#and maybe grow asparagus...

[memesandmusicalss]

best part about being german is being able to listen to the actual comedian harmonists and know what they're talking about

[emmaspolaroid]

thinking ab how in the post canon Emma might not even like carrot cake anymore

[cevansbrat0007]

The Scent of You

Summary: Ari loves the sweet scent of you, which is why he's content to live between your thighs.

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Begging, Oral Sex (fem rec), Pussy Spanking, Slight Chase Kink, Light D/s themes, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @curls-and-eyeliner. Hopefully this is okay, ya'll. I'm honestly not sure if it worked the way I intended. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It’s no secret that Ari adores you, but you’ve learned over the course of your relationship that he is particularly fond of the way you smell. Your natural essence of spiced, sugared vanilla draws him in like a moth to a flame. 

Which means he was always looking for a reason to touch you – to pull you close and breathe you in. Whether he’s hauling you against his broad chest to bury his nose in your hair while you’re cooking dinner, or he’s busy cascading soft, sweet kisses along the delicate column of your throat when you’re both snuggled up on the couch.

Your scent is like a drug. It calls to him – like a siren’s song – demanding that your handsome Bounty Hunter give in and help himself to his next hit. 

This man is hooked on you and it’s honestly one of the most exhilarating things you’ve ever experienced. Growing up, you’d never dreamed someone would desire you like this; that anyone would want you in such an all-consuming way.

“I’m going to burn the chicken if you don’t cut it out.��� You hum, smiling when you feel his brawny arms tighten around your waist. “And then we won’t have anything to eat but mashed potatoes and asparagus.”

“Mm. Then maybe we’ll just have to order-in.” His warm lips dance along your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Beast.” You try again, intending to issue a light reprimand. Instead your voice comes out soft and breathy. 

“You can feed me my dessert while we wait.” Ari’s long, talented fingers travel to the waistband of your pink sleep shorts, lightly tugging at the drawstring. “Just think about it.” You briefly lose your train of thought as you find yourself trying to remember if you were even wearing panties. 

You’re pretty sure that you’d neglected to put them on again after your shower. At the time, you’d told yourself that you were trying to save yourself from having to make another trip to Victoria’s Secret. 

It wasn’t your fault that your Beast wasn’t always house-trained. He was the kind of man who had a propensity for ripping off your underthings and tucking them into his pocket. Which meant you often had to make adjustments to your wardrobe.       

And all of it because the scent of your arousal drove him wild.   

Your musings are interrupted when a sudden pop of grease splashes out of the cast iron skillet, just missing both you and your man. “Alright, hands to yourself now, Beast. We’re working around hot oil and I’d feel terrible if you got hurt.” 

Jesus H. Christ, you should’ve picked another day to fry this incorrigible man some chicken.

Ari nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, gently nipping at your pulse point. “I just need a fix, baby. One little hit and I’ll be good for the rest of the night.”

“Ari…” You blow out an exasperated breath as you reach for your tongs to flip your meat. “You don’t even know if I’ve showered or not today.”

“Don’t care.” He grunts, one big hand reaching into your shorts to possessively cup your increasingly damp pussy. “You know I love how you smell. Almost as much as I love the way you taste.” Ari lips move on to kiss along the shell of your ear. A shudder courses through you when he tugs the sensitive load between his sharp teeth.

“I’m proud to wear my girl.”

Your thighs clench of their own accord, your empty walls clenching around nothing. Apparently your body was just as hungry for him as he was for you.

“Y–you can’t go around just saying things like that.” It comes out as a whimper as your cheeks heat, meanwhile Ari busies himself with grinding the heel of his lightly calloused palm against your already throbbing clit. 

“Why not, Duchess? Am I being too crass for you?” He teases as his free hand comes up to knead your breast, squeezing with just the amount of roughness he knew made your knees weak. “Turn that shit off and come feed me. I’ve been dying to get between those thighs all fuckin’ day.”

“But–but…” Your eyes flutter closed even as you reach for the knob that controls the burner, switching it off. Maybe he was right. You hated to waste this, but you could always try again another day.

Preferably on a night when your very persistent Beast was working late. 

“There we go. I knew my woman wasn’t the type to let me go hungry.” Ari murmurs, releasing his grip on your now very wet pussy in favor of tugging down your shorts. A growl rumbles deep in his throat as he watches them fall to the ground at your feet. “I knew you couldn’t be that mean.”

“You owe me chicken alfredo from Guiseppe’s, you animal.” You snarl, removing the pan from the heat. 

“Consider it done, baby.” You could tell without looking at him that he was obviously pleased with himself. 

God this man was an absolute menace. But he was yours, which meant you had to keep him. Hell, you were pretty sure that if you ever tried to put him up for adoption you were pretty sure he’d find his way home. 

Back to you. Wherever you were.

Feeling bold, you wiggle out of the Bounty Hunter’s grasp, only to be surprised when he lets you go. 

“Bet you can’t catch me.” You challenge, making a sudden dash for the stairs. 

Of course you knew he’d catch you. But sometimes you liked running from your Beast – because he was the type to always give chase which would only add spice to the proceedings.    

And just like you knew he’d be, your Bounty Hunter is on you before you reach the fourth step. A scream escapes you – but you both know it’s one of excitement. After all, Ari Levinson was every inch the predator. It’s why you lovingly referred to him as “your Beast”.

“Gotcha now, Duchess.” He hisses, a heady mix of exhilaration and pride coursing through his veins. And that’s when you finally notice the impressive tent hidden beneath the fabric of his light gray sweats. 

God, you had a feeling this man was gonna wreck you tonight. You just hoped you’d be able to walk in a straight line come tomorrow morning. 

Ari takes that moment to flip you over before gently maneuvering your body in such a way that allows you to slide down a couple of steps.

“Yeah, you caught me.” You breathe, your body aching for him. And then you part your thighs, feeling more than a little empowered when you notice the way his imperious gaze darkens with lust at the sight of your glistening cunt. “Now…what are you going to do with me?” 

Grabbing the edge of your nightshirt, you slowly pull it over your head, baring your breasts. If this man wanted you and was so willing to *ruin* your dinner for it, then who were you to deny him?   

Immediately, Ari buries his face between your slick covered thighs, his powerful hands coming up to quickly throw your legs over his muscled shoulders. A deep, satisfied groan of appreciation escapes his throat as he sucks your pulsing clit into his warm, waiting mouth.

“Holy shit!” You cry, burying your hands in his soft, chestnut strands. “Sir, please!” Your body begins to tremble as you’re treated to the most sensual of assaults.  

One thick finger gently prods at your entrance, seeking refuge in your slippery cunt. At the same time, you feel Ari release your sensitive bundle of nerves, content to lap at it with his wicked tongue.

“That's it now. Fuckin' drench me, Bird.” He orders softly, his voice coming out slightly muffled.

And then pauses he pauses again – this time to nuzzle his nose against your slippery folds. Your entire body quivers when he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent and reveling in your wetness. 

“My fuckin’ pussy.” Ari snarls, his flat tongue dragging a long, greedy swipe along your cunt. “Mine.” He pulls away long enough to slap your core in silent demand.  

“Fuck yes!” You agree, eagerly rocking your hips in time with each delicious lash of his tongue. He swirls it over your little bundle of nerves, making your toes curl.

“Would wear you all day if you’d let me.” His nimble fingers begin to work you over, stretching you in the way he knew would make you crazy. “Proud to wear my girl.”

“Omigosh!Omigosh!Omigosh!” You wail, your velvety walls clenching around his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you. 

“Promise to always feed me when I need it, little Bird.” You feel his teeth lightly graze your clit once more, loving the way it makes you thrash and moan.

That’s right. This man was breaking you down on your living room stairs. And it was so good that you couldn’t even be bothered to make yourself give a proper fuck. 

Dear God, this was the most exquisite kind of pleasure.

“Don’t you dare let me starve.” His fingers curve inside you, expertly finding your spot.

Holy fucking shit your man was making one hell of compelling argument, as evidenced by sweet cries and your shaking legs. 

“Never.” Your thighs tighten around his head, threatening to smother him even as you gush around him. 

Just the way you knew he fucking loved.     

“There we go -- yeah, that’s it.” Ari rasps, smacking your right flank, reveling in the way you clench around him as you continue to ride his face. Meanwhile, you’re busy writhing in your man’s arms, trying not to escape his grasp as that familiar coil of pleasure begins to tighten in your belly.

You know he knows you’re close. So he picks up his pace, clearly enjoying the way you’re coming apart under his feral loving. 

“I just need one good one from you – just one good one to start. And then I’m gonna give you my cock.” He increases the pace of his fingers, not missing the way your head is thrown back in complete submission. “And after that, I’ll order you dinner.” 

“Fuck, Beast!” You pant, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. "Whatever you fucking say - ooh!" Your open palm slaps against the wall as you try to run. But his grip is too strong.

Instead he simply chuckles before pausing his feast long enough to press one hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh - his teeth scraping over your damp flesh as he takes you higher and higher.

“And while we wait, I’m gonna go ahead feed you my cock.” He quips with a feral flash of teeth. “And don’t worry,  I’ll make sure you eat every bite.”

END

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[balkanradfem]

Back to garden

So, I have been, reasonably, neglecting my garden, due to not being home for a month, and having too much to do afterwards. The garden is overgrown, weedy, diseased, and overrun by slugs. I've decided to go and take a look! Let's see how bad it is.

So it's bad, and I wouldn't normally show you this version of the garden, but I'm planning to clean it up, and it's always more fun to see the 'before' pictures. But also I think, while it looks bad from here, if I zoom in, I might find some pretty stuff!

There's a single leek, a zuchinni that's going to be a part of my lunch now, the basil flowers might make seeds if I leave them be for long enough, and kale is just, thriving, it does not mind the rain or weeds, and the slugs find it bitter. The little red ball you see is growing on the asparagus, it contains asparagus seeds! There's another part of the garden, that belongs to the plant lady, where I planted peppers because it's closer to water, and for some reason they decided to also thrive:

I have no idea why they're doing so well right now but I will take it. I planted these earlier, maybe thats the catch.

If I was taking care of my garden properly, it would have been producing more food even now, and it might seem like I failed at gardening this year, but look at this:

That's my basement. All of those jars, pumpkins and squash, that's what the garden created this summer. I was too tired to maintain it, but I was going in every day, harvesting, cleaning, cooking, canning, and I created this entire stash from it! There's over 60 jars of food in there. The garden has done its main purpose, to give me food security over winter.

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 16

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

@garbagemilkshake and I thought that something a bit more on the fan service side would be fun for this week's chapter art and I totally didn't write a whole additional scene to make it happen.

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Folate.

You were sick of spinach.

It seemed to only have two settings: crunchy or snotty. Donnie had done his best to be creative, but it was within those two confines that you were stuck. Any sort of cooking preparation reduced the leaves to slim slime. It was tolerable enough baked into Florentines or strung up through pasta, but as time wore on, eating it became a chore. You found yourself sifting through your food to gobble down the spinach first so you could have a few blessed bites without it.

The same went with salads. While there were any number of preparations or sauce options, at a base level you were eating roughage. The greens came in a litany of hues, but their flavors hadn’t ranged much. Spinach blended in while radicchio stood out, but the concept at its core was a monotonous one. The real trouble came with pesticides and bacteria. While Donnie couldn’t smell the latter, their proliferation meant he could scent when a product was off. You shopped at a number of places to get the best produce, but you were still riding a 50/50 line where the vegetables would need to be tossed, just in case, for your growing fetus’ health. 

You didn’t want to hang your entire folate consumption on spinach, but the matter had seemingly been taken away from you. Fortified cereals were either too processed or blander than if you had eaten wheat straight from the plant. From there, other fruits and vegetables scaled with trace amounts except for asparagus. You once enjoyed the stalk roasted and beside a nice fish, but your body’s shifts had started.

You could no longer digest the vegetable properly.

The first time it had happened, you couldn’t identify the issue. You ate a day’s worth of food and you were awoken in the darkened early morning with stomach cramps. They persisted until you had a bowel movement and the next day Donnie poured over the causes. Your lunch was swapped out, but you ran on a meal plan for dinner which meant a repeat of the same effect. You had a snack of only asparagus on a hunch after that and the ensuing bathroom trip was a third time shame on you before you cut it out of your diet.

Calcium.

Your giant vitamin wasn’t doing enough.

It was yet another thing you had trouble noticing at first. Your legs had been achey, but there weren’t necessarily alarm bells for you. Days where you were a little more stationary at work had the same effect. You were moving into your tenth week of pregnancy and, while there certainly wasn’t enough weight inside you for those sorts of aches to build up, you figured maybe it was your little bean. Donnie had examined your gait and further reassured that you had yet to walk differently. Your hips were relatively fine, but you found that particularly in the morning, your calves pinched. Donnie rubbed them to encourage blood flow, but felt no makings of muscle tension.

It was the calcium.

You hadn’t even needed to bring it up during your eleventh week visit with Dr. Kuro.

You had simply winced when getting off the exam table and she caught the movement with flicking ears.

She promptly informed you that low levels of the mineral were often related to muscle cramps as calcium aided in contraction. Donnie’s gaze had gone glazed for missing something so obvious, but Dr. Kuro talked him down. She had seen glimpses of his intense concern over making every little thing right and put you both side by side in chairs. She spoke to the supposed rules of pregnancy and, without trying to scare either of you, specified that you could do everything right and things might not go as intended.

She perforated the fear with a teasing that if you followed all the scare tactics then you would be left with nothing to eat at all.

Dairy became a staple in your diet after that.

It wasn’t something you obsessed over prior, but it became a necessity. You had trouble downing a glass of milk straight for what it did to your intestines, but sprinkling cheese and the like throughout your dishes added the necessary pop. Your legs loosened near immediately and your required baseline of calcium was raised. That came not with a heftier pill, but a larger dosage and further blood tests. Dr. Kuro reminded you that you were finding the norms for something totally unique so there would be some adjustment. As long as nothing ever got too uncomfortable, you were safe to experiment.

You swore to tell Dr. Kuro about every single little change that happened to your body after that.

You doubted she minded.

Vitamin D.

In your uneducated days, fish had seemed like some damning entity to pregnancy. Whispers of mercury levels and haunting tales of sushi made the entire ocean into something to be avoided. It was further perpetuated by the dreaded colossal fish oil pills, which were supposedly the only substitute. Maybe because of their name, but you had always equated fish oil with snake oil in your mind. That was an issue for pregnant people you had thought before and had never minded expensive baubles that looked like edible glass.

You hadn’t had any restrictions before. 

Now that you did, you found that your misconception was just that. 

Fish was good for pregnancy. 

Mostly. 

It all seemed obvious enough until you actually began to learn about the product. In an annoying pendulum swing, what went from bad to good then apparently went rotten again. Nearly all commercial salmon was brightened to its signature orange via a color additive. Natural caught fish touted an organic brightness, but then there was talk of fishing practices. Sustainable or not was difficult to find out by design and hatcheries supposedly lost the necessary nutrition value. You were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t and all the while there were imaginary eyes on you.

It was an inkling you had because you had been there. You could see yourself, heavy with child, and surrounded by whispers about what you did or did not eat. The judgment was imminent and, though no stranger could probably tell you were pregnant, you were aware of others. You watched on as those who were perceived to be carrying had to act as if they weren’t being whispered about. People had endless things to say about business that wasn’t theirs. Others would soon think they had a say in what you did with your body and baby and you were haunted by that fact.

Donnie was both worse and better in that regard. Your mate respected you, but he was also beholden to his science. Before you were pregnant, there hadn’t been much mention toward what you consumed. Your mate had his own long stemming issues with food that he was slowly recovering from to this day. His interest in it waned with the more dishes he tried and he’d long phased out of drives to cook. He now did it for the sake of balancing household work, but his time of experimentation had passed. 

Your baby was an entirely new entity. 

Right when his interest had settled, he had been forced to become hyper aware of consumption yet again. A new life that was not his own depending on it and therefore he couldn’t just throw random supplements to keep it going. He wanted the best for your child and that came with knowing all about where each morsel came from or did. In an instant, he was trailing company ledgers to find out an entire life cycle of any given product. He didn’t knock his enriched foods of old, but he saw them differently. There was science to what the body could absorb and digest. He lived by your vitamins, but saw their limitations. Anything synthesized resulted in a poorer uptake of nutrients than from what he was now forced to categorize as real food and then just like with fish as a concept, so came the counter swing. 

Those same labs that made the vitamins and supplements also often had a hand in the fortification of those supposedly real foods. The scare tactics around genetically modified foods was a hoax at best. He had gone on long winded tangents about how selective breeding fell under the umbrella which had been done long before the idea of intercepting genes in seeds was a concept. Unfortunately it mattered little what your mate thought on the concept as larger companies had long been pillaging the market. They affected germination only to boost dividends and destroyed small farms in the process. They eliminated competition both literally and amongst the very produce they sought to monopolize. The swinging pendulum of the good and bad of industry was exhausting your mate.

It hollowed him out for his basal attitude, which you had long known to be staunch. He voiced his opinions boldly and his current one regarded what you ate. You were fine with taking his opinion at first, since you were actually interested in those. Your interests aligned there and that was why you let him sift through vegetables. You wanted your baby to be just as happy and healthy so it was easy to let him sniff out pesticides or leaves wilting from unknown branches of E. coli, but the moment you got to fish it went a proverbial overboard.

There were many types of fish. Some were farm raised and others came from fancy fishmongers. There was preparation. There was an endless ocean of what could and could not be done to get a fish to a plate. Before you even began your discussion, you could sense discomfort wafting off of him. The factors were as endless as the unknowns about your baby and it was unsettling especially to the man who preached science as his gospel. It was the only sense he had for many years and seeing it round on him illustrated the failings of society. For every advancement in food safety, there was a greedy corporate hound there to dismantle it.

He played his own part with Genius Built. Your forkfuls were bites of a moral conundrum. Donnie approached the debate on the side of banning fish. Its industry above all others posed the greatest risk. You had landed on the side of wanting to eat it. Instead of a fight, you had both stewed in silence. 

Together you had exhausted all information. You were prepared for Donnie to persuade you. Instead, he waited. He knew duality better than most. The norm was usually choosing whatever lesser evil pertained to the individual. In this area, you chose for him. 

You were growing your child after all. You compromised and set a standard that would be applied to whatever foods came next. There would be a limit on how much time you could weigh the benefits of a food item. If it became a headache, then it would be thrown out. If you felt strongly about eating something, then exceptions could be made.

You would do your best and that was all you could do.

Protein.

After the limitations were set, you could tell Donnie thrived under the parameters. With a time limit, he could no longer go on adding pros and cons until it drove him mad. He had a certain window in which to research and that eased his mind. While all of it was dedicated to you in some way, you liked having him around attentively instead of distracted by research about how to do right by you or your baby.

You also stepped in. After fish had illustrated the dark side of food consumption while pregnant, you made yourself present during the meal planning. You sat down with him once a week and did your best to decide together what to eat. You picked out things you were craving and built up around that. When you weren’t particularly feeling anything, you then chose lighter fare and left days open for exploration. You used them up eating out at restaurants where the components of a dish were known. You acknowledged your privilege in getting to do so, but balanced it amongst what seemed like waning time with your mate.

There would soon be another person vying for your attention and you were more aware of it in your thirteenth week. It marked the occasion where there was a stark drop off in the chance that you would miscarry. You made the date an entire night out with your mate and he partook without reservation. Those consecutive visits that you thought might be tedious suddenly blossomed into a journey.  That live feed, static cam footage of what was happening inside of you continued to grow and with it your confidence. You were going to have a baby with the love of your life and you spent a balmy July night wrapped up in that knowledge.

You then spent the next day planning meals around chicken.

It felt like a comical omen of things. For as fantastical as your world was, there was an inevitable dose of reality. Donnie’s endless pocket book did little when crafting a daily menu. You guessed the less sensible of his type of elite had someone else do this sort of thing, but Donnie had never been anything less than hands on. You owned a set of aged mismatched Tupperware like anyone else. You filled containers with a rice medley and tried to dole out even amounts even while the vessels varied in shape. They came with you as you went to work and you waited in the same line when it came time to reheat your food in the microwave.

It was grounding.

In the world where Dr. Kuro was taking notes like she would soon publish multiple prize winning scientific papers, you were still you.

You had no plans of quitting this life when the baby was born.

Donnie had more than enough time to take the role of a stay at home parent and you relished the thought. You pictured him with towels on his shoulder for spit up and the ensuing gag he’d surely make for each diaper. You bet he would fashion himself a mask to preserve his nostrils and he’d strap in with an entire suit to protect his person from fluids. There was no way he’d actually be able to subvert the dirtiness that came with babies and you bet as soon as Lady Nagami found out that she would be  wringing her hands at the increased income stream coming her way. 

Your husband in an apron.

Your husband with a lump that looked just like him sleeping on his chest.

Your husband exhausted in the middle of the night as he soothed a sobbing infant.

You mooned it all until someone popped your bubble with a comment about your food having long finished warming in the microwave.

You excused an additional 15 seconds to get that extra boiling temp amongst teasing groans.

You ate with your coworkers and caught up on gossip.

Things were looking up. 

Iron.

Spinach was back.

In reality, it had been back. 

It was your most dreaded super food.

It had been haunting you since your days of calcium.

Popeye vexed you in ways you couldn’t quite articulate.

You almost wished you could chug down a can like him in one gulp.

You would swallow your daily dose whole and be done with it.

Instead, you reconsidered your position on fortified foods. It was in your fourteenth week that you walked right up to where Donnie was sitting at his desk. He spun his chair to address you openly and you cleanly told him, “I need a break from spinach. I want to barter on juice and cereal!”

He approached the metaphorical table with folded hands in front of his mouth. “Go on.”

“You make the juice and we do a cereal taste test.”

You had clearly thought over your proposal and he dropped his act. He accepted and asked if he had forced the greenery on you. You told him that he hadn’t, but you were on your last nerve with the repetition. You both ruminated on all the benefits as a way to give spinach it's time before you let it go. You left the chance open that you might return to it, but in the meantime you ordered a juicer.

It was delivered the next day and Donnie studied how best to utilize it. The planter Spencer had sent over soon multiplied. Where one box hung ornamental flowers, another soon sat with wheat grass and additives. Actual herbs were located amongst your other vegetables on the roof and with that, you planned an exploratory trip to a farmer’s market that weekend. 

The sun cooked the summer day and your large hat did little amongst the persisting heat. Even Donnie in his layers seemed worn by it and you ended up purchasing drink after drink. You found a particular blend of fresh juice and lemon ginger tea to be a hallmark amongst your sips. Donnie probed the purveyor and found him to be satisfying enough that he purchased a set of juices from the stand. You haul was then supplemented with a few produce items you didn’t grow yourself and you returned to send them through the blades of your machine. 

Each morning that followed would come with you and Donnie teasing each other with concoctions in the kitchen. You made up for the loss in fiber from fruit by tossing in things like flax through the juicer. It seemed like a silly act at the time, but you and your mate both found that it mixed in well. A spice grinder soon appeared and you were putting peppery spins of drinks for the sake of it.

By the fifteenth week, you welcomed spinach back, but only if it was joined by the quintessential apple a day and a few other vitamin boosting and flavor covering pals and ground beyond its textures and into something new.

You got used to lugging around colorful sips in a handy insulated bottle and it was something you toted around. Most places cared little in the city if you had a water bottle and you took advantage of that. You found it easier to sip mindlessly while you did other activities. It worked almost as an idling method while you thought, which was something you did in front of a wall of cereals.

Donnie’s glasses were especially flared in their dual colors as he analyzed the lot and you waited nearby. You had long learned at this point not to be swayed by anything written on the packaging. You were chained to ingredient’s lists. They were the closest you could get to the honest truth of a food’s make-up and Donnie had modified his glasses to sweep through that and a company’s procedure with only a glance.

“Options!” Your mate spoke suddenly and surged forward.

You sucked from your straw and leaned against your cart as you waited.

Donnie picked things off the shelf in a growing stack.

You watched them increase to a brow raising level before he walked the balancing act over to you.

He lined them up in a standing row and swept a hand over top. “Here’s a viable selection, my dearest.”

“That’s more than I thought.” You leaned forward on the cart’s handle to overlook the bounty.

“Quite.”

“You always think it’ll all be sugary.” You refused to move and stepped up on the lower cart bar.

Donnie grabbed the basket so it wouldn’t move.

“Take out that third one. Catalina Crunch is not a cereal. They like to pretend. It’s totally just cardboard meant to be eaten dry.” You pointed.

He plucked the selection free and returned it to the shelf.

“A few of these are the same brand.”

“I selected within your taste preference.” He returned just as the cart started to roll and stopped it with his foot. “Shall we further narrow?”

You sighed as if put out and hopped off the cart. Donnie took his turn to lean as you joined his side. He watched you instead of your choices as you flipped through the boxes. You plucked two from the same brand whose names were one word off and compared them back to back. There was an odd difference in calories while all the other nutrition facts seemed the same. The ingredients list revealed little, but time crept up on you. You ended up tossing out both options and left the store with seven total cereals.

You parted from Donnie and the bags at the door when you got home. Your husband was none the wiser as he twisted with his totes and made sure everything was closed. He sauntered over to meet you in the kitchen and paused when he saw you had a litany of bowls out. He reviewed the many dishes and you turned to him with two spoons and a sparkling gaze.

“We’ll need a rinsing process or a new utensil each time for an adequate taste test.” He spoke with metered affection.

You leapt at him and he took your weight with a hefty squeeze.

You were sat down, but he didn’t leave where he was pressed to you as you dolled out cereal.

You opened a box at a time and he poured the milk with a flourished grace. You teased him about what kind of barista he would have been and he scoffed at the concept. You went on through your first bite to mention how he ground his own beans. By your third and fourth bowls you added how finicky he was about water temperature. He was darting his eyes by the sixth bowl as you detailed his organic cotton filters and his gooseneck kettle.

By the last bowl, you had two cereals chosen and an alternate line of work for your husband.

You spun a yarn about your twilight years as Donnie cleaned up. The rest of the cereal was sealed off and bound to be downed by that exact man. You would join him on a few of the options for the sake of it, but he never particularly cared to down a food as long as it was inoffensive to him.

He listened attentively to your tale about how your kids would be grown and moved out. They’d have illustrious careers and the two of you would give up city life. You’d find a lake that better mimicked Donnie’s biodome and buy it outright. He’d improve the ecosystem, set up a nature preserve, and the café on the edge of the grounds would fund it. You would live in a house connected to it and spend lazy days surrounded by nature and the sweet smells of coffee.

“Will they come to visit?” Donnie whispered as you finished up your story.

“Our kids?” You looked at him.

He nodded one anxious time.

You smiled and took your time in dusting cereal flakes from his black ensemble. “Every year.”

That response seemed too tepid for him, but you weren’t done.

“Instead of just Christmas, they take the whole last few weeks of the year off to stay with us. The oldest picks up pond study where your knees have been giving you trouble and our youngest whines about how there aren't better shops nearby. You remind them that you asked for their lists beforehand so you can order everything, but they always forget.”

Donnie slacked and came in closer.

“Then there’s the surprise visits and we lose count. One of them gets dumped and drives out and shows up in the middle of the night looking like a mess. You spend the whole night cheering them up and plotting some poor kid’s take down. Sometimes they get bored and pop in with a silly, ‘we were in the area.’ Then there’s the grandkids. They love the water and their pop-pop.”

“Pop-pop?” The illusion was broken and Donnie chuffed.

“You would want something silly like that.”

“Papa.” Donnie spoke with a sharp edge.

“Isn’t that for dads?” You teased.

“Could be for both…” He had a soft, unrelenting smile.

You guessed it was. 

Exercise.

“It’s been three months.” Donnie spoke as he moved the sofa.

“Mhm.” The bundle of your mat was clutched to your chest.

“Well?”

You feigned a listless gasp.

His cheeks puffed out the slightest amount as he set the furniture aside.

“My beloved Donatello, corrupted by gossip!” You continued on and rolled out your mat.

Said man rounded toward you with his displeasure.

You laughed and spread out your hands to get the corners down.

He waited with a grouch above you.

You cutely rolled onto your back and looked up at him.

He had to school himself to keep his features annoyed.

“I know what you’re asking, but I kind of want to hear you say it.”

He frowned deeply.

You sat up long enough to locate your resistance band.

He paced mentally and it showed in the slightest bob of his body.

You flopped back down with less grace and stretched the band between your hands.

“What happened with Coral and Nelson?” He all but snapped the truth of his question.

Your grin split your face.

He dropped down to squat beside you and waited.

“You’re so cute.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Patently incorrect. I do not have enlarged eyes, rounded cheeks, or comparatively small bone structure.”

“You’re describing babies.”

He was further put out and a protesting whine caught in his throat.

“Adorable.” You told him with full admiration.

He wilted with his large arms. “Darling…”

“I’m not teasing you.”  You explained. “I really do think so, Sweet. I’ve thought so since the moment we met. I thought you were handsome and then I thought you were cute.”

“Your taste…” He ushered and clearly held himself back from touching you.

You stretched with the band and brushed the backs of your hands together for the sake of it.

He churred softly.

“Okay, so the pilates move I’ve been having trouble with…” You laid down and gave the resistance band some length before hiking your legs up and tucking your heels into it.

He watched on with some gripe oozing off of him.

You would tell him what he wanted to know, but couldn’t help but drum up suspense. “So there’s a machine to do this in, but theoretically I shouldn’t need it.

You stretched out your legs and the band came with you. You wrapped the rubber around your palms for a good hold and brought your legs straight up into the air. You kept the band from snapping away with pointed toes and then tried to split your legs, but your heels caught on the rubber.

“See.”

Donnie let go of some of his complaints and his head wove in observation. “What is the machine like?”

“It has separate bands for each leg.”

“Easier to split.” He hummed.

“Exactly.”

“Socks?” He wondered.

“I can’t use them. Too much grip.”

He frowned and stood to approach your legs.

“She’s still doing the class, obviously.” You snuck in. “Coral, I mean.” 

Donnie continued to examine your feet.

“I think she likes it. It’s not really a super sweaty kind of workout. I think it's fine. I get that it's a low impact exercise, but some of the ways the teacher can stretch are terrifying…! Like she’ll do a jackknife, go into control balance, and then she backwards somersault into a crab!”  

“Is this how you were told to do it?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Your teacher, she’s a career instructor?”

“Yeah, after doing ballet when she was young.”

He nodded once before tapping your legs.

You brought them down and safely freed the band.

“I’m unfamiliar with resistance training, but I recognize a pulley.”

He urged you to sit up.

You did so and watched as he went for your gym bag. He gathered a toning tube and traded it out for your loop band. After stowing the other item, he returned and had you sit with your legs out. He started with your right and slipped the handle around your foot. He then wound around your back so the band stretched and pulled against the resistance to do the same to your left foot. “Now try.”

“It’ll slip when I stick my legs out.”

He openly thought. “Being on your back isolates leg muscles, but the band should compensate. Does the motion require your legs to straighten?”

It was your turn to ponder. “No…? I’m supposed to go up, out, and in to stretch the pelvis.”

“Rendering start position irrelevant.”

You nodded and laid back.

It took some adjusting to lay comfortably on a rubber cord, but you eventually managed. Once you were settled, you pulled at the band with your knees folded and were careful in raising your legs up. You soon had them extended high and rolled outward for the necessary spreading motion. The band undulated beneath you, but stayed in place until you completed one rep of the exercise.

“We got it!” You cheered and did a few more for the sake of it.

“Discuss with your teacher if this is appropriate.”

“And if not I’ll find out why.” You sent him knowing affection.

He lavished in it.

“So Coral and I have done seven total weeks of pilates. That’s three more than the three month deadline of asking Nelson out.”

Donnie’s head lifted with attention.

You held out eye contact.

His pupils darted through a few imagined scenarios before he finally looked at you. 

“Their first date is next week.”

He perked up with high brows. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“How?”

“He asked her.”

Donnie got to his knees and addressed you fully. “Explain.”

You laughed and continued to stretch your legs. “They say exercise boosts confidence. Nel’s never really had that, but he’s been doing this circuit training thing since his last girlfriend or whatever. The three month deal deadline came up and Coral said she was looking for the best time to spring it on him which is so weird for her. I figured she would just blurt it out, but I guess it’s different since they’ve known each other for years. Anyway, she got home from the gym one day at the same time as him. He made them both quinoa because it’s good after a workout or whatever and boom, he served it up, told her there was a place that makes way better, and asked if she wanted to go.”

Donnie slowly took in the information.

“Oh and she did blurt out asking if that was a date. I guess he laughed and said it was if she wanted and she berated him for being noncommittal.”

“They’ll last weeks at most.” He chuffed.

“Or forever. No in-between.” You chuckled.

You folded your legs to end your exercise and watched Donnie trace the movement.

“Wanna try?”

“My prosthetic.” His gaze pinched. “I can fashion an attachment.”

“Like I’d start you here!” You playfully sat up. “I’m a bonafide intermediate!”

“I see…” He deferred to you even though he had leagues of fighting experience that made that statement particularly inaccurate and gave you an idea. 

“We should remember the grip thing…” You got off the mat so he could get on. “Since you’re new and all.”

He took your spot. 

“It’s better-no safer with bare skin and it would be way too much trouble for you to change into your gym clothes so you should ditch your pants…”

He saw right through your game with narrowed eyes. 

You waited with excitement that would have had your tail wagging if you had one. 

He was obvious in giving up for a show and arched to get his waistband. “You are the intermediate.” 

“Yay!” You cheered as softly as you could before biting your lip at your husband’s chiseled form.

💜 NEXT 💜

Thank you to my beta @tmntxthings 

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 (𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

( dialogue prompts taken from episodes 5 & 6 ( "eat at baratie!" & "the chef and the chore boy" ) of the netflix live action one piece series. feel free to edit and change as you seem fit. )

❛ how about we sail away as fast as we can? ❜

❛ about the battle, you wanna talk about it? ❜

❛ there's something on the breeze. smells like butter. soy sauce. and meat. ❜

❛ think he has brain damage? ❜

❛ i smell food, which means that there's someone somewhere cooking. ❜

❛ what's a... baratie? ❜

❛ let's eat! ❜

❛ you'll have to excuse them. they're idiots. ❜

❛ wanna take this outside? ❜

❛ are you asking me to dance? 'cause i kind of had my eye on that blonde at table eight. ❜

❛ i call it a true bluefin sauté. it's elephant tuna, seared asparagus, in a sweet soy reduction. ❜

❛ if i gotta sling one more prime rib medium-well, i am going to drop dead of boredom, you old shitbag! ❜

❛ this ain't gonna be a fight. i'm just going to kill him. ❜

❛ hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. ❜

❛ one of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal? ❜

❛ apologies, madam, i didn't see you there. ❜

❛ something wrong with your eye? ❜

❛ just blinded by your beauty. ❜

❛ nami's got a boyfriend. ❜

❛ did i catch you in the middle of something? ❜

❛ just killing some time. ❜

❛ who's the quarry? ❜

❛ doesn't sound like much of a challenge. ❜

❛ why are you after me? ❜

❛ you woke me from my nap. ❜

❛ i can't eat another bite. but it's so good. ❜

❛ who the hell is monkey d. luffy? ❜

❛ i don't even think there's liquor in this. it tastes just like candy. ❜

❛ who's ready for another drink? my treat. ❜

❛ i don't really do regret. no point in looking back. ❜

❛ sometimes, when i try to look ahead, all i see is back. ❜

❛ you know, you're a really good cook. ❜

❛ if a man is hungry, i feed him. ❜

❛ what are you carrying around that's so heavy? ❜

❛ i bet i know more about you than you do about me. ❜

❛ i guess something about you, you drink. you guess something about me, i drink.❜

❛ i have business with your captain. if you know what's good for you, you'll hand him over. ❜

❛ i've been following your career since i was a child. it's an honor to finally meet you, sir. which is why it pains me to inform you that tomorrow... you're going to die. ❜

❛ accept my challenge. you'll see how serious i am. ❜

❛ you want me to say you're the best? you're the best. okay? ❜

❛ you're the best i've ever seen, but you are not better than him. ❜

❛ why do you give a shit? ❜

❛ because you're my friend, you idiot. ❜

❛ you said it yourself. you don't have any friends. ❜

❛ what is that? i'm here for a sword fight. ❜

❛ i don't hunt rabbits with a cannon. ❜

❛ you're brave. i'll give you that. ❜

❛ wounds on the back are a swordsman's greatest shame. ❜

❛ this world could use a few more wild cards. ❜

❛ it's too soon for you to die. grow strong and come find me. i'll be waiting. ❜

❛ you could never fail me. ❜

❛ look, i'm not gonna lie to you. he's lost a lot of blood. it might be too late for him. but it might not be. ❜

❛ he's got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death. you have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world. ❜

❛ nice of you to announce yourself. ❜

❛ i don't take orders. not even from the likes of you. ❜

❛ what's the matter? don't like fish? ❜

❛ if you don't want the fish, i got two-inch t-bones in the kitchen. or maybe you're in the mood for saffron risotto? ❜

❛ i can make anything. just tell me what you want. ❜

❛ being a captain, it's the toughest job in the world, okay? ❜

❛ how'd you two meet? were you on his crew or something? ❜

❛ oregano's for savages! ❜

❛ you've got a sharp tongue on you, boy. how about i cut it out and fry it up with some pig fat? ❜

❛ do what you want, but i'm not gonna die here. ❜

❛ they're all dead, except for us. ❜

❛ you ate it? you ate your own leg? ❜

❛ you don't even know me. why would you do that for a stranger? ❜

❛ so i'm gonna need you to live on. and i'm gonna need you to fulfill that dream... for both of us. ❜

❛ have any idea what that's like? having someone lose a limb to save your life? ❜

❛ sometimes, when you are in charge, you have to make the tough decisions. ❜

❛ i'd do anything to save him. anything. except stand in the way of his dream. ❜

❛ isn't there something that you want? something more than anything else in this world? ❜

❛ not everyone gets to follow their dreams. ❜

❛ did you not hear what i just said? they are hunting you. we need to run. ❜

❛ i can't let innocent people get hurt because of me. ❜

❛ i hear you're looking for me. ❜

❛ so this is the pirate i've heard so much about? ❜

❛ do you know who i am, boy? ❜

❛ how'd you even know how to find me? ❜

❛ if you bow down to me, i might even let you serve in my kingdom. ❜

❛ i don't bow down to any man. ❜

❛ i told you in the bar i didn't have any friends, but the truth is, i couldn't let myself have them... because i always end up hurting the people closest to me. ❜

❛ why waste your time killing a devil fruit eater? let the sea do it for you. ❜

❛ what is your problem? ❜

❛ me? i'm fine. you're the one with the problem. ❜

❛ you're not gonna be anything, not if you stay here. ❜

❛ it's not like i can just leave. ❜

❛ don't you get it? it's one thing to have a dream. it's another to go after it. ❜

❛ you want my permission? you got it. ❜

❛ i didn't know what to say before, but i know what to say now, and it's so simple. i need you. ❜

❛ you gonna keep talking, or let me get some sleep? ❜

❛ i vow to stand by your side from now until the end. ❜

❛ you're my captain, and i'm your first mate. ❜

❛ heard you guys need a cook. ❜

❛ why are we bringing the waiter? ❜

❛ you keep your feet dry. ❜

❛ you know, all these years, living under your shitty roof, cooking at your shitty restaurant... i owe you my life! ❜

❛ thank you for putting up with my shit all these years, old man. ❜

❛ i'll never forget you! ❜

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 5

Special thanks to @magicalstripedhorse, who helped keep this installment on track. :)

-----

“Oh no,” Kara drawls the moment she steps out onto the stoop of her building eight days later. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Lena smirks, leaning casually against the side of an old beat up pick up truck. The red ball-cap on her head is just as worn, its frayed bill extending backwards from Lena’s head.

“Flannel? Really?” Kara eyes the shirt in question where it’s tied around Lena’s waist. “Can you be any more of a lesbian?”

Lena spreads her hands. “We’re going to a farmer’s market,” she says. “What did you expect? An LBD?”

“Hm,” Kara hums, bouncing down the steps to greet her girlfriend with a kiss. “Maybe for dinner later.”

She definitely wouldn’t mind seeing Lena in a little black dress. Her mind conjures up an image that very nearly makes her pull Lena back upstairs, but the call of fresh fruit and vegetables proves to be too strong.

“All right, Tegan and Sara, let’s get going.”

The drive is somewhat familiar, as Kara has been to the farmers market before, but it’s been a while and it takes longer than Kara remembers. She’s not mad about it though– it gives her time to catch up with Lena about their weeks, which are relatively tame for a week in the life of first responders.

Lena had a few oven fires, a serious case of whiplash during a fender bender, and not one, but two cats stuck in a tree. Definitely tops Kara’s days of petty larceny, jaywalking, and a single wellness check. But she knows better than to comment on the relative slowness– the moment it’s acknowledged is the moment the sky starts to fall.

Just when the city gives way to suburbs, Lena turns the truck into a graveled parking lot. Kara takes note of the cars already there, and the thin stream of people already circulating through the stalls. It’s only mid-morning, and she expects the crowd will only grow as the day progresses. 

“Come on,” Kara calls as she hops out of the truck, slamming the dusty door behind her. “I need asparagus.” 

She gets her asparagus, and much more. She snags an artichoke and some lettuce as well as some strawberries she makes a note to prep for the next time Lena comes over. Lena splits away for a short moment, and comes back with fava beans and a joke about a nice chianti that makes Kara laugh.

Produce leads to cuts of various meats out of coolers. Lena nudges her. “You like steak?”

Kara’s mouth waters. “Oh, yeah.”

Lena requests two prime ribs, and tucks them and a slab of bacon into her tote alongside her fava beans. By the time they get to the baked goods and crafts, Kara’s own bag is sitting heavy in the crook of her elbow. She moves it to her shoulder instead, and has just prodded Lena towards a live herbs vendor when a call splits the air.

“Hey, Sarge!” 

Kara turns on instinct, and to her surprise Lena does as well. The expectant set of her features strikes Kara as odd, but she focuses her attention instead on who might have called for her. She doesn’t recognize any of the oncoming faces, which makes her frown.

“Sarge!” 

The crowd parts just long enough for a man in a wheelchair to roll out from the throng of people. His face is round and creased with joy as he coasts towards them, but Kara pulls back slightly when she doesn’t recognize him.

Lena steps forward. “Hey, Gonzales.”

Kara watches stunned as she extends her hand and engages in a sort of handshake with the man– palms, backs, and a fist bump top and bottom. Clearly, Lena is more than familiar with the man. Kara’s gaze darts back and forth between them, taking in Lena’s easy smile and the man’s eager countenance, which had yet to dim even when he turned his gaze to Kara.

“Yo,” Gonzales says with a grin. “When Jess said you stopped by the bar with a new lady friend, I knew she must have been a looker, but damn, Sarge–”

“Watch your mouth, Corporal.”

Kara steps up to introduce herself. “Sergeant, huh?” she says, smirking. Lena has yet to return to the subject of her time in the service, so Kara is thrilled to have even just her rank. “Who’d’a thunk?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gonzales confirms. “The sergeant here was the best damn medic in the company. Saved our unit’s ass more than a couple times.” He rolls forward a few inches to offer a handshake. “Hector Gonzales, ma’am. Pleasure to meet one of the Sarge’s lady friends.”

“Police Sergeant Kara Danvers,” Kara returns. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Corporal.”

The man waves her off. “Please, it’s just Hector or Gonzales now. Gotta get used to the civvie life now. Right, Sarge?” 

Lena rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Sure.”

“You said you’re Jess’ brother?” Kara briefly scans Gonzales and notes an above the knee amputation and a serious burn scar on his right arm that stretched from his wrist to disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

Hector nods enthusiastically. “Yes, ma’am!” He shoots a bright look towards Lena. “Did she tell you she got early admission to NCU? Honors track.”

Lena beams. “No, she didn’t! That’s wonderful!”

“First choice and everything. She’ll be the first one in the family to go to college, you know.” 

“What is she planning to study?” Kara asks.

Hector’s grin is infectious. “Art. Our mother wanted her to be a lawyer, because that girl argue like nothing else, but she's had her sights on art from the beginning. Sarge has seen some of her drawings, when she sent some to me overseas. Remember Sarge?”

Lena nods. “They were pretty amazing.” 

Kara smiles, but a tug of sadness pulls at some of her joy for Jess. She’d almost gone to art school once. That had been the goal, before the shooting. After everything that happened… well, she hasn’t picked up a brush in a long time. 

“Hey,” Hector says, pulling Kara’s attention back to the conversation. “I’m getting some friends together to watch the game next weekend. You guys should come!”

Kara has no idea what game he means, or even what sport, but Lena nods. “Yeah, shoot me the details and we’ll try to make it.”

“Wilco, Sarge. Oh! And you can invite any of your folks from the firehouse too. I can tell them how lucky they are to have you.”

Lena’s cheeks flush pink. “Gonzales, I swear to god–”

“Hector!” A young hispanic woman calls from further down the aisle. “You were supposed meet me at– oh!” 

“Cecilia!” Hector waves at her, beckoning her closer. “C’mere, this is the Sarge!” 

Cecilia’s go wide. “Oh! Sergeant Reilly! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Lena’s easy smile widens. “Uh oh,” she groans comedically. She reaches for Kara, drawing her forward into the conversation. “This is Kara.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Kara offers gamely. They exchange handshakes, with smiles all around. Kara revels in being included, but even more so in the sense that she’s being allowed a further glimpse into who Lena is. 

Hector and Cecilia are sweet together. Hector is engaged and enthusiastic, while Cecilia is a little more reserved. But Lena converses easily, laughing and grinning, totally at ease in the presence of her fellow soldier. Eventually, Cecilia reminds Hector that they’re almost due to be somewhere else. 

“Right, right,” Hector nods. He prepares to roll away, but pauses to peg Lena with a stern gaze. “Game, next weekend. You’ll tell your crew?” 

Lena nods with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll let ‘em know. Good catching up, Gonzalez. Take it easy.”

“You too, Sarge! Rolling out!” 

Lena watches them head off, then turns back towards Kara with a chagrined roll of her eyes. Her mouth opens, but Kara cuts her off. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she warns. “He was delightful.”

“Yeah,” Lena agrees. “He’s a good guy. Him and Jess both. They’re good eggs.”

“And besides, anyone who adores you like he does is definitely good in my book.”

This time, Lena’s roll of her eyes are directed at Kara. “Ah yes. Remind me to not let you two in a room alone. Who knows what shenanigans you’d get into–”

Suddenly a cry further down the aisle breaks through the buzz of people. Without conscious thought, or even a look between them, Kara and Lena both begin to push towards the call. Breaking through the circle already starting to form, they find a young woman seizing on the ground. 

Lena immediately kneels beside her, smoothly untying her flannel and folding it as a pillow to pad the woman’s head against the pavement. “Calling a bus,” Kara says briefly, already pulling her phone out to dial. 

“Hold up,” Lena calls, her voice firm with easy authority. “Got a medical alert bracelet here.” She flips the silver tag to read the inscription, then nods to herself. “No ambulance. Known condition.”

Kara nods her acknowledgement, pocketing her phone as she crouches. “What do you need?”

“Some water would be good, if you can find it.”

“On it,” Kara confirms, rising back to her feet. But the time she returns with a bottle of water from a nearby vendor, the girl’s seizing has stopped. She answers Lena’s questions with slurred, mumbling responses, but Lena doesn’t look concerned.

“Okay, Lydia, you’re doing great. Just take your time.” 

Kara kneels to one knee, handing over the bottle of water. “Any chance she hit her head?”

“I’ll evaluate once she’s a little more with it. So far nothing concerning.” She glances towards the lingering crowd. “Could you get us some space?”

The remaining onlookers moved on once Kara started waving them away, assuring them the situation was handled. When the last resume their shopping, Lydia is blinking up at Lena with eyes rapidly sharpening with focus.

“Welp. That’s embarrassing,” she delivers drolly, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“There you are,” Lena says, gently giving Lydia’s shoulder a pat. “Lydia, my name is Lieutenant Riley with the National City Fire Department. Do you feel ready to sit up? I’ve some water here I’d like you to sip.”

Lydia manages to sit upright with only a little bit of an assist from Lena. She accepts the open water bottle with both hands, which tremble as they lift the water to her lips. She takes several long gulps before groaning.

“Do you mind if I check your head for bumps?” Lena asks. “We want to make sure you didn’t hit your head on the way down.”

Lydia nods her consent, and holds still as Lena begins to investigate the back of her head with expert fingers. “Anything hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Lydia quips. When she catches Kara’s sympathetic gaze, she continues. “It’s still relatively new. My doctor says it should get better with medication, but… ugh! All I wanted was some asparagus!” She sighs. “At least I felt this one coming on– managed to sit down before it hit.”

Lena pulls away, placing her hands on her knees as she gives her patient a warm smile. “Well, I didn’t find any bumps or lumps, so it looks like that did the trick. Good thinking.”

“Oh god,” Lydia groans. “You didn’t call an ambulance, did you?”

“Nope.” Lena nods towards the girl’s wrist. “Medic alert did its job.”

“Thank goodness,” Lydia sighs in relief. “I seriously can not afford another trip.��

Lena chuckles, rubbing Lydia’s back. “I can imagine. How do you feel about trying to stand? I’d feel better if we got you to some shade.”

She gives Lydia a hand up, who seems steady on her feet. Once satisfied the girl wasn’t about to keel over, Lena nods towards a small patch of trees. “How about that bench over there?”

Kara hovers, adrift without a way to help. She carries hers and Lena’s bags of goodies along with her as they all move towards the bench. 

“How are you feeling?” Lena checks in once they’re seated.

Lydia pauses, taking stock. “Just tired, I think. Always feel like I got hit by a freight train, but it usually goes away.” She glances at Lena. “You guys seriously don’t have to stay.”

“I’d feel better if we did. Just until you feel well enough to finish up and get yourself home.” 

“Okay.” Lydia stares at the open water bottle resting on her thigh, then looks back to Lena. “You said you were a firefighter?”

“And medic,” Kara offers, unable to keep quiet. Lena’s eyes flash at her, but in affection or irritation, Kara can’t tell. 

Lydia’s eyes spark with interest. “I want to go to med school after undergrad. I don’t know what discipline yet, though.”

Kara listens to them converse for several minutes, propping herself up against the nearest tree. Closing her eyes against the sun, she breathes deep the smell of spring blossoms and fresh cut grass, letting the hum of their voices lull her to a state between waking and sleeping. Well, maybe more asleep than not, considering the bench is empty when she next blinks her eyes open. Lydia is nowhere to be found, and Lena is sitting on the ground beside her, scrolling through her phone. 

“You could have woken me up,” Kara gripes half-heartedly. 

“But it’s such a nice day to lean against a tree,” Lena returns, half teasing. 

Kara reaches over until she finds Lena’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Neither of them move to rise. 

“You were amazing just now.”

Lena merely shrugs. “Anyone in my position would have done the same.”

“We both know there aren’t many people who can do what you do.”

A hum answers her, but Lena refrains from saying anything else. Kara bites back a frown. She knows Lena doesn’t feel comfortable sharing anything about her time overseas as a combat medic– not entirely unexpected. Some of Kara’s veteran coworkers feel the same. And not all first responders respond well to positive recognition, which isn’t uncommon in the first responder community either. But Kara can’t shake the feeling in her gut that she heard a note of shame in Lena’s voice.

Whatever it is, Kara resolves to know it better, no matter how long it takes. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Lena asks quietly. “I think I hear a steak dinner calling your name.”

Kara grins, but closes her eyes and leans her head against the tree behind her once more. “Just a few more minutes.”

She hears Lena smile, then a rustle as Lena leans back as well. 

A good day indeed.

[kitslittlegirl]

ASPIRATIONS

word count: 1.4k

warnings: um it’s very soft. pretty fluffy, kinda angsty. in third person, most -readers- perspective

a/n: i’m so bad at holding descriptions while there’s dialogue. “he murmured, she hummed, he choked” so sorry if it sucks! i’m tired so maybe it’s entirely i coherent, who knows, NOT PROOFREAD

not my best work i hate it but i think it could get a part two? about y/n getting into school or somthinggggg

it was a simple, predictable life between you and kit. met fresh out of high school, got engaged when you were 19, and him 21.

all kit could talk about was your future together- a house, three kids- little girls, he hopes, coming home to me, a home, and his babies for the rest of his life. and you wanted that more than anything; you couldn’t wait to save enough money together to get your first house, to get that dream wedding your mother always imagined you having.

except for one thing; a career. you weren’t sure what, you never had an opportunity to think about your future since it’d been laid out since the doctors knew you were a little girl. grow up, marry a nice man, have kids, be a housewife! but you knew you wanted to go to college, to get higher education, retire on my own funds.

it only became more daunting in your mind as the new law recently passed- women and men were to receive equal educational opportunities. you finally had a chance, you could be the first career woman in your family!

but what would kit think? what if i crush his heart? of course you want kids, the house, the wedding- the works! but what if he doesn’t want to wait for kids? what if he wants them now and doesn’t want to wait for your own career? you can’t work in the run down diner forever.

you can’t decide what’s worse; telling kit your dreams and risking losing the love of your life, or not telling him and live a life you know you could bring more to?

him or you, is what it really came down to.

you’ve mulled over the idea in your head of telling him, and it going perfectly! but you’ve also catastrophized about every horrible reaction he could have; he could go through with the house, kids, wedding, but resent you, find a lover on the side. he could leave you to never love again. he could disappear the next morning and never say a word to you again. anything could happen.

but the wedding is creeping closer- it’s in 57 days now. and you need to tell him. you have to, but you can’t find the courage- and of course, being the perfect man he is, noticed.

kits noticed your furrowed brows when you sit in silence, he’s found you reading the newspaper sections about the new law, education opportunities. and it’s itching him just as much to figure out what’s going wrong with you.

it’s a late, thursday night. it’s your off day so your at home, humming to a ella fitzgerald record buzzing from the living room while you finish up dinner while you wait for kit to come home. 7:14 on the dot, like always.

you hear the squeak of the door, and latch shutting, so you call to him.

“welcome home, my loveee!” drawing out the last word slightly.

kit unbuttons his grease-coated work shirt and hangs it by the door, bringing his lunch into the kitchen to unpack- later though, if he remembers.

“helloooo, beautiful” he mumbles, clearly a little whooped from his long day. kit comes behind you, holding your hips, and bringing you close. he relaxes most of his body weight into you, holding your warmth close to heat up his body from the cold night. he rests his head on your shoulder, eyes shut from the sleepiness.

“what’s for dinner?” his charming little accent pokes through in the hum against your shoulder, making you smile.

“i’ve got some asparagus and that spicy fish you like in the oven, and the brown rice is almost done. i should be finished in…20 minutes.”

kit lets out a low hum in acknowledgment, rocking your bodies side to side- you were sure he was half asleep.

“we need to talk about somethin’, baby” you murmured quietly, maybe hoping he couldn’t even here you.

kit hoped you’d say that. he’d been itching to talk about why’d you’d been so different. had you been having second thoughts? did you get laid off? were you pregnant already? he’d run through every scenario, and needed to know just as much as you needed to tell him.

“we sure do.” he agrees, making your heart twist. of course he’s noticed. what if you were hurting him? scaring him? you felt like shit about this whole thing.

“so, you’ve heard of the new law? higher education for women…”

“yeah…what about it?”

“well, how do you feel about that? women receiving higher education, i mean” you fidget with the tongs to distract your nerves.

“i think…it’s a step in the right direction. about time you guys had a choice, yeah?” kits answer relieves you, your shoulders relaxing for the first time in a while.

“yeah. yeah, definitely…”

“why do you ask?” kits brows were furrowed, which you could only see out of the corner of your eye, his fingers fidgeting with the part of the apron that fell on your hips.

“well…how would you feel if i said i wanted a higher education?” this was it. you asked. this could ruin everything, everything you’d built with him. his heartbeat against your back and soft breathing on your neck only made you all the more petrified, the tension leaking back into your shoulders.

kit was confused, if anything. not really disappointed…he just felt like this came out of nowhere. it did, honestly. he’d never hear you speaking about education or a career, he was fairly convinced your guy’s future was set in stone.

he was conflicted. he still wanted to build this life with you, and he wasn’t sure how an education might change that.

“do you not want kids anymore…? or the wedding or the—“

“no, kit- i mean, yeah, yes, of course i still want it.” you cut him off, your heart racing as his did against you. you turn from the stove, taking a step to the side to face him, needing to look him in the eye to say this.

“i’d get married like yesterday if we could but…i’d wanna wait on the kids maybe…i want a career, college. but i want you too. can i have both? that’s what i need to know, kit.”

kits looking at you as you speak, the tension in your shoulder, the anxiety in your furrowed brow. he saw you differently now. as a woman with a different dream than he knew, what he expected.

he blamed himself for being so traditional at this point. he wondered if he was the reason you waited so long to say anything. did he just want a housewife? no…right? of course not. he wanted you, housewife or career woman. the love of his life.

while he pondered, he took too long to respond and the rambling seemed to spill out of you. regret seeped into your chest, wishing you could take it all back. you ruined everything, you were sure of it.

“it’s fine if you don’t, i get it, i can be your housewife, im okay with that! i’ll stay home, i’ll take care of our little ones, keep it clean, make you—“

“is that what you want, baby?” he squeezed your hands a little harsher than intended to grab your attention, cutting you off.

“do you want to be a housewife? or do you want a career? because i want you. i don’t care about having kids the minute i’ve got a ring on your finger, i don’t mind sharin’ the chores with you while you put in the work for your future. i can clean too, i can cook, i can take care of kids” kits chest is tight as he tells you that you’re free. while she shows you that he doesn’t expect a certain thing from you as a woman, that he supports you.

your heart is racing, but warm as he rambles on. ease again. your shoulder relax, your brows knitted in confusion, appreciation.

his words are insistent, strong, true and you can feel each one.

“really? i can go to school?”

“absolutely. please go to school, if that’s what you want. i’d love to see you build a beautiful career for yourself. use that perfect brain of yours” he smiles tenderly, almost as if to cry, but not quite.

but you do. tears stain your round cheeks and he reaches to hold it.

“c’mere, baby” kit mumbled as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close to his heart like you were the only thing in it- you were.

you wrap your arms around his waist, his heart pound’s against your cheek and it’s all you here.

“i love you” you speak through your soft cries.

“i love you too, sweetheart. more than you know.”

[hannahbarberra162]

Country Mouse, City Mouse Chapter 3

Now on Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 3 - Don't Bet On It

Mihawk POV

He hadn’t heard any screaming in the night, so either you were killed quickly or you had survived the night. Mihawk came down from his bedroom to the kitchen for his morning cup of tea. He was used to being the first one up and relished the solitude of the early morning. That is, until he entered the kitchen.

“Good mornin’ sunshine,” you said sipping a cup of coffee at the table.

Mihawk was even less inclined to speak in the morning, but felt obligated to respond.

“Good morning, Y/N. I hope you had a pleasant night in the shed.”

“Oh yeah, it was great. Was the perfect night for stargazing, too. Anyway, gotta get goin’. Lots to do today and I’m burnin’ sunlight.” With that, you finished the last of your coffee, rinsed the cup and went on your way. His day was off kilter and it hadn’t even begun.

Y/N POV

You had a lot of work to do today - you had to move some vegetables that were in unsuitable locations, weed, water, plant, mulch, and so much more. But you loved what you did, so you were looking forward to it all. You didn’t know why Mihawk had warned you about the humandrills. One had come up to you, sword in hand to attack. You weren’t sure why but offered him to sit and watch the night sky with you instead. He accepted and you spent an amicable few hours pointing out constellations and explaining their history to him. You thought he was sweet, and maybe could be put to good use for larger projects.

You looked out at the farm and mentally started organizing your tasks for the day. You began with watering as many of the plants looked parched. You had just about finished when Mihawk came to stand beside you. He was wearing another elaborate outfit with his sword strapped to his back. You ignored him and kept watering. When done, you needed to move on to a larger task - replanting some feather asparagus that had been planted too shallowly. You glanced at Mihawk, who still hadn’t said a word. He looked so solemn and stately you couldn’t resist the urge to ruffle his feathers.

“Could you be a doll and use your sword to make a narrow trench over there?” pointing to another area of the farm. Mihawk’s eye twitched.

“That would not be a suitable use for Yoru.”

“Well then grab a shovel pumpkin’ because we have to get digging.” With that, you sauntered over to the shed to collect your tools. He didn’t respond but you’d had your fun anyway.

You spent a beautiful morning digging and replanting the asparagus. During the time, you shared some facts and tips for growing feather asparagus, which generated some conversation with Mihawk. Once done, you stopped for a water break. 

Sitting beside one another in the shade of a tree, you offhandedly said to him “by the way, do we have any ale here?”

“It is early in the day to be drinking, is it not?”

You laughed and said “no, not for me. Pourin’ some ale on the stalks of your beef tomatoes will keep slugs from gettin’ to ‘em.”

“I have read in my farming guides that the best way to keep slugs off beef tomatoes is an application of cumin powder in the soil around the base of the plant. It is inoffensive to the plants but the slugs do not tolerate it.”

“Yeah, that’ll work, but ale works better.”

“The farming guide I am referencing is the most well researched guide currently available. Ale is not listed as a method of slug deterrence.”

“Care to make a bet, swordsman?” you said with a devious look on your face.

Mihawk maintained his neutral expression but said “what are the terms?”

“We’ll split the plants in two groups. You do your treatment, I’ll do mine. In the end, let’s say a week, we’ll see who has fewer slugs. That is, if you are confident in your ‘research guide’.” 

“Mmmm. And what does the winner receive?”

You looked up in thought. “If I win, you have to give me a new bottle of that wine we drank last night. If you win, I’ll move into the castle.”

“I do not care if you live in the castle or not.”

“Then I’ll do the dishes for a month, how about that.”

“Those are agreeable terms.”

“You’ve sealed your fate, sugar,” you said with a smirk.

Mihawk POV

You were right. It only took a few days of applying cumin to the dirt surrounding the tomato plants for him to see that you were having greater success with ale. Mihawk was not used to being wrong, but at least you were being a gracious winner. 

After five days and countless cumin applications, Mihawk came to your shed at the end of the day, wine bottle in hand. He also brought two glasses, in case you were interested in some company. Over the past few days of working together, he found he enjoyed conversing with you. You were knowledgeable about many topics and were an avid reader, like he was. You mentioned that during off seasons and while on long sea voyages, your favorite activity was reading. You found both of you relished the same romantic series - about a swashbuckling pirate always on an adventure, but secretly yearning for true love. 

He did not see much of you outside of work and meal time. There wasn’t much to do on the island, so he had assumed you would join them in the castle for entertainment. However, when you weren’t working, you were nowhere to be found. Mihawk was not expecting such an outcome. The types of people that he was used to engaging with - warlords, pirates, loose women, outlaws, merchants - would always flock to him. He would have to fend off irritating conversations, pathetic pleas, and wanton come-ons to no end. But you didn’t seem to need his company, you had a rich life all your own. Your independence of thought and lifestyle was refreshing, if not a little strange to him. 

Coming to the shed, he rapped his knuckle once on the door. There was no response. Perhaps you did not hear? He rapped again, this time twice. Still no response, and no sounds coming from the shed. Though he was loath to violate your privacy, he wanted to ensure you were alright. Opening the door and peering into the shed, it was obvious you weren’t there.  It was nearing nightfall - there wasn’t any activity to do on the island. So where could you be?

Mihawk just wanted to ensure you got the wine - he was not at all worried about your whereabouts, he told himself. He called out your name, “Y/N? Are you about?”

“Over here” you called from father away.

He looked where your voice had come from. You were sitting on the ground, leaning back against a stump. You had something on your hand and you were watching it move. Mihawk came towards you and stopped in front of you.

“Hey dumplin’, what can I do you for?”

“I concede that you have won our bet. You are far more knowledgeable than my books. As the winner, I bequeath to you this bottle of wine,” he said with a small smile. He presented you with said bottle. “I have also brought glasses in case you wish to celebrate your victory now.”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have. Thank you, honey. I think tonight’s a fine night for a celebration. Go ahead and crack ‘er open for us.” You smiled up at him while an insect continued crawling on your hand.

Mihawk obliged and poured two glasses of wine. After handing one to you, you said “c’mere, sit. The grass don’t bite.” You patted the ground next to you.

Mihawk was unused to sitting on the ground. He always thought it was so unrefined. And might soil his garments. But…it did have its charm. He ignored your use of a command and sat down next to you.

“You have an insect on your hand, Y/N.”

“It’s a lantern firefly. I’ve never seen this kind before, they’re the largest variety in the Grand Line. They have a short lifespan and only live a few weeks so I’ve never been able to catch ‘em at the right time.” You nodded your head towards a glade nearby. “Look.”

In silence, the two of you watched as more fireflies lit up the darkening night sky. It was a beautiful sight, the fireflies glowing like green glass globes in the air. The air seemed to be filled with softly glowing lanterns, creating a peaceful atmosphere. You sat and enjoyed the scene, sipping your wine slowly. Mihawk did the same. You had a tranquil look on your face and a soft smile on your lips. It was an otherworldly scene, sitting next to you, watching the glow in the growing dark. This was something he would not have found on his own before you came to him. Eventually, the night sky was completely dark and the fireflies stopped appearing. 

“Well, that’s that,” you said, getting up and dusting off your pants. “Have you ever seen something so wonderful?” you asked him, returning your now empty wine glass to his hand.

Looking into your eyes, he replied “not until tonight.”

[marshmallowwitharubberband]

I have a complicated relationship with Jiang Cheng.

As a character, I love his complexity, but I especially love how realistically it portrays one of the real-life outcomes of growing up in a violent, emotionally-repressive environment. When every display of emotion is labeled as weakness and answered with violence, some people eventually become programmed to turn any emotion into agression, see everything as an attack, and become secretly-people-pleasers with zero tolerance to frustration.

Actually, the Jiang siblings are excellent portraits of the different outcomes of what growing up in violence can do to you: you either become small and unnoticeable to survive, you become the kindest person ever so no one goes through the same, your self-worth gets reduced to what you can do for others, you go into substance abuse...

Thinking about it, I wouldn't be surprised if MXTX studied psychology in some form because the personalities resulting of her character's backgrounds are surprisingly realistic, for the most part, but back to Cheng-Cheng.

Guy had all the pressure put on him by his emotions-hating helicopter mom. Yanli got a pass for being a woman and being "destined" to be a wife, and maybe Mme. Yu may have projected a little, maybe she thought if she, herself, was sweeter and meeker JFM would treat her better? Idk, but the fact is, Yanli was allowed to not be "strong" ('Cause Mommy Yu is definitely the type of person to equal strength to agression). WWX "didn't count" because he was just a servant, so she merely ground his self-worth into the dirt.

Poor Jiang Cheng had to bear the brunt of his mom's horrible expectations and it broke him. His agression is more like a scared animal's, he lashes out his fear and frustration as violence because it's the only "acceptable" way, the only way he learned to be taken seriously or handle emotions at all. Much like today's wall-punching macho wannabes.

I wouldn't be surprised if Jiang Cheng, in a modern AU, would be sucked into the red pill rhetoric, he's exactly the lonely, stressed, emotionally hurt and vulnerable demographic those jerks target.

So yeah, he is a complex character with very valid motivations and a horribly tragic story handled in a very realistic way, I love that.

As a person, though, I really, really hate him and admit that, at some points in the book I would skip over his dialogue because yeah, yeah, your suffering, your sacrifices, boo hoo, poor you, my god, just shut up, everyone in this place has suffered and lost and is majorly messed up, you're not special! (At least he didn't actively murder anyone)

But I am aware it's because he reminds me, uncannily accurately, of someone who irl emotionally abused me all through childhood while the other adults around me did nothing. They, too, were obsessed with what I "owed" them both literally and metaphorically, and showed their affection with criticism, aggressiveness, and irate explosions. And while I understand them more now and the cycle of violence they were a victim of, I cannot forgive their actions. And I kin Wei Wuxian too hard to ever forgive Jiang Cheng.

But I do like how The Untamed softened him a lot and took care to emphasize that he was just an insecure kid who wanted to be accepted and the universe made him its chew toy. It re-portrayed him as that younger sibling who just wants to be included in his big bro's adventures and keeps being pushed aside by everybody. TU JC is my sweet little baby and needs a hug.

Book JC can go fry asparagus.

[ahedderick]

Tasks o' the day:

A little bit of weeding in the asparagus bed, and checking in on the little seedlings that I transplanted. This process was hindered by a large tom cat deciding to *Flop* in the dirt - on top of several of the transplants. No! Weeding a bed of carrots compelled a second, smaller tom cat to *Flop* on the carrots I was so carefully weeding around. ARGH!

I removed the cats and myself from the garden, fed and watered chickens, and let the chicks out of their pen for a little foraging. Sent some emails to family, got a good breakfast. When K got up, we decided to meet at the mini-orchard at the top of the ridge. I was going to take the truck (with dogs), she was going to ride Hero. I got there and carefully lifted Chance out of the truck. The two apple trees up there both needed pruning and blackberry vines removed from around their trunks. I hacked and pruned for a while until I heard a suspicious snort from the woods. Soon K and Hero emerged from the treeline. She left him groundtied (a horse trained to groundtie will stay in place if you drop the end of his lead rope on the ground) and started picking raspberries. I was dismally contemplating how to prune a peach tree when we both realized - Hero was gone.

K hustled after him on foot, while I finished as much pruning as I though I could do without a ladder. Fortunately, she caught him before he went too far, and they came back up the hill together. Both looking rather grumpy.

I helped her remount and got Chance and Lady back in the truck. I will need to come back with a ladder, maybe next week. There aren't many apples or peaches, but we'll use whatever we get.

Back at home we gave Hero a bath (a two person chore) because the fly spray leaves him a bit greasy after a while. Watered the berry bushes with Miracle Grow. Took the little green apples off the apple branches I'd tossed in the back of the truck, and chopped them. Boiled up and strained, I will use the liquid 'extract' in making jelly later. The apple mush will go to the chickens.

I wanted to get another painting session in today, but I ended up just marking branch structure with a colored pencil. Didn't have energy for more. I hope to get some more gardening done this evening after the sun drops. Uh-oh - I don't have a plan for dinner. It is time for me to be. Uh-oh.

[thestudentfarmer]

9-5-2024 Garden and homesteading update,

Hello, hello!

Life's been keeping me a bit busy recently but I do have a bit of an update for the garden~

Finally Got manure in to fill in a few beds and top off rows. (Which I've started and got going to prep for winter)

Pulled everything but the carrots, cucumber, peppers and 1 tomato (tho the tomatoes on a wire line. I'm still thinking bout pulling it)

I found a few of the armenian cucumbers that might have viable seed, ive got to pull them apart and clean them tonight to dry and give a viability test. I'll leave the cucumbers growing for now. The pollinators and hummingbirds have been using them for shade and fuel. Plus I like the flush of lush foilage and ground cover. It's been extra hot this summer so we haven't seen as much produce as I usually crow about from them. When the weather starts going back to regulalry below 95*f I'm hoping to see more fruiting.

Started up a new bed in the garden. Its a raised bed, two boards tall. This one will be layered on the bottom as usual with cardboard thickly to repell and deter the grass a little bit. Instea dof paper shreds, i cracked up the sunflower stalks I've been saving up to fit the bed size and filled it a good bit with the smaller ones. Topping it off with the manur/compost. I also threw some of the dead cucumber vines with the sunflower stalks to sort of fill it. Not tight packed, just loosely. Just wanna see of it'll work similar to hugelkultur. (Link at end to Wikipedia page).

The sweet potato vines are starting to take off. Thankfully this means I'll have some greens to split between family and the chickens soon. Maybe even some spuds at the end of the season 🤞

The thyme plant kicked the can, the asparagus is ferning out, but not stalking. The basil is seeding pretty good. So with luck some wild seeded basil starts soon.

The sunchokes have stunted a bit, this week I'm gonna see about putting a shade up to see if that'll help them out.

The hollyhocks in the hen alley have been sort of taken over by grasshoppers. So not too much growth among them. Think I'll need to spend a few nights catching them, freezing them and giving them to the chickens for a little extra snack time delight. (Plus getting them out of the garden) I think at that time I'll also lay out some new cardboard as the ground cover has disintegrated pretty well. Looking good beneath on the soil.

Started filling in the area I wanted to put melons in, may instead end up using that area to grow winter veggies, like cauliflower, cabbage or broccoli.

Still need to mix the seed starting soil, cut up some cardboard tubes (gonna try to use them for some seed starting) and get those winter crops started up.

Getting ready to dig out my floral patch to plant elsewhere. (I've been waiting for cooler weather.)

And start up the new direct seed rotation plan (carrots, lettuce, radish, nasturtium and other)

And a few other minor tasks related to the garden and some major ones later too that I'm not gonna get ahead of myself yet on grandoise plans 😂

That's the garden update for now :)

🌱💚Happy Gardening and homesteading💚🌱

Links for additional infos:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%BCgelkultur

[feathersandfarmers]

Hello! I really like your page and think it's awesome! :) Also I was wondering if you have any headcanons for Mr. and Mrs. Tweedy? :)

Thank you so much, you're very kind! You're awesome too u3u

ah, the good ol' Mr. and Mrs. Tweedy! I could think of a few, hopefully they aren't too sappy! hehe

-The two guard dogs from the first CR movie were bought by Mr.Tweedy. He gifted the two puppies to Mrs.Tweedy as a Valentine's Day gift when they were first married. Mrs.Tweedy turned the puppies into the guard dogs we know! (I wanted to draw this..imagine a young Mrs Tweedy gushing at her two new puppies that a young Mr.Tweedy gifted her)

-For their honeymoon, they went on a seaside trip to Blackpool. (that might be more or less official since i have the "Making of Chicken Run" book and it says something vaguely about this)

-Mrs. Tweedy does think that Mr.Tweedy is cute, so there is/was some attraction to him. She mainly loves his chubby cheeks and his kind brown eyes u3u

-We never get to see either of the Tweedies enjoying any hobbies...i know they're farmers, and would rarely have time for such activities what with running an entire farm together. But do wonder what kind of things would they enjoy doing for leisure... For Mrs.Tweedy, I like to think she enjoys sitting outdoors, with a cool iced tea or lemonade, and having a magazine or a nice book on her lap to read. She'd like to tend to the small garden she has out back, where you'd find some flowers, and a few veggies growing! For Mr.Tweedy, i imagine he enjoys his handy work very much. Maybe he'd even get into whittling (which is carving little statues out of wood with a special kind of knife!) unrelated but i do imagine he'd make toys for Kipper Tweedy (which is a character i invented) since the couple would be way too poor to afford many toys for their niece.

-Mrs. Tweedy is unable to have her own children, being infertile. It touches a nerve for her, she's quite sad about it. When you think about it, the Tweedies are in rural England and are farmers but don't have any children..which would be very uncommon. I think this is a common theory among some Chicken Run fans on here though. Mr.Tweedy would have loved to have been a dad too :c

-Mrs.Tweedy is nervous about thunderstorms. And on a farm out in the countryside, storms could get particularly loud and scary. She wouldn't outright admit it, but strangely enough Mrs Tweedy would want Mr.Tweedy in the room with her each time there was a loud, thunderstorm outside. What a coincidence, Mrs Tweedy...

-Mrs.Tweedy doesn't like her first name, Melisha. Deep, down she thinks it's a goofy name.

-Mr.Tweedy's favorite meal would be: Some meatloaf and creamy mashed potatoes( don't forget the gravy!) with buttered peas (maybe some fresh rolls on the side), as a main course!And for dessert: Apple pie (duh!) with some vanilla ice cream! For breakfast, he loves beans on toast with some coffee (very creamy and sugary)

-Mrs.Tweedy: She loves a good roasted chicken dinner (yikess!!) with some brussel sprouts and sweet carrots as the sides. She does like an occasional cooked salmon dish with asparagus for dinner too. She secretly has a sweet tooth but limits herself. (if she starts eating candies, for example, she'll have a hard time stopping) Instead, she'll get a fruit for dessert if she needs something sweet after dinner. For breakfast, she likes her coffee black, and simply enjoys eggs on buttered toast, often with a side of fruit.

Hope they aren't too weak, but i thought of these headcanons on a whim! thanks for the ask!

[locallygrowndaikon]

Tis I yet again [definitely NOT covered in mud and grass] *cough cough*

First off, Beefy. Buddy. Pal. Friend. YIKES, WHAT IS THAT OUTIFT YOU CHOSE FOR ME it's so awful oml

ANYWAY

Twas decided that Lark is the only one capable of growing a garden, but is that a food garden or a flower garden?

If so what kinda things Lark got growing?

I can see Beefy being really confident about his plant abilities and then like, sticking his arm in poison ivy lmao

Ive been murdered by allergies

-Question Bringer tm

You make it sound like you need to crawl through holes and caves to reach me HGIAHFI

and wdym beefy chose a beautiful outfit 🥺🥺🥺🥺 -definitely not written by The Beefy Five Layer Burrito

Lark can grow both but he’d probably lean towards food garden JFGUGD

He’s out here growing basil and peas and other herbs and vegetables rosemary maybe asparagus and an avocado tree and apples and-

And you are right about Beefy, do not bring him mushroom picking LMAOOO

And rip question bringer you will be missed 😔🙏

[ciaossu-imagines]

This is my obligated one piece ask…. Any HC you might have at this point about Luffy? ☺️

Oh, at least one of these might get me in hot water! But here, have some thoughts and maybe some of them will be proven to be very, very wrong at some point in the future, and if so, I will be okay with that and will accept I'm wrong. Working off incomplete information, haha!

Okay, breaking one of my blog rules here. I next to absolutely NEVER discuss my headcanons around character's sexualities but I gotta say - Luffy gives off happy asexual vibes to me.

While he makes friends pretty easily now, I see the other kids when he was really little being annoyed with him often and he struggled to be allowed to play with everyone. He'd be that kid who wouldn't listen and would piss off the wrong person and get told to go away.

Despite what you would think, his favourite colour isn't red. It's yellow, because it's just such a positive colour.

While he's definitely not a picky eater, he does dislike a couple things food-wise, with black coffee, artichokes, and asparagus being some of those things. They make his pee smell weird and he's not okay with that.

He truly has never had so much as a cold. He's healthy as a horse...that or the old adage about idiot's never catching cold might be a little true.

Joking - I honestly do think Luffy is a little smarter than he lets on. I don't think he's really all that book smart, don't get me wrong, but he has great natural instincts and understands people pretty well.

He doesn't grow a lot of body hair. His legs are pretty smooth, honestly, with the little bit of hair that's there not being super noticeable.

He starts to go bald in his 40's, so fairly young.

Luffy wouldn't believe in capital punishment. He thinks that killing the bad guys lets them off too easy - they should have to live with the pain of what they've done and all the time in the world to think about how badly they fucked up their lives.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Night Nurse - Ch 9

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much. │ Masterlist / Chapter Map │

IX.

Helen made her way back to the guest bedroom, where John had placed her things. She had not mentioned it yet, but the sight of a massive bouquet of cheerful white Shasta daisies upon a side table swelled her heart to bursting. How had he managed it? She reasoned that he must have a house keeper to execute such things. The thought of him running after a house this size, vacuuming and dusting in between fulfilling contracts definitely made her grin.

She noticed his thoughtfulness had struck again in the bathroom, with artisan made soaps and bodywash that smelled like honey, rosemary, and looked like they had been extremely expensive. As she washed the grime of their lessons away she may have lingered a little extra long just to luxuriate a bit.

Not too long, though.

She was eager to get back to John, missing his company already.

She had it bad.

Maybe she should have kissed him earlier, when his arm had been wrapped around her waist like a band of steel. And yet, the older woman in her savored the slowly burning fuse between them, even if it was driving her a little mad. She knew from experience this was the sweetest part. The longing. The desire. The heavy looks and lingering touches. The honeymoon, as it were, when it seemed like the object of your devotion could do no wrong. She’d never been with anyone with whom that did not fade.

Maybe John would be the exception.

Maybe she really was losing her damn mind.

Fresh from the shower, she made her way to her bag. Maybe she’d exaggerated a little about the size of the first aid kit. There was a little something for everything within its confines; she liked to be prepared, and she felt like she’d packed just the right outfit for the moment. Maybe John would be so overcome by her beauty he would finally grab her up and kiss her—she snorted at the absurdity of the thought, even if, in the back of her mind, she kindled the hope.

John took a quick shower, careful of his new dressing, not wanting to displease Nurse Helen, although the thought of getting a rise out of her made the blood rush from his brain to a decidedly less helpful area. When she leveled him with that certain look…god. It made him want to grab her up and throw her down.

***

No, no, no, he scolded himself, looking down. Such thoughts were not helpful at all.

Maybe he would get a reward for being a good boy, and not wrecking the dressing.

The thought of that didn’t help either.

Exasperated with himself and his increasingly unhinged thoughts, he made his way to the kitchen, getting to work. He liked to cook. He found it relaxing, perhaps because he didn’t actually get the chance to do it all that often. Nights at home were a luxury in his business, and he intended to enjoy this one to the fullest.

He was prepping some asparagus crowns when Helen padded around the corner in a wide-necked ivory sweater dress that nearly cost him a finger. He paused in his chopping, his eyes all for her as she slid onto the stool across from him at the island.

“Can I do anything to help?” she asked with a sparkle in her eye that suggested she had an idea of what he was thinking as he looked at her. Little did he know, she was experiencing similar heart palpitations at the sight of him in his simple black button down, the open throat accenting the muscles of his chest to an utterly unfair advantage. Does he even know? she wondered. Somehow, she doubted it. Though he dressed well, he didn’t actually seem vain. Or if he was, he hid it better than any good-looking man she’d ever known.

“No,” John refused. “You’ve had a long day thanks to me. I insist you sit there, and look beautiful, and have a glass of wine if you would like one.”

She giggled at hearing that, propping her chin on her hand. “You’ve had a long day too, putting up with me.”

He started back on trimming the ends off of the asparagus, feeling that tell-tale heat blooming at his collar.

“I’ve had…a wonderful day, with you.” He looked up through his hair after he said it, dark-eyed and a little vulnerable. Helen felt her heart melt a little more for it.

“Me too,” she agreed quietly. “There’s never a dull moment with you, John.”

The corner of his mouth ticked. “I wouldn’t mind a few more dull moments. Or at least, quiet ones.”

“Are you...” She bit her lip. “Maybe I shouldn't ask you that.” 

“You can ask me anything,” he told her, and meant it. 

“Ok. Are you getting burnt out on your job?” 

He tilted his head, really thinking about it. It was all he'd ever known. He'd never even considered quitting, until meeting this woman, and daring to dream about what a life could be like outside the Underworld. 

“I've never actually liked my job,” he admitted. “But I never really had a choice either. Excelling at what I do was the only path to some semblance of freedom for me.” 

“And do you have to keep doing it? Just, indefinitely, forever?”

He sighed. He was so in demand, for Viggo, and those the Bratva boss lent him out to, for the right price. He couldn't imagine them ever letting him retire, even to a quieter post like Charon or Winston enjoyed. 

“I don't know,” he answered truthfully. The Impossible Task was a thing of legend among their kind. He'd never known of anyone who had come out from one alive. He'd considered it before, abstractly. Like something he might pursue when he finally needed one last challenge to cut the boredom. 

That was before he had something to lose. 

Pouring her a glass of red wine, he asked, “What about you? Is nursing what you've always wanted to do?” 

Helen accepted the glass of wine with a grateful smile. “I've been a caretaker for as long as I can remember. It seemed like a natural step, and it was a life line for my sister and I. We left Boston as soon as we could. We lived in the shittiest little apartment in the Bronx while I went to school, and waited tables, and Eve worked in a coffee house and sold her art. God...those days. I can't say I miss them. I was so grateful for my first shift after graduation. It was the first time since my father passed that I felt some sense of stability in my life. I felt, almost, safe.”

“Almost?”

“Almost.”

John found he despised the thought of Helen not feeling secure. It made him want to do something insane, like offer to take care of her forever.

“Hmm. I am going to start the grill, and then you are going to tell me what you like to do when you're not taking care of everyone else around you.” 

With a soft smile she watched him exit out the sliding glass doors to the patio beyond. She found that watching him doing the smallest things moved her. The poetry of his long-fingered hands, even when just chopping vegetables. Walking out a door. More preferably, walking towards her.

It felt alarmingly warm, and cozy.

It felt like... Oh no. Not yet. Leave that bastard of a four-letter word out for now. It only complicated things, unbearably so, in most cases. She just wanted to enjoy this, without jumping out of her skin, or thinking too much about the future.

It had always been her job to think about the future, and it was something that was hard to turn off.

When John returned, sliding the door closed behind him, he offered Helen a small smile that warmed her to her toes.

This man.

It really wasn’t fair.

She watched as he poured himself a glass of wine, inhaling deeply before taking a sip. “Is it alright?” 

“It's wonderful,” she complimented. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure. Shouldn't be long on the grill. Are you hungry?” 

“Starving.” 

As she looked at him across the island, she knew she wasn't just talking about food. She just couldn't stop herself from looking at him like something she wanted to eat. She couldn't tell if he knew it, too, but those soulful dark eyes staring into hers warmed her from her heart to her toes, and everything in between. 

***

Helen sat at the head of the huge dining table, at John’s insistence. Rather than have a ridiculously removed meal with a league between them from opposite ends of the table, he set a place for himself to her right. She watched as he lit two taper candles in modern wrought iron sconces, smiling softly. “I’ve never had occasion to actually use these,” he confesses, and she wonders if that means he’d never had company here before?

John was a private man, and she supposed that just maybe it was possible.

The light outside the wall of windows was fading as night fell, and the candlelight lent a warm intimacy to the cavernous space around them. Half through her first glass of wine on an empty stomach, Helen was definitely feeling the glow.

Dinner was simple but delicious, the steaks grilled to perfection. She knew that she was perhaps reading into it more than she should, in her state of slight inebriation, but there was something rather primal about a man cooking a meal for a woman. It probably called back to vestigial memories of the hunter laying the kill of the day by the fire. I feed you. Maybe it was silly, but Helen couldn’t help but feel utterly cared for. It was refreshing, to say the least. She wasn’t sure she dared finish the rest of that archaic thought, but maybe in the back of her mind a little voice whispered the rest:  

I feed you, because you are mine.

John’s foot bumped hers under the table. Sitting so close, it was inevitable their mutually long limbs would become tangled. “Sorry,” he apologized, and she simply smiled into her wine glass, pointedly placing her foot over his.

“It’s alright,” she answered, and the warmth in his eyes from across the table sent a thrill through her bones.

“So,” said John, clearing his throat. “You were going to tell me what you like to do in your free time, when you’re not keeping everyone around you from falling to pieces.”

She laughed softly, and the sparkle in her molten-sugar eyes was utterly melting. Wine, John thought. They were definitely going to need more wine.

With a shrug she answered, “I’m not…really that interesting, John. You already know I like to read. I draw a little. I like walking in the woods, and on the beach. Maybe visit the occasional museum. Sometimes I like movies, but usually they’re just too dumb to invest the time these days.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Honestly, most of my life, I’ve been too busy taking care of someone else to have serious hobbies.”

He frowned, thinking he would give her all the free time in the world, if she would let him. He wanted to think that was just the wine talking, but…it wasn’t. He absolutely knew it wasn’t.

 “If you had all the time you wanted, what would you do?”

She pursed her lip, thinking about that, like it had never occurred to her that it could ever be a possibility. “You know, I took a printmaking class in college that I really liked. I always wished I could do that more, but…it takes room, and equipment, and it makes a big mess. But there was just something about the snap of pulling that first print after spending all the time on the prep work, drawing the design and carving the plate. No matter how well you tried to plan, there would always be some kind of surprise on the paper. Something unexpected and out of your control, but usually something beautiful. Like a happy cosmic mistake. I loved that.”

John stared at her as she described this, and for the umpteenth time that day, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The subject of making art brought a light to her eyes that he found utterly addicting, and he wondered what it would take to outfit the other half of his binding workshop into a printmaking studio.

“When you make your first series of prints, I’ll bind them for you,” he offered, and she veritably glowed with the suggestion.

“That sounds amazing, John.” She leaned back in her chair, smiling across at him, seeming utterly content. “So how did you get into bookbinding?”

He shrugged a little. “I’ve always loved books. I didn’t get to have any formal schooling, really. They were my window to the outside world. I used to have to hide them, at the—” He almost said Theatre, but caught himself just barely. “At the place where I was trained.”

“Oh, John.” Helen reached across the table to him, sliding her fingers in his. He squeezed her hand appreciatively, grazing her knuckles with his thumb.

“It’s alright. When I was young I found this dogeared copy of Russian Fairy Tales by Afanasyev. It was old. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was actually rather valuable. I took it everywhere with me, all across the world, and over time the binding broke, the pages started falling out. After finishing a job and finally having a little money of my own, I took it to this bookshop to have it restored. The old man who owned it had this wonderful workshop. It smelled like leather and old parchment and glue, and for the first time since my mother was alive, I felt a sense of peace? I knew I wanted to learn how to save old books. To actually…create something, rather than just destroying all the time.”

He didn’t realize that his grip on Helen’s fingers had tightened, almost painfully so, until he’d finished speaking. He let up with a shaky sigh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Do you…”

“Go on.”

They had come too far, not to ask anything, now.

“Do you remember your mother?”

“A little,” he admitted. “Though more…a feeling, of being with her? I was very small. She would sing to me, and I remember being in her lap, and feeling like nothing could hurt me.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “How wrong I was.”

“She must have been an amazing woman, for your father to risk running away with her.”

John nodded pensively. The similarities in his own current situation had not escaped him. “Yes, I’m sure she was. But did he have the right, knowing the risk? Knowing the danger he put her in?” He could not mask the feeling behind these words; he knew they spoke in double meanings and of their parallel circumstances, and in a way he was asking her permission, and it was all so heady and terrifying he could hardly stand it.

How do people live like this, he marveled? Feeling so much, all the time?

“That’s a fair question,” agreed Helen, nodding. “But maybe more importantly, I think if you could ask her if he’d been worth the risk…if you had been worth the risk…I think I know what she would have said. I am certain she would have said yes.”

Her eyes met his, the candlelight reflecting in those caramel orbs almost rendering them gold, and it took every iota of self-control John possessed not to drag her into his lap. Instead he settled for pressing his lips to her knuckles, so grateful for this woman who brought such light into his life.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” she answered quietly. “And it’s not about who deserves what, anyway.” It was about two people who like each other, who understand the risks, and who make a decision to be together—or not. She didn’t say that part aloud. She hoped she didn’t need to.

A few moments more, and John managed to regain his composure, though he didn’t let go of Helen’s hand. When he found his voice again, it came rough with emotion.

“Would you like to see my books?”

She smiled, and it was like the sun from behind a cloud.

“Yes.”