#i HATE the smell of wet tomato sauce

[sailor-cerise]

You said hard to explain, and I think that's totally understandable -- so could you use examples as a starting point? (Here and/or with your doctor)

What are some specific things that you can and can't eat right now?

E.g. "I can eat plain chicken breast and I like it with ketchup, but I can't eat it if there's skin on it or it's too juicy"

Or

"I like carrots but only raw. I don't feel good when I bite into a soft carrot"

Or general categories of issue, like "I can't eat any food that's too cold or too wet"

I'll put some of my issues and tricks below the cut, since I think I've gone on long enough as is and I'm not sure if that's helpful.

You're doing the right thing by trying to get your body the nutrients it needs <3

Generally, I try something in a safe space first, ideally with someone who will eat it if I don't and/or with a small portion, when I'm just a bit hungry rather than NEEDING food urgently. I take a sniff and then a small bite of the smell didn't make me nauseated.

If I don't like it but don't hate it, I'll try it again a few times, sometimes after a break.

If you find that all you like is Mac and cheese from one specific brand, eating enough of that is way better than eating nothing, and is a great starting point.

Some of my friends never were able to expand their diet, and so they take supplements for fiber and iron.

General thing I try: save a few bites of something I like or can tolerate, to have after the gross thing if I HAVE to eat it.

When possible, if eating something makes me feel nauseated, gagging, distressed, etc while I'm eating it, I stop eating it and have something else.

Always issues:

Slimy textures like mushrooms by themselves or lots of tomato, or some meat. I can counteract this to some extent with a carb like bread or rice

Too sweet. I usually have enough choice that I don't have to eat something too sweet, but if I don't and it's something savory (e.g. pasta with alfredo sauce) I add pepper and/or salt and/or something acidic (lemon, vinegar). If it's something like a donut and it's my ONLY option for food, I eat as little as I can.

Too creamy. Makes me nauseated. I have to alternate this with other foods and always save a

Too fatty. I handle this using all of the above techniques together.

American pickles. I just absolutely cannot.

Raisins in things. Too sweet, weird texture.

Organ meat (liver, tripe). Cannot. Texture or taste. Cannot at all.

Protein bars. Sickly sweet and bad after taste

Sometimes-problems:

Raw veggies are too crunchy but most cooked veggies are too squishy. They've got a tiiiiiny Goldilocks zone of being edible when I'm feeling sensitive to this.

Dark green veggies are too bitter

Fruit is either too cold and crunchy (apples) or too unreliable (berries) or too squishy and/or sweet (bananas)

Protein in red meat is sometimes inedible. Boneless white chicken is okay. Salami is easier than beef but harder than chicken to eat. Bacon is easier than sausage.

Cheese is sometimes too fatty and doesn't have enough carbs. Cheese on bread or crackers is edible.

Deli sandwiches. Sometimes they are revolting.

Prepackaged wheat bread. Sometimes good sometimes awful, even the same brand

Nuts. If I'm very hungry, these taste too fatty. I enjoy them otherwise

Smoothies are too cold and too slimy. This is less intense than most issues and I can almost always chug it down to get the nutrition if I need.

Meal replacement bars like Clif bars. There are only a few brands and specific flavors I can tolerate, like peanut butter or "superfood" flavor

Yogurt and cottage cheese. I love the taste but sometimes I can't eat these for years at a time.

Things that I can almost always eat:

Saltines

Soup, but I'm very picky about WHICH soup

Tuna salad (nothing sweet, no pickles/relish/raisins or I will cry or at least spit it out)

Fresh baked bread of almost any type

French fries

Mashed potatoes

Certain brands and flavors of potato chip - salt and vinegar is currently on this list, which is new

Peanut butter and jelly sandwich

Grilled cheese sandwich

Pasta with a non-creamy sauce (pesto, marinara, aribata) or just buttered

Most nutrients in food I need are on the "sometimes problem" list, so I do my best to have options. It means I carry more food on a trip because in the moment, I might not be able to stomach the peanut butter snack bar, for example.

You're not alone in having issues, and it might take some time but I bet you can find a way that works for you.

Ok, so I'm having trouble eating healthy food because of sensory issues that I don't know how to explain. Went to a nutritionist, she was no help. I don't think she understood what the problem was. I'm always hungry these days, which means (worryingly) I'm starting to ignore my hunger. My nails are always brittle and my hair keeps falling. I'm terrified I'm starting to get an ED or something. Any advice?

[tls123]

hi francesca <33 what are a few of your favorite recipes that you like to make? either for low energy days or days where you want to make something super fancy 💌💌

hi lexi 💞 i don't really have recipes because cooking isn't something i tend to do for pleasure, but !! but, i am the family's official pancake maker when the need for them arises (and if i remember correctly i got my measurements here, and then i just mix all dry, then all wet and call it a day) though the need only ever arises for me and everyone else gets to reap the benefits lmao

that being said, when my entire family got covid and i had to cook because the Cooks were relegated to their rooms, i did really enjoy making carne alla pizzaiola—which is essentially thin-ish slices of meat taking a nice, long bath in tomato sauce (with, you know, the usual suspects: salt, pepper, oregano, garlic, etc.)

when i have to cook for whatever reason, i tend to go pasta because 1) i prefer it and 2) it's just easier for me to make, but it was nice to actually enjoy making a meat dish, for once, and i wouldn't mind making it again. it has everything i like: lots of tomato sauce to dip your bread in.

anyway, i suppose i'm more of a eater + occasional dish-washer than i am a cook. i'm there for emergencies, i'm the spare tire cook <3

hopefully this was a good enough answer, lexi 🙏💓 i hope you're having a good day, i love you!

[1010ll]

do you have any new recipes that you've learned recently? i remember you wrote something a while ago about carbonara and i tried it out for myself it was really fun!!

i love this 😭 im gonna write way too much idec! something that has changed since that post: my kitchen is worse. i have a horrible combi oven which has resulted in me accidentally eating raw chicken, because it had been in there for more than 2 hours at supposedly 230 °C and i was really hungry and thought it HAD to be done by then. also i have less time and less money lol. it has made me a bit sad, and less motivated to cook nice things but i also love food! which means these tips/recipes are gonna reflect that and might seem a bit dull but probably also relatable for a lot of people.   i’ve definitely made spaghetti carbonara a bit too much because it’s simple and require few ingredients! will still vouch for that one tip about substituting the bacon with roasted veggies and other types of meat.

last week i made risotto for the very first time, i think? which means i might be assuming a bit too much, but i think it’s a great dish that you can almost make with whatever you have in your fridge. i made it with roasted beetroot(needs A LOT of time to soften, lesson learned), carrots and parsley root or parsnip(idk the difference), dried rosemary and thyme, garlic and onion. i had some leftover sushi rice, which is great for risotto apparently(love versatile ingredients), roasted them in some oil and then added white wine and chicken stock and actually added a leftover parmesan rind i had in the fridge to give the ‘stock’ some flavour, a bit of nutmeg and then in the end some shredded gouda lol… it was surprisingly delicious and i didn’t even really care to cook the rice perfectly. it also tasted delicious 3 days later, which was a nice surprise. i bet there are tons of risotto recipes online, but as long as you have rice, some kind of flavoured water, i guess you could kind of add whatever you want of veggies and top with whatever herb you have around.

another type of porridge i consume a lot these days is hot oat porridge, which i’ve eaten since i was little and it was the first ‘dish’ i learnt to make myself and it’s cheap. some people really dislike the consistency and look but i don’t. it’s also very easy to customise. i put in whatever nuts and seeds(which are often cheaper than nuts) i have around: flaxseed, sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, chopped almonds and sometimes a dollop of peanut butter. i let them simmer along with the oats. i like adding those elements because it gives it some texture and it keeps me more full throughout the day. it’s very important to me because i hate spending money i don’t have on fast-food when i’m not home and i hate being hungry. dried raisins, cranberries for a bit of sweetness and if i’m treating myself i’ll add some fresh apples cut into small pieces or some homemade berry compote(i use frozen) or brown sugar. if i had more money i’d use maple syrup but i don’t at the moment. i also add a bit of cinnamon and cardamom, dried ginger etc, whatever you feel like. some people also add milk afterwards but i’d rather spend my milk on my coffee.

a small tip: making chili flake / garlic oil. it’s really delicious, you could put it straight on pasta with some parmesan and pepper and it would be a filling meal. either chop the garlic really fine, grate it, microplane it, smash it to pieces. heat some olive oil until it’s quite hot, then remove from heat and add the chili flakes and garlic. if the oil isn’t hot enough you can just put the pan or pot back on the heat but be careful you don’t burn the chili flakes or garlic, as it will make it bitter. the longer it will toast, the less pronounced the raw garlic flavour will be, so when it smells toasted enough for your taste, take it off. i store it in a tiny glass jar and add it in stews, sauces, toasts, pizza, sandwiches etc. the flavour is very strong imo and everything it touches will smell like it. something to drink: i like strong foods and i like sour foods, which is why i like lemon/ginger based drinks. to make it even more winter friendly and easy to make, i like to grate unpeeled ginger(i hate slices of ginger, they do nothing for me and seems like a waste of ginger), lemon zest, lemon juice and mix it or blend it with some water/apple juice and honey and strain it afterwards. if you have a really nice blender you can just add all of it together with some ice. i’m basically making a large amount of ginger shot mixture. then when i feel like it, i can take some of the mixture and either drink it as it is, add more apple juice if i need a refreshing beverage or add hot water and more honey for when im cold. you could also add turmeric, chili, use less sweetener and other sorts of healthy stuff but i honestly do it for the taste so i don’t care about that that much.

something sweet: i posted earlier about cakes and someone mentioned swedish kladdkaka, which is a super delicious, cheap, brownie-like chocolate cake that is easily customized and hard to fuck up which is why i’ve made it since i was very young and is a go-to and i didn’t even know it was a swedish thing. if you like airy, light cakes this is not for your. this is sticky, sweet and almost like confection. you can add nuts, swirls of peanutbutter, tahini, actual pieces of chocolate, replace the white sugar with brown sugar, the butter with oil(you can be fancy and use a bit of olive oil) or use a mixture, brown the butter, you name it. the recipe i use is this: melt 100 g butter and let cool. mix 2 eggs + 3 dl sugar in a bowl until fluffy in one bowl. mix 1.5 dl flour, 4 tbs cocoa, 1 pinch of salt in another. mix the dry with the wet mixture and add the cooled, melted butter. this is the point where you’d add chopped nuts, chocolate etc. pour the batter into a cake tin lined with parchment (i use one that is 16 cm in diameters i think). bake the cake for around 30 mins at 150°C - 175°C degrees. check on the cake using a cake tester or a a knife. if the knife is clean after … stabbing it, it’s done! the cake will change it’s texture after cooling. this is a cheap cake, and if you like cake dough you might want to give it less time in the oven for a more fudgey texture. make it your own! there are no rules. last time i made this, i left it in for too long in my opinion but it was still delicious. also i literally have a shit oven with a round oven rack that goes in circles no matter what due to the microwave function, and the only ‘mixing’ equipment i have is a whisk and a spatula. no need for kitchen aids or  even electrical hand mixers.

something else i’ve been eating a lot for lunch is simple open faced sandwiches, and something that can really elevate those is: making your own mayonnaise(and toasting the bread). it can be challenging, but it’s really worth it imo and i can’t remember the last time i bought it in a store. i have a small plastic bowl, whisk and 1 egg yolk. something i can really recommend is buying pour snouts for bottles. i transfer my oils from their plastic bottles to smaller, old soda bottles because im cheesy like that and it’s really handy especially when making mayo. constantly whisking the egg yolk by hand and then adding the NEUTRAL oil ever so slowly. don’t be fancy and use cold pressed stuff or extra virgin olive oil because it will taste weird. i only ever fail when i try to use immersion blenders for some weird reason but i find it rewarding to do by hand anyways and i think it might be easier to make smaller portions that way. mayo needs acid and you can get it by adding regular vinegar, apple cider vinegar, balsamic vinegar, lemon juice, lime juice, pickle juice, citric acid dissolved in water etc. it’s really easy to customise! when im making banh mi, i add some sesame oil, soy sauce for saltiness and use lime as the acidic element. for more regular use i add a bit of mustard(also helps with the emulsion), for fries, i like adding some fresh garlic. something as simple as mayo, tomatoes, flaky salt and pepper topped with chives is really nice. i also really like using slices of boiled potatoes or boiled eggs(idk if that’s only a thing where i’m from), mayo and the chili garlic oil. it’s also great for making tuna salad. yesterday i made a really simple sandwich with a very simple tuna salad(tuna, mayo, yoghurt, lemon and pepper), arugula, basil, the garlic/chili oil, cream cheese, pickled jalapeños and onions, green peber, cucumber and tomatoes. you could leave out everything but the tuna salad and it would still be a great little meal.

another nice condiment that beats the supermarket stuff by far is homemade ‘pesto’. when i buy parsley from my local grocery store, it’s a gigantic amount that i in no way can consume in a week. first of all when buying fresh herbs i really recommend washing them, wrapping them in a damp towel and keeping them in a closed container. it will prolong their lifetime from lasting a day to a week(change the towel if it seems too wet). i once had some cilantro in my fridge for several weeks and still be fresh. anyways, when i buy that much parsley, i like to remove the tougher parts of the stem(which i use in stews/sauces! chop it up and sautee it along with garlic and onion), add literally just olive oil, water, pepper, garlic, and a bit of acid and then blend away! it keeps for a long time in the fridge and is also delicious beneath tomatoes/potatoes/cheese on open-faced sandwiches. if you want to be fancy you can of course add some type of hard cheese, nuts, seeds, dried tomatoes, whatever.

i know this is the longest text post ever, but as a last reminder, i really recommend watching pasta grannies on youtube. really simple recipes with focus on few, good ingredients that just takes some time and love.

[moodys-art]

Hello! May I ask for Bucci gang hcs with a sick s/o? Have a nice day💕

Hi, I did my best but forgive me if it’s not very original ! I think I’ve already seen this kind of hcs in some tags, so I hope it’s not too similar.

I got a little bit lost in the end, so I didn’t write Trish (ran out a bit of energy) but I will write a Trish x Reader thing in some time.

Under the cut for length :)

Headcanons for Bucci Gang dealing with a sick s/o

Bruno Bucciarati

His darling, sick ? No way ! Bruno always told you to cover up when you went out, especially this month, when the air was becoming so sharp and cold you swore it could almost get you cuts from just breathing.

When you get home from a mission, shivering like never, the first thing Bruno will do is to run you a bath. You will have no say in it. If Bruno wants you to relax, you will relax. No stress allowed, no flu allowed in this house ! After putting on comfy pajamas and leaving the bathroom, you will smell a delicious scent. Bruno made you dinner. It was healthy food, obviously, because now was not the time to mess around and get even sicker. You won’t have to worry, Bruno's got you. Before going to bed, he’ll kiss you on the forehead and tell you that everything is going to be okay.

Leone Abbacchio

You realised you were sick when you got up from your bed in the middle of one night, bothered by a very bitter taste lingering in your mouth. You did not wait and ran straight to the toilet, giving back your dinner from last evening.

As Abbacchio is a light sleeper, he will come and check and you. When he’ll see you throwing up, he’ll just pull your hair up so you won’t have to make it all dirty. At the moment you’ll turn back towards him, he’ll already be grabbing a washcloth and pass it under water.

« Hey, y/n. Chin up. Tch. You still ate that weird expired tomato sauce yesterday, huh ? » He’ll wash your mouth and put the washcloth over the sink, and that’s when you’ll start to tear up. His eyes will shine with sharp concern and he’ll immediatly attract you against him, shushing you softly. As you tell him, with a shaking voice, that you hate throwing up, he will squeeze you tighter.

« Shh, it’s over. I’ll throw the tomato sauce. Hell, I will smash it into the nearest trashcan I find. »

Giorno Giovanna

« Oh, cara, you should have called me ! », he says when he gets back home from work and sees you shivering on the couch. You’re all bundled up in a comfy plaid and covers, and that makes Giorno swoon internally.

However, when he’ll put a hand on your forehead, you’ll see the worry on his face. « You’re burning up, y/n. Why don’t you get rid of the plaid ? ». You’ll tell him that you feel way too chilly everytime you try to get rid of your fluffy cocoon. Well, you should know that Giorno is having none of your crap. He understands what you’re going through, but fever is a tricky thing. It will make you feel like you’re shivering from cold when it’s actually your body fighting some virus or bacteria, and heating up way too much. He will convince you to get rid of your covers, and place a damp cloth on your shoulders and forehead. Giorno will call the doctor and comfort you until you’re back on track again.

Guido Mista

It happened overnight. You fell asleep on your bed, your hair still wet from your shower, water soaking your sheets. The window was wide open, and you were so tired from the last mission that the cold air didn’t even wake you up. When you opened your eyes the next morning though, you had the worst headache you ever had in your life. It was hurting so much that you almost couldn’t move without wincing.

« Mistaaa ! Y/n is dying ! », will cry Number 5 when the Pistols discover you.

« What ? Don’t say things like that, Number 5. My love is safe ! » 

However, when he discovers you, lying motionless on the bed, not making a single sound, his heart will just jump out of his chest. You looked devoid of all life. When he’ll take a look at your face, relief will soothe his heart : you were in pain, but alive. Ow, he will ruffle through the whole bathroom to find you those precious headaches meds ! After calling the doctor, he will get you a hot drink and lend you his favourite sweater. Snuggles ensue.

Pannacotta Fugo

« Hey, I noticed you were coughing a lot lately. Is everything okay ? » When you’ll him you got sick, Fugo will immediatly head out to the drugstore to buy you some meds. He will awkwardly (but gently) pat your back when fits of cough happen. It’s late noon and you’re out of bed ? Oh, no. Fugo’s there to remember you that you need to take some breaks throughout the day : being sick is already exhausting for your body. If you’re feeling a bit upset as well, he will sit next to you and start to give your scalp a little attention. He’s surpinsingly good at that, and you will fall asleep in no time.

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia doesn’t like to see you in pain. He relates to you greatly, as being sick is one of the thing he hates the most. He doesn’t have good memories when it comes to sickness, and he knows what it’s like to feel like crap, more than the others.

He will whine to the team about how unwell you are and how it exhausts you so, so much. Eventually, the others will get tired of his whining. Narancia is not a baby, and if you are sick and need assistance, he’s completely able to help you, the others tell him. Narancia will bring you food and water, anything you need. He might even buy you some kind of plushee because he thinks it will comfort you greatly. If you ever sneeze really loud, he’ll get startled. But afterwards, you two will laugh about it.

[crackerjackawrites]

Journey to the Giggling Glade, or, Adventures of a Cottagecore NB Who Works in a Cafe (6k Words)

 Roman heads to a magical forest to gather some plants for their boss, Clara. But things don’t go as planned when Roman stumbles upon a mysterious figure outside the forest. (originally written August 2021)

“Roman!”

Roman darted past a server, nearly sending the plate of roast beef and vegetables crashing to the floor. They scurried past a chef leaning over a saucepan, disrupting his chanting and making him drop a half conjured tomato into the pan, it immediately began to sizzle. They ran through a large cloud of steam, taking in the rich smell of the sauce that was boiling just next to them. Finally, they got to the other side of the kitchen. Clara was standing there, her arms folded. Despite her mean demeanor, she was beaming, as always.

“Yes, Miss Clara?” panted Roman.

“I need you for an errand, dearie. I’ve just run out of spitebark root. Could you go out and get some for me, please?”

“Of course, Miss Clara,” said Roman, “Which store is that from again?”

Clara chuckled heartily, “Oh, dearie. It’s not from any store. You need to go out to the Giggling Glade.”

Roman’s face dropped, they couldn’t go out to the Glade! 

“I can’t go out to the Glade!” they said.

“Why of course you can, dearie. Come with me!”

Clara shuffled out of the bustling kitchen and into her private office. Roman had only been in there once before, when they first applied to work at Clara’s. Clara walked over to the side of the room, where a small table with two built-in hobs lay. The stove clicked as Clara set the temperature, before it finally ignited with flames. She grabbed a frying pan and placed it over the fire, then she began to cast into the pan. 

She placed her hand calmly in the centre of the pan, the roaring fire beneath not seeming to bother her at all. Granny hands, figured Roman, they were fireproof. She closed her eyes and exhaled, oil began to pool at her fingertips. The oil spread out until a thin layer covered the whole pan. As the oil began to boil, Clara clapped her hands together and separated them, between her palms appeared a rolled up piece of thin, edible wrapper with what looked to be chocolate inside. She placed the creation into the pan.

“These are ji-ai,” she said while summoning another into her hands and laying it beside the first, “a recipe from Western Piasohn. That’s not the important thing, though.” she waggled a third ji-ai at Roman, “I’m enchanting these. If you get injured, eat one and it will help. I’ll make you three, that should be plenty.” 

Clara turned from the three ji-ais in the pan. The smell of melting chocolate danced its way over to Roman and up their nose. The rich sweetness reminded them of a recipe their father used to make. Clara took a small bowl, placed her hand into it and concentrated again. Instead of filling with oil, the bowl began to fill with a golden sugar. 

“Now, spitebark is a funny little plant. They’re named spitebarks because they hate growing near each other. In fact, they hate each other so much that the flowers face in the complete opposite direction to the nearest other plant. That means you can always find them in pairs! I only need two as well, so you shouldn’t need to look for long - one will be for planting and the other will be for experimenting as soon as you get back.”

Clara turned back to the pan, the ji-ais were nicely browning. She flipped them over in the oil and walked over to a bookshelf. She grabbed a book and flicked through it before finding the right page.

“These are spitebarks,” she said, pointing to a drawing of a long, thin, brown plant. It looked like a twig from a tree had been planted in the ground. Clara moved her finger down the illustration, stopping at the large root at the bottom, “This is what I need, you can cut the rest of the plant off when you find it.” 

Clara reached into the pan and took out the first ji-ai, she rolled it around in the sugar until it was lightly coated, then she placed it onto a white napkin. She did this with the other two before wrapping them up. She then placed the napkin into a small pouch and handed it to Roman, who tied it to their belt. 

“Here you go, dearie! Now, you know how to get to the Glade, don’t you?”

Of course they knew how to get to the Glade, they’d been told their whole life to stay as far away from it as possible. And they had. 

Now, Roman stood before the Forest of Fables (which the Glade lay within). Clara had walked with them out of New Elmus but they had been on their own since leaving the city limits. Now all they had to do was find the Glade. It shouldn’t be hard, right? They just had to start walking and they’d stumble upon it eventually. That was the magic of the Glade - all it took was one step. But Roman had never been to the Glade before, they had no idea what lay within it. Their mother had told them time and time again to never go in but she never said why. Roman had no idea what to expect once they were inside. 

The wind whistling through the trees pulled Roman out of their thoughts and back into the real world. They had been standing at the edge of the forest for some ten minutes now, debating whether to enter or not. Clara would be furious if they came back empty handed. Roman had never seen Clara mad before, even the thought of it was breaking their heart. They had to get the spitebark. They just had to take that first step…

“Oi!” 

It was a voice from behind, Roman spun. Before them stood a tall, lean man with curly, blonde hair. He had his arms crossed and Roman imagined that if he were nearer the forest he would’ve been casually leaning against a tree. His smirk was that of a man who had many secrets, some his own and some belonging to others. He began to approach Roman, walking with a swagger that they were completely expecting, yet was still impressed by. As he got closer, Roman noticed his stark, emerald eyes.

He spoke again, “What’s someone like you doing out here? Didn’t your parents tell you that you shouldn’t go near the Forest of Fables?”

“I’m not a kid.” said Roman, bluntly, “Who are you, anyways?”

The man scoffed, “Haven’t you heard of me?” Roman genuinely hadn’t. The man paused for a second, expecting an answer, but continued once he realised he wouldn’t get one, “The name’s Bailey. Bailey Giload: mercenary for hire.”

“So, what, you’re out here to kill something?”

“Not today, my friend.” Bailey placed an arm over Roman. They flinched, but settled quickly, “Work’s been slow this week so I’ve had to expand my reach. I’m going shopping.”

Roman muttered, “Wait...” under their breath.

Bailey continued, “I’ve been sent out here by Fergus Ford of the Magnificent Beast Bakery. He told me to get him some spitebark root.” So many thoughts were flying through Roman’s head that they couldn’t get anything out before Bailey started speaking again, “But enough about me. You never answered my question; what are you doing in the Forest of Fables?”

In? thought Roman. Then they looked around. Since when had they started walking? Something about Bailey’s confidence had seeped into Roman, singel handedly slaying any intimidation they felt. From the forest, at least.

“I was… just… coming here to see what it’s like. Yeah. I thought maybe I could face my fears and finally try and go to the Glade.”

“You’re going to the Glade?” asked Bailey. 

“Yup.”

“Maybe I could help you out? I feel like I’m a tad more prepared than you are.” Bailey looked Roman up and down, then smirked.

Roman looked down at themselves, they were still mostly wearing the uniform from Clara’s. Then they looked at Bailey, he sported light armour that allowed for significantly more flexibility than the shirt and trousers that Roman wore. There was also a cutlass sheathed at his waist, which Roman imagined Bailey would whip out at any sign of danger, ready to protect them from whatever lay ahead. Then, after the monster was defeated, Bailey would look over to Roman and-

“Stop.” whispered Bailey. 

Roman froze in place and turned to Bailey. They whispered back, “What is it?” 

Bailey pointed deeper into the woods. Roman looked past the thick, mossy trees nearby, but they couldn’t spot what he was pointing at. Then, suddenly, something darted between two trees. Roman didn’t catch what it was. 

“Just stay calm.”

It jumped again, this time Roman saw it. The creature was lanky and covered in dark fur. Something shone from it as it moved. A weapon, maybe. It was hard to see any details from that distance. The creature continued to leap between the trees, slowly making its way over Roman and Bailey’s heads. 

Once it had left their sight, Roman asked, “What was that thing?”

“You’ve never seen an eavener before?”

“That’s an eavener?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve only ever seen them in those Jaz Carpenter books?”

Roman paused, then looked down at their feet. Bailey struggled to stifle a laugh. 

Bailey continued, smirking and shaking his head, “You’re really not fit for being out here. Maybe you should turn back.”

“No,” said Roman. Bailey looked up, taken aback by their bluntness. “I have to get to the Glade.”

“Alright, fine. But don’t go hurting yourself.”

The two continued walking, only stopping for Bailey to take a drink from a pouch he had strapped to the side of his backpack. Roman sat on a tree stump opposite him. The smells of the forest were pungent now: wet dirt, wet bark and flowers that Roman couldn’t identify.

Bailey looked over, “I haven’t seen you drink anything this whole journey, why?”

“I didn’t bring water.”

Bailey’s eyes widened this time. They lowered the bottle from their mouth, “Oh my God, Roman,” suddenly Bailey’s whole demeanor changed, the once cocky persona melted away to reveal caring eyes and genuine worry. Bailey handed his pouch to Roman, “Here, take it. Finish it for all I care. Once we get back out of here I’m gonna teach you everything. I can tell you want to be out here adventuring but you’re clearly not prepared for it. Would that be alright?”

Roman put the pouch to their mouth. They didn’t drink enough to finish it, but it was still a significant swig. “Thank you,” they said.

“Cool,” said Bailey, “It’s a date.”

Roman nearly spat the water from their mouth, then they swallowed, “A date?”

“I mean,” Bailey perched on the stump next to Roman, “If you want to call it that.” 

He reached out for Roman’s hand. A heat rose within Roman, like coal being furiously shoveled into a furnace.

“I’d love to,” the hearth of their heart was erupting now. No one had ever seen them in this way before, and Roman had never seen anyone the way they were seeing Bailey right now.

Bailey closed his eyes and lent forward, Roman quickly caught on and followed suit. When their lips locked it was like nothing Roman had ever felt before. 

Then there was a thud and the sound of leaves rustling. Bailey let out a cry, nearly biting Roman’s lip. Roman’s eyes snapped open, they were still face-to-face with Bailey, but behind him stood the eavener. It loomed over Bailey, its long body taking it to nearly six foot when it stood on its hind legs. Its head was like that of a weasel. Roman bolted up from the stump and began to back away from the beast. 

“Please, stay back,” they said.

The eavener jumped from the stump, tearing its arms out of Bailey’s back. Roman saw that it had a piece of sharp flint in each hand. They were covered in blood now. Bailey’s blood.

It began to speak in a low whisper, “Get out of here while you can. And do not associate yourself with this human.” Then it leaped high into a nearby tree and scampered up it. 

“Bailey!” called Roman, running over to him. Bailey had fallen back after the eavener had jumped off of him and now he lay slumped over the stump he sat on.

His voice was frail, “Get out, Roman.... Save yourself.”

“No!” said Roman, “I can save you.” Roman untied the pouch from their waist and pulled out a ji-ai, “Here, take this.”

They fed Bailey the healing pastry, desperately hoping it would cure him like Clara said it should. But what if the wound was too large? Or what if the eavener had some sort of magical poison that gourmantic food couldn’t heal?

“Thank you,” said Bailey, “But why?” Then, his eyes widened and his face beamed with realisation.

“See?” said Roman, “Maybe I’m not all that useless after all.”

“No,” he said, colour already beginning to flood back into his face, “Saving me once doesn’t excuse forgetting to bring water.”

“Okay, fair,” said Roman, smirking.

The two sat there for a moment, Bailey still lying down on the stump and Roman sitting up next to him. They stared into each other’s eyes, living the moment. 

Bailey broke the silence, “So… are you going to tell me where you got those from? You don’t seem like you’d be prepared or experienced enough to bring something like that.”

Busted, thought Roman. They sighed, “Fine. I’m here to get spitebark root too. I’m here for Clara.”

Bailey sat up, “What?”

“Look-”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“It just never c-”

Bailey jumped up from the log, “We kissed! You should’ve said before that!”

“It never came up!”

“It shouldn’t need to come up!”

Roman looked away, “Look, okay,” they said, “You’re not perfect either!”

“What do you mean?”

“The eavener told me. It said, ‘do not associate with this man.’ There’s something up with you, too.”

“Wait, when did it say that?”

“Right after it stabbed you! You were probably too busy wailing to hear.”

“Oh c’mon! Now you’re picking on me for screaming in pain after I got stabbed!”

Roman paused, “No. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Bailey smiled weakly.

Roman couldn’t help but beam back at him, “God damn it. You’re too cute for your own good!”

“No more secrets?”

“No more secrets.”

“Great!” Bailey spun around, before pointing in the direction they had been heading before, “Then let us continue.”

“Alright,” said Roman, following Bailey, “But you said it yourself, ‘No more secrets.’ So you’ve got to tell me, what did the eavener mean?”

Bailey huffed, “Fine.” He looked thoughtful for a second, probably thinking through what he was going to say. “The eavener’s don’t like me because of an old job I had. I can’t tell you who it was for - client confidentiality and all that - but suffice it to say they were powerful and rich. This was back when I had a party, there were four of us. I don’t really want to talk about them though. Anyway, we were asked by this client to go to the Forest of Fables and find the eaveners’ hideout, so that the client could bring in their army to eradicate them.”

“An army?” asked Roman, “Who was this guy, the king?”

Bailey glanced at Roman, his face blank, innocent.

“Oh.” said Roman, they looked down at their feet “Right.”

“Yeah,” continued Bailey, “After we arrived in the Glade it didn’t take long to find the eavener huts. You know how this place works. You’ll find what you’re looking for. They build their houses in the treetops, y’know? Put leaves underneath them to camouflage with the canopy. We only noticed them after a bird flew overhead and made…” Bailey mumbled a name, “-look up.” He took a long breath, Roman wrapped their arm over his shoulder. “We joked that we might have already walked past them and that the Forest was desperately trying to get us to find what we were looking for.” Bailey chuckled, and tears welled up in his eyes. He sniffed, “It didn’t go well, Roman. We were ambushed. I was the only one who made it out. And now the King thinks we’re all dead and if he knew I was alive he’d sure as hell try to stop me! And so now I’m stuck in mercenary limbo. I change my name for every job so that no one can track me.”

“Does that mean-?” 

“Bailey’s not my real name, no. But I don’t really have a real name. My birth name belonged to someone who abandons their team when anything goes wrong. I’m different now. And I’ve never settled on one name since. Maybe Bailey can become my real name. Since it’s what I was using when I finally found someone worth having an identity for.”

Roman stopped, “That’s…” The flood gates opened, Roman wasn’t expecting it to be theirs. They flung their arms around Bailey. Bawling, Roman said, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

Bailey patted Roman’s head then returned the hug, “Y’know,” he said, “We’re never going to get to the Glade if you keep stopping to be this cute!”

“Alright, alright,” said Roman, collecting themself, “Let’s go!”

Bailey squinted, “Is that-? Oh my God it is! Roman, we’re finally here!”

Roman gasped, and the pair ran towards the glade.

Bailey burst into the Glade, and Roman stumbled out not too long after. It was filled with bright light which highlighted the tall, radiant grass and sparkled off of a stream that travelled through. There were rocks neatly placed around, it almost looked too perfect to be real, but magic did that sometimes. A gust of wind blew towards the pair, when it moved through the trees behind them it sounded like laughter. That was how the Giggling Glade got its name. 

By the time Roman had struggled past the bushes and branches at the Glade’s borders and gotten used to the sudden change in brightness due to the lack of canopy, Bailey had already clambered up a rock and was scouting the area, his hand placed firmly at his brow to block out the sun. 

Roman called up to him, “Any specific place to look for spitebark?”

“I don’t know. This is my first time too.”

“You have first times? I figured you’d have already done everything there is to do.”

Bailey laughed, “Hey, there’s a difference between being better than you and being the best, a big one. Anyway I don’t think scouting up here is doing any good for finding the spitebark. From my understanding, they’re pretty small.”

“Why were you up here then?”

“Force of habit. Either that or some desperate hope that they’d be here.”

“Oh,” muttered Roman, but Bailey paid them no mind as he began to climb down.

Once he reached the bottom, Bailey looked full of energy again, “So,” he said, “What’s the plan?”

“So we’re looking for those thin, brown plants. They look like sticks,” said Roman.

“Yep.”

“And they don’t grow close together, that's why they’re called spitebark.”

“Really?” said Bailey, “Ford could’ve said something about that.”

Roman smirked, “Are you saying I actually knew something out here that you didn’t?”

“I guess I concede,” Bailey knelt on the floor and bowed at Roman, “Teach me your ways, O Monarch of Agriculture!”

“Okay I get it!” Roman chuckled, “Just let me have this one win!”

Bailey began to get back up. “Fine,” he smirked. 

“We should split up, cover more ground.”

“But-” started Bailey.

“But what? Aren’t we safe here in the Glade?”

“I mean, probably. But I don’t want to risk it.”

“What if we stay within sight?” said Roman, “That way we can cover more ground while also keeping an eye on each other.”

“Fine,” said Bailey, “Honestly I just want to be near you.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet! Seriously, though, I want to find these roots and get back quick.”

Roman called from behind Bailey, “I think I’ve found some!” Bailey turned, noticing Roman pointing at a rock. They stepped behind it and knelt, vanishing out of Bailey’s sight.

“Hey!” called Bailey, running over.

Roman popped back up, “What?”

“No leaving each other’s sight, remember!”

Roman scoffed, “Fine. Get over here then!”

As Bailey rounded the rock, Roman pointed at a plant. It was taller than Bailey expected, nearly coming up to his chest - or Roman’s chin. 

“Alright so this is one,” said Roman, kneeling down to grab at the base, “We need the roots so I’ve got to dig it up. At least I was given a spade.”

Bailey smiled, “Is there anything I can do?” he asked. 

“Only start trying to find another one.”

“Y’know what?” said Bailey, “I think I’m fine watching you dig actually. I’ll do the next one, though.”

Roman finished digging the dirt around the spitebark and lifted it up. At the bottom of the stem was a large, muddy bulb.

“Here it is!” they said, “Our first spitebark root!”

“We did it!” 

“Just one more to go for me! How many do you need?”

“Ford wants fifty.”

Roman flinched, “Fifty? That’s insane! How much is he even paying you for that?”

“Twenty five garsons, he said they were worth a half each.”

“I don’t even think there’s fifty in the whole Glade! These things are so rare they go for at least twelve garsons each.”

“What! You’re kidding, right?”

“No! He must’ve figured that he could rip you off because you don’t know about them.”

Bailey was boiling inside. How dare he? How dare Ford undercut him like that? Bailey spoke, “When we get back, I am gonna get that b-”

“Hey, hey, hey! I know what you’re thinking.” Roman looked down to Bailey’s hand, Bailey followed their gaze. Since when had he gotten his cutlass out? “We can speak to Clara when you get back. He’ll respect her. Everyone respects her. And he sure doesn’t deserve your blade.”

“You’re right.” said Bailey, resheathing his sword. He turned to Roman, “Hey, maybe I’ll start working for Clara when we get back. We would see each other more.”

“I’d like that,” said Roman, smiling, “Alright! Back to the search.”

“At least now we know there won’t be any around here,” said Bailey, gesturing vaguely in a circle around where they both stood. 

“Now that we’ve found one, another shouldn’t be hard. They point away from the nearest other plant.” There was a small flower bud at the top of the bark, it pointed out slightly. Bailey had thought nothing special of it until just then, 

“If I remember correctly,” continued Roman, “it was pointing that way before I dug it up,” they pointed right, “So we need to go that way,” Roman pointed left, then turned to Bailey, ”Sorry if I’m boring you by the way, I’m sure you knew all this.”

“Actually I didn’t. It seems like Ford wasn’t as useful as he seemed.”

Roman laughed, “It’s so weird. It’s like he just wanted you to get lost out here.” before turning to walk to the next spitebark.

That phrase echoed in Bailey’s mind. He just wanted you to get lost out here.

Roman turned back, realising that Bailey hadn’t moved yet. Then they realised, “You don’t think...?”

“Actually, Roman,” said Bailey, “I do think. I think he set me up! He sent me here knowing how dangerous it can be and would have had me sit here for hours hunting for something I’ll never find. Until what? Until I get found by eaveners? Until I’m overcome with the emotions of returning and just off myself right in the middle of the Glade? Until I go crazy and start seeing the ghosts of my dead friends?-”

There was a rustling from behind Roman, Bailey looked past them. Something was in the bushes.

Roman saw Bailey’s face drop.

“What is it?” they asked.

Bailey raised a shuddering hand, and pointed over Roman’s shoulder, they turned. 

Before Roman stood three humanoid figures, their skin was an ashen grey and their eyes were orbs of pale green light. The first was a tall, muscular figure who wore heavy armour and wielded a long spear. Beside him stood a shorter woman with a flowing robe, her hands were held out and magical fire was sputtering in them. Behind the two figures loomed a huge, bare chested man, his battleaxe’s head looked bigger than Roman’s entire torso. Each of the figures' clothing matched the grey of their skin. Roman also noticed green tentacles of energy wavered from the backs of their necks and into the bushes behind.

Bailey spoke first, “It’s them.”

The largest of the three let out a roaring battle cry as he and the other man ran towards Roman, the woman dodged to the side, the flames in her hands growing in intensity.

“Run!” called Bailey, but Roman couldn’t. They stood petrified as this colossus of a man stomped towards them, shuddering the ground with each step.

Bailey called again, “Roman!” But it was useless. The colossus brought his axe up, preparing to swing and-

Roman was tackled to the ground. The axe cleaved through the air, missing Roman’s head by inches. Roman looked around, Bailey lay next to them, his arms wrapped around Roman’s torso. His eyes were wide with terror, which slowly lowered to relief as they locked with Roman’s. 

Bailey sighed, but before he could say anything the other fighter charged towards them. He raised his spear and prepared to strike, but Bailey whipped out his cutlass and knocked the spear aside, spiking it into the dirt.

Roman scampered to their feet, noticing the colossus had lodged his axe into the ground and was struggling to pull it out. Bailey dueled with the spearman, deftly dodging his lunges and parrying those he couldn’t duck out of the way of. The woman’s fire had grown to an immense size, she was now holding a single flame between both her hands and was preparing to throw it towards Bailey.

It was Roman who called to Bailey this time, “Bailey! Over there!” Bailey looked up to Roman and then followed their pointing arm. He saw the huge fireball just as it was leaving the caster’s hands. He jumped away from the spearman and behind a nearby rock. The spearman stood still and emotionless as the fireball engulfed him. Roman covered their face with their hands as the heavy heat stampeded over them. They cried out as it lightly burnt their forearms.

Once the blast cleared, Roman lowered their arms. The grey figure still stood within the rubble. Roman looked over to Bailey, he was peeking over the stone and staring at the spearman in awe.

There must be something with that green magic, thought Roman. Looking once again at the tendril that went from the spearman’s neck. It still led towards those bushes. Roman ran to the rock that Bailey was still crouched behind, it seemed like the fireball had disoriented the spearman, he didn’t know where either of them had gone. 

Roman whispered, “Bailey!”

He turned, “What are you still doing here?” he said, exacerbatedly, “You need to get out! Run!”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” said Roman, “Anyway, I think I know what we need to do. We need to follow the magic that’s coming from them, maybe we can find a way to… I don’t know, turn it off?”

“Do you know how to turn magic off?”

“Not with magic, no. But we could kill it.”

Bailey shrugged, “Well it’s better than trying to kill them, did you see what that fireball did to Fabian?”

Fabian, that must be the spearman. 

“Alright, let’s g-”

A deafening roar sounded from behind them. Roman turned. The colossus stood before them, holding his axe high over his head. He brought it down. Roman and Bailey jumped in opposite directions, the axe cleaving right where Bailey was just standing. 

Bailey looked at Roman, they pointed towards the bush that the tendrils were wavering to. The two ran toward it, leaving the colossus to heave it’s axe from the ground once more. 

As they reached the bush, another fireball cracked overhead. It collided with the trees, sending them careening away. The stumps that remained began to burn, before the flames tapered themselves out magically. 

“Now what?” asked Bailey.

“I don’t know.” said Roman, “Just stab into it?”

Cutlass drawn, Bailey tiptoed up to the bush. He raised his arm to strike when something big and dark brown burst from the bush and tackled him to the ground. It was an eavener! It sat on top of Bailey, the three green tendrils leading straight into its head. The eavener raised one of its flint daggers to strike.

“No!” called Roman, running at the eavener. They tackled it off of Bailey. The eavener squirmed in Roman’s grip, slashing at their forearms with the stone blades. Roman screamed as the blades tore up their arm, like a pack of wolves tearing up fresh prey.

Then, all of a sudden, the flailing stopped. 

Roman looked up at the eavener, a sword was lodged into its chest, Bailey’s sword! Roman followed the curve of the blade and saw Bailey at the other end. He looked deeply troubled. Roman leapt up and spread his arms towards Bailey, then flinched as the movement caused a searing pain to travel up his forearms. Roman looked innocently up at him, he had already dipped back into that caring focus he had shown at Roman’s lack of water.

“Where are those roll-things you had before?” he said, quickly.

Roman slowly moved their arm to point at the pouch, careful not to bring back the stinging pain. Bailey deftly untied it from Roman’s side and opened it, pulling out one of the ji-ais. Roman opened their mouth as Bailey gently placed it onto their tongue. They bit down on it, easily piercing the wrapping to reach the chocolate inside. It sent a warm tingling through their whole body, which slowly focused and grew in their forearms. Roman looked down at their arms, watching as the flesh around the hundreds of cuts regrew and merged with what had survived the attack. The swelling, bloodied meat looked significantly more disgusting than it felt, the magic of the ji-ais actually making the feeling quite euphoric for Roman. Once the healing had completed and the warmth died down, Roman shook their arms out, returning some of the feeling they had lost in them.  

Roman suddenly realised “What about the others?”

Bailey took a sharp breath, “Oh no.”

Roman was fully expecting the colossus to burst through at that moment. But nothing happened. Now that they thought about it, they couldn’t hear the charging of magic fire either, or any noise that might have been coming from their adversaries for that matter. All they could hear was the faint tweeting of birds some distance away.

Roman turned around, looking back out over the Glade. The three figures all stood wavering across the field, standing in place like figures on a warmap. They looked to be in some sort of trance. Bailey ran over to the spellcaster, who was the nearest. 

“Merida!” he said, holding her face in his hands, “Please! Wake up! Please!”

Merida’s grey skin became flaky in Bailey’s hand. He pulled away, but the ash stuck to him. He looked at it in disbelief.

“No! This isn't- It can’t- Merida!”

Bailey tried to embrace the caster, but his hands wafted through her, scattering the ashes into the wind. Once again he looked in shock. Roman turned to watch the others. The colossus was the most intact, likely due to his size. Then a strong breeze caught his head, dispersing it just like Merida. The wind snickered as it passed through the trees.

Some horrid joke, thought Roman. 

Roman walked up beside Bailey and stood with him, the two just watched as the spearman Fabian’s legs gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, the ashes spurting out in a circle around where he fell. The unnamed colossus also fell, knocked over by the wind. His final flourish was significantly larger than Fabian’s. 

Roman wrapped an arm around Bailey, “I’m sorry.���

Bailey just stood, his eyes wide and unfocused. Roman thought they heard him mutter something. “Thank you,” perhaps. 

“We need to get out of here.” continued Roman, pulling Bailey out of his trance slightly, “There might be more eaveners on the way.”

“Yeah,” Bailey muttered, but he wasn’t walking out of the Glade. Instead he stumbled over to the pile of ash that had been Fabian. “Let me just-” with a grunt, Bailey bent over and grabbed the spear. “I need to keep these. Preserve them.” He walked over to the colossus next and heaved the axe over his shoulder. The thing dwarfed him. Roman wasn’t sure how Bailey could even carry it.

Now that Roman understood what was happening, they walked over to Merida’s ash pile. A book lay buried in it (or in her, Roman thought, grimly), Roman hadn’t seen it during the fight. They dusted the ash from its cover, revealing an old leather-bound tome. It must be her spellbook, they thought.  

Roman turned as Bailey reached them, they showed him the book. Bailey nodded weakly. 

Roman noticed that Bailey was struggling with the massive axe, “I can take the spear if you want me to,” they said.

Bailey handed them the spear, “Be careful with it,” he warned. 

“Don’t worry, I will. I can tell what these mean to you.”

“Thank you,” Bailey turned slowly towards the forest again, “We should get going. If you want to get out of the Forest of Fables fast, you need to will it to happen. Think of New Elmus, think of people there who you want to get back to. Think of happy memories, that’s what the forest likes.”

As the two began to walk arm in arm, Roman pictured their sister, her shining, blonde hair and deep brown eyes, the smile that she gave them every time they came to visit her and their parents. They hoped she would never have to see something like what happened today. 

Then they thought of Clara. They’d only gotten the one spitebark for her, but after hearing what they’d gone through, they were sure Clara would be relieved that they had made it back at all. The experimentation will have to wait.

Lastly, they thought of Bailey. Not of present Bailey - he was right beside them - but of Bailey in the future. Maybe they could find a big house in the city and live together. Maybe Roman could continue their learning under Clara and eventually be able to cook for him every day.

Roman’s visions were cut short by a clap on the back, Bailey spoke, still solemnly, but with a cockiness that reminded Roman of their initial meeting, “Nice dreaming, champ.”

Roman opened their eyes. They were already at the edge of the Forest. “Wow,” they said, “That was fast.”

Bailey smirked, “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah it was.” He looked down at Roman, “Now, let’s get me to Clara’s.”

Knock knock. Knock knock. 

The door swung open, letting the familiar scents of the cafe float up into Roman’s nose. Before Roman and Bailey stood Clara. The small woman looked up at them, smiling.

“Ah, dearie! You’re back! And I see you’ve brought a friend,” she looked quizzically up at Bailey.

“Yes ma’am,” said Roman, “This is Bailey, he helped me out while I was in the Glade.” 

The two shared a glance and smiled, their arms were still wrapped tightly around each other.

Bailey turned to Clara and spoke, “I was wondering if you could help me out with something in return.”

---

ty @daydreamoceans for being my test audience <3

check out my other stuff tagged #gourmancy here

[harcourtholmesii]

In This Here, Beautiful World... (Part 1)

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Pairings: Medic X Heavy / Scout X Miss Pauling / Scout’s Ma X Spy / Soldier X Zhanna / Engineer X Original Character / Saxton Hale X Maggie

Warnings: - Swearing - Physical Abuse and Violence - Verbal Abuse - Minor Gore - Implied Death

Words: 1913

Summary: When the world goes to shit, in order to survive, you need to be ruthless, and you need to be prepared to do whatever it takes. When nine strangers and their families come together to fight back the zombie plague, tensions will rise between them all, threatening to pull them apart and kill them from the inside-out. It’s a shitty summary, I know. ^^

Enjoy!

‘Hey! Yo! I got a delivery here for a Mister Brookes!’

 Jeremy hammered his fist against the door, louder than the first time. He had been standing out here for a good twenty minutes, waiting for this douchebag to open the door. The boss would kill him if he returned with cold pizza or if he got a call from the tenant saying he never received the order.

 Jeremy shifted from foot to foot, his sneakers squeaking lightly against the cracked linoleum floor. He couldn’t just wait here forever! He was already running behind schedule and he needed the money!

 He pounded his fist against the door again; a neighbour poked her careworn face out her door to peer at the disturbance.

 ‘D-Do you mind keeping it down, young man?’

 ‘I wouldn’t have to be loud if this guy would just open the door!’ He continued to pound his fist, hearing how the hinges whined under his abuse.

 The old lady shut her door when it became obvious he wouldn’t stop. For a moment, the thought came to Jeremy’s mind that she might be calling the cops. He wouldn’t stay here anymore if that was the case, and he sure as shit wasn’t leaving a perfectly good pizza on this ungrateful dick’s doorstep.

 He stomped down the hall, passing by the old lady’s door. He could hear her speaking to someone on the inside, but he didn’t stop to wait for the sound of sirens. It wasn’t like he was trying to disturb the peace; he just wanted some fucking tips!

 He leapt onto the railing of the stairwell, letting his weight skirt him down the metal of the banister. He whipped down one flight, and then another, until his feet planted themselves firmly on the first floor. He pushed the glass doors out of his way, the frame cracking loudly against the brick of the building.

 He trotted down the stairs, looking about left and right for some dumpster. Instead, the sight of an older man pushing a small trolley of garbage bags and raggedy clothes caught his eye. Jeremy felt the anger lessen, if only a little. He hated seeing people roaming the streets like this, without a home or place to go to. Filthy rich dickheads and politicians wouldn’t spare a single coin to them and it made him sick.

 He approached and simply cleared his throat to get the scraggly man’s attention. He couldn’t see his eyes beneath the unwashed hair, but as he offered the pizza pie to him, those hands shook excitedly, reaching out and taking it with hesitance. Those tanned hands opened up the box, the smell of melted cheese and cooked meat wafting into the air.

 ‘T-Thank you…’ Jeremy just nodded, offering him a lazy wave of ‘don’t worry about it’. He took off at full sprint down the street, leaving behind the apartment and the man in his dust. He had to be quick back to the restaurant, so his manager wouldn’t get pissy.

 He ran at great speed down the bustling city streets, dodging about those that got in his path. Families, businessmen and construction workers had little time to part ways for him. He compensated for their lack of awareness by leaping over the guard railings, jumping the hoods of stationary traffic and racing through the wavering legs of scaffolding. He got the odd call from some of the workers, but it had become a common enough practice, Jeremy was almost ignored by bystanders.

 The wind whipped his hair and face, threatening to throw the delivery cap off his head. Finally, he rounded a corner and into the shop, in time to see his boss glowering from across the counter.

 ‘You’re late.’

 ‘Yeah.’ He muttered, replacing the empty pack onto the shelf. He threw himself into compiling the list of orders and strangling his waist with a rubber apron. ‘I know. I know. Guy wasn’t home or was ignorin’ me. I tried!’

 ‘So what happened to the order?’

 He hated the shakedown. This was not the first time that Jeremy had arrived back to the store, hands empty of payment.

 ‘I just left it on the doorstep.’

 ‘Are you kidding me, Jeremy?’ The boy rolled his eyes, roughly taking the pizza cutter and beginning his work on dividing the pie apart. A fly buzzed in his ear, which he swatted away in disgust. ‘You know to wait for the customer to open the door!’

 ‘I woulda been there the whole fuckin’ afternoon!’ He barked back, cutting into the pizza harder than he meant to. The box splintered beneath the pressure and the blade near sliced his fingers. He slammed the lid down, and started upon the next one.

 ‘Did you call them?’

 ‘The phone’s been broke’ for a while now! I can’t call them with that garbage!’ He was lucky that this place had been so lax with language. He and the manager often shared bouts of abuse, but it made it easier to adapt. Instead of shutting his lips, he could hurl curses back at the useless prick behind the counter. He knew it tested the man’s patience, and certainly didn’t encourage the man to keep him around, but he put in the effort. And the man couldn’t deny that he was the best delivery boy he had, not to mention the only one.

 ‘You keep this shit up, Jeremy, and you’ll be outta here faster than your mother can pump out another brat!’

 Oh, now that was too far!

 Jeremy could take this shit when it was aimed at him, but at his family, at his ma specifically, he wouldn’t stand for it. He didn’t even want to work at this shitty pizza place anyway!

 He threw off the smock, tossing the prepared pizzas across the steel table and at his ex-manager. He leapt over it, and with hands clenched, hit him once across the nose. There was the spatter of blood and the satisfying crack of cartilage, as the man was sent reeling back and into the tubs of sauce.

 Barbecue, crème fraiche and tomato sauce went flying all about, coating the man head to toe in the expired spreads. Jeremy tore his shirt as he ripped his nametag off and tossed it into the dickhead’s shocked face. Guess he hadn’t been expecting someone like Jeremy to fight back.

 Jeremy may have been scrawnier than his brothers, but he was fast, and more than a little anger fuelled his strength. He leaned down on the tile, gripping the man’s collar tight and lifting up the mess just enough that they nearly met nose-to-nose.

 ‘Don’t you ever talk about my ma again! You even look in her direction, even get one whiff of her perfume, and you’ll lose those nuts of yours, you got that?!’ He dropped the shaking mess of a manager back into the sea of red, white and brown.

 Then Jeremy stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

 He didn’t run off like he had done to get to the restaurant. He took his time, instead, to simmer down. He didn’t want his ma to see him like this. He knew she’d be disappointed that he lost another job, and he couldn’t just tell her what that dickhead had said. He just hoped she would forgive him for being so brash.

 He passed by a number of stores, all at various points of shutting down for the afternoon or for good. Graffiti created a continuous line for him to follow along; signatures, doodles and even grand pieces of street art provided a guide as to his location, wherever he was in the city. An electronics store was still playing the local news as he passed it by, detailing some local flu hotspots, and an old music shop had been packed up into several wooden boxes.

 The townhouse he lived in with his ma was at the end of a long street, between two apartment buildings that crammed it tightly between them. It appeared as if squashed by the neighbouring buildings; three storeys tall, with a pair of windows to each floor. It was an icky cream colour, with a small rooftop garden that had two lines of wet clothes waving about in the breeze.

 Jeremy plucked a key from beneath the mat and entered inside. The lights were on, and he could hear in the room to his left their old, junk box playing some fitness program. He sighed, feeling his shoulders sag as he attempted to release his fuming breath and calm himself before he met his ma.

 She spoke first when he entered the living room.

 ‘You’re home early.’

 She pulled herself back up from a stretch, turning to offer him the warmest smile he ever did see. He stuttered with apologies, attempting to tell her what happened without mentioning what that asshole had said. She just fluttered her hand, as if shooing away his discomfort and his excuses, rounding the old couch and bringing him into a hug.

 He relaxed immediately, returning the affection with a tight squeeze.

 ‘I’m sorry.’

 ‘Don’t be. You can always find another job; one much more suitable for the fine, young man you are.’ She said. His ma always knew exactly what to say. ‘I couldn’t be more proud of my boy. You held out for six months, Jeremy. You blew your last record right out of the water!’

 He huffed a breath of laughter, the only sound he could manage with all this praise. He knew, through the smile and the gentle words, that his ma was a little bit upset. He needed a job; just so he could support her as his brothers did, if not just himself. Her work as a pre-school teacher had been able to keep them all above water, but the old townhouse was falling apart without the necessary care.

 His two eldest brothers, Mark and Kieran, had left about a year ago; both of them attempting to pursue some apprenticeships in engineering and hospitality. The third oldest, his brother Blake, had been talking with their ma recently about moving in with his girlfriend out of state.

 Lucas, Julien and Oliver had stayed in school, but hadn’t gotten the grades to gain any kind of scholarship. They were still at work, no doubt, doing more than Jeremy ever could. They could put up with the bullshit demands of customers, and the abuse from their managers. But this was the third job that Jeremy had left behind this year alone.

 ‘Why don’t you come sit down, and you can tell me what really happened?’ She kissed his cheek and guided him to the lounge. The fitness program was switched to the news, but turned down until the broadcast was a mere mutter.

 Jeremy felt embarrassed to say much to her, but he knew that his ma wanted to hear what he had to say. As he spoke, detailing the list of demands he had suffered through that day, the news station switched headlines. Unbeknownst to Jeremy or his ma, a fast-acting viral infection was rapidly spreading through several different hotspots across the city. If they had been paying any mind, they would have seen the havoc being caused from the crappy cellphone footage.

 They only noticed when a scream radiated from the television, the one recording the chaos suddenly on the ground.

 Another, sickly man, had his face buried deep into his intestines.

[mushyjellybeans]

Forgive Me (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are enemies who prank eachother and annoy eachother all the time until one insult is taken too far, Bucky must do everything he can to make it up to the reader.

Warnings: Bucky is a bit of an asshole, insults, mentions of a parent’s death (but no details), language, kissy kissy at the end. Angst with a happy/teasing ending.

Word Count: 2,176 (oops someone take my keyboard away from me!!)

A/N: This is for @simsadventures​ 1k writing challenge with the prompts: 1. Enemies to Lovers 2. One character annoying the other just because they’re into them and don’t want to admit it Thank you for letting me join babe and so sorry this took so long! I love you!!!

Another day stuck at the compound as the storm outside hit unexpectedly overnight. Too dangerous to fly the quinjets, Director Fury had canceled all missions temporarily which meant you had to stay at the compound with the team and more specifically with the man you detested from day one when he was so rude to you, the two of you never really got along since you were always bickering about everything and anything. It drove the team insane with your constant arguing, but you couldn’t stand the guy and didn’t understand why he was even on the team. All he did all day was brood and yell at you but because he’s Stevie’s best friend you figure that’s the only reason he gets away with so much.

It didn’t help the situation that you developed a big crush on Bucky. The room always felt better with his presence in, and so ordinary if he wasn’t in the room. You became jealous of every girl he dated and went to bed with, that’s when you knew you were in trouble and you were in fact, in love with him and could do nothing about it. If he ever found out, no doubt he would tease and insult you about it. 

You were taking a shower in your room, sighing as the hot water cascaded down on your body as you washed away your worries, your loofah loaded up with your fruity shower gel. With the water running and you being too busy making sure to scrub every inch of your body, you didn’t hear your bathroom door open. 

Bucky had stealthily entered your unlocked room and turned the cold water on in the sink, you shrieked out as the ice water hit you.

You yanked the shower curtain back slightly still covering your private parts as you gaped at the man. “Bucky, what the fuck are you doing in my room?!” You gritted through your teeth. 

Bucky had a shit-eating grin on his face as he shrugged and walked out of your bathroom backward, leaving the cold water running and you groaned in frustration. 

It was no secret that the two of you would prank each other occasionally. You once put green hair dye in his expensive bottle of shampoo and snapped a photo of him with the result. He retaliated by putting salt in your coffee instead of sugar. 

And Bucky enjoyed annoying you, he loved getting you so riled up because he thought you were the cutest. He was in love with you and it killed him he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You shut the shower off and got out, towel drying yourself quickly and throwing on a hoodie and a pair of black leggings. You tied back your wet hair as you exited your room, making your way down to the kitchen area where the team was hanging out. Steve and Bucky were making eggs by the stove. 

“Good morning Stevie!” You greeted cheerfully, perching yourself up on the stool and resting your forearms on the counter. 

“Good morning Y/N.” Steve greeted back, sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper. 

“Goddamnit!” Bucky cursed. “Steve watch my eggs for a minute I forgot to grab my phone. I invited Holly for a skype chat.” Bucky sprints out of the room when Steve gives him a nod, and a smirk grows on your lips. 

You quickly empty the tomato ketchup from the bottle and replace it with extra hot sauce and set it down next to Bucky’s plate of eggs just as Bucky gets back. Steve raises an eyebrow at you and shakes his head. You purse your lips and watch Bucky eagerly as he puts the sauce on his eggs and sighs. He lifts you off your seat and shoves you away from him.

“What’s the matter? Never seen a guy eat eggs before?” Bucky snaps, scooping up his scrambled eggs and eating them, immediately choking on the strength of the sauce. 

“Enjoy.” You laugh, patting the soldier on the back and going to sit down on one of the couches in the common room with the team. 

Bucky is seething and once he’s got his coughing under control he stalks towards you with his fists clenched by his side and a scowl burning holes in your face. 

“You know what Y/N. You gotta be the most irritating fuckin’ person on the entire planet!” He grits out through his teeth. 

“Well tell me Bucky, is it possible for you to choke on your own dick?” You grin, Sam spits his coffee out of his mouth. 

“I don’t know doll, why don’t you get on your knees and find out?” He challenges, moving in front of you. 

“Eww, no thanks. According to one of your one-night-stands, you taste like ass.” 

“Oh yeah? Well, you smell like ass. You need to go and take a fuckin’ shower because you smell so bad that it’s no wonder anybody wants to be with ya. You probably got your smell from when your ma pushed your pathetic ass from her disgusting pussy.” And that was a line crossed for you. His insults you could handle, but insults about your mom was a step too far. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and willed your tears away, you hadn’t talked about your mom in years and the team knew why but Bucky didn’t. 

You stood up abruptly and walked back to your room without another word spoken, locking your door behind you and collapsing on your bed as you think about your mom. 

Bucky saw the look in your eye at the mention of your mom and he immediately felt guilty. He believed you genuinely hated him and he returned the favor because it’s easy to hate someone who hates you. 

“Good job, Buck.” Steve rolls his eyes, knowing just how sensitive the topic is for you. Steve didn’t understand why you and Bucky didn’t get along. Bucky joked and laughed with the other girls and even went out to the club with the boys, but with you, he was a different person. 

“You’re an asshole, Barnes.” Nat piped up from her seat. 

“Steve, help me fix it.” Bucky pleads, not knowing what to do. 

“Why Buck? So you can continue to throw insults towards her?” Steve places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “You know, I’m so sick of the two of you bickering and hurting each other. We’re the Avengers. We’re supposed to be a team! Instead, I got you two down each other’s throats!“

“I don’t hate her Steve.” Bucky’s voice was so quiet that Steve wasn’t sure he heard him correctly.

“What?” He leans his ear more towards Bucky’s mouth to hear him more clearly.

“I’ve never hated her. I love her and I just don’t-I fucked everything up.” Bucky runs his hands through his hair and tugs on the roots painfully. 

“What about this Holly girl?” 

“There is no Holly. She’s just a friend to make Y/N jealous.” 

“You’re such a jerk. Here’s what you are gonna do…”

It was evening and you still hadn’t emerged from your room. You had actually been rocking back and forth on your bed, whispering “I’m so sorry mom” over and over. Your heart clenches in pain as you remember her final days before that fucking disease took her away from you. You’ve never been the same since and you’re not sure you ever will be. 

“I miss you.” You whisper as another round of sobs rack out of your chest as you clutch your memorial necklace tightly in your fingers. 

A loud knock on the door catches your attention and you wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your hoodie as you go and unlock the door, thinking it’s Steve or even Wanda coming to check on you. 

“You’ve been crying.” A gruff voice laced with guilt says as the man responsible for your heartache stands in front of you, looking over your features. 

“What the hell do you want, James?” Bucky winces at your tone. 

“I just wanted to-” you try to shut the door on him, but his foot stops you from doing that. Instead, he pushes the door open and forces you back. Knowing he won’t go away anytime soon, you go back over to your bed and sit down, playing with the hem of your hoodie and keeping your gaze to the floor.

The bed dips gently next to you, and you feel cold fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear and you shiver. 

“I’m so sorry, doll.” He whispers. “I really never meant to hurt you.” He sniffles, wishing he could turn back time. 

“Don’t you have a date with your girlfriend?” You ask bitterly, ignoring his apology. 

“Is that jealousy I hear in ya voice?” He teases slightly. 

“No.” You shrug slightly, sniffling and wiping your nose with your sleeve. 

“I do care about you, doll,” Bucky whispers, leaning closer to you. “I don’t mean any of the insults I say. I just-I know you hate me and I don’t blame you but-”

“I don’t hate you.” 

“You don’t?” He asks, eyes wide in surprise. 

“Not at all. It was just a joke.” 

“I don’t hate you either.” He smiles softly and for the first time, you meet his gaze. His eyes are full of sadness as he searches your soul. “I’m sorry for everything I said. I never wanted to hurt you. Please, if you’ll let me I’ll make it up to you.” He strokes your cheek gently. 

“How are you going to do that?” You wonder curiously. 

“Well, I’m gonna run you a bubble bath. Make some hot chocolate and invite you to my room for a movie and cuddle night.” 

You frown as you think over his words. 

“A bath because I smell right?” Reminding him of his recent insult.

Bucky shakes his head no. 

“You smell really great all the time. I have a hard time keeping myself together when you’re in the room because I wanna kiss and taste every inch of your soft skin. Like I said doll, I don’t know why I say half of the shit I say because none of it is fuckin’ true. But I mean it when I say I’m sorry and I’m serious I wanna make it up to you and make you feel good, make you happy. I have feelings for you and I will never hurt you again. I promise.” 

And you don’t know what you were thinking - chances are you probably weren’t but you leaned up and caught his lips with yours. Relishing in his taste of peppermint and sandalwood. Bucky reciprocated, angling his head to kiss you deeper. His fingers snaking under your hoodie and grazing your hips. A gasp escapes your lips at the different temperatures of his hand, and Bucky takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between your lips, moaning at the way you taste. 

Bucky reluctantly pulls away for air and rests his forehead against yours, smiling softly at you. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He whispers, his breath fanning against your swollen lips. “Will you be my girl, doll?”

“Do you promise to never hurt me?” 

“I cross my heart. I’ll make it up to you, for every single thing I have ever said to you, I’ll make it right. You’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

“I need a date first Buck.” You tease, pulling away from him slightly but he still has a firm grip on your hips. 

“Come to my room tonight at 8 pm? I’ll set up a dinner and movie date for the two of us?” He asks hopefully. 

“Alright.” You agree, knowing he’ll keep his word and make it up to you. He pecks your lips a final time and stands up. 

“I’ll see you soon.” He says, walking over to your door. His hand hovering above the doorknob. “Oh and doll?” He looks over his shoulder and you hum in response. “Don’t wear underwear.” He winks, walking out. A small laugh escapes you and you hide your face with your sleeves as embarrassment washes over you at how forward he is.

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[thirstforfleck]

you belong to me~Arthur Fleck x Reader

summary: it’s a rainy day in gotham. you and arthur have a romantic dinner at home and slow dance to romantic tunes.

warnings: none? just lots of fluff

word count: 1,774

notes:Hello, all. This is my very first piece of writing I’m posting to this site. I’m not the BEST writer there ever was (some of you are absolutely amazing and my writing does not compare to yours) so please don’t be too hard on me. I was heavily influenced by You Belong to Me by Jo Stafford for this piece of writing. I think my writing went downhill at the halfway point because I’m three glasses of wine in and have just been writing from my feels. Been feelin’ romantic all day. (also I made this as gender neutral as possible) hope you enjoy :)

Gotham City was damp, chilly, and more uninviting than usual that night. The severe thunderstorm warning was not to be taken lightly. Bright flashes of lightening lit up the sky, followed by Earth-shattering rumbles of thunder. You watched out the window as the rain fell at a 45 degree angle. Debris and leaves in the filthy streets below danced in a funnel shape. You loved thunderstorms. The sound of the rain pelting the roof was soothing and the smell of petrichor delighted your senses. 

The sky’s grumbles and the low vocals of Al Bowlly lilted through the apartment. Arthur hummed as he moved about in the kitchen. He was preparing fettuccine alfredo for dinner. Arthur was an amazing cook, preparing some of your favorite comfort foods on a weekly basis: blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings, grilled cheese and tomato soup on Friday afternoons (provided he wasn’t working), and spaghetti with marinara on Wednesday evenings. You usually got off work earlier than Arthur, so most of the time you would fix a hot meal for when he got home from a long day at Ha-Ha’s. 

“Darlin’, dinner is ready,” Arthur called to you.

You turned from the window and walked to the kitchen. “I’ll help you set the table.”

You set the table in the corner of the living room while Arthur poured the pasta into a bowl. In the meantime, you aggressively pulled the cork out of your bottle of Chardonnay. You poured yourself a healthy amount. Arthur took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the faucet. Alcohol messed with his many medications so he didn’t drink.

“Artie, this smells absolutely amazing,” you enthused, taking a seat.

“Anything for my love,” Arthur smiled from across the table.

You and Arthur ate in comfortable silence, exchanging sweet glances. The creamy sauce melted in your mouth. You hummed as you savored the meal bite by bite. Arthur was a self-taught cook, serving his mother for many years. There were stacks of recipe books throughout the apartment, from which Arthur took inspiration. 

After cleaning your plate, you helped yourself to another serving. Arthur only enjoyed a small portion. He never had a large appetite. He lit a cigarette for dessert. “This is incredible,” you spoke. “Seriously.” You took every chance you could get to boost Arthur’s self-esteem. You have helped him so much in the past year you’ve been together. He was more confident in his comedy, his cooking, and even just in his daily interactions with the public.

Arthur was glowing. “Thank you, darling,” he smiled. He started to clear the table, when you reached your arm out to stop him.

“I’ll do it,” you insisted. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”

Arthur paused. “Are you sure?” Arthur hated asking people for help. In the past, he was always denied help from those he asked. He was always used to completing tasks himself. The only time he truly asked for help was from his therapist, and even when it came to her, Arthur didn’t think she truly cared to help. Arthur was still not used to you assisting him, whether it was with housekeeping or ideas for jokes, or even something as simple as trimming his hair. 

You nodded. “Just let me finish eating and I’ll clean.”

Arthur gave you a toothy grin. He leaned across the table and planted a kiss on your lips. The blend of butter, salt, and cheese on your lips tasted heavenly to Arthur. You giggled into the kiss. “I love you,” he sang.

“I love you, too,” you said. 

You devoured your second helping and started clearing the table. Arthur sat on the couch, relishing another cigarette. After storing the leftovers and washing the dishes, you poured yourself a second glass of wine. The thunder and lightening seemed to have left the atmosphere but the rain was still coming down strong. 

The dim light of the apartment combined with the gloomy clouds just barely seen through the windows made for a romantic setting in the apartment. You walked towards Arthur, making intense eye contact with him. His legs were spread, feet flat on the floor. He put his cigarette out in the ashtray next to him. You placed your wine glass on the coffee table. Gently, you climbed onto his lap and straddled him. Your hands brushed the hair out of his eyes and gingerly held his face. His brilliant green eyes twinkled. For a man as young as he was, he had deep forehead wrinkles and crow’s feet carved into his face. You didn’t mind: in fact, it made him more handsome if that was even possible. You adored the scar above his lip, from an accident he was involved in as a child (he didn’t go into great detail). You pressed a kiss to his upper lip, then to the corners of his mouth. “You are so good to me, Arthur Fleck,” you sighed. Your hands found their way to the nape of his neck, entwining your fingers in his thick, dark curls. 

Arthur’s breathing eased. Playing with his hair was his biggest weakness. He adored your tender strokes throughout his mess of hair and your fingernails giving him light scalp massages. “I could say the same thing about you, Y/N,” he whispered. 

Your lips touched his. Kissing you was the closest place to Heaven on Earth for Arthur. The way you treated him and cared for him made him feel like the only man in the world. He never thought he would find his one and only, but he did. It was you.

You pulled away with a soft smile. You just noticed the Al Bowlly record stopped playing, the fuzz at the end of the record playing on loop. “Oh, geez!” You jumped off Arthur and on to your feet. Shuffling over to the record player, you began to examine the records. There were ancient 78’s from his mother, a few 45’s of his absolute favorite songs, and mostly the standard 33 1/3’s. You found your favorite album: the latest compilation album of Jo Stafford’s greatest hits. Arthur gifted it to you last Christmas and you listened to it on repeat for weeks. You’re surprised you didn’t wear out the needle on the turntable. 

The first song of the album was ‘You Belong To Me,' arguably Jo Stafford’s biggest hit. Her deep, elegant voice sent chills down your spine. This song in particular made you shed tears many times in the past. It reminded you of Arthur. You placed the record on the turntable and set the needle on the first groove. The marimba and Jo’s vocals played softly through the speakers. You turned the volume up almost as loud as it could go. 

“Come on, Artie. Dance with me,” you approached him with your arms extended. Arthur couldn’t resist dancing with you. Every night after Live! with Murray Franklin, he would dance with you to the closing song, ‘That’s Life’. He was truly a romantic at heart, and his actions proved it. 

Arthur grabbed ahold of your hands and you tugged him off the couch. “How can I resist you, Y/N?” he smiled at you. Your right hand and his left hand clasped together. Your left hand snaked its way up his back and clasped onto his shoulder. His right hand found your waist and caressed it. 

See the pyramids along the Nile

Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle

Just remember, darling, all the while

You belong to me

Jo Stafford’s passionate ballad carried through the apartment as you and Arthur swayed to the tune. 

See the marketplace in old Algiers

Send me photographs and souvenirs

Just remember when a dream appears

You belong to me

You held your gaze with Arthur, never breaking the connection. He was stunning, caring, intelligent, gentle, talented, all the positive words in the dictionary. And he was yours. Your soulmate. Your person. The love of your life. Yours. 

I’ll be so alone without you

Maybe you’ll be lonesome too and blue

You couldn’t help but tear up at that line. It was true. Before Arthur, you were lonely. Living a life that consisted only of work and sleep. You didn’t think such a love like his existed. 

Fly the ocean in a silver plane

See the jungle when it’s wet with rain

Just remember ’til you’re home again

You belong to me

Arthur noticed the tears that created a film over your eyes. “My love, what’s wrong?” he spoke softly. His hands embraced your cheeks. His thumbs stroked over the tears that sparingly dripped from your eyes.

You shook your head, your eyes now making contact with his socks. “Nothing, I…” your voice trailed. Your eyes met his once again and you smiled tearfully. You could hear the thunder come rolling back in and echo throughout Gotham City. Jo Stafford’s beautiful voice was building with vigor, overpowering Mother Nature. 

I’ll be so alone and without you

Maybe you’ll be lonesome too and blue

“Nothing is wrong, Arthur,” you spoke softly. “I just… I don’t deserve you and I love you so much. I don’t know what I would do with myself if you left me.”

Arthur’s right hand trailed down your shoulder as his left hand held your chin. He felt the exact same way. Before you, he was the shell of a man. In his mind, he had nothing left to live for. Until, he met you. You sincerely loved him for who he was. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve you, but he was grateful. He counted his blessings every day because of you. “Hey, silly. I’m not going anywhere. I am never, ever leaving you. You are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Letting you go would… well, it would be the biggest mistake of my life.” You chuckled shyly, more tears falling. Arthur kissed away your salty tears. “I love you, Y/N.”

Fly the ocean in a silver plane

See the jungle when it’s wet with rain

But remember, darling, ’til you’re home again

You belong to me

“I love you too, Arthur,” you smiled. You and Arthur locked lips. Arthur’s arms encircled you and squeezed, holding you as close as humanly possible. Your arms found their way around his neck. The warm, romantic embrace gave you both a fuzzy feeling inside, something you both couldn’t describe. Nevertheless, you both knew it was something you never wanted to let go of. You had found each other: you were soulmates. It was as simple as that.

tagging my girl @freewriterofdarkness​ bc she wanted to read it :) also, if you would like to be tagged in future works, please let me know :)

[ljgilbert]

MIDTERM; MOCK TRIAL CLAIM

Who: LJ Gilbert & Aaron Smythe @aaronsmythe

Where: LJ’s Suite

What: Scene - blindfolded cooking

lj gilbert

The task was simple on paper. All Aaron had to do was trust LJ. That's all it took for this scene to be a success. But that was a lot to ask of anyone, especially someone you were still in the process of getting to know. That part was easy, fun even, and LJ really wanted to see how much they could push Aaron during this experience. Which would in turn push LJ. It would have been too easy to just hang out with Aaron and forgo all D/s aspects, but that wouldn't have been fair to either of them. The task was cooking and Aaron was completely blind. Aaron was allowed to cook the dish and prior to the blindfold going on, it was explained to LJ. "Okay first I want to familiarize you with where everything is. The stove it still off so you won't burn yourself, so can you put your hand on it? Then list off the ingredients and I'll put your hand on it just so you have some idea where everything is."

Aaron Smythe

Aaron could feel his heart beating against his chest as he listened to the Dominant instructing him from somewhere around him, he couldn't pinpoint exactly where. This was far more trust than he'd given anyone in a really long time, and it had him a little on edge. It was just simple cooking, sure - but he still didn't fully know LJ, and there was a lot of room for error here, especially when he was about to put his hand on a stove top. He knew it was off, but instinct not to touch it was definitely there. "Okay. I mean, yes, Mx," He quickly corrected, then took a breath and dropped his hand down onto the stove, swallowing the nerves. He relaxed a little when his hand didn't burn, gripping tightly onto the edge of it for some miniscule amount of comfort. "Um, sure. Okay. Pasta... tomato sauce... spices... uh, meatballs."

lj gilbert

What LJ appreciated most was his willingness to try and to learn from his error, like the way he corrected himself right away. And LJ could not ask more than that. He couldn't see it, but it did earn him a smile from them as they touched their hand to the back of his. "Thank you for trusting me and following through," LJ praised, wanting him to know how big that one motion was to them and how much it meant. "Okay,." LJ was trying to let him know every time they were going to move his hand. They laced their fingers with Aaron's from the back of his hand and gently listed it, touching all of the ingredients in order of the way Aaron listed it. They were all on the same side of the counter, to his right. "And the pots and pans are on this side," they went on, moving his hand to the left side of the stove. "Okay, tell me what you need to do and I'll direct you. Don't move until I tell you to."

Aaron Smythe

Aaron tensed slightly at the touch on his hand, but slowly eased into it to allow the Dominant to guide it in the direction of each item as he listed them, doing his best to take note of the distance his hand was from his body as they moved it. The praise definitely helped him relax, but he'd rather die than admit that. He just nodded, maintaining the same neutral expression as before. "Yes, Mx. Well, first I need to... uh, turn the stove on and get the pasta going," He informed cautiously, doing his best not to move. "Boiling, I mean." Aaron was an incredibly independent person, so having to rely on anyone for anything was not an easy task for him. Yet he was finding that he hadn't minded spending time with and getting to know LJ this week, and that softened the blow quite a bit, knowing he had the potential to make a friend out of this whole mess of an ordeal.

lj gilbert

LJ surveyed where the pot was and moved to stand directly behind Aaron to get a better gauge on where things were from his point of view. “Alright, the pot is at your 8 o’clock. And the sink is directly behind you. Turn around walk 3 feet and the faucet is on... yup there. Keep the water running. Stop. Halfway is good yeah?” LJ continued until the pot was on the stove and boiling and LJ couldn’t help but smile. “So far so good. What’s next?”

Aaron Smythe

Aaron followed each instruction the best he could, getting a little frustrated with himself at various times when he'd accidentally shift the pot too much and wet his hand, or even miss the eye on the stove while trying to put the pot on it. He tried to conceal it, but he couldn't even stop the soft huffs he'd let out every now and again. "Uh, next I think the water needs to start boiling. But we can start heating the pasta sauce up?"

lj gilbert

Every time there was a huff of frustration from Aaron, LJ would place their hand on his back and offer a word or two of reassurance, as well as a reminder that they were right there with him. “Cool okay. Well the other, smaller pot is at your 7 o’clock. You can put the pot right there in front of you... a little more to the right. Perfect. Now keep your left hand on the pot, I’ve opened the sauce which is right next to your right hand.” They weren’t supposed to help at all but with Aaron’s frustrations, they did the small thing, just to give him a bit of relief.

Aaron Smythe

Their words and gentle touches of reassurance would help each time, causing Aaron's shoulders to relax until the next source of frustration came along. He followed each instruction carefully, until finally he was pouring the sauce into the smaller pot without spilling even a little of it. Of course, he couldn't actually see that. "Uh, did I make a mess?" He asked cautiously, doing his best to resist the urge to move the blindfold. He carefully set the now empty jar back on the cabinet, biting the inside of his lower lip as he did so.

lj gilbert

LJ definitely took it as a win each time they were able to relax Aaron. There was silence all around them and complete focus and concentration from both parties. It's that level of commitment that would be celebrated later as a job well done. But for right now, LJ breathed along with Aaron and continued to smile, even though he couldn't see it. "Nope, no mess at all. You're going great so far." LJ praised, not even trying to hide their excitement. "Okay, what's next? Meatballs and spices into the sauce? I'm really bad at cooking so please tell me if that's not right."

Aaron Smythe

Aaron bit back a chuckle and nodded once in response to the Dominant's question. "Yes, Mx. The meatballs and spices are next. They can go in the sauce for simplicity and time saving, unless you'd prefer we sear them first," He offered, then actually cracked a small smile as he allowed them to guide his hand towards the items. He was a little nervous about using a frying pan during this exercise, but he found himself trusting LJ more and more as it went on. With them guiding him, he continued to get the meatballs ready to go in the sauce, while also doing his best to add a few shakes of each the spices into the sauce. It was hard to gauge how much he was adding, but he was doing his best with what he had to work with.

lj gilbert

"Oh no, let's do it the right way," they agreed. This next part was the most nerve wracking for the Dominant. Frying or searing like Aaron said always scared LJ the most and seemed the most dangerous, but it seemed to go by the fastest. Perhaps it was because their heart was beating against their chest and the adrenaline was pumping until they were cutting off that burner and adding the ingredients to the sauce that had been simmering. "Oh my goodness, Aaron, this smells so good. I think we're almost done. Are we ready to drain and put it all together?" LJ stuck their finger into the sauce and then into their mouth. It tastes good too. Yay, I'm excited!"

Aaron Smythe

Aaron listened to the Dominant praising him, and as much as he hated the response he was having to it, he couldn't get the sense of pride in his chest to go away. Deep down, he was a submissive like everyone else, he loved being told he did a good job and he did gain a sense of pride when someone was proud of him, he just refused to show it, and he especially refused to rely on other people for it. Clearing his throat softly, he offered a nod and a small smile. "I'm glad you like it. Yeah, I think we are. Can you, uh... throw a noodle against the wall? If it sticks, it's ready. Or, at least that's what I've heard?"

lj gilbert

At Aaron's request, LJ smiled and nodded. "Throw it? Absolutely. Who knew cooking could be so fun!" They picked up a noodle from the top of the pile and wound it up by spinning their hand and threw it towards the cabinet. "It stuck!" They exclaimed proudly. "Okay, so far so good, you ready to put it all together." LJ really was so proud of not only Aaron but of both of them for working together so well.

Aaron Smythe

"Yeah, ready," Aaron confirmed, returning his full attention back to the pots and pans he was still unable to see. "Which step is next, Mx? What still needs to go in?" He asked curiously, both hands finding their ways to the counter to steady himself and get an idea of where he was in relation to everything.

lj gilbert

LJ stoped and surveyed the room. "Okay. So theres a big ol' bowl at your 3 o'clock that you can first put the noodles in which is right here," they guided his hand to the strainer the noodles were sitting in. "And the sauce and noodles and things. "Let’s do it together!” 

[ultimatesoupfan]

Introduction to “I Rate Progresso Soup”

I love soup. I really do. Whenever I want an easy meal, my mind drifts towards the siren’s call of those funky little cans-- the cans of tomato soup filled with the tomato slime that you need to add water to; the cans of beef stew, soft vegetables, vibrant in color, oranges and yellows of carrots and corn stark against the brown, savory broth. A lucid dream, bombarding my senses in the best way possible. I knew I had to start this blog. It’s my life’s calling, my passion, my raison d’etre. 

When I’m on a call with my friends, dispersed across the United States like wayward specks of seasoning within a most delectable soup, I say, “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna grab something to eat,” and they’ll say, “What’re you getting?” I respond, of course, “Some soup,” and they laugh. Of course it’s soup. I’m the soup boy. I eat soup. It’s what I do! 

After I concluded I needed to blog all of my reactions on the great Tumblr, famous for eccentricity and homosexuality, both of which are characteristics I happen to possess, I raced to Discord to consult my inner circle, the very same people who indulge in my soupy antics. With frantic haste, I typed out the question, “how do you guys feel about me starting a blog where i rate progresso soups?” It wasn’t long before my web of support in this endeavor was presented to me:

“honestly, with the state of this world; the political and economic climate, i think that would be life changing”

“rating progresso soups was the one thing my great grandfather wanted to do during the cold war, alas he never got to see the day, as he was killed in action. This progresso soup rating blog feels like it's carrying on his legacy.”

I was beaming with joy. Of course my friends would support me in this! I knew I could count on my friends! And then I heard the notification. The once sweet, comforting sound of my Discord notifications were twisted by a group of friends who dissuaded me, telling me my dreams weren’t worth it, and that it was a fool’s errand. 

“that sounds worse than an unsalted pretzel”

“Rating soup is as pointless and time wasting as sweeping an unused field, I just can't see this being useful to anyone.”

My heart was shattered. Absolutely crushed to pieces, like an antique baby doll being run over by a semi. The driver, of course, would only feel a bump. They wouldn’t know the pricelessness of the artifact they just destroyed with their brutish carelessness, like how these “friends” wouldn’t understand the extent of their words piercing my delicate-- oh, so delicate!-- heart. I love my friends with every fiber of my being; each one is so unique and funny and so, so lovely to be around. How could they do me like this? 

In an instant, my wallowing suddenly turned into a raging inferno of passion and perseverance. I needed to prove those haters wrong. I’ll show them wrong. I’ll get so many followers on Tumblr, and I’ll become rich and famous off of my soupy passion! I love soup so much, I love them more than those fake friends who hate my betrothed-- my soup. I needed to prove those haters wrong! I’ll show them! I’ll show all of them! I will eat every single Progresso soup, and I’ll rate each and every one! It’s with great pleasure and excitement that I present to you, the fine gentlepeople of this website, my discoveries and displays of raw, soup hubris:

 Chapter One - Tomato Basil

Red sauce. That was the first thing that came to mind when I wafted the savory, herbed scent of tomato soup towards myself. I could slather this soup on a pizza crust and top it with the finest cheeses and meats, and then stick that bad boy in the oven for a while, and voila, a whole damn pizza. From the scent alone, I knew Progresso wasn’t lying when they printed “TOMATO BASIL” on their crisp-sea soupcan. This bad boy was stuffed with basil!

I lifted my bowl over the sink to avoid any scattered splotches of deep orangish-red in case of spillage, and carefully lifted my can to pour that pre-cooked goodness into my bowl. This was the moment of truth, the hour of reckoning, the very moment my life would be changed forever with this blog. I couldn’t help but feel a passing serenity over the course of the following few seconds as I slowly let the soup cascade down into my bowl, and then I placed it into the microwave, letting it cook for a couple of minutes.

I couldn’t help but feel anxious excitement as the bowl gradually spun and spun in its few minutes away from my hungry hands, and this anticipation would only ramp up further and further as the soup cooked. I paced around my kitchen, occasionally glancing towards the ever-falling timer to see how much longer I had to wait for my wet and wild treasure, my sweet and savory delight.  

The microwave yelped upon hitting 0:00 and I tore off a few sheets of paper towel to wrap the bowl in; I’d do much for soup, but to scorch my hands would be a folly of the moment. Carefully, I set the soup down on the counter next to a couple spires of Lysol wipes and cleaning supplies foolishly left out from the day before. I quickly snapped a picture, for you, my loving fellow soupfans, and ran upstairs with my prize and a spoon to eat in the comfort of my computer and write as I dived headfirst into the joys of Tomato Basil.

As I sat in the artificial glow of my computer monitor, white with the sheen of Google Docs, I swirled my soup to scout out its consistency. Quite creamy, I thought, as I felt the slightest bit of resistance within the soup, though it still let the spoon pass through with relative ease. The red sauce-scent filled my room as I waited longer and longer to take my first bite. It was a moment, and a soup, I needed to savor, every single part of it. 

The soup itself was speckled with the tiniest blotches of forest green, bits which I could only assume to be the titular basil. He complimented the red tomato blend well; it was a glorious sight to behold. I stirred the soup once more, just for good measure, and raised the spoon up above the savory ocean beneath. Some of it clung to the metallic underside, and even more waterfalled off from the gleaming edge like a heavenly paradise. 

It was now or never, I thought as the distance between the spoon and I shrunk. I took my first bite, and needless to say, it was magical, with such vivid taste that words would aspire to describe. This soup was more than palatable, it left me pining for more. More soup. Again, I took another bite. Again, it was another explosion of taste spread across my brain. It tasted almost exactly how it smelled: savory, saucy, with a hint of sweetness brought out by the name of the game. I couldn’t stop eating.

Halfway through my soup, I felt an onset craving of cheese. I knew this would happen. I have a storied history of craving cheese to pair with my tomato soup. The soup was simply too savory to slurp on its own; I wanted something more. However, I couldn’t let the purity of this soup-tasting be corrupted by the external factor of the cheese. I stayed my cheese brain and kept eating; I kept eating and eating.

At last, my soup was finished. A cloud of lingering soup formed a ring around where it once peaked. The sun sunk beneath the horizon, and the moon rose to celebrate this accomplishment: the first soup devoured, the first soup ranked. So savory, so delicious. How I wish for the next soup to be this grand! Until next time, Tumblr, goodbye! Goodbye! And I hope your next soup is as good as mine! I love you all.

21/25 - This soup is magical!

[the-obsession-ship]

New in town (Jim Hopper x Reader) -Part 3-

Pairings: Jim Hopper x female!reader

Warnings: Abusive Ex, Mention of abuse in the past, Language.

Type: Fluff and more fluff, with a slice of domestic!Hopper

Word count: 2,000+

Read the other parts here: Part one, Part two.

Long-time no Hopper, I know! College started and my brain and hands have been mostly on coding, but I cannot neglect the man who has kept me going and writing this has been a really nice mental break! I appreciate all the feedback I’ve gotten on this fic, It continues to shock me on all the love from you guys, so thank you so much.

Dropping your heavy backpack down by the door when you walk in, you huff out a sign and stretch your tired back. Hoppers cabin was a lot deeper into the woods then you initially thought and you spent a good amount of time tripping over the uneven forest path to get to the porch, You thought it was perfect, though a little dirty and dusty, potato chip bags and beer cans everywhere, it had a charm to it you couldn't quite place exactly.

Hopper dropped the rest of your luggage on the floor next to your backpack, Flo had helped you pack and insisted on giving you sheets, pillows, and she even bought you enough toiletries to probably last you for the rest of your life, so the small number of things you brought from Adams had now tripled by everything Flo thought you might need and you couldn’t help but be warmed to the core by her kindness.

“Alright, I think that’s all of it” Hop stretches out his back after bringing in everything Flo bought you, “I know it’s not much and I’m sorry I didn’t have time to clean up a bit” He goes to pick up the leftovers on the coffee table and tries to casually shove some dirty magazines under the couch, probably hoping you didn’t see him do that, although you can’t help but smile at the large man clumsily cleaning his cabin for you.

“Your rooms right there, you can go unpack if you want” Hopper pointed you towards the small room next to you with a badly painted green door.

“Thank you” You leave the Chief to his cleaning, not wanting to impose on anything else he might want to shove under the couch, smiling to yourself you pick up a couple of bags and push open the old green door that leads to your new room.

.

“Lysol? Dish soap? Hell, I’ll even take oven cleaner at this point” Hopper huffed under his breath as he threw open cabinet after cabinet trying to find any cleaning supplies, he had. A beautiful woman is staying in his home and he wanted to make everything as comfortable as possible for her and yet he couldn’t even find a standard household cleaner.

He decided to clean any dust off with a wet kitchen towel and made a mental note to pick up cleaning supplies on his drive home tomorrow.

Hearing you softly hum ‘Takin’ care of business’ that had played on the radio, when you were driving to his cabin; smiling to himself as he finished cleaning the kitchen, he could hear you opening and closing the drawers of the dresser while you unpacked and could only imagine you swaying to the tune in your head.

Having you live with him was definitely going to be a new experience, he hadn't had a woman live with him in years, most women he was around didn’t even stay the night. A warm feeling was brewing in his chest just thinking about his little cabin actually having life in it for the first time in probably decades.

Pushing thoughts back down that Hopper didn’t want to think too hard about, you needed a place to stay and he wasn’t about to ruin whatever relationship you both had with bringing too many emotions into it. 

Tieing the last trash bag and tossing it outside with the others for the time being, Hopper sighed while he looked around his small cabin, it was far from being spotless but it would have to do, for now, hearing you starting to go quiet in your room, presuming you’re close to being done unpacking Hopper decides it’s time to bite the bullet and make something for dinner, he knew you probably would want more than just chips and salsa.

“Shit..” All he had in his fridge was beer and leftovers from a party that Flo held at the office, he doesn't even remember when that party was or what holiday it was for, probably need to throw that out as well, he thought.

Pulling back from the fridge to look over at you, watching you take in the place you’d be staying in, he hoped he cleaned it enough for to make it at least feel comfortable “You cleaned up, it looks nice Hop”

“Thanks. Uh I didn’t have any time to pick groceries up before we got back” Hopper scratches the back of his neck and looks at you sheepishly “So, I don’t know what to make you for dinner”

“That’s okay, let’s see what we have here” Hop watches you move around the kitchen, brows furrowed in concentration, he knows you’re probably wondering just what to make with the little supplies you had, he considers just ordering pizza and hoping it won’t take the delivery guy hours to find his cabin, when you speak up.

“How about spaghetti?” He watches you pull out pasta and a can of tomato sauce, things that Flo probably bought him on one of her health kicks, trying to get him to at least cook himself a meal every once in a while, of course, that never worked but he appreciated Flo’s efforts. “I make really good spaghetti, trust me” 

Hopper couldn’t help but smile as you bounced around his makeshift kitchen, boiling water, setting timers, and measuring pasta. You looked actually at peace, “That sounds great” This wasn’t exactly what he had planned for your dinner date to be when you originally offered to make him pasta, but he damn well wouldn't trade seeing you happily make dinner in his kitchen while you both talked and drank beers together, laughing at some stupid joke he had said.

.

“Hopper, I’m back!” You shook off the heavy coat that adorned your shoulders and hung it up on the rack next to Hop’s huge blue one. 

“Hey, how was your day?” You heard him call from the kitchen, walking in there to greet him and noticing he was actually attempting a new recipe for tonight's dinner. You finally got him started on cooking and since then you have both learned he could make a mean meatloaf and now you never ate much else, he found it simple enough and it made leftovers for you both so it was your normal supper, but tonight he was clearly trying to make lasagna, emphasis on the ‘trying’ part.

“It was good, slow for most of it, but me and Joyce had fun” When Joyce found out you were staying with Hopper, she insisted on helping you find work, Melvalds wasn’t hiring at the time but Joyce pulled some strings and got you on part-time at the Kodak booth, which put right in front of where she typically worked. Luckily your hours always coincided so she picked you up in the morning and dropped you off at night.

“Did you stop any bad guys today?” You tried not to ask what the burnt smell was, assuming this was his second attempt at making dinner.

Hopper looked up and smiled at you before returning to his work on the counter “Oh yeah, Mrs. Mayfield’s pomeranian is quite a tough case” His voice got deeper, making you laugh at his faux seriousness “But, I took care of it”

Still smiling at Hoppers silly comment you took to setting the table, although it had only been a little over a month of staying with Hop, you both fell into it like it was normal, he cooked, you washed the dishes, he took out the trash, you cleaned up after meals; it felt really domestic, even though you and Hop were no more than good friends. 

Hopper came in and set the pretty lasagna down on the table, “Well, I’m impressed, it looks edible!” You joked while he cut sizable slices for you both.

“What? You doubted my amazing chef skills?” He faked being offended at your words.

"No, not at all Hop” You both laughed while he cracked open beers for you both.

You didn’t want to ask, but it came up every night, Hopper knew that, so while you picked at the other half of your lasagna and Hop went for seconds, you spoke up “Did anything come in the mail today?” Your voice always sounded like an ashamed kid asking for another cookie and you hated it.

“No, nothing today, I told you it might take a while, especially if they have to track Adam down” Hop always tried to let you down nicely, never wanted to hinder the mood but knowing just how important this was for you.

You nodded at that and started on the rest of your remaining lasagna, it was actually really good and Hop had done a great job on it. “Hey” You looked up at him, he could always tell something was wrong, guess that was what made him such a great police chief.

“You’re safe here, even though you work in town I’m always right down the road, I will never let anything happen to you, okay?” 

“I know that Hop, thank you” You reach out and take his large hand in yours, hoping it conveyed how grateful you were for being here with him even just a little bit.

After dinner, you went to go wash up from the day, while Hop picked out a movie. 

Now you can actually wash your face without wincing from your swollen eye, your face went from a deep purple bruise that faded into yellow that seemed to never go away, but now as you looked at yourself wiping off the remaining water and makeup, you can’t even tell that you looked like a wreck just weeks ago, well over a month ago really.

Hopper reassured you every step of the way that your bruises didn't look “that bad” which you were grateful for, but you knew it looked rough enough for old lady’s to glare at you while you picked up dinner at the grocery store, sometimes you’d forget why they were staring and stare back at them causing an awkward impromptu conversation from the stranger that usually resulted in you mumbling “You should have seen the other guy” under your breath and walking away.

Sighing as you felt the hot water hit you from the shower, you stepped in, remembering that it wouldn’t take long for Hop to find a good movie for you both.

You quickly washed up as you could smell popcorn being made, you laughed at just how well he knew you, how you needed the popcorn to watch a movie even after finishing a large slice of lasagna.

.

Hop hummed an old favorite as he melted some butter for the popcorn, hearing the shower shut off he quickly turned the stove off and went to put the VHS in, he knew you were getting sick of his Clint Eastwood movies so he asked the teen at the Family Video store to recommend something so Hop ended up walking out of there with ‘Night of the comet’ It wasn’t something he’d ever watch normally but he knew you’d enjoy it.

Setting the popcorn down on the table with freshly poured butter and salt, he fluffed the pillows on his couch a bit and sat down to wait on you. Everything he did for you made him feel like a teenager again, he always got butterflies in his stomach just thinking about you being happy because of him, although he pushed those feelings down at every turn.

The smell of your favorite shampoo and sleepers shuffling across the old wood floor alerted Hopper to your presence, “What’re we watching tonight?” You jumped onto the cushion next to him.

“Night of the comet, it’s newly out I think you might like it” On the small couch with Hop’s arm being lazily thrown around the back of the cushions, the soft hum of the VHS beginning to play the tape, and a hot  bowl of popcorn on your lap; you could forget all about Adam, the pending restraining order and your slightly uncertain future in Hawkins, at least for the next hour and thirty-five minutes.

.

.

I hope you enjoyed! The movie I picked for them to watch is a 1984 cult classic known as ‘Night of the comet’ If you want, you can watch it here.

I can’t promise when the next part will be out, but since I’m finally starting to settle into College, it probably won’t take as long as this one. Feedback is always appreciated, thank you, everyone. Let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one. 

Tags: (Love you guys so much)

@eleanor-gillespie @l0ve-0f-my-life @kate110199 @happy-hopper @souls-rain @alumiinikuu @cainanelea

[jungxk]

accidents

filed under: dad!yoongi makes me soft and also h*rny

notes: i really couldn’t resist writing a soft husband and father yoongi drabble. this is a present for those who are patiently waiting for my other fic just one. i’ll be updating it soon but until then pls enjoy!

genre: fluff, comedy, romance

warnings: some brief smut at the end

length: 2.4k

when he was younger, yoongi wondered if he'd even get married let alone have kids. he wasn't really the sappy type; didn't treasure every keepsake, didn't celebrate month-a-versaries and sure as hell didn't coo over tiny baby shoes. but he loved you in his reliable, quiet, comforting way that you adored, and they always did say shit about meeting the right person. which happened to be you. his wife.

two decades later, and yoongi still doesn't consider himself a kids person. the only difference now is that he has his own. three to be exact; all of them accidents, but the pleasant kind. like finding spare change in his coat pocket. although your youngest child - eunmi, who's almost a year and a half - definitely gave him the shock of his life since he didn't think he'd be that guy that'd still be having kids at his age. but you both dealt with it, and coped considering. because it's not like yoongi's kids weren't annoying, whiny, puke-machines. but they were his puke-machines.

"sana, stop wedgy-ing your brother," yoongi hisses while he looks for his card, which is difficult to do with a baby strapped to his chest. "and yugyeom, stop pissing off your sister." 

the kids continue fighting anyway, his nine year old daughter currently tackling his seven year old son into the ground and knocking over one of the bagged groceries in the process. he sighs, watching the broken milk carton soak the shop floor helplessly.

"that's thirty-two seventy," the cashier repeats, not even bothering to hide the disgust on her face when his son suddenly starts wailing loud enough for the windows to crack, digging his snotty nose into yoongi's pant leg.

"yeah one minute," yoongi huffs, lifting one of eunmi's chubby legs off his stomach to pat down another pocket.

"noona pushed me!" he cries, tears wetting his rosy cheeks. "appa did you see? she pushed me!"

"yeah i saw," he sighs sympathetically, patting his son's head. "say sorry to him, sana."

"no!" she stamps her foot, little mouth up in a pout. "he pulled my hair! amma says i shouldn't let boys push me around!"

"he's your brother," yoongi looks down at him apologetically. "but she's right, you deserved it."

yugyeom's lip wobbles up at him, burying his damp face into yoongi's leg again before mumbling, "sorry, noona."

"it's okay," sana grins triumphantly, glad that she won.

"you say sorry too," yoongi warns, finally finding his wallet in his back jeans pocket. eunmi is starting to fidget in her carrier so it's difficult to open it without all his cards flying everywhere, yugyeom clinging to his leg making his balance even more unsteady. "it's not nice to push people, sana-yah. especially not your brother, he looks up to you so you should set an example."

"thirty-two seventy," the cashier says again, making yoongi grit his teeth.

"yeah i heard you," he bites back, shoving his card at her. sana's arms are still crossed stubbornly. "sana. babe, come on."

"fine," she hangs her head and grumbles, "sorry yeomie."

"s'okay," the little boy answers, suddenly cheerful and grabbing his sisters hand to run off and wait by the car together, tracking the milk all over the floor to the exit.

eunmi chooses this moment to grab a fistful of yoongi's hair, and he finds it incredible that his daughter's first word hasn't been a swear considering how much he does around her. he snatches his card back from the grumpy cashier even with a baby hanging off his head, silently promising never to venture out to the store without you ever again. and he means it this time.

x

x

x

"i want spaghetti!"

"i want kimchi jjigae!"

"you can't have both," yoongi rubs his temples, the throbbing behind them refusing to relent. the kids had been arguing over dinner for half an hour now, and since eunmi was going through a phase of wanting to fall asleep on yoongi's shoulder and absolutely nowhere else lest she screams bloody murder, his legs were beginning to throb. he was at his wits end. "you're going to have to come to a compromise."

yugyeom tilts his head. "compromise?"

"it's when you decide on something that makes you both happy," he says, shifting the baby onto his other hip.

the children turn to each other for a split second, eyes locking in that way only siblings can when they share a single brain cell. "kimchi spaghetti!"

god, did yoongi need a whisky right now.

"there's no such thing as kimchi spaghetti," he says as calmly as possible, but the urge to consume alcohol threatens to total him. even his kids could tell he was at the end of his proverbial rope. sana takes the opportunity to pluck his phone out his pocket and tap away at it with her little fingers, and yoongi wonders yet again whether it's a blessing or a curse that kids grew up with technology at their disposal these days. "what are you doing, sana?"

"kimchi spaghetti," she answers, turning the phone to show him an array of red pasta dishes on google images. "it's real appa, i promise! look!"

so yoongi does, the brightness of the screen making his eyes water without his glasses. he still didn't buy it but it was almost six in the evening and he was starving and he missed you, so if throwing some tomato sauce and old kimchi next to a bit of spaghetti made the day end sooner he'd take it. sighing in defeat, he plucks the phone from his daughter's little hand and puts on top of the fridge on his way to retrieve the chopping board. "fine. now help me wash some tomatoes, please."

he can't help but smile when the children cheer.

x

x

x

when you finally arrive home a couple hours later, your heart swells at the sight of your husband half asleep on the foot of the bed. even after all these years you had such a big crush on him. having already checked on the kids who were asleep in their rooms, you leave your top buttons undone from where you'd just nursed eunmi. you were coming to the end of the weaning process and soon she'd be exclusively on solids, and fuck if yoongi's favourite thing about parenthood wasn't what it did to your tits. he deserved to enjoy after manning the fort alone this afternoon.

you sit down gently on the comforter, fingers running through his dark hair as he stirs and registers your weight on the bed. his eyes practically light up when he sees you smiling down at him, his saviour in a button down and old nursing bra. he scoots in to rest his head on your thighs, nose digging into your soft tummy. he missed you so much. "when did you get home?"

"a while ago," you giggle, feeling him kiss your belly button through the fabric. he stops when he notices your open shirt, staring at your chest. "i just fed the baby," you laugh again when yoongi's covers you with his body weight so that you lie back against the pillows under him, his head nuzzling between your breasts. you could smell the dry baby vomit and cotton wipes on his shirt, eyes fluttering closed when he begins to kiss up your sternum. "well done for putting the kids to bed alone. how was dinner?"

he grunts, favouring your right breast with his mouth while he fondles the other. "they ate. do with that information what you will."

you grin, splitting your thighs around his hips to let yoongi warm up even closer to your body. "and the grocery store?"

"blonde bitch was at the till again," he huffs over your covered nipple. "i'm just pissed she wasn't the one sana wedgied."

"one of these days she's gonna catch on you don't like her and say something impolite," you chastise, but you're sighing contently under all yoongi's kissing. you had only left him with his own devices for a few hours, but it must have really taken its toll this time. "you know how outspoken she is."

"like her mother," he pecks your collar bone. "i encourage it."

"for now. let's see how you cope when she becomes a teenager."

"please don't," yoongi whines pathetically, because there was no subject he hated more than the mention of his kids growing up. it was by far the shittiest part of this whole procreating thing, watching the little trolls he carried around and coddled get older and need him less and less. he'd never admit it but if yoongi could keep the kids at eunmi's age right now forever, then he would in a heartbeat. cute, chubby, dependant. every father's dream. "so how did your appointment go?"

he feels you stiffen slightly under him. "good," a beat. "really good. definitely don't have a stomach bug,"

"really?" he peers up at you quizzically. "but you were throwing up this whole weekend."

"yeah..." you audibly swallow.

yoongi sits up, giving you some much needed air. you swing your legs over the edge of the bed to stand up again, pacing all the way to the vanity and back while he watches in silence. contrary to popular belief, you had always been the calm one. the one who always took everything in her stride, who never batted an eyelash at life's unexpected turns as if you saw it coming a mile away even though you didn't. yoongi was nowhere near that adaptable, but it didn't matter because you were. if you could handle it, he knew he could eventually too. which is why he looks so concerned when you shoot him a frazzled look.

"babe?" he says softly, resting his elbows on his knees while he watches you. "what is it?"

you peer up at him with your big eyes, so pretty and cute and delectable, and it's like he's nineteen all over again. "i'm pregnant again, yoongi."

a beat. "you're lying."

you shake your head slowly. "7 weeks tomorrow."

fuzzy. that's how yoongi feels, like his body has been emptied of all its insides and stuffed full of cotton. there's not even a train of thought floating through his head because he's too busy staring off into space, shakey hands coming to cover his face after a long five minutes. pregnant. again. he thought you two had already done the surprise baby thing with eunmi, she was supposed to be the happy accident, the cliché third child that no one saw coming.

"four," yoongi mutters.

"huh?" you step closer to him, peeling his hands from his face to reveal his dazed eyes.

"four kids," he huffs, staring up at you in disbelief. he was already tired just thinking about it. there was a time in yoongi's life where he didn't even know if he could keep a steady girlfriend for longer than two months and now he was here. about to be a father for the fourth time. the ice cream and toothepaste craving runs at three in the morning, the foggy pregnancy brain, the back massages, the maternity clothes. you'd have to get a bigger car. and not only that...the birth. feeding, changing, nappies, baby powder, toys, nursery bills. "four...four kids. that's double me and you. do you realise how grossly outnumbered we are..."

you bite your lip while you pet his hair. "i know it's a lot," you say softly, because you had gone through the exact same breakdown a few hours prior. yoongi just sits there dumbly while you cup his cheeks. "to take in, i mean."

he closes his eyes. "i'm going to be forty-one next month."

you wince. if you two were unprepared for eunmi, then this baby would be ten times that. you had settled into this four-bed place after taking out a mortgage just as big thinking that your family would be here for good, finalised your will the year prior, gave away all of eunmi's old baby grows she didn't fit into anymore - so set for a life of five. and now all of a sudden with no warning, it would be six. "yoongi, listen to me."

he looks up at you. "four kids...four. that's like...that's like a litter."

"i know," you say solemnly, pressing your lips together. "i know, okay? the idea of doing this again almost made me rip my hair out in that doctor’s room, so...if you don't think you can do it, tell me. just tell me now. if you can't cope that's okay."

he keeps staring at your open blouse, only half-listening. because amongst the flashing images of bills and calpol and snotty noses and joint pain there's also...giggles. first steps. chubby cheeks and reading late at night. picnics and sunday mornings and fighting over who's turn it was to pick the next song in the car. your exhausted smile after delivery when you hold a baby. school plays. first piece of homework. getting to know his kids slowly, little by little every day, excited for who they’ll become. that special type of relief yoongi only feels when all the kids are asleep and you take him to bed and strip naked for him.

he finally exhales. "okay."

"okay you can't cope?"

"okay," he corrects, taking your hands. "as in i can do it if you can."

holding back your smile is futile because yoongi can feel it against his own when he kisses you, pulling you back onto the bed. only when he removes your underwear and runs his fingers through your slick do you say anything. "i can't believe you knocked me up four times, min yoongi."

"i can," he grunts, rubbing his thumb over your clit while he watches you gasp for him. the upside to all this was that pregnancy sex really was his favourite sex, since his pullout game was never great. clearly. the desire to finish inside you was just too fierce a pleasure to withstand, so yoongi waits until after he cums to entertain the idea of a vasectomy.

[thebarefootking]

Food

As with many autistic people, my childhood was rife with battles at the dinner table over what I would and would not eat. (Or, in my case, the bar. Our trailer didn't have a dinner table, per se, and I ate on a tall chair in the kitchen, facing across the bar toward the living room TV, while my parents sat on the couch.) Some foods were fan favorites, some I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot fork. Tomatoes, I hated (and still hate!) One of my earliest memories is of a preschool teacher, so much bigger than me, coming up behind while I picked at my food.

"Don't you like tomatoes?"

"No. They're gross."

"Have you ever tried a tomato?"

"No. They smell bad and they're mushy."

"Well how do you know you don't like it, if you haven't tasted it?" she asked, ignoring the fact I'd just told her. "Try it. For me?"

"I don't wanna."

"Just one bite?"

"I don't. wanna."

"You need to try the tomato."

Of course, when I finally gave in to her badgering, I 'learned' what had already been apparent to me: tomatoes were gross.

Some foods, more interestingly, were one-day delights, preferred a couple times and then hated thereafter. Eggs, for example, were always a trial. A nice scramble was always accepted, at least for my youngest years, until I learned more about where eggs came from. After that, I swore I could taste the chicken embryos, and I didn't eat eggs for a good, long while. When I repented of my folly, fried eggs were the dish of the day, but only one way: cooked hard, with the yolk unbroken. That way, I could peel the egg white away and eat it, and leave the whole yolk on my plate to be disposed of or, more frequently, eaten by one of my parents.

For those of you who cook, you may know that this is a particularly difficult way to prepare eggs. Either the yolks stay runny and burst on the plate (bad), or they burst in the pan from heat and overhandling, and mingle inextricably with the white (worse). Dad claims it took him months of practice to figure out how to do it, and years to get really good… by which time I'd gone off eggs again, preferring a sweeter breakfast (probably for the energy boost it gave me. By the time 4th-6th grades rolled around, school was causing me to work up an intense appetite.)

Although I didn't have a very broad spectrum of preferred tastes, that didn't stop me wanting to experiment in the kitchen. Indeed, it was one of my favorite things to do! Unfortunately, I could rarely get an adult to allow it (partly because we, in our poverty, could not afford to waste ingredients. Partly because, again, due to poverty, everyone was just too damn exhausted to supervise something that potentially dangerous.) Instead, I usually ended up sneaking and doing it on my own, which invariably led to trauma of one kind or another.

One incident occurred one of the very first times my parents dubbed me old enough to stay home on my own while they went out to run errands. Having recently seen a news spot on dyed salt for those seeking to reduce their salt intake, I sought to replicate the stuff in my own kitchen. How hard could it be? I thought. Just add food coloring to salt.

Only, food coloring has water in it.

All the salt (and I do mean all the salt in the house) was now a dark blue-green color, and the texture of wet sand. I needed to dry it out! But I wasn't allowed to use the oven or stove unsupervised. What could I do?

I decided the best option was to microwave the salt. I spread it out on a large plate, and nuked it in batches until all the salt was dry. Unfortunately, for the first batch, I failed to realise how VERY FUCKING HOT the plate would be after several minutes spinning away in the microwave. I pulled it out barehanded, screeched in pain, and tossed the Perry-the-Platypus-colored salt all over the kitchen floor and microwave cabinet.

Not good. I was already beginning to worry about what my parents would think about all this business with the salt. Now I had a mess on my hands to boot. I tended to my (thankfully minor) burns, and then began swabbing the floor and cabinet with damp paper towels...

… which spread the food dye EVERYWHERE. Now the salt was teal, the floor was teal, the cabinet was teal, and I was teal.

And I had no idea when my parents would return!

I cleaned frantically, microwaving salt on the side the entire time. And somehow (perhaps Lot's wife was smiling upon me?) I got it all managed. My parents came home to a nice, clean kitchen (if you didn't see the small blue spots in the crevices at the very edge of one cabinet), and a calm, collected child (also slightly spotted, but only on the palms, easily hidden). Nothing of note occurred until dinner time.

"LAUREN!!"

Apparently, Dad did not like that all of his salt was turned 'blue'. My reasoning appeased his anger, but he was still pretty displeased. I was temporarily banned from using the microwave without permission. And they were far more cautious about leaving me alone, after that.

(These days, Dad frequently apologises for this. He says it was a creative and thoughtful act, and he shouldn't have gotten mad. I agree, but I'm also not mad anymore. The whole thing is rather funny in retrospect.)

A much more traumatic food event, much later, but still involving the microwave, was the first time I tried making microwave mac 'n cheese. It was around the inception of Easy Mac, so the idea was quite novel; it wasn't as if I had a backlog of knowledge on what not to do…

I followed the instructions exactly, with the single differing point of adding some dried parsley before cooking.

AND LET ME TELL YOU.

If you are going to add parsley to your Easy Mac, do it after cooking! Cooking amplifies and alters the flavor so that it tastes like you added some sort of cooked leafy vegetable, like spinach, except somewhat more like an inedible plant. The flavor permeates every nook and noodle, and even the cheese sauce can't mask it.

It was inedible. Beyond inedible; it was sensory overload of the worst kind.

And my parents, who had watched the whole thing, and warned me of putting anything in my food that I didn't 100% know would taste good, made me eat it.

At first, there was a screaming match, until I wore myself out with tears and begging. Then, I just sat there, defeated, thinking of ways I could get out of eating it. Maybe if I intentionally get choked on the food? Maybe if I shatter the glass of the coffee table, and then hurt myself with it? Something to make them care about something other than me eating this food. Anything to make them see how much eating the food was bad and wrong and how much it hurt me.

I was never, in my entire childhood, a willfully disobedient child. Well, small things, here or there, a child's innocent inability to self-regulate their impulses or understand the rules. Never did I knowingly and intentionally go against my parents' commands when I now feel like I had another real choice. But there were times, like these, when I didn't have a choice.

I ate three bites before my body rebelled and I threw up. Mom didn't follow through on her threat to make me eat the vomit and finish the food.

Instead, I got grounded for two weeks.

Incidentally, I've never gotten an apology for this little incident, despite it being the one I'm still angry over.

None of this is to say I was too picky to be fed, or that I ever went without (excepting that one night with the poison mac). If anything, I ate more than plenty in an attempt to offset the lacks in nutrition my pickiness inevitably led to. I'm sure that I was malnourished at times, despite eating more than my necessary share of calories.

And boy, was I aware of what that share was! My parents were and are avid yo-yo dieters, always on one plan or another to lose the weight they gained off a diet of poverty foods. All the while, frustrated by my pickiness, they fed me on breakfasts of whole packages of off-brand cinnamon rolls or apple turnovers. My lunch was usually whatever snack-foods I could convince the lunch ladies to sell me for the same price as a school lunch I wouldn't eat. With both parents either busy or exhausted, dinner was Taco Bell nearly every damn weekday.

It was inevitable that I would gain weight, with the genes, environment, and diet all inclined toward it. I was ten or eleven the first time my parents mentioned including me in one of their diet plans.

Not likely, I thought. I had long since decided that healthy food was gross, like school lunches and boiled vegetables and limp salads. And I wouldn't, couldn't cut my portions; not when I had to stay alert and concentrating while hauling all my books all around the school without a bookbag (which, after the Columbine shooting, had been banned at my school, lest we ten-year-olds have a place to conceal a weapon). I was already battling undiagnosed ADHD. I didn't need low blood sugar on top of it.

Still, if it gave them an incentive to buy more fresh fruit, I wasn't going to complain.

(And I didn't complain at all about any of their diets, until the one that consisted almost exclusively of boiled cabbage soup that stank the house to high heaven. I didn't even entertain joining them on that one.)

What it all added up to, though, was someone who, by the age of eleven, already had enormous issues with food and body image. And diet, for that matter, for we still hadn't found a healthy variety of foods that I would eat. By the time I was in high school, I was eating Cheetos and Little Debbies with Mountain Dew for lunch every weekday except Wednesday (chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes day in the cafeteria! Hell yeah!) I was also being (mildly) bullied for my weight.

Adulthood came after, with blessings and curses. When I moved out on my own, I had more opportunity (and income!) to explore what I liked culinarily. I got to employ the whole backlog of tips and tricks from cooking shows that I had watched for years. (At one point, during high school, I had wanted to become a chef. I gave up the idea when I realised how ill-suited I was to the job, but the education of the time stuck with me.)

I got to learn my favorite ways to cook food (pan fried, not baked. Baking unseasoned meat is not 'cooking', Dad.) I got to play with spices and flavors.

Or, I did for a while.

Very soon, my work at McDonald's caught up with me, and I found myself too tired to do much cooking. (Sorry, Dad! I understand, now!) More and more, my meals were eaten at work, from work. Over the next year, my stress increased, and my eating habits faltered along. And then, I began passing out at work.

Now, I needn't tell you this is a very dangerous situation, what with all the hot oil and ovens and lamps and such in a kitchen. I was sent home more than once, and it was becoming a danger not only to me, but to the state of my employment. I got in with a doctor as soon as I possibly could, and they determined that I had iron deficiency anemia.

No one was particularly surprised. I have a family history of the affliction, and I had basically been living off yogurt cups, Sausage Egg McMuffins, and chicken biscuits with cheese for months. My doctor suggested diet changes and high-dose iron supplements.

(One of these two turned my poop to black sin slime from a hell portal in my bowels. It was not the diet.)

Immediately, I switched over to a high-iron, high-protein, low-carb diet. And you know what? I felt fucking fantastic. I had energy for days, my mental acuity was improved, and my mood was better. I fell asleep faster and slept more soundly.

For three months, I kept it up. But then the financial burden became too much. Turns out, it's damn expensive to eat home-cooked meat every day when you're picky as hell. I was easily spending at least two to three times as much as I was when I was eating only fast food (on employee discount, admittedly). And soon, between the stress, the financial concerns, and my health problems, I had to move back in with my parents.

Honestly, I still haven't found peace with food and its place in my life. Coming to accept what my sensory needs mean for me has been difficult, and working around those needs in a productive way has been nearly impossible, especially with my other disabilities in tow. I feel that I'm learning to be kinder to my body emotionally speaking, but I could still be much kinder to it physically. 

If only I could figure out how.

I wish I could be that little kid who loved experimenting in the kitchen, again. But I'm not, and I can't. So I'll have to find another way to take care of me.

[imaginationkonoha]

Naruto and Hinata's Wedding (part 1)

This is long fic, and it's not necessarily about Naruto or Hinata, but about what happened behind the scenes of their marriage. Stories don't count, come with me to a new world of possibilities.

I was lying on a hill, watching the clouds pass slowly, reflecting on my life. My parents died fighting Kyuubi 17 years ago, I was a year my aunt, and at seven was already living alone. I sat among the flowers, looked down, seeing how beautiful the village looked in the spring. Everything was so perfect. I was happy, right? 17 years old graduated as a leaf row jounning with a beautiful house and friends. Was everything in order so why was I questioning myself so much? I took a deep breath and decided to go home. I went down the hill, meeting Naruto, Hinata and Neji. The first two were already holding hands and I smiled to learn that within two months the two would get married. Sakura had even told me that she thought the reason for the sudden marriage was a baby, but I ignored it, it was none of my business. All but were getting married or dating, I think that was my problem. Ino and Sai got together, Sakura stayed with Sasuke after all, Rock Lee found a wonderful girl in another village and now they both live here, Gaara was still Gaara. I always doubted that Neji and Tenten had anything other than Shikamaru and Temari that confirmed me. It was complicated.

"What's up Y / N-chan, what are you doing here?" Naruto asked excitedly and I smiled, even as the fox sealed inside, I was never afraid of him and was always his friend. Neji looked at the camera in my hands, I had a hobby, I loved taking pictures, but it was something I didn't share.

"Just thinking and taking some pictures," I said with a shrug. Hinata looked at me with bright eyes

“Could you do a rehearsal of ours?” She asked so excitedly that I had to pity deny it.

"My job is not that good," I said, scratching the back of my neck.

"For oneesan, you're perfect in the photos," declared Naruto and I wanted to kill him right there.

"I bet it will be beautiful too," Neji added and I gave them a smile.

"Well, I can think of some ideas, if you want to discuss, we can go to my house Hinata" I said and she agreed, giving her boyfriend a kiss and a hug on Neji. "You won't go, it's gonna be a girls time"

Before they could both complain, the brunette pulled me laughing. I really liked the woman, lost count of how many times I told her if she says now Naruto and how many times I hit that idiot's head for running after Sakura who clearly was an idiot who didn't want him. After much trying, fate made them stay together.

And I was glad that, as Naruto's best friend, I always wanted the best. I arrived at my house, opened my computer and we started researching some things.

"My wedding is going to have a dance and I want everyone dancing." She talked excited and I smiled, her animation was cute.

"Cool, this dance will be both of you and this one with the guests." I spoke showing some pictures.

"We can do some rehearsals at the tip, hill and even in the forest" I kept showing some examples and even places that I had already photographed.

"Your photos are great, I didn't know you had that talent"

"I love hiding things from people"

“Like you hid from me who kissed Naruto?” He asked laughing and I widened my eyes.

"Hinata, we were kids and were jealous of people who had boyfriends," I said quickly and she burst out laughing.

"I know everything, you told me that drunk, without any context, so I asked Naruto who explained things to me"

"I need to stop drinking so much, these days I woke up in my underwear lying on my porch," I grumbled and she laughed harder. I got up to make our food since the day was already night. My friend accompanied me, I looked at my fridge and decided to make a basic spaghetti.

"Do you cut the tomatoes?" I asked putting them on the table, took the onion and began to chop. In the middle of the onion I was already in tears. I heard the bell and Hinata went to open since it was probably her boyfriend, which was very strange Naruto knock on the door, he would just open since sometimes he sleeps here. Neji was the first to come in the moment I put the onions on the fire, he came towards me with a worried look.

“Are you ok?” He asked placing his hand on my shoulder. I smiled at him and confirmed, I thought his behavior was cute.

"It was just the onions, I'm really always caught by them" I answered the question he should be asking himself. I wiped my eye with my dirty hand and cursed myself automatically. How was I so injured? Neji laughed and wet the cloth beside me to help me.

"You guys are cute together" Naruto started, Hinata hit him. I saw Neji is slightly embarrassed and I felt bad for him.

"Naruto, if you continuing to disturb us, I will tell Hinata all the nonsense you did in childhood, and when I say everything I talk about all the things dattebayo!" I roared and he widened his eyes making us laugh. After Neji helped me, I put the noodles to cool while making the sauce. I glanced over at my office where I saw the lovers embracing, giving each other cute smiles. I smiled at the scene but needed someone to help me.

"Neji-chan" I called him and he looked at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence. "Could you cut those spring onions there? And some parsley?"

"Sure, small or medium?"

"Small" I answered and he agreed.

"Have you decided where the wedding photos will be?"

"In a lot of places, I actually need to see what I need to bring because besides the lenses, there will be places I need to carry light." I spoke thinking with my hand on my chin, one of the caves I showed Hinata was this case, however much it was day, the light was not enough for the picture to look good.

"I help you take things, I'm always here to help you"

I looked surprised at the man now in front of me, Neji was chosen as Jounning before any of our group, his skills are exceptional. I smiled at his willingness to help me, he handed me the extra cut and I added it to the sauce, asked him to get the pasta and it helped me pouring slowly. Less than 10 minutes, our food was ready. It smelled so good that I wanted to eat before I even turned off the pan.

"You call the lovebirds," I said and he scowled.

"We eat, when they feel hungry, they will come." He answered by making me laugh, it turned out that we didn't have to call, as they both came by the smell of the food.

"Sorry for leaving y/n-san," said Hinata with red cheeks.

"I don't care, Neji was a better company than you," I said, showing her tongue to her who laughed. How mature I was. We sat at my table and appreciated it. I ate calmly, savoring the divine sauce.

"I love your noodles so much," Naruto said with his mouth full and I glared at him. "Seriously oneechan, your noodles are the best ever," he continued and I laughed.

"I agree with him, it's even better than my clan chief's," said Hinata with her mouth full as well.

"then Naruto is changing you" I said in a crying voice and Neji laughed as they both looked at me with a straight face. We finished eating and I gathered things to wash.

"I will wash y/n-san" Hinata said and I denied it.

"You can date, I know you're out of time because of Naruto's studies" my friend looked at me and smiled, just like my idiot brother.

They both came back to the room and I felt like that aunt who is hiding her niece's dating. I laughed at my thought and realized that Neji was looking at me.

"I'll help you," he said and went to the edge of the sink. He started washing the dishes and me drying them. We commented a few things, Neji was a very nice guy, we always got along but there was a day that Tenten went crazy and I decided to walk away, not to cause any problems for them.

"You could pin my hair, it's falling on my face." He said and I looked, as he was without the bandana, really had a strand on his face. I grabbed a clothespin I'd tossed into the closet and pinned his hair back in a ponytail.

"I hate the fact that your hair is more hydrated than mine," I said, returning to my dishwasher position.

"I really only pass some creams I buy, no big deal."

"This is even worse Neji, you don't even have to work hard," I said and he laughed, patted him with my cloth lightly. I missed him at those times, and even on missions. We finished the dishes quickly and went into the living room, finding the most ridiculous couple in the world.

"So good that you came back, we need to talk to you both" Hinata said making me frown, what the hell were those two wanting from us?

[theoddcatlady]

Granny

My granny was a terrible person.

A crotchety old woman that was hardly over one hundred pounds soaking wet, she would sit in her rocking chair all day long and scowl while watching her TV game shows. She looked like a skeleton with cracked leather clinging to her bones and wisps of colorless hair sticking out from a mostly bald scalp. And she was mean. If I tried to play Legos in the living room?

“You better clean those up, boy, or you’ll regret the day you were born!”

If I laughed too loudly at whatever TV program was on?

“Stop that racket! That junk will rot your brain!”

If I so much as walked too fast?

“Quit rough housing or else!”

And that ‘or else’ wasn’t an empty threat. Granny had a big cane she carried, a dark redwood one with a raven’s head for the handle. I’m pretty sure she could’ve just used a walker to get around the house, she just liked the impression the big ole cane gave off. When she walked about, she’d smack it down with each step, hard enough to make the floor shake. If she wanted to be sneaky though she’d not made a peep until she was right behind you. Then, with her acidic voice and stale breath, she’d whisper into your ear,

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

I wasn’t a bad child. Not really. I didn’t get a chance to be. But Granny made me so nervous I’d often forget to do things, like pick up my toys or not run indoors. And when Granny caught me, oh I’d really would regret the day I was born.

Granny didn’t just spank you with her hand. She used that cane, and she’d take it across your back and your butt with all the strength in her shriveled body. It only took one whack to make you never want to sit again, and she usually brought it down three or four times. Never while mom or dad was around though. Nope. They never got to see the spankings. Granny was too clever, I suppose she knew they wouldn’t stand for that.

I hated my grandmother. From a young age I knew I hated her. She wasn’t ever involved in my life except to cause me pain and humiliation. Invitations to school recitals and plays were met with scoffs. I actually tried a few times to have her come, maybe getting out of the damn house would make her lighten up a bit.

Nope. She would laugh and say, “I’d rather jab my ears out with an ice pick than hear you screech on stage while calling it music, Alan.”

She wasn’t quite so cruel when mom was in hearing distance, but she still wasn’t kind about it. It was a nightmare. I’d go to bed crying and I’d never have friends over. I was too ashamed and I had no doubt that in one way or another Granny would drive them away.

I only had the courage to bring over a friend one time. Kendra Reilly.

She was a fun girl, with red pigtails tied with neon green scrunchies and glasses with round lenses and cheetah print frames. She was amazing. We both liked to sit on the swings and sing during recess. We’d hold little concerts. Kendra, being the goofball she was, would ask for tips afterwards in the form of desserts or crackers. Shockingly that sometimes worked, but she always made sure to split them evenly with me. It was half my work after all, according to Kendra.

I thought maybe it’d be okay to invite her over just once. Granny was laid up in bed more often than not at the time and I figured, why not?

I walked in and was immediately met with Granny’s loud screeching voice, “Wipe off your feet on the mat or else!”

Kendra’s eyes went wide and my heart sank. “Let’s just go play in my room,” I whispered before taking her hand and sneaking past Granny. She didn’t seem to notice that there were two pairs of soft footsteps going up the stairs, she was too focused on Family Feud.

Once we were away from Granny things got better again. I turned on my Disney music and we sang along, Kendra talked about a funny dream she had last night, when it was just us it was fun.

Then my door slammed open and there was my Granny. She took one look at Kendra and her face went red as tomato sauce.  

“Why is there a girl in your room?!” She shrieked before slapping me across the face, hard enough to leave a handprint.

I was only nine years old at the time. I immediately burst into tears. “I’m sorry Granny! We just… just wanted to play…”

My sniffles went unheard as Granny grabbed Kendra by the ear and started yanking her out the door. “Come here, you little hussy! Going into boy’s rooms at your age, you’re going to end up barefoot and pregnant before you’re sixteen!” Kendra started to scream and tried to pull away but Granny was unrelenting.

I think I finally snapped. I was so tired of the years of torment, all the times I felt ashamed of having such a cruel grandmother, and seeing her attack one of my only friends just pushed me over my limit.

I didn’t shove her hard, just rough enough so she’d let go. Granny fell back on her butt with a yelp and then she clutched her chest.

“Oh! My heart! My heart!”

At first I thought she was being overdramatic, that she was trying to make me seem like some sort of monster child so my parents would ground me. But she wasn’t. Her face went gray before her eyes rolled back and she passed out.

Granny survived two days in the hospital before finally passing away.

I was torn between the feeling of finally being free and the grief that I was the one who caused her heart attack. Kendra and I lied, saying that Granny just marched upstairs, started shouting, and then she had the heart attack. Nothing about me shoving her.

My parents were quiet during the funeral. I somehow fell asleep to the minister’s monotone voice. Had horrible nightmares in which Granny burst from the coffin and wrung my neck screaming about how I murdered her. I woke up and had to excuse myself to the restroom, I’d wet myself in fear.

The next week was quiet. I was so used to Granny watching game shows or her shouting at me for something I had done. It was almost relaxing.

I should’ve known the peace was at an end when I came home to find my mother sobbing at the kitchen table while my father was resting a hand on her back. I heard her say, “I thought she was gone this time!” before I finally looked at the stove.

A woman with dark hair in a tight bun and wearing a long black dress with a high neck was stirring some sort of soup. Judging by the smell it was cabbage. She turned to me, her eyes fastened on me like a hawk on its prey.

“Alan, you’re late for dinner. I expect you to be home at five PM every week day. Where’s your homework?”

My mother wailed before burying her face in her hands. I looked beside the woman at the stove, where something was resting against the counter.

A cane with a raven’s head for the handle.

And suddenly I recognized the woman standing there at the stove cooking dinner.

That night ‘Granny’ came into my room. I was numb with shock. I didn’t understand. Was this really Granny? Was it a clone? Or was this some warped dream?

The door creaked open and I nearly hid under my bed as the dark haired woman walked into my room, her head held high. I pulled the blankets over me as I shook. I thought I was going to die.

When I looked into her eyes, I knew she was truly Granny. Gray like cement and colder than dry ice. Granny glided across the room before she sat at the foot of my bed. She rested her chin on her cane, seemingly lost in thought for several minutes before she chuckled.

“You’re a lot like your mother you know. She actually put rat poison in my breakfast. She wanted me gone too.”

I didn’t say anything.

Granny’s gaze rested on me again and her mouth was twisted in a morbid smirk.

“I only want what’s best for you, Alan. When you listen to me, things will go according to plan. I suppose I just have to be stricter with you. Now, I expect you to be home by five every day. Call me Nanny now, your mother hired me to take care of you because of what happened to your poor grandmother. Start bringing Kendra with you- are you listening or are you nodding off?”

I couldn’t have fallen asleep even if I tried, I bobbed my head up and down frantically.

“Good boy. Start bringing Kendra here. Not to your room. Girls that want to be in boy’s rooms by that age are no good. Don’t give her any ideas but keep her around. Keep your grades above a B or you’ll be punished. Your room must be clean before you leave the house. When you start going out on the weekends, you must give me a week’s notice and perform extra well in your chores. And don’t you try to get rid of me. You won’t like it when I come back. Is that clear, Alan?”

I opened my mouth but what came out was, “What will happen if I don’t listen to you?”

Granny laughed. A creepy, flat sound that scratched my ears and made the hair stand up on my neck.

“You’ll lose your privileges. Your mother used to be able to have a job, go out on Saturday nights, be married so someone she loved… be allowed two children. She lost those privileges. As long as you listen, Alan, you won’t ever have to fear losing your privileges.”

I’m now eighteen. Nanny has ordered me to propose to Kendra tonight. We’re only kids. We’re in love. But we’re not ready.

But I don’t want to lose any more of my privileges.

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

Isaac and the Angel - Chapter 5

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“My friend is here with food.”

Israfil stares out the window. Watches tiny little people walk by on the sidewalk below. Some of them have dogs. He thinks he likes dogs. Likes to look at them, at least. He’s never actually been near one.

“I’m going to go down and let her in,” Isaac says.

“I don’t need to know everything you do,” Israfil says flatly. He doesn’t take his eyes off the window.

“…Okay.”

He hears a door open and close, accompanied by the faint sound of Isaac’s footsteps.

A little girl with tightly coiled hair runs unsteadily down the street, an older woman carrying an overfilled shopping bag in tow. He’s never been near a child either. Maybe he should’ve taken the opportunity to visit Earth more often. Or maybe not. If he had previously visited Earth he’d probably be sick of it by now, and having to be here for the rest of his life would really be a drag.

He feels his heart sink at the thought of that. Spending his whole life here. He could live a very long time. With no friends, no wings, no purpose. What is he even supposed to do now? Get a job? How is he supposed to get a job if he doesn’t know anything about Earth? Perhaps he could be a priest. God is sort of his area of expertise. But priests don’t really make a livable salary. Or do they? He doesn’t know! Because he knows nothing about this stupid, crowded, complicated planet.

The door opens again. He turns sharply to see Isaac and a girl with short, purple-ish hair entering the apartment. The girl is holding a plastic bag. The plastic bag contains a few cardboard boxes. The boxes smell good.

“Is that… that’s it?” the girl asks warily. She looks Israfil up and down, as if to assess a potential threat.

Israfil wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t like being referred to as an “it”. Especially in this form. It’s just plain rude.

Isaac nods. “I told you, it looks way different now.”

“I’m a being, you know,” he interrupts tersely. “Not an inanimate object.”

A slight blush creeps into Isaac’s pale face. “I completely forgot to ask what pronouns you use,” he says. “Do angels use pronouns?”

“Of course we use pronouns,” he says, exasperated. “We communicate with language. Language involves pronouns.”

“Are all angels as bitchy as you are?” the friend mutters under her breath.

Israfil has to take a moment to convince himself not to kill her. If he went around killing any human that was the least bit impolite towards him, he’d really be in trouble. Although, it would be an effective solution. “I favor the masculine pronoun,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “‘He’.”

“So does that mean you’re… male?” Isaac asks.

“Angels don’t have sexes.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he says quietly. “I meant your gender. Do angels have genders?”

“Some of us,” Israfil replies. “There are angels who find the act of gender… pleasing.” He turns back to the window. A police car drives by. A group of older children jeer at it as it passes. “I just like how ‘he’ sounds.”

“Jesus,” the friend says to Isaac, “I can’t believe you meet a real life mythical creature and the first thing you do is ask him about gender.”

“Listen, I’ll take any opportunity to put my two hundred and sixty thousand dollar sociology degree to use.” Isaac clears his throat. “Um. We’re going to eat, if you want to join us.”

This piques Israfil’s interest. He hasn’t eaten human food in… probably hundreds of years. It seems like there’s a lot more variety now, which is frankly very intriguing to him. “What food is it?” he asks, tearing himself away from the window.

“Just burgers and stuff,” he says. He takes the bag away from his friend, setting the cardboard boxes on a wooden table. He sits down at the table. Opens the boxes. “Two burgers, some fries, some onion rings, and a grilled cheese.” He glances up at Israfil. “In case you don’t like meat.”

Israfil tentatively reaches for an onion ring. He puts it into his mouth, holding it gingerly between his teeth for a moment before actually biting down. It’s very salty, and disconcertingly slimy inside, but somehow that’s actually appealing to him. He eats another.

“So are you going to tell us about Heaven and shit?” the friend asks.

“Have some class, Vivian,” Isaac grumbles, seeming embarrassed by her frankness.

He hesitates. Angels aren’t really supposed to talk to humans about that sort of thing. But, then again, he might not even be an angel anymore. “I could.” He takes a seat at the table, eyeing one of the… the meat things.

Isaac notices him staring. “Do you want a burger?” he asks, posing it more as a suggestion than a question.

Israfil nods and Isaac pushes one of the burgers toward him. He takes the bread off the top of it to see what’s really going on in there. Besides the meat, there seems to be pickles and lettuce and two kinds of sauce and a tomato. And something yellow which he thinks is cheese, but doesn’t look like any of the cheeses he’s familiar with. He tries the tomato. Hates it—too soft, too wet. He sets it aside. Tries the bread, and deems it very underwhelming.

“People usually eat it all together,” Vivian says. “Like a sandwich.”

“I am not a person,” Israfil says, focusing intently on the burger. “And I’ve never had a sandwich.”

“Oh.” She watches him take a bite of the lettuce, which he finds extremely boring and far too thin. “So is God real?” she asks bluntly.

“Real enough.” The pickle, he decides, is the best thing so far. If only it were a little less damp.

“Is God actually a woman like Ariana Grande says?” Vivian asks, a grin spreading across her face.

He has no idea what an Ariana Grande is. “For you, probably. In general, no.” In truth, God has no inherent gender. But each human, made in Their image, perceives God as a reflection of the self. Whether they know it or not. Though, he feels like this isn’t worth explaining to two humans who delight in asking him silly questions.

“Are there gay angels?” Isaac asks.

“We don’t have sexes, and we don’t have sex. So I don’t think we can really have sexuality.” He tears off a small piece of the meat, popping it into his mouth. He still thinks the pickle is the best thing, but this is a pretty strong contender. He tries a piece with cheese on it. Not drastically different in terms of flavor, but the cheese does make it seem a little less plain.

“You don’t have any kind of sex at all?” Vivian presses.

“No.” He folds a slice of pickle around a piece of meat. Perhaps if he could substitute pickles for the boring bread, then he would really like this dish.

“So what do you do up there all day long?” Vivian asks, as if having sex is the only possible way someone could spend their time.

“Most of us have jobs. Others partake in leisure activities. Sometimes angels take trips to Earth for fun. Or to learn about you. Or speak to prophets, and saints, and things like that.”

“Is that why you’re here, then?” she asks. “Is our dear Isaac going to be the next big prophet?”

Another pang. “No,” he says. “It’s not.”

“So why are you here?” Isaac asks softly.

Israfil eats another onion ring, taking frustratingly slow bites of it so he doesn’t have to talk for a little while. “I was cast out,” he says finally.

Vivian frowns, glancing over at Isaac. “Like Satan?”

“Same principle, different context.” He tries a French fry. It’s good, but the onion rings are better. Humans seem to really like salt. “Lucifer isn’t the only one of us who’s fallen.”

Isaac snags an onion ring out of the box. “Don’t fallen angels all go to Hell?”

“Fallen angels go where they fall.” He exhales softly, setting down the half eaten fry. “And I fell… here.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Vivian says with a scoff.

Israfil eats the last of the onion rings in silence.