing next to it labeled Sam, Mom, and Mr. Steve. Above it, in different handwriting, were the words “I love Mom”.

“You made this for me?” you asked.

“You said the brontosaurus was your favorite, so I put us all with it,” Sam said smiling up at you.

“I love it, sweetie. Thank you. Now, go wash your hands, ok? Dinner is ready.”

Sam dashed out of his room, leaving you and Steve crouching under the tent. You rested your head on his. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Me?” Steve asked. “No, that’s all him.” He pressed his lips against your temple.

“He said it was your idea to draw something for me?”

“It was a collaboration.”

“Was it your idea to write ‘I love Mom’ then?”

Steve lifted his hand in surrender. “You caught me, there. But I made a mistake.” Steve leaned back to look at you. “I should have written ‘We love Mom’.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. Your cheeks flushed pink, but you smiled, nonetheless. You leaned in and gave him a proper kiss on his lips for the first time tonight. “We love you, too, Mr. Steve. Now, let’s eat before it gets cold.”

Steve held you in your son’s makeshift tent for just a moment longer before following you into the kitchen.

[bangtansmauyeondan]

THIRTY-FIVE | S04 E03 — A Thousand Times Over

Pairing: In-Studio Director!Jungkook x Stage Director!Fem Reader

Genre: rivals au, social media au, frenemies to lovers, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, crack.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: explicit language, mentions of abandonment, alcohol consumption, harmless scheming, dare, bet, smut

Summary: It has always been the battle of the best between you and your college rival, Jungkook. What happens when years later, you cross paths again working for the same network broadcasting company, and the competitive flame is rekindled? Well, a whole new drunken bet that determines your futures wasn’t in your line of vision but here you are… and you have until 35.

(A/N — Hello! Did you miss me? lol)

•••

You can’t believe it. Is this really happening? Are you really hosting dinner at home? You, who messed up something as simple as miyeokguk, are hosting dinner at home?

You don’t know where you got the guts from, but it’s definitely the result of another successful production, and Jungkook telling your close friends that dinner will be at yours over the weekend. By the time everyone has stopped cheering and exchanging high-fives, you have already agreed, smiling at them from ear to ear.

Jungkook helped you with the groceries the night before, and showed up at your doorstep bright and early this morning to get all the preparations done.

“Bun, it’s 7 am. Why are we doing this?” You whined while peeling a skinny piece of carrot, being careful not to peel your skin off in the process. You were sitting on a barstool, hunched over the kitchen island, only 80% awake. While your boyfriend moves around the kitchen confidently, mixing random spices and sauces for the marinade, and trimming the meat.

“We need to prepare everything now, so all the cooking will be easier later~” he answered in a singsong manner, turning around and busting out a move while humming to a song you don’t know. You can’t help but chuckle at what’s in front of you— your boyfriend in gray sweats and an oversized shirt, sleeves long enough that he was able to pull it down his hand and use it to handle a hot lid off the pot. He looks so soft and cozy, you almost want to leap off the stool and give him some cuddles.

“What are we making anyway?” You asked with curiosity, eyeing the vegetables and a piece of apple lined up in front of your “chopping line.”

“Suyuk and soondae gukbap. I need to start boiling the broth for the gukbap now, so it will be yummy tonight.” He nibbled on his bottom lip, doe eyes giving all the ingredients on the counter a once-over. “The rest— like the dakgalbi and samgyeopsal will be cooked over dinner, and everyone can participate.”

“Oooh. Is that something that a real chef would do?”

“I don’t know, I’m not one,” he grinned at you, nose all scrunching up as the grin turned into a giggle.

Two hours later, Jungkook has already marinated the chicken, dry-brined the slab of pork belly in the fridge, and got the bone broth simmering on the stove top. You, on the other hand, have organized all the chopped vegetables in ziploc bags, and tidied up the kitchen, making sure that everything is clean and ready to use for all the cooking later.

•••

The dinner party went well. Jungkook’s suyuk was a hit, to the point that he had to make another batch while everyone’s already crowding around the kitchen.

“Yah, Jungkook, you are insane!” Hoseok muttered between chewing. “This is so good, yah…” he gushed, picking his chopsticks back up and hugging another piece of pork with gat kimchi before stuffing his face with it.

“How did you make it?” Namjoon, also in awe of the taste, asked in curiosity. Deep down knowing that he won’t ever be able to even set foot in the kitchen to recreate it.

“I just followed the recipe!”

“Anyone up for some drinks?” Sohyun’s question worked everyone’s appetite even further up, and the food was demolished in no time.

“We should do this more often, it’s nice,” you told no one in particular. Yoongi agreed, topping up your glass. “Oh, thank you.”

“You did well, babe,” Jungkook slinked his arm around your shoulders and planted a kiss on your temple.

“I didn’t even cook!” You replied, flustered.

“Aye, you chopped all the vegetables. You did all the hard work,” Mingyu quipped. “Cooking is just putting it all together.

“You cleaned up too, YN. That’s crucial,” Hoseok added.

“Take the compliment, YN,” Namjoon snickered. “Remember when we went camping way back and I nicked my finger trying to peel a tiny potato? I am useless!”

Yoongi burst out laughing at the memory, “You had one job, dude. ONE JOB.”

The evening continued with more banter, stories, and laughter until Yoongi and Mingyu started a drinking game incorporated with a balance game. Two people will be asked to pick between two choices. If they match, they win. If they don’t, they take a shot. Hoseok and Sohyun have been winning back to back, so Yoongi decided to switch up the questions, zeroing in on you.

“I got a good one for you, YN…” Yoongi smirked.

“Okay…” You answered cautiously.

With a devilish grin and sharp eyes fleeting between you and Jungkook, Yoongi asked, “Would you rather kiss Jungkook for ten thousand won, or kiss a stranger for ten million won?”

Jungkook’s jaw dropped, “Yah, hyuuung…” Noticing your pause, he turned his head from Yoongi to you so fast, he could have had a whiplash, “Yah… is there something to think about?”

“Did the stranger brush his teeth?” You asked.

Jungkook gasped. “Why does it matter?” He asked you incredulously.

“Hmm… Let’s say, yes. He’s clean. Hygienic,” Yoongi nodded.

“Clean CLEAN? Like he goes to a dental hygienist clean?” You continued coaxing Yoongi for answers, completely ignoring Jungkook’s dagger eyes on the side of your face.

“Yeah, he regularly goes to the dentist and flosses three times a day,” Mingyu answered, almost toppling over his seat from laughing so hard at his bestfriend’s reaction.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jungkook picked up a piece of grape and threw it at Mingyu.

“Umm–”

You were cut off by Jungkook suddenly standing up from his seat to fish a crisp green banknote from his wallet and slamming it down on the table in front of you. “Baby, here’s ten thousand won, let’s go. Kiss me.” His facial expression, a mixture of amusement and drudgery.

The room erupted in laughter, with Hoseok literally falling on the floor and smacking Namjoon’s legs over and over trying to contain himself. “Aigoo, Jungkook-ah…”

“Can you give me ten million won?” You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend.

“Can you give me one thousand kisses?” He challenged back.

“Yah, yah, yah…” Namjoon waved his hands at everyone. “Let’s skip this question, we don’t want to be the cause of your breakup!” He suggested playfully, still half-wheezing from laughing.

The game continued on, putting a different person on the spot, until everyone sobered up and have gotten ready to leave. Jungkook decided to stay the night, given it’s already almost midnight, and tomorrow is Sunday.

You were standing in the doorway of your house, waving Mingyu off when Jungkook nudged you on the side, “Check your phone.”

“Huh?” You leaned onto the doorframe, fishing your phone out of your pocket. Your eyes widen in surprise when you saw the notification, before staring back at a smugly smiling Jungkook. “What the fuck is this, Jeon?! Where did you get this? You’re crazy!”

“Oh, I’m Jeon again?” He snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you closer, pressing his forehead against yours. “Here and there. Work. Stocks.” His voice dangerously low and goosebump-inducing.

You instantly melted at your boyfriend’s touch, “Babe… You’re overre—“ Jungkook shut you up by capturing your bottom lip with his soft ones.

“One,” he whispered.

“Jungkook,” His name came out of your mouth in a breathy voice as your fingers curled on the collar of his jacket.

He pressed two more kisses on your lips, one after the other. “Three.”

“What…?”

Jungkook swiftly shifted your body away from the door, kicking it shut in the process, before lifting you over his shoulder and making you squeal.

“Let’s get you to bed. I’m cashing in the remaining nine hundred ninety-seven.”

•••

BONUS — The notification:

[eternalchiyo]

Everlasting Spark ~MANIAC 08~

“Boooh! You’re going to make a terrible wife, kitty!”

Kou’s voice was ringing annoyingly in her ear while she tried to chop up a carrot. Currently her attempts at it looked more like a display of a peculiar art installation for a very specific audience rather than anything edible. Ruki was busy with… something today, so Kou and she had been put on cooking duty. The objective? Cauliflower soup.

“Shut up and help me instead of tapping away at your little device!”

“It’s called a smartphone! How many times do I need to repeat myself?”

He hadn’t been much of a help despite making fun of her for her lack of skills. She was starting to think he actually had no clue either about how to cook.

“Hey, hey, look here for a second!”

Chiyo looked up and was immediately greeted with the brightness of the flash of Kou’s smartphone camera.

“Haha! Ah you look so stupid I need to put this on my story! Hashtag bad girlfriend, hashtag cooking disaster, hashtag I am a celebrity get me out of here…”

Chiyo glared at his back and squeezed the knife in her hand. It would be so easy, so easy to just ram it into him. It wouldn’t kill him; she was aware of that. But at least it would knock him out for a bit and grant her some blissful silence. Instead, she turned back towards her artistic carrot project and kept on aggressively chopping them.

The recipe said to add carrots, cauliflower and potatoes once the broth was ready. Carefully, she tried to add the ingredients together into the pot. Still, it splashed everywhere.

“Well, I guess it won’t get any better than that,” Kou said as he leaned over the stove to look into the cooking pot. “Let’s let it simmer for a while and season it later.”

Chiyo put the cutting board and knife in the sink and took a seat at the small kitchen table. There was a cute little wicker bowl standing on it with a few of the tomatoes Yuma grew in his garden. Some of them had really funny shapes.

She sighed. The Mukami really loved to play into the idyllic family thing, didn’t they? Chewing on her lips she wondered whether she was jealous of this or not. Somehow it felt really over the top how everyone was doing their chores, but they also seemed to be looking out for each other in a way that the Sakamaki household didn’t. Her own family also wasn’t like that. Most of the time she was home alone with some servants and her housekeeper, her father always away on some important business regarding the King’s medical department.

And on the rare occasion that he was home? Well, those really weren’t her fondest memories. The best he could do for her was ignore her. Sometimes they’d eat dinner together in silence, those times were the most awkward. Luckily it was made sure that a big bouquet of flowers was put in the middle of the table so at least they wouldn’t have to look at each other while eating. Her father wasn’t very fond of her face, he always looked disgusted when they happened to meet eyes.

“Shit! Kitty! You left the stove on high?? It was supposed to simmer!”

She was shaken from her thoughts by Kou’s loud voice. The pot was boiling over, spilling the soup left and right.

“Goddammit!”

Kou lifted the cooking pot from the stove and turned it off. The soup had spilled all over the cabinets too.

“Maaan, I thought you were going to keep an eye on it…” he said.

“You didn’t tell me to!”

“Ugh, whatever, just help me clean it before Ruki comes back,” he complained and tossed a wet cloth her way. She grumbled but tried cleaning the soup stains from the floor and cupboards anyway.

And they said cooking with the family was supposed to be fun.

Everyone looked down at the soup standing on the table. Big chunks of carrot and potato were floating in it.

“Well… I suppose it is soup…” Ruki said.

Somehow Chiyo felt very embarrassed about that result. Food was supposed to be a source of sustenance, right? It didn’t have to look pretty or taste good. Everyone at the table was a bit reluctant to try and eat it though, except of course for Azusa, who simply tossed in half a jar of dried chili flakes and happily dug in. Chiyo cut off a piece of potato with her spoon and ate it – it tasted bland.

“Ah, right,” Ruki began speaking suddenly. “Chiyo, I have good news. It seems that you will be able to go home soon. If things proceed to go as smoothly, that is.”

“So, the… uh… thing you had to attend went smoothly then?” Yuma caught himself before revealing too much sensitive information, unfortunately still catching stern glare from Ruki.

“Yes. Let us talk about it later.”

Chiyo eyed them suspiciously. There was still something they kept to themselves regarding this issue, and she wasn’t sure what exactly it was.

But this meeting… the important thing he had to take care of today… could he be meeting with the King? She wondered whether he was able to speak with him just like that. Shuu sometimes got summoned by his father, but that was on very rare occasions, and he always had hated it. She chewed on a bland carrot piece. Lately, Ruki had been making sure she ate her portions, so she forced herself to eat this soup, even though it tasted awful.

Later that night as she was getting ready for another day of school, she looked at herself in the mirror. The mixed bitemarks from Shuu and Ruki had almost faded, but the marks on her wrists were still there. Luckily, she hadn’t been alone with Ruki in a closed space ever since. She wasn’t sure if she could trust herself near him any longer. Sighing, she buttoned her blouse and tied the white ribbon over her chest.

Soon.

Soon she’d be out of here. No Shuu. No Ruki. Just her and her old home. Not that she enjoyed her time there in particular but at least she would be left alone by the world over there. A little hermit life until she turned to dust someday.

Then, a knock on the door.

“Lilith… are you ready…? We want to… get going… soon.”

As the days started to get warmer, the family started to use the car to get to school. Chiyo appreciated this, since she really wasn’t fond of sweaty clothes or having to redo her makeup. She grabbed her bag and stepped out of her room.

“Yeah, all set.”

She could feel herself getting restless, another full moon was about to come. Hopefully, by then, this world would be long behind her, maybe she should skip classes tonight. Especially the ones she knew Shuu would actually attend. Sitting next to Ruki also did not spark too much joy in her lately, not that it ever had.

She guessed she could hide out in the library for the time being, so as soon as they arrived in the classroom, she excused herself, saying she was going to the restrooms. Even during her brief stay in the room, she could feel the icy stare from the back of the class following her every move. Better flee now.

Once she arrived in the library, she quickly stole a pillow from one of the chairs and made a beeline for a secluded corner she was sure nobody would go for. She threw the pillow on the floor and sat on it, leaning her head against the wall. Her body felt hot… probably the approaching full moon. Ugh, this was such trouble. At least the cool air of the library allowed her some relief.

Taking a random book from one of the lower bookshelves she started to mindlessly leaf through it. She felt especially funky today, she thought. Full moons have never been this bad for her, was she getting sick again? Hopefully not.

Suddenly her eyelids and head felt heavy, and she couldn’t help but lean against the broad part of the bookshelf. Before she knew it, she dozed off.

When she woke up, she wasn’t in the library anymore. She was laying on hard stone; something was squeezing her body. It was slithering along the curves of her frame, sleek and cold. Her eyes slowly opened, revealing something scaly moving in front of her.

With a gasp she sat up. She was back at that strange church, only this time she wasn’t at the altar, she was… outside? Her surroundings all had a warm hue, as if the sun was setting at this very instant. Golden hour. But there was no wind, no sound, nothing that made the scene real.

“Long time no see,” a familiar voice greeted her.

The mystery woman was sitting on an old stone edge, sorting herbs. This time around she had not concealed herself with the coat and hood, letting her red locks fall freely over her shoulders. Such a stark contrast to the bright chartreuse of her sharp eyes.

The snake slithered further down Chiyo’s body, wrapping itself around her legs before slithering back to the woman and nestling itself next to her.

“Did you like the last dream I sent you?” the woman asked.

“You sent me that dream? Why?”

She didn’t answer.

Chiyo hauled her legs down onto the ground and made her way over towards the mysterious woman. The dry grass made scrunching noises under her feet when she walked.

Her locks framed her delicate face perfectly even though they looked a little unkempt and wild. Faint freckles adorned the bridge of her nose and cheeks. The woman’s hands that had been working on the bouquet of herbs stilled and she looked up at Chiyo with sharp eyes, before handing her what she had been working on.

Reluctantly, Chiyo reached out and took the bouquet from her, allowing the woman to work on another group of dried herbs.

“I really like the hemlock plant. It is very pretty don’t you think?” The woman gestured towards the bouquet in Chiyo’s hands; it contained a plant with slim stalks and hundreds tiny, dried flowers. Chiyo didn’t have any chance to respond before the woman started speaking again.

“It’s pretty and unassuming, a little bit like you.”

Chiyo frowned.

“Pretty… but deadly.”

With a gasp the girl immediately let go of the plants, making them fall onto the dry grass. The woman chuckled.

“Relax, it won’t harm you like this.”

Chiyo cleared her throat.

“You… are you my mother?” she asked.

The woman smiled at her again. It was supposed to be a nice and reassuring one, but something seemed amiss. Somehow it made a shiver run down Chiyo’s spine.

Suddenly the image in front of her started to get blurry, a terrible ringing sound invaded Chiyo’s ears; the woman in front of her and their surroundings losing form until they disappeared into nothingness.

It was the school bell.

How long had she been asleep for? She flinched and held onto her head with one hand. God, what a terrible headache again!

She blinked away the black dots forming in her vision and slowly stood up, holding the bookshelf for support. A bit of fresh air would do her good probably.

With heavy steps she began her way towards the rooftop.

The air in the building felt so stuffy like never before and she finally sighed in relief when the cold night air hit her and filled her lungs. Only after some time did she feel a pair of icy blue eyes stare at her from the other side of the rooftop.

She was too weak and not fast enough to flee the scene before Shuu suddenly appeared right behind her, trapping her between him and the iron bars used to enclose the rooftop area.

“You again…” he said, “Your scent is even more irritating at times like this.”

She whimpered weakly. Her body was too aware of his, her head spinning and her vision cloudy. A full moon paired with sickness; this really was a bad time to run into him.

“Shuu… please… I can’t do this right now…” she begged; her voice strained as she leaned her head against the cold metal in front of her.

“It’s never a good time with you,” he growled and took hold of her wrist which was holding onto the bars for support.

Suddenly he drew away.

“You…”

She gasped when he turned her around, there was a little more distance between them now, allowing her to breathe.

“Why is your wrist so thin?”

“Huh?”

Shuu’s eyes scanned her from head to toe, growing more distressed the more he looked at her. Did she look that bad?

“What are they doing to you, Chiyo?!” his voice was urgent in a way that she rarely had heard it in all the years she had known him.

“Nobody… is doing anything…” she gasped, “what’s it… to you… anywa–”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence before her feet gave out and she started collapsing. However, her body never hit the hard ground. To her surprise she collided with a broad chest. The smell of sandalwood invaded her nose immediately.

“I thought that I might find you here. Maybe I ought to keep you on a leash after all…”

She looked up weakly at Ruki, breathing labored and shallow. He held her gently in his arms, almost protectively. It was funny, she would have expected it to feel colder, but his embrace was comforting.

From the other side she could feel the murderous intent with which Shuu stared at them, or rather how he stared at Ruki.

“You bastard, what have you done to her?!”

Chiyo flinched. Shuu rarely raised his voice, but when he did, she always got scared. And right now, he seemed properly angry. Was it the effect of the coming full moon? No, it had to be something else; he had never acted out like that. The way he behaved... it was almost as if he didn’t have himself under control at all.

“Bold of you to assume I would do anything to her that she does not want me to. Though, judging by your and your brothers’ behavior, you do not seem to quite grasp the connotations of a simple ‘no’,” Ruki said with a calm voice which only made Shuu angrier, an animalistic growl forming under his breath. He probably would have lunged at the other man right now, if it weren’t for the fact that she was acting as a buffer between the two.

“Don’t act as if you and your lot aren’t constantly pestering Yui for her blood, not that I blame you of course, it is delicious, isn’t it?”

Ruki stilled but regained his composure in mere seconds.

“Trying to change the subject? How low,” he smirked before snaking his arms under Chiyo’s legs and lifting her up easily. “I am afraid I do not have time for something like that. You see, I have someone to take care of.”

She saw Shuu frown at him, but he didn’t say anything in return, or if he did, she didn’t hear it anymore. She let her head fall back against Ruki’s chest and closed her eyes in the hopes of alleviating the headache a little.

Ruki sighed. “You really should stop wandering about on your own.”

“Sorry…” she said weakly when he placed her on the leather seat in the car.

“What if I had not been there to catch you?”

He didn’t really expect an answer from her as he sat down next to her and told the familiar to bring them home. His cold hand moved her head onto his shoulder for support.

“I said I’m sorry…” she mumbled.

“You can do better than that,” he said, “Promise you will not wander around on your own anymore.”

“I promise…”

“Say it clearly.”

“I promise I won't wander around… on my own… anymore…”

She’d say anything he wanted her to, only to keep his soothing hand on her forehead as her consciousness slipped away again.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Direct Message - TASM!Peter Parker x Reader

[2K Followers 'Clue' Special]

SUMMARY: A healthy relationship means you trust each other but the healthiest relationship is poking fun at anyone trying to hook up with either of you... right?

WORDCOUNT: ~0.5k

In a miraculous turn of events, your kitchen did not burn down due to Peter’s actions. No one lost a finger and neither did the recipe turn out to be bogus. The veggie stock with dumplings was simmering on the stove, filling the flat with a mouth-watering aroma. Your stomach grumbled quietly. The fifteen minutes of waiting were going to be torture.

Sitting on the counter, you were silently watching Peter putting away the dirty utensils and ingredients. He still had his sleeves rolled up from cooking. There wasn’t anything, in particular, you were thinking about - school, family, the plot of the book you were reading… Just passing, unimportant thoughts. Judging by his expressionless face, he wasn’t any more troubled than you were.

Your phone vibrated on the counter, eliciting a low thrum. Rather out of habit than genuine interest, you looked at the lit-up screen. A message. Reading the less-than-savoury text, a grimace appeared on your face. “Dear Lord, what on God’s green Earth is this.”

“What’s up?” Peter asked walking to you. He leaned against the counter with one hand. His curious gaze studied your profile.

"Remember that guy that hit me up like last month?” Peter gave you a confused look. Truthfully, neither of you paid much mind to people interested in the other. “The basketball dude?”

His face momentarily lit up. "Yeah, what about him?"

"He hit me up again."

Peter burst into laughter. A lovely sound. "What?!” he asked in disbelief. “Show me."

You opened the phone and Peter leaned his head against yours to get a good look at the screen. An enticing fragrance of spicy cologne mixed with flowery laundry detergent filled your nostrils. Unknowingly, you took in a deep inhale.

"See?“ You vaguely pointed at the newest text. “Your boyfriend doesn't have to know',” you said in a mocking voice. “The Hell do I look like? Secret Service?"

He looked at you with a strange glint in his eyes. "I mean, he's got good taste, gotta give him that."

You entertained him with a giggle. Taking a step forward, Peter found himself standing between your legs, hands lingering around your waist. He gave you a playful grin.

“You too." Enjoying this sudden intimacy, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Peter leaned in explicitly close but before he would indulge in this lack of personal space, he simply had to murmur something cheesy. “Oh, please. He’s a fanboy, I am a connoisseur.”

His warm lips gently moved against yours. One of his hands travelled from your waist to your jaw, firmly cupping it. The surrounding world, like mist on a summer morning, seemed to dissolve.

The repetitive sound of the lid slamming against the pot made you divert your attention. You turned your head slightly to the side to free your mouth but Peter was hardly affected by that. Feverishly, he continued peppering your face with kisses.

“Babe, aren’t the dumplings boiling over?” you whispered to him.

He didn’t even glance in the direction of the pot. Peter’s warm breath brushed against your cheek as he chuckled before kissing you again. “Nah.”

I've got one Bad News and two Good News. The Good News: 1) We're a handful of souls away from hitting 2k. 2) I'm 4k words into a sci-fi novel. The Bad News: I don't know if I have depression or ADHD but one of those for sure

[dajaregambler]

HeliosR - Keith Max Card story ‘‘A way of spending valuable free time’’

Translation of Keith Max’ Lock On The Lost Night card story from ‘Helios Rising Heroes’.

Keith: …Haah

Keith: (Nothing beats smoking at yer own pace~)

Keith: (Got busy lately ‘cuz Brad’s been forcing me to attend meetings in the morning, or help him out with work….)

Keith: (Seriously been a while since I had the whole day off)

Keith: (Gonna drink as much as I want today~♪)

Keith: (I’ll go drop by this new bar that opened up recently, for starters)

-

Keith: (Uuh, if I ain’t wrong it’s in South’s---)

Brad: Keith

Keith: Ouah!? Brad…. What is it now, y’know I’m on break, yeah?

Brad: I know. Thanks to you taking care of some of my responsibilities, I have more than enough time to spare today.

Keith: Right. Then better take it easy for the entire day-----

Brad: This works out perfectly. I thought of using this time to attempt something I don’t usually do. You come with me.

Keith: Wha-!? Lemme at least rest to my heart’s content today…

Brad: Lend me a hand and I’ll buy you alcohol.

Keith: Eh…..!

Keith: …For real?

Brad: We’ll be heading to the shopping center now. Pick whatever alcohol you’d like there.

Keith: Basically tagging along for some shopping? Well, if it’s just that…

Brad: It’s decided. Get in the car.

Keith: Just so ya know, ‘m kinda in the mood for sumn’ expensive right now, ya get me~?

Brad: Not a problem. It’s all fine, just get in the car.

Keith: Yeah, yeah.

-

Keith: Say, know we're here for shopping, but what’cha buying? Somethin’ heavy to carry or?

Brad: No, it’s food. 

Keith: Aah, stocking up on frozen foods, eh

Brad: Wrong. There’s a meal I’d like to try out.

Keith: A meal? You gonna make it?

Brad: Obviously. That’s why I asked for your help.

Keith: Ah, I get it now…

-

Brad: Bonito flakes… must be this.

Brad: And then kombu….

Keith: (......All them ingredients he’s been stuffing in his basket for a while now, could that mean….)

Brad: There’s several variations of miso. Red, white, mixed….

Keith: Don’t tell me, yer gonna be making Japanese food!?

Brad: I am

Keith: How many times have I told ya now before, Japanese food’s a major pain in the ass, yanno

Brad: That’s why I thought I should try making it myself. And you could help me---

Keith: Wha-!? Why the hell do I suddenly have to help out, quit messing with me!

Keith: Setting other foods aside, I draw the line at Japanese. Yer ruining my whole day off. No way in hell I’mma help ya out

Brad: …….

Keith: …What. Scowl all ya want, I ain’t gon’ yield-----

Brad: Well, it’s fine. I can make it on my own too.

Keith: ….Eh

Brad: It’s an occasional day off. Struggling with cooking ought to be another way of meaningfully spending my time.

Brad: Having this opportunity was possible due to you taking care of work in my stead.

Keith: ….

Brad: No worries. I will buy you alcohol as promised---

Keith: Ah geez, I get it! I freaking get it! I’ll lend a hand!

Brad: ……..

Keith: You better drink with me as compensation. And stick with me till I’m satisfied!

-

Brad: Keith, remove the kombu before the pot boils for the kombu stock.

Keith: Yeah, I know. Heard ya loud and clear. You watch out it don’t boil over there.

Brad: No, the recipe calls for it to simmer on high heat---

Keith: Even so, that’s gon’ mess up the whole flavor. We’re using a different fish than the one in the recipe, it’ll taste terrible if we don’t adjust to it

Brad: I see. Then this pan here is for skimming. 

Keith: Don’t remove too much stock now. S’gonna disappear before you know it

Keith: Ack, lower the flame…..!

Brad: ….!

Keith: Even if high heat is spelled out word for word, stoves have different power in different places.

Brad: That makes sense.

Keith: Sigh…. This is why Japanese food’s a pain in the ass…

-

Keith: Uwah, it’s gotten this late already….

Keith: (Spent the whole day cooking in the end…)

Brad: Clear soup, simmered vegetables, fish boiled in soy sauce. The menu came out as planned.

Keith: Ooh~ Got anxious if it’d come out decent while making it, but arranging the plates makes ‘em look the part.

Brad: It smells nice too. While we did not go as far as a restaurant in Little Tokyo, it does resemble it quite well.

Keith: We only made enough for the both of us, so let’s eat up. Or else Dino and the others are gonna be up in arms when they’re back.

Brad: Yes. Let’s dig in.

Brad: From the clear soup first…

Keith & Brad: …..

Brad: A nice flavor.

Keith: Heh, it really packs a punch

Brad: The fish goes well with the rice.

Keith: Them simmered dishes are tasty too…. Pairs great with a drink

Brad: Indeed…

Keith: Now haven’t ya been constantly helped by me lately? Sticking with me for just one round of drinks ain’t gonna cut it, y’know

Brad: Yes, you have a point

Keith: Say what’cha want, it’s as I… huh?

Brad: To be able to eat such delicious Japanese cuisine, I made the right call to ask for your help.

Keith: ……!

Brad: You have my thanks, Keith

Keith: H-hey now, where’s this coming from…

Keith: You got another favor up your sleeve that ya wanna throw at me or what? Can’t you leave it be and spare me already!?

Brad: I wonder?

Keith: Wha……

Brad: Your chopsticks stopped moving. Eat before it gets too cold.

Keith: …… Damnit, you tyrant.

[helianskies]

NedSpa for 22?

a 🍪 and a forehead smoochie for anon!

Rest

A voice, somehow so loud yet so soft, penetrates the sanctity of his dreams and cries out to him, “Wake up!”, a command that startles him so violently that he nearly falls right out of his chair.

It takes him a moment to realise and remember where he is: at home, at the kitchen table, at ease. Antonio takes a breath. His eyes find Abel through the haze.

“Sorry,” he says, apologising meekly for what he assumes must have been another bout of microsleep. He’s been having those more often lately, and always at such rude and inconvenient times. “You were… saying something? Before?”

Abel, however, seems to already be over their previous conversation. Their dinner continues to cook in the background, sauce simmering away along with the other’s patience.

“This isn’t good for you,” Abel remarks after the pause.

“Tell me about it,” Antonio returns, trying (perhaps futilely) to keep the mood light, “I don’t think I can take many more heart attacks before I drop dead for good…”

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I.”

“Antonio.”

It’s stern, sharp, serious. It’s all the things that Antonio doesn’t want—things he knew were coming.

“How much sleep did you get last night?” Abel asks him over the table. This has become an interrogation, and Antonio is not really a willing participant.

He says, “I got as much as my body let me have,” and diverts his attention towards the food. The potatoes are still boiling. He wishes they’d boil over and give him an excuse to get up, to keep busy, to do anything other than this again.

“You still haven’t gone to see a doctor, I take it,” Abel muses, not really needing an answer. "Is there a reason?"

Antonio bites back a sigh. "You know," he says, "that human doctors can only do so much for us."

"Hasn't stopped you from popping pills before."

"That—"

Antonio is stunned. He's impressed, but also wounded.

"That's beside the point," he replies, struggling to stay composed. "A doctor can never find the problem. They just give us a temporary fix and usher us back out of the office…"

Abel hums. "Then maybe you need a different kind of doctor."

"…That's not fair."

"They might help."

"You promised me you'd never bring it up."

"I only promised you that when I thought you were doing better," Abel tells him sordidly, however. He doesn't say it in a mean way. He doesn’t… mean harm, or to cause upset. He's doing it because he cares, Antonio reasons with himself, even if… that doesn't make it easier to listen to. "You've gone to one before," Abel adds, "you'd know if it helps."

"I don't need to see a— a shrink," Antonio asserts, wary. "I'm okay. It isn't unusual for people like us to struggle sleeping! Even you have your moments—!"

"I wouldn't suggest it," Abel bats back, "if I wasn't worried."

It's like a final blow, a final strike—the last nail in the coffin that Antonio finds himself lying in, barely able to breathe. Abel doesn't look angry. He doesn't look disappointed. He just looks… tired. Tired, like Antonio, yet in such a different way.

This is a back-and-forth they've been having for a while. Antonio knows Abel is only trying to look out for him (mostly because the Spaniard gave up on doing so himself a long time ago) and he wishes the other would lose his compassion, sometimes. He didn't deserve the care. He didn't deserve the concern. And especially not from him.

The pot bubbles. The water sputters and begins to spill. Antonio silently thanks the universe for its intervention and gets out of his chair in a hurry to rescue his stove. Only, in the process, he knocks his knee, kicks the table leg, and almost trips over his own feet; Abel is quick to prevent him from toppling over (God, why did you have to make him so… him?) and tells Antonio to sit back down before he hurts himself.

Antonio has neither the energy nor willpower to argue with him further.

Abel takes the potatoes off of the heat and turns down the ring. He mutters to himself—no doubt huffing about the mess he'll insist on cleaning himself—and Antonio in the meantime settles again at the table, elbows up, head in hand.

He… understands, to some extent, where Abel is coming from. It's a wonder he managed to prepare dinner without losing a finger…

"Just think about it," the other says, a mind-reader. Antonio is tired of his wisdom for now… "I know you don't want to hear it," Abel adds, "but we both know what your demons are."

"Nice… Nice choice of words…"

"But you understand what I'm saying. As tough as they seem," Abel goes on, "you don't have to face them alone. João has told you the same. Even Francis has told you the same. So now I am telling you the same. I don't… want to seem pushy, but of everyone I know, you really are your worst own en—"

Abel ceases. The only sound in the kitchen that remains is the gentle sound of the stew which, after a few moments, Abel turns off so that sound, too, eventually fades.

Antonio is asleep again. He's reluctant to disturb him, this time.

He feels bad for having done it in the first place, truth be told, but there's a point to be made. He isn't well. He isn't himself. But Antonio's stubbornness is undying, and Abel knows that although you can lead a horse to water…

…Dinner can wait. It can wait a bit longer. As uncomfortable as it must surely be to sleep whilst sat at a table, the fact that he's sleeping at all is perhaps not a gift to snuff at, now.

Abel doesn't have the heart to wake him twice.

[ wordcount, 977; prompt list here! ficlet collection here! ]

[umbralsound-xiv]

Hope And Honesty.

Even speaking with Sayuri about it, the things that man said the other sun weighed heavy on my thoughts. And of course i valued her thoughts on the matter, but... ...Well. He was never one to sugarcoat things. All it would take is to cook something in the kitchen, open the right spice jar, and he would be here.

The hiss and sizzle of frying meat simmers from deep within the kitchen, the rich, pungent aroma of spices lacing the air. Eir hovers at the stove, attention on the meal he was midway through preparing. An almost sly peek over his shoulder is given, turning away again as he begins to run a knife through a small bundle of herbs.

It was almost as effective as shaking a bag of treats for a dog to come over. Just moments after Eir looked over his shoulder, a pair of leather boots made their way down the stairs with steady yet lazy steps. Erjon crooked one eyebrow curiously when he noticed who was responsible for the enticing scent. "Ah, I shouldn't be surprised," he commented. "You're looking well, Angreir."

Eir Fellfrost: "Did you miss me?" Eir lofted a brow as he turned his head, barely concealing the smirk as his scheme had indeed had the desired effect. "Of course i am well. Newly married, recently returned from our honeymoon." A pause then, head tilted. "Yourself?"

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Am well now, knowing there's food to be had." He invited himself to the kitchen to have a closer look at what Eir was making. "Not at all tired from all your honeymooning, then? I imagined she'd have crushed your pelvis by now."

Eir Fellfrost huffs a small note of amusement. "There were plenty more things in Thavnair to do than one another. It is one of the few cities that does not make me feel so… Old. It has barely changed." One pot on the stove simmered some vibrant yellow rice, and in the other, a curry of meat, vegetables, and many other things; not telling what remained secluded in the oven itself.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Hm. The youngsters of this place make you feel old, eh?" He snooped around the stove to see if there was anything he could steal already or if he had to wait. "Never been to Thavnair myself. Does it still feel like home?"

Eir Fellfrost: "…Not so much here. But it is a… Strange thing. To meet people again, having departed them as teens, to return to them with greying hair and wrinkles." There's nothing stealable yet, unless Erjon wants undercooked curry, or a mouthful of still-boiling rice. "It felt like… A memory. Home to someone i once was. But… I am different, now." A glance is given to Erjon, figuring he knows better than to poke at boiling food. "…You make me feel old."

Having observed the stove long enough to conclude that there was nothing worth stealing yet unless he wished for a second degree burn, Erjon shuffled over to the kitchen island to lean against and simply observe. "Well, I am younger than you, aren't I? And have a baby face condition."

I think looking young is something of a terminal condition when it comes to Viera. I myself do not look especially old, and wager none would be able to guess my age... ...It is my namesday soon, too...

Eir Fellfrost: "You are." A pause, then. He'd assumed he was, at least. "…By how much, i am not certain. But i know that you…" Eir chews on a word, careful for speaking it. "…You were… Away, for longer than i."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "I'm in my early eighties. You're, what, one hundred something? Nothing to brag about for a Viera though, really." He titled his head at Eir's final words, glancing at the stairs for a moment before responding. "I was a soldier longer than you, yes. I was pretty young when I got 'recruited'."

Eir Fellfrost: "I was perhaps not so far from your age now, when i was… Taken." A small roll of his shoulders are given, as Eir takes a kitchen glove, leaning down to retrieve the contents of the oven. A small pile of golden-yellow bhaji, naan studded with raisins; enough of a feast to summon a minor deity, though in their absence a certain Viera would do. "I will be one hundred and twenty seven at the beginning of next moon. No grand age for us. Though there are plenty not lucky enough to see it."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv whistled when he heard the number. "Old enough to be my dad, if you want me to make you uncomfortable." He eyed the bread with keen interest as it emerged from the oven before shifting to observe Eir up and down as he moved about in the kitchen. "… Well now. Legs look to be fully restored, and you're not looking like you expect someone is about to stab you in the back the moment you let down your guard. A little vacation really does wonders to the mind and body."

The absolute gremlin. Though i admit i much prefer this kind of teasing compared to what i have recently endured. It is almost... Enjoyable. ...And familiar...

Eir Fellfrost: "Gods, do -not-." Eir makes a face, nose wrinkled with discomfort. "…I feel far better for it, yes." Eir casts a gaze over Erjon's shoulder, moving to collect two plates. "You should try it sometime."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Sorry dad, I'll be a good boy. And I'm always on vacation, don't worry. Anything is a vacation compared to the war."

Halfway through removing the bhaji from the tray, one is held up in an almost threatening manner towards the other Viera. "Speak those words again and i swear not another crumb of my cooking will pass your lips." Regardless, it is tossed in Erjon's direction. "Suppose. But have you never… Taken time out for yourself, in your few cycles of freedom?"

Erjon Sjadarwesfv lifted his hand to catch the bhaji and blew on it a few times before taking a bite, happy it didn't scorch his tongue as he finally got to taste some of the food. "I do that all the time. I usually work by myself in my room, or have a look around for things to work on."

Eir Fellfrost: "Yes. I am aware." Eir inclines his head, gaze lidding. "Hermit." Chiding, he continues. "But have you ever gone somewhere simply for the joy of it? A walk? Ventured to the beach, just because?"

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Really making me eat my words here, are you?" he responded before taking another bite. "Sure I have. I sometimes go searching in places like the Shrouds. You can find remnants of Garlean technology if you're lucky, sometimes parts that are hard to get on a regular market. It's a bit like treasure hunting."

A little dejected, Eir sighs from his nose, shoulders slouching just a touch. "…You have never been on holiday." Eir confirms. "Yes, it is -outside-, but tethered to your work, still." Eir begins to plate up the rice, stealing a small bowl from one of the overhead shelves.

...I wonder if he even knows how. How to relax, after all of that? It was easier for me. I had a peaceful life before my conscription. But for him...? Has he known anything else?

Erjon Sjadarwesfv shrugged. "Not officially, if it needs an official declaration. I enjoy what I do, I have no reason to complain. Much like how you enjoy dancing and running around."

Eir Fellfrost: "I also enjoy reading, cooking and tending my houseplants." Eir remarks, piling a heap of curry on each plate, reserving a smaller portion of the meal in the bowl. "You are complacent, and that is no bad thing." A naan, and at least three bhaji are settled on a plate… Which is then offered to Erjon; a far cry from the leftovers he was used to. "But have you not ever thought of seeking some relaxation? Or some other enjoyment?"

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Oh, generous today, are we? My thanks." Erjon reacted with raised eyebrows as he took the plate. "Never thought about it. I'd like to say I'm pretty relaxed in general. I guess I read books sometimes. Are you suggesting I should start cooking or tend to houseplants too?"

Eir Fellfrost turns to fix his own plateful, making for the table, then. "No. Just… Find something that is not…" He gestures at Erjon, as though that was supposed to explain anything. "It is no bad thing to be dedicated to your work. But even the Commander -- Bexy, rests more that you."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "I sleep when I get tired, I eat when I'm hungry, and I enjoy working on weapons. I have it pretty good." He walked over to the table to join Eir. "But sure, I could get a little more creative. Last time I got creative I accidentally drilled a hole in the kitchen counter though, so there might be surprises."

Eir Fellfrost makes a face; a thin-lipped sort of smile that hid the pain within. It's quietly dismissed after a few moments, and a few mouthfuls of curry besides. "Suppose we both do. As long as you are happy, i suppose that is all that matters…" Trailing defeatedly, his brow knits after some few moments, taking a breath as though he'd ask something and deciding to leave it unsaid. Hesitation then, as he slowly tore off a piece of bread. "It was nice to be… Away, for a time. It helped me distance myself from all that happened. Only for everything to come crashing back to me upon my return."

I am happy, of course. but the lingering dread that everything will continue, that this peace will be broken... ...I know it is coming. And sooner, rather than later.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Relax, no need to get so uncomfortable by me being simplistic." He broke off some bread and scooped up some curry and rice on it before eating. "That bad, huh? Feeling uneasy being back behind these walls again? Told you you should become a farmer or a pastry chef or something instead."

Eir Fellfrost shakes his head, then. "No, i am… Glad to be back. I knew we would not be there forever, and lovely though it was, i would not want to be. Just…" A small sigh, then. "Bexy has one of them. One that will fix Sayuri and her aether, should all be well. And i am thankful, and want her to have her aether back, only… I am worried. Frightened for repercussion." A breath, as Eir glances up, some awkward gap where a word aught to have been had habit not removed it. Almost instantly, Eir wilts again, sinking a little further into his seat. "We… Spoke once. In this room. Beneath the counter…" Eir chases a chunk of potato with his fork, focused on anything but the Viera before him. "…Do you… Think that it was my fault?"

Eir Fellfrost: "…Had i been stronger. Faster. That it would be… Different?"

Finally, the question i wished to ask him finally left me. I know he would tell me as he saw it. The Elezen is vicious and wished only to cut me down with words. Sayuri i fear may be little biased, dear to me though she is. She would never think such a thing of me. ...From a more objective view, and honest words. I wanted to know his answer... No matter what it was.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv kept chewing his food as he listened, only responding once he had swallowed. "They caught one, huh? Well then, we might finally get some more answers. Unless the Commander or your lovely icicle of a wife freezes his tongue off before he can speak." He paused to break off some more bread. "A repercussion is bound to happen, I doubt they were happy about your escape. I reckon this won't be over until their leader is put to the ground, seeing how far he was willing to go to keep you."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv takes a bhaji and puts the whole thing in his mouth, chewing for a while until he is able to form words without spilling anything. "You're always complaining about your own strength, Eir. It would have happened, whether you were stronger or not. Accept it. There was nothing you could do to prevent it. That does not make it your fault." He pause to swallow with a sigh. "You oughta work on your confidence, if anything. You've broken my ribs, so there's nothing wrong with your strength."

Eir Fellfrost stares at his plate for a long, quiet moment. Some more food makes it to his mouth as Erjon speaks, though the furrow of his brow doesn't leave… At least, not right away. Expression softening, he looks up to the other Viera, then. "So you… Do not think it was my fault?" Eir asks, almost a little softer than he'd have liked to. "It would have happened anyway. Hah… That is… Is it strange, that it is some comfort to hear that? I…" Eyes widening, he drops his fork, which clatters to the plate before he quickly retrieves it. "I--I broke your ribs?!"

It... It was not my fault. Even if i would have eluded them, they would have found another way. It is a bittersweet comfort. To know that what we endured was not because of... Me, and my inadequacies. ...I still cannot believe i broke his ribs. I never knew, and... i feel somewhat dreadful for doing it.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Yep, two of them. Don't worry, they healed up just fine. But you can absolutely kick the shite out of anyone if you wish. If you just get angry enough… Angreir." The corner of his mouth turned up, clearly amused by Eir's reaction, before he scooped up some rice and curry to eat.

Eir Fellfrost stares at the plate for a moment, taking a bite of a bhaji. His lips curl into a small frown, then. "…I…" He swallows, looking up. "…I did. I… Killed someone. In the compound. I… Did not have much choice, but i… Do not feel good about it. I… Kicked her in the head. Not on purpose. A reflex." He quietly mops up some of the sauce. "…She did not get back up."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv listened quietly. "… Already tried it, I see. Well then. That should be proof enough, even if it was not pleasant." He broke off some more of the bread, but did not eat it yet. "This whole thing is not over yet. Repercussions are bound to happen, in one way or another. You'll have to be prepared for that. Easier said than done, one can prep all they want and still be surprised. But being aware of your own strengths and flaws is an advantage. And now it is an enemy you know."

Eir Fellfrost: "I…" A shiver dances down Eir's spine with enough discomfort to see him sit upright. Ears turned on his head, he stares at his food as though detached from himself for a few moments, eventually speaking again. "…I… I know. I am… Trying to be. But the thought of facing… Him is…" Eir shifts a little, a discomfort in his side, a hand smoothing over the unseen scar beneath his clothing. "I… Cannot fight him."

...He is much too strong. Skilled, though i am loathe to admit it. He knows i am quick, knows how to counter that. I... I still remember his face as he held me aloft after i broke down the door. ...As he plunged his blade into my stomach. I still see his face in my nightmares...

Erjon Sjadarwesfv tilted his head as he watched Eir. "… The one who broke your legs? He messed you up real good, from what you told me."

Eir Fellfrost: "…Another Viera." Eir murmurs, swallowing the knot of anxiety that crawled up his throat, shoveling down some more rice to smother the feeling. "He… Very nearly ended my life."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Even worse, hm?" He took a bite out of the bread before continuing. "I don't blame you for preferring to not fight him again, and if you're lucky you won't have to. But you can't always count on luck to be on your side. You were unlucky enough to end up where you were in the first place." He leaned forward to rest one arm on the table. "So… what will you do with this knowledge? Can you put it to good use? You know what to expect, and that is an advantage."

Eir Fellfrost: "I…" Eir lifts his gaze to Erjon, then. "…Then i will not fight him. I am faster than him, and so long as i can outrun him, i do not have to." His gaze drifts away back to his meal, where he quietly eats for a little longer. "He… He is a monster." A hand trails over the long, thin scar that lined his arm and slipped away between his fingers; clearly no mark of an accident or combat, and something much more purposeful. "He is… Strong. But not invincible. Just… Much stronger than me."

...If i meet him again, it will not be in the compound. I know i can outrun him. I know that i am faster, just by our altercation in the arena. ...So long as i can run, i will be just fine.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Good, you know you have an advantage. Use it." He glanced at the way Eir was trailing the scar. "No one is invincible. Everyone has weaknesses, even the strongest ones. Arrogance is a dangerous thing."

Eir Fellfrost: "I… Know you are right." Eir affirms quietly. The last bit of bread is used to mop his plate clean. "This will not be the end of it. More will come. I promised Sayuri i would remain with her no matter what, and i will keep that promise."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Good, share some of your strength to her. She's going to need you to get through this, judging by how troublesome this mess has been. You might have to keep your guard up when out and about on your errands." He took the last of the bread and scooped up the remaining curry and rice bit by bit. "Well… if it becomes official company business, I'll be sure to keep my guns loaded and ready for action.

Eir Fellfrost: "I plan to. I have yet to meet anyone i cannot outrun. Bullets and arrows are a different matter… But i will be careful." As Erjon spoke further, Eir listened… And an uneasy silence drifted between them, then. "Of… Course. That makes sense…" Eir trails, giving a small nod, and half a frown to follow.

...Company business. I... Of course, he would not help otherwise. Why would he?

Erjon Sjadarwesfv tilted his head at the awkward silence that suddenly halted the conversation. "If the Commander gives the order, I'll follow said order. I work here after all. I'll give you a hug and a pat on the cheek if that makes you feel better though." He finished the last bhaji, chewing on it as he continued speaking.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Either way, this company is not exactly lacking in proficient mercenaries. The Commander alone made a number on Sayuri's little 'friends', and they have suffered plenty of casualties while we have suffered none. I'd say the odds are on your side."

Eir Fellfrost's attention settles on Erjon anew, the discomfort swallowed down with the last of the bread, though not in time to stop a quip from leaving. "You will simply give me them, and you will not have to be ordered to?" A small, sharp yet playful jab in some effort to distance himself from the previous mood. "Suppose you are right. I know… That Bexy did not originally approach the company for aid, for their numbers being too great; they could overwhelm us. Now, i am not so certain it is the case

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "You could order me to, if you wish. Not that I am bound to follow orders from you. Alternatively threaten to starve me, that ought to be more effective." Having finished his plate of food, Erjon relaxed in his seat with a content look in his eyes, even if it was hard to tell due to the lack of general expression. "I have no clue how many they are now. But many bit the dust while she went on her clean-up. Pretty sure the full force of the company would overwhelm them at this point."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Of course, there's always a risk. But that's how it is in all kinds of warfare."

Eir Fellfrost: "I would not threaten to -starve- you. Perhaps not cook for you if you truly annoyed me, but never starve." Eir shakes his head, as though to reinforce his words. "I… Do not know. I…" Something about the words sits ill at ease on Eir's shoulders. "It is not a risk i am willing to take. There must be other, safer ways… Sayuri would be at the frontlines..! ---Or back here, home. And driven mad because she would not be allowed to lift a finger to help."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv shrugged. "I'm sure there are other, less dramatic and grand ways. Not up to me to decide, though. At some point, she will be involved however, whether direct or indirect. This all concerns her after all. Best thing you can do is to be ready for it to happen. Just don't get hysterical, alright? Nerves can get the better of your senses if you get neurotic."

Eir Fellfrost: "I do not get hysterical." Eir defends himself with a frown, before adding, "Often. I know she will be involved and… Every pair of their eyes will be upon her when she is out there on the battlefield…" The dread of it seems to physically push him down. "…I know Sayuri's words about Bexy are spoken highly, and i do not doubt her. I have seen her determination firsthand. But please, tell me… On the field. She looks out for you, yes?" Eir swallows a little fearfully. "…She truly does ensure you will all make it home?"

...I know Sayuri will fight them. I know she will be on the frontlines. And she will be a veritable magnet for anyone wanting to cause her harm, and many will have their reasons for it... I am... Afraid, though i will not stop it...

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "She does, to the best of her abilities. For being in a leading position, she is remarkably compassionate for her subordinates. Fiercely protective. She treats those working here as family members, which is rather unique. You need not feel doubtful of her abilities or her morals, at least regarding everyone here. I'd say her ferocious search for you and Sayuri is proof enough of how far she is willing to go to ensure everyone comes home, no matter what."

Eir Fellfrost: "It is… A relief to hear. I fear for the sun Sayuri returns to the frontline to fight them, but i will be all the more comfortable knowing she has dependable allies at her side." The frown that had infected his features hadn't seemed to budge an ilm. "…I… Feel so… Conflicted. I want to take up arms. Go out and protect her, and then for what? For me to flee at the first sign of danger? Freeze? I will only get in the way, if not bring further stress to Sayuri. I know it is better i remain here at home, and that my place is far from a battlefield, but i only wish i could do… More. Save for staying out of the way."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "You've said it yourself that you don't enjoy fighting. Well, most sensible people would say the same thing, honestly. I know you can fight, but that doesn't necessarily mean you have to, or should. It is good to know that you can, should there be a need for it. But don't throw yourself at danger so recklessly in some attempt at being the knight in shining armor." He leaned forward to cross his arms over the table.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "For Sayuri, you grant her your strength by letting her seek comfort in your arms when she needs it. By letting her know she has you in her life. I know it sounds odd coming from me, but love is a powerful thing. A strong thing. A strength you both share with each other." His gaze fell slightly in thought before he waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Sappiness aside, strength comes in more ways than just fighting on the frontlines."

Eir Fellfrost: "…I remind her every sun, and will never fail to." Slowly, Eir rises to his feet, collecting the plates. "…Your words help me put things into perspective. I do not feel so…" He sighs, hesitating to use the word as he quietens. "…Useless."

...I had never expected such heartfelt words from him. How would he know? Unless... ...No. That is not for me to pry. He would tell me if he wanted to know. He respects my privacy to a degree, and i will do the same for him.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "You're only as useless as you tell yourself you are, Eir. Be a little confident, alright?" He got up from the table, watching as Eir cleaned up. "You have reason to be."

Halfway into the kitchen, Eir's footfalls pause for a moment. "I… Do?" He asks, somewhat taken aback. "You… Think so?"

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "You never give up, even when things look dark. You've watched loved ones die, you've been surrounded by suffering, experienced it yourself countless times. Still you keep going. You keep going because you always find a reason to. Your strength is your drive to always take a step forward, wishing to grow and persevere even when things seem hopeless. You always find reason, you always find hope." His gaze drifted to look elsewhere in the room.

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "Now you have found something you wish to protect. Be confident in your desire to protect what you hold dear."

I... Had never expected to hear this from him. Or see it put this way from... Anyone. I have right to be confident, he said. ...And when he told me why, i... I could not argue. I am sure in time i could think of things to contend it, but... Maybe he is... Right?

Eir Fellfrost: "I…" Eir stares at the floor for a few moments, half doubting he'd heard those words leave Erjon's lips. Straightening a little, Eir offers a firm nod. "…Thank you." A small smile takes his features, looking to the other Viera. "…If there is anything i believe i can have confidence in… It is this." Eir holds the plates a little more firmly, wandering to the sink. "…If…" Eir pauses, shifting from one foot to the other. "…I cook and you do not come down during the duration of it.."

Eir Fellfrost: "…Would you like me to send some to your room?" Eir turns his head, then. "…It is always better fresh."

Erjon Sjadarwesfv: "I'd appreciate that, thanks. It is always better fresh. It is a bit of a mess in there though, try not to fall over while balancing plates in there." He turned to start heading up the stairs. "Just give a knock, looking forward to home delivery. Work on your backbone until you decide you miss looking at my baby face, alright?"

Eir Fellfrost huffs a note of amusement, shaking his head as he begins to wash the dishes. "Or you are inadvertently summoned to the kitchen by the sound of a spice jar." Eir curls a smirk, then. "Rest well, yes?"

The very least i could do was cook something for him once in a while. Despite our previous interactions, he has never treated me unkindly. I trust him enough to confide in him... ...And that is good enough, for me.

[theshadowrealmitself]

So! I tried to follow this recipe https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/foodisadelight/711063743408308224 that @foodisadelight sent me (thank you again)

However!! I am very very bad at following recipes on the first try! Very bad! It’s a combination of stressfully trying to follow recipe for the first time + not being able to stop the desire to add in more ingredients, so this is what I ended up doing:

Started browning the meat, realized I was supposed to cook the onions first in oil, panicked and added in the onions (not even the full amount of onion I needed btw, cause I don’t like onion so I only added in the tiniest bit), continued browning the meat on low to give the onions time to catch up

Didn’t buy beef broth, instead boiled some beef bouillon in 1 and 1/4 cup of water (how much bouillon powder? No clue, didn’t measure, a habit I picked up for this recipe only for some reason)

Cut up one red bell pepper and one green bell pepper, into super super tiny bits so I didn’t have to deal with the texture issue of biting into chunks later on (did have to deal with the texture issue of tiny bits of bell pepper getting stuck to my hands as well as the awful feeling of juice drying on them 😭)

Chopped up a poblano pepper super finely as well (I am aware that’s not anywhere in the original recipe but I couldn’t help it)

Also bought a small container of already chopped hatch peppers

“Measured” out the spices (didn’t use a single measuring utensil except for my heart) (also added in a few spices that weren’t in the original recipe like dried basil leaves and crushed rosemary)

Realized I bought the wrong size can of tomato sauce, scraped out about half for the chili

Bought red kidney beans and pinto beans

And fresh cilantro

Put in half the ingredients in the rice cooker, realized I didn’t see how many people this is going to serve, it does not fit in the pot, so I keep the rice cooker on “warm” for those ingredients while I clean out the big pot for my stove top

Add in the second half of the ingredients, like the diced stuff and half of each can of beans, to the big pot, slowly get the first half of the ingredients out of the rice cooker

Remember that this pot is the one without a fitting lid

Cry

Put on the really large lid and hope for the best

And finally! Sit on the floor and figure out if I’m really okay with going to sleep with something still simmering on the stove? (Original plan was to ignore recipe’s cook time and simmer it overnight so I started cooking this when it was already late and now it’s even later and I’m tired), still haven’t come to a decision

(I swear to god I’m a decent cook, I’m just always really bad at my first time doing new recipes 😭😭)

Edit: after some googling I have decided to move it to a crockpot so I can sleep, I really hope it turns out well because it actually smells fantastic rn

[ontheveldt]

hey, i hope you're having a nice day~ I am re-reading your bsd fics and i looove them.... here's a q if you're feeling up for it for fun! If soukoku was a chocolate flavour, what flavour(s) would you assign it? (if more than one!)

have you ever had pomegranate molasses?

most people haven't, if you're not from a culture that uses it regularly. it's okay, it's easy to make.

take pomegranate juice. no, more than that. a liter, or maybe half a gallon, depending on how much you want in the end. it will be expensive. pomegranate juice is the type of red that looks black when contained in a bottle or pan, but take some in a spoon or dip your finger in, and it is the vibrant red of arterial spray. your fingers will stay red for days.

boil the juice. it will look like boiling blood. add a pinch of salt, and squeeze a lemon over it - halfheartedly, mind you, you want just a spoonful or so. some people add sugar - half a cup per 4 cups of juice, some don't. I don't. there are enough sweet things in the world.

as soon as it boils, lower the flame so it simmers. simmer it until it screams, until it's a quarter the volume of whatever you started with. dip a spoon in - you should be able to draw a line through the syrup on the back of it.

it's now a rich, deep reddish-brown color. the color of blood after it's dried, where it's trying to scab over and keep the rest sealed into the wound. it will be tart, so tart it dries your mouth out if you swallow too much of it. if balsamic vinegar and cranberries and grapes dipped in lemon juice had an orgy, pomegranate molasses is what's left on the sheets at the end of it.

take chocolate, something good. not too dark, it will be overwhelming - here is where you need that sweetness. spread a thin layer of the pomegranate molasses on top of the chocolate. a sweet-tart scab, the the color of what's hidden under bandages, of Corruption twisting around pale skin.

this is the taste of soukoku.

(a local chocolatier used to make pomegranate molasses truffles and I would give a limb to be able to replicate them)

-

odazai is simpler, but not easier.

odazai is the hot cocoa your mother made when you were little. when she had time, before her job took her away from thinking of winter as fun. you would come in from outside, cheeks red and hair frosted with snow, and there would be a steaming pot on the stove.

(for each serving, take one large spoonful of unsweetened cocoa powder from the old yellow Hershey's tin that belonged to your grandmother. every spoonful of cocoa gets double that amount of sugar. a pinch of salt, a dash of vanilla. add more or less of it all until it tastes like childhood)

pour it into a mug, something big and insulated enough to not burn your hands but still warm them up from the snow. take a sip to taste, then use it to down your pills.

let them kick in. let the memories of the bar kitchen fade, until it's just you alone in your apartment. the hot cocoa isn't quite as flavorful as you remember it being, when you were young and everything was golden-hued and perfect. you still make it sometimes, just to remember.

it's still rich creamy chocolate on your tongue, burning your throat as you drink it too fast so it warms you from the inside out. there's a slight chalky aftertaste from the tablets but it goes away as you take another sip in your empty, empty home and you relax into the memories again.

[laurkamkitchen]

This turned out to be one of those cases where something that seemed and should have been so simple somehow went wrong in a lot of ways. The recipe is not entirely to blame for a lot of this, but in the end, it was certainly not worth the unforeseeable amount of effort that I ultimately put into it.

I had originally set out to triple this — a word I don't use often here on the blog, but I wanted to make plenty of leftovers. However, I quickly realized that I did not have nearly a big enough pot to make this in — even half the original amount I had intended to make (1.5x as the recipe is written) was going to be a stretch. So I made the decision to throw half the already chopped veg into some Tupperware and make the rest the next night.

With only 20 minutes of simmer time, I thought that surely this wouldn't take me too long, but prepping 3 parsnips, 3 onions, and 6 carrots was much more time-consuming than I'd anticipated. It didn't help that I nearly sliced off the top of my thumb and then couldn't get it to stop bleeding.

I finally managed to bandage my thumb enough so that it was no longer a hindrance and got to the boiling step, which then took ages, partially because I was naive enough to think that our poor stove would have enough power to get a full pot of soup to boil on medium — it took probably 10 minutes before I gave up and put it on high.

I was concerned that because of the sheer volume in motion here that the veg (particularly the parsnip and carrot) would have some trouble actually cooking, but thankfully, after 20 minutes, this was plenty soft, which was a relief, because we were nearly 2 hours into the cooking by then.

At this point, I was oh so hungry, but even so, I did not find this in the least bit satisfying. I am usually pretty good about gauging how much I want to make, but this was just too much. I couldn't even finish it.

I think the main problem was that there was just way too much liquid. I definitely prefer thicker soups, though I am always willing to give the recipe the benefit of the doubt, but that really failed me in this case.

Thankfully, I had a much better experience the second night. With the veggies already prepped, this went much, much quicker and I had a better idea of the proportions I wanted to use. The veg and spices stayed the same, but I only used 1/3 cup of red lentils (rather than 1/2 the previous night), 4 cups of water, and 4 kale leaves. The result was the perfect amount of soup, one that was also packed with more flavor and texture.

Either way, though, this recipe was just not my favorite. It all sounds in theory like something I would enjoy, but even with my modifications on the second night, I was still not overly impressed. Maybe it's the trauma of the 10pm dinner I wound up having that first night, or my thumb gushing blood, but either way, I absolutely will not be making this again.

[tokyotheglaive]

HOW TO COOK RICE ON A STOVETOP

Gotta be honest, I don't like rice made in a rice cooker. Maybe it's just the one I have, or maybe my palette isn't ~refined~ enough, but the fact remains. I like rice cooked on a stovetop. Everyone I know has a rice cooker, though, and whenever I ask about it, I get told that they don't know how to make rice any other way.

We can fix that! If you want to, anyway.

YOU WILL NEED - a pot -> I'm talking about a sauce pan specifically (google images is handy here if you're unsure what kind of pot that is) BUT any pot with a flat bottom and a lid will do the trick. The lid is important. Please make sure you have a lid first. - a LIQUID measuring cup -> those clear glass or pyrex things you see in the grocery store that have the little measuring lines on the side? that's a liquid measuring cup. You need that to measure the water. - a DRY measuring cup -> the little metal or plastic things that look kinda like mini sauce pans. They usually have the amount that they hold printed on the handle. - rice -> I typically use basmati rice. If you use something else, mileage may vary. - water

WHAT YOU DO 1) put your pot on the stove. Double-check that you have a lid for it. If you don't have a lid, do not continue. If you do have a lid, make sure that the burner the pot is on "fits" the pot. Like, don't put a big pot on a comically small burner. Small pots are for small burners and big pots are for big burners! 2) measure your ingredients. The rule of thumb is two to one water to rice. What that means is: for every one (dry) measuring cup of rice, you will need two (liquid) measuring cups of water. 3) put the measured rice and water in the pot. 4) turn on the heat. Set your burner to high. 5) stir with the utensil of your choice. The first time you make rice this way, there's a tendency to be nervous/not know how much to stir. That's ok! To start with, stir every time you think "oh god am I doing this right?" which for me was about every 15 seconds when I first started. 6) once the water starts to boil (or simmer, or whatever you want to call the bubbles) you want to put the lid on the pot. Turn the heat down real low--as low as it goes, really. 7) set a timer for 20 minutes. Do not touch the pot now. The lid is on. The Rice Gods are hard at work. Leave it be. 8) when the timer goes off, turn off the burner. If you have the space for it, move the pot to a burner that's not in use. Set another timer, this time for five minutes. Again, do not take the lid off. Leave it be. 9) moment of truth! Off comes the lid (make sure to take the lid off so that the steam doesn't all come rushing to your face). Stir and fluff up the cooked rice. You've done it! You have rice!! If you're like me, eat it directly out of the pot. If you're a civilized human, eat it in a bowl by itself or with other stuff.

THAT'S GREAT BUT THAT IS VERY PLAIN RICE Correct! It is very plain. Sometimes that's what you're going for. Other times, you want to change it up. Here are some recommendations: - add salt. only rarely is that a bad idea. salt is best added at the very beginning, when you put the rice and water in the pot. take a generous pinch of salt. If you're keen on measurements, start with half a teaspoon. - add butter. Life changing! rice with butter is delicious, if not very nutritious. as with the salt, add at the very beginning. as the water comes to a boil, it'll melt the butter, so no worries on melting it ahead of time. for a cup of rice/two cups of water, I like to use a couple tablespoons of butter. - garlic and ginger. When I'm feeling Real Fancy, I will sauté some garlic and ginger in the pot first, and when that's good and fragrant, I'll add the rice and water and cook like usual. Delicious. - chicken stock! You can use chicken stock in place of water and make delicious rice. I'm sure you could use vegetable stock, too, but I've never tried. The only thing I have tried that absolutely positively did NOT work was coconut milk. The less said about that attempt the better.

AND THAT'S IT your basic guide to making rice the Olde Fashioned Way. If this helps, great! If not, shoot me a message. I'm always looking to spread the rice gospel.

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 37: Foxes Getting Married

THURSDAY - FALL 19

Stardew Valley was in for an Indian summer, according to Achilles’ favorite Zuzu4 meteorologist, Amelia McCarten.

In response to this sudden skyrocket in temperatures, Shane had advised they kick off the canning process a week early before any of their cranberries could spoil prematurely in the baking sun. Thank goodness Achilles had placed the order for jars last week!

Unfortunately, Shane had had to head to his now twice-a-week Joja shift after lunch, leaving a mildly irked Achilles alone in his kitchen standing over a boiling stove where a giant pot of sugar water simmered.

Bad day to wear glasses, he thought, folding the fogged lenses and setting them on the counter behind one of the three boxes of red berries he and Shane had picked earlier that morning. He had woken with a terrible headache and had been forced to ditch his usual contacts—must not have slept well… and all this suffocating steam wasn’t helping either…

Just five more hours to kill… Elliott had invited him to dinner again. Just had to keep busy until then…

A knock at the door.

Not Lewis not Lewis not Lewis…

Since the fair, Achilles had been avoiding the mayor, who had been incredibly insistent (and who had eventually devolved into making threats) he join him and Gus as an “honored guest and cherished representative of the community” for an upcoming gala in Zuzu City. No doubt the governor would be there. No doubt Achilles was to be used as ammo in Lewis’ forever quest for increased tax credits.

He attempted to sneak a surreptitious peak from the behind the window curtains, but the figure on his porch step must’ve anticipated this, and Achilles was met with a comical close-up of Alex staring with his face pressed against the glass.

“I just cleaned that,” Achilles said in greeting as he wrenched open the door. “Oh Yoba, that’s nice…” A cool breeze had quickly wafted through, swirling through the sauna that had been festering in his kitchen.

“Good morning to you, too. Or, I guess it’s afternoon now…” Alex gave him a little wave from the porch before sheepishly attempting to wipe the window with the sleeve of his letterman. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize, I was lying. I’ve never wiped a window in my life.”

Even so, Alex couldn’t help but finish wiping the mark away, peering through the glass at the scene in the kitchen. “What are you up to? Sorry, am I disturbing something? ”

“Hell no. What are you up to and can I join? I’ll take any excuse to quit canning.” Achilles pointed his thumb at the stacks of mason jars behind him and waved for Alex to step inside. Voltaire was keeping watch over the cranberries, having planted himself next to the filled jars. “Shane thought it’d be a good idea. And then Shane left.”

“Sounds about right… just thought since you finished that ‘stupid little draft of yours,’ you could use a break. Weather’s nice. Thought you might want to join me, I’m going for a swim.” Alex picked up a jar and gave it a sniff. “Hey, you can make sure I don’t drown—not that you’d be able to save me, but you could maybe throw the ring, assuming your aim is better than your backstroke—”

“Yeah, yeah. A bit cold though, isn’t it? I know it’s peculiarly warm these days, but still, compared to Summer?”

“Eh, I mean I don’t know, it’s not bad once you really get moving. No colder than a pool. But you don’t have to swim if you don’t want, I’ll mostly be, um, practicing, anyway. Training. Or we could stop by Willy’s, get you a wet suit so you don’t die of hypothermia.”

“Right… I think I’ll just stay in the boat. Maybe I’ll bring a book, how about that? Now just give a minute, will you, I have to finish this… syrup, or whatever the fuck it’s called…”

*****

To be honest, Achilles wanted nothing better than to soothe his headache with a mind numbing paperback (perhaps one of the ones Shane had gifted him last season), but it was his own book that he had chosen to bring onto the boat—or, at least, the outline he had been wrestling with and was continuing to wrestle with as he gazed out at the open sea.

Alex had made good on his threat from last season, and so it was Achilles who had been “bullied” (to use his word) into rowing them out into the Gem Sea, though Alex hadn’t directed him nearly as far out as they had gone last time. The tide wasn’t too high at this hour, and they could make out the half-submerged banks of some of the archipelago’s smaller islands not too far out in the distance.

Achilles wasn’t sure if staying visibly close to land had been a deliberate decision on Alex’s part,  but though he was feeling significantly more comfortable in the boat than he had the last time they rowed out, he was nevertheless still grateful for the thoughtfulness, whether intentional or not.

Despite the sun, who was reigning solo in the clear blue skies above, it was much colder out on the water than Alex had suggested—though, if Alex had indeed been coming out here nearly every day since Fall started (as he had hinted during their row over), he likely had been dealing with even colder temperatures…

Achilles though, having grown up in Monstera’s subtropical climate, was currently huddled underneath Alex’s towel, right hand shivering the tiniest bit as it clutched an icy, stainless steel fountain pen.

Stupid stupid stupid. Stainless steel? Who are you trying to impress? Should’ve gone with plastic. Should’ve gone with fucking gloves. Should’ve brought a book. Should’ve stayed home.

Fueled partly by Elliott’s recent success and Alex’s words of encouragement, he had hoped the remote isolation of the Gem Sea would force him into overdue productivity. But for some reason or another, his brain had refused to focus on the project at hand. Instead he had found himself watching Alex, who had been slicing through the water at a startling speed—and so smooth! It was remarkable how little splashing one could make moving that fast.

For hours—hours!—Alex swam, only pausing and returning briefly to the boat to grab a drink of water. Stretch. Hover (too) closely over Achilles’ shoulder like a nettlesome gnat and ask about his (nonexistent) progress.

It was a little strange chatting, almost. With his brown hair flattened under a tight red and black swim cap and green eyes masked by polarized swim goggles, Alex’s most distinctive features (that is, his most distinctive features from the neck upwards, for Achilles refused to allow himself to look at anything below his shoulders) were hidden from sight.

But all the same, it was still so unmistakably Alex. The Dusty-like tilt of his head, the peek of tongue between his wide-toothed grin. Even the way he splayed his fingers to grip his water bottle. They’d known each other a little more than half a year, and yet it was all already so familiar to Achilles... for how long had he been cataloguing his habits?

Get back to work.

After roughly two hours of swimming, Alex climbed up the boat and took a seat.

“So,” he began, “I was wondering if I could get your advice.”

Achilles looked up from his (very blank) notebook. “Oh, I see. I suppose this is the real reason you brought me out here, then.”  

“Give me that.” Alex wrenched the striped towel off from Achilles’ back and gave it a whip before draping it over his own shoulders, all while removing his swim cap and goggles in one fluid sweep of his arm. “I’m serious!”

“I didn’t say you weren’t!” Achilles set his notebook to the side and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Fine, sorry. What’s up?”

“Okay, so I’m, um… well. I’m thinking of applying for a promotion.”

“Oh! Good for you.”

“Yeah…” Alex ran his hand through his dry hair. “The manager of our branch finally put in his two weeks yesterday. Thought it might be… worth a shot. To, you know. Apply.”

“For sure! So you wouldn’t be teaching anymore?”

“No, no, I would, just not as much, yeah. And I think I’d get, like, more control over what classes. And it’d be better pay, of course. Better hours—I’d probably be able to ditch all my personal training clients, never been a huge fan of those… but basically I’d probably have more time. More energy. To, um, you know. Maybe focus a little bit more on training, if I decide to… take it more seriously…”

“You’re already taking it more seriously though, aren’t you? You’ve been coming out here more often.”

“Yeah… but there’s still a lot more I could do. Be more… precise about it all. Not precise, uh… what’s the word…”

“Purposeful?”  

“Yeah! That. Purposeful.”

“For sure.”  

“Anyway, I mean, I don’t know if I’ll actually go for it, or if I do, if I’ll get it—the role’s got a lot more reading to it and, well, you know… But I think I could still do it. I’ve been trying to practice more, recently. Been making a point to try to read a story from the Stardew Valley Tribune every day.”

“Good for you!” said Achilles for the second time. “I’m proud of you. Bet Lewis is proud, too, really boosting those circulation numbers…”

Alex flushed, quickly moving on.

“But I’ve never really had to have a resume or do an… interview before. Like a real job interview. And I figured I should look into that just in case, and I figured I’d ask you for advice because you…” Alex trailed off, his fingers looping themselves around the strap of his goggles as he bit his lip.

“Spent six years battling my way up the corporate ladder and am thus, in your eyes, an expert?”

“Huh.” Alex’s brows furrowed as he glanced to the side, out to the water. “I had actually been thinking of all the fancy press I assumed you used to do for your books, but I guess BRLO is actually probably a lot more relevant… listen, I’m stupid, remember—”

“—Alex—”

“—I mean, either way, one or the other, you’ve probably got more experience than anyone else in the Valley. So yeah. You were right. I confess. This was the real reason why I dragged you all the way out into the middle of the Gem Sea and had you watch me swim for two and a half hours.”

“Slow build. Cut to the chase next time. So you’re asking me for interview advice?”

“Mmhm.” Alex scooted forward on his seat, his knees now a mere centimeter away from Achilles’ in the tiny boat. “And resume stuff. But only if you have time.”

“I absolutely love that you still pretend I have a productive life, it truly warms my heart. Sure. Why don’t you drop off the job description later and anything you have prepared so far and we can go over it all together. How’s that sound?”

Alex jumped to his feet, sending the boat rocking wildly. Achilles’ fingers curled instinctively around his seat and he had to suppress a pitiful squeak as he bit too hard into the side of his cheek.

“Yeah. Yeah! That sounds great. Thanks, Ash.”

*****

If Achilles had secretly hoped that this entreaty for advice had marked the end of Alex’s training session (and in turn, the end of Achilles’ self-induced torture—Yoba, why didn’t he just bring a book…), he was sorely disappointed.

After resignedly showing Achilles where in the boat he could find a new dry towel for warmth, Alex gave him a little salute before climbing back down into the water and starting yet another sequence of drills.

All work and no play today, it seemed.

For one of them, at least. How the tables had turned, Achilles couldn’t help but ruefully think. His pen had inked nothing but haphazard swirls on the sides of his notes. Fuck, why is this so fucking hard you fuck?

And then… it started to rain.

Small drops. Their cold, violent hurtles towards the ground (or in this case, the sea) not unlike the piercing rain that had fallen Achilles’ first night in Stardew Valley, though significantly, and thankfully, lighter.

It took quite a few minutes before Alex, so focused on his strokes (or perhaps it was simply more difficult to feel half-submerged in the sea), noticed and paused to look up into the sky.

“You didn’t see this coming, weather boy?”  he called, treading water from 30 feet or so away now.

“Blame Amelia McCarten,” Achilles called back, grateful for this welcome excuse to shove his pen and papers into the inside pocket of his windbreaker, though the act seared a small semblance of self-disgust across his heart. Useless. “I’m not a real meteorologist, cut me some slack.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right, I forgive you. But only because it’s still sunny. Weird.” Alex had raised his goggles and was peering up at the sky which was indeed, still strangely cloudless.

“The foxes must be getting married.”

“Huh?”

“I think I heard that somewhere once. Like folklore. They say if it rains but the sun’s still out, it means the foxes are celebrating a wedding.”

“Huh,” Alex repeated, now tilting his head ever so slightly to the right as he continued to search the golden skies. “I like that. That’s fun.”

He began to one-arm dog paddle back towards the boat, leaving the other arm to tap a finger against his temple in mock admiration. “So smart. Always learn something from you.”

Achilles chuckled and began to reach for the oars. “So I suppose we’re heading back then?” About time. Maybe he’d be more productive at home…

“Oooo…” Alex stopped in his strokes, just ten or so feet now from the boat. “Would you hate me if I said no?”

“It’s raining, Alex.”

“Yeah, but not hard. It’s barely a drizzle.”

Achilles bared his hand from where he had tucked it further up in the sleeve of his windbreaker and held it palm up to better feel the rain.

“Barely a drizzle my ass.” He watched as water dripped down the sides of his cupped hand before making a big show of wiping it against the towel which he was currently wearing like a headscarf.

“It’s just water. Come on, what’s the harm in getting wet?”

“Easy for you to say, you’re already wet.”

“You could be too if you just took that towel off your dang head, come on, please—”

“You know, I’ve half a mind to leave you out here. You can swim back to shore, just call it more training.”

“O ho, and if I drown? No boat. No radio. You’ll have to live with that on your conscience for the rest of your—”  

Achilles tossed the towel to the side. The rain had begun to leak through the cotton, rendering it somewhat useless. “Last time I stayed out in the rain, I got pneumonia.”

At these words, Alex started, his eyes widening in remembrance (or perhaps guilt), despite his previous puppy-dog-eyed pleads. He quickly began to make his way towards the boat. “Oh. Heck. You’re right, I’m so sorry! Yes, of course, we should head back—”

For some (utterly outrageous) and (totally inexplicable) reason, witnessing Alex’s repentant shift in attitude did little to bring him comfort, instead injecting Achilles with his own little stab of guilt.

And, so, recognizing that his heart had been won over by Alex’s downcast disappointment, Achilles rolled his eyes in reluctant surrender. Though it was much cooler out here than it had been in the Valley, he supposed it was still nevertheless warmer than it had been that frigid, stormy Summer night of Shane’s reckoning when he had contracted pneumonia. At least today, the sun was still streaking across the sky.

“Ugh…” He tossed Alex yet another exaggerated eyeroll. “It’s fine. We can stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s ‘only drizzling…’ Why are you so insistent, anyway? Something special happen in the sea when it rains? More jellyfish? Mermaids?”

“Oh…” The boat tipped slightly as Alex raised himself port side, forearms resting against the wood after gently setting his swim cap, goggles, and Pear Pods on the floor. “No. No good reason, really… I just think it’s… kind of fun.”

“We’re staying out here because you think it’s… fun?”

Alex scrambled for the ladder. “Okay, okay, we’ll head back—”

But Achilles was faster today—he slid onto the topmost rung of the ladder and leaned far forward so that Alex couldn’t pass. “You stay in the water where you belong, you wretch.”

Alex laughed, hands brushing Achilles’ legs as he pretended to swipe them in retaliation.

And then suddenly, Alex’s hands were around his ankles.

There was a sharp yank.

And he was in the water.

It was cold—far colder than it had been the last time they had come out here together to swim. Above, he could see the rain, feel the droplets punching rhythmically through the seawater into his arms.

The shock of it all had paralyzed his body—paralyzed his mind, even, for submerged in the water now, everything felt like slow motion.

Did he want to scream? Surely he wanted to scream. Surely it was time for panic to take center stage. It was the sea, the cold sea. This was where his nightmares lived.

But no. He felt… nothing. Nothing but calm, as he allowed his body to settle within the water, arms aloft.

And then his head was breaking the surface. Time reverted to normal speed, and he took an instinctual gasp for air and opened his eyes.

He was sitting. Firm, on cold, hard steel. Alex must’ve lifted him onto one of the lower rungs of the ladder.

“Shit, shit, fuck—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—Ash, I’m sorry, I forgot, are you okay? I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, are you okay—”

“It’s fine.” Achilles gripped the handrail. His legs were still submerged, and they dangled freely from under him.

“—fucking idiot, I don’t know why I did that, it’s so dangerous—hell, just common sense that you don’t do that, and with you still learning, you could’ve hit your head, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine.”

“—let’s go back, I’m—”

“Alex.” Achilles raised his voice.

“—I’m never swimming again—“

“Al. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Achilles found himself giving the distressed man before him a (hopefully) reassuring smile, adding even a laugh as he wiped the water from his face. “Really.”

Alex’s brows were still as furrowed as could be—they were nearly touching, really, as he continued to study Achilles with a penetrating, dilated gaze so intense that he felt almost too seen.

“You looking at me like that is making me more uncomfortable than the water was.”

Alex quickly averted his eyes, looking instead at his hands which were continuing to tread water. “We can… head back.”

“No.” The word was a surprise even to Achilles. But the fall—or the yank, really—had snapped the tenseness that had been tautly criss-crossed inside him. Who the fuck cared about writing?

He unzipped his windbreaker—his outline was surely bleeding out in that inside pocket, the few doodled spirals shot point blank by the seawater—and tossed it into the corner of the boat.

“Let’s stay. I want to experience whatever… fun you were going on about.”

Alex didn’t look convinced. A tight, small frown. And was he… trembling? “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

To support his sincerity, Achilles took a deep breath and launched himself from the ladder.

Unfortunately, Alex hadn’t twisted totally out of the way in time, and so Achilles managed to slam into his shoulder.

“Fuck, my bad,” he said, before Alex could apologize yet again. He pinched his nose, which had borne the brunt of the impact. “Damn. Really ruined the dramatic entrance I was trying to make.”

That got Alex to laugh, though it was a rather short, mono-syllabic one as he continued to avoid Achilles’ gaze and watch the rain patter against the small waves.“So… you promise you’re okay?”

Achilles rolled his eyes again. Alex had seen one panic attack. Okay maybe two… possibly three that first day in the pool… really, it just depended on how you counted them… okay, maybe the concern was warranted…

Nevertheless, he turned to tightly grip both of Alex’s shoulders—Yoba, he was warm…—facing him head on. At his touch, the man seemed to flinch, but looked up to meet Achilles’ gaze.

“Alex, if you ask me again, I’m getting back in the boat and rowing home without you. I’ll leave you the ring so you don’t drown.” Achilles let go, and began to tread on his own to further prove his point. “Seriously. Look. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Alex bit his lip as his eyes, still more black than green at the moment, widened in alarm for just the merest fraction of a second before seeming to soften, a somewhat dazed, bemused expression replacing his previous concern.  

The sun began to hit the horizon, raindrops sparkling glints of gold.

For a minute, the two simply bobbed and breathed. The green was slowly beginning to reclaim its territory in Alex’s eyes, and his lips were now slightly parted as he continued to regard Achilles in tranquil silence.

And though Achilles had long locked his feelings in a little box of inaction, there were still little moments that could catch him off guard…

“Alex? Everything okay? Al?”

“Hmm?” His trance broken, Alex gave a start and paddled two strokes backwards. “Yeah.” He gave his head a little shake and ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry, yeah, I was just… scared.”

“Thought you killed me?”

“Mmm… maybe not killed… I just know you don’t like open water…”

“I can see what you mean about swimming in the rain. It’s nice. Strange, but nice.” That was a lie—what it actually was was a colder, more painful, and significantly more uncomfortable version of having the shower head on while you took a bath. But Alex still seemed rather flustered from his part in Achilles’ supposed near-murder, so Achilles figured a little white lie couldn’t hurt.

*****

“Looks like the clouds are finally rolling in,” Achilles said, nodding up at the skies that were indeed beginning to darken.

“Oh. About time… Thought maybe they just didn’t want to spoil the wedding…”

“What wedding? Was there a wedding I wasn’t invited to?”

“Yeah, the foxes. Remember?”

“Oh? Oh! Ha…”

They clambered into the boat just as a grey, stormy wind began to pick up, biting against their damp skin.

“Yoba, I’m really sorry, Ash, I really didn’t think that through…” Alex unzipped his duffle bag and tossed a pair of sweatpants to Achilles. “You take these. And I think I’ve got a third towel somewhere, too, those are probably all wet… shit, I really am an idiot aren’t I…” Muttering some more self-targeted curses under his breath, Alex began searching the little drawers scattered among the boat.

As eager as he was to get out of his waterlogged jeans, Achilles still felt awkward stripping completely. Oooh, but perhaps he was overthinking it. On second thought, he was definitely overthinking it. More than likely, Alex had seen it all in various locker rooms over the years. It didn’t mean a thing.  

Even so, he changed at record breaking speed, despite the way the stiff, drenched denim clung relentlessly to his skin.

“Better?” A third towel found, Alex wobbled across the boat to drape it over Achilles’ bare shoulders. He gave his arms a brief squeeze through the cotton before quickly taking a step back and offering up a grey crewneck. “Achilles, I really am sor—”

“I can still throw you off the boat and row away without you.”

Alex, who, having given away his only change of clothes, was left to brave the wind unshielded, despite Achilles’ protests. He grabbed an oar.

“Let’s be real, Ash—at the rate you rowed us out here? Even swimming back, I’d reach Pelican Town before you.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Achilles jabbed the other oar towards Alex, who dodged it with a chuckle. But it was good to see Alex making jokes, even if they were at Achilles’ athleticism’s undeserved expense…

*****

Despite Alex’s qualms with Achilles’ rowing capabilities, together they had managed to out-row the eye of the storm, bumping against Willy’s dock just as the first, soft drops of rain began to hit Stardew Valley.

“Going to be humid as hell tomorrow,” Achilles muttered darkly as Alex hopped deftly out and began to tie the rope to a thick wooden post.

Achilles followed, tottering unevenly across the boat, his still-sodden clothes bundled into a sad ball under his arm. The dock was slippery with the rain.

Alex offered his hand. Achilles had no reason not to take it.

He clambered out, barely registering the warmth of Alex’s callused palm until both his feet were planted securely on dry (or, dry as could be under present circumstances) land.

But as he made to let go, he found his hand still held tight in a grip that was lingering for just half a beat too long.

Achilles glanced half an inch upwards.

“Ah, sorry.” Alex jerked his hand back as if it had been burned and kneaded it against his chest.

They made their way wordlessly up the boardwalk and beach, where Achilles stopped. “Elliott wanted to host a little dinner tonight for us two—you know how he is, we’ll probably be ‘celebrating’ for another ten years… you… go on without me.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll… um. See you around then, Ash.” Alex was still nervously rubbing his bare chest with his hand. “Again, I’m… really sorry about everything…”

Achilles watched him stare at the rapidly dampening ground, and a sudden burst of emotion surged through Achilles' heart at the sight of Alex's head bowed in shame. He bit back the sarcastic retort that'd been hovering at his lips, instead softly exclaiming, “There's nothing to be sorry for, Al. No harm done. Now go on. Get out of here before the storm gets bad.”

[girl-resting]

its already 3AM and this is all i could throw together but here you go @screamingfae

"Is it supposed to be like this?" Regulus shouted, leaning on his tiptoes to lift the lid off the pot, stirring the rice pudding. He was immediately hit with the scent of fresh cardamom and butter, making his mouth water.

"How am I supposed to see from here, you dolt?" An annoyed voice crackled from his phone which was kept across the counter, propped up against the spice box.

"I don't know why I even asked you," Regulus rolled his eyes and knelt so he was eye level with the phone.

"Oh please," Sirius waved his hand, exuding melodrama from the tiny little screen. "I’ve seen Effie cook. I know shit."

"Exactly. You know shit."

Sirius let out a scandalized gasp and whipped his head, yelling for Remus. "Can you believe what this bastard just said?"

Regulus could imagine Remus sighing loudly, setting down his book to rub the bridge of his nose. He had been caught in way too many silly arguments over the years. He was a veteran.

"Peter bought some ice cream. Better have it before he finishes it all," Remus said instead, as if Sirius was a child who could be placated by sugar.

Which he could. Sirius shot a glare at Regulus before handing his phone to Remus and running off to the kitchen, flinging the refrigerator doors wide. Remus and Regulus both winced as the door banged against the wall.

"Did you try calling Euphemia for help?" Remus ventured, unsure of how to proceed now. Even though he didn’t know much about cooking, at least he was some help unlike the person who shared his blood who was now eating the entire tub of ice cream.

Regulus flushed, tucking loose strands of his dark hair behind his ears.

"No, I don’t want to bother her. It’s – I want to make something special for James and for Effie. Mom, I mean. Wow, that sounds so weird," he rambled nervously, wringing his fingers without any thought. He coughed from what seemed to be the neighbors having barbeque.

Remus softened at that and shrugged, "I am pretty sure it’s done. The one Effie makes looks very close to this."

"But is it edible, that’s the question!" Sirius could be heard faintly, his mouth still full of ice cream. Honestly, how – and why – was Regulus even related to him.

"Thanks for not helping one fucking bit," Regulus sneered and before Sirius could say something snide that would spark yet another argument that Remus didn’t have enough sugar to deal with, he shot quick goodbye and hung up.

"What a lot of help that was," Regulus muttered to himself, and turned to check up on the kheer simmering on the stove.

Or whatever was left of it.

The creamy pudding was burnt to crisp, now smoke rising out of the pot. A lot of it had boiled over and splattered on the countertop and dripping on the floor. The smoke alarm started beeping loudly, setting off the sprinklers and raining down on the entire kitchen. And just then, what an absolutely horrible timing, the pressure cooker that had been making the biryani popped open, the lid flying to the ceiling and ricocheting wildly. Regulus ducked and screeched, crawling over the wet floor, ruining all his good clothes. Bits of food flew in his hair and on his clothes.

Oh gods, not again.

"I’m home!" a cheerful and a very familiar voice called out.

Regulus stilled, looking up to his husband who seemed to be towering over him now.

"Happy birthday, love?" he offered weakly.

"Oh, my," James breathed, taking in the crime scene and then to Regulus’ complete surprise, burst out laughing. Till now Regulus had never understood the phrase but now James literally doubled over, clutching his stomach and covering his mouth in a pathetic attempt to stop cracking up. He wiped aside the tears from his eyes and took in a couple of deep breaths to stop but to no avail.

Regulus grabbed the ladle from the rack and chased after James, "Stop" smack "laughing" smack "at" smack "me."

"I’m sorry. I can’t help it. What happened here?" with that he went off again till Regulus was also laughing with him, both collapsing on the dirty kitchen floor, their backs against the wall.

When they finally stopped, save for random snorts they tried to suppress, Regulus opened the refrigerator, presenting a tiny cupcake from his secret stash. He rummaged around the drawers until he found a candle and some matches, lighting it up.

Regulus held it in his cupped palms in front of James and whispered, "Make a wish, darling."

James inhaled deeply and then exhaled, blowing out the weak, fluttering candle in the process. He closed his eyes, holding Regulus’ wrist tight.

"Won’t you ask me what I wished for?" James grinned.

"If it’s another trip on the Ferris wheel, then the answer is no," Regulus said jokingly, nudging his knee with his own.

"I wished for us," James said quietly, a smile playing on his lips. "I love you."

"I love you more," Regulus rested his head on his shoulder, their fingers laced together.

It was the best way to spend the day even if it was sitting in the mess of their kitchen, eating cold, leftover pizza from Sunday game night. Regulus would give anything to bottle the moment forever and get drunk on it.

They were a mess, imperfectly perfect, chaotic at heart, kitchen wreckers but it was them. Together and forever.

[callmefitz]

fine. fine I did it. luca fic where massimo is trying to be a good parent for his teenage fish son. yes its the painfully awkward i know you’re gay talk. i wrote this at 2 am while projecting so this isn’t shakespeare, just a vibe. set sometime 3-4 years after the film but i think it’s implied enough.

—————————————————-

Alberto ran up the stairs, threw open the door, dropped his hat on the table and hastily washed his hands at the sink.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said breathlessly, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt, “I got caught up in, uh, well-“

“Showing off?” Massimo offered, turning from his workstation in the kitchen. Alberto laughed nervously and nodded- then paused- and shook his head while looking away.

“Well, I prefer the term ‘sharing with the community’” Alberto offered, before pulling out a large pot and placing it on the stove.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Massimo returned to the cutting the fish, “It’s a nice bike.”

It was a nice bike. Nice enough that the kids in Portorossa frequently begged Alberto to let them sit on it or ride it around the plaza. And who was he to say no? It was the coolest thing he had ever set his eyes on, let alone owned. Of course he let them use it. Alberto had been saving up his tip money from fish delivery all winter to buy it: a shiny, brand-new, red-hot Vesta. Just like the one Erocle used to parade around town on. Giulia and Luca were going to be so excited.

Alberto began pouring cups of water into the pot as he raised the heat, waiting for it to hit a soft boil. “So how much time do we have?”

Massimo glanced out the window facing the countryside, where the distance etchings of train tracks were visible, “About an hour. Luca’s parents will meet us at the station. Then, dinner.”

“An hour. Right. We can work with that,” Alberto said, mainly to himself, as Massimo continued with his fish. They both fell into a steady rhythm, as they stirred and simmered an outrageous amount of food.

While his hands were lost in repetition, Alberto’s mind wandered to Luca. Massimo liked to joke about how Luca never truly left, with all the letters and phone calls sent, but Alberto couldn’t disagree more. Words couldn’t capture the way Luca would say things, like how he yelled when he was excited and talk quickly when he was nervous. And sure, Alberto could read between the lines, and infer things, like how scrunched up words meant Luca was happy or excited and messy letters and wonky lines meant he was tired, but it wasn’t the real thing. And phone calls, while better, were fewer and far inbetween, and couldn’t capture the way Luca would move when talking, whether it was the way he walked or gestured, or the faces he would make and the way he would touch your shoulder or grab your arm to make a point. So no- Luca had truly left, and while Alberto had seen glimpses and pieces throughout the months, he preferred the whole Luca he got during the summer.

One hour. One hour and Alberto wouldn’t have to rely just on letters and voices. It would be just them again, like it was every summer, whether it be sleeping under the stars in Giulia’s hideout, or swimming out to the island to watch the sunsets, or spending afternoons filling up on gelato and playing futbol on the hot pavement. Giulia would be there too, and the trio would finally be complete. Just like how it was that first summer, and just how it was now.

Had Alberto mentioned he was excited?

“The pasta is boiling over,” Massimo provided helpfully, and Alberto was thrust back into reality.

He swore under his breath, moving the pot to another eye and turning the stove off. He sighed and grabbed for a towel to wipe the sides of the pot. Turning his back to Massimo, he began searching for a strainer, but was interrupted.

“Alberto.” Massimo put his knife down and turned slightly. His face was drawn so that his eyes peeked out from under his eyebrows and bore down to Alberto (no matter how tall Alberto got, Massimo was always, well, massive).

“There is something we need to talk about before the train comes in.”

And there it was. Or, rather, there it wasn’t, because those words never came out of Massimo’s mouth. Maybe it was because, despite everything between them, Massimo just wasn’t a big feelings guy. He was a man of few words who would rather hand-paint signs, mend hats, and hand-make pasta than say “I love you.” Not that Alberto cared much, about that, he couldn’t complain honestly, but the point was that Massimo never “had talks”. If something was serious to discuss in private, it was always “Alberto, a word”. Because Massimo was a man of few words. So it was understandable, then, that that string of words elicited panic in Alberto. Because never in a million years, not even when Massimo first asked Alberto to stay with him, did they ever have something they needed to talk about.

Good thing Alberto was good at handling panic. He was basically an expert.

“Yeah, like what?”

He held his elbow out to lean against the counter in a calm manner, but missed and instead landed on the red hot stove eye. All while maintaining a smirk-turned-grimace. Yep. Expert.

That was going to hurt later. A lot.

Massimo looked at Alberto, searching for something in his face, and, upon finding it, sighed, and turned to the window where the train-tracks were. Absentmindedly, he turned the faucet of the sink on, and letting it cool for a moment, held a rag under it. Once it was wet enough, he handed it to Alberto.

“Luca is a... good kid, no?” Massimo led after a moment of contemplation. Alberto took the rag, but his face scrunched up in confusion as he held it to his elbow. Faintly, he felt the familiar tingle of flesh-turning scale as the coolness took the edge from the burn. But the beginnings of a frown was settling on Alberto as he followed Massimo’s gaze to the train tracks.

“Yeah?”

Massimo nodded. “He is very smart. He writes often. He knows fish... but not as well as you do.”

Alberto inched closer to Massimo, “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One of my best friends but... I think you know that.”

“He is a very good friend,” Massimo said, but something felt strange about the way he said it, “Handsome, too.”

Alberto’s body froze and his face heated up. Before he could say anything contradictory, however, Massimo continued.

“I know the way you two look at each other. Young love. It’s a good thing, especially when it’s between friends who have known each other for so long.” Massimo said slowly, “And if you ever want to take Luca out for some gelato on your Vespa... then I will be very happy for you, Beto. He’s a good kid. Good for you.”

Alberto wasn’t going to lie. He had thought about it, once or twice. In his head it always played out so incredibly natural, that a part of him assumed it would eventually happen. Giulia would be busy, either delivering fish or volunteering for the cup, and he and Luca would be on their own for the day. Maybe they bike to the top of Portorosso, or maybe they went out to the island or climbed a roof to watch the stars. Sometimes it would be just them having dinner together, and something would give- one of them would brush hands with the other, lean in just a little too close and stay there... then... well, it would be just like it to was. But more. And selfishly, maybe if they were more, Luca wouldn’t leave at the end of the season.

But Alberto couldn’t think like that. Luca loved school more than anything. Well, almost anything. He would never want to take that from him.

But Massimo was right. Luca was handsome. Summers in Portorosso had been kind to him, and they’ve both put on some healthy weight and muscle over the years. Even if they hadn’t been friends, Alberto had no doubt he would have been fond of Luca regardless.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon,” Albert said candidly. “But... Thanks. For that. I guess.”

Massimo shrugged. “You’d be surprised. Giulia tells me a lot.”

Impossible scenarios ran through Alberto’s head. The wheels were spinning so fast that smoke was practically spewing from his ears.

“Like what?”

Massimo glanced out the window again, “I guess he’ll just have to tell you when he gets here.”

[imfluentinfangirlandgay]

Reconnecting the Lines - Pt 2

Emmet saw things when he slept last night. Things he could not understand. Despite his confusion, there was one verrrry logical conclusion to this dream.

Ingo was alive.

Word Count: ~2000

He was inside a tent (?). It was warm, the space small but obviously used. He watched his hands move effortlessly through the box full of things he did not recognize - various berries, cloth, were those Pokeballs? Why were they made of wood? He grasped something, some kind of wild plant, and brought it to the small table inside the tent, cutting it into slices and dumping it into a boiling pot. The stove was heated by a Magby that sat within the box, happily munching away at some berries. He stirred the pot, allowing it to simmer. He heard a soft sniffle behind him.

Emmet turned, seeing someone in the tent with him. They were sitting on the single roll-out mattress that laid on the floor, legs dragging on the ground. They held themselves in a tight death grip, some odd form of a Samurott beside them, nuzzling them gently. Emmet shuffled over to the figure, placing an arm around them. He did not say anything. The figure - a young girl with dark hair - leaned into his touch, grabbing fistfuls of his dark coat and burying her face into it.

“I did everything they asked,” she sobbed. Emmet felt a stab of sympathy deep in his chest. “I did everything for them. I went out and caught every Pokemon they wanted, I quelled all the frenzied Nobles, I even helped the Clans come together. Why did they throw me out? All I wanted to do was help. Kamado said the sky was all my fault. He wanted to throw me in prison but said that they wouldn’t let him.” Emmet felt a rush of anger, a wave of rage that crashed over him. He took a deep breath in. Let it out.

“Miss Akari, you are not to blame for anything. Kamado is absolutely derailed. You saw Lady Irida and Sir Adaman earlier, they vouched for you. I vouch for you. Everyone knows this is not your fault. I will not try to condone Kamado’s actions, as I do not agree with them myself. But I do know that fear elicits the worst in people.”

“Kamado wanted to banish Laventon and Rei too because they wanted to help me. Kamado was treating me like… like a disease. Am…” she looked up at Emmet, tears in her eyes. Emmet felt a surge of protectiveness towards this child. “Am I all that bad, Uncle Ingo?”

Emmet jolted awake again out of pure shock, surprising the Pokemon near him. It was still the middle of the day, he had papers full of notes and his phone and computer open in front of him, trying desperately to find any information about anything that previous dream had mentioned. Emmet felt his mouth floundering, like a Basculin out of water. His mind was blank for half a second. Then he grabbed out the notepad again, scribbling some more half-illegible notes on it.

Wooden Pokeballs

Kamado

Weird Samurott

Clans?

Lady Irida, Sir Adaman

Rei, Laventon, Akari

UNCLE?????

Emmet put away his pen, looking down at his longer list. He had more to go off of now. His prior research had not yielded too much, except for the term ‘Sneasler’. It used to be an evolved form of Sneasel that went extinct around three hundred years ago. Which was weird. Verrry weird.

He pulled up a new tab, typing in ‘kamado’. After the adverts, he clicked on the first link that was not a social media profile.

“Ancient Sinnoh and its Major Historical Figures”

‘Ancient Sinnoh, referred to as Hisui in their time, was one of the main driving forces behind human civilization. Hisui is known currently as the birth of knowledge, as this region was the first to form a comprehensive Pokedex ever seen. In addition, this region was the first to properly understand how to get along with, train, and befriend Pokemon. At the cusp of human knowledge, many figures led the driving force towards what would soon be considered the Golden Age of Sinnoh. Let us take a look at some of these figures.’

‘It should be noted that all records are from 1700 AD, which is when any surviving records of specific names and dates begin. Conflict across Hisui is what likely destroyed any previous documentation of any particular groups or figures that would have inhabited Hisui.’

‘The Galaxy Team: not to be confused with the infamous Team Galactic, the Galaxy Team held the majority of the responsibility with creating the first Pokedex. Founded and led by Commander Kamado, this team was renowned for its ingenuity, medicine, and technology amongst early settlers of Sinnoh.’

‘The Diamond Clan: one of two clans that are native to Hisui. Founded by Grein, the leadership was passed down to his grandson Adaman after his death. It was under Adaman that the Diamond and Pearl Clans were able to achieve peace. The Diamond Clan was known for worshiping a god known as the Almighty Sinnoh, which was markedly different to the god the Pearl Clan worshiped, causing conflict between the two groups.’

‘The Pearl Clan: the other of two groups native to Hisui. Records are unclear about the passage of leadership, however it is safe to say that during the time of peace, a young woman named Irida was in charge of this group. The Pearl Clan worshiped a different Almighty Sinnoh than the Diamond Clan, leading to decades of strife, and sometimes warfare. It was with Irida as the figurehead of the Clan that the group was able to come to a compromise.’

‘Noble Pokemon: There were ten Pokemon in Hisui, all of which are extinct or only have living relatives of a different variation, which were revered and respected by the people of Hisui. Each Noble had a Warden, or caretaker, assigned to them by one of the Clans in order to keep themselves on good terms with the Nobles. It was believed that the Noble Pokemon were descended from those who had been blessed by the Almighty Sinnoh itself. Below is a comprehensive list of all of the Noble Pokemon of Hisui and their Wardens at the time that Hisui was no longer in conflict.’

‘Diamond Clan:

Wyrdeer - Mai

Lilligant (Hisuian Form) - Arezu

Basculegion - Iscan

Electrode - Melli

Braviary (Hisuian Form) - Sabi’

‘Pearl Clan:

Kleavor - Liam

Ursaluna - Calaba

Arcanine (Hisuian Form) - Palina

Sneasler - Ingo

Avalugg (Hisuian Form) - Gaeric’

‘Wardens were highly respected and the title was a one of honor for ancient Sinnoh society. The Wardens were allowed free reign of Hisui. They cared for and protected their specific Noble from any danger they could. The Noble would oftentimes choose their Warden. It was a lifetime commitment. When a Warden passed on, the Clan and the Noble associated with the Warden would hold an extravagant funeral, saying prayers to that Clan’s Almighty Sinnoh in the hopes that it would aide the deceased on into the afterlife. When the Pokemon Noble eventually passed on as well, they would be buried besides any Wardens that cared for them in life, so that they may continue their duties in death.’

Emmet read through the page once. Twice. A third time. His hand was shaking as he expanded the page, trying to make sure he had read that word right. No matter how large the word appeared on the screen, those letters still combined to make that specific name, the one that had been tantalizingly far from him for two years.

Ingo.

Ingo.

Ingo.

As Emmet finally managed to process that tidbit of information, he looked back through the other entries. The names all added up. Ingo had talked about these people before, and if he was a Warden for a Pokemon named Sneasler, even that made sense. But Emmet had to check. He couldn’t just let it be that easy. So, he clicked the hyperlink associated with Ingo’s name.

It brought him to a different tab entitled “Warden Ingo.”

‘Warden Ingo, or Ingo as he was commonly referred to as, is still the most mysterious Warden we know of today. From Irida’s personal journal, she writes about how Warden Ingo seemingly appeared out of thin air one day, not far from the Pearl Clan settlement. She writes extensively about him in later entries, including the severe retrograde amnesia he suffered from. His mode of dress was very different from the other Hisuians. He always wore a dark cap and long coat, even after it was completely destroyed by being in Hisui.’

‘He showed skill with Pokemon that had been unheard of in their time. It was because of this skill that he became Warden. Irida writes that he saved an infant Hisuian Sneasel from attack by a strong Scyther, earning the favor of the Noble Pokemon, the infant’s mother. She selected him as her Warden, and the two shared a strong bond, unheard of even amongst Wardens. Ingo was usually seen in Sneasler’s cave amongst the foothills of Mount Coronet, rarely around people.’

‘Irida also mentions his odd mannerisms and method of speech. She wrote several times about her confusion by his facial expressions, or lack thereof. He used odd phrases that were unknown to her. Ingo often seemed distressed by his lack of memories, as he was also aware he was not native to Hisui. He became the strongest Trainer in Hisui over time.’

‘Towards the end of the journal, Irida writes about Ingo’s sudden disappearance. After some years of being in Hisui, Ingo vanished, never to be found. Irida mentions he had been acting oddly the day previously and said it was unlikely he would ever see her again. When she tried to confront him about this, he did not answer her questions. Sneasler refused to take a new Warden after Ingo left Hisui.’

Under the text was a single photo, obviously a photocopy due to the yellowed edges and general fogginess of the photo. The photo was in black and white. It depicted a large Pokemon with a long feather that Emmet could only assume was Sneasler. It stood with its claws on the figure’s shoulder that stood in front of her. Said figure was pointing directly at the camera with one hand, his other hand positioned at a perfect right angle. His dark coat was in shambles, absolutely shredded and unkempt. His hat was not in much better shape. He wore an odd tunic with a weird symbol on it. He had a beard. The brim of his cap shaded his eyes, but Emmet could still see the piercing silver gaze behind the shadows. He had silver hair, sideburns that framed his eyes and his perpetual frown. It was a bit long and unkempt, even in the photo.

Emmet sat and stared at the wall, dazed. The sun had begun to set in the sky. The Pokemon around him were laying on the couch and around the floor, watching him and his sudden movement. Emmet felt like he had just found the missing link. His eyes narrowed as he made up his mind.

“Ingo is alive,” he told his team. They all looked at each other, looking back when Emmet spoke again. “He is stuck in the past. I will find him. And I will bring him back.” Emmet continued to dig up any and all information he could find on Warden Ingo, bouncing from website to website. He found that same photo over and over again. It only served to confirm his theory. Ingo was alive, if only in the past. He still existed. He was somewhere.

Now Emmet just had to find him.

[Start] - [Next]