#OPINION: i do not like the smell of meatballs but they taste good. It takes a very long time for me to eat it because it smells bad.

[autistickfigure]

there are heartships / those guys again / this one doesn't have a caption. let's call it CROPPING / i don't want to be the sun i don't want to be the ocean i don't want to be the world

i thought it was redundant But that was the phrase that came to me

[waitimcomingtoo]

Where We Start Again -3

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

Playlist by @tiny-friggin-human

The first thing Peter heard when he entered your apartment was shouting. You looked disappointed as you locked the door behind you and put your keys in a bowl next to door.

“Sorry. That’s my dad.” You apologized. “He claims using his “lawyer voice” is the only way he can get clients to listen.”

“It’s fine.” Peter assured you. “As long as he doesn’t use that voice on me.”

“Not unless your skirt is too short or you got a grade below a 90.” You said through a tight smile as you dropped your backpack on a kitchen stool. He uncomfortably shouldered his, unsure of if he should do the same.

“You can put your bag down. Put it next to mine so they can talk.” You raised your eyebrows suggestively. Peter shook his head as he laughed at your dumb joke and put his backpack on the stool next to yours.

“What are the gonna talk about?” He played along and you thought about it.

“Yours is probably telling my backpack about how scared he is since he heard your last five bags disappeared.” You whispered dramatically and Peter scoffed.

“I just lose them a lot, okay? I can’t believe you noticed that.” He mumbled. He did lose his backpack a lot when he had to ditch it for Spider-Man duties, he just never thought you’d notice that he always had a different bag.

“Sometimes I see things when I’m not applying lipgloss or brushing my hair.” You said through a big, fake smile and Peter got the hint.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He told you. “I know you do other things. Like paint, apparently.”

You looked at a small canvas hung on the wall together. It was a painting of squidward on a yellow background with your name at the bottom. You looked at it proudly and adjusted it so it wasn’t crooked.

“I hung that up there two years ago and my parents still haven’t noticed.” You laughed, but Peter didn’t find it very funny. “I think it’s kinda of pretty.”

“It’s lovely. You’ll have to make me one someday.” He said as he gazed at you. You seemed different now that you weren’t at school. You weren’t standing as straight and finally looked relaxed.

“You want me to paint a bunch of dicks on your ceiling?” You asked and he almost choked on his saliva.

“Why would you do that?” He asked in bewilderment.

“It was a Michelangelo joke, ciccino.” You said an unexpectedly authentic Italian accent.

“Oh. Um, pizza spaghetti spicy meatball to you too.” He muttered and you laughed loudly. He looked at you quizzically, never having heard you laugh like that before. It was never that loud or cheerful. You noticed his staring and covered your mouth in embarrassment.

“Sorry about that.” You said sheepishly and he shook his head.

“Don’t be.” He said softly. “It was nice to hear.”

“Come on. I’ll give you the rest of the tour.” You took Peters hand and lead him to a room at the end of the hall. “This is my bedroom. I’m sorry I don’t have Yoda on my sheets. I hope daisies will do.”

MJ’s words echoed in Peters mind when you didn’t let go of his hand. He blinked a few times as he looked around your room. He’d imagined what it might look like a few times, as he did with a most people. He was pretty sure Flash lived in a dirt hole outside of a SuperCuts. Whatever he imagined your room would look like, the reality was better. But as he looked closer, he noticed an absence of photos with friends or mementos from school. It was almost like your popularity started and ended on school property.

“Your sheets are fine. It’s smells like you in here.” He said without thinking. “Was that the creepiest thing I could’ve possibly said?”

“Nah. A boy in my Econ class told me he wanted to use my hair as a towel once. You’re gonna have to try harder to creep me out.” You let go of his hand and smoothed your skirt before sitting on your bed. Peter stood awkwardly near the door until he found the words to say. He didn’t want to take another step into your room at risk of ruining the wholesome atmosphere.

“Your hair looks soft and all, but I don’t think it’d be very absorbent.” He said finally and watched your face for a reaction.

“Right? Some people are so dumb.” You joked and he felt himself ease up. He took a few steps toward the center of your room and noticed a guitar leaning again your dresser.

“Do you play?” He asked curiously and you nodded. You got up and walked over to the guitar, fingering the strings as a soft melody played.

“A little. I can strum along time a few songs.” You told him. He joined you next to the guitar and touched the neck.

“Thats still something.” He assured you. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Theres a lot you don’t know about me, Peter.” You quipped and stopped touching the strings.

“Good thing I love to learn.” He replied and you picked up the guitar.

“What’s your favorite song?” You asked and played him an energetic riff.

“You’re gonna laugh.” He hesitated to tell you.

“I would never laugh at you.” You promised.

“It’s Hey there Delilah. My mom used to sing it when she made dinner.” He admitted for the first time to another human being. He and Ned didn’t cover vulnerable topics, so he kept personal stuff to himself. It was hard to keep it in sometimes, but he never felt like he had another choice until now. I

“That’s a great song. She had good taste.” You said softly. You had heard about his parents passing from MJ when you asked her about the cute boy who sat at her lunch table a week earlier. You didn’t expect him to open about it so soon, but you were glad he did.

“Yeah, she did.” Peter agreed. He never expected to be talking about this with you, but it felt good to get off his chest.

“What was she like?” You wondered as you fingered the melody to Marry Me, Archie.

“Amazing. We used to do crossword puzzles together and she would finish hers before I read my second clue. And she always had something in the oven. It made the house really hot in the summer but my dad and I didn’t mind. We were happy as long as she was.” He reminisced. You listened intently to him as you played the song softly.

“What would she make?” You asked him.

“Pretty much everything.” He replied. “Her favorite was chocolate chip cookies. But from scratch, not a package.”

“Were they good?”

“They were so good.” He sighed happily. “She used to put extra chocolate chips on as the cooled down. I miss those cookies.”

You didn’t say anything but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. He knew you were listening, and that’s all that mattered. His eyes wandered to your bookshelf which was bare of books except for one.

“Charlottes Web?” He raised an eyebrow as he picked up the book and flipped through it.

“It’s my favorite book.” You told him. He was leaning a lot about you just from being in your room.

“Could’ve fooled me. It looks brand new.” He held it up for you to see.

“I only read it one time. When I was younger.” You shrugged and put the guitar down.

“But it’s your favorite?” He wondered.

“The ending makes me sad. I remember the story and how it made me feel, and that makes it my favorite.” You half smiled. “I just can’t read it anymore because-“

“It makes you sad.” He understood. “That’s cute.”

“You’re cute.” You nodded your head at him and blew him a kiss, like you were cat calling him. He looked away bashfully and brushed it off. “I’m serious. I really like this color on you.”

“So I’ve been told.” He mumbled shyly. “Thank you for the candy, by the way.”

“Well I had to pay you back for the gogurt.” You teased. “Should we get going?”

“Going?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“To the mall. For a dress. Like we agreed.” You said slowly and he remembered why he was at your house in the first place.

“Right.” He nodded curtly. “Let’s go.”

~

“How’s this?” You opened the dressing room curtain and stepped out in a short maroon dress. Peters eyes lit up at the sight of you until he realized something.

“Isn’t that the same dress you just had on?” He asked.

“No. That was burgundy. This is maroon.” You said like it was obvious and it went right over Peters head.

“You look great.” He complimented, and he meant it.

“You said that about the last three.” You whined and looked at yourself in the mirror. You adjusted the dress nervously and decided you hated it.

“Yeah, but you do this crazy thing where you’re super pretty and look good in everything, so.” Peter shrugged and you bit back a smile.

“Peter Parker with the flirtatious banter. We love to see it.” You winked, something he was coming to see you did a lot, and went back into the dressing room. You came out a minute later in a long white dress.

“What do you think about this one?” You asked for his opinion as you smoothed the dress down.

“Oh my God. You look like Princess Leia when she - I’m gonna stop talking now.” He interrupted himself before he said something uncool.

“You don’t have to hide who you are from me, Peter. If you want to make a Star Trek reference, I want to hear it.” You folded your arms and admired the dress in the mirror.

“Okay.” He obeyed. “And it’s Star Wars. Star Trek is different.”

“Oh. Which one has the bunnies playing basketball?” You pursed your lips as you looked over your shoulder at the dress.

“That’s Space Jam.” He couldn’t even hide his attitude. “That’s not even-“

He cut himself off when he noticed the playful smile on your face.

“You’re messing with me.” He realized and you nodded.

“You’re cute when you’re riled up.” You shrugged a shoulder and disappeared back into the dressing room.

“How’s this?” You reappeared in a little black dress. It had a sheer layer over the mini skirt that was short in the front and longer in the back. You looked beautiful, to say the least. Like the person who designed the dress made it with you in mind. Peters eyes slowly trailed down the dress and a smile tugged at his lips.

“You know the scene in Mean Girls when Aaron sees the picture of Cady as a little girl on top of an elephant and smiles? And like, that happy song with guitars plays in the background?” He asked you and you looked confused.

“I think so, yeah.” You shrugged.

“That’s how that dress makes me feel.” He confessed and you tilted your head.

“Like I’m a child riding an elephant?”

“Like I’m seeing you for the first time.” He replied. “The real you, anyway. Again, not trying to sound like a stalker, but I’ve looked at you a lot over the last four years. But this feels like the first time I’ve ever really looked at you. You look - - you look happy.”

“Do I not normally look happy?” You asked quietly, turning to look at your face in the mirror.

“You have a sadness to you.” Peter admitted and your head whipped to him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying that.”

“No, it’s okay. No ones ever honest with me.” You were quiet for a moment following the confession. “What else do you see?”

“I see a really beautiful girl.” Peter answered honestly. He thought he was complimenting you, but you looked annoyed with the answer. He remembered what MJ said about you hating being watched and took that into consideration as he formulated his answer.

“I also see someone who’s smart and can solve a rubix cube in under a minute. I see someone who’s funny, but never at the expense of someone else. Someone who remembers your favorite candy and helps you glue a LEGO lamp together after school. And I see someone who would pretend to be my girlfriend to save me from a bully. That’s what I see.” Peter recited. You looked at him for a moment before taking a seat beside him. You looked like you were searching for the words to say, so Peter kept silent.

“We need to get you a tie to match my dress.” You said finally. You gave him a soft smile and took the hand that was gripping the arm of his chair. “Thank you.”

“For?” He wondered what he had done to warrant a thank you.

“For everything you said. No ones ever known me that well before. No one ever wanted to.” Your voice wavered and Peter thought he could see tears in your eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to.” He confessed. “And somehow, I’m getting the chance. I still worry that I’m gonna wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

“What?” Your expression changed from appreciative to annoyed too quickly for Peters liking. “Why?”

“Because girls like you don’t hang out with guys like me.” He shrugged like it was simply. You hastily got out of your chair and Peter feared he had said the wrong thing.

“Says who?” You asked sharply as you folded your arms. He was positive now he had said the wrong thing.

“Says everybody.” He said weakly.

“Fuck everybody.” You snapped and Peter jumped a little in his seat. “You are better company than anyone one of those sentient bratz dolls at my lunch table. I’ve had more fun with you these past two days than I have in four years with them. I don’t care what everybody says because I like hanging out with you. So I don’t want to hear anymore of this status talk. I’m just a person, Peter.”

“An extremely popular person. And your reputation would plummet if you were caught hanging out with an extremely unpopular person, like myself.” He tried to explain himself as he got out of his seat but it only made you angrier.

“Caught? Like I’m committing a crime just for being seen with you?” You laughed bitterly. “I don’t know who instilled in you that I’m some deity that no one can talk to, but it’s not true. I thought you understood that.” You said in disappointment before storming into the dressing room and swiping the curtain shut.

“Y/n- daisy wait. Wait.” He pressed himself against the doorframe and sighed. “I do understand that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on a pedestal like that. I know you’re just a person.”

He heard you sniffle behind the curtain and his heart broke when his worst fear had come to light.

He had made you cry.

“You don’t get it, Peter.” You said quietly through the curtain. “Everyone think I’m a stuck up snob or a perfect, plastic doll. And no one cares to get to know the truth. They just see what the want to see. I want them to see me the way you do.”

“Maybe they don’t deserve to see that. Daisy, you are this exceptionally phenomenal force of nature.” He promised as he tried to make amends. “You hold a power that their tiny minds could never understand. Forgive them. They’re slow.”

He smiled in relief when he heard a laugh from the other side of the curtain.

“Now that I have you laughing again, will you come out?” He pleaded.

“I’ll think about it.” You said after a beat of silence.

“For the record, I liked you from the first day of freshman year. Before you were popular.” He admitted to someone other than Ned for the first time.

“Didn’t my dad almost hit you with his car?” You asked as you opened the curtain just enough so he could see you.

“Yes.” He stuttered, surprised that his apology worked. “But I was jay walking so that’s on me. And as I waited for my heart to start beating again after nearly colliding with your dads Toyota Camry, I looked up and saw you crying.”

“I thought he killed you.” You defended your actions.

“But he didn’t.” Peter smiled easily. “And now we’re talking through a curtain because we’re fake dating and I can see your bra strap. What a wonderful world.”

You laughed loudly again, a laugh he was sure only he got to hear.

“Come in here.” You grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him into the dressing room. His knees weakened at the sight of you in just a bra and panties so he averted his eyes to the ceiling and counted to ten in his head.

“I don’t mean to worry you but I’m about to die, so do with that what you will.” Peter wheezed as he focused on the ceiling tiles.

“Relax. Just turn around.” You ordered and he obeyed. He turned around and tried to ignore the sounds of you getting dressed. “Okay. You can look now. You were saying?”

“I’m saying I liked you before you were the queen of Midtown Tech.” He repeated as he put his hands on your shoulders. “I liked you when you were just the girl who cried on the first day of school because her dad almost turned me into a skinny white boy pizza. I never thought I was gonna be good enough to talk to you. That’s why I’m worried I’m gonna wake up from this. Because it’s something I’ve wanted for so long.”

“You are good enough. You are so good enough.” You laughed sadly and stepped closer to him. “You’re the only one in this school who treats me like an actual person. I’m sorry I got defensive. It’s just because I’ve been wanting this for a long time too.”

“Tell you what.” Peter started. “You’re gonna buy that black dress and I’m gonna buy a tie to match. And I swear, I will never make you feel like this again. I never meant to make you cry, daisy. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You said sincerely. “I don’t get those a lot.”

“Then you better start getting used to it because I make a lot of mistakes.” Peter joked and your body shook as you laughed.

“I look forward to what you can come up with.” You smiled softly.

“Come on. People are gonna think you’re jumping on my skeleton.” Peter said as he opened the curtain and walked out.

“Okay.” You followed him out. “Wait, what?”

Tag List 🏷

@a-villain-vying-for-attention @wendaiii @dorbiksbitch @t-monosapiens-h @badhollandfluff @thisisthebiplace @silteplaittais-toi @seasidecrowbar @spideygirl2003 @5-seconds-of-mendes​ @bitchylittleredhead​ @oh-whatabeautiful-parker​ @everydaymj​ @write-from-the-heart​ @blackpetalsmeandeath​ @electraheart-3174​ @shawni-h​ @peterparkoure​ @sleepythighsweat @steebbb @traveleraroundsworld @averyfosterthoughts

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padxleckiss donated $50, and requested always-a-girl!Deanna/Sam, lingerie, comeplay. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

In the week after they get back from St. Louis, dealing with James and the witches and the familiars and everything that got dragged up along with them, Deanna throws herself into the bunker. Sam thought she was nesting before; turns out he didn't really know what that looked like, from his sister.

There's cleaning. There's rearranging. She turns the kitchen upside down and finds another farmer's market over in Smith Center that even in late February Kansas weather has produce that she fairly squeals over, when she's dumping her egg-crate of loot out onto the island. "How are you getting tomatoes this time of year?" Sam asks, and she makes a raspberry noise and says, "What? Greenhouses, or something, Sammy, don't bitch when I'm bringing home gold." While Sam's still digging out in the library, still trying to make sense of the diamond-mine of lore and records and history that they've fallen face-first into, Deanna makes mysterious trips to Wichita, to Topeka, to department stores, to—who knows where else, because Sam isn't invited, because he, apparently, "doesn't know how to shop." Sam didn't know Deanna did, considering that their whole lives she's lived on thrift-store finds and leftovers same as him, but apparently his sister has yet more depths Sam didn't realize he wasn't privy to until they were suddenly revealed.

She comes home late after another trip—swinging past Kevin on the houseboat, but clearly an excuse from the shopping bag swinging on the end of her finger—and Sam's tired from a long day sitting in the library and trying to manage this nagging cough without worrying about it, but she bounces up the steps and there's a shine to her that hasn't been there since—since Sam doesn't remember, how long—and he smiles at her, despite everything. "Good drive?" he says.

"Update, Kevin has advanced in his diet enough to alternate between hot dogs and Hot Pockets," Deanna says, and wraps an arm over his chest from behind and kisses his cheek, easily affectionate like they also haven't been in too long. He swallows, tasting iron, and catches her wrist to keep her there. She hmms, reading his laptop over his shoulder like she always does. Her hair swings down, too, falling over her shoulder, smelling like road and like the faintest trace of her crappy strawberry conditioner. More absently: "Not even the good kind. He's getting, like, off-brand meatball and four cheese."

"Did you cook?" Sam says, and she goes pff against his cheek—tickles, and he flinches away, grinning despite himself—and she says, standing, "I am not Kevin's mommy, Sam, what do you take me for?" When he cranes his head back to give her a face she presses her lips together, rolling her eyes, and says, "I mean, yes, I made lasagna, okay? Kid can't live on weird mystery meat alone. It's got tomato sauce, that counts as a vegetable." She snorts then, tugging her wrist out of his loose grip, and Sam flattens his hand against his chest instead, wanting her back already. "You shoulda heard the noise he made when he got the first bite, too. If he never lost his virginity before, that thing blasted his cherry."

"Dee," Sam groans—Kevin's been through shit but he's still a kid, as far as Sam's concerned—and she says ha, unrepentant.

"You eaten?" she says. Bag on the other table, the one she's staked out as hers, which he isn't allowed to spread 'moldy records' on, apparently. She squats at the brand new mini-fridge, rummaging, though when Sam's silent she gives him a sidelong look. "Samwise? Dinner? Supper?"

"That would make you Frodo," he says, and she rolls her eyes again, coming up with two beers. She cracks them on the edge of the fridge—there's already a scraped-spot coming up—and comes up to him holding his just out of reach, her eyebrows high. Sam sighs. "Yes. Like, two hours ago. The mothering routine is weird, you know."

"Oh, something about us is weird, huh?" Deanna says, smile pulling at her mouth, and when she holds out the beer for him to take she keeps her fingers on the bottle and pulls herself in when he takes it, sliding inside the v of his legs, pressing her thigh against his. He tips his head back and she leans in, making a fake sweet moue of concern. "Tell me about it, baby."

"Dude," he says, protesting only vaguely, and she grins outright, pushing his shoulder and turning away.

"Yeah, whatever," she says. She scoops her bag off the other table and half-salutes with her beer. "I've got a date with the shower room and some new sheets. You going to come to bed tonight, or is this whole lore fetish permanent?"

Asked casual, her eyes on her shopping bag as she presumably admires whatever purchases. Sam swallows down a cough. "Give me a few hours," he says.

Deanna glances at him, not smiling at all for a moment, before that little exasperated dimple peeks up in her cheek. "Fe-tish," she coos, half-singing, and he rolls his eyes for her to see so she'll grin, brief, before she disappears again, her boots clomping loud down the concrete hall, so he still knows where she is even if he can't see her. Sam holds the beer in both hands, running his thumb along the edge of the label, listening. The bunker feels different, when she's in it. The world feels different, when she's in it.

It's been… how has it been. Complicated. That's the best way, maybe, to describe it in brief and still be truthful. His sister is one of the most complicated people on the planet, though she'd protest that description. Sam's personal opinion is that she's one of the most complicated people in history, and considering their relative position in history it's probably not a stretch to figure that, on an objective scale, she's at least ranked.

The last eight months or so—that was complicated, too, although in some ways it was very, very simple. Sam had been with another woman for almost a year and Deanna had been with another man and regardless of extenuating circumstances—death, or presumed death, or loneliness so complete that it gave Sam nightmares, even now, these bleak dreams of an empty world where he calls out and his voice doesn't echo, a deaf-and-mute misery where all he sees is absence—that was it, pretty much. Since then, they've forgiven each other. They broke off other concerns and when Sam walked back into that cabin in Whitefish Deanna was standing at the window with her arms wrapped over her stomach, looking out at something Sam couldn't see. She cut her eyes over when Sam closed the door and Sam shrugged and her lips folded between her teeth and, for a second Sam's always going to remember, she closed her eyes very tight, the faint crow's feet beside them going white with tension. Then she went to the cupboard and got down two cans of chili, and Sam found the can opener, and she uncapped the beers. They ate silently, watching a rerun of a wrestling match with six inches of space between them on the couch, but they were together, and that was more, almost, that night, than Sam could handle. It wasn't until the ridiculous adventure with Charlie—until after—when he woke up in the middle of the night already reaching for his gun with her hand small on his wrist and red-and-white makeup still smeared at her temples, her hair still caught up in the ridiculous Viking braids Charlie had given her—with her leaning in, in the too-big t-shirt she'd stolen from him to sleep in when she first came back from Purgatory and, he quickly realized, nothing else—when she said, soft in the dark, Sammy, asking—and he touched the bare shine of her knee gleaming in the moonlight and saw how her eyes closed again, very tight again, and he sat up and put his thumb to the clenched tense skin beside her eye and put his lips to her cheekbone, on the opposite side, and felt all the way through his body the breath she let out, like a tension she'd held close for a year or more was unraveling, all at once.

His sister. He knows what that means, about them. It's worse, of course, because she's his sister who raised him, who taught him how to shoot and bandaged his skinned knees and who beat the shit out of the first girl who ever stood him up for a school dance, when he was fourteen, and Sam had tried to intervene but Deanna had whirled on him, furious, and said no one gets to treat you like that, you get me? No one. Sam remembered that moment on the Greyhound, pressing his forehead against the window and watching the pale grey Arizona desert go past in the moonlight, California beckoning and Deanna's face, turned away while Dad shouted, pinned miserably behind his eyes. His sister, rowdy and caring and bullish and sweet. The town whore, boys had claimed when Sam was a teenager, and he'd gotten in his own fights, for that, fights that had led to Deanna pressing wadded TP against his lip and holding frozen peas against his eye, shaking her head, saying, Sammy, I know I taught you to box better than this. You fixing matches and making bank on the side, or what? His sister, who stood smirking in his kitchen in Palo Alto, her eyes not cutting to the girl at Sam's side even once—who said to him, voice sore, we made a good team, back there—who said to him, when Sam was out of his skin with worry after moving matter with his mind when the vision of her dead had filled it, nothing bad's gonna happen to you, not as long as I'm around, and smiled at him with her eyes clear, like it was nothing but true—who wept, cracked-open miserable, when she was sure that their dad had sold his soul for her—when she said to Sam that she wasn't worth it, and she didn't know why he had—that she was sorry, that she'd lost their father for both of them—his sister, who he folded into his chest, cupping his hand around the wavy-thick weight of her hair, noticing in a way for the first time how small she was, compared to him, and how she quivered, shaking in agony, caught against him, and how when he tipped her chin up on that mountain pull-out in the late afternoon sunshine the tears gleamed on her cheeks and her face was wrecked, her eyes red and her nose shined with snot and her mouth screwed up, bitten red and chapped, but full when Sam dipped and kissed her—plush, and startled-open, when Sam kissed her—giving, and tasting of salt, and desperate, and furious, and yielding, and precious-sweet, delicate, shocked, when Sam kissed her. She blinked, when he pulled away, stunned silent. Her eyelashes clumped and dark, and her eyeliner smeary, and her mouth red, red, red. Sam touched her lower lip with his thumb and she took in a huge deep breath that stuttered on its way in, staring at him big-eyed, and then she gripped his hair in both fists and tugged him back down and kissed him again, vicious, and that—well, that was it. His sister, and him. All the years between then and now, and that's still what it boils down to. Sam and Deanna. No matter what, the and is still the most important word.

He comes to bed. Midnight. A little after. They have separate rooms but Deanna's is nicer, despite the guns racked on the walls, and the weird obsidian axe that Sam doesn't ask about in pride of place, above the headboard. She's made the room her own—girly, sort of, despite the weaponry, although Sam doesn't describe it that way out loud—a new-built rack of her FBI-pretext suits and her few dresses on the other side of the wardrobe, and a throw blanket and fluffy pillow she has completely failed to explain or acknowledge on the uncomfortable loveseat, and candles on the shelf above the bed that she clearly had burning for a while before she went to sleep, because the room smells faintly of orange blossom when Sam's pulling off his boots, leaving his jeans on the chair in the corner. When he slides into bed behind her into the apparently-new sheets she makes a faint questioning sound, her head turning. He shushes her very quietly, sliding his hand over the wide curve of her hip, over the blanket. The memory foam sinks beneath him, too soft, but the bed already smells like her and so it's comfortable, anyway. He presses his lips against her bare neck, the soft baby-hairs there silky, her hair pulled messily up for bedtime as always, and she sighs, in her sleep, and curls in closer to her pillow. Sam smiles at the back of her head, wishing—well, whatever he wishes doesn't matter. He tucks in, knees pulling up into the curve of her knees so that he'll fit in the bed, and closes his eyes, and figures that, whatever he dreams, at least when he wakes up he'll be here, in what passes for home, with his sister.

*

As a matter of course Sam wakes up first. Unless there's a job-related deadline or nightmares dragging her awake, Deanna would happily sleep straight through the morning, and with no check-out times nagging at them in the bunker she's often wandered out into the library wrapped in one of those too-big robes at ten a.m., her hair wrecked and her slept-in makeup smudged and her mouth surly, demanding to know if Sam's made coffee. He has always made coffee.

This morning, though. Sam's alarm goes off at seven as usual, and he groans and smacks his phone, as usual, barely awake but knowing that he doesn't want to hear Deanna's bitching if it wakes her up, too—but there's no too-warm plush weight plastered up against him, and no murmured threats of shooting the phone if he doesn't change his alarm sound, and when he drags his hand through his hair and sits up and his brain actually comes online—the bed's empty, and the room's quiet, and he sits there blinking, surprised, not really knowing what to make of it.

Smell of coffee, when he opens the door, and bacon-smell snaking underneath it. When he gets to the kitchen, still trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Deanna's in her sleep-shirt (still Sam's, the shoulders way too big and the v-neck gaping), and tugged-on shorts, and bare feet, and her hair in a honey-brown messy pile on top of her head, and she's in a whirl of breakfast, pancakes on the griddle and a pan of bacon going and something being whisked with extreme prejudice in one of the big steel bowls, more suited to feeding thirty than just the two of them. She jerks when she notices him, like she's been caught at something, but then her eyes go to his hair and she starts to smile, wide mouth pulling into what Sam thinks of as her Joker grin. "Don't start," he says, and she says, too innocent, "Start what? I think it's very brave that you're joining a Flock of Seagulls cover band," and he drops his head back and sighs and ignores her snort-laugh, but he also drags his hands through his hair a little more strenuously while she says, "Whatever, Pigpen, take a seat. Grub's up in five."

He gets coffee, first. Strong, but good—like, really, really good, for some reason that he doesn't quite get—it's the same machine, same crappy tub of pre-ground stuff they get from the little market in town—but then Deanna's always been better at this kind of thing than she let on, and he savors the first few sips, breathing caffeine. She ignores him, moving confidently around—the whisking it turns out was eggs, which she pours onto the griddle too and starts working like she's a line cook—and he watches her, content for a second to let that be the only thing he's thinking about. She was a line cook, once, he remembers. When he was in high school, and she'd quit school by then, and the credit cards hadn't come through. She got a job for a few weeks at that diner, in Joplin. "What was that place you worked?" Sam says, while she's flipping pancakes. She frowns at him over her shoulder. "They gave me free grilled cheese for dinner, that month."

The frown clears. "The Show Me Diner," she says, turning back to the griddle. "Manager always joked I should show him my tits." Sam pauses, cup halfway to his mouth. He never heard that part. Deanna laughs, scraping at the griddle with the metal spatula. "Man, that kitchen was gross. Great fries, though."

"The grilled cheese was good," Sam says, after a second, and she says, "Damn right it was, I was the one making it," and then she's ducking under the island and grabbing plates, and then in the next second there's breakfast—fresh and hot and delivered with a fork clattering down into his eggs and his sister plopping down on the other side of the table, tucking her foot under her other knee and gesturing with the other fork: "Eat, drink, be merry. Happy birthday, Sammy."

Sam frowns. "Uh," he says, and makes a show of looking at his watch. "Unless I slept way too late—"

She rolls her eyes, cramming pancake into her mouth. "Shut up," she advises, garbled, and he wrinkles his nose at the chewing but looks down at his plate. It does look good. Bacon's burned, exactly the way they both like it. He picks up a piece, lets it shatter on his tongue, but he gives her a look, too, and she rolls her eyes again—a little too obvious, playacted, which makes him pay more attention—and makes a show of swallowing. "I know, duh. But, hell. I wasn't here for the last one. And, you know, I didn't really get a chance to make it up to you. Before."

She cuts another bite of pancake, studiously piling it and syrup and egg and bacon-shards into one monstrous bite, while Sam's processing that. "We didn't do anything for yours, either," Sam says, after a few seconds. Jesus, his birthday? He was in Kermit, then, only barely coming to terms with how he was going to have a hole in his chest for the rest of his life. On Deanna's birthday—god, that was only last month—they were moving into the bunker, he thinks, and they were okay but that hole in his chest somehow still smarted, and Sam doesn't even remember if they did the bare minimum of pizza and beer.

"We can do a Seagal marathon sometime," she says, shrugging one shoulder, and smiling at her plate when he groans. "I'm taking the opportunity, dude. We've got a house, we've got steady cash, the world isn't currently ending, so. I'm in charge. Birthday queen. You've gotta do what I say."

"How is this my birthday, again?" Sam says, and she says, "Shut up," lightly, and then taps his plate with her fork and says, "Eat up, beanpole," and so he shuts up, and eats. Why not. It's good. Of course it is; she made it.

There isn't, it turns out, all that much of a plan. He washes their plates but then she shoos him out of the kitchen again, tells him to run a marathon or bench press a car or something, and so he goes for a jog, as ordered. Not much of one—full stomach, and the cough, which forces him to stop and lean against a fence-post and spit, laced with red. He licks his lips, swallows, and keeps running, and when he's back Deanna's still in her pjs, doing something in the library, and she gives him unimpressed eyebrows and says, "You look like you reek, Lance. Shower time." So, fine, shower time.

When he's done, he finds clothes in his room laid out for him. Basically pajamas: soft loungey sweatpants in a dark grey that are clearly brand new, and a thin soft black shirt to go with them. "Merry un-birthday," he hears, and when he turns Deanna's leaning in his doorway, clearly enjoying him in his towel. "You like?"

"Uh, I guess," Sam says, fingering the material. Their birthday presents to each other are usually along the line of a six-pack or embarrassing porn or, memorably, twenty-nine boxes of Ho-Hos when he turned twenty-nine. Three guesses who ate more of them. He picks up the sweatpants, giving her a quizzical look, but she only lifts one shoulder and raises her eyebrows, waiting, and he huffs and then, fine, drops the towel. It is sort of—something—how immediately her eyes drop to his dick, and he bites back a smile and tugs on the sweatpants with a minimum of show. They are soft, thin but warm in the bunker's cool air, and the shirt stretches only a little over his shoulders. He pushes the sleeves up to his elbows and turns, modeling. "You like?" he repeats.

"You'd still get thrown out of bed for eating crackers," Deanna says, eyes tracing his body. "But you'll do."

He comes to her, sliding a hand over her waist, and she doesn't move except to tip her head back, eyes steady on his. Watchful and more still, now, like she wasn't before Purgatory. The kiss is unhurried. He parts her lips with gentle pressure and she sighs, letting him in, her head tilting back. Her mouth, perfect. He slips his hand down to her hip, squeezing the wide curve of it through the t-shirt and the ancient denim cut-offs, and she unfolds her arms and wraps a hand around his wrist, stopping him from going further. When he pulls back her cheeks are a little flushed but she blinks at him, shakes her head. "Not yet," she says, and he frowns, confused. Like they haven't messed around in the middle of the day before? She bites her bottom lip, attempting to look coy. "I mean. There's… stuff to do, first."

Sam narrows his eyes and she switches from attempted coy to attempted innocence. "Dee," he says, and her eyes go round, guileless as a cartoon princess. He drags his thumb over the soft of her belly, his hand still trapped by her light grip but enough room for him to find the waistband of the shorts through the t-shirt, rub there. Her eyelashes flicker, but she remains steadfast. "Stuff to do," he says, finally. "Like what?"

"Oh," she says, waving her other hand. "You know. Important stuff."

Okay, so she's clearly got some plan. He glances down at himself, dressed for… nothing, as far as he can tell. If it's going to be an elaborate and terrible roleplay fantasy, as least she isn't making him be a cop or a doctor or something. "And what am I supposed to do?" he asks, conceding. "While you do important stuff."

She starts to grin but bites it back, in that way where her dimple peeks out. "I think you should hang out in the library," she says, half serious.

"The library," Sam says.

Deanna nods, the dimple deepening. "For like… an hour, probably." She tips her head, eyes cutting to the side. "Um, maybe longer. But I'm sure there's a book in there that'll entertain you, gigantic nerd that you are."

"Thoughtful," Sam says, and her grin blooms wide, her eyes crinkling in that way they do when she's really happy, and it catches in Sam's chest, like it always does. He dips and kisses her again, quick, just because he needs to, and she puts a hand to his jaw and lifts into it, eager, before she dips away, licks her lips, lifts a finger. Sam sighs. "An hour."

"Ish," she corrects, but she slides a hand down his chest to his stomach, presses in. "It'll be worth the wait," she says, warm and promising, in that way she has where she can flip from just the biggest dork in the world to the sexiest woman he's ever known, even in ratty pajamas and still all mussed from sleep, and he doesn't need more than just—her, just her, ever, and she should know that, but—he nods, and her eyes drop to his mouth and she looks tempted, but then she nods too, and disappears down the hall, bare feet noiseless on the concrete, and he closes his eyes and tells the warm wanting feeling in his gut that it has to wait, unfortunately, and he goes to the library, and he finds a book.

He doesn't actually know how long passes. He stands over the archiving work that he still needs to do but—god, he's not going to be able to concentrate on that, with this tugging in his belly that says he's got something better coming down the pipe. He goes over to one of the alcoves, instead, picks one of the leather armchairs, picks a book off the shelf. History—the Spanish incursion into Tenochtitlan—and it's dry and old-fashioned and he scans page after page, half-focused, barely taking in details about the supernatural elements of Aztec ritual when he's thinking about…

It took him until he left to realize that he judged all women against his sister. His first official college hookup, after a freshman mixer, was a perfectly nice girl whose name he can't quite remember, but he remembers to this day how he thought: shorter than Deanna. Blonder than Deanna. No freckles, not like Deanna. When she tugged him into her dorm room, both of them more than tipsy on jello shots and cheap beer, she tugged off her tank top and dragged his hands up to her breasts and he'd thought, in a way he didn't examine at all until much later, that they were bigger than Deanna's, and her ass filling his hands was—was probably smaller, although Sam didn't have the evidence then to know it, and when he rolled off of her afterward she curled up against his arm and promptly fell asleep and he looked at her muzzily confused and thought, distantly, that Deanna didn't do that, with guys, that the few times she'd brought someone home to their motel room when she thought Sam was either out or sleeping she'd fucked the guy and gotten whatever satisfaction she got and then showed him the door, and they were done, except for how sometimes Sam would squint carefully through shut eyes at how she stood with her back to the door for a few minutes, her eyes closed and her head tipped back and her body barely hidden in a big t-shirt or a towel, and he didn't know what she was thinking, then. She certainly didn't just roll over and drool on the guy's shoulder, until he had to awkwardly extricate himself, and fret over leaving a number, and then ultimately decide to just go. Bethany, Sam remembers, suddenly. It was Bethany, who was not Deanna.

He's stretched out in the chair, book open but mostly-abandoned on the arm of it, staring unseeing out at the library. Deanna, five foot seven in her bare feet, her lips a plush pretty curve and her tits a good handful and her ass, god, her ass, that she fretted over when they were younger and made him say that it wasn't fat—but it is, god, this fat perfect swell, impossibly hot along with her wide hips and her thighs gorgeous below and her body just—made for his, he thinks, sometimes. Even if of course that's impossible because they shouldn't be—it shouldn't be how it is, between them. Impossible or not, though—

"Ahem," he hears. He looks up.

Deanna's standing there, one hand on his research table, the other holding closed her grey dead man's robe. Sam blinks, taking her in. Her hair's up but she's clearly taken some time to style it—not quite the FBI-agent bun she's perfected, but looser, and the layers near her face tucked faux-messily behind her ears. Make-up, her eyes framed with liner and thickly sooty, but nothing on to hide the freckles, and her lips shining like they're freshly licked with that clearish-pink gloss she likes. Nothing too odd, or different. She takes another step, that clicks, and he glances down to find that she's wearing heels—not ones he recognizes, very high and impractical and shiny black, not her usual at all—and above the heels—

"I'm in charge, remember?" Deanna says, dragging his eyes back up to her face. "You've got to do what I say." He nods, feeling his face already getting hot, and he sits forward but she holds up a hand. "Stay sitting," she says, firm, "and don't touch, okay, not until you're told," and with that, she unclasps her other hand from the front of the robe, and lets it slide off her shoulders, and Sam takes in a breath and doesn't know if he ever lets it out.

The heels are the least of it. It's hard to take in all at once. His eyes leap from detail to detail. Deep maroon, in the silky material of the bustier, the bra-cups curved in and arrowing down to satiny buttons that close it at the front. It covers her ribs, surprisingly modest. Modest, too, the matching maroon panties done in a full cut, except that they're also sheer lace, and he can see the shadow of her trimmed hair through them, barely visible through the pattern. What's making his mouth dry, though, beyond the fact of her presented like this, is: a wide black garter belt, sitting high on her hips, leaving just an inch or two of bare white belly below the bustier—the arch of it high enough that the soft dimple of her navel's visible, above the waist of the panties—thick ribbons, for the garter, that curve sweet over her hips and down her pale thighs—and half-sheer thigh-high stockings, black lace thick at the tops, going all the way down her long legs to the heels, shining in the puddle of the discarded robe.

One heel turns in, her knee bending a little. Sam's dick pulses, caught in the sweatpants. This isn't—she doesn't bother, never has, and he never even thought to ask—in his life, he wouldn't have asked—

"Surprise," she says, spreading her hands to the side like a dancer, and Sam says, "Holy shit, Deanna."

Her tongue flicks to wet the center of her top lip. Nervous, almost, but what in god's name would she have to be nervous about? "Figured I could dress up," she says, shrugging—god, the way that makes her tits move—"and you know, it's your birthday, or uh—your unbirthday, right? So—"

"Are you sure I can't get up?" Sam interrupts. She blinks at him. "I really want to get up."

"So—" she says, fingers curling, and Sam says, "God, come here," with his voice rough in this way he didn't intend it to be, but she blinks again and then smiles, slow, her tongue pressing against the back of her teeth, and she steps forward, hips swaying, coming close enough to touch. He starts to reach but she puts her fingers to his collarbone and stops him, pressing him to the back of the armchair, and then she stands between his spread knees, leaning over him a little, so he can smell—the chemical peach of her bodywash, and the faint vanilla of the lotion she prefers, and beneath that—christ—he can smell her, her body clearly ready from whatever she was thinking as she put all this on, and he has to grip the arms of the chair very tightly not to get his hand on her pussy and find out just how ready she is.

Deanna trails a finger down his sternum, looking down at him with her lower lip caught in her teeth. "Didn't think this was going to be this much of a hit," she says, quiet, and Sam huffs. He's still looking all over. God. Her soft belly, lightly dented by the garter belt. The way the buttons of the bustier strain over her tits. "Hey, Sammy? Tell me something." He makes some sound. The stockings, christ, the stockings—that's doing something to him he didn't even know—"If you could do anything right now what would you do?"

His brain doesn't engage with the answer; it comes straight from his balls. "I'd eat your pussy," he says, and Deanna's hand spreads on his chest like a star, her chest heaving under the breath she takes. "Can I?" he says, belatedly, looking up finally at her face, because he wants to suddenly very badly, can practically taste the wet split of her, and she's pink over her cheekbones and ears, her lips wet and flushed, already, but she says: "No," and climbs into the armchair with him, instead, straddling him, her ass settling down on his knees, her hands in his hair, pulling his head back, making him keep eye contact. She dips her head, lips brushing his, and he opens his mouth for her but she doesn't quite kiss him. A tendril of hair swings forward, brushing his cheek, and she follows it, her lips faintly wet and a little sticky from the gloss, trailing over his cheekbone, breathing warmly damp against his ear. Her thighs clench around his and his hands flex, on the chair-arms, and his dick—god, he hasn't hardened up like this with no contact at all in years, didn't even know he could, but any second now it feels like he's going to start leaking, ruin the new pajama pants she gave him.

"If I asked you to hold on," she says, low and private against his ear—like anyone else could hear, like they're in a strip club and she's offering a private show. "You think you could? Hold on, not go until I said?"

"What, because I'm on such a hair trigger the rest of the time?" he says, attempting lightness, but honestly—christ, it feels like that could be a danger, right now, with her in his lap like this, with her smell, with her fingers dragging out of his hair and down his chest again, trailing down his abs through the sleep shirt. "God, Dee—you're so—" He's interrupted, when her fingers brush against the shape of his dick, through the sweatpants. She leans back, looking between them, her lips barely parted and her eyes dark. His dick flexes, against her hand, and her eyes flick up to meet his. "I can hold on," he promises, recklessly, and she flattens her palm and presses him thick against his own thigh where he's caught awkward in the soft material, but her chest heaves again on a deep breath, clearly as turned on as he is, and he says, then, "Kiss me," and she leans down immediately and does.

No touching rules or no, he's not going to just sit here, inert. He lifts up into the kiss right away, knocking her mouth open and licking inside, and she grips his hair again, fucks her tongue against his, squirms. "Scoot forward—come here—" she mumbles against him, half-coherent, and he hikes his hips forward between her legs so he's right on the edge of the seat and that, fuck, that tucks his hips warm between her thighs where he belongs, and his dick swells up against her pussy, the heat of it intense even through the layers of sweatpants and lace.

She doesn't tease, not exactly. She grinds down against him but then slips her hand right back to his dick, cupping the bulge of it firmly through the soft cotton and then sliding her hand inside. God—soft, warm. She rubs her thumb at the base, scratching her nail through his pubes, and then says, "Get it out," and he lifts, squirms, drags the waistband of the new pants down below the urgent heave of himself. Christ, he's hard. She presses right up close against him, thighs closing around his hips and his dick crammed tight up between his stomach and the scratchy lace of her panties, and she fists him capably, knowing, her cheek pressed against his and looking down between them, her breath heaving. She presses his cockhead up against herself, smearing it in the window of bare skin between the waist of the panties and the line of the garter belt—the sensitive ridge catching against her navel—and rubs her thumb hard under the crown—and fuck, fuck. Sam's balls ache. "Jeez," she says, low but light. "Happy to see me, huh? Wish I could suck it but I think I'd tear my tights if I went on my knees."

Sam groans. "You could try," he says, and she snorts, smears her lips against his jaw, kisses him brief and hot. She's as turned on as he is, which isn't helping him cool down at all. "Fuck, Dee. Let me—can I—"

"You can touch my ass," she offers, and he grabs her there immediately, squeezing, tugging her in so the spine of his dick crushes in against her pussy, grinding where her clit's got to be swelling, all trapped in the lace. She hitches air, back arching, and presses his dick firmer there with the hand caught between them, riding the pole of him. It feels outstanding but he's half-distracted because her ass, her ass. Fat and hot and so soft, denting under how hard he's gripping her. He slides his thumbs under the garter straps, tugging, and then sliding down, daring, finding the clips where they attach to the stockings. She squeezes his dick and he pulls, there, slipping his fingers under where the top of the stocking rides high and sweet and tight, and groans again, and says thoughtless Deanna, and she lifts her head up, looks down at him, eyes bright and her face flushed and her lips wet and her expression half-thoughtful, half-delighted. "Sammy," she says, and he squeezes the fat sweet swell where her ass rises up out of her thighs, the garters slipping silky against his palms. "That doing it for you? My stockings?"

He can hardly say, just lifts up and kisses under her jaw, sliding down to suckle at her throat—pulling—but she finds his hands, arrests them. He wants to knock them away but his brain's not completely offline yet and he stills, lets her pull his wrists away—lets her stand, fuck, up, wriggling backwards off his lap and getting her heels on the floor again, standing. "Hm, let's see," she says, low, and turns around, and that's when he gets to know that the stockings ride just a little higher in the back, the straps pulling with how the belt's fastened high at her waist, and they've got a thick seam that arrows down the line of her legs, ending in a little triangle of lace at the heel, just barely visible above the patent leather. The panties are practically sheer in the back—the lace finer, showing the crack of her ass—and the bustier dents in at the sides of her waist, making the tiniest roll there between the edge of it and the top of the garter that makes him want to fucking bite her, there, feel the soft flesh, taste her salt.

She's kicked the fallen robe out of the way and found the research table, her table, the one that's clear of books and mess. She bites her lip like a coquette and beckons, and he's up in a second, crowding in close, hands on the table on either side of her hips because she said, she said—

"If you want," she says, looking up at him, flushed, "you can eat me out, now."

He goes to his knees so fast it hurts and his mouth's between her thighs in the same second. He opens wide, breathes hot, sucks through the lace—her taste, right there, the fabric soaked at the little knot of the seams coming together—and she groans, bracing her heels on the floor, her ass barely perched on the edge of the table. He knows her cunt in every single way but like this it feels new, wrapped and pretty and served up for him, and he takes it slower, savoring. Drags his teeth over the unfamiliar scratch of the lace, kisses the pale-plump inside of her thigh above the edge of the stocking and suckles there, pulling tighter and tighter until she's squirming and gripping his hair and saying Sam breathless, and then switching to the other side and doing the same. Fuck, her smell. Salt-ocean, the queer unmistakable tang of pussy. He sucks at her clit through the fabric, not hard but in slow pulsing drags of his mouth that work her plump lips even fatter with hot blood, and her hips lift against him, a low pleased noise making his dick pulse. "Take them off," she says, somewhere, and he lifts up and kisses the little half-moon of skin above the waistband, fucks his tongue into her belly-button, and when he tugs—he pulls—dragging the panties down under the constriction of the belt and its straps—and he doesn't know how to get them out without ruining her whole costume—but christ, these are his present, aren't they?—and so he pulls harder, tears, and she gasps up above, "Holy shit, you lunatic," but then the lace is in two pieces and her thighs are pulling wide and he gets to dip his head and lick wide up the whole glossy slit of her, burying his nose in the slick-wet gingery patch of her hair, getting the salt without any stupid fabric in between. She grabs his head, pulling him closer, and he hooks his fingers into the straps of the garter belt and works, deep sloppy licks that smear slick all over, her clit swollen and aching just like he likes it. He spreads her wide with the edge of his thumbs, not touching, and licks the entrance to her vagina without dipping inside in the way he knows drives her absolutely nuts—and, yes, her thighs close around his shoulders and she arches with this surprised stupid sound that makes him grin against her cunt and she says, "Fuck, fine, fuck, get up here, come here—" and he stands slow, kissing her belly and her sternum and breathing against trapped satin swell of her breasts before she grabs his face and kisses him, eating her own taste out of his mouth.

"If you don't get your dick in me," she says, panting, "in about two seconds—" and so he grabs her ass and tips her backwards on the table and feeds his dick inside, pressing in bare, the scraps of lace tickling a little at his skin but the overwhelming feeling just the, fuck, the tight slippery grip of her, the close-grasping heat, the way she arches and makes this little hurt sound when he gets deep because he's thick, and he didn't even finger her to warn her, but she's so sloppy-wet he's not sure it makes much of a difference. He tips his hips in and presses his pelvis against her clit and leans in deep and kisses her, just staying still for a minute, feeling—christ. All of her. She slides a hand down between them and feels where he's splitting her wide, and he rocks back a little so she can hold his dick and then feel it slot right back in where it belongs. Fuck. "Fuck," she says, breathless, her hand flattened between their hips, and then Sam realizes she's massaging her mound with heavy, slow pressure. "Come on," she says, low and tight against his cheek, and he grips her hips and works her with a deep rocking, hardly pulling out, just grinding up and up and up inside while she works herself from the outside, and it's no surprise at all when she comes, fast, rippling inside and clenching so hard that he can barely move for fear of getting pushed entirely out. He drops his forehead to her collarbone, pushing deep, letting her clench and pulse. His dick feels so fat and swollen he could imagine all the blood in his body's there. It certainly doesn't feel like he's brain's involved.

Deanna sighs, after a second. "Holy crap," she says, like relief. "Mm. Lift up, 'kay?" He lifts up, keeping his hips right in place—his back cracking as he stands all the way straight—and she's flushed and pleased, spread out below him. "Shirt off?" she says, and so he strips it off, tossing it to the other end of the table. She reaches out and trails cold fingertips over his pecs, his abs, licking her lips. "Hm," she says, and smiles at him, wide and unexpected. She kicks her heels off, each one clattering to the floor, and lifts her legs against his sides, the stockings slick and smooth against his skin. He grabs her thighs immediately, savoring the long clench of muscle under the satin. She unbuttons the top two tiny buttons on the bustier—the top three—her tits spilling a little, the creamy swell of them loosened, and when she arches he can see the dark shadow of areola, peeking from below the maroon cups. She laughs a little at whatever his expression is, and then reaches down and grasps his hips, the sweatpants still barely caught around his ass. "Okay, birthday boy. Your turn. You can do whatever you want, but—" and her nails dig in, making his ass clench. "You make sure you come inside."

"Jesus christ, Dee," Sam groans, and she grins, eyebrows popping high like she's made a joke she's letting him in on, but it's not a joke, christ, it's not at all, and he hooks his fingers into the garter again and jolts his dick inside, deep as he can where he knows it knocks her cervix, and her eyes fly wide and she grasps his biceps instead, thighs clamping around his waist in shock, and that's—yeah, yeah, that's what he wants, and so he nails her again, and then one more time to make her gasp in a deep choked way and say shocked oh, that's—oh, and then he leans down and mouths her tit away from the soft cup of the loosened bustier and slip a sweet dark nipple into his mouth and then he just—fucks her, gripping her thighs and suckling her tit and slotting in and in and in to the perfect wet of her, making her gasp, making her clench and cry out, her heels dragging against his ass in harsh drags, scratching because of the lace, the seams of these perfect fucking stockings, pulling at him. She's soaked, her pubes a sticky mess when he drags his thumb over her clit, and he drags that wet up over her quivering belly to the garter belt, smearing there, rolling his dick in these demanding dragging slides that are making Dee arch her back, lift up one elbow, her other arm hooked around the back of his neck, her hips working back against his, her lips wet and helpless against his temple as he works her, her pussy grasping and clenching and knocked-open for him. He pulls out just because he can—feels the load of wet that spills out with him—looks down between them, at her tits spilling flushed out of her lingerie and her garter twisting and her stockings, fuck, still neat and tight in place even with her all red-sloppy and fucked-open between them—and when he pushes back in, her pussy parting immediately and welcoming, tight, perfect—she groans in this deep shocked way that connects directly to his nuts, a molten tight thing taking over where his brain ought to be, and he hooks a hand into the split of the bustier and grips a thigh tight against his side and fucks her hard, fast, his orgasm screaming up his back. If he weren't feeling so insane he'd wait for her, make sure she came again good, but it's—this is for him, she said, she wanted this, she wanted him to have her wrapped up like a present, to use like she told him to use her—and he dips down and finds her nipple again and bites there, sinking his teeth into the swell of her tit, and she squirms and clenches and says hot and quick, "Sammy, Sammy—harder—" and he unloads inside, just like she asked him to, his wad pulsing out of him hard enough that his thighs shudder, struggling to keep him up. He slams a hand on the table by her head and she flinches and moans at the same time, feeling it maybe—his dick twitching and pulsing so urgent that surely, she can feel it, even if she's so wet she can't tell her slick from his load—and he lifts off her tit with his jaw loose and his mind strange as an animal fresh off a kill, and she clutches her legs around his hips to keep him tight inside and grabs his head in both hands and presses her mouth open against his. Not kissing. Just their lips brushing, and their air shared and hot, and her forehead tipped against his, bone to bone.

His dick throbs, satisfied. His balls clutch, unload another wet pulse. He slides his hands down her sides, catching on the bustier, and then up again to frame her tits in the soft cups. The left one's out, the bitemarks obvious. He tugs down the little maroon-silk shield on the right and finds that breast full and pale, faintest freckles dusting the top, and kisses it softly, tender. Licks over the half-swollen bud of the nipple and feels it tighten, and suckles it gently when it does. Deanna's fingers comb through his hair, her chest rising against his mouth, and below her pussy clenches around his still-hard dick, needing. Wanting him.

He lifts his head and she's watching him, very close. Her eyeliner's smeared with the sweat of their fucking, the lip gloss long-gone. He fucks his dick in and out, carefully, and watches her eyelashes waver, and then slides out all the way and feeds three fingers in right after, squishing in on the mess he left, his thumb riding over her clit. Deanna's hand flashes down, fingers covering his thumb, and he lets her take over, watching not her hand but her face as he helps her chase it. She's close, has to be with how swollen and hot she is around his fingers. He kisses the pale inside curve of her tit where the bustier buttons are split wide, and the sweet peek of her belly, and then crouches and spreads his mouth wide on the thin skin of her hip, where the garter strap's still hanging on, fucking his fingers in again and again in steady pulses while Deanna arches and tightens and clutches around him and then ripples so hard he can't move, for a second. He looks up and she's silent, her mouth split and dark on a heaved breath, her head tipped back. He rubs his thumb over her wet fingers and she shudders, and he's pushed out of her pussy that way, the muscle clenching deep. His fingers are smeared white. She grabs his hand, quick, and pulls, and he stands up between her legs again and his dick presses against her pussy and he watches while she wraps her lips around his fingers and sucks, her eyes closing in concentration, her tongue slick against his knuckles, getting every last drop of come, until he's clean. He tugs his fingers out and she blinks at him, looking almost dazed, and he holds her eyes while he slots inside again and scoops out another gob of come—christ, it's slipping down against her thigh, staining her stocking—and he collects that too, and presents it to her, and she takes his wrist in both hands and sucks it all in, taking it, wanting all of him.

It's—quiet, after. Sam's tugged his sweatpants up. They're folded into the armchair but she's in his lap, this time, tucked in with her head on his shoulder, her legs slung over the arm. Deanna's torn panties are discarded on the floor and he keeps looking at them. "Do my hair?" she murmurs, finally, and he shifts them a little so he can reach and then does, searching careful for the bobby pins and pulling them out one at a time, setting them on the side table with little clicks, mussing her hair to looseness as he goes. Long time, since she asked for this. Not since… god, it was when Sam's mind was still trapped behind a wall, and he'd had a few bad flashes of memories he didn't understand. When they'd screwed madly, after that terrible job with the mannequins, and she'd held him inside in the same desperate, needing way, and she'd…

Her hair falls to mid-back, when all the pins are out. He combs his fingers through it, thick and soft. "Thanks," he says, quiet.

"Thank you," she says back, snuggling her head against his chest. "Now I'm not gonna stab myself in the middle of the night. Hallelujah."

Quiet, dumb. He sweeps her hair over her shoulder and runs a finger down her spine instead, finding the edge of the bustier and rubbing there in a soothing, repetitive line. "Dee," he says, asking, and she sighs, and doesn't say anything.

That time, that last time, when she'd been so desperate and clinging, when she'd wanted him inside. Held her hand against herself when he pulled out and felt the load he'd left, and of course it couldn't do anything, she'd been on birth control since she was fifteen, but it had made something go queerly hot in his gut to see it. Like some instinct she was operating on, trying to absorb him every way she could. Greedy, his sister. At least she used to be. He wonders if that's true, now, and doesn't know if he can ask. She's nesting, she's content, but between them—things are good, but…

Sam kisses the top of her head and she makes a small content noise, turning her face against his throat, her lips soft. He runs a hand over her knee, the stockings slick, and finds the lacy top, plucking lightly where it bites into her skin. He pulls at the garter strap and she smiles against his skin. "Never thought you'd be such a horndog about this," Deanna says, and it's sleepy-smug enough that he pinches her, on the soft plumpness of her thigh, barely hard enough that she'll feel it. She completely ignores that and crosses one knee over the other, bumping her leg up into his palm. "Should I get more? Pantyhose under the FBI suit?"

"I thought you said pantyhose was the patriarchy trying to suffocate women to death, or something," Sam says, and Deanna leans back so he can see her face, grinning, and says, "Yeah, but if it gets your dick that crazy then I'll deal with suffocation, doofus."

Honest, and nothing but content. Sam slides his hand over her belly where the garter's still digging in and slips two fingers between the clutch of her thighs where her pubes are still damp, incredibly hot, and she blinks at him surprised and then her smile changes, her thighs pulling open just like that. Easy for him, just like always. Sam puts aside any other worries and nods, thoughtful. "I guess I wouldn't mind seeing you use a garter belt to strangle a vamp," he says, and she barks out a quick delighted ha! and then lifts her mouth to his, opens her body to his, and he takes what's on offer instead of wondering about what's not.

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Queer Eye for the Cap Guy ~ Part 5

A/N: Hi Lovelies! Happy Saturday! I hope everyone is enjoying their weekends! It’s finally time for some grooming. I know I know the bearded look does it for some but, bear with me. It’s for the sake of the story. ;) 

This is the interaction that made me want to write this story so I’ve really loved writing it. I hope you enjoy! 

Summary: Field trip with Antoni and Jonathan, before Jonathan goes to work. 

Rating: K+ 

Warnings: Angst, insecurity. Steve is working through some things.

Word Count: 2062 

“Hello, handsomes. What is that gorgeous smell that is wafting through the air?” Jonathan gushed as he strutted into the restaurant.

“Steve made lasagna,” Antoni announced proudly.  

“Would you like to try?” Steve offered somewhat bashfully, though he was smiling.  

“Of course.”

He held his hair back as Antoni fed him a bite.

“That is delicious!”

“Thanks,” Steve grinned.

“Seriously it’s so good. But do you know my only complaint though?”  

“What?” he asked doing his best to hide his disappointment.

“That’s it’s not spaghetti and meatballs. Because then we could have had a Lady and the Tramp moment and it would have been cayute AF.”

Neither Steve nor Antoni could hold back their laughter.

“Next time,” Steve promised.

“Just name the time and place, henny.”

“I thought I was supposed to meet you at the loft.”  

“You were, but then Antoni invited me on your field trip before our grooming session.”

“Field trip?”

“Something fun, I promise. Ready?”

“Sure thing.”

They both thanked Angelo for his time and expertise. Steve promised a return visit very soon; he was beaming as they headed out into the warm afternoon.

“So, now that we’ve taught you how to make some real food, I figured we’d explore your indulgence a little bit.”

They had stopped outside of one of Steve’s favorite places, and Antoni immediately saw the glimmer in his eyes.

“You’ve been here too?” he gaped.

“It’s the best chocolate shop in Brooklyn,” he shrugged. “Easiest way to make Y/n smile after a rough mission.”

“Well, have you ever learned how they actually work with the chocolate?”

Steve shook his head.

“Then you’re in for a treat.”

“Antoni! Jonathan!” Martin greeted the trio as soon as they ducked into the shop. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing one of my best customers.”

“I didn’t know that I was,” he laughed.

“How are you, Steve?”

“Doing well. And yourself?”

“No complaints. Now I understand you want to learn more about chocolate than that it tastes amazing.”

“Yes, sir.”  

“Then follow me.”

They spent the afternoon learning about mixing chocolate blends and how to temper. Steve even managed some tempered chocolate swirls which were impressively shiny.  

“How is the lovely y/n these days? She hasn’t come with you the past couple of times,” Martin asked as they were cleaning up.  

Steve grinned at the mention of her name.

“Busy saving the world. As always. Although if she finds out I came here and didn’t get her something I’ll be in trouble.”

“Let me fix you a box of her favorites before you leave,” he offered with a wink.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

 Steve thanked Antoni quietly but profusely when they returned to the loft.

However despite the bubbliness of the day’s adventures, the super soldier grew worried as he turned to face Jonathan. This had been the part he’d been the most worried about.

“You look like my cat when I took him to be declawed.”

“What’d your cat do?”

“Ran in circles and clawed the curtains until he crashed into an ottoman. And just let me say Bobby will kill you if you ruin the curtains.”

“Guess I’ll have to stand down then,” he chuckled.  

“I’m going to take care of you.  I promise. Come on.”He led him into a room with salon chair and lots of grooming tools. “Step into my office. Have a seat.”

Steve warily sat, back ramrod straight, at the edge of the seat.

“I can see that you’re worried. So take a deep breath for me.” He waited until Steve followed orders. “Okay good. So, we’re just going to talk first. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Can I touch your beard?”

“Sure.”  

“So talk to me about this whole situation,” Jonathan coaxed, running his hands over Steve’s unkempt beard. “Because it’s a little out of control.”

“Well, it’s left over from when I was on the run. I have a pretty recognizable face, but with the beard – no one really looked twice,” he shrugged. “No one expected America’s clean-faced golden boy to be sporting a beard and shaggy hair.”

Jonathan nodded, understandingly.

“So why did you keep it after your name was cleared?”

“I guess that I just got used to it.”

Jonathan nodded, remaining silent for a moment as he considered his answer.

“Do you feel like you’re still trying to hide?”

“Sometimes,” Steve admitted, looking up and making eye contact.

“I don’t want you hiding any more. I want to see you. Because you are gorgeous inside and out. And I want you to look in the mirror and be proud of who you are. And I want you to see the man that you want to see. When did you last really felt comfortable with how you looked?”

“I’m not sure I ever have,” Steve admitted. “I didn’t care much one way or another before the serum. The dames weren’t looking at me one way or another. And after, well, I was Captain America. Senator Brandt’s team picked the look. I had nothing to do with it.”

“And after the ice?” Jonathan prompted.

“Not as much has changed as I’d like. I was still paraded around. Had to be the war hero they wanted me to be.”

“So when you went on the run that was the first time that you were really free from everyone’s restrictions on you?”

“Pretty much,” Steve agreed in an almost stunned tone. He hadn’t exactly thought about it like that. His voice was quiet when he continued. “As terrible as I felt about everything that happened with the Accords… and with Tony, I couldn’t help but be relieved to not have anyone pulling the strings anymore.” When he met Jonathan’s gaze, guilt was the clear emotion. “That must sound terrible.”

“Not at all,” Jonathan assured him. “At the end of the day, when we finally go to sleep the only person we’re left alone with ourselves, and we have to be happy and love that person. So you have to do what’s right for you.”

“Even if that means a Mohawk?” Steve joked weakly.  

“Look, nobody’s got time for everybody else’s expectations, henny. The only person whose opinion matters is you. But if your opinion is wrong then it’s up to your very loyal grooming expert,” he added with a flourish.

Steve snorted.

“So what is my very loyal grooming expert’s opinion on my look?”

Jonathan shook his head.

“Nope. I want to hear from you first. You’ve had your look defined by other people for too long. What do you want to see when you look in the mirror?”  

Steve glanced at his reflection. He’d looked in mirrors more in the past two days than he had in the past three years combined. What did he like? Did he like anything?

“I like my hair darker like it is now, and something closer to that forties style. I don’t want to cut it short again. But I also like the facial hair. Maybe just a more…”

“Refined. Groomed. Version. Yes. I love it. I love your beard, but I don’t want it to be like your beard is wearing you. You know?”

“That’s fair.”

“Okay, so let’s start with your beard and then we’ll take care of your luscious locks.”

“Let’s do it,” Steve agreed.  

 Jonathan kept up a constant stream of commentary throughout his work. Steve found it incredibly calming.

“Do you see how now your beard enhances your jaw line instead of hiding it?”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve admitted as he angled his head to see the sharp line of his jaw.

He couldn’t deny that he liked the way he looked. It looked deliberate… and flattering.

“Oh you are going to be turning girls down left and right, henny,” Jonathan gushed as he finished cleaning up the beard.

Steve let out a hollow laugh.

“I’d like to find one I didn’t want to turn down.”

“Why do you want to turn them all down?”

He frowned and shifted in the chair as Jonathan cleaned the blades of the clippers.

“I guess it’s just… they all seem to want Captain America. Not Steve Rogers. I want someone who sees past all that. Someone who sees me.”

The grooming expert nodded as he set down his tools and started spritzing down Steve’s hair with a spray bottle.  

“And you deserve that. We all deserve people who see past all of the extras and all of the walls we put up. They are so important. Do you feel like you get that from your other friends?”

“Some more than others. I mean Bucky and Sam are my brothers. Sometimes I think they know me better than I know myself. Bucky has been by my side for my entire life. And Sam is so similar to me. Even though we fought sixty years apart, he understands being a soldier and fighting – boots on the ground and blood in your mouth. I don’t know what I would do without them,” he sniffed, allowing a few tears to escape before wiping them away.  “And Nat. Not one I would’ve seen coming, but I suppose that’s her strong suit. She’s a great friend and I’m lucky to have her. And then there’s y/n,” he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when he mentioned your name.

“Your fellow chocoholic.”

“Yeah. She’s my…”

Best friend? Buck would strangle me. So would Sam.

“She’s my best girl. A really amazing friend. She helped me make amends with Tony. She’s also one of the few people I’ve seen win a staring contest with both Bucky and Nat.”

“She sounds special.”

“Extremely. She always knows just what to say to make everything better. Sometimes I swear she’s magic.” Steve’s cheeks quickly gained a candy apple red hue as he processed what he just said. “But that’s corny.”

“It’s not corny. It’s sweet. You deserve magic in your life.”  

“What are we doing with this mess of hair, huh?” Steve asked, desperate to derail the conversation.

Jonathan could tell that pushing him wasn’t going to work. He felt embarrassed and was shutting down, so he allowed the change in topic.

“Well, I was think we’ll take the side shorter. Not super short. And then we’ll leave a little bit of length on top and I’ll show you how to style it.”

“That sounds great.”

 “Alright, are you ready to see the new Steve Rogers?” Jonathan sing-songed.

“I’m nervous. Is it weird for me to be nervous?”

“Not at all. Just take a deep breath. You look fierce. Like if you wanted a modeling career, baby, sales would go through the roof.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” he chuckled. “Okay. I’m ready. Spin me around.”

“Alright, close your eyes. One, two, three. Open.”

“Are you sure this is actually me?”

The only assurance Steve had was that the reflection’s eyes bugged out of his head as he was certain he was doing.

“Oh my god.”

“Do you like?”

“Yeah,” Steve huffed out in a giddy laugh. “I do. It’s so different. But it feels right.”

“That’s exactly what I want to hear. Oh I’m so glad.”

“Thank you, Jonathan.”

“You are so welcome.”

“Can I give you a hug?” Steve asked shyly.

“Of course, henny. You never have to ask if you can give me a hug.”

 Jonathan’s Interview

“Steve is an absolutely gorgeous human being. He is the full package. But he doesn’t believe that at all. I want to show him that he is worthy of all the love in the world. I think he is having a hard time seeing himself under all of this,” he gestured to his face, indicating hair and beard. “And I don’t think he had a clear idea of what he wants to look like. And it can be really hard. And your appearance isn’t everything, it’s totally about the kind of person you are on the inside. But when you don’t like who you’re seeing in the mirror, that affects how you think about yourself and your mood and your interactions with other people. Everyone deserves to love themselves and I hope that this helps Steve have the confidence to embrace the wonderful man he is. He’s like a masterpiece waiting to be unveiled and all we have to do is whip off the sheet which in this case is the fugitive beard.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Okay so I’v been outed. Winter Soldier press Tour Chris is my favorite Chris. No disrespect to all of his other amazing looks, just my personal preference. But seriously, I really loved writing this part and I’m looking forward to the rest of the story. 

Thanks for all the love as always. 

xoxo 

Naynay

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[mrslittletall]

Title: A Storm is coming (Chapter 20) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Chosen Undead/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Rhea of Thorolund, Petrus of Thorolund, Unbreakable Patches Word Count: 5.603 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603610/chapters/52754764 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/189592573874/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-19-fandom-dark

Summary: Ornstein and Tempest share a moment before they head out again. Ornstein, trying to avoid going to Blighttown, gets Tempest to do other stuff first.

(Author's note: I wanted to have this out far sooner, but with christmas in the way and after christmas me getting sick, I couldn't. Sorry for the wait. )

“Hey, Ornstein, how about some chicken broth for tonight's dinner? I let you even add something weird.”

That was the note that Tempest had written and put into the wooden box that was standing around in the cathedral. And right at this moment, Tempest squinted his eyes trying to decipher what Ornstein had written on it as reply.

“I am sure there isn't the word chicken in it...”, Tempest said, turning the slip of paper, thinking that maybe he tried to read it from the wrong direction, but still to no avail. There probably wasn't the word chicken in it, but Ornstein's handwriting could only be considered chicken scratch.

After ten minutes had passed and Tempest had simply maid out the word “No” in it, he gave up and went to find Ornstein.

He found the dragon slayer in a rather sun-drenched room that smelled marvellous. A quick look around unveiled the source of the smell and Tempest put both hands at his cheeks as he squeaked with delight: “A herbal garden!”

Ornstein, who had been in the midst of watering some thyme, turned around in surprise. “Oh, it's you, little Storm.”, he said and continued to water the plants if nothing ever happened.

“Why haven't you told me of this place? This is every cook's dream!”, Tempest shouted out and went to look at every single plant in the room. There was thyme, rosemary, dill, basil, oregano, garden cress and many more.

“Because all the herbs are already in the kitchen to use.”, Ornstein said, picking up some scissors to cut one of the plants into shape. “This garden...”, his voice suddenly grew somber, “...it has been his garden.”

Tempest could feel the pang of guilt in his stomach. He didn't need a name to know who Ornstein was referring to. That was something that he never would be able to undo. Besides...

… an idea formed in Tempest but he wanted the dragon slayer to be in the right mood for this. For now, he was more than eager to spend more time in this garden.

“May I help you taking care of it?”, he asked and made his best puppy eyes at Ornstein, who gave him a glance and simply murmured “Fine.”

After a good while of them working mostly in silence next to each other, only broken by Ornstein to tell Tempest how to handle the plants once in a while, the dragon slayer spoke again: “Little Storm, but you didn't come here to help me with the herbal garden, right? After all, this was your first time seeing it.”

“Oh, right!”, Tempest remembered why he had come finding Ornstein in the first place. He found the slip of paper in his pocket and showed it to Ornstein. “I couldn't read your handwriting.”, he confessed.

Ornstein gave the slip a paper a quick glance and then sighed deeply, muttering something under his breath. Then, he raised his voice and said: “I wrote: No thanks, but you could make me some meatballs with a sweet cream sauce.”

“Huh, that isn't something that I would put together, but at least it sounds edible...”, Tempest said. “Have you gotten tired of weird foods already?”

Ornstein blushed and snapped at Tempest: “That's n.. none of your business!”

“It's alright.”, Tempest grinned. “Can I take some fresh parsley for the meal? It will make it far better.”

Ornstein gave his permission and once Tempest had cut off enough parsley he went to cook the requested meal.

Their little break continued for two more days until Ornstein said that his leg was fully healed and they should move out again the next day. He even told Tempest that he now was allowed to cook the chicken broth, but only when he added every single herb of the herbal garden into it, simply because he wanted to know how it tasted like.

Even though Tempest's couldn't taste anymore and his sense of smell wasn't as refined as it once used to be, the overload of the herbs in the broth made his eyes water while cooking. He was halfway expecting Ornstein to spit out the soup before he remembered what the dragon slayer had eaten completely unironically the last few days.

As Ornstein spooned the soup he looked rather thoughtful and once he was finished he simply said: “Thought this would taste better.” and left, not asking for a second serving.

Tempest stayed, looking at the rest of the soup. He got curious himself. How it tasted like. But he knew when he tried to eat it, it would taste the same as paper for him. He was Undead and didn't need to eat anymore and therefore also couldn't taste anymore and he knew it. The only thing he could taste was the Estus Flask and drinking from it when not hurt felt wrong.

He stirred the soup with a spoon for a little while as he was lost in thoughts, hoping that Ornstein would eat the rest for breakfast. The only other people he could give the soup were the giant blacksmith and Dark Sun Gwyndolin and Tempest didn't want to unleash the All-Herb-Soup on them unprepared.

This evening and night Tempest stared at the notes he had taken once when Ornstein had told him about the lord souls and realized how useless they were. Sighing, he laid himself into bed and tried to get to sleep, a need that he didn't had anymore but could still act on if he tried.

The next day Tempest woke up and realized that he had overslept! He had really fallen asleep and apparently his body or mind or both had cherished the break and so Anor Londo had already got tinted into its eternal twilight, indicating that the next day had started.

Tempest hurried into the kitchen to see that Ornstein had eaten the rest of the soup. With a glance to the stove he noticed that it was cold and questioned how Ornstein had heated it up or if he had eaten it cold, but nonetheless, Ornstein probably was already waiting for him at the bonfire.

That was exactly where Tempest found the dragon slayer, who tapped his foot and scolded him: “You are late.”

“I am sorry!”, Tempest said. “I overslept.”

“Apparently.”, Ornstein said.

“So, for the next lord soul, we have to go back to Blighttown because that is where the way to Lost Izalith is... I think.”, Tempest said, unfolding some notes. What he couldn't see was how Ornstein screwed up his face on the mere mention of Blighttown.

“Weren't you talking about taking care of the black knights when we were in the tomb?”, he said.

Tempest looked from his notes to Ornstein, then to his notes again and then blurted out: “Really?! You mean we can do this?!”

“They once have been part of Lord Gwyn's army... as their captain, I owe their souls to bring them peace.”, Ornstein said. Of course Ornstein simply didn't want to get to Blighttown and any delay to visit this place was a good delay in his opinion. “So, where have you seen the black knights wandering around?”

“The first one was in the Undead burg.”, Tempest said. “And the second one was in the Undead Parish... I guess... the easiest way is from the sunlight altar bonfire... Oh!” Tempest's face lit up. “We should totally go to the sunlight altar!”

Before Ornstein could ask why or what had Tempest so excited, he felt how the little Undead took his hand and the familiar feeling of getting dragged through the fabric of space and time as well as the familiar nausea hit Ornstein.

As he opened his eyes again, nausea in his stomach settling down, it almost returned when he saw what Tempest had meant with sunlight altar when his eyes fell on the broken statue of... him.

Tempest hadn't noticed that Ornstein hadn't followed him and turned around, dodging a row of bolts that got shot at him from the hollows outside, stepping at the dragon slayer's side. “Ornstein, what's wrong?”, he asked.

“You see this?”, Ornstein pointed at the broken statue and Tempest nodded. “Notice anything about it?”

“Hm... let's see...”, Tempest approached the statue and observed it closely. At first he couldn't find anything conspicuous but then he noticed: “It's wearing your weapon! Ornstein, is that a statue of yourself? But... why is it here and broken...?”

“It isn't my statue.”, Ornstein said. “You have seen mine fully intact in Anor Londo. This one... is the statue of Lord Gwyn's firstborn.”

Tempest gasped as he stared at Ornstein and then let his gaze wander at the statue. “The legends...”, he said. “It isn't written anywhere but my mom once told me that he was banished for his crimes, but... nobody knew what it was anymore. Or his name...”

“Little Storm, this is a tale that has been forbidden to tell in Anor Londo and the entirety of Lordran for centuries, but... I think you deserve to learn the truth.”

Ornstein took a deep breath before he started to speak again: “The firstborn of Lord Gwyn, also known as the firstborn of the sun, was not only my master and I wasn't only his first knight, but we also had been in a relationship.”

Tempest needed a second but once he realized what Ornstein had said, he jumped up in surprise and screamed: “Wait, what, really?!”

“Yes, it is the truth.”, Ornstein continued. “We were not only slaying countless dragons together, we also spent countless nights together, but our relationship was secret from almost everybody, because Lord Gwyn wanted his son to marry an influential goddess.”

“Let me guess, this marriage never happened?”, Tempest said. He was sure if the Sunfirstborn would have married, his romance loving mother would have told him everything about this story.

“Yes. Because my master went traitor and sided himself with the dragons, our very mortal enemy. Back then... back then I barely could believe that it happened. He was banished and he broke my heart. Lord Gwyn smashed his statue and it was tossed into the human settlements... the first few days after his departure I spend a lot of time near it, doings things I am not proud about, like screaming at it, crying over it, kicking it, defiling it...”

“Defiling it?!”, Tempest chimed in.

“I said I was not proud of it.”, Ornstein growled. “Besides, I had been pretty drunk back then...”

He sighed and collected his thoughts: “Where where we? Ah yes. But now, after all these years, I have the feeling I understand him a little better. I... want to search for him once this is all over. And Gwyndolin gave me their permission.”

In Tempest's chest there was a sting. He knew it. He knew that Ornstein would never fall for him. With his latest partner out of his life, he was seeking comfort in an earlier partner he wished to make up with. He wasn't seeking comfort in the Undead that had been pushed on him.

Even though Tempest knew their feelings weren't mutual, it still hurt and so he didn't answer anything but simply stared at the ground, trying to hide tears that wanted to form at this realization.

After Ornstein had finished his story, the little Storm had grown uncharacteristically quiet and when Ornstein turned his head to look at him he felt a churn at his chest. He looked so... lost. Sad even. As if Ornstein had said something bad. And Ornstein couldn't help but feel pity for him. He...he didn't want for the cheerful little Storm to look like this.

Damn, he really had get attached.

“But... don't worry, I will stay at your side until your mission is over.”, Ornstein quickly said as if trying to take the heaviness of his words out of them. “Didn't you want to show me something here?”

Tempest looked up as Ornstein spoke. While he knew that Ornstein was out of his reach, he still was happy that the dragon slayer would spend time with him. Tempest made the decision that this would be enough. He raised his hands to wipe away some tears that had started to glisten in his eyes and then gave Ornstein his usual jolly grin, only that it wasn't reaching his eyes this time, something that Ornstein noticed.

“I brought you here, because...”, Tempest said and took Ornstein's hand, failing to drag him and Ornstein finally followed him with a sigh as he nearly fell over, “I wanted to see you in action.”, he concluded as Ornstein had to grab the little Storm and jumped away from the flaming breath of death that got unleashed by the drake, toasting everything on the bridge before landing on top of the roof of the sunlight altar.

“By the lords, little Storm, a little warning would have been nice!”, Ornstein said, glancing outside, wrinkling his nose as the stench of burned corpses hit his nose.

Which took him right back to the dragon war and Ornstein fell on his knees as he saw the pictures in his head, all the comrades that had died, hadn't been able to escape the dragon fire and then there had be him, he had survived, he didn't thought he would survive, he thought he would die, every single time but he had always survived... only him, why only him...

“Ornstein, what is wrong?”, Tempest said as he tried to get the dragon slayer on his feet and failed spectacularly. Then he remembered what Ornstein once had said to him. Why he was a bad cook. It was... because fire bothered him. It made him have bad reactions.

“...Ornstein, I am so sorry...”, Tempest said. “I shouldn't have you brought here... let's go back...” Tempest took Ornstein's hand again and tried to drag him to the bonfire but Ornstein raised his hand and gave Tempest a gesture to not interfere.

“It is about time that the dragon slayer is taking care of his duties again.”, he said, getting up, straightening himself and picking up his spear. “You stay back, little Storm.”

As Ornstein strode towards the door, the uneasy feeling in his chest hadn't left. But... he didn't exactly knew why, but he didn't want to see the little Storm like this. Pitying him.

He had killed the little Storm a few dozen times and he still had come back, over and over and over again and what was Ornstein doing? Cowering on the ground because of a mere drake? He had taken down foes that had been larger than hat.

No, the person who strode through the gate wasn't Ornstein, but the dragon slayer. He turned around, raised his spear with both hands and hissed: “Come at me, beast.”

The drake apparently wasn't interested in leaving its save place and breathed in. Ornstein, knowing what came, jumped straight into the air, landing right next to the resting place of the drake and wasted no time piercing its eye with his spear.

When the fire had died down and Tempest heard the drake shriek, he dared to leave the cover of the sunlight altar and gasped when he saw the drake flying off, or trying to, because Ornstein was riding on its back and prepared his spear.

Once it had fully been engulfed with lightning, Ornstein bore the spear deep into the drake's neck which shrieked again, in pain and fear before it tumbled down and landed on the bridge with a heavy thud, Ornstein elegantly jumping down from his back.

“That was.... AWESOME!”, Tempest cheered, jumping up and down. “You looked so elegant, Ornstein.”

“People didn't call me the dragon slayer for no reason.”, Ornstein said, holding his spear so that the shaft hit the ground and the blade showed upwards. “But I sure hope you don't have any drake surprises for me anymore.”

“At least not where I have been.”, Tempest said. “Ornstein, I want to apologize again. I didn't think this through...”

“Actually, I should have expected this.”, Ornstein said. “It just had been a good while since you told Gwyndolin your journey, so it slipped my mind that you left a drake alive. Anyway, it can't bother you or anyone else anymore.” He glanced at the hollows on the bridge. “Of course they will come back once the bonfire revived them.”

Tempest didn't listen anymore but instead was examining the drake corpse. After he had circled it a few times, he used his sword to cut through it, hot blood seeping out of the corpse.

“What are you doing?”, Ornstein said, taken aback. “It doesn't get any deader.”

“Oh no, I wanted to get some meat from it.”, Tempest grinned. “I never cooked drake. Most of them were extinct when I was born.” He looked over to Ornstein. “You probably played a part in it.”

“I did...”, Ornstein said, thinking back to their conversation earlier at the broken statue of his master. Back then he had called himself dragon slayer, but now, he had gotten aware that what they had done was pretty much genocide.

Ornstein shuddered at the thought. He asked himself if his master would ever forgive him as he watched the little Storm and was surprised when he felt a certain warmth in him at this action.

Once Tempest had cut out enough meat that he brought to his bottomless box at the bonfire, he walked to Ornstein who had leaned against the wall lost in his own thoughts.

“Actually, the first black knight I wanted to take care off is watching over this bridge from a tower that can be reached through the sunlight altar.”, he said, snapping Ornstein out of his thoughts. Right, they wanted to take care of the black knights. All to avoid going to Blighttown as long as possible. At least it was the reason for Ornstein.

“Right, then lead the way...”, Ornstein said, adjusting his helmet.

Tempest led him back through the sunlight altar and up a few stairs. Once they had climbed them, Tempest pressed himself against the wall, pointing at a black knight with a two handed sword (which they wielded with one hand) who had their back to them.

“Mostly offense, minimal defense.”, Ornstein whispered. “But this one gives you a good opportunity for a first strike. Try it. I come after you.”

Tempest nodded and snuck up behind the black knight, preparing his sword and stumbling right before he could stab it into their back, alarming the black knight who turned around and used their massive sword to make Tempest flying.

“Damn.”, Ornstein cursed as he heard the little Storm land with a thud and a yowl, indicating how much that must have hurt and countered the next sword strike with his own spear, feeling how he got pushed back by sheer force. “How about picking a fight with someone your size?”, he said mockingly, even though he was aware that the black knight's mind long had been gone.

While Ornstein fought against the sheer pressure of the black knight's great sword, Tempest had managed to bring his Estus to his lips and healed himself up, getting up and pierced his sword in length through the black knight's back, finding the joints in their armour. Like usual, the black knight didn't bleed but instead a black mass emerged from the wound before it fell over and disappeared with an unholy scream.

“They have been long gone.”, Ornstein said, as Tempest stood there, panting. “Whatever happened to them when they followed Lord Gwyn, it made them go hollow...”

“Can gods even go hollow?”, Tempest asked as he leaned down to pick up what the black knight had left.

“Not like you humans.”, Ornstein said. “So not because of the dark sign. But it is possible. Through trauma for example. It... didn't happen often. To see so many black knights like this is worrying...”

Of course Ornstein knew the cause of their trauma. It was because they had burned in the kiln. The fate that Tempest awaited too... he just didn't want to tell the little Storm the truth. If he knew, he might bail. But.. thinking about it, thinking that the little Storm would burn, made Ornstein's throat go dry and he himself had a hollow feeling in his chest.

“One.”, Tempest said. “There are two more. The next is in the Undead Burg, not far from here.”

“Lead the way, little Storm.”, Ornstein said, having been ripped out of his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking about this. This only was another mission to fulfil. After the little Storm had linked the flame, he was free to go. He should concentrate on this.

The way to the Undead Burg was uneventful, just a few hollows were in their way which Tempest managed to take down on his own without trouble. Once they had gone down a few stairs, Tempest pointed at the black knight at the far end of a narrow way, one with a sword and a shield.

“Remember your parry training?”, Ornstein said and Tempest nodded. “It works on them as well as on the silver knights.”

In fact, most of the black knights had once been silver knights until they had decided to take up the battle against the demons and picked up bigger weapons and an armour that was more resilient against heat.

Tempest tiptoed to the black knight but they seemed to hear extremely good, even for beings that weren't physical anymore and this one turned around and lifted their sword. Tempest reacted wonderful and parried the blow with his shield carrying on with a riposte.

“Good.”, Ornstein whispered, but as Tempest turned his head to give him a smile Ornstein noticed that the black knight had pulled themselves together and shouted: “Watch out!”

Tempest only had enough time to turn his head, raise his shield in a desperate attempt to catch the incoming blow, got staggered by the poor force and sliced open with the continued attack of the black knight.

“Shit.”, Ornstein growled, jumping in and piercing the black knight with his spear while Tempest was searching for his Estus and took a large sip to heal the inflicted wound.

“Thank you, Ornstein, that was close.”, Tempest said, scratching the ground with his foot in embarrassment.

“Black knights are more sturdy than silver knights. You should already know that.”, Ornstein scolded Tempest which only made his face blush even more.

Sighing, Ornstein ran a hand through his ponytail and asked: “So, where is the last one?”

“Oh, I saw them at the Dark Root Basin. Where the Hydra is.”, Tempest said. “Hm, maybe we can take care of the Hydra too when we are already there...”

“Good idea. It has gotten quite fat.”, Ornstein said, deliberately leaving out the fact that he was partially responsible for its large body by feeding it his leftovers more than once.

Tempest seemed to take into consideration that Ornstein was uncomfortable with teleportation and led him back to the Undead Parish. He had been diligent and opened up quite a few shortcuts so that they only had to fight a few hollows. And a leftover boar which Tempest helped taking down with his pyromancy.

As they had arrived at the church and Ornstein already took the turn that would lead them to the garden, Tempest gasped and ran forwards, shouting: “Rhea!”

In fact, the small cleric woman was sitting there, praying in front of the statue of whichever goddess had been worshipped here. Ornstein came closer to listen into the conversation of the two Undead.

“So you have made it out of the Tomb?”, Tempest asked.

The cleric gasped at the sudden visitor and started to speak: “Hello… I will never forget what you did. I am deeply indebted, for it was not within my power to save Vince or Nico. I cannot thank you enough.”

She sighed and stared back at the statue of the goddess before continuing: “I only wish there were some way I could help you, but I am inexperienced, and I only know the art of Miracles. If that could be of any help, speak to me again.“

All the while the woman spoke Tempest nodded along to her words and then took up the word himself: “It is good to see that you made it out of the tomb. I will certainly remember your offer.” He went quiet for a little while before asking: “So, why are you hanging around here and not at Fire Link Shrine?”

“The bonfire down there is so crowded...”, Rhea answered. “I prefer the solitude of this place. Here I can pray in peace. Vereor Nox.”

“Vereor Nox.”, Tempest reciprocated the prayer before turning around and walking straight to the elevators that would lead back to Firelink Shrine.

“The garden is there.”, Ornstein said, a tiny bit annoyed, pointing to the right, to the door outside.

“I just wanted to make a quick stop at Fire Link Shrine, please?”, Tempest worded it more as a question but ignored anything that Ornstein had to say by stepping on the elevator, making the dragon slayer hurry to follow him. “I want to strengthen my pyromancy flame and take a quick look around before we move on.”

“Fine.”, Ornstein said as the elevator rode down. At least that meant that he cold avoid Blighttown a little while longer.

Once they had arrived, Tempest spotted the cleric with the bowl cut, Petrus was his name, Ornstein thought and shouted: “Hey Petrus, did you know that Rhea is safe?”

After hearing this, Petrus turned his attention to Tempest and mumbled: “…Oh, it's you… …You rescued M'lady? Well, a pity that is, for it will amount to nothing. For the little madam is not worth her salt without her family name. Keh heh heh heh…“

As Tempest still frowned at his words, Ornstein casually walked next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him forwards. When they were out of earshot, he said: “See him showing his true colours now?”

“I... I guess...”, Tempest said, clearly unhappy with Petrus response and Ornstein's reaction.

“That girl isn't safe. He will take the first opportunity to kill her, rob her of everything she have and then let her to hollow out.”, Ornstein said. “But... the fate of the Undead aren't my business. It's your choice what to do, little Storm.”

Tempest grew quiet and glanced at Petrus and then back to Ornstein. “I... could give Rhea a warning.”

“She hardly looks like the type of person who can defend herself.”, Ornstein said, shrugging. Tempest had a far too good nature and was far too gullible for his own good.

In a sense, he even had made Ornstein break out of his shell even though the dragon slayer would never admit it.

Tempest's next stop was Laurentius the Pyromancer who he asked to strengthen his pyromancy flame. It must have been rather strong in the meantime, Ornstein could not only see how quite a few souls changed their owner but also how much more it glowed.

Once Tempest was done and said his goodbye to Laurentius, he stepped through the broken arch and stopped, staring at the spot where the sorcerer apprentice once had stood.

“Griggs is gone.”, he said.

“Didn't he want to catch up with his Master?”, Ornstein said. “He probably went to Anor Londo.”

“I guess...”, Tempest said and took a turn to reach the bonfire. Nobody was around it.

“Neither Siegmeyer nor Sieglinde are here...”, he said.

“I don't know Siegmeyer but I wouldn't worry that much about Sieglinde. Whoevers comes here and manages to survive while not being Undead would be fit to be a silver knight. Or more.”

“It's more Siegmeyer I worry about.”, Tempest said. “Whenever I found him he was in trouble, I already told you that.”

Tempest grew silent after this and ascended the few steps that led to Kingseeker Frampt. The primordial serpent was fast asleep and snored, in fact he snored so loud that it was heard through the whole shrine.

“Hm, I guess I let him sleep.”, Tempest said. “You can probably tell me more about the lord souls anyway.”

“...”, Ornstein somehow managed to make his speechlessness audible. He knew that Frampt was telling a lie. He knew that the Chosen Undead was told that he would replace Lord Gwyn and stop the curse of the Undead once and for all.

The only thing that was true about this was that he would replace Lord Gwyn. As sacrifice, not as king.

Ornstein felt the familiar hollow feeling in his chest. Was he hollowing out? He didn't thought it was his time already...

“Wait a minute...”, Tempest squinted a squatting person on the other end of the pool and then gasped, running over to them.

“Patches! Are you here to kick me down a ledge again?!”, he yelled.

“Oh, we meet again. How many of you are there?“, Patches asked casually.

„Just me and Ornstein.“, Tempest said.

„And you better don't pull anything with the little Storm because I won't refrain kicking you down the ledge of Fire Link Shrine.“, Ornstein commented.

„Oh relax, no more funny business out of me, my friends!“, Patches said in a placating manner. I'm done with looting. I'm a humble merchant now! And wondrous treasures, have I! At a special price for you.“

He put a few items in front of him. „There you are, have a nice look at them.“

„I will keep an eye on him just in case...“, Ornstein said to Tempest as the small Undead browsed the wares.

A short while later a few souls changed their owner and Tempest had a shiny new humanity in his hands. Ornstein heard him chat with Patches a little longer. Apparently the bald men had quite a few opinions about the other Undead around. Ornstein wasn't too interested in them, his goal was to get Tempest to the flame. But he listened attentively once Patches talked about Petrus and pretty much confirmed his doubts about the man.

As Tempest said his goodbyes and wanted to turn back into the direction of the bonfire, Ornstein stopped him.

“What is it?”, Tempest asked. “The garden was our next step, remember?”

“Remember the Asylum?”, Ornstein said.

Tempest eyes grew wide at this and he nodded excitedly.

“Then follow me.”, Ornstein stepped near one of the pillars and judged its height. Then, he put Tempest up (who complained about being manhandled for a second before he grew silent) and jumped up the pillar. He continued to jump from the pillar to the walls until he was at a broken tower where stairs led up, where he put Tempest down.

“Do you see the crow there?”, Ornstein pointed at the rather hard to overlook crow on the wall next to Frampt's pool.

“How could I overlook it? It is the very same that carried me here.”, Tempest said.

“You can trick it to carry you back to the Asylum by laying in its nest.”, Ornstein said.

“...How did anyone ever found that out?”, Tempest wondered and ascended the stairs. As he was halfway up, he stopped and stared at something on a roof.

“I think I see something shiny there.”, he pointed to it but before he could act and storm off, Ornstein had pulled him back.

“I get it.”, he said and jumped over to the roof without effort. After a little bit of searching he found a key that the sun had reflected light off, this must have been how the little Storm had spotted it in the first place.

He jumped back to Tempest and handed him the key. “Here you go, little Storm.”

“Thank you, Ornstein.”, Tempest said, eyeing the key. “I wonder where it fits?”

“To be honest, looks like a key from the Asylum.”, Ornstein pointed on the hard to make out letters which read A F2. “I am surprised we can still see them, with how rusted it is...”

“Well, let's just try the key once we are there.”, Tempest smiled, pocketing it.

Once they were at the nest Tempest stared at Ornstein with big eyes.

“The crow actually only carries one person at a time, so I show you what to do and you come after me.”, Ornstein sad and then curled into a ball in the nest, hearing Tempest chuckle. “Don't laugh.”, he hissed.

“Oh, it's just... I didn't think... that I would see you... do.. something that... ridiculous.”, Tempest brought out between snorts which quickly turned into a surprised “Woah!” when Ornstein felt how the crow picked him up and he got carried over.

Ten minutes later the little Storm got dropped off next to him, picking himself up.

“Huh.”, he said. “The last time I have been here there were less torch hollows.”

“Seems like we have to fight our way through to find your friend.”, Ornstein said, readying his spear. Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/190441575024/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-21-fandom-dark

[mercurykelly]

Day Three: in which our intrepid traveler visits a prehistoric lake

The Great Salt Lake was part of prehistoric Lake Bonneville. 

Day Three:  

I am very stiff from driving and longing for a swim. The hotel pool is super clean but too tiny to swim laps so I compromise and do water walking exercises for half an hour.  This puts me on the road (I-84) later than usual – 9:00 AM.  I forget to write down mileage until I’ve been on the road about 45 minutes.  It is 844.7 at that point.  

It is very sunny and I am driving through flat farmland that reminds me of Iowa, land of my youth.  On second thought not all that much like Iowa as the horizon is ringed with mountains. Many fields are covered in a low carpet of purple flowers.  What were these flowers?  Unfortunately I never figured this out.

I cross into Utah.  Almost immediately I see a sign: Get the US out of the UN. Every few miles there is a billboard that screams Jesus Lives. I’m in foreign territory here and this impression is amplified by the content of the radio stations that I cycle through, searching for oldies.  I find sermons, hymns, country music, and right-wing talk radio, none of which appeals.  I turn off the radio and keep driving.  

There’s a constant, monotonous thump from the substandard road surface, interspersed with long waits and slow going for road construction.  I encountered an interesting tradition while driving in Idaho – the minute it became clear that road construction would shortly become an issue, traffic obediently moved into the appropriate lane, leaving the other lane completely open for miles.  The occasional car sped along in this lane to merge farther up the road, but this was surprisingly rare.  Frequently, semis rolled slowly in the open lane, effectively blocking any car from cheating in this manner.  I was equal parts outraged and amused when a boxy Yugo passed the semi on the right shoulder and sped ahead in the empty lane.  

Usually these lane closures were due to road construction, but one of the worst -- the line of cars stretching to the horizon, and as I mounted the rise, to the next horizon, and so on – was due to road sweeping.   Seriously? Is road sweeping the interstates a thing in Idaho?    

Drivers in Utah are not as polite. The closer I get to Ogden, the crazier they drive.  Road conditions are poor, construction frequent (with no polite queuing here), the speed limit is treated as an impertinent suggestion, and the roads are hectic with traffic.  To make matters worse, this deterioration in road conditions is accompanied by the onset of extreme lethargy.  I eat the remaining beef jerky and buy my first ever energy drink and choke some down (it tastes foul).   Coincidentally, Utah is the only place where I see signs warning against driving while drowsy. “Drowsy driving causes crashes.” “Sleep Smart, Drive Smart.” “Are You Too Tired to Drive?” “Drowsy Drivers Use Next Exit.”

Could my exhaustion have something to do with the power of suggestion? Surely not.  But there’s no denying that I feel so tired I might be drugged, with limbs heavy and thinking cloudy. I pull off the road at a rest area and do some stretches and jumping jacks.  While there I strike up a conversation with a woman who is trying to find I-15.  We sort that out and then I am back on the road until exhaustion overcomes me again.  I pull off and find a small patch of shade behind a Subway, recline my seat, and drop into the kind of sleep where you wake completely disoriented, not knowing where you are or what time it might be.   Only a half hour’s worth but I feel rejuvenated.  Thinking that I owe something to the Subway in return for the nap, I go in and get a meatball sandwich. Luckily there’s a Starbucks close and I get coffee too (the heck with this no coffee nonsense, what was I thinking?)  Then I’m back on the road.  

At Salt Lake City I detour West on I-80 to check out the Great Salt Lake.  It is my second visit – last time was also a brief detour while driving through Utah on my way to somewhere else. My memories are of foul-smelling shallow water with flies buzzing over the sand.  This visit is more positive. I follow signs for a State Park but on the way come across a vast parking area near a building that is used as a concert venue and appears to be owned privately.  Several cars are parked near dunes that mark the lake shore. It is not the edge of the lake now, as sand flats the length of a football field extend between the dunes and the water. Several people are walking out onto these sand flats toward where the blue lake water has receded. I join them, walking out onto the sand in flip flops. There are several damp patches in this stretch of sand, and when I walk through the boggy bits my flip flops and feet acquire a white coating of salt.  (Interesting fact: although I wash this salt off several times, it takes something like six tries to get rid of the white residue.  And the salt makes my feet so dry the skin starts peeling.  Good grief.)

Walking out on the sand puts me at the level of the lake.  It’s a lovely spot with the bright blue of the lake rimmed with white sand, grass dried to a lovely amber, and lilac mountains.  I walk out about halfway, then return to my car to continue on to the State Park where I pay $3 to enter.  There I find a busy marina and an information center where I buy postcards and fridge magnets.  (I have a ridiculous infatuation with fridge magnets. I love ‘em.) I read that the Great Salt Lake is a remnant of a prehistoric lake called Bonneville.   I believe it – the place has a definite prehistoric vibe. 

The current lake averages 15% salinity and contains no fish, only algae, brine fly-larvae and brine shrimp. I notice a salt processing plant nearby.   One of these days I hope to do justice to this interesting area, but today I have other goals in mind that pull me back to the road.  

I backtrack on I-80 to I-15 and continue South.  Unfortunately, I don’t get far before extreme exhaustion ambushes me again.  This is just not my day.  I exit at Provo and use Hotel Tonight to find the closest motel to my location.  This happens to be a Sleep Inn and is the cheapest night on my trip.  It also turns out to be one of the coldest: 45 degrees with cold, slanting rain that cuts loose while I am unpacking the car.  I rest for an hour or so, then venture out for a meal and supplies for tomorrow.  I suspect that eateries will be few and far between during my drive south on US Highway 6 so I buy a baguette, a package of ham, organic mayo, several local beers (to drink after I stop driving for the day), and some radishes and apples so I can picnic on the road.

I am not happy at the Sleep Inn.  The carpet in my room is so grubby I wear my flip flops at all times.  The clientele makes me clutch my handbag to my chest and scurry past.  I will be honest here and admit that this horrible day has put a bad taste in my mouth and given me a negative opinion of Utah.  I will stay in Provo long enough to get 8 hours of sleep then I’ll be back on the road. 

[thedeviltohisangel]

You Say It Softly//5//If He Won’t Be Here Next Year

Jim & Leah’s first time.

smut warning

masterlist in bio!

send any requests for Jim my way!

Leah watched with an ache in her chest as Isla Cane pranced past Jim in her new bikini for the third time that night. Not that she was counting. She was sat with her friend Adelaide, whom she had dragged to the beach with her so she didn’t seem as though she was clinging to Jim the whole time, on a log closer to the parking lot with a grimace.

“I hate that I have to admit her butt does look good in it,” Leah groaned as the girl spinned in the name of showing some other one every angle of the new swimsuit.

“And you did say Jim is an ass guy.”

“Addy!” Leah screeched as she hit her friend on the arm. “You’re supposed to build me up! Not feed into my fears!”

“I’m sorry! The only way for you to get his eyes off of her is to put them on you! Hiding on this log with me isn’t going to make your jealousy disappear.”

“Not jealous,” she mumbled in reply as she became focused on the rock that was by her feet. “Jim loves me. He’s not looking at her butt with anything more than a general appreciation for the female form.” Adelaide couldn’t help but snort.

“Sorry, Leah, but you are forgetting he’s a teenage boy and giving him way more credit than he deserves.” Addy loved Jim for Leah, loved that he had gotten her to come out of her shell more in recent months, but also knew how easily he could break her heart too. She was trepidatious towards him, at best.

“Then maybe I should just go before I get too upset. I knew coming to the beach with him and his friends was a stupid idea.” Leah stood from the log and began the battle of stuffing her blanket into her tote bag.

“What’d that blanket do to you?” She stopped what she was doing to regard Jim as he walked towards her, his wetsuit around his waist and his chest looking deliciously inviting in the setting sun.

“My tailbone was starting to hurt,” Leah lied as she let the bag drop to the sand. He stepped forward and pulled her against him with a kiss. He kissed her cheek once before letting her pull away.

“I’m gonna go to my car and change, then you wanna sit by the fire with me?”

“I don’t know...I have a pretty good view of Isla’s fashion show from here. Don’t know that I need to see it from the front row.” Addy snickered.

“Yeah, the thong is a little much, right?” He noticed the way her eyes widened as if she was about to deliver a scathing remark. “Not that I was, like, you know-”

“She just likes to watch you squirm. Keep you in check,” Adelaide said as she stood next to her friend.

“I’d like to see more of your devious side,” Jim said as his hands found Leah’s waist again, spinning her around as she giggled with delight. Any ill feeling she had felt evaporated once he was back in her orbit. Something about the two of them being together always made her feel as though she was doing the right thing. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll change and we can go get a milkshake or something.”

“Okay. Let me finish packing up and I’ll meet you at the car.” He pecked her lips one last time before trudging through the sand to his car. “Come on, let me walk with you to your car.” The two girls walked down a bit to where Adelaide had parked.

“Thanks for inviting me tonight. Hanging around judging people with you is my favorite thing to do.” It was slightly sarcastic but also partially true. Addy was torn between pushing Leah into the fire so she would breakaway from her comfort zone and holding her back so she could insure her best friend’s protection.

“Yeah, well, one day I’ll be comfortable around them. Until then you’re stuck hanging on the outskirts with me.” They hugged, Jim’s car rolling up alongside them.

“You two are cute together, you know that?” he teased. Addy flipped him off as Leah got in on his passenger side.

“Wrap that sausage up tonight, Jim.”

“Adelaide!” Leah’s face burned one thousand degrees at her words. Jim and her hadn’t gone any further than oral, and her friend knew that but she was trying to help her friend along in asking Jim to go all the way. “I am so sorry she said that,” Leah apologized as they pulled onto the main road. Jim just shrugged.

“All friends say shit like that. Doesn’t bother me.” He squeezed her knee in comfort. “Now, where you craving a milkshake from, Sugar?”

----

Jim had sat next to her in the booth that night. Whenever she was warm and smelled like the beach he was always craving to be closer to her. It wasn’t often he would join him and the Bay Boys so he was always elated when she did. They had ordered milkshakes and fries, Jim happy Leah had introduced him to the flavor of fries dipped in milkshakes, and took turns kissing whipped cream off the others nose. It was light and playful and for a couple of hours Jim forgot the shit show that was waiting for him at home. Forgot that his mother was probably pacing the front yard in her robe waiting for him.

They pulled up in front of her house, Jim cutting the engine before rushing around to open the door for her. He never knew how long it would take them to actually say goodbye so there was no point in keeping the car running.

“I had fun tonight,” Leah whispered as she leaned back against Jim’s car, their hands laced between them.

“Yeah, I did too. Thank you for coming and I’m sorry if any of them made you feel uncomfortable.” He kissed the top of her hand.

“They’re part of you, Jim. I’ll learn to be more okay around them.”

“They’re not the best part of me,” he chuckled as he looked down at his Converse then back up to her. “You wanna go with me to the end of midterms bonfire tomorrow?”

“Of course, Sprinkles. My parents won’t be home so I can cook you dinner beforehand if you want.”

“Perfect. I’ll be over at 6.” Leah smiled against his lips as he pulled her in, her hands releasing his so they could tangle into his hair. “You know I love you, right? Not any other girl could make me this nervous.” It was his own way of trying to quell her fears of Isla and her butt from the beach.

“I know, Jimmy, thank you. I love you, too. Only you.” He pulled her in for one last kiss and made sure to get a full handful of her backside as he did.

“Besides, it’s your butt that keeps me distracted in Pre-Calc.”

“Good night, Jim Mason,” Leah said as she kept their hands together for as long as possible as she walked backwards towards her house. He waited until her front door shut behind her before getting into his own car and heading home for the night. His hand felt empty without hers to hold.

----

“Leah this is absolutely ridiculous! This is not the Princess Diaries!” Leah had dragged Adelaide to the mall with her after their morning Government midterm in the name of getting her a new swimsuit to blow away Jim and everyone else at the bonfire that night. “No helicopter of photographers is going to come by and try to photograph you at the beach tonight.” Leah poked her head out from the curtain of the dressing room.

“It has nothing to do with that. I want Jim to see that I can fit in with his friends. That I’m not some snivelling girl for him to pity. That I look better in a thong bikini than any girl on that beach.” She snapped the curtain back with a huff.

“Only drawback will be that you can’t wear thongs because you’re constantly picking them out of your ass like a wedgie. That’s not attractive.”

“What’s not attractive is that I went straight from tennis practice yesterday with frizzy hair and no mascara.” She could hear her friend sigh from where she stood waiting for her to model her next option.

“Leah...you know Jim doesn’t care. Not that his opinion or your perception of it should make you wanted to change but...he for sure loves you.”

“We haven’t had sex yet,” Leah mumbled as she opened the curtain.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m afraid that his eye is wandering because I haven’t been ready. Girls like Isla...girls like her are so experienced. If I can channel her then maybe when it finally happens, I can be more confident about it.” Adelaide was looking at her like she was an idiot. “Forget it. I’ll just wear that one piece we bought together in Santa Monica last summer. That has some sideboob.” Leah turned to go back into the dressing cubicle and change back into her leggings.

“No, stop. If that palm leaf bikini is going to give you more confidence then I think you should get it. I think you are the most beautifully intelligent creature and Jim will love you in whatever way you let him but I want you to have all the confidence in yourself that you deserve. If that thong will do it then hell I’ll pay for it.” Leah sniffled.

“You’re the best best friend ever.” The two girls embraced with watery giggles. “Let me change so we can go buy some fricking pretzel bites. I’m starving!”

----

“That spaghetti was everything I could have asked for and more,” Jim said as he waited at the bottom of the stairs for Leah to finish changing. “The meatballs tasted a little different from the last time. New recipe?”

“Yeah I’m tweaking it every time. The beef to pork ratio was a little different this time.” His further praise for her cooking died on his lips as she appeared in a lacy pink coverup.

“Is that new?”

“You like it?” She did a twirl for him was she reached his outstretched arms, Jim swallowing thickly.

“I love it. You look wonderful, Sugar, like you always do.” That was a little deflating. She had hoped she looked better than usual or sexier than usual. She guessed she would have to wait until he saw what was underneath for that change to take place.

“You promise to stay on my pace tonight?” It was a happy medium Leah had managed to reach with him. He would drink at the pace that she did. It wasn’t her asking him to completely not but it also meant she didn’t have to watch him lose control and need to be intensely taken care of for the rest of the night and following day. Jim had also promised her he hadn’t taken any pills since their discussion. He wished that he had been able to keep it.

The party was in full swing when they arrived, Jim being ushered away quickly towards the group of boys around the keg. Leah waved him away as he looked to her to make sure it was okay that he went off, the girl searching for a familiar face once her boyfriend left her. She managed to find a small group of girls from her tennis team, bouncing between them and a group of kids from her debate team.

“Come join our volleyball team, Leah!” She was interrupted from talking about the war in Yemen with a kid on the debate team and dragged to the side to play. “Take your coverup off so you don’t trip on it!” She froze when she remembered what it was that she had underneath it. She had spent the whole night not focusing on her masterplan that it had slipped her mind.

“I’m wearing something really tiny underneath. I can’t really play with it-”

“Everyone else is dressed in a little bikini. You’ll be fine.” It was now or never and the entire tennis team was staring at her like she was a lunatic. They only knew Leah as the star on the court, they didn’t know who this shy girl was. She undid the little button at the front of the coverup and let it drop, quickly running towards the net in the hopes no one would look at her too long. “Holy shit, Leah, your ass!”

“Oh God, does it look horrible?”

“Total opposite! You should wear less more often.” The girls around her snickered in agreement.

----

“Shit, Jim, is that your girlfriend?” Jim turned around expecting to be met with some sort of horrific scene. Maybe Leah had fallen during a keg stand or had thrown up her drink in the bushes. But it was neither of those things. He was met with the sight of her pert little ass on full display for the entire beach as she laughed with her friends and chased after a volleyball. “Didn’t know she had an ass like that. You’re a lucky dude.” His friend offered him a fist bump.

“Excuse me.” Jim downed the rest of what was in his cup and began to walk towards the game. He was aware that every guy he walked past had his eyes zeroed in on his girlfriend. It made his blood boil. He had never felt jealous of someone else when it came to Leah. She was always by his side or trying to shrink into the shadows. This was new territory for him and he hated it. “What do you think you’re doing?” He reached the game and his voice had taken on an edge Leah didn’t like.

“Playing a game with my friends?” She walked over to him carefully in the hopes he would lower his voice. If he had been drinking he had a tendency to be loud. She didn’t want whatever he was feeling to be broadcast across the beach.

“Everyone is looking at you.” She looked behind her to find that he was right.

“Yeah it’s kind of nice. Normally they’re all looking at me like I’m a nun or something.”

“You’re not theirs to look at. Put your pink thing back on.” Leah took a step back from him.

“Excuse me?” Disgust was laced through her tone and it hit Jim like a ton of bricks. “Don’t ever think you can tell me what to do, got it?” She didn’t give him a chance to respond, instead turning back to her game with a smile at an attempt to shake off the encounter.

----

“I’m sorry for my tone back there. I’m not used to people looking at you like that and it bothered me. You’re so...you and I just feel like I need to protect you.” She turned from where was staring out the window to regard him silently.

“You made me feel so little.”

“I’m sorry. Having to listen to them all make comments about things…”

“Things you haven’t even done yet with me?” Jim wasn’t insecure about his relationship with Leah, they were strong and sure of themselves and the path they were going down, but hearing the boys at the party trying to ask him questions about sex with Leah and things like that...it had awoken a possessive nature within him he hadn’t known was within him.

“I love you just the way you are. You don’t have to change for anyone. Especially me. I missed your sideboob one piece tonight.” That managed to get a laugh out of her.

“That was option number two.” Things felt right again as she laced her fingers through his in the center console, Jim more used to driving with her hand in his or his on her knee than without. They pulled up to her house and the lights were off. “Guess my parents aren’t coming home tonight. Want to come in?” He nodded and followed her into the house and all the way up her stairs to her room.

“Feel like taking a shower?” Jim asked as he licked his lips. Something about her in lace being bathed by the moonlight coming through her window was making him feel warm and molten inside. He needed her close and he needed it now. He followed her dutifully into the bathroom, helping each other undress as the water heated up and steam filled the room. They behaved for the first part of their shower, Jim letting his hand wander once she had finished rinsing the conditioner out of her hair. Leah gripped his shoulders as a gasp fell from her mouth at the way he teasingly worked between her legs. “You like it when I touch you like this?”

“Yes,” she breathed as she parted her legs so he could wiggle a finger into her easier. He pumped it slowly in and out as she moaned into their kiss, hitting that sweet spot nestled inside of her every time. “Faster.” He obliged and added another finger for good measure. She buried her face in the crook of his neck as the pressure snapped inside of her and his arm wrapped around her waist as her knees wobbled slightly.

“Don’t get tired on me yet. I have a lot more apologizing to do.” Jim leaned back in to kiss her but she stopped him with her hand against his mouth.

“I want...I want you to take all of me tonight, Jim.” He shook the hair that had fallen in front of her eyes to make sure he was reading her properly. “I’m ready. I love you and I want to be with you in that way. Want to show you how much you mean to me.”

“You don’t need to have sex with me just because of my nasty behavior tonight, Leah-”

“I promise that’s not why, Jimmy. I’m yours. Fully and forever.” He kissed her as his way of agreeing to her plan, Leah turning off the shower as his lips pressed against hers with a bruising force. Jim began to walk her backwards and Leah squeaked. “Jim stop! I’ll slip!”  

“Easy fix for that.” He lifted her easily so her legs could wrap around his waist, Jim deftly stepping over the lip of the shower and carrying her back to her room. Leah bounced as her back hit the bed, Jim almost growling at the sight of her bare and warm and pliant right in front of him. His lips started at the knot of her ankle and worked kisses all the way up to her nose before he settled back down onto her nipples. He licked and sucked until they were hard as rock in his mouth and her legs were squirming for friction underneath him.

“Need your mouth down there, Jim,” she panted. He eagerly followed her orders. Her clit found its home wrapped in his tongue, his mouth working her back over the edge that his fingers had only a little bit ago in the shower.

“You sure you want to do this?” He came back over to make sure he could look into her eyes.

“Positive. Want all of you to have all of me.” She bent her elbows so she could reach into her nightstand and pulled out a condom, Jim looking at her quizzically. “Addy bought them for me after we went bikini shopping. She thought the thong might have an effect on you.” Jim kissed both her cheeks as they flushed a brilliant red, rolling the condom down his length with ease.

“Ready?”

“I’m nervous. You’ve done this before and I haven’t. What if I’m no good?”

“Leah, I’m nervous too. My first time was a bumbling three minute mess with some random girl visiting from Ann Arbor. They said it’s different when you love someone so...it’s like my first real time.”

“Nothing can go wrong when we’re together, right?” It was what her and Jim had said to each other since the first time he had taken pills around her. As long as they had each other, they would have someone to look out for them and take care of them.

“Nothing,” he sealed his promise with a kiss, “Going to go slow. Nod when you’re ready for more.” It wasn’t painful as Leah had been lead to believe, just different. With each press Jim made into her she took a second or two to breathe and readjust before nodding for him to push in a little bit further. Jim was using all his self control at the sensation of being inside her after having dreamed of it for so long. Once he was in far enough, he began to slowly rock his hips in the same pace and depth she liked when he used his fingers. “Okay?” She nodded and tried to focus on the sensation of being filled by the boy she loved. Of being fully together with him, with anyone, for the first time.

“Are you close?” Leah could tell that he was by the way his grunts and groans were falling from his mouth in quicker succession. “Come for me, Jim.” Her fingers locked behind his head as he looked directly into her eyes as his hips stilled and he stuttered her name.

“Fuck, Leah, you didn’t-”

“You made me come twice tonight. It was my first time. It’s totally normal for girls to not come their first time.” He fell over onto his back next to her.

“Give me a minute to catch my breath and I’ll make it three times.” She giggled and rolled over to press a kiss to his chest.

“Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Never worry about another guy again. It’s only you, Jim, it’s only ever going to be you.” He twirled a piece of her hand around his finger slowly and puckered his lips as a way of asking her for a kiss.

“I can promise you that. I love you, Sugar.”

“I love you too, Sprinkles.” They just had to hope that love would always be enough.

Tags

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme

@tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning

@aveiangdon

@langdvn

[aliciagaliano]

Crossed Roads, chapter 2

Disclaimer: Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs belongs to Sony Pictures Animations.

The respective OC's belongs to me.

...

And sometimes I get nervous When I see an open door Close your eyes, clear your heart Cut the cord

Human - The Killers

...

It's been like three days already... since the girl arrived to the house. The day after they found her, they called a doctor to give track to her health, surprisingly for everyone, when the moment to check her wounds came, she had pretty much none, and the one that threatened with her life was already gone, of course that brought the attention of the scientist a lot because it just couldn't be. At the same moment he decided to probably, just probably take a DNA test to see what's the thing that made her recover so fast, and then he screeched out loud...

Such a nice timing, wasn't it? Pretty much a lot of his glass-made instruments were broken a day ago because of a mischievous and crazy monkey he owned, and some of them were fully necessary to make the tests he wanted to do, like some of the tubes that were now broken, and it'd take a few days to get everything back to normal... yes, he was blaming his luck way too much now. The perfect thing that could've happened to him indeed in so long was having a new and special case that'd help science to go in a new direction and all his stuff were ruined. Perfect.

And then in the other hand that was a good thing, right? Because when she wakes up he'd be able to make questions to her and stuff, it was unsure her reaction after she wakes up so a nice thing at least was just not snitch when he wasn't being called... for now of course. At least he could "play" a bit with that sword... right?

Going to the former room of the inventor, we can see the little girl starting to wake up, she moved her head to the sides for a moment, contracting and stretching her limbs a bit as she yawned; slowly her eyes opened, revealing a pair of slightly dull brown eyes that were trying to process information... her mind was trying to retrieve the last events before she passed out as her stare was straight lost in a blank point of the ceiling, then everything flashed fast, and out of sudden she sat down breathing heavily, looking to her surroundings with confusion... when did she even end there? "Someone saved me...," She mumbled almost to herself in Spanish. Looking down she saw she wasn't using her other clothes but a black over sized shirt that said 'I got the brains', she got slightly more nervous now...

Her face got this bittersweet expression, as if she actually wasn't expecting anyone to save her life, her little body trembled a bit for a moment, then stabilized again, looking around the room he saw faded blue tapestry on the walls with the design of vertical rhombus, her bed sheets were science-themed with flasks and test tubes all over it. There was also an old home-made computer that reminded to an old Apple Macintosh computer on a desk in front of a covered window with some modifications if she wasn't wrong with her impression. Next to the bed there was the night stand with a lamp, at the feet of the bed there was the door, and a few inches away from the door there was a bookshelf full of several different stuff like books and other things scattered.

Slowly she moved and stood up, feeling slightly dizzy, wobbling side to side for a brief moment to then recover it as she used the night stand to lean on... "Okay... just breath...," She said once again to herself in Spanish, breathing in and out slowly one, two, three times to clear up his mind... it worked. Wherever she was she got to get out, right? Or not? Where was she anyways? Was it a safe place? So many questions and it was so hard where to start actually. Could she trust whoever who saved her...? "I don't think so..." She quietly mumbled...

Due the fact of her barefoot condition, slowly and sneakily she got out of the room without giving any hints to the owners of the house that she was already awake, looking carefully to the sides to see if there was anyone around. It'd be perfect for her to get out if no one was around... there was this door at the end of the hall and a door next to the room where she got out. First, she checked the one at the end, only to find out the bathroom of the house... of course she used it briefly to do her needs, and then got out as if nothing happened. Checking again the hallway, he slowly sneaked into the door next to her room...

It felt nostalgic...

The walls had a tapestry with faded yellow tones with the design of flowers similar to the blue room, it felt quite sad if she was honest, as if something was actually missing in there; for the size of the bed she could tell it was the room of the owners, and the room where she was staying was their son's, but where were they now? Did they leave her alone on purpose...? No, she didn't really think so, nobody in its sane mind would actually leave a complete stranger alone... slowly she got out from there without looking back, leaving the door exactly as it was before she got in; then she turned around with her mind thinking that no one would notice anything, just to jump straight to the ceiling out of surprise when she saw Tim Lockwood standing behind her with arms crossed, screaming out surprise... and now she was on the floor upon her butt, afraid and her cheeks burning in shame...

"I-I-I'm so sorry...!" She apologized nervous, this time in English, "I-I know I shouldn't be roaming without permission and-and...," Her breathing was quick, as if she was struggling to hold down a panic attack, "It wasn't my intention to wander around like this..." She mumbled looking down, closing her eyes tight trying to not let out the tears get out.

The old fisherman felt bad for her in that moment, she was so small and seemed so vulnerable, indeed for her reaction he could actually tell she wasn't actually meaning to sneak around, or at least, not steal something from there, just having gotten carried for curiosity around the house. "It's alright little girl...," He said, approaching his hand to her a bit to help her to get up. Hesitantly she took it and stood up. She was indeed real small in comparison to him, still looking down... there was something falling down her cheeks slowly, "Oh dear... don't cry..." He said again, with one of his fingers upon her cheek stopping a few tears "I heard that every teardrop is a waterfall, don't be scared. I'm not a shark to eat you... I'm promise I'm not mad at you."

It was quite hard to calm her down, showing up that indeed she was feeling scared, but after a while, at least she managed to control herself, although she still was shaking slightly. Her behaviour made him wonder what did happen to someone so young like her to be so shaken up like that, but he just wouldn't ask now... maybe in another moment when she felt less stressed... he was expecting her to say something, but for his big surprise, she never said a thing, not even when he heard her stomach growling... he passed her his hand again to take her to the kitchen, and again, she reluctantly took it, feeling so petty in front of him apparently. Once there he gave her seat, she was still a bit small, or maybe the table was too tall, in any moment she didn't say anything else...

"What's your name, little girl?" He asked trying to start up a conversation.

There was again silence for a while, as if she was still doubting about giving any information about her, then, "I'm Alice..." She didn't say anything else.

"Nice to meet you Alice, I'm Tim Lockwood, you can just call me Tim if you want." She looked at him a little bit, then smiled a little. It was almost imperceptible, but it was something, wasn't it? "Uh... I'm sorry if the food is not of your liking, there's not a lot of options over here asides of sardines..."

She didn't say anything for a while, which pretty much had him worried... "Where am I...?" She asked shyly.

"We're in the island of Swallow Falls." Tim said, "We used to be famous because of our sardines, but one day we went to bankruptcy as our main source of money shut down, and the States stopped sending us food some years ago."

"So you have to get everything they don't want..." She added, this time he got surprised. "I understand..." A clever girl indeed, he nodded at her in response. "An economy that sucks and everyone's got to eat something they hate..."

"We got used to it, though," Not everyone of course, but most of them had to resign to it. Only some people could get some things from the States – if they went there personally of course with whatever money they had, and sometimes the Lockwood family was able to get some stuff from New York. "Oh hey, I found canned soup." Alphabet soup in fact.

"I don't mind it honestly...," At least she was being a bit more talkative to him now, "It's fine..."

He just got ready the food and sat down near the girl, not so close either to not bother her that much due her retracted behavior, it was a slight progress that she was already talking to him a bit more than a while ago. "Why don't you tell me something about you?" He asked, "Where are you from?"

"A small country in South America..." The reply this time was a bit more faster than the last ones she gave, apparently she was just starting to get some trust towards him now. "It's called Paraguay. We don't have a shore to the sea." She was so far from home, how did she end there then? It didn't just make sense in his honest opinion, so many leagues away, he wondered what about her parents, if they were even looking for her, he wanted to ask but remained shut, passing to another question, which was her age... she remained silent for a moment, "I'm ten years old..."

Flint was right then...

The smell of the soup and the sound of her stomach growling made him remind about the food, passing her a hot bowl of steaming soup that actually tasted good for her, even making her smile a bit more than before which still was an actual and real progress. It didn't take long before she was done, thanking for the food and going to her temporary room. He looked to the side of the bowl and saw she actually left something written...

So that's her full name then...

"Hello dad." Flint said as he got into there.

"Son, she's awake." The eyes of the inventor lit up when he got the news, before he could go to check on her, his father stopped him, "Wait for her over here, son. She's not really... uh... communicative, neither... uh..."

"Outgoing?"

"That..."

Oh... oh well. It didn't take long before she came back, stopping out of sudden when she saw the young inventor, then stepped back taking her distance, making them notice certain hostility/mistrust. Alice looked to the old fisherman first, then to the scientist. "Hello, I'm Flint, what's your name?" He asked nicely, smiling at her trying to make her gain some trust to him. She didn't answer this time. "I saved your life and brought you here, you're safe, don't worry." He said again still smiling, trying to get her less (apparently) stressed. She seemed... afraid? "Hey, don't be afraid if that's how you feel, I won't hurt you, I promise." There was still no answer from her, just an intense look straight to his blue eyes like trying to find a hint of darkness in his intentions. Finding pretty much no other choice, he extended his hand to her, making her look at it for a moment, to then hesitatingly take it... "It's alright, see? You've got nothing to fear." She didn't reply once again.

Without their realization the old fisherman left the room leaving them alone, with it the girl retired her hand away from the inventor's still showing a lot of mistrust from her part, seeming much more out of place with him staring closely to her... "W-why are you looking at me like that...?" She asked, evidently stressed.

"I'm sorry but... have we ever met? I can swear I've seen you somewhere else, but I don't know where..." Three days later and he still haven't sorted out why the feeling was still there. The more he tried to figure out the more confused he found himself, and it was really, really annoying. She shyly shook her head with the question, making him sigh, "Maybe it's just me and my head playing games on me... I don't know... but I can swear that I've seen you somewhere else, I don't know where exactly..."

"No... we never met..." She mumbled shyly, "This is the first time we're talking..." And, it was true though.

"Oh, sorry then... just one question... by any chance isn't your name Alicia?" The look of surprise she got when he said that name was such he actually got surprised as well, "Alicia Galiano, isn't it?"

"Who told you my name?!" She exclaimed angrily, or better said scared, giving him the hint that he nailed on it.

"That's why I'm asking you if we ever met... your name is on the back of my head for some reason, but I don't actually understand nor know why." Then he sighed again, "Sorry for bothering you... it's not my intention..."

"I-I'm sorry..." She apologized too, "I'm just... real awkward..."

"It's alright, don't worry. I get to be like that as well like... a lot."

Of course it was true, something that made her smile a bit, indeed he noticed her starting to gain a bit more of trust towards him, probably having socialized a bit with his father opened her a bit more. He asked her to follow her to his former room and took out some clothes from a drawer. He explained her that his father went to the mainland the day after she arrived to get her some proper clothes to wear asides of his oversized shirt, giving her a smaller orange shirt with familiar stamps of white flowers, black shorts and a couple of slippers... "It wasn't necessary to get me all of this..." She told him still in a slightly shy way, he didn't reply but just give her a smile, a toothbrush and a towel.

Around ten minutes later she got out again fully dressed, with her hair wet and bright as she washed it, drying it with the same towel and then shaking her head like a dog, giggling softly as her hair became messier and curly. Despite her longer hair and her small size, he had to say it, it felt like he was seeing a reminder of... wait there was something missing... he went to his father's room and came back, removing some hairs from her face he carefully placed a blue head bang so her face would remain visible... indeed she was reminding him a lot from his mother... he couldn't help but curve a small smile with the memories he still had about her...

He coughed once, trying to put himself together for a moment before asking her to follow to the backyard, placing his hands on his pockets and trying to relax a bit more before speaking, he closed his eyes for a brief moment and then opened them again a bit, just a little bit more calm, to then go to his laboratory. In a first moment before they did, she stopped and looked to the enormous edification there surprised, looking to every single detail she could catch with one glance, to then spot the weird entrance made with a Porta-potty... and feeling weirded out when he said, "This is where the magic begins." Of course there was a real awkward silence for a few moments, "Oh! No! I mean– t-this is the entrance to my lab!" It was too late as he blushed a lot, scratching the back of his head in the process feeling shame now... he should get a book about how to talk to people indeed, it's been a long while since he actually had some human interaction with somebody else.

Opening the door of the portable restroom, they got in, when they closed it, it suddenly sent them upstairs with a swoosh! And the speed made them crash against the sides, the ceiling and the floor, forcing them to crawl out from there; there she found herself surrounded by the pink lights of the hexagonal hallway made inside a school bus, with a vault-like door at the end of it... the two of them stood up dizzily, wobbling to the sides for a brief moment and their heads spinning because of the joyride they just had; he even apologized for it because it was not something he actually expected to happen, in fact he'd give it a check because it shouldn't have happened, it was supposed to be in its classic supersonic mode to get up but that was not even close to be considered as something he would expect.

Once they were finally fine again, she followed him into the lab, gasping when she saw the inside... with all the blue lights mixed with the blue Tron-like lines all over the place, it felt like all the way to the ceiling was infinite, leaving her awestruck for a good while... "You must spend a lot of time alone..." She mumbled loud enough to make him hear her.

"What? No!" He said, laughing slightly nervous trying to pretend it wasn't true, even looking away while he laughed. Incredibly enough he felt a strong stare upon his neck that felt like saying she knew he was actually lying. Turn around and see her staring directly to his soul made him shiver a lot. "I-I'm being honest! I'm not–"

"You're lying..." She said, "I can see it... just tell me the truth..." She wasn't allowing herself to trust him but she was actually asking him to trust her, was it irony? Or it was an attempt of her to open up and know more about him first? Indeed, this was another unexpected twist, but it was a good one, right?

The mysterious girl he found floating in the sea three days ago, who was being extremely retreated with them a while ago was now trying to make him talk.

Maybe if he started with his life she would open up about hers as a way to begin with...

He went to take a photograph of his mother, he wanted to open up about it with her to give more context to his actual situation; taking his rooking chair to give her a seat, he sat around as he looked to the picture frame holding his mother's picture, then took a deep breath, "When I was young, I didn't really have friends... my mom was pretty much my only friend back then," He gave her the frame to allow a look to it, "When I was down she always used to give me support and everything I needed, she even gave me this lab coat when I was eight as an early birthday present," He took a pause, he saw her looking in silence but paying attention, "And some months after that... in September uh... there was this... tragedy... there was a fire... she inhaled a lot of toxic smoke at the defunct cannery and..."

He sniffed, slowly breaking down with the memories that were floating up to his head again, he tried to keep the tears in but he found himself unable to do that, to then look down as he felt his heart racing against his chest. He made an effort to put himself together and recover his composure, but this was one of those times it felt futile, as if he actually needed to break down one way or another after having holding it for so long... then he suddenly felt her hugging him tight, surprising him for a moment, to then do the same as tight as he could, breaking down more than before... it should be okay, right? "It's alright..." She just said as he sniffed again... when was the last time he hugged someone when he needed to cry like that? It felt nice...

Although sadness wasn't really a foreign feeling, he didn't like to feel it, even less because he never had anyone to lean on, and now... he forgot what does it feels like to have someone just hugging, not supporting just... being kind to him... it's been so long since someone has been actually nice and charming to him, and the feeling, how he felt like was so... nice... he couldn't tell how long he's been like that with her, but it wasn't more than just a few minutes until he started to break the hug, to then realize she wasn't releasing him at all... he couldn't help but keep hugging her as well, caressing her back softly.

"It's alright..." He said with a raspy voice, "It... happened a long time ago..." And sometimes he wasn't still used to it, not even a single bit. "I'm used to loneliness anyways..." Which was true, and even if he was used to it a lot since early years because of his inclination towards science and stuff, it still could sting, "I'm not... exactly liked here in the island..." He said, "Everyone sees me like some kind of stranger because, as you see... I'm real different to them... I'm the local outcast... but that haven't stopped me from keep going with what I really love... which... is inventing..." She moved from her place, seeing that she was actually crying, there was something that told him that they shared something in common, "Hey... I don't know anything about you... just remember: it doesn't matters who you are, you only need to believe in yourself and never give up..."

Those words just brought up a new stream of tears down her face, as if the kindness he was having towards her was breaking her down, probably that was the moment where he actually understood he was dealing with someone with a fragile personality, he couldn't help but clean up her face with his thumbs and hug again as if an older brother or a father he was, in any way, she hugged back in a tight way again, hearing her sniffs and feeling her face buried against his shoulder. And after a few minutes after trying to ease her, she calmed down more, cleaning her face again with her wrists... "I'm sorry..."

"Why...?" He didn't understand why she apologized, "You didn't do anything wrong..." There was no answer from her part again. "It's alright... I'm used to all of this anyways..." He smiled a bit at her, trying to make her see that everything was okay with him, "Oh well, let's... let's try to change the subject..." Now he realized, everything was real quiet in the lab. Peace and silence weren't always a real good sign if we have in mind the kind of partner he got, "Gosh... Steve! Where are you?" He called out.

"Who is... Steve...?" The little girl asked

"Oh, he's my lab partner," The inventor replied, "And I don't know what is he doing..." Again: silence and peace weren't a good sign sometimes.

They looked to the sides, pretty much everywhere, there she felt this weight on her head, he felt something like small hands upon her hair, and then when she realized there were this pair of big orange eyes looking straight to her out of sudden that made her jump and scream in surprise as she got scared, falling down, making the thing do the same, then saw how it went to hide behind Flint, realizing it was a grey vervet monkey. "Oh, and this is Steve." He told with a smile.

The monkey took a peek to her, then hid again saying 'scary' for the girl's surprise, to then hid again when he saw her move a bit. She got closer as Flint tried to convince him that she was a nice girl, grabbing him and pulling him close to her, to then place him upon her head, making her giggle a bit, "Hello Steve, I'm Alice," She said with a smile, then felt him turning around to face in the same direction to her, to then look at each other again, this time the slight hostility disappeared, making him now exclaim his name. "Oh... is that a Monkey-Thought Translator...?" She asked, surprising him once again, receiving just a nod in response, "Cool... I'd also work for deaf-mute people, so the others can actually hear what they think," He never thought about that now she actually mentions it, "I mean, signs language already exists but just a few people actually know how to use it..." She smiled at the thought.

"Actually, that's a great idea! How come I never thought about it before?" Probably just like the idea of not adding the wings to his Flying Car... "It's real practical. I'll do that when I become famous! Thank you for the idea Alicia!" The little girl looked at him in some kind of disbelief, as if she didn't actually think that her idea would be useful or something, "Hey, what's the problem?"

"Just... call me Alice..." She said, smiling a bit to him.

"Alright then... Alice." They sat around, with her sitting back on his rooking chair with Steve still upon her head, apparently liking it as some sort of nest even if he head his own box as he curled in a ball and slept again, making her giggle a bit, "Hey, I can see you like animals," She took the monkey with a smile and placed him on her arms, for him it was almost the same, he felt safe with her now, becoming once again a fluffy ball upon her lap, "And I see that Steve likes you now." He got a look from her, like asking where did he get him, "Oh, well, I found him in a cage like a couple of years ago, he was alone and was also like... two months old so, I brought him here. I guess he was part of a contraband load that passed by, as Vervet monkeys are from the East side of Africa from Ethiopia to South Africa, so it doesn't makes sense he just appeared..." He took a brief pause, then continued, "It could've been also from a group of animal rescue and his box fell to the ocean, but I highly doubt that."

Of course Tim was completely against the idea of the monkey when he first arrived to the house, mostly because he was a wild animal and needed to be either in a forest or a zoo but of course not in a house with a backyard scientist like him, but then he thought that at least he could work as a friend for him and palliate a bit his loneliness somehow, in fact that's pretty much the other reason he made him the Monkey-Thought Translator, not just because he was curious to know what could be lurking in his mind – even if it was a really primitive brain with primitive thoughts, but to have someone to talk with... and incredibly enough his father allowed him to stay even after he ripped off his mustache. He shivered again with the memory, and even had the footage of it... as a self-note he got from that day: never give gummy bears to Steve ever again.

NEVER.

Oh well...

"Why don't you tell me something about you, Alice?" Like how did she get there and how did her wounds heal that fast for example, she blushed, "Oh, I'll tell you a bit more about me. I'm sixteen years old, and my birthday is on July, 11th so, we're like two months away from it." He was back into his 'I want my answers, please' mode but this time was on incognito mode. "Born in 1993 by the way and single child."

Alice bit her cheeks and her lower lip slightly, in a curious contrast to early, she seemed a bit more confident of answering some things to him. "I'm ten years old..." He freaking knew it, and just remember when he found her floating deep in the ocean just made him wonder some things more than before, "I was born on February 26th, 2000 when my mom just completed her college career in medicine... she's a pediatric doctor so I don't need to get a place for it at a hospital... also, I'm a single child..." She gave him a shy smile with it to then pet Steve's back. "I live with her and my grandparents... not in a same house just... crossing the street..."

"And what about your father?"

There was silence for a good while as her smile just faded away, "He left my mom after they did their things..." She quietly said, "She and my grandparents raised me..." Wow... it wasn't like a unique case, but he understood a lot what does it feels like to grow up without one of the parents, even if she actually came to the world without a father.

"I see..." That's all he could say for the moment, "Uh... and... what are you doing here...? I mean, how did you end up in the ocean...?"

There was again silence, she seemed to be recalling the events from that day, to then hug the monkey tight without squeezing. He waited for a good while, but there was no answer, of course she didn't want to talk about it, which meant she didn't just talk about it... "Flint... can I ask you something...?" He raised an eyebrow, thinking she just wanted to avoid his questions, "Just... just... you and your father... don't get too... attached to me... because I'll only make you suffer..." She sniffed, clearly trying to calm down and pretend she was alright or something, "Just... think of me as... as someone who is just... passing by... and you may never see... in your life ever again... okay...?" Okay, indeed he was feeling scared and curious now, indeed she was hiding something deeper inside and she wasn't going to tell him; not just that, but the petition actually made him feel... sad for her... there might be something deep and heavy going on with her life and she didn't want them to get involved into it. "Please..."

He couldn't say no, he didn't want to say no. It was much more now, he wanted to know, he wanted to help her in whatever her problem was! He was just like a cat (or a child): He was curious, he needed to know, he was eager to learn more and more if he had the chance to... she didn't stop looking at him, completely waiting for him to say that word with three letters... he didn't want to say it but... would that help him to gain her trust better? His mind was forcing him to say it, he didn't want to, he struggled to say it, it was too much... he looked at her, she was still staring and waiting for his answer... 'Say no, Lockwood! You can't promise that!' He thought, he wanted to say it, he wanted to say just 'No' or 'I can't do it'... he tried to not say it... "Alright..."

Darn it! He completely groaned with some rage inside, asking to himself in silence why even say it. On the other hand, she seemed to relax a bit more with his answer... something just told him that she wasn't completely convinced for it, but at least it'd be enough to let her calm down more with it. "Thank you..." Alice said in a low voice, receiving a small (and forced) smile from his part. Now it escalated from just a mystery to something deeper... inside couldn't stop repeating to himself the word 'moron' over and over again for it...

What else to do...? "Hey Alice, uh..." He swallowed hard, trying to get down his desperate questions and growing concern, it wasn't normal, not even a single bit to hear that from such a young girl like her... and as he already launched her name, he had to think on something fast, and out of sudden the idea came, "Would you like to learn how to model glass with me?" The question didn't mean he didn't do anything in the last three days because of course he did, it was just an excuse to make her do something together and get to know her as much as he could, much more than he did now. There was this surprised look from her for a moment, to then accept the proposal.

The rest of the day they got recovered a lot of what was broken due her help, it was surprising how fast she knew how to learn everything and how smart she actually was... after they were done she was still making something, and when it was done, he got surprised: it wasn't a jar nor anything related to his laboratory but a modest, yet detailed and beautiful crystal heart... when he questioned her about it, she flinched and almost dropped it, to then hold it close to her chest and look down, he thought she actually seemed scared that he would give her a reprimend for it...

It didn't happen.

In fact he praised her for it, an act, he realized got her off-guarded for some reason, as if she was expecting him to get angry or something like that... he couldn't stop thinking she got through too much before ending there with him, hence her shy personality... she even blushed when he caressed her hair a bit, as if affection was unknown... was her family abusive to her? It just... he sighed... "What is it, Flint...?" She asked, he just smiled and took the crystal heart, got some wooden sticks from somewhere around and made a stable base for it, placing it upon his nightstand next to the frame of the picture of his mother.

"It looks good here, doesn't it, Alice?" The young inventor asked to her with a smile, Alice just seemed to be... surprised... "I gotta admit, you got a lot of talent with your hands. Have you done something like this before?" She shook her head slowly, "Oh, well, you really got a lot of talent, I admire you a lot now. It is a fine piece of art." Her cheeks grew pink with the compliment, to then give a shy smile; he looked then to time, "Oh, 11:00 PM... we should take some rest, right?"

"I guess so..."

"Okay then, let's go downstairs."

Reaching out his hand to her, they went downstairs together to her temporary (?) room, getting everything ready for her and a good night of sleep, she yawned widely when they crossed the sliding door diving the inside of the house from the backyard, covering her mouth with a hand showing her tiredness and making him chuckle, changing up the bed sheets as well for some fresh and new ones. Among all the stuff in his old wardrobe, behind all the stuff he found a teddy bear dressed with a small lab-coat he used to call Newt because of Isaac Newton... he smiled at it...

Then looked at her, and the more he saw her, the more he pondered about her petition from early... to not get too attached to her, because it'd cause him pain...? But why? Was it because she had to leave one day soon or something? He didn't know... "Flint?" Alice asked, looking at him comfused, "Are you okay?" And all he did was extend his hand to her, passing it upon her hair and then upon one of her cheeks with a serious expression, "What... what's the problem...?" She asked once again confused and blushed.

"It's nothing..." Lies, secrets and lies, "Just... if you need to talk... you can talk to me... alright?" He said with a sincere smile, wanting her to talk to him about whatever was bothering her no matter what. She just frowned a bit and nodded slightly, "And also, would you like to walk around the island tomorrow...? I can give you a tour if you want to..." His hand was still upon her face, slightly touching her hair in the process, he bit his cheeks a bit waiting for an answer, to then receive a smile and a nod, "Just when you are ready to leave tomorrow, okay?" She nodded again, "Alright then Al, have a nice night..." Newt was still on a hand, smiling, he gave it to her, "Just a small and old friend to take care of you tonight," He said, "His name is Newt, he used to be my sleeping partner when I was your age, you can have him if you want..."

"Thank you Flint..." She said with a small smile to then hug him tight, "I like him..."

"Well, I'm glad you do." They broke the hug as she hugged the bear tight as well, "Have sweet dreams Alice..." The thing she didn't expect, not even a single bit was for him to kiss her forehead in a protective-like way, "I'll see you tomorrow..." He smiled at her, she just lied down again ready to fall asleep, he didn't leave until she was completely fast asleep... he just reminded when his mother used to stay with him like that, maybe a paternally/brotherly side bloomed in him, in the same way she used to be.

Silently he left the room and closed the door gently, seeing her hugging his former teddy bear tight and completely covered with the bed sheets, to then leave to his laboratory again... slowly he got to his bed, feeling... rage? There he clenched his fists feeling like a complete idiot... "Why did I say 'yes' to her!?" He exclaimed furiously, scaring a monkey that was sleeping in his box, "Stupid, stupid moron! You fucking messed it up already" He never swears, unless he was actually real angry or something similar, then groaned a lot trying to calm down, still wondering like hell why he agreed to forget her when she leaves, he shouldn't have said that, it was a complete mistake, that's all he actually knew. He looked to his nightstand, exactly to the crystal heart he took, gently he grabbed it and looked to it: transparent, as if it just irradiated pureness, it wasn't even made of some kind of precious jewel but just a bunch of melted glass...

It was her heart... somehow...

"Fucking hell..." He swore again, "I can't do it..." He didn't actually promise he would try, he didn't mean his word, he couldn't do it anyways, "I'm a fucking idiot, aren't I...?" Without his realization, the heart was slipping from his hands, when he realized he moved his hands in the air until he managed to catch it just in time, placing it back on its base before he ended up doing something way stupid and probably getting somebody's hate for ruining her work after having praised it.

Standing up he opened the window and sat on the verge, looking to the clear, starry night. The beautiful thing of living in the middle of nowhere were those illuminated nights, even more when there was a full moon. His thoughts then drove to somewhere else, far, far away from his body maybe...

Questions...

A lot of questions...

Memories...

Open wounds...

Death around the corner...

His mom wasn't the only one he saw leaving the world...

And now he didn't want her to leave him alone again...

He didn't want to be alone again.

...

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[bordersmash8-blog]

Life Is Sweet: Chanthaburi

Chanthaburi, otherwise known as the city of the moon lies along Chanthaburi River. It is known for its gems and fruit as well as its own style of cuisine marrying fruit and savoury and sweet dishes. Come and explore this charming town and taste the region's delights!

A man paints vivid red brush strokes on a lantern while a cat lazily stretches in the heat. The pastel coloured narrow laneways of Chanthaburi are as pretty as the gems and fruit that the area is known for.

Located on the east side of Thailand, Chanthaburi is roughly 3.5 hours drive away from Bangkok, around halfway between Bangkok and Koh Mak. Many Thais use Chanthaburi as a halfway pit stop although this town has charm in spades that warrants more than a pitstop.

From the pastel French colonial architecture to the riverside where trade the trade route commenced it was a transport and commercial centre. The area is a blend of Thai, Chinese and Vietnamese people with many playing roles in the government and as merchants.

Our guide Ms O. from Take Me Tours stops at an ice cream shop. It is the town's oldest ice cream shop and for the neat sum of 12THB or $0.50cAUD you can choose one of the many colourful flavours of ice cream on offer.

I go for their most popular, the Thai milk tea, all creamy goodness on the inside with the outer of Thai tea. It slakes my thirst and cools the heat on this warm, sunny day.

Snakefruit grows all year around in Chanthaburi

We follow O down Sukhapiban Rd, dodging motorbikes where she stops frequently pointing out and buying us snacks to eat. Some stores sell precious jewellery along with snakefruit or salacca.

Chanthaburi chips

"Try these Chanthaburi chips and guess what they're made of!" she says smiling. I try one and it's like a potato or cassava chip. I'm way off. It's a durian chip (albeit one without that signature strong odour).

Elephant bananas that are shaped like tusks

She stops to buy us some Guay Nam wa or small bananas to snack on later and points out the elephant bananas hanging. These are given their name because they resemble elephant tusks.

She tells us that Chanthaburi was also known as a producer of white and black pepper-said to be spicier than normal although this industry has receded nowadays.

Another popular item to eat are noodles. With many Chinese and Vietnamese living here they sought to find a Thai made source for rice noodles and Chanthaburi was chosen as one of the areas that would supply rice noodles to Thailand. The rolling hills were ideal for growing rice and the rain from the mountains delivered enough water to grow rice.

Vertical slat houses

She points out quirky details like the architecture. Before they learned about construction, walls were built with vertical wooden slats. These would eventually prove costly to replace with the inevitable water rot and after that houses were built with horizontal slats. Some of these vertical slat houses remain.

O is from Chanthaburi and she tells us that the people here are less money focused. To that point, when we express an interest in a couple frying fish sweet meat they give us some for free to taste. We pass lots of fluffy little dogs who stand in front of shop entrances, keeping guard in the most adorably friendly way.

We stop at one store that sells different types of Thai cakes. Some are dry and sweet and made from beans while another stores sells light, crisp butter cakes made using an old family recipe. The grandmother whose recipe they use is sitting at the front of the store.

Vegan food store

O then stops at a vegan store where we try delicious tofu crisps that are full of flavour and are so good that many buy a packet to take home.

Vegan chips with kaffir lime and chilli

Street signs are adorned by rabbits. Because Chanthaburi is known as the city of the moon there is a belief that the moon has a pattern of a rabbit on it.

Inspecting the gems

We stroll through the gem market with its Arabic and Indian traders. Even the air smells different and is perfumed with Indian and Arabic spices. People sit on the sidewalk and look at gems through loupes.

We stop by the town's Gothic style Catholic Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, a rather European looking structure which was constructed (but not completed) during the French occupation.

Then we take a short drive to the main shrine where we shake a vessel filled with numbered bamboo sticks and then toss some rocks to find our fortune.

And then it's off to dinner at Chanthorn restaurant to try some of Chanthaburi's local delicacies. The food in Chanthaburi is distinctly sweet, even the savouries. And if you come during May to July you'll come in prime fruit season where you'll be able to try dishes like massaman curry with durian, rambutan duck curry and a spicy mangosteen salad.

Sauteed crab with coconut milk

We start with a crab coconut dish with crudites inclduing baby corn, cabbage and tiny eggplant which is one of my favourite dishes. It has a generous amount of crab in it and a mild sweetness with creamy coconut.

Stir fried Chanthaburi noodles with crispy crab

Then we segue towards small spicy and sweet crab with rice noodles. These are wonderful and the most popular dish at the table.

Pork curry with chamung leaves

The pork curry comes with bai chamuang or lightly astringent herbs to balance the rich, creamy and sweet curry.

Hot and sour soup with snapper, pineapple, tomato and egg

I also adore the seafood soup that has a richly flavoured stock. Even though there are so many dishes competing for my attention I have three bowls of this soup.

Chicken massaman curry

And the massaman curry is similarly rich and sweet with peanuts and soft fall off the bone chicken meat. They give us the stem of the cardamom to eat with the curry-this is an acquired taste and it tastes distinctly of menthol.

Stir fried shrimp with cardamom stem

O ordered milder items for our table because a couple of writers couldn't eat spicy but she does order one spicy dish for me. It's a spicy prawn stir fry cooked perfectly with a sweet and spicy sauce. I feel the wonderful rush of chilli on my tongue.

Stir fried string beans with dried shrimp in shrimp paste

Even the snake beans served with garlic chips are fantastic with just the right amount of crunch.

Deep fried soft shell crab with garlic and black pepper

Dessert is a mixture of things that O had purchased. We start with two types of bananas, one whiter banana with seeds in it as well as a yellow banana. They're a little different from what we get in Australia but only by a bit.

There's also coconut ice cream, durian ice cream and iced snakefruit in syrup. Snakefruit or salacca is grown all year round in Chanthaburi unlike in other areas. Durian is also grown here along with longan and mangosteen.

There's also a soup that they serve using malva nut that is said to be good for upset tummies and to treat diarrhea. It's a mild, sweet soup.

My home for the evening is the Baan Luang Rajamaitree, named after the former owner, a wealthy merchant who was dubbed "The father of rubber". It is a historic inn with a small museum downstairs. Each room is different and there is a focus on tranquility. Walk up the stairs that ask guests to "be quiet" and observe the house rules (no gambling, smoking, loud noises, cooking, fire or pets).

Many of the rooms have a loft style layout with an open staircase or bunk beds. I am staying in the Withi Chan room which is all on one level with two single beds and ensuite bathroom. It's simple and clean and there's a fridge with water and a tea and coffee service.

The bathroom has a quirky layout. There isn't soap at the sink but there are very basic toiletries with a pump dispenser of soap and shampoo in the shower. The shower recess is the base of a large wine barrel. The beds are very firm although comfortable. After a shower, I fall asleep earplugs in to the hum of motorbikes and a nearby club playing music. It's not so much tranquil if you are staying on the street side and I'd recommend a river side room.

The next morning Sophia and I walk around the town for a little while before we have breakfast. The town's folk are busy having breakfast. The noodle store across the road on the corner is doing a fast trade with its herbal pork soup (which we will have for breakfast). Across the road sticks of meat are being grilled.

We stop by a stall that is selling crispy rice flavoured with Thai herbs and spices. The crispy bottom was always my favourite part of fried rice and we watch the man press a thin layer of rice on the bottom of the wok to make it all crispy! We buy some as a snack for the upcoming plane ride.

The inn's breakfast is on the ground floor terrace and when guests check in they pre-order a choice of the herbal noodle soup with pork, an Asian breakfast with pork meatball congee and dumplings or an American breakfast of eggs and sausages.

There is also provisions for a Continental style breakfast on the tables and we spoon congee and dumplings and watch river life outside as we breakfast, reluctant to leave Chanthaburi.

So tell me Dear Reader, have you ever been to Chanthaburi? Do you like the combination of sweet and savoury or fruit with your protein?

NQN was a guest of the Tourism Authority of Thailand but all opinions remain her own.

Take Me Tour

takemetour.com/ support@takemetour.com

Chanthorn Phochana Restaurant

102/5-8 Benjamarachutis Rd., Wat Mai, Chanthaburi 22000, Thailand

Luang Rajamaitri Historic Inn

252 Sukhapiban Rd., Watmai Mueng Chanthaburi 22000, Thailand Phone: +66 88 843 4516 baanluangrajamaitri.com/en/

Source: https://www.notquitenigella.com/2019/05/03/Chanthaburi-thailand-tour/

[newstanmarshblog]

The Average and Unusual Couple: Chapter Six

   For the very time first in four years, Stan is finally at last about to enter into his old home. He stares at the house along with Lydia at his side, and his heart was still pounding following from leaving the mall.

   Lydia: Are you feeling nervous at all?

   Stan: *sigh* Honestly, it’s gonna feel so weird entering into this house and knowing that it’s also no longer my home. But I’m very curious to know to see what you guys have done with the place.

   Lydia: My mom has some of her artwork hanging around that can be a bit out of the ordinary. But other then that, everything should look almost the way it was when you and your family left. Ready to go in?

   Stan: Yes. I’m ready.

   Leading up to the sleepover, Stan had told his family about their old house being sold off to the the Deetzes and that he made friends with their daughter. Randy reacted in not caring about it at all as he was more interested to his Tegridy business. Sharon was stunned when hearing about the house being sold, although she was at least very happy to hear that Stan made friends with Lydia. And Shelly got upset over about the house being sold. When Stan told his mother about wanting to have a sleepover with Lydia, Sharon had granted him the permission to stay over at the Deetzes for the weekend. The reason for being that she can tell by looking at her son’s excitement in wanting to spend more time with a girl was something a like of which that has never occurred ever since Stan’s old relationship with Wendy. Sharon was very proud in seeing her son starting a new relationship with Lydia that could potentially lead up in them becoming a couple. She also loved seeing Stan being so happy and figured that spending more time with Lydia can help him cope easier in having to deal a lifestyle that still struggles him mentally. And early today after dropping Stan off at Stark’s Pond, Sharon went over to the Deetzes to drop off her son’s belongings for the sleepover while also getting to know Mr. & Mrs. Deetz a little bit.

   Lydia opens the front door for Stan to walk in, and as he enters into his old house, he sees that little has changed so far ever since the day he had to move out. The walls remained purple, the green couch and flat TV were still there, and the dinning table that once belonged to Stan’s grandparents remains standing. The only noticeable changes that he sees so far were the the decorations around the area. A huge multi color fractal canvas art work hangs above the green couch, some family photos were hanging in between the TV and the dinning room table, and there were three big art sculptures at the dinning table area. One sculpture shows a description of a sputnik look alike with its lines more squiggly, the other was something that looks like a Venus flytrap, and the third sculpture that sits close to the kitchen entrance was a huge green hand decorated in soft like pillow material.

   Lydia: Anyone home?

   Delia from the kitchen: Over here, Lydia! I’m just finishing up the spaghetti here.

   Stan: *smelling the spaghetti* That smells really good, Mrs. Deetz.

   Delia from the kitchen: Is that you, Stanley?

   Stan: Yep, it’s me. Although please just call me Stan.

   Delia from the kitchen: Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. So just stay put for the time being.

   Lydia: Okay, mother.

   Charles shows up coming down stairs.

   Charles: Hello, pumpkin! How was your day today?

   Lydia: It was wonderful. Stan here gave me a huge tour throwout South Park.

   Charles: Oh yes, it’s nice to finally meet you, Stan. Lydia has told me much about you.

   Stan: It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Deetz. How are you liking this town so far?

   Charles: Compare to Peaceful Pines, this town feels very quaint, and I’m liking it.

   Stan: I’m glad to hear that. If you really like having that old-fashioned feeling so much, then you should eat at Café Monet. It’s a pretty classy place that a lot of people here love going to, and they’re one of the best reviewed restaurants in South Park.

   Charles: That’s great. I’ll try visiting there someday during one of my day breaks.

   Delia comes out from the kitchen while carrying a huge bowl of spaghetti.

   Delia: Dinner is ready to be served!

   Lydia: You’re gonna love my mother’s spaghetti, Stan. It’s one of her best cooking works ever.

   Stan: Spaghetti is some of my most favorite foods ever. So I can’t wait to taste your mom’s take on it.

   They all gathered together to the dinning table to have tonight’s dinner. Everyone each had a bowl of spaghetti with three meatballs along with a glass of water and ice, and there was also an optional picking on either Italian breed or salad at the center of the table.

   Delia: So, what did you two do together today?

   Lydia: We toured around in South Park, and Stan here was such a wonderful guide.

   Delia: What places did you took Lydia to, Stan?

   Stan: We mainly walked by many places while I was explaining each location. But for places that we actually went into, we visited the Photo Dojo and ate at Freeman’s Tacos at main street, and we spend the rest of the day at the South Park mall after we finished touring the town.

   Delia: Sounds like that you two had a brilliant time together. Did you two bought anything while you were out?

   Lydia: I only got myself a memory card for my camera from the Photo Dojo, and Stan got himself a Spinosaurus tooth from a fossil shop at the South Park mall.

   Charles: A Spinosaurus tooth? You mean that very dinosaur that killed the T. rex in Jurassic Park III?

   Stan: That movie’s portrayal of the Spinosaurus has got it all wrong although a lot was not known about the animal during the film’s production. Spinosaurus may be the largest carnivorous dinosaur to ever roamed the Earth, but it actually spends much of its life as a semiaquatic creature. Their main prey were fish, and here’s a picture on what they most likely look like in real life.

   Stan shows a picture of the up to date look of the Spinosaurus to Charles from his mobile phone.

   Charles: Woah, this dinosaur looks so different than it was in the movie. It looks like a crossbreed between a crocodile and a goose.

   Stan: Our knowledge to dinosaurs keeps on evolving as we learn more about them. The more we learn more about them, the closer we get into better understanding on what they were really like in appearance and lifestyle.

   Charles: That’s really fascinating. Did Lydia ever told you that she used to be into dinosaurs when she was really young?

   Stan smiling: She sure did just today actually.

   Lydia: Yep. While we were at the Photo Dojo, I was telling him about our trip to the The Field Museum and then after saying that my love for dinosaurs was the biggest thing in my childhood, that was when he got really excited. We’re even thinking about teaming up on researching in the history of South Park during prehistoric times as a science project.

   Charles: Sounds exciting. If that ever happens, I wish you two good luck on that kind of a project.

   Lydia smiling: Thanks, father.

   Delia: So, Stan. Earlier today, me and Charles got to know your mother a little after she dropped off your sleepover gear here.

   Stan: Did you guys had fun in getting to know each other?

   Delia: Oh yes, absolutely. She’s very thoughtful, kind, and has such a progressive attitude. We’re really looking forward in talking with your mother again. She even told us that this place used to be your home.

   Stan: My mom told you two about that?

   Delia: Yes, and how things are hard for you in living in that farm. We’ve heard about Tegridy Farms and your father only about serval months ago as we were looking into buying this house, but we never had no idea that he ever had a family like yourself.

   Stan: My dad only talks about his weed products in these days, and doesn’t pay any attention to our feelings at all. Before you guys moved here, we you honestly considering trying out his weed?

   Delia: I was interested in tying it out, but not Charles.

   Charles: I’m not much a smoker as my wife here is, I prefer drinking bourbon whiskey.

   Delia: I promise you Stan that I don’t smoke during school hours, only on weekends and day breaks. But anyway, after on what your mother said about your miserable situation, I committed myself on boycotting your dad’s weed products just for you and your family.

   Stan smiling: Thank you very much, Mrs. Deetz. I seriously appreciate it.

   Delia: And besides, I’m more of a cigar kind of a person. Especially when it comes to Cuban cigars. They’re just some of the fucking best cigars that you’ll ever have!

   Charles: Delia, Delia! Remember on how talked about keeping your cigar passion opinion to yourself from our pumpkin, and from any other children?

   Delia: Oh yes, yes. Sorry about that, you two. Just promise that we’ll keep quiet about this at school.

   Both Stan and Lydia: Noted.

   About thirty minutes later after dinner started, everyone were filled up.

   Stan: Boy, that spaghetti was very well cooked and delicious, Mrs. Deetz. I really enjoyed it.

   Delia: Thank you, Stan. Would you like me to pack some left overs for you to take home?

   Stan: Sure.

   Lydia: Anything you like to do now?

   Stan: I just wanna check around the house a bit, and then settled in.

   Lydia: Okay. Since the kitchen is right beside you, why don’t you start there?

   Stan: Alright.

   He heads to the kitchen to see what has been changed. As he enters in, the kitchen still remains the same as he last saw it. From the walls still being light pink, to the floor being yellow.

   Stan: I don’t see a single change in this kitchen as I last saw it. What about the basement?

   Lydia: It’s being builded into two separate rooms. One room is for laundry, and the other is gonna be my darkroom.

   Stan: For your photo works?

   Lydia: Yep. I just wouldn’t visit down there yet. It’s still under construction.

   Stan: Oh.

   He heads back to the dinning table area for a closer look at the sculptures.

   Stan: Did your mom actually made these sculptures?

   Lydia: Yep. Every art decoration around the house is made by her. My mother made a straight rule in this family in that we don’t put up any decoration that aren’t made by us.

   Stan: Is there any decoration in here made by you?

   Lydia: Everything photo image that you’ve seen so far, along with the ones that you haven’t seen yet, are all taken by me.

   Stan: Which photo is your most favorite that you’ve taken so far?

   Lydia: It’s really hard to pick as I think they’re all fantastic, but I do have a photo display here that holds a lot of sentimental value to me.

   Stan: Which one?

   Lydia: You see the one picture of me and my parents together with our old house in the background?

   Stan: Yeah.

   Lydia: That was taken just shortly after I received my Canon EOS camera. It was the very first photo that I’ve ever taken in a more professional level.

   Stan: It looks amazing. Even my family pictures aren’t quite as nice as this. Maybe we’ll hire you someday to take a new photo of us.

   Lydia: I’ll be more than happy to do it whenever you guys need me.

   Stan and Lydia then went on up stairs to see what has become his family’s old bedrooms. He desperately wanted to see his old bedroom, but has decided that he was gonna save that room for last. He first goes into Shelly’s old bedroom, and sees that his sister’s bedroom had now become an art gallery collection.

   Stan: This room once belonged to my sister. Her mattress used to be placed next to that closet. And now I see that it has become an art room for your mom, huh?

   Lydia: Yeah. This is where my mother usually likes to be at during her free time.

   Then they went into the master bedroom where it once belong to Stan’s parents, and now it’s where Lydia’s parents sleep at. The master bedroom largely remains the same as he remembers it. The only additional thing added was a huge photo of the Deetzez family hanging above the king size mattress. Next they checked the bathroom where it remains untouched as the day when the Marsh family moved out, although Stan was having a bad memory flashback when the toilet literally blew up caused by massive diarrhea coming out from it thanks to Mr. Hankey. And the final stop before heading into his old bedroom was checking out Randy’s old business room back when he used to be a geologist. It was now Charles’ both business and relaxation room. Now they’re about to enter into the very room that Stan has been so elevated to see. The room that he once stayed at for the first ten years or his life, now belongs to his newest friend, Lydia.

   Lydia: I imagine that you saved seeing my room for last for such deep personal reasons.

   Stan: *takes a huge breath* Because it’s the very room that I once stayed at during the first ten years of my life. This is my old bedroom. And now I’m ready to be with it again.

   Lydia opens the doors, and the two walk in together. Stan begins to have a lot of emotional feelings in being back to his old room for the first time in four years. The changes into his old bedroom really didn’t bother him at all. The only thing that mattered him was that he has at last returned to his most favorite room in the entire world. He misses it so much that he was tearing up a bit about it. Lydia gently grabs Stan’s hand, and the two look at each other.

   Lydia smiling: I understand. Take as much time as you need to feel right back at home.

   Stan also gently grabs Lydia’s other hand.

   Stan smiling: Thank you so much for this, Lydia. This is the greatest gift that I can ever ask for.

   Lydia gives him a sweet hug that lasted for a couple moments, and then after claiming himself down, Stan begins to check out the entire room. He starts off by taking a look at the mattress first.

   Stan: I see that you got the exact same bed size as I do. Even though my own mattress was brought to my current room just as me and my family moved out of here, looking at your mattress being placed right at the very same spot, it feels like as if my old bed had never left here.

   Suddenly they both hear a sound of a cat coming from underneath the mattress.

   Stan: Was that a cat that I just heard?

   Lydia: Yes, we have a black cat here. *gets down onto her knees* Come on out, Percy. Come here, come here.

   Percy comes out from underneath the bed, and heads towards Lydia. She picks up her cat, and then stands back up.

   Lydia: Percy, I like to introduced to you my newest best friend, Stan.

   Stan smiling: Hello, Percy. It’s nice to meet you.

   He gives Percy a sweet pet on the head. As Stan was petting, the cat begins to purr.

   Lydia: *laughs* Sounds like Percy really likes you. He’s usually very anxious whenever meeting new people. Would you like to hold him?

   Stan: Sure. I’ll be more than happy to feel him on me.

   Lydia hands Percy over to Stan, and as he has his arms and hands around the cat, Percy rubs his head onto Stan and purrs again.

   Lydia: This is the first time that I’ve ever seen Percy enjoying a guest’s presence this much.

   Stan: I only had a few up close moments with cats so far, but none of them like this. He’s so wonderful. *laughs a bit*

   After giving Percy a few more pets, Stan puts him down on top of the bed.

   Lydia: Do you have any pets?

   Stan: We have a dog name Sparky. He’s part Doberman, and part wolf. He’s the toughest dog both in South Park, and on any mountain.

   Lydia: That’s pretty cool. What is he like?

   Stan: He’s such a wonderful dog. He can be loyal, playful, and friendly to a lot of people. Although he doesn’t do too well with other dogs.

   Lydia: I see. I often seen a lot of dogs act that way toward each other.

   Stan continues on checking out around the entire room. He looks through some of Lydia’s horror films and books from the shelves, quickly checks out Lydia’s camera, sees the mirror and desk display, looks at a small table that has a red covering with black webs on it, and now he was about to check out the closet. As he opens the closet door, he sees a lot of Lydia’s extra belongings in there such as clothing, shoes, and boxes filled with halloween stuff. While checking out the closet, he noticed a written message on the lower corner end.

   Stan: Ah, it’s still here after all these years?

   Lydia: What do you see in there?

   Stan: Right here, at the left corner end inside the closet.

   Lydia takes a look at to where Stan was pointing at. As she sees the written message, she begins to read what it saids. In the message, it reads: “Dear L. Ron Hubbard, if you’re currently reading this message, I am dead. I’m seriously sorry that my acting career is a complete failure from your point of view, and wished that I could’ve done better. But I still highly believe in the Scientology faith no matter what, and I hope you can at least appreciate that. - Tom Cruise”.

   Lydia: Huh, I’ve never noticed this since it’s so well hidden at the corner end next to the closet door inside. When did this happened?

   Stan: About five years ago, I decided to take a shot in getting help from people that work for Scientology with my depression, but things didn’t go well as I hoped. They all soon saw me as the reincarnation of L. Ron Hubbard, including Hollywood actor Tom Cruise. He uninvitedly shows up into this room and asked me on my thoughts about his acting career. When I told him that the actor who played Napoleon Dynamite was better than him, he got upset and locked himself up in this very closet for a couple days. It was only after I announced to a huge public on not being L. Ron and acknowledging Scientology as a big fat global scam was when he finally came out of the closet. It was during those couple days was when Tom Cruise made this message.

   Lydia: That’s some of the most craziest stories that I’ve ever heard. How come you never bothered on removing the message?

   Stan: My dad was gonna remove it for me, but other things got caught up around this house from actually removing it that we’ve completely forgotten about it.

   Lydia: Well, I’ll try and ask father about removing that message sometime later whenever he’s not too busy with anything.

   Later on, Stan chat with Lydia about other events that occurred back when he used to live in his old room such as owing a serial killer fish from an evil parallel universe, and having to share his room with his own fake future self. Then Lydia showed Stan her photo book of the many pictures that she took back when she used to live at Peaceful Pines. They even had some laughs together while talking about some of their favorite horror comedy films. Afterwards, they set up the air mattress for Stan to sleep at, and now Lydia has to give Beetlejuice a call as she promised him to do so earlier today.

   Lydia: I’ll be right back. I gotta use the bathroom.

   Stan: Okay.

   Lydia then walks over to the bathroom, and thankfully no one else was in there as her came in. She was completely alone.

   Lydia: Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!

   Beetlejuice shows himself at the bathroom mirror.

   Beetlejuice: Sup, Babes. How was your night?

   Lydia: It went along nicely. We all had spaghetti and some meatballs, my parents and Stan got along pretty good, and I showed Stan some of my photo collection.

   Beetlejuice: Did you showed him that one photo of me as…*turns himself into his superhero character*…UltraBeetleMan! 

   Lydia: No, Beetlejuice. I only showed him photos that aren’t supernatural related.

   Beetlejuice: Oh. *turns himself back to normal* But you know, Lyds. You gotta take him to the Netherworld eventually. I feel like Stan is a kind of guy that can catch on about your secret pretty easily the longer you keep it away from him if he’s ever gonna wonder onto why you haven’t shown up in time to meet up with him in any future planning.

   Lydia: You have a good point, but I also want him to give him a little more time in getting to know me before I show him my secret. I need to see if he’s that trust worthy enough in keeping the Netherworld a secret.

   Beetlejuice: I always have my secret gadget with me on standby in case if things ever go wrong. *turns himself into a Man in Black while holding up the neuralyzer*

   Lydia: I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Beetlejuice. And before I get myself into bed, there’s one more thing that I should tell you about Stan.

   Beetlejuice: *turns himself back to normal again* What is it?

   Lydia: This very house that I now live at, Stan and his family used to live here serval years ago. And my current bedroom once belonged to him.

   Beetlejuice: Really now? No wonder why he started a relationship with you. That pretty boy just wants nothing more than trying to make a scheme to get you folks kick out of this house so that way he can move back in here!

   Lydia: Stan is not that kind of a person. I’ve seen the honesty on his face. When he and I first had our conversation together, not only did his admitted on that this house once belonged to him and his family, but also said that he wasn’t angry at us for moving in here since we didn’t know about it at the time. We wished us all a wonderful time living in this house, and in South Park too. And he did expressed his feelings about me. He wanted to spend more time with me, and he was the very first person in this town to ask me in becoming their friend. If it wasn’t for Stan, I probably likely would’ve had a much harder time living here. And beside, Beetlejuice, you did say that he reminds you a bit of me.

   Beetlejuice: You got me on that one, Babes. And he sure was a pretty fun guy talking with. But if I’m ever gonna to fully see on what you mean about Stan, I need to let him see me as my true sensitive self. *makes a huge grin on his face showing off his disgusting teeth*

   Lydia: Once I can fully trust him on anything, then I’ll introduce him to you as your real self. But you’ll have to wait patiently until then.

   Beetlejuice: As long you don’t make anymore jokes about me being clean, you got yourself a deal.

   Lydia: Thanks, Beetlejuice.

   Beetlejuice: Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to eat some bedbugs if I’m ever gonna get some much needed sleep. I’ve been having bad dreams about sandworms again lately. Catch you later, Babes.

   Lydia: You too.

   After Beetlejuice disappears back to the Netherworld, Lydia returns back to her room as she sees Stan looking at the rocky mountains from the window.

   Lydia: It’s a wonderful view of those mountains from down here, ain’t it?

   Stan: Yeah, it sure is. Back when I used to live here, whenever I look at them, it makes me feel so claim. Helps me to forget my troubles in the world.

   Lydia: I feel the same way too. The beautiful viewing of the mountains in here is the main reason why I chose this room.

   Stan smiling: I’m very glad that you picked this room to stay at. If I were to share any room with one person in any place on Earth, I’ll choose you, Lydia.

   Lydia smiling: I’ll pick you too, Stan.

   They look at each other for a brief moment, and then check to see that it was past eleven o’clock.

   Stan: Well, we better get some sleep now to feel good in the morning. I’ll let you get into your bed first before I get into the air mattress.

   Lydia: Actually, I was thinking that you should sleep in my bed for the night.

   Stan surprised: Really? Are you sure about this?

   Lydia: I’m sure. You did so much for me this week. You stood up for me against those goth kids, became my first friend in this town, and you were such a marvelous tour guide to me and my cousin early today. And knowing on how much this house and this room means to you, I really want you to have that home sweet home feeling at least one more time by sleeping in my bed.

   Stan felt a warmth pound in his heart, never expecting this to happen. He was already happy enough to back in his old room again, but to be given the exact chance to feel right back at home in sleeping at the very same place as it used to be, that really means the whole world to me.

   Stan: I…I…I really don’t know how to put this in long sentences, but you just simply made my whole life worth living again. Thank you. *begins to smile*

   Lydia smiling: I’m just very happy to have you as a new part of my life, Stan. Thank you for making this town worth living for me.

   The two hug each other a very long moment, and then they get ready to get some sleep.

   Stan: Have a good night sleep, Lydia.

   Lydia: Same goes to you too, Stan.

   They both shut their eyes to get a good night rest. While Stan thinks on how extremely happy he is to have a new girlfriend in his life, Lydia was also very happy to have a new friend that loves her for the way she is. But at the same time, she was also beginning to see Stan on not just as an ordinary friend, but probably as her first ever boyfriend.

   In the next chapter, Lydia takes Stan to the Netherworld.

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

Israeli Pastries Get a New York Metropolis Makeover at LES Bakery

http://tinyurl.com/y4dedu9m Whereas sitting in his eponymous new Israeli-style bakery, 35-year-old baking guru Adir Michaeli paints an image: It’s Friday afternoon in Tel Aviv, and your Jewish mother is cooking for tonight’s Sabbath dinner. Aromas emanating from a rainbow of stews, rice dishes, pot roasts, schnitzels, and kugels waft via the air as you get again from college, ravenous. “Don’t contact something! It’s for tonight!” screams mother as you’re reaching for a meatball. “Go downstairs and get one thing,” she says. So that you stroll into your neighborhood bakery and are welcomed by the slew of girls shopping for challah and children in search of one thing as sweet-smelling and scrumptious because the meals they simply observed in their very own kitchens—albeit not off-limits. Enter the bureka, a baked pastry full of potatoes or spinach and even served plain, heat and moist, that’s a cornerstone of Israeli delicacies and is the precise sort of fare that Michaeli is seeking to serve at Michaeli Bakery on Division Road in New York Metropolis. At first look it’s an odd location however one which finally ends up serving his final purpose: to offer meals to individuals who have but to find the ability of a neighborhood patisserie. “[This] neighborhood didn’t have an actual, traditional bakery shut by, and this was one thing that I wished to do,” Michaeli says whereas sitting within the slim retailer full of crops, an open kitchen, white counter tops, and 6 stools. “It’s very good to go downstairs for a couple of minutes to seize one thing or on the best way from work to choose up some gadgets for the youngsters.” Let’s begin with the fundamentals, which I’ve tried to avoid till now, given Michaeli’s personal disposition: The baker is the genius behind the chocolate babka cake served at Manhattan’s Breads Bakery, which revolutionized the native culinary scene and was, arguably, one of many first-ever desserts to “go viral” on social media. Shifting to New York from his hometown in Tel Aviv again in 2013 to open the American model of Mafiat Lehamim (which interprets from Hebrew to English as “bakery of breads”), Michaeli spent over 5 years at what’s now a New York staple, serving to propel the venue to success largely because of his personal candy invention. However the baker doesn’t need to discuss Breads—and it’s not due to any form of animosity. Quite the opposite, Michaeli left what he calls his “dwelling” (he nonetheless makes use of the pronoun “we” when discussing Breads) underneath nice auspices and calls his new store “second” to Breads’ “first.” (“[It’s] arithmetic, it’s very fundamental: We’re the second, they’re the primary,” Michaeli explains.) However Michaeli says he feels Manhattan is owed one thing new and totally different. That’s not as a result of the babka shouldn’t reign supreme. Michaeli additionally serves the candy cake at Michaeli Bakery, though Michaeli says he prefers “this not be what’s flashing in my bakery. I actually like the truth that this was in Breads, and it ought to keep there as their factor.” Quite, Michaeli thinks the scene is ripe for the types of flavors that might tickle American palates. However Michaeli is fast to notice that he’s dealing in Israeli merchandise and never Jewish ones, as loads of publications have inaccurately labeled his choices. “Custom has nothing to do with faith,” he says, explaining that there actually isn’t such a factor as a “Jewish” baked good. Adir Michaeli on the counter of his Decrease East Aspect store, Michaeli Bakery. Michaeli’s drive to be greater than a one-hit surprise is palpable, particularly when contemplating his devotion to turning the bakery right into a viable enterprise impartial from the level of “viralism” of his creations. Nowhere is that this method extra obvious than in his choice to delay the discharge of what he’s certain might be a scrumptious, revolutionary product till the autumn. “I actually wished the bakery to be revered and beloved for itself, with none buzz,” Michaeli says, echoing his emotions about his connection to the chocolate babka: He desires patrons to stroll in not figuring out a lot about him. “As a result of if the product is nice, and it’s good in my view, I don’t need to combine it with some PR buzz, particularly within the Instagram period.” However curious minds wander, particularly after tasting a roster of sweets now obtainable on the eatery. The mere considered a product much more delectable and so good it must be stored a secret is mind-boggling. The baker is intransigent, although, and divulges solely that the delicacy might be “contemporary each couple of minutes,” has chocolate and “highly regarded parts” inside, and can awaken senses not simply via style but in addition contact. Principally, a gastronomic utopia is about to bombard New York Metropolis. For now, although, New Yorkers must do with Michaeli’s present choices. Amongst them: a unprecedented kugelhopf (“one thing between a super-light brioche and a really wealthy cake”) that begs to be devoured, rugelach cookies drenched in chocolate (in a great way), and three forms of burekas, savory stuffed pastries. The bakery additionally serves apple pies in addition to chocolate and almond croissants, which appear to strike removed from the ethnic idea he’s inviting individuals to take pleasure in. “Some merchandise are traditional and are associated to the idea of the bakery generally,” Michaeli explains. “Particularly once you’re not in your individual nation, you must current one thing that there’s a request for. That’s the idea of excellent enterprise. Then, when the shopper trusts you with what he likes, I consider they’ll be way more open to strive one thing crazier.” Michaeli additionally factors out the supremacy of sure traditional American items. “The American chocolate chip cookie is the most effective I’ve ever tasted. As a result of [Americans] don’t care: They put chocolate, sugar, peanut butter.” His imaginative and prescient of what’s proper throughout the U.S. ecosystem of pastries will get the Israeli therapy along with his yet-to-be-released (however not secret) Enjoyable Cake: “It’s a cheesecake, sort of Ben & Jerry’s–type. I put all the good things inside.” The shattering of pre-established strategies is the driving insanity behind Michaeli’s genius. When requested to check the American means with Israelis’ conduct towards meals, Michaeli says that in his hometown “everyone has an opinion” and that has “helped form our style.” “We put the e-book apart, we put apart all of the skilled conventional processes of the French [so] you’ve this basis to deviate after,” Michaeli continues. “I respect [the French way], however within the final time period of my profession, I began deviating.” So why not observe via along with his unique plans of opening up store in Tel Aviv? “There are many bakeries with ideas much like this in Israel and, throughout my keep right here, I bought to know the town, the American buying and meals habits,” Michaeli says. “I actually really feel there’s loads of area nonetheless for the Israeli taste and contact.” Extra must-read tales from Fortune: —Oaxacan cuisine seems to be poised to make its mark with U.S. diners —Evaluate: Chicago’s Yūgen is pleasant, however generally overwrought —To fight meals waste, these Brooklyn companies teamed as much as brew bagel beer —Toronto is dwelling to a thriving Syrian food scene —Take heed to our new audio briefing, Fortune 500 Daily Follow Fortune on Flipboard to remain up-to-date on the newest information and evaluation. 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