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slytherinknowitall · 4 years ago

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Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 16: Sit, Drink, Talk

(Click here for chapter 15!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Severus could not help but notice a change in his apprentice’s behaviour over the next couple of days.

Unlike her last emotional low, Granger did still show up to class; however, she’d stopped raising her hand and kept her head down working quietly during the majority of the lessons. She also appeared to have changed her regular meal times, and, whenever she still could not avoid running into her “friends”, she would sit at the opposite end of the long Gryffindor table, eating alone. Sometimes, she would also just skip meals all together. And while she continued to visit his office on the daily, her mood had definitely changed as well. She seemed a lot sadder and less carefree than usual. Severus would often try to engage her in interesting discussions about potions and the like, but they would all soon fizzle out as she did not appear to want to talk much.

Severus was becoming increasingly irritated. Not only did it hurt him to see her feel that way, but he also selfishly wanted his Hermione back – the one he could spend hours quietly working on potions with, the one that would pester him with countless questions, the one that would give him a great big smile whenever she walked through his door. Now, she was only a shadow of her former self, and he hated it.

And so, he decided that he had to do something about it.

*************** *************** ***************

Hermione threw her heavy bookbag on her bed with a loud grunt. She was feeling extremely frustrated. Not only was she currently struggling to come up with a solution for an especially tricky equation that was part of the Arithmancy homework she would have to hand in the following week, but she had also been unable to cast the new spell they had learnt about in Defence Against the Dark Arts earlier today. And while it was almost dinner time now and her stomach was actually growling, she really did not feel like going down to the Great Hall and facing her estranged friends. She could not stand the way they stared at her whenever she was forced to walk past them to sit down as far away from them as possible.

She sighed as she bent over and gave Crookshanks, who was curled up at the foot of her bed, a quick cuddle. Perhaps she could sneak down to the kitchens later and manage to grab a quick bite that way. Straightening, she then turned and walked into her small study, where she sat down at her overloaded desk and began to work on trying to solve that stupid equation.

It must have been about an hour and a half later when her concentration was interrupted by an all too familiar tapping noise. Sure enough, there was a little school owl sitting on the windowsill. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

Another late-night delivery? Surely it couldn’t be …

An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, she walked over, opened the window and made sure to give the bird a treat before carefully untying a small scroll from its left leg. After watching the animal fly away into the starry sky, she returned to her desk and unrolled the letter. Just like last time, there was no sender; however, the penmanship was all too familiar.

My office, 10.30 pm.

How strange, she thought. Why would he want to see her after curfew? Tapping her fingers against the tabletop, she allowed herself to ponder for a moment. But no matter how hard she cudgelled her brain, she simply could not come up with a plausible explanation for this ever so peculiar summoning.

Standing up, she began to pace around the room. The only possible reason he would invite her over this late that she could come up with was something forbidden, like dark magic or an illegal potion. Hermione could feel her cheeks start to burn. While she had never been one to break the rules, the thought of Professor Snape being a – for the lack of a better word – bad boy made her feel queasy in all the good ways for some reason.

Stop it, Hermione! That’s Professor Snape you are thinking of!

But with way too much time left on her hands until she was supposed to meet up with her tutor, the Muggle-born’s thoughts began to run wild: Professor Snape showing her a ground-breaking discovery he had just made, Professor Snape smuggling her out of school grounds to bring her to a secret gathering of the wizarding world’s best potioneers, Professor Snape regarding her intently as his lips were getting dangerously close to hers … Because if Hermione Granger was good at something, it was overthinking.

By the time she stole out of her tower to make her way down to the dungeons, Hermione had completely forgotten about dinner and Arithmancy. She had been too preoccupied by thoughts about the purpose of their meeting. Not by thoughts about Professor Snape, she tried telling herself; but subconsciously, she knew that she was lying to herself.

She did not know where it had come from, why her head was suddenly filled with unchaste ideas about her teacher. She was a bit too old to attribute them to pubertal confusion. All she knew was that she admired Professor Snape. He was a well-accomplished Potions Master, one of the smartest yet most mysterious people she had ever met and, if she was being honest with herself, not too bad looking either. He intrigued her, and the beating of her heart had suddenly quickened when she’d read his note. What would this encounter have in store for her?

It was a long walk from the Head Girl Tower down to the Potions professor’s office, but Hermione knew that she would not get caught. Among the perks of her position was knowing the patrol schedule as she too was sometimes required to aid school staff when it came to making rounds through the castle’s endless corridors. Her outfit was a bit more casual than what she would normally wear to see one of her teachers. She had combined a pair of light wash jeans with lined slippers and a really thick, bright-red woollen sweater, with the latter intended to protect her from the penetrating November cold – after all, Hogwarts was not exactly known for its good insulation. She had debated about whether she should have kept on her uniform but ultimately decided that Professor Snape could not expect her to be dressed formally if he sent for her past regular school hours.

It felt like an eternity had passed before she finally turned the corner and found herself in the corridor in which Professor Snape’s office was located. She knew that she was running a few minutes early, and she had actually planned to wait them out before knocking on the door; but to her surprise, the wizard was already waiting for her in the hallway. Seemingly out of nowhere, she felt her hands get sweaty.

“Good evening, Professor,” she said quietly; it was merely a whisper. “Aren’t we going inside?”

Snape mustered her for a second, noticeably surprised by her attire, and Hermione promptly started to regret her fashion choice; however, he did not comment on it. Instead, he let his voice resonate from the stone walls as he replied, “No. Tonight, we shall retreat to my private quarters. Follow me.”

And before she could get another word in, he had already spun around and was hurrying through the gloomy dungeon maze.

Hermione could feel her chest tighten painfully as she tried to keep up with the man’s long legs. “Private quarters? What in the name of Merlin is going on?!” the voice inside her head screamed. Sure, she had been in there before, but that had been during an emergency situation; she would have never thought that he would ever invite her back. Yet again, her own thoughts were threatening to overwhelm her.

Soon, they arrived at the portrait marking the hidden entrance to the professor’s rooms. Hermione could hear him mumble something under his breath before she watched the painting swing open. Almost instantaneously, she felt his hands on her shoulders. He practically pushed her inside.

Stepping into his sitting room, she immediately felt calmer. She had fallen in love with this place the very second she had first laid eyes upon it. The countless books lining the walls, the dark yet homely interior design as well as the overall cosy feeling just filled her with joy. If she were to imagine her dream home, it would definitely look something like this.

As soon as she turned around, however, her blissfulness swiftly turned into nervousness again. There he was, Professor Snape, just standing in the corner and staring at her with an expressionless face that made her whole body stiffen up. His presence was looming over her, and it somehow made her feel excited and scared to death at the same time.

You’re not twelve anymore, Hermione. He doesn’t scare you any longer. He’s still the same person you’ve been spending time with every day for weeks now!

But she simply could not help it. Merely standing next to him made her feel incredibly anxious.

“Sit down,” he all of a sudden ordered, pointing at one of the wing chairs in front of the fireplace – and without thinking, Hermione complied.

*************** *************** ***************

The only thing interrupting the silence was the crackling sound of fire. Sitting in the other identical chair just a few feet away, Severus watched the girl closely. She seemed nervous for some reason – her right leg was bouncing up and down restlessly, and she was back to gnawing at her bottom lip. Her eyes would not meet his; instead, they were clued to the floor. But he guessed that he could not blame her since it was indeed an incredibly weird situation.

Truth be told, he felt very much the same. Internally, he was chiding himself for being such a slave to his emotions. He knew that it had been wrong to invite her here, of course; that it would only make their relationship more personal which it definitely should not become. But he had just felt this inexplicable urge to do something, and, with how inexperienced he was when it came to social interactions, this was the only thing he could come up with – to try to make things better.

Admittingly, Severus was still a bit shocked by her look. He obviously knew that students often chose to wear casual clothing outside of class; after all, he had been a student at one point, too. And needless to say, he had seen her dressed in something other than her uniform before – during their coincidental confrontation in the Hospital Tower, a couple of times at Grimmauld Place, and in the memories which he had secretly viewed over a month ago, to name just a few instances. But for some reason, tonight was something else. Her outfit was definitely not special or provocative by any means, yet it threatened to disarm him wholly. The way the tight jeans hugged her curves, the way that the red of the jumper complimented her complexion – she was effortlessly breath-taking. It literally took him all of his hard-earned self-control not to start drooling right then and there.

When he had initially come up with his plan to help her feel better again, he had not thought about how it would all actually go down, and so quite frankly, the awkward silence was intimidating him a bit now. In an attempt to break the tension that currently filled the room, he conjured a silver tray with a large teapot, two dainty porcelain cups and a plate of biscuits straight from the nearby kitchens. A flick of his hand was all that was needed to propel the iron kettle into the air and command it to pour out the piping hot herbal tea. Leaning forward, Severus then handed Granger one of the cups without a word before setting the other one down on the small wooden table beside him. She accepted the beverage without complaint; however, after a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, Severus noticed that she still had not touched it.

“Drink,” he said a little bit too loudly, making her jump. But still, she did end up taking a small sip. His own cup continued to sit on the side table untouched, where it would remain like that for the rest of the night.

Taking a deep breath to gather up his courage, he then finally managed to force out the words, “Now talk.” He prayed to the gods that she had not heard the slight crack in his voice.

“Pardon?” Granger looked up at him with her brows furrowed in confusion.

Severus gulped. This was not going well.

“Talk,” he repeated hoarsely, staring directly into her whiskey-coloured eyes.

“About what, sir?”

He was not sure when it had started exactly, but he had come to hate it when she used honorifics to address him. It merely served as a reminder of their teacher-student relationship – of how inappropriate his crush really was.

“Your … feelings.”

As expected, her mouth dropped open. “Um –“

Severus interrupted her quickly, internally starting to panic.

“Miss Granger, I simply cannot work like this! I need an apprentice who is able to dedicate herself completely to the subject of potion brewing, and the conflict with your little friends is obviously preventing you from doing so. You left me with no choice but to do something about it! If I have learnt anything from mainstream literature and cinematography, it is that women like to solve their problems by talking about them. So go ahead.” He knew that he was speaking too fast – he was painfully aware of it, in fact – but he simply could not help it. “Talk.”

Granger’s puzzled facial expression showed just how lost she was for words. “Professor Snape, I don’t –“

“This is probably the only time I will ever say this aloud, but you are truly an excellent apprentice. I enjoy working with you, and so if this is what it takes for you to become productive again, then please, by all means, speak!”

It was rather fascinating how easily readable she was sometimes; Severus was practically able to watch her inner debate with his own eyes as a whole array of different emotions washed over her face. Finally – it felt like it had been forever – she came to a decision.

“I mean, I can understand that they feel a bit let down by me, but I still don’t think that their reaction was justified,” she mumbled, the primitive dance of the flames inside the fireplace reflecting in her pupils.

Not saying anything, Severus waited until she was ready to continue. He had learnt a long time ago that most people would eventually start talking again just to make the unpleasant taciturnity go away.

“Every single year, during the height of Quidditch season, I barely get to see all three of them. But did I ever complain? No! I have always understood that that’s their passion. I have always put their needs and wants before mine. I come to every single one of their games to support them, to cheer them on – yet they complain whenever I ask them to join me for a study session at the library. But then as soon as exams roll around, I’m suddenly in high demand again …”

Barely holding back tears, her whole body began to shake, and there was nothing that Severus wanted to do more than to close the short distance between them, to hold her and calm her down like he had done that one night in his office. But he forced himself to stay put.

“I don’t even know how many assignments I have helped them with over the years. You better don’t believe that even half of the essays they have submitted to you were actually written by them. I normally take academic integrity really seriously, but shit!” Severus’ eyebrows shot up in surprise at her use of a curse word. “Ron and Harry wouldn’t even have made it past first year if I hadn’t helped them. I pretty much pushed them through six years of schooling myself, and this is the thanks I get? THEY DIDN’T EVEN CARE ENOUGH TO SPEND TIME WITH ME ON MY BIRTHDAY, BECAUSE OF FUCKING COURSE QUIDDITCH IS MORE IMPORTANT! DID I SAY ANYTHING BACK THEN?!”

The petite woman was screaming at this point.

“Do they think I enjoyed being pushed to the centre of a bloody war just because I was friends with The Boy Who Lived? Do they think I enjoyed putting my life on the line every single day starting when I was still just a child? Time after time, I saved their asses from certain death, and now that the war is over, now that I do not have to worry about that shit anymore, they get mad at me for finally doing what I enjoy?!” By now, her face was covered in tears. “How dare they fuck me over like this! HOW DARE THEY! It’s like our friendship only exists on their terms. So what if I fucking missed lunch with them? Oh yeah, because that totally cancels out the time I got FUCKING TORTURED by that bitch Lestrange; when I was almost killed but did not say a single fucking word because I had to protect them!”

Granger let out an agonised whimper as she grabbed the left sleeve of her jumper and yanked it up, revealing a horrific sight: there, on the inside of her forearm, the word MUDBLOOD was carved into her delicate flesh over and over again, marking her from her wrist all the way up to the crook of her arm. The cuts – the dozens of them that were there – must have been extremely deep, as each dark red letter was elevated noticeably from her pale skin.

Without thinking, Severus jumped out of his seat. He was by his beloved’s side in no time.

“Bellatrix,” he hissed under his breath. The witch was lucky that she was already dead, because he certainly would not have been nice to her – not after seeing this. Kneeling next to the weeping girl, he carefully held her fragile arm in his wiry hands as he nonverbally cast different diagnostic spells.

“Why have I never seen this before?!” He had known that Granger had briefly fallen into enemy hands during the final battle; but no one, neither the Order nor the Dark Lord, had ever mentioned that torture had taken place. He could feel himself get angrier by the second. “Albus should have told me!”

Granger would not meet his gaze. “I don’t think he knows. Nobody knows. I usually cover it up with a charm.”

The anguish in her voice made his heart ache.

“This looks bad,” he whispered, even as everything inside him screamed to go on a murderous rampage. “But I am sure it could be fixed. We could try an ointment, maybe a potion. If you’d just give me enough time to come up with –“

“No,” she cut him off, pulling back her arm and covering up the marks with her sleeve again. “It’s of no use. She used some type of ancient pure-blood curse so it would never go away. Trust me, I’ve tried everything.”

Severus was taken aback by the sudden lack of emotion in her voice.

“I’ll just have to live with it. It’s a daily reminder of my real place in the wizarding world … a daily reminder of how worthless the blood running through my veins really is.”

Hopelessly despaired, Severus wanted to say something – anything – to the contrary and was desperately searching for the right words. But in the end, he stopped himself; nothing he could possibly say right now would make this situation any better. He had seen his fair share of magical injuries over the years, but this was definitely one of the worst. If Granger was right – if this had really been an ancient curse – then there was nothing he or anyone else could do. The fact that she was able to cover it up when needed was already incredible and showed just how unbelievably capable she truly was.

Still wanting to comfort his little witch and show sympathy somehow, he found himself reaching out and carefully placing his hand on hers. He heard her draw a sharp breath upon contact, and for a split second, he was afraid that she would pull away from him. But then, ever so lightly, she squeezed his fingers.

They stayed in that position for a very long time, holding hands in silence as they watched the fire slowly burn out. It was not until there was only a handful of dying embers left that he spoke up again, having to clear his throat first after not saying anything in so long.

“I know that nothing could ever possibly replace your friends, but if you want to then you can come here anytime you wish. I have a lot of books that I am sure you would enjoy, and if you ever don’t feel like eating in the Great Hall, the house elves do offer rather good room service. And they are very much discreet at that, too.” His heart was beating so fast and loud that he was sure all of Scotland could hear. “I wouldn’t really mind your company either. After all, you do seem to be the only person in the entire castle that is able to hold an intellectually stimulating conversation for longer than five minutes.”

For the first time tonight, he saw the corners of her mouth lift a little.

“I’d love that,” she said softly.

Severus could not stop himself from grinning back at her.

“Great!” he exclaimed without a care in the world about whether he sounded just a little bit too enthusiastic in that moment. “Then let me just quickly jot down the password for you.”

“A-are you sure? I mean, I could just knock!”

Severus chuckled at her shocked expression as he stood up and walked over to his secretary desk.

“I think your position as Head Girl proves that you are more than trustworthy. As long as you promise me that you are over your ‘breaking in and stealing from other people’s private stocks’ phase from five years ago, I think that we should be just fine.”

Granger’s face instantly mottled crimson.

“You know that was me?” she whispered, positively mortified.

“You were sitting in the Hospital Wing a half-human half-cat. It did not take a genius to connect the dots. Besides, who do you think brewed you the antidote?”

“Oh god! Sir, I am so, so sorry! I –“

“It’s all right. Here,” he said, handing her a small piece of paper. “Come and go as you wish. Even when I am not here.”

“I, I –“ Severus could not help it – the mean professor inside him still for some reason enjoyed seeing a student stammer helplessly right in front of him. “I don’t even know what to say, sir. Thank you so much. For your kind offer and for letting me get it all out. I appreciate it, really!”

An hour later, as he laid alone in bed, Severus could only think of one thing: he never knew that Granger could swear like that.

(Click here for chapter 17!)

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ablogcalledrevenge · 5 years ago

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Never Really Over

(a Gabriel O’Malley x Reader Insert Multichapter Fic, Rated M)

Chapter One

There’s a knock on your door around 7pm on Friday night. You’re not expecting anyone and you freeze on the couch, knowing the episode of Wonder Woman is loud and clear. You grab your gun from the table and shove it in the back of your shorts, the metal cold against your skin. It might be nothing, but better to be safe than sorry. Los Angeles in 1978 was a seedy place and you weren’t an idiot. It’s also interesting to note because you live in a gated apartment complex; no one can get in without you letting them in first. So whoever’s at your door means business.

You unbolt and open the door, see who it is, and immediately slam the door in their face.

“Hey! Fuck (Y/N), let me in! I gotta talk to you. Open the damn door!” He yells through the wood, not doubt alerting your neighbors. Unfortunately it was now that you regretted living with so many secretive people; they knew not to call the cops. While most of the time that was a good thing, now you wish they would. He deserved a long stay in some holding cell after what he put you through. But you also knew he was stubborn and would probably stay there all night yelling if you let him. So with a sigh, you open the door and let him in.

Gabriel O’Malley steps over the threshold and back into your life like nothing ever happened. Like you’d never told him you loved him, and like he never left you without a word. Like a year hadn’t passed without so much as a phone call. You were a little surprised by how much it hurt to see him, how much you still weren’t over him. It was embarrassing.

He sits down at your kitchen table, quiet and waiting. There is a brief standoff where you just stare at each other. Throwing up your hands, you turn on the stove to boil water for tea. You grab mugs from the cabinet, unthinkingly taking his favorite- blue and green swirled porcelain- without even realizing.

“You know, you got a lotta of nerve coming back here. Everyone knows what you did to me, you’re not going to find many sympathetic friends.” You say as the tea brews. He doesn’t say anything, content to watch you. You’re annoyed that he caught you in your pajamas. It’s a cute set, a pink satin tank and shorts your sister gave you, but he doesn’t deserve to see it. You should plug him full of lead right now, the absolute nerve!

“Yeah well, I couldn’t stay in New York. Shit happened.” He finally says, as you give him his tea. You could doctor it up just the way he likes, you still remember, but instead you place milk and sugar on the table between you. He doesn’t look bad if you’re being truthful. He looks like he gained a little bit of weight, which was good since he was such a beanpole, but he’d lost a lot of the beautiful color he’d gotten working in LA. Everything else is the same. His hair, his stubble, his clothes, the mole on his cheek you used to kiss for luck. It’s all there and you can feel your heart shriveling in your chest.

“Oh I know. We all know what went down in New York. It’s a fucking mess, is what happened. I mean, I’m all for girl power but you completely dismantled Hell’s Kitchen. Apparently the broads you backed couldn’t even keep themselves together. You stole the Hasidim from the Italians, which was a risky move, and you’re gonna hear about it for sure. But then, the girls start to split; one of ‘em died and the other is trying for Harlem? Yeah, good luck with that.” You snort into your tea. He looks pained at the mention of Claire’s death but it’s true. If she were smart, she wouldn’t have died.

“And now you’ve come crawling back to us. You backed the wrong horse and you know if you show your face in Midtown, they’ll cut your throat. I don’t know what’s more stupid; that you came back at all, or that you thought this would work? Did you expect me to open the door and fall into your arms with gratitude? Think you could just walk into Zayde’s office and get your job back? Are you outta your fucking mind? They’ll kill you when they find out you’re back.” You promise, trying to keep your voice down. The walls between apartments were insulated and people minded their own business, but this was still a touchy subject.

“Look I know I messed up! I was trying to help. They’re my people, some of them family and they needed help. The guys in charge were running it into the ground. You should’ve seen the way they treated their wives, it was disgusting! Believe me, even with all the bullshit, the Kitchen is better with the women in charge. But I got too invested and Cathy told me to leave, so here I am. They’re not gonna kill me, I’m no rat. I just, you know, abandoned the family and broke your heart. Sorry by the way.” He shrugs, looking sheepish but not worried. You see red and stand up from the table.

“Sorry by the way? Sorry by the way! You fucking schmuck! You broke my heart! You left without a word, without a reason. I didn’t know what happened to you or where you were. I thought you’d been taken or killed! And then I hear that you’re in New York, helping the Irish and screwing some married bitch! The same one I’ve been in the shadow of since we met! You expect me to be okay with a sorry?” You accuse, the anger practically steaming off your body.

He sips his tea and you almost lunge across the table. Your cat tinkles in from the other room and meows at Gabriel, who peers down with a very soft look. Your heart cracks again.

“Since when do you have a cat? She’s cute.” He asks, picking up Magenta and letting her snuggle against his chest. You glare at the traitor, as if you didn’t cry into her fur about the man holding her.

“I got her about 6 months ago. It helped to have someone around, even if she couldn’t really talk back. I just got really lonely here.” You admit, finger running along the lip of your mug.

“What? You haven’t dated anyone since I left?” He asks, looking genuinely confused. Which surprises you considering he’s here to apologize and possibly worm his way into your heart. But his surprise that you weren’t seeing anyone didn’t add up with the other stuff. Why would he want you to date other people? Maybe to make him feel less guilty?

“No I did, but it was never that serious. I just didn’t feel like getting involved with anyone like that. It felt like I was betraying you, even though you would’ve deserved it.” You can hear the faint sounds of Lynda Carter stopping bullets from the other room. Then a beer commercial starts and you bite your lip to stop yourself from crying. With him in the apartment, it’s like everything is reminding you of before. Before he left for New York and took your heart with him.

“Yeah well, looks like we’re both back to square fucking one.” Gabe scoffs, draining his cup and letting Magenta jump down from his lap. He glances around your apartment, though it hasn’t changed much in a year, before leaning back in his chair.

“So, where am I sleeping?” He asks and you pull the gun from your shorts and point it in his face. You’ve reached your tipping point with him, clearly.

“Un-fucking-believable. If you think you can just come back here and everything will go back to the way it was, you’ve got another thing coming. Now get outta my house.” Your gaze is deadly and your hand doesn’t shake. Gabe gets up slowly and walks towards the door, hands up in a placating gesture. The barrel follows him. He opens the door and steps out of your apartment and into the warm night air.

“You look real beautiful (Y/N), fuck it’s good to see you.” He says wistfully before you slam the door in his face again. What an asshole. Still, you can’t help but smile at his boldness. Gabriel O’Malley wasn’t a loud man, didn’t care about being in the spotlight, but he was always bold. It was nice to see some things hadn’t changed.

~~~~~~~~

He ends up taking a bus to Tony’s house, happy to still remember where everything is. The house looks the same, pale green siding with blooming flower boxes under the window. It looks like the hydrangeas finally grew, that was nice.

Taking a deep breath, Gabe knocks on the door as the fireflies buzz around him. Shit, it was late, wasn’t it? He should’ve come at a different time. But before he could flee, the door opens.

“Gabey! Oh Gabey, it’s so good to see you! Come inside and eat something, I made stuffed shells. Here, I’ll get you a plate.” Mrs. Petrillo says, ushering him into the house. Even if he wanted to argue, he wouldn’t. You didn’t argue with Mrs. Petrillo. She was 5 feet of pure Italian dynamite and he loved the old broad to pieces.

A huge plate of food is set in front of him, along with wine and bread, and he eats happily as Mrs Petrillo putters around her kitchen. Her house slippers make scuffing noises on the laminate floor and the sound is comforting to him.

“Gabey patatino, how are you? What are you doing back? How was New York?” She asks, sitting next to him at the old diner style table and patting his hand.

“I’m good Mrs. P, I’m good. New York was… well some good things happened and some bad things happened but I’m doing okay.” He explains in between bites. She makes a sympathetic noise and gives him another slice of bread.

“Hey Ma, who was at the door? Was it… Gabriel O’Malley, you sonuvabitch! You know, you gotta lot of nerve coming back here.” Tony says, entering the kitchen with a grimace. Gabe gives a tight smile in response.

“Anthony Michael, is that any way to talk to your friend? Let him eat before you start yelling in my kitchen.” Mrs. P shoots back. Her son looks abashed for all of a moment before rounding back to Gabe, his gold cornicello swinging on his neck.

“Friend? This chooch fucks off for New York without a word and breaks (Y/N)’s heart with it and we’re supposed to let him back like it’s nothing? Ma, he doesn’t deserve the stuffed shells.” He yells, rightfully so; Gabe thinks as he wipes his mouth.

Tony’s mother starts yelling about language and hospitality but the sound of Gabe pushing his chair back makes them quiet.

“He’s right Mrs. Petrillo. I’m a real jerk. I did a lot of things wrong. I was trying to help who I thought was my family and I ended up hurting the real one I had here. I made a lotta mistakes, the biggest one being how I treated her. But that’s why I’m back. I want to say I’m sorry, sorry to everyone, and fix things with her. I know it’s a mess, I don’t even have a place to stay or money.” Gabe sighs, rubbing at his forehead.

Mrs. P makes a soft sound of commiseration and hugs him.

“Don’t worry patatino, everything’s gonna be fine. You can stay here until you get back on your feet. Right Anthony?” She offers, shooting a glare at her son. He glares at Gabe before nodding in concession.

“I can’t stay mad at you, you leprechaun. Stay here and work on getting your life together.” Tony says, joining his mother to wrap Gabe in a hug.

For the first time in months, Gabriel feels safe, he feels comforted. In New York, despite the power he had and Claire in his bed, he always felt so antsy. Like he was just waiting for everything to fall out from under him. When it did, well, it was probably a good thing that no one was in the train compartment with him on his way back to California.

“So what do I do Tony? Got any jobs for me? You know I’m good for it.” He finally says when he sits back down at the table to eat and his throat doesn’t feel so tight.

“Well, there is a wedding next week.” Tony says and he grins over his wine glass and Gabriel can’t help but laugh and raise his own glass in agreement.

Chapter Two Coming Soon...

Tagging: @babbushka, @theold-ultraviolence

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#never really over #the kitchen #gabriel o'malley x reader #gabriel o'malley #reader insert fanfiction #self insert fanfiction #gabriel o'malley imagines #fanfiction #my writing

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j0sgomez-blog · 5 years ago

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By Michael Lanza

I doubt that I had any typical routine when arriving at a campsite on my earliest backpacking trips; like many backpackers, I probably just dropped my pack, shucked off my boots, and kicked back until motivated to move by the urge to eat, drink, get warm, or go to the bathroom. Over the years, though, I’ve developed a routine that I follow almost religiously when I arrive in camp at the end of a day of backpacking. These five simple, quick, almost effortless steps make a world of difference in how good I feel that evening and the next morning, and how well I sleep. Follow them and I think you’ll make your campsite hours—and backpacking trips as a whole—more comfortable.

Todd Arndt keeping cool in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park.

Take Care of My Feet

Task number one: yank off my boots (or shoes) and socks and soak my feet in a cold creek or lake to “ice” achy muscles and wash dirt off my feet and lower legs as well as possible without soap. I often also take a swim—usually after stretching (see cool off, get the dust and sweat off my body, and let the chilly water soothe all of the muscles I’ve worked. All of this will help me relax and sleep better.

I sometimes bring light camp footwear, like flip-flops or sandals, to change into if my hiking footwear is boots that are heavier and hotter than I want to wear in camp. If I’ve worn low-cut, breathable shoes hiking, I don’t bother bringing camp footwear. But I’ll wear hiking shoes in camp with the laces and tongue wide open, more like slippers, to keep my feet cool and dry.

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Click here to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

My son, Nate, post-swim, in frigid Precipice Lake, at 0,00 feet in Sequoia National Park.

Take Care of My Body

Carrying weight on your back for miles taxes most people physically. I’ve learned from hundreds of backpacking trips, whether my pack is heavy or ultralight, that I’m going to feel significantly better that evening and the next morning, and sleep much better if I spend about 0 minutes stretching soon after I stop hiking for the day, while muscles are still warm.

You don’t need an elaborate routine, just a handful of stretches focused on the major muscle groups you’ve been working hard: quads, hamstrings, calves, and your core, including your back, sides, plus shoulders and neck. There are plenty of resources online suggesting specific stretches; I also talk about my stretching routine in my story “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb.” Try it on your next trip. You might find it habit-forming.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Find out more here.

This beach in Dinosaur National Monument is one of my all-time favorite campsites. Click on the photo to see them all.

Change Clothes

After washing off the dirt and dried sweat, I’ll put on the dry base layers I’ve brought. (My story “Ultralight Backpacking’s Simple Equation: Less Weight = More Fun” details what I usually carry for clothing.) Then I’ll dry out my hiking clothes, which I’ll wear again the next day, either by hanging them in sunshine or, if they’re damp but not too wet, pulling them on over my dry layers to let my body heat dry them without having the damp layer against my skin. If it’s cool or windy enough to wear a jacket, it works very well to dry out a damp base layer by wearing it under a breathable shell.

In warm temperatures, I’ll just remain in my damp hiking clothes until my body heat dries them out (often while stretching and pitching my tent), and then change into my extra clothes. On many trips in mild temperatures, my “extra clothes” consist simply of a second base layer top and insulation; I’ll often only have one pair of zip-off pants, so I’ll wear those to dry them and perhaps just zip the legs on.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Yosemite and other flagship parks using my expert e-guides.

Jeff and Jasmine Wilhelm ready for hot nourishment in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.

Replenish Depleted Body Reserves

Dinner may not happen for a while, but I need to replace some of what my body has depleted sooner than that—mostly fluids, sodium, fat, and electrolytes. In warm temperatures, the first thing I often do is add a powdered energy-drink mix to a liter of water to consume over the next hour (beginning while I’m stretching). After I’ve finished steps through above, I’ll eat an appetizer that delivers what I’m craving—fat and sodium. I typically like crackers, cheese, and pepperoni or salami, nuts, maybe some chocolate. In cooler temperatures, I’ll fire up the stove and boil water for hot tea or cocoa or instant soup.

Getting rehydrated and starting to refill my body’s fuel tank, combined with the stretching, make a huge difference in my energy level and greatly help reduce any stiffness that evening and when I hit the trail again the next morning.

Which puffy should you buy? See my “Review: The 0 Best Down Jackets” and “Ask Me: How Can You Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is?”

My daughter, Alex, demonstrating good camp chair technique in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Set Up Camp

Assuming that foul weather hasn’t forced us to immediately pitch the tent upon arriving in camp, I now unload my pack, set up the tent, inflate my air mattress and lay out my bag to let it loft up, and break out kitchen gear, water filter, and anything else I will need. I often carry a lightweight camp chair (one of my “ essential backpacking accessories”), which is far more comfortable than sitting on a rock or log—meaning my body will feel better when I’m going to sleep later and putting on my pack again the next morning.

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At some point during the evening, I’ll figure out how much water I need to leave camp with in the morning and fill my bladder or bottles, to help expedite an early departure the next day, because in summer, I usually like an early start to hike in cooler temperatures.

These five steps don’t require much time or effort. But they make my evening, night, next morning—and really, my entire backpacking trip—much more enjoyable.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures. Subscribe now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

Tell me what you think. I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

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higuchimon · 7 years ago

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[fanfic] Morning Meeting

Characters: Ken, Daisuke, Takeru, Iori||Pairing: Ken x Daisuke/Daisuke x Ken Word Count: 3,004||Chapter Count: 1/1 Notes: College AU. Absolutely smut and pain and Kaiser-free. There is an attack pancake, of sorts, though. Summary: Ken hasn't met his fourth roommate for more than a handful of minutes. He doesn't even know the redhead's name. But that's all about to change...with a pancake on Ken's head.

Ken pulled the pillow over his head and tried not to listen to any of the sounds drifting through. He needed a thicker pillow. If anyone had ever told him that sharing an apartment with three other people would have been so noisy – especially in the morning when he really needed his sleep – he wouldn’t have bothered.

And still the noises trailed in.

He hadn’t lived here more than a couple of weeks and he mostly recognized his apartment-mates on sight. Takeru was the blond who wanted to be a writer, Iori was the brunet who spent just a bit more time in the study of swordplay than most people did in this day and age – not that Ken could really protest because he studied judo himself – and the third…

The third Ken could only identify as the redhead, because most of the time their schedules didn’t cross enough for Ken to spend more than a few minutes with him, and most of the time the third guy was doing something that made anyone in the area facepalm. Ken hadn’t ever met someone who could pull that often as much as this guy could and did.

The noises weren’t quieting down. Ken ground his teeth and grabbed for another pillow. He had to study. He wasn’t going to get the grades his brother did without working for it. Osamu could get good grades just by walking by a class. He had to study.

No sleep, no studying. He refused to avoid sleep. That wouldn’t do him any good at all. He’d seen that the hard way.

The noise kept on going. He thought it might even be getting louder.

He was going to have to get up. He didn’t want to. But unless he asked them, they weren’t going to stay quiet, and that meant he wouldn’t get his sleep and that meant that he wasn’t going to pass the next couple of tests.

He wasn’t going to let that happen. Not on his life.

Ken drew in several deep breaths in the hopes that this would help him. He at least managed to roll out of bed and find his bedroom slippers. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing it would be a lot spikier than he preferred wearing it. He had the worst bed-hair. People told him more than once that he kind of looked like his big brother when he first got out of bed.

He’d never seen it himself.

But now he stalked his way out of his tiny room and toward the noise, that only got louder now that he didn’t have the insulating pillows and closed doors between him and it. That made him even more annoyed.

“All right, say it again.” Takeru’s voice was the first one he recognized. “How did you do it?”

“I told you already! Three times, already!” That one he didn’t recognize. Clearly the other roommate, the one who wasn’t Iori.

“Yes, but I didn’t believe you the first three times myself.” That was Iori.

Whatever was going on, part of Ken started to want to know what it was. The rest of him just wanted them all to shut up or take their argument somewhere else.

The kitchen didn’t have a door to it. Ken stalked through the opening with all the fury of a slammed door anyway. He’d always had a knack for drama and he put it to full use right now.

“I am trying to sleep,” he snarled, his voice low and dark and full of rage.

He always got like that when he missed out on his sleep. Osamu teased him more than once that if he didn’t get his afternoon nap, he spent most of his time snapping at anyone who got in his way.

Ken wasn’t going to argue that point. It was, after all, correct.

All three of them turned toward him. Takeru and Iori looked more than a little surprised. The third…

This was really the first time that he’d seen their other roommate and been anywhere close to a mental condition to really let his looks or his name sink into him.

He was a redhead; Ken recalled that much. He had deep warm eyes like cinnamon and a mouth that was wide open, either because he’d been about to say something or just in shock at someone stalking into the kitchen as if he owned it.

Ken technically rented it, just like the rest of them. That was good enough for Ken.

Ken now set his hands on his hips and glared even harder. “I’m trying to sleep,” he repeated. He didn’t think he needed to say anything else. Iori and Takeru tried to stammer something but he just shook his head.

But the third one moved closer. “Uh, sorry about that. It was kind of my fault.” He waved one hand as if that would help explain anything.

Ken didn’t care. “Whatever it was, don’t do it again.”

Takeru and Iori were looking up at the ceiling. So was the other guy. Ken knew he’d been told his name, but it wasn’t coming to mind, not right now.

Maybe if he got some more sleep.

He turned on his heel, intending a dramatic departure to go back to bed and forget this happened for another couple of hours. At least he so intended until something wet and goopy fell on his head. He stopped where he was. He reached up to touch it with the tips of his fingers. Then he turned around.

“Why is there an uncooked pancake on my head?”

Takeru coughed. “That’s what we were yelling about. Daisuke was making breakfast and he kind of got a little overenthusiastic.”

Ken’s eyes cut over to the redhead: Daisuke.

“I want this pancake off my head.” He also wanted to pretend this morning hadn’t happened and maybe meet Daisuke under better circumstances.

Because Daisuke was cute. Very cute. Especially when he looked like he wanted to melt into the floor under his feet.

Daisuke hurried over and tugged the pancake off before it could actually start dripping into Ken’s face, babbling apologies the whole way. Ken just shook his head, reaching up to see how badly he needed a shower. He usually preferred to clean up in the evening, but he wasn’t going back to bed with pancake batter in his hair.

He was going to need a shower. A nice long hot one.

He might not even be able to get back to sleep at this point. If he’d slept all the way he would’ve been fine. But now he’d woken up. He’d gotten out of bed. He’d interacted with people. He would have to take a shower. Not only did all of that eat up precious sleeping time, but by the time he got back to sleep anyway, it would more than likely be time for him to get up anyway.

This just did not look like one of his better days.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Daisuke said, his back to Ken as he dumped the pancake remains in the trashcan. “I cook when I get nervous.”

A stress cooker. Just what he needed in his life.

A cute stress cooker. He’d encountered worse people to spend any amount of time with.

“What are you nervous about at this hour?” Ken wasn’t sure of how much he wanted to know, but the question came nevertheless.

“I’ve got a test later and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it,” Daisuke confessed. He glanced toward Ken, then blinked, eyes going beyond him. “Where’d they go?”

Ken turned to see Takeru and Iori were no longer there. He tried to breathe. “I think they went back to bed.” Jerks. Doing what he couldn’t, since their classes started later than his.

Not that he wouldn’t have done the same thing if their positions had been reversed.

“I really am sorry,” Daisuke said. Ken looked back at him the moment he started talking.

Their eyes met.

Whatever Daisuke was saying, he stumbled to a halt, the words choking in his throat, his cheeks flaming red, and he ducked his head, staring now at the floor.

Ken could feel heat creeping up his own cheeks, and he swallows, trying to make sense of this and not knowing anything else to say but, “It’s all right. You weren’t doing it on purpose.” At least he hoped not.

He swallowed. “I’ll be back.”

He didn’t wait for a moment but hurried to the shower, not wanting to be seen in the blue shorts he sleeps in and with pancake goop drying in his hair. Not anymore.

He showered. He scrubbed from top to bottom and then carefully combed his hair until it was back in the style he preferred, looking less like a wild man and more like a civilized human being. He even got dressed. He’d get by without sleep. As much as he disliked it, he’d done it before and he knew that he would do it again.

There was someone to talk to. Someone he’d never talked to and yet even with those few words exchanged, he felt like they were just kind of picking up from a start he didn’t remember having.

By the time that he made it back into the kitchen, Daisuke had cleaned up all of the mess and even finished a proper breakfast. If one liked pancakes, that was.

“I made some for you,” he said, as soon as Ken was in the kitchen again. He hesitated. “I didn’t know if you’d want some, but...”

Ken smiled. No sooner did the expression appear on his lips than Daisuke relaxed.

“I’ve never had them, but I don’t mind trying.” He’d never been much for Western-style cooking, but after all of this, he thought it would do no harm.

The two of them sat down and started eating. Daisuke still had pancake mix stains, not just on his cheeks and lips, but on his arms and shirt as well. Ken wasn’t sure if he wanted to brush them off or just stare at them.

He’d never, ever in his life experienced anything like what being around Daisuke made him feel. He’d dated a few people over the years, but nothing all that seriously. His goal of being an architect came first. So he’d focused on his sleep and his studies and whatever minor bits of relaxation he couldn’t actually put off, and as far as he was concerned, that had been more than enough.

Until he met this pair of amazing eyes that went on forever and laughed and he didn’t feel as if they were laughing at him, but invited him to share the joke, even if he didn’t know what the joke was.

They talked. Ken couldn’t have said who asked all the questions. They took turns and he learned. Daisuke was taking mostly business classes with a few extra courses in home economics and cooking: his goal was to start a ramen chain of his own one day. He hadn’t decided between having a solid physical store that was in one place or between a portable cart.

“When I was a kid, I liked the idea of going from place to place,” he said, tracing a finger in his pancake syrup. “But the more I think about it, the more I’m not sure how that would work with building up a clientele and being able to stay dry.”

Ken nodded; being dry would be a major factor in his choice of where to eat. There was something to be said for watching rain or snow fall behind the safety of four walls as well.

Before he knew it, he’d offered to sketch out a few ideas for a potential shop structure. Daisuke's eyes lit up at once.

“That would be amazing! Takeru says you’re really, really good at that kind of thing!”

Ken’s cheeks tinged a bit pink once again and he ducked his head. “I’ve always liked the idea of building things. Creating things.”

“I’ll make you some of my very best ramen,” Daisuke promised. “You like ramen don’t you?”

“Sure.” He’d never had anything made for him, not like this. Not by someone like Daisuke.

He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone like Daisuke in the first place. This guy was one of a kind.

Ken liked the idea of that. To know someone who was that unique, that rare, that special.

“It’ll be the best ramen. Just you wait and see!” Daisuke promised, and Ken smiled.

“I don’t doubt you at all.”

Daisuke wanted to throw every bit of ramen he’d made into the trash and start over.

“This is just not going to work,” he groaned, staring at the noodles in front of him. They weren’t good enough. They could never be good enough.

Takeru lounged in the living room, close enough to the kitchen so he could hear Daisuke’s complaining and snicker at him. The two of them had known each other since they were eleven and Takeru knew every complaint Daisuke had about his skills in cooking.

“Should I call big brother so he can lend a hand?” Takeru teased. Daisuke jerked upward at that.

“Don’t you even think about it!”

Takeru’s big brother wasn’t the kind of professional cook that Daisuke wanted to be. What he was, was a musician, one of the best in the country – if not the world, if one asked Takeru. But he still knew how to cook and he made certain he and his band-mates didn’t survive off of fast food while they toured around.

He’d tasted Daisuke’s food before. Daisuke had no idea of what he thought about it, because he’d never been able to stick around long enough to find out. Sure, Takeru said he liked it, but that wasn’t necessarily true.

The idea of someone like Ishida Yamato tasting his attempts to make ramen for Ichijouji Ken sent chills all through Daisuke, and not the good kind that looking at Ken sparked off.

He’d seen Ken before in the apartment, but he hadn’t really paid much attention to him. Their schedules made it difficult for them to spend more than a handful of minutes around each other, so he just hadn’t thought about it.

Until the day he’d tried to make pancakes, ended up with one on the ceiling, gotten into an argument with Takeru and Iori over it, and then Ken stepped in there, and everything changed.

He wanted to say things to Ken. He wanted to do things with Ken. He wanted to try every rare recipe he could get his hands on and see if Ken liked them. He wanted to go to movies with Ken and to go on long walks and talk to him, find out even more than they’d somehow failed to talk about the few times they’d had time to talk to one another since that morning.

Now that they’d met one another, Daisuke couldn’t imagine his life without Ken in it. He’d never believed in soulmates but if such a thing did exist, maybe Ken…

No, he couldn’t be that lucky. If the world were kinder to him, then maybe…

Well, it wasn’t, and he would have to deal with it. He would spend what time he could with Ken now and they’d go their separate ways, even if Ken really did design a building for his future ramen restaurant. He would pay for it and say thank you and they’d drift apart over the years.

That was what happened. He’d gotten used to it.

With a deep sigh he pulled his attention back to the ingredients and started to sort through it all one more time with the intent of making the best ramen that he ever had. This was for Ken.

Ken hadn’t strangled him for tossing a pancake on the ceiling and said pancake falling onto his head.

Ken deserved the very best. So Daisuke was going to make sure he had it.

By the time Ken came back into the apartment, he looked ready to fall over where he stood and not move another inch until morning. Daisuke hurried over right away to guide him to the nearest couch. Takeru and Iori were out somewhere doing whatever it was they did when they weren’t at home and were out together.

Daisuke hadn’t ever asked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“I’ve got the ramen,” he said once he thought Ken was aware enough to listen. “Are you hungry?”

Ken blinked a time or two, then nodded. “I don’t have the plans drawn up yet, though...” He trailed off as if he expected Daisuke to put the ramen away with that.

Daisuke, of course, did not. He just made certain he had a good steaming hot bowl of dinner ready.

“That’s okay. Maybe this’ll help?”

He brought the ramen in on a tray, along with some of the green tea he knew Ken liked. Their schedules still conflicted more than they didn’t, but he’d made a point to have all of this ready tonight. He’d probably regret doing this instead of studying or sleeping, but he didn’t care.

Ken tasted it carefully, his eyes slowly lighting up more and more as the flavors sank into him. He flashed a brilliant smile toward Daisuke.

“This is delicious! What do you call it? I mean… other than ramen?”

Daisuke blushed a deep cherry red at that. “Just ramen, right now. I might think up a name for it later. But you really like it?”

Ken gave him a very deep and serious look. “I love it.” He finished his bowl in just a few minutes, with every indication of having told the absolute truth. Then he asked what almost every chef and cook in the world loved to hear.

“May I have some more, please?”

Daisuke’s heart pattered with delight. “All you want. All you have to do is ask.” The End Notes: Well, the way to a man’s heart...

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j0sgomez-blog · 5 years ago

Photo

By Michael Lanza

Todd Arndt keeping cool in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park.

Take Care of My Feet

My son, Nate, post-swim, in frigid Precipice Lake, at 0,00 feet in Sequoia National Park.

Take Care of My Body

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Find out more here.

This beach in Dinosaur National Monument is one of my all-time favorite campsites. Click on the photo to see them all.

Change Clothes

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Yosemite and other flagship parks using my expert e-guides.

Jeff and Jasmine Wilhelm ready for hot nourishment in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.

Replenish Depleted Body Reserves

Which puffy should you buy? See my “Review: The 0 Best Down Jackets” and “Ask Me: How Can You Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is?”

My daughter, Alex, demonstrating good camp chair technique in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Set Up Camp

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

These five steps don’t require much time or effort. But they make my evening, night, next morning—and really, my entire backpacking trip—much more enjoyable.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures. Subscribe now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

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