#i already have a full gallon bag frozen

[climbdraws]

it's berry season

[quizzicalwriter]

can you please do a johnny cade x fem!reader smut where they decide to use toys (and there's a lot of squ!rt!ng involved?) ty!

Sunny

Pairing: Johnny Cade x Fem!Reader

Summary: A searing heat wave leaves Johnny with new ideas on how to beat the heat.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Temperature-play, fingering, oral, all that good stuff.

A/N: Thank you for the request! (Also I know it’s not technically toys, but I figured this would work! If you want a full-on toy fic with Johnny just shoot me an ask and I’ll write it!)

Word Count: 3.4k

“It’s 12:05, this is Lee Bayley on Tulsa’s KAKC with the sounds of sunshine!”

Sunshine your ass, whatever hung heavy in the midday sky felt more like a blazing inferno rather than the dainty sun you’d painted in the corner of your childhood drawings. You couldn’t bring yourself to be too peeved at the radio host, the man was likely indoors under heavy air conditioning.

At least he was a damn good DJ, nobody else seemed to be playing a mix of Santana and Van Morrison, not so early in the day anyhow. The hum of bass and methodical drums filled your one-bedroom apartment, the rare wind gust blowing your window blinds against the siding of your wall.

Johnny had hardly given you a moment to beg for a cold shower together before he’d pressed a kiss to your temple that morning, whispering words you didn’t quite catch - all you’d truly caught in your overly hot and tired state that morning had been his promise of something cold when he got back.

You rolled yourself off the muggy bed, kicking your feet in frustration as the top sheet tangled itself around your ankle, as if silently begging you not to leave it under the prying eye of the sun. You were in no mood, so with a grunt you rolled onto the floor, body emitting a soft thud as you came in contact with the shag carpet below.

In nothing but your underwear and an old beaten shirt of Johnny’s you trudged your way into the kitchen, opening up all the windows on your way through the apartment. Your radio softly hummed from your bedroom, some song you didn’t entirely recognize, but found yourself swaying your hips to nonetheless as you bent over to seek something cool in your fridge.

Surprise, surprise. There was nothing. Unless you counted the half-eaten clementine on the right side of the fridge, sitting all pitiful against a half-gallon of milk. As anyone would in their right mind when faced with overbearing summer heat, you closed your refrigerator and opened your freezer, crossing your arms against the frigid plastic before resting your cheek against your propped arms.

The freezer motor buzzed to life, adding to the already abundant noise of the city below pouring through your open windows. You continued humming to the faraway music sounding from your bedroom, losing yourself in the abundance of cool air as you shut your eyes. You’d likely have fallen asleep standing up if it hadn’t been for the slam of the front door, followed by a sing-song whistle, one you knew by heart.

“In here!” You called, not daring to move from your self-created frozen heaven.

“Freezing yourself?” Johnny asked through a gentle laugh, placing down two armfuls of paper bags. You only hummed in reply, tilting your head to the other side to give him a brief smile, one he returned in earnest despite the subtle redness against his cheeks.

“Got you somethin’.” He murmured, tone playful as he moved over to you. Your eyebrows lifted in intrigue, curiosity getting the better of you as you moved from the freezer, the door slamming shut behind you as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

“And what’s that?” You asked with a smile.

“A treat.” He responded, rifling through the paper bags before handing you a cup that he’d so diligently wrapped in another paper bag. “Told you I’d get you somethin’ this mornin’, treat to beat the heat - or whatever the hell they say on those commercials.”

You would’ve groaned at his poor imitation of the commercial that plagued your television set, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than the ice-cold treat in your grasp. With a giddy laugh, you flipped the top off, an audible, and admittedly dramatic moan leaving you as you spooned a hefty amount of the Icee into your mouth.

“Good right?” He asked, hand gently pushing your hip from the drawer behind you to fetch himself a spoon, digging in alongside you as you nodded. Icee’s were certainly a good way to cool your body down, and you definitely didn’t mind watching as Johnny moved beside you, tilting his head back in cold-induced euphoria.

“Very good.” You murmured around your plastic spoon, eyes watching him intently as he scooped another spoonful of the slushy into his mouth. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the way his face looked when flushed - either way, you were burning up and the Icee was doing little to quell the heat pooling in your stomach.

Oblivious to your plight, Johnny’s eyebrows lifted, metal spoon still in his mouth as he turned around to free a hefty bag of ice from one of the paper bags. You hummed in thanks around your spoon, earning you a quick nod as he pushed the bag toward the back corner of the freezer.

You placed the half-empty cup down behind you, hands slick and wet with condensation. You took your chance, slinking yourself behind Johnny, giving him no time to duck away before reaching your hands up and underneath his shirt, splaying your cold hands against his warm muscles.

“Jesus-“ He cried out, back arching away from your hands as he reached behind himself, pained words turning into pleading laughter as he turned himself around. “Quit it!”

He had more than enough strength to wrestle your arms snug against himself, ensuring you wouldn’t be able to torture him with your overly cold fingertips. But he loved the way your smile would crinkle the skin beside your eyes, how your nose would scrunch. It was precious to him, worth the goosebumps that raced across his skin, the droplets of cool water that raced down to the hem of his jeans - all of it.

In a bid to have you more pliant, he grabbed your forearms, pulling them around himself. You continued laughing, head falling back as you smiled up at him through your laughter-induced tears. He returned your smile, eyes focused on yours as you steadied your breaths. His hands dropped from your arms, instead moving to cup your jaw as he leaned down to press his lips to yours.

The taste of artificial cherry soared across your tastebuds, along with a sudden chill at the coldness of his tongue. You lifted your arms, draping them around his neck as your tongue moved with his, goosebumps spreading up your forearms at both the fading chill of his tongue paired with the burning lust settling heavily in your lower stomach.

His hands moved from your jaw, tracing along the curve of your waist before resting against the swell of your ass. He gave the plush flesh a harsh squeeze, pulling a surprised squeal from you, one that made him smile into your kiss before resuming his movements.

The bedroom wasn’t far away, but he had no patience, not when you were standing half-dressed in front of him - in his shirt, no less. His fingers toyed with the hem of your underwear, brushing his fingertips along your mound as he nipped at your bottom lip.

“Couch?” He asked, pulling away a fraction to gauge your reaction. When you nodded he backed away, watching with an amused smile as you ran toward the living room. Rather than follow behind you, he turned toward the freezer.

You sunk into the warm fabric of your couch, shallow breaths leaving you in droves as anticipation wore you thin, causing you to soak the thin fabric of your underwear. He reappeared with a glass filled to the brim with ice, condensation already fogging the bottom where his hand rested.

“Gotta cool you down, right?”

You nodded as he moved to sit beside you, placing the glass down on the adjacent coffee table. He then dipped his fingers into the glass, curling the digits around two cubes of ice. Two fingers kept one held firmly against his palm as he held the other between his thumb and index finger, maneuvering himself between your legs, free hand helping your legs to drape over his lap.

“Trust me?” He asked as cool water dropped onto your bare thigh from his palm. You nodded, breath catching in your throat at the plethora of ideas that soared through your mind. He caught your excitement with a smile, his free hand moving to cup the underside of your jaw, tilting your head back to meet his gaze.

“Open your mouth.” He ordered, words careening on the edge of inaudible as he trailed an ice cube around the fullness of your bottom lip. You obeyed, eyes fluttering as you parted your lips. He smiled down at you, finding himself proud of how quickly you listened to him. “Good girl.”

You tilted your head back, allowing him to push the ice farther into your mouth, watching as his eyes focused on how quickly the ice melted against the heat of your tongue.

The sight of your tongue twitching underneath the ice, cold water dripping from the corner of your lips, Johnny couldn’t help himself as he leaned down to connect your lips to his. His hand grasped your jaw, fingers threading through your hair as his tongue met yours.

The steady drip of cool water against your waist pulled you away, goosebumps chasing the droplets in earnest. Johnny murmured an apology against your lips, hardly backing away an inch before his hand smoothed underneath your shirt, lifting the fabric up and over your head.

He took the half-melted ice cube between his fingers, placing it in his mouth as he situated himself between your thighs. He looked up at you through his eyelashes, ice perched between his lips. You could only watch as he lowered himself, bitter cold making contact with the hollow of your stomach. He trailed his lips downward, goosebumps rising along your skin. Cool droplets of water headed down the side of your stomach, leaving you involuntarily arching from the couch as his hands kept your hips steady.

“Johnny-“ You whined, feeling your arousal coat the thin fabric of your underwear. He ignored your plea, instead hooking his fingers into the hem of your underwear, slowly pulling them down in tandem with his movements. You could feel him inching closer to your aching cunt, his right hand pushing your thighs apart, pinning your knee to the backrest of the couch.

You’d expected him to give in, to give you the pleasure you’d so desperately sought after. Instead, he sunk lower onto the couch, trailing the ice onto your inner thighs. You shivered, soft moans falling from you as droplets of water glided down to your cunt. Every so often his gaze would meet yours, the desperation hidden beneath his eyes becoming more ravenous with each passing second.

He propped himself up on his arm, plucking the ice from between his lips. It dripped down his forearm, accidentally causing water to smear against your inner thighs. In a makeshift apology for having teased you for so long he leaned down, right hand held away from your body as he pressed featherlight kisses against your damp inner thighs. You hadn’t the mind to be frustrated, only wanting his lips, fingers, or anything he’d give you.

“Been so patient.” He murmured after placing another open-mouthed kiss on your inner thigh. “So proud of you.”

Before you could conjure a response he shifted between your legs, brushing the edge of the ice against your clit. You gasped, hips bucking down against the couch. His free hand moved back to your hip, holding you steady as he continued swirling the ice against your aching clit. You were left writhing under his hold, mind muddled by the pleasure and lack of release.

In an act of mercy, he tossed the ice to the floor, hands splaying against the underside of your thighs, fingertips freezing against your skin. You rested into his hold, shifting your hips to bring yourself closer to him. He responded to the movement with a smile and a kiss to your thigh, trailing his lips downward until he reached your cunt. The heat from his lips burned, the shift in temperature drastic enough for your hips to buck up into his touch.

His tongue delved between your folds, your arousal coating his tastebuds, the taste pulling a groan from deep within his chest as he swirled his tongue around your clit. The feeling of his tongue against you paired with the obscene sounds of him sucking your clit into his mouth left you whining, hardly able to manage a measly breath as he flicked his tongue against your clit.

Your fingers threaded through his thick hair, the placement of your hands giving you enough balance against the couch cushions to rut up against his tongue. He never backed away, letting you use his mouth as he tried his damndest to keep up with the desperation-fueled bucks of your hips. His middle and ring fingers spread your folds, allowing him to lick a stripe up your cunt before he focused his attention back on your clit, swirling his tongue around it as he pushed his fingers into your cunt, curling them upward to brush against your g-spot.

“Fu-uck.” Was all you managed at the combination, word breathless as he thrusted his fingers into you, syncing his movements with his tongue. Your hips rocked down against the digits, pushing them deeper into your cunt, the depth causing your cunt to squeeze around his fingers. He groaned at the feeling, the vibration of his voice centered around your clit. You could feel your lower stomach tensing, thighs trembling in his hold as he lapped at your cunt.

He could feel your orgasm building before you’d even registered it, too blinded by the onslaught of pleasure to recognize your cunt fluttering around his fingers, how your breaths had become short gasps of his name, your grasp on his hair tightening to an almost painful degree. His free hand moved to your lower stomach, pressing down against the plush skin as he continued pumping his fingers into you, massaging that spot within you that left you trembling.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, begging you to come undone against his tongue and around his fingers. You gave him his wish with a broken cry of his name, back arching from the cushion of the couch, your hips jerking as he continued his ministrations. His pace sped up, the pleasure almost brutal as he helped you through your orgasm. You could feel your juices dripping down the cusp of your ass, soaking the fabric beneath you.

His lips and chin glistened underneath the overhead light, the sight making you flush as he wiped his skin dry with the hem of his shirt, pulling the fabric off of himself afterward. You leaned up, thighs shaking with the movement as your hands found the front of his jeans. He looked down at you, lips parted as his breaths came in shuddering gasps. You kept his gaze as you unzipped his jeans, fingers sliding against the worn denim. You could feel his cock straining against the material, his chest heaving with each touch of your fingers against his shaft, no matter how featherlight.

You slunk your hand into the fly of his jeans, flattening your palm against the shaft of his cock, fingertips settling at the base as you leaned up onto your knees, pressing your lips to his in a searing kiss as you swallowed the moans that left him at the feeling of your hand slowly moving along his aching cock. You’d hardly been able to wrap your fingers around him before he’d pushed you back onto the couch, right hand moving to cup the underside of your thigh, hiking it up to rest against his lower back.

“Please-“ You whined against his lips, hands eagerly pushing his jeans down his hips.

He leaned down onto his left arm, propping himself up as he wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping himself languidly as he swiped his tip along your soaked folds, finding himself unable to stop the groan that reverberated in his chest at the warmth of your cunt against him.

Your eyes met his in a silent plea for him to fuck you, to extinguish the fire burning heavy in your lower stomach, the very feeling that left you dripping, clenching around nothing as he teased you with the tip of his cock.

“Johnny-“ You panted impatiently.

With a roll of his hips, he bottomed out inside of you, stretching you out blissfully. The tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, causing your hips to twitch as you grew accustomed to his size. You two fucked often, yet every time you had to give yourself a moment to readjust to his size, not that he minded - if anything he seemed to love the sight of you squirming beneath him, lips parted as you took in shaken gasps while your cunt squeezed around him.

“Alright?” He asked as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, leaning back to level his eye-line with yours. You nodded, giving him the reassurance he needed to pull his hips back, dragging his cock out of you before pushing back in, the lewd sound of your cum coating his shaft filling the shared silence between you.

Your legs tightened around his hips, the heels of your feet digging into his lower back, pushing him deeper into you in tandem with each thrust of his hips. Your eyes stayed locked with his, pupils blown, irises sharing every emotion you couldn’t put to words while overcome with such intense pleasure.

His pace was slow, methodical, ensuring he brushed against each spot inside of you that left you rolling your hips with his, wordlessly begging for more. With a kiss to your temple, he slunk his hand down between your damp bodies, circling his middle and ring finger around your clit.

A gasp rasped from your lungs as your head fell back against the cushion of the couch, the combination of his cock and fingers leaving you a mess of whimpers and heavy breaths. He watched you, face flushed a reddish hue from both the heat and the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock each time he bottomed out inside of you.

You could feel your juices dripping down the cusp of your ass, warm and wet, stark in comparison to the remnants of water that lingered against your chest and stomach. His fingers picked up in their pace, the change pulling a drawn-out moan from you as your eyes squeezed shut, feeling your lower stomach tense.

“Johnny-“ You whined, words trembling.

“I know.” He replied, closing the distance between you with a chaste kiss to your lips before he trailed his lips down to your jaw. His cock twitched as his hips rocked forward, pace hastening as he felt your cunt fluttering around him. “I know, baby.”

With a sharp cry of his name, you were cumming around his cock. He trailed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat, each one interrupted by a choked-back grunt as he fucked you through your orgasm.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down against you as he rutted into you, tiny breaths and whines of your name tumbling past his lips. He tried to muffle the noises by burying his face in the crook of your neck, but you heard them all the same, each noise causing your cunt to squeeze around him.

“Fuck, I-“ He breathed, eyebrows screwed together as he pushed himself up onto his left arm. He abruptly pulled out of you, the feeling of being empty leaving you whimpering as he pumped himself through his orgasm, spilling himself onto your lower stomach with a grunt of your name.

He collapsed onto you, placing light kisses against your throat in between whispered praises, his right hand smoothing up the side of your waist, fingers tracing delicate patterns against your skin as you both caught your breath.

“Definitely didn’t help us cool down.” You laughed out, looking over to him before pressing a kiss to his forehead. He hummed in response, a lazy smile evident on his face, absolutely glowing in post-coital bliss.

“Can always take a shower.” He murmured against your skin, eyes flickering up to meet yours. You knew by his glance that neither of you would be getting clean in that shower, but who were you to turn an opportunity like that down?

“Deal.”

A/N: Did I listen to a radio track just to get a line from an old Tulsa station? Yes, yes I did. It’s a shame radio ain’t as popular as it used to be, and it’s a damn shame rock stations don’t play classic rock half as much as they used to. Anyhow, I hope you all enjoyed this! It ain’t hot outside where I am, but I certainly miss southern summers enough to write about ‘em! Thank you all for the countless love and support you show me and my work, I appreciate you all so much!

[copperbadge]

Mr Sam, I've never thought about freezing dairy before. In particular I thought you COULDN'T freeze milk and yogurt. Could you talk about your freeze / defrost process and how the thawed product compares to original? This could change my shopping habits so thanks in advance.

In my experience, you can freeze almost any dairy product except sour cream, which for some reason does Not Cope Well with being frozen. Also some cheeses, but that varies. Full report below! :D

Regular yogurt can be frozen and is actually extremely delicious when eaten straight from freezing, I love the texture it develops. Greek yogurt freezes well too, though it needs to be stirred after defrosting. Both taste roughly the same after being thawed, as long as they weren't in the freezer for long enough to get freezer burn (like, over a year).

Milk can be frozen, or at least skim and 1% can; I only ever drink skim, but I recently had to buy 1% because there was no skim to be had, and it froze just as well; it looked a little gross when frozen but when thawed and shaken up it was fine. Butter, buttermilk, and cream can all be frozen, although cream gets a bit weird and thick so you either need to shake it up with a bit of normal milk, or only use it in baking (as I do -- I don't use it for coffee, for example).

Cheese can be frozen but it has the most textural issues when thawed. Harder cheese tends to break up into chunks, becoming brittle and difficult to slice, though it still melts well and tastes fine. Shredded cheese freezes very well, though if you have say a pound of it, it's best to break it up into smaller packages first, so that you can thaw out what you want without having to set the whole thing out. I've also had luck with freezing brie and other soft cheeses, but effect varies. The flavor does not appear to me to change after freezing.

I have admittedly never frozen kefir because I don't like it and don't keep it, but I think kefir probably shouldn't be, because it's fizzy.

Eggs, as long as we're in the sphere of dairy, can also be frozen, but need a little more care. You need to either crack them into oiled muffin tins and freeze individually, or beat the white and yolk together and freeze (I do this, and they turn BRIGHT ORANGE when frozen, this is normal). If you beat them together you can freeze multiple eggs in one container, so like I'll beat together four eggs and freeze, then thaw for epic scrambled eggs or for use in baking (by weight).

The freeze-thaw process is pretty simple for most. Yogurt and greek yogurt can go into the freezer in the containers they come in; I usually buy one of the bigger packages of greek yogurt, split it among 2-3 tupperware, and freeze it that way, and I've also frozen it in a ziplock bag in a pinch. Thaw in the fridge or on the counter if you're careless like me. Give a stir before eating.

Butter (and also cream cheese) can be put into the fridge in the packet you buy it in; if you're freezing a large portion of butter that isn't already split into sticks, it's probably wise to divide it up and freeze it in plastic wrap or tupperware. To defrost, thaw in fridge or on counter. This works for salted and unsalted. You can also place the butter on a sheet of plastic wrap, put another sheet over the top, and smoosh it out into a thin pancake before freezing; it thaws much faster that way. 

Milk can be frozen in the packaging it comes in but it's generally not a great idea because you also have to thaw it all at once, and milk thaws very slowly. I usually just try to buy small amounts of milk, but lately you can only get skim in gallons, so I buy a gallon, pour it into a series of jars (I'm short on tupperware and well-stocked with jam jars) and put them in the freezer. With any liquid, you want to fill the jars/tupperware only about 3/4 of the way full and put the caps on LOOSELY until the milk is frozen; a tight cap will trap the air and when the liquid expands, it can crack the glass or plastic. You can tighten the lid once it’s frozen. Thaw on the counter or in the fridge, or microwave it; often I'll set the milk out to thaw and every two hours or so pour off what's been thawed into a new container in the fridge.

As mentioned, cheese gets brittle; if I'm freezing cheese I tend to shred it first because that'll be the end result anyway :D

I think that's everything, but if you have a question about dairy that I didn't mention, I'm happy to answer!

[broodsys]

garden updateee (long post lmao)

peach tree first:

have harvested upwards of 50 peaches from it. have invited the neighbors to freely take peaches (don't think they have tho). have given peaches to my brother. so many are getting partly eaten by critters (i don't mind this)

probably have an additional 30-40 in the worm bin (partly eaten ones, gloopy ones, ones that were seriously damaged early on, etc)

ended up with two gallon bags full - and i mean full - of frozen peach slices and a good bit of peach sauce (well, i call it that, but it's really just cooked down/pureed peaches and a bit of sugar. it's good!)

could i have been more productive with it? yeah! however! wasn't expecting this at all! i cannot stress enough how much of a surprise this has been

after all the peaches have been harvested im gonna trim this poor tree down so hard. bc at present it isn't just bowing a bit under the weight, the main trunk goes up and up... and then starts coming sharply back down. roughly like so:

except with a lot more branches and all but yeah not actually drawing this lmao.

gonna try to espalier it a bit. there are lower branches that i'm going to be keeping and hopefully i can get some wire or something to give it some support, bc clearly during growing and harvest seasons it's gonna need that support. but i'm taking the height off... again, lmao. i've already done this!!!! it is growing so much

however, i think i know why. about midway through last year, we moved the worm bin over near it. and the worm bin has holes drilled in the bottom. so all those nutrients have been sinking into the soil and i think the peach tree was just like oh? nutrience? for me??? and went apeshit lmao

other garden news:

although i've mostly been talking about the peach tree, many things are going above and beyond. the rose bush out front is covered with rose hips that are probably about as wide as a half dollar? and it's grown to about halfway up the second floor. ridiculous. some of the canes are easily as wide as a quarter

we also have a grape. idk what type bc like the smartest person imaginable, i lost the tag. also i don't think it's ever gonna fruit but that is okay bc it is a sprawling beast and beautiful and it is sending vines up that are on the first floor roof

a lot of plants i have mostly to control temperatures indoors. so the rose bush covers the front of the house and some of the dark roof shingles, while the mystery tree and grape cover another part of the house. i was letting the peach tree get a bit taller to become a shade tree since it wasn't seeming to bear (but still not ridiculously tall!) but uh. A Mistake 😂

currently in the process of getting one of the many many manyyyy marionberry canes to root so that i can plant some in the backyard. it's very well established along the side yard and we get a ton of fruit from it, so why not just keep it going?

and we have a nectarine tree out back that's in its.... hmm. second or third year, but i think second. it's older than that, but in terms of being in our garden. so it's not bearing yet, no real surprise, and it's having some of the same issues the peach tree originally had, but the peach tree is no longer afflicted so i suspect the nectarine will end up okay as well

gonna be repositioning the metal gazebo frame (canvas top long since destroyed) into the center of the yard so that we can safely hang a new tarp from it and provide some central shade. looking forward to that, altho it'll be a lot of work. been using the water i saved up all during the rainy season and so far i still have a lot, which is nice - been doing a lot of water-wise planting and letting things get their own water and all. i've managed to keep the bucket pond going even tho the plastic is starting to crack and i'm dreading the eventual day the whole thing goes... sm life in there

but it's cracking bc the winters are getting so cold that the water freezes several inches down and expands, so it's like... rly tricky to deal with? debating about getting a solar powered water bubbler for it. just smth to keep the water moving a little bit and hopefully prevent it from freezing sm

i have mulched a tremendous amount this year, as i usually do. countless cardboard boxes - only plain ones, or ones with dyed parts removed, and always removing all the tape. forever trying to reuse stuff. there are still problem areas in the back and front yards, but some can't really be dealt with - like we have a lot of stray cats in the area and they sure do like to use yards as litter boxes 🙃like they're just gonna be here, it's a thing, but it does mean taking that into consideration wrt what/how we grow things

i keep getting frustrated and sad with how many things are dying out there but like. yeah. it's gonna happen. a) transplant shock is a thing, no matter how careful i try to be, b) it's hard to tell how heavily i should water things tbph, c) our soil is different all over the place, and the soil out front is very poor - which some things prefer! but definitely not all, and d) climate change. even hardy natives aren't necessarily hardy anymore, and over time native ranges seem to be shifting, so it's difficult

but i'm trying to not focus sm on what's dying and more on what's thriving, bc a bunch of stuff is :')

[kimistorm]

[Hwang Hyunjin x Reader] I've never gone camping

Requested by: SKZ8BLACKPINK4 - Did you say you knew how to do it~ hyunjin

Fandom: Stray Kids

Pairing: [Hyunjin x GN! Reader]

Warnings: The briefest mention of snacks

The door to your apartment burst open as Hyunjin came in singing, “(y/n)! Are you ready for the best weekend adventure?”

You shook your head as you looked up at him from your place on the couch, “I shouldn’t have given you the keys.” You shut your laptop and put it on the second-hand coffee table that didn’t match anything in your apartment, “you could’ve at least knocked!”

There was a frozen moment from Hyunjin. His mouth nearly comically open in an ‘O.’ “Sorry.”

You smiled as you stood up and stretched your back, cringing a bit at how your spine let out a few cracks. You were getting old. (Okay, not really, but it sure felt like it.) “Anyways, to answer your question. Yes.” He let out a whoop of excitement and gave a little dance. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” you mentioned as you picked up your overstuffed duffle bag of clothes, toiletries, and other items you were scared you’d need, while your other hand picked up a bag full of snacks and food, “because I don’t.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured as he took note of the couple gallons of water at his feet and picked them up, “I know what I’m doing.”

You smiled at his confidence as you allowed him to lead you down to his car, and you loaded your bags. It wasn’t long until the two of you were on the road, singing loudly to music and making your way to your weekend getaway.

About half a year ago, Hyunjin excitedly reported that he was successful in booking a camping site in the mountains. You had never gone camping before and was a little apprehensive about the new experience that could go downhill so quickly, but Hyunjin was quick to reassure that everything would be all right, and that he went with his parents before. So there was nothing to worry about.

As the two of you continued on the several hour journey, the scenery changed from the densely populated buildings and people, to sparsely populated land of rolling hills that led to the mountains in front of you. Luckily, the highway was clear and you had no problems with traffic or accidents (though you passed more Amazon trucks than you could count on all of your fingers).

He exited from the highway, and the two of you drove through meandering, winding roads through the mountains. Green trees lined the single lane road on both sides of you, and there were some moments of sudden swerves as Hyunjin avoided some bad potholes in the road. Honestly, you were feeling a bit nervous about the disrepair of where the two of you were willingly putting yourself to (especially when you saw your service starting to falter and disappear completely), but Hyunjin was as chatty and bright as ever. So it must be fine.

It wasn’t long until the two of you pulled into the campground and made your way to your designated site. As you passed other campsites, you saw lots of people with their RVs and cars with tents already set up. “Do we need to check-in?” you wondered aloud as you looked at all of the sites. They were cleared enough for a car to park and you could see beyond it a picnic table, a fire pit, and people’s tents, but it was still clear that you were camping in the wilderness as tall trees provided lots of shade and bushes grew in any place they could (which admittedly made nice walls and privacy between neighbors).

“Uh,” Hyunjin’s dark eyes darted around as he watched his surroundings, “oh, here’s the host.” He slowed to a stop at the site marked with a sign reading ‘host.’ Luckily, there was someone there, “hi!” he called out as he rolled the window down and waved, catching the attention of the lady tending to her items.

“Hi!” she smiled back as she approached him, “do you have a reservation?”

“Yeah, we’re in site...8?” he glanced at you for confirmation and could only shrug in agreeance.

“It’s just down the road this way,” she explained as she pointed to the one-way road in front of her, “I’ll come by in a bit with your parking pass and a map. Firewood is $8 a bundle, $21 for 3.”

“Ah,” Hyunjin nodded, “we’ll just get one.”

“Great,” she smiled, “I’ll bring one over with your pass in a bit.”

“Thank you!” with a wave, Hyunjin set the car in motion again and towards your campsite. Like the rest, there was a parking space at an angle to the road that was far enough in that 2 cars could easily fit in the area. The two of you started unloading your items to the picnic table, but that was mostly to reveal the tent. “Found it!” he reported as he pulled out the bagged item and brought it over to the clear, flat area. The two of you made quick work of unzipping the bag and revealing the rolled up equipment inside. “I think these just go like,” Hyunjin’s brow furrowed as he took out the sticks from a smaller bag. They were made of some plastic material with metal ends and rope connecting them, “ah, like this. Yeah.” He pulled them slightly apart and the taught elastic within pulled the pieces together to make a longer stick. “This was one of the few things I could do last time I went camping.” He smiled sheepishly as you took another bundle and began to assemble the long stick.

You couldn’t help but stare at the bundle of fabric and sticks with apprehension. And this was somehow going to provide you with a sturdy shelter? It wasn’t long until all of the poles were put together and there was a moment of silence. “What next?”

“I’m pretty sure you just,” he shoved a pole with a stripe of red tape into a loop with the same red color, “do that?”

You looked dubiously at Hyunjin shoving the long pole (it knocked over your waterbottle already) through the loop, and out the other side. “That seems sketch.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured, “I’m like…50, no 70 percent certain this is how you do it.”

“I thought you said you knew how to do this.”

“I do!” he paused what he was doing and sat on his heels, looking up at you with a betrayed look on his face, “do you not trust me?”

“No! Of course I do!”

He dramatically put a hand to his head, “how are we going to get through this weekend?”

You blinked, “I’m genuinely asking that question.”

He wheezed, “rude.”

You shrugged your arms and laughed, “just being honest.”

“Help me out here!” he wailed and you walked over to help push the pole through. Hyunjin ditched his shoes and stepped lightly onto the folded tent to guide the pole through the correct loops. Good thing there were colors outlining the loops to put the pole through, because you were so close to shoving and breaking the pole through a netted window.

“And then I think you just shove this into the metal key thingy here,” he pointed out as he pushed the hollow end of the pole around a small metal rod attached to the corner of the tent. “Try it on your side,” he gestured to where you were standing at the other end of the pole, and so you did.

“It’s too tight,” you complained as the tent resisted you being able to attach the pole like Hyunjin. Hyunjin let out a yelp as the tent rose with a little pop as you continued pushing.

“It was easy on my side,” he shuffled over to you with his shoes half on his feet and the two of you struggled to push and pull the tent to get the pole in place.

It took a good couple minutes, but you were able to push the pole into place, causing the tent to pop up from the tension of the pole and the fabric. You were about to celebrate, but then you noticed the other pole sticking strangely out of the ground while the other was pointed towards the sky, still with the tent attached. “I don’t think this is right.”

“Oops.”

Masterlist

[angelictaehyun]

Growing Pains

⤷ In kindergarten, he accidentally punched your nose. Thankfully, from that, a loving, caring friendship blossomed. Since then, you both had been attached at the hip, until suddenly... you’re halfway across the globe, a couple thousand miles apart.

PAIRING; yeonjun/reader

WORD COUNT; 3.2k

GENRE; singer!yeonjun, coming of age au, angst, slight fluff

WARNING; mild swearing, heartbreak, abandonment, angst

.

Honestly, five-year-old Yeonjun was nothing short of a nightmare. Though, he was seen this way only by you. 

On a sunny day, sometime in kindergarten, he sat crouched on the playground’s field, searching for a ladybug. As for you, you believed if you found a ladybug, it could grant you a wish, thus you joined the young boy in his quest. You sat next to him, mindlessly searching the grass, and when he looked up to see you... he panicked. Other children, as he was told, are unclean and gross, and that’s exactly the sentiment he told himself as he pushed you onto the grass, causing you to scrape your elbow and bleed. You couldn’t stop sniffling as a big, crocodile tear trickled down your face; he felt terrible. In the palm of his clammy hand, he held a tiny, red ladybug, and seeing you cry, pushed him to give it to you. 

"Please, just take it,” he quivered nervously. He thrust his hand in your face to present the small creature, but he ended up punching your nose. Unsurprisingly, you began full-on bawling. 

He ended up in the principal’s office, and despite his feeble attempt to explain the true incident, his nap and playground time was taken away as punishment. Shortly after, he sulked back to class, passing the nurse’s office. Through the tinted, glass window, he saw you laying on an uncomfortable cot with an ice pack held over your nose and gauze over your injured elbow. 

He was miserable. 

He decided to genuinely apologize. He despised the idea of you being upset with him, even though he didn’t know you. After a stolen pint of ice cream from the school’s cafeteria, a pleading fest, a horrendous papier-mâché, and a heartfelt apology, you decided he wasn’t the worst. As for Yeonjun, he decided he liked you and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he was glued to your side. 

But you didn’t mind. It was hard to resist his smile. 

· ──────────────────── ·

The day you decided Jung Mina was your absolute, garbage, worst enemy, you were nine. 

On your first day back at school, you had gone to the restroom for a quick minute, and when you returned, you found she had stolen your diary to read in front of the class. Though she was quite the golden child, pissing you off to no end. Fortunately, your school’s field day neared the horizon and you decided to show her up. You wanted everyone, specifically Choi Yeonjun, to see your pure, unadulterated talent. You decided to absolutely destroy her in each event. 

You were quite the vengeful nine-year-old. 

Yeonjun, on the other hand, felt hesitant to follow through with your field-day-domination plan. Mina was just too pretty. Her hair smelled like sage and he had the biggest crush on her, unbeknownst to you. He was scared to mention his deep, dark secret, especially after you vocalized your complicated plan. You received virtually no help from him on field day. Despite that, you had won nearly every event. Unfortunately, somehow, you remained tied for champion with Mina, but the tiebreaker seemed quite simple. All you had to do was win a human-wheelbarrow race with Yeonjun, it was almost too easy. 

And in all honesty, you would’ve won had Yeonjun not dropped you in the middle of the field and trip over your body, easily distracted by an air kiss from Mina, herself. He’d been lovestruck, but he didn’t have much time to dwell, especially not when you were squashed under him. He scrambled to help you back up, hoping he didn’t completely ruin your chance but it was too late, you had long lost the race. He turned to you, meeting your unkempt ponytail, narrowed, piercing gaze, sweat, and pursed lips. He was terrified, rightfully so. You told him off in the middle of the field, him withering in shame as he took in your colorful wording. 

You chose to ignore him for a week, leaving him pouty. He decided to relive the past and create another papier-mâché, steal ice cream, and beg for forgiveness at your front door. He stood in the doorway, glancing at you with big, apologetic doe eyes, as an onset of a tear formed. Your resolve crumbled as you pulled him into a forgiving hug. As you pulled away, you admired his puffy lips which tilted into a small smile, and for the first time in your life, you felt your heart flutter. 

He never did tell you about his crush on Mina. In the end, it didn’t quite matter. 

· ──────────────────── ·

Year thirteen, you experimented with makeup. A lot of it. You tried different brands, colors, and styles. Yeonjun would be lying if he said you didn’t resemble a clown, but he kept his mouth shut and let you figure yourself out. Unfortunately, people were mean. When boys laughed at you behind your back, he made sure to drag them outside and put them in their place. When girls acted catty, he held you when you cried. When your family fell apart, he sat and devoured ice cream until your stomach ached. When you decided to join the dance team, he cheered you on at the audition. 

He was always protecting and supporting you, even when you weren’t aware. 

Lastly, when Homecoming approached, he was by your side as your unofficial date.

You both sat on the gym bleacher, overlooking your classmates who were either awkwardly swaying to the music, stuffing their faces at the snack station, or making out with each other. You regretted attending the dance, considering your boredom. though, when your watchful gaze traveled back to the couple kissing, a brilliant idea came forth.

“Junie, you know, neither of us has had our first kiss,” you observed, leaning slightly to see his reaction. He simply hummed in response, not fully listening. You continued, “... and I want to have my first kiss. I think we should have our first kiss with... each other.”

He stayed still, showing no indication of acknowledging your statement. You didn’t blame him, the music was quite loud anyway, you could barely hear yourself. You pretended you didn’t say anything and for an awfully long moment, you both stayed silent. Though that silence mixed in with a hint of embarrassment got too overwhelming, you had to excuse yourself to the restroom. As you left, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He definitely heard you, but he didn’t know how to process your ask let alone go through with it. He spent so much time, deep in thought, that he failed to realize your absence. When he snapped out his pensive state, he searched the massive gym for you and found you almost immediately, but you weren’t alone. You were pressed up against a dirty, filthy wall, experiencing your first kiss with someone that most certainly wasn’t Yeonjun.

He stood frozen, feeling a bit creepish, yet he couldn’t move if he wanted to, he couldn’t even breathe. Unfortunately, you didn’t stop until a while later, forcing Yeonjun to watch every second in complete agony. Your hair was messy and you were out of breath— that sight broke Yeonjun’s heart. The other boy dragged you onto the dance floor and when you spotted Yeonjun, standing absolutely dumbfounded, you sent a big smile and cheeky wink his way.

You seemed too cheery, and though he was your best friend that should’ve reveled in your happiness, all he saw was red. He felt pure, unadulterated rage, and jealousy. He was supposed to make your first kiss unforgettable, not the other boy.

It was supposed to be him.

· ──────────────────── ·

At fourteen, you decided you didn’t necessarily like your boyfriend all too much, especially since someone else already held your heart. Sure, you felt the loss of your first relationship, but the realization that you’d loved Yeonjun for longer than you cared to admit, hurt more. Though, what hurt the most, was the conclusion that your love was likely unrequited. That night, you sobbed into the phone, and the second he heard your cracked voice, he hopped on his bike and headed in your direction.

It didn’t matter the time, he needed to make sure you’d be okay.

Naturally, he believed you were heartbroken from your breakup, so he attempted to soothe you with ice cream and cuddling. He pulled you against his chest and softly caressed your hair as you watched Titanic; it was supposed to make you feel better, but it made you feel significantly worse. He belted out the movie’s famous ballad in a feeble attempt to lift your spirit and for the first time that night, you smiled. It was a fake smile, of course, but he wasn’t privy to that. Nonetheless, he thought you looked breathtaking.

You complimented his soothing, silvery, beautiful voice — it made his heart swoon.

He was fourteen when he decided to become a singer. It was also at fourteen, he realized he was hopelessly in love with you.

· ──────────────────── ·

At fifteen, you rode the dinky, old subway with Yeonjun to a company audition — one he eventually passed and became a trainee for.

You were there the day he stepped foot into the building for his first training session. You were there when he felt like a loner amongst the other trainee, and you were there when he decided to become the absolute best, letting nothing get in the way of his dream. He set his sight high, and with that determination running through his bloodstream, he decided to express his undying love for you. So when you kissed him back, on the roof of his house, under the moonlight, after eating a gallon of ice cream, he felt like he had everything in his grasp.

After that night, you never let each other go. You stayed by each other’s side and fell more in love as the days passed by, remaining blissfully unaware of the pain the future had to offer. At least you were happy, even if that happiness was on a ticking clock.

· ──────────────────── ·

You were eighteen when you packed a bag and said goodbye to Yeonjun.

A month before high school graduation, you irrationally decided to study abroad in America. You weren’t stupid, you knew about the promise he made to himself when he was younger, his whole schtick of letting nothing stop him from his dream. You knew you were a hindrance, and it was only a matter of time before he realized that as well. You loved him with your entire heart, that much was obvious, but you didn’t want to be the thing to hold him back. He begged you to stay, he said he could have you and success, something you both knew was a plain lie. He couldn’t have you and be an idol, it was one or the other, but he was too stubborn to admit that to himself.

He drove you to the airport in a painfully silent car ride. He was angry, hurt, devastated by your decision to leave him, but you, on the other hand, felt complete and utter relief. He was so close to reaching his dream and all you truly wanted was his happiness, unfortunately, leaving was the only way you knew how to ensure it.

You cried as you said your farewell to him, but his blank face gave no indicator as to how he truly felt; he had barely spoken a word to you the entire week leading up to your departure. He stood motionless as you kissed his cheek, completely devoid of emotion — it hurt you. When you walked away, you felt heartbroken but much lighter. He watched your figure travel through security, unable to bring himself to leave. When you turned for a final glance, you noticed how broken he seemed, but you knew he’d piece himself back together — it would just be without you.

When you turned the corner, leaving his sight, he let every emotion flood his body. That night, he sobbed into his pillow, crying harder than he ever had before.

He’d lost you.

· ──────────────────── ·

You truly discover yourself at twenty. You graduated university earlier than everyone else, got your first and only tattoo, decided America wasn’t great, and moved back to Seoul. Hell, you even found your signature scent.

As much as the country itself sucked, your time in America served you well. You got your first job, experienced university life, made a friend or two, dated a lot, but most importantly, you got the degree you diligently worked for. Of course, it was hard to be away from him. You spent months holed up in your room, refusing to leave the apartment. It hurt the most when you watched his debut, seeing his face rushed every memory back to you. However, over a long period, you slowly pieced yourself back together and moved on. Eventually, you were able to think of him without feeling a sharp pang in your heart.

When you moved back, you weren’t surprised to see his handsome face plastered along the subway or on large billboards. It brought up old scars, habits, memories, but it reminded you that he was able to achieve everything he sought out to do. You, of course, knew he would, he was too stubborn and hardworking to fail; he was meant to succeed.

You just hoped he was happy.

While you were self-discovering in America, Yeonjun nearly gave up everything. He wasn’t proud to admit it, but countless times he almost bought a one-way ticket to you. However, a newfound brother held him back and kept encouraging him to move on. Not long after, he thanked Soobin for his support, had it not been for him, Yeonjun would’ve given up everything. He understood why you left and it was that knowledge that pushed him to work harder, he just wanted to make you proud, even if you were out of his life. He worked tirelessly to debut and once he did, he realized that despite everything, it was worth it.

If it was meant to be, he’d find you again.

He let his mind stray to you from time to time. He couldn’t help it, you were the love of his life. He truly hoped that wherever you were, you were happy.

· ──────────────────── ·

At age twenty-one, on a warm summer’s night, you left your apartment to head to a convenience store, searching for a pint of ice cream and an iced coffee, and maybe an energy drink if you were feeling desperate. Not a month into moving home, you had decided to pursue a master’s degree, but on a night such as this, where you frantically searched for any source of caffination just so you could complete your dissertation, you sorely regretted it.

You were met with harsh, fluorescent lighting as you entered the store but it was a welcomed relief, especially after staring wide-eyed at a computer screen for the past week. You browsed then snack aisle, too preoccupied to notice the soft jingle of the opening door. a tall, lean figure strut past your aisle, standing in front of the drink section for a bit, clearly having trouble deciding on a beverage. You made your way to the front, feeling content with your pint of ice cream, iced americano, and a bonus bag of pretzels. On your way, you stumbled into the hoodied boy and you cursed yourself because only you would run smack into the only other customer in the shop. You scrambled to pick up your scattered belonging, “Oh my God! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see where I was going, I’m such a klutz. Next time, I’ll pay more attenti—”

“Y/N, it’s you...” the soft, hushed voice cut off.

You stared at the young boy’s feet, slowly lifting your gaze to scan the rest of him, stopping at his broad chest, too afraid to look into his fox-like eyes. You knew it was him, of course, you did. It was the same deep, soothing, honeyed voice you spent your childhood falling in love with. Your breath caught in your throat as you dared steal a glance at his face. When you finally met his piercing gaze, he thought he saw the universe in your eyes. He opened his mouth in silent awe as a stray tear cascaded down his cheek. He moved toward you as if you were a flighty deer, and hovered his face closely. You thought he was going to kiss you, and surprisingly, you were quite eager despite the time apart. He pulled you into a loving embrace, so tight, you believed he’d never let go — not that you wanted him to.

That night, he accompanied you home.

Your heartfelt reunion was more than you could’ve asked for. He spent the night with you, doing nothing but catching up, laughing at past memories, eating ice cream, and slowly falling back in love. When he pressed you against your sink, he kissed you with everything he had. At that moment, you understood that despite the painful heartache, everything worked for the best.

You were truly meant to be, you found your way back to him.

Everything was complicated, unsurprising for an idol, but he saw the way you looked at him; it was a look that said you’d move every mountain and all the bright stars in the sky, just to make him happy. It was the same way he looked at you.

He told himself once, when he was a young five-year-old, that he wanted to stay by your side. He left it once, but he’d be damned if he ever left it again.

[bigowlenergy]

heat + horror

next chapter of How to Raise the Dead!

x

Maddie stands at the door to the basement, hazmat tied down around her waist, staring into the green dark. To her left, the cicada scream en mass. The refrigerator hums at her back. The portal buzzes below. The cold air that swirls up the steps is incredible against the summer heatwave. Maddie. Wants to go down. Hesitates, still.

Danny is down there.

Maddie loves her son, but she loves her daughter, too, and knows better than to bother Jazz when she’s trying to finish a paper and watch the finale to her latest K-drama at the same time (again) and expect anything but getting snapped at and increasing her stress. The experience is just new, with Danny. He was always the relaxed one, but once it hit 80 degrees in the house, the basement became his domain, with the same low tolerance for interruption. With an extra edge of physical discomfort and medical concern. Maddie just doesn’t want to upset him further. It feels like she does that all too often, but Danny just won’t say anything when she does. It’s hard to understand him. She wants to, but he’s pulled so far away from them already...

“Hey, mom.” Jazz stands in the entryway, kicking her flip flops off, two bags of gas station ice slung over her shoulders. “He moved yet?” She asks.

“No, I don’t think so. I was just about to check,” Maddie offers, stepping in to take the second bag from Jazz. She’d stepped out to get some water. Hadn’t gone back. Condensation from the ice leaks down her shoulders, sticks her hair to her neck. Instant relief.

“Alright.” She says. “You coming down? It’s cold.”

And Maddie hesitates at the mouth of the threshold, for just a moment.

“Sounds nice,” She tells the stairs, hidden under the clanging of Jazz’s steps.

At the bottom, all she can see is the ring of lawnchairs and the little blow up kiddie pool that Jazz is dumping her bag of ice in. The clear vinyl tubing of the cheap outdoor furniture catches every refraction of green light from the open portal. An oversized alien dollhouse in Maddie’s lab. The smell of squeaky fresh plastic overwhelms the ectoplasm. The basement has always been climate controlled, and underground besides, so the downright frosty air that the open portal adds to the mix creates the strange atmosphere of a sauna in winter. Inverted.

But the chilliest thing by far is Danny.

Maddie finally gets a good look at him when Jazz collapses back into her own chair, sticking her feet into the pool with a great heaving sigh. Maddie appreciates her running to the store for them. It’s nearly 110 out. She goes to dump her part of the ice in and nearly fumbles to keep from pouring it straight over Danny’s head. He’s buried up to his chest, now. What she thought were odd shadows from the portal are actually his folded knees, the only other part not under ice. His eyes are glazed and dull, staring sightlessly into the green vortex, his head pillowed on the wet plastic rim of the pool. Soaked hair drawn back by one of Jazz’s headbands drips slowly onto the concrete floor. Maddie frowns at that. They specifically asked the kids to make sure nothing in the lab was exposed to water. Should have put a towel down.

She probably can’t blame Danny for lack of foresight. He doesn’t look good.

“Hi, sweetie,” Maddie whispers, tucking the ice in around his legs instead.

His blank expression doesn’t change as he belatedly mouths ‘hi’ back to her.

“Drink your slush,” Scolds Jazz, kicking at the ice idly. Danny’s buried hands slowly tip the half melted slushie toward his face. The straw rests in his mouth for a while, but Maddie’s fairly sure he doesn’t drink any. Her poor baby. Jazz had picked it up for him the first time she went to the store, nearly three hours ago.

Maddie pulls her hands from the ice and wipes them on her shirt. Goes to the monitoring station set up on the side of the portal. The nodes taped to Danny’s neck are probably the only things keeping him from fully submerging himself. His oxygen levels are lower than his usual terrifying baseline of 87%, hovering in the 84-86% range, and his heartrate is just short of clinical death. Most worryingly, his temperate is reading at nearly 80 - a deadly fever, considering his normal 71.3.

Maddie wishes they knew how to really help him. This feels strangely like a - not like a test, not really, but like something is being withheld from them. Like Danny knows what to do, but is still too scared to tell them. Like it’s something he doesn’t want them to know, another little secret on the pile. A tiny declaration of loss of trust.

Or he’s afraid of them knowing.

Not that he could tell them, right now. He’s been basically unresponsive to even the most drastic of stimuli since his internal temp hit 75 an hour ago. Jack had driven out for the lawn furniture around that time, helped wrangle Danny out of the bathtub and into the lab for better monitoring, then disappeared again a few minutes ago. Maddie has an inkling of what he’s up to, so she’ll just hold down the fort and see what happens.

But Danny. Looking at this array, she has the clinging idea that this would be easier for him if he was a ghost. But even now, he’s so hesitant about letting them see him. Has never, in word or deed, trusted them with that. It’s an open secret. What he is.

Who he is.

Jazz knows; Maddie knows she known for some time now. Maddie knows. Does Jack? Maddie knows. She tries to imagine that alien presence in this little family tableau. More green in the air. An extra buzz of static under the portal. White hair, dripping. Maddie knows, but it feels like she knows less than she did three weeks ago.

She’s seen Phantom with her own eyes. Seen him fly and fight and snarl like an animal. Seen him bounce and smile and joke. How does he do it? Maybe Maddie just isn’t ready for the perfect intersection of those things yet. Does - does Danny’s ghost leave his body?

Is Maddie really ready to face her sons’ corpse and his ghost at the same time?

Jazz splashes suddenly, feet shifting, head tipped back dramatically off the edge of her seat, hair in a huge bun, wearing her only pair of shorts. Little embroidered ghosts on the hem. Would he electrify the pool, if he changed?

Maddie sucks in a breath and drags her eyes back to the monitor. Maybe it would be better if he did. Actually. The shock might be what he needs to stabilize his heart. He’s obviously reliant on cold temperatures to facilitate stronger conductivity of his electrical impulse based neurology. Like any other ghost. He’s losing stability of consciousness. Unable to rely on the physical, chemical reaction based impulses of the li - of humans. Maddie’s trying not to think about it. She doesn’t want to think about it. The monitor won’t tell her anything else.

Danny, the ghost, Danny, her son, is suffering from mild destabilization and his human body is too close to brain dead to keep him from -

God, Maddie is glad she doesn’t know.

Jack, bless that man, saves her from her thoughts by clambering down the stairs.

“Icecream!” He calls, voice pitched less exuberantly loud than usual. In deference of the small lab space, empty of the usual noise of running machines, or in deference to Danny. Or her own nerves. Jack hands Jazz a pint of strawberry pistachio and a spoon, sets a bag near the pool and then appears at Maddie’s side. Kisses her cheek. Glances at the monitor.

“How’s he doing?” He asks, handing her her own pint and a fork. Pecan Caramel soymilk.

“Not much worse. But we don’t know beyond his baselines, so it could mean anything. Temperature’s been stable for the last twenty minutes.” Maddie digs out the first pecan she sees and keeps it in her mouth to cool her sensitive teeth. Offers nothing else. Jack can read the screen. If he arrives to the same conclusion, then they’ll talk about it upstairs. Away from the kids. Hopefully, Danny’s too busy barely existing to overhear, if it comes down to it.

Jack nods, bullshooter blue eyes sweeping over the monitor. One huge, extremely hot hand rests on her back, goes to rub soothingly, but Maddie shoos him with her fork.

“You’re cold!” He says delightedly, sticking his hands on the folds of her turned down hazmat. He spares her a smile, then snaps his attention back to the screen. Lingers on Danny’s oxygen levels. “Well,” Jack says, straightening up, “Let’s try to get his internal temperature down a bit, then. Come on, Danno!”

He unties the cloth bag and pulls out a full gallon of icecream. There is no room in the freezer for that.

“Okay, buddy, I got us a real treat, straight from the farmer’s market creamery, you know, the people with the ecto-infected cows we helped out last spring? Got us a discount! Anyway, it’s custom. Chocolate icecream, fudge pieces, cacao nibs, coconut shavings, sprinkles, cookie bits, and those little soft dough chunks -” He cuts off, leans in closer to the pool, watches Danny intensely for a few seconds. “Yep! Extra cookie pieces. Wanna try some?”

Jack sticks two spoons in the open gallon and sets it aside. Gently eases the mostly ignored red slushie out of Danny’s hands and passes it off to Jazz. She doesn’t hesitate to pour some of it over her icecream. Maddie shudders. Bites her pecan. Takes a seat.

Jack pulls a shop towel out of his shorts pocket and soaks it in the pool, then wipes his face with it before slinging it around his neck. Takes a tiny spoonful of the icecream and starts to set it in Danny’s direction.

“Just try a bit, Danno. I’ll let you drink dry ice again,” He cajoles. Maddie whips her head up to glare at him. Jazz shrieks with her mouth closed, prevented from yelling properly by a well timed frozen strawberry. Jack ignores them both. He’d better have a damn good reason and some damn good results.

He gets Danny to eat a little, at least. He’d refused dinner last night, and it’s almost 7 PM, now. After a while, Jack leans in again. All Maddie can hear from a bare few feet away is a quiet, wet little rasp.

Jack beams his most reassuring grin at their son. “Of course it’s got ectoplasm in it; it’s for you, Danny-boy!” He says. And. That might be the first time any of them have put it to words. Admitted it out loud. It should feel like a taboo broken, but somehow, it eases a little relief into the atmosphere. A confession they all share.

Then Jack frowns a bit. Eyebrows drawn down in concern when he says “Is it not enough?”

Danny shakes his head, a light tremble of motion. The wet plastic squeaks under his neck. Lies still. Jack sits back, looks up to Maddie. Jazz is leaned back in her seat, staring down at Danny with a sharp frown of disapproval on her face. A fierce set to her eyes that tells Maddie everything she needs to know.

“We’ll get you more, sweetie,” Maddie tests the waters carefully, kneeling down across from Jack, sets a hand on Danny’s drying hair, keeps Jazz in her sights. Danny closes his eyes and shakes his head again, turning further into her palm and sighing quietly. A low, tired sound of dismissal. Not for Maddie. Jazz looks away, guilt and worry plain on her face. Bites her lip. Lids her icecream and mumbles an excuse of a goodbye, looking a bit mutinous as she leaves.

Maddie has to wonder if she should step back from this. Let Jazz do whatever needs to be done that Danny is hiding from them. But she can’t. These are her children; they shouldn’t need to be providing something for themselves. It’s her duty to care for them.

But. She is also an ectobiologist. Knows damn well what ghosts need. Has done in-field observations on this sort of thing for at least a decade.

It’s not the amount of ectoplasm that matters. It’s the source.

They can’t provide what Danny needs from the lab.

Sure, they’ve never seen Phantom feeding, but he’s so rarely seen at all. Elusive. Non-normative behavior. Maybe -

An incomplete hypothesis has never sat well with her. Her son being miserably sick while she has the power to help him is not sitting any better.

“Danny,” She says firmly, gently taking his cold face in her hands and wincing at the mincing slowness of his pulse under his jaw. “Please, just tell us what’s wrong, honey.”

Something thumps upstairs. What is Jazz doing? Maddie had assumed she left the house. To get. Something. Bring something back? Get a ghost they know to help?

Maddie’s seen ghosts negotiate and willingly feed from each other. The statistically significant ratio of mutual encounter to violent attack was one of the things that tipped the scales for Maddie and Jack on whether ghosts have the capacity for civilized society or not.

If Danny has some sort of pact or agreement with a local ghost, then Maddie is intensely interested in learning every detail of it. As both his mother, and as an ectobiologist. Jazz probably has extensive notes.

Upstairs, something drags across the floor. Maddie jumps at the noise.

“I’ll go check,” Jack offers, glancing guiltily back to Danny before heading up the stairs.

Maddie turns her attention back to Danny and actually feels her heart skip a beat when she finds him staring up at her with dull, glazed eyes. His face too-still and eerie in the green light of the buzzing portal. It dyes him colors he shouldn’t be. She takes in a breath, and calms herself, confused by her own reaction. She’s been exposed to high levels of ectoplasm for nearly two decades. Maddie lost her innate terror-reaction to ectoentities years ago. This is completely unfamiliar to her.

But the way Danny’s too blank face flashes into guilt as he flinches and tries to pull away is not. It’s the same reaction as Jazz earlier.

Guilt. Something withheld. Upstairs, something drags against the wood floors again. Slow, deliberate.

“Danny -” She starts, concerned. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and turns away from her. Mouths something that she reads as sorry. A creak on the stairs. The lights flicker. Maddie jolts back in a crouch immediately, hand falling to where her weapons should be. One hand on Danny. Assuring his location. Her other hand closes on nothing. Of course not. Maddie doesn’t wear her weapons around Danny. Not any more. There’s nothing there. She forces herself into a more relaxed stance with some difficulty.

What could they have upstairs for this? Surely there’s not another ghost living in their house? Maddie would like to think that a second instance would be ridiculous. Maybe a hidden freezer of ectoplasmic samples? She looks down at the human ghost in her lab. Maybe he needs a rare type of ectoplasm, due to his unusual biology? His half human biology.

Half human. Needing ectoplasm and emotion, but also needing food. Maddie’s heart picks up uncomfortably, sits high in her throat. At the other end of the room is the wall safe with the Nightingale journals. The myths and accounts and legends of violent ghosts. Hunted for their danger to humanity. Their hunger. Maddie and Jack have long discounted or disproved those old folk tales.

But then again, they’d also disproved the existence of something like Danny.

“Danny -” She tries again, watching the way he’s turned away from her intently. Mouth pressed in a thin, unhappy line. Every ounce of him tense, entombed in ice.

Jack bounds down the stairs. Maddie jolts to her feet. He’s got the bulky old TV from the sitting room in his arms. Maddie’s heart is pounding, her mind blank.

“We’ve got the cure, Mads!” He cries. Jazz follows, carrying the DVD player and a stack of DVDs.

In the pool, Danny shudders strongly enough to stir the ice. Moans out “No,” loudly enough to be heard.

“Shut up, Danny.” Jazz says firmly. “You need this.”

Jack finishes plugging the makeshift entertainment center together. Jazz sets the DVDs down and sticks one in the player. Maddie’s seen every title on the pile, but doesn’t recognize them from anywhere in the house. All horror films, many classic. Monster movies. Slasher flicks. It’s so disingenuous from where her mind had been that she’s left frozen.

“They’re from Sam,” Jazz explains. “For when somebody runs out of juice.” She spares Danny an annoyed glare and hits play.

Oh. Oh. Maddie looks down at the miserable little ghost in the pool, her shadow cast long over his morose, guilty expression. He’s so pale. The colors from the TV flicker against the vinyl and ice and ectoplasm in surreal flashes. Some loud sound blares from the old speakers with more static than usual and Maddie jolts again. All her senses on high alert, an undercurrent of unnatural fear flooding her cerebellum. An artificially induced state of terror. The buzzing she’s been ignoring with all the ease of overexposure is Danny’s aura, set to 18 hz.

There hasn’t been a ghost attack in nearly a week. All the local specters retreating to the other side of the portal as the heat wave rages on theirs. Danny hasn’t been able to emphathically power himself in a week. Maybe longer.

Ghosts feed on fear.

He’s been overwhelmed with the heatwave, unable to patrol his territory, probably not physically fed in a while, and emotionally weakened. Of course he’s destabilizing.

Maddie lets out a breath of relief. This is something easily remedied, at least. She leans in and kisses Danny’s forehead. In apology. In absolution. Feels guilty for her distrust of him with such an irrational idea. Feels the rekindled instinctual hyperawareness of a ghost near to her vulnerable human throat. Ignores it. Helps Jack finish moving the chairs closer to the pool. Sets her icecream back on her lap. Settles in and lets herself overthink the timing of the next jumpscare. Watches her little ghost relax slowly as he draws strength from their shared, controlled fear. Wonders if he has a vomeronasal organ, with the way his mouth is a little open. If it helps with emphathic filtering, or if it’s psychosomatic. Wonders if he feels better. Fishes his hand out of the ice and holds it tight until he squeezes her back.

It’s been a while since they’ve had a family movie night.

[marvelslut16]

Closure

Pairing(s): Steve x reader, Steve x OC!Ana, Reader x OC!Mike

Synopsis: (Y/N) and Steve are paired up as partners for a year. The problem is she hates the golden boy. Quickly she learns that he isn’t as horrid as she once imagined and they become best friends. Will (Y/N) realize before it’s too late that she’s madly and deeply in love with one Steven Grant Rogers?

Word count: 5,100 whoops

Warnings: Some fluff, some angst. Swearing. Mentions of stitches, but now graphic descriptions of gore. A super clueless reader. Bucky is a bitch in this. Jealousy. 

A/n: I should have been writing my Stan Uris request (which I’m more than have done with) or my next chapter of can’t fight this feeling (it’s getting there you guys!) but I wrote this bad boy instead. I hope you guys enjoy it and are staying safe and healthy during these crazy times. 

Steve was never the man you planned to fall for. Hell, you hated the man for three years. You thought he was pretentious and full of himself when he snootily corrected you on a mistake only he noticed. Everyone praised him, said he was so fantastic; he could do no wrong, he’s America’s golden boy after all.

A few years had passed since the incident where he corrected you on an almost nonexistent mistake in the middle of a mission. You two were suddenly paired up by Fury to be partners on any future missions. Bucky was still recovering from all the pain Hydra caused so he couldn’t be Steve’s partner, but you had been hoping to get either Nat or Tony as yours. But life never works out how you want. 

Being partners also meant you two had to train together too, help you bond and become a stronger pair on missions. Blah blah blah. You had a sprained wrist from a mission you had just been on, it was supposed to be a simple in and out until the shield agent helping you made a mistake. The worst part is that you happen to be dating that shield agent, Mike can’t go thirty minutes without apologizing. The more he does it the more it gets on your nerves, so you always try to take hold of the conversation and steer it away from that topic. 

So as you're in the gym for your first training session, sitting on a bench board out of your mind watching America’s golden boy workout his already perfect body, you text Mike and complain about being stuck with the blonde soldier. Steve breaks the tense and awkward silence randomly, causing you to put your phone down for the first time since entering the gym. 

“Do you know how to work this thing?” his thumb is pointing over his shoulder at one of the many treadmills, he’s giving you a sheepish smile.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” you smile softly, quickly getting up and pressing the buttons, setting it up for him. “There ya go.”

“Thanks,” he lets out a sigh, running a hand through his slightly sweaty blonde locks. “I’m still new to all of this technology stuff.” You don’t respond, not verbally at least. You give him a warm smile and small nod, his grin seems to grow at your first real interaction. 

As your time with him in the gym becomes more frequent when you're healed, you notice that he doesn’t actually need your help setting up the machines. He even sets them up for you if he beats you to the gym that day. You realize that it was really just an icebreaker, this way it wouldn’t be as awkward and you would finally talk to him. It turns out he doesn’t even remember correcting you all those years ago, so maybe he isn’t as bad as you’ve always made him out to be. 

--

To nobody's surprise, but your own, you and Steve become fast friends. You didn’t think much of it, he’s your partner and you two are supposed to get along. So the friendship was a good thing, right? Steve soon became your confidant, the one you would seek out if the mission was hard or if you and Mike were in yet another fight. Besides that, Steve was just a great person who was fun to be with.

He was surprisingly political for a man that was frozen in ice for seventy years, so he’ll talk your ear off about what’s going on in the world. It’s not too surprising, you suppose, he was political propaganda and has an unwavering moral compass, so it’s to be expected. He keeps you educated and up to date, something that amuses your teammates when they see you guys hang out. You and Steve will have animated conversations about World War II, comparing the political climate and leaders back then to now over lunch. What really amused everyone was how quickly those serious conversations could flip and turn into pop culture talk. If one of you says a reference from a show in your conversation, it immediately switches to that show or ones like it.

You had introduced Steve to friends, and he had come running to you as soon as Ross and Rachel had their we were on a break fight. He was so distraught over the show, he wanted Ross and Rachel to just talk out their problems. You thought his reaction was adorable, and so did Nat who was quietly laughing to herself in a corner. 

There were days where you didn’t even have to talk, content with sitting in silence and filling out mission reports. Typically spent listening to songs from the forties, or you trying to get him into modern music. Everyone was shocked, especially Bucky who is now back from Wakanda good as new apparently, that you got Steve to get a cellphone. The super soldier frequently texts you with questions or to complain that he misses you if you’re too injured or sick to make it to training. 

--

Very rarely was Steve moody, one reason you were glad when you got him and not Tony, but when he was it was unbearable. He had gotten in a fight with Bucky and ignored you in training. No setting up the machine for you, even though he was already running on his treadmill when you got to the gym. No offering you water after a tough set, or apologizing if he thought he pinned you to the mat too hard, which he always did. 

“Stevie, what’s wrong?” you finally broke the silence.

“It’s nothing (Y/N)!” there’s a flash of anger towards you in his icy blue eyes. “I’m done training for the day.”

“But we still have another hour!” you holler at his toned back, white shirt clinging to the sweat, as he walks away from you. 

“I don’t really care, I don’t want to talk,” Steve doesn’t turn to face you. His voice drops so low he thinks you won’t hear him, but you do, “I don’t want to be around you right now.”

Your heart squeezes at his words. Was Mike right when he called you too much the other night? Were you so annoying that both your boyfriend and your best friend didn’t want to be around you?

Steve’s blue eyes softened as he apologized for his actions the next morning. He didn’t know you heard his last bit, but you weren’t gonna tell him you did. So you just dealt with the little bit of your self esteem chip away, but that was nothing new. 

--

You’re knocking on his door in the middle of the night, instantly regretting it when you see the dark bags under his sparkling blue eyes. His arm flexes as he rubs a hand over his face, gray sweatpants hang low on his waist, and his navy blue shirt is slightly twisted from tossing and turning.

“Sorry,” you sniffle and quickly apologize. You start to walk away but Steve’s thick fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you towards him. 

“What's wrong?” the sleep gone from his eyes, replaced with worry at the sight of your tear stained cheeks. 

“It’s nothing,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair. “It was stupid.”

“Is it nothing or is it stupid? ‘Cause it can’t be both Doll,” his voice is soft and inviting, it makes you start crying all over again.

“Mike and I got into such a bad fight,” you cry, he immediately pulls you into a hug and into his apartment. He ushers you over to a stool in the kitchen, grabbing you both a beer, claiming that you look like you could really use one. “He threatened to break up with me, he just kept saying that I have too much baggage from before. Telling me that I’m too annoying, too clingy, too much.”

The super soldier stayed up with you all night, letting you cry and vent about your relationship troubles. Again. He even took you out for breakfast when morning rolled around, you two laughing over what seemed like a gallon of coffee. While you had never woken him up before, you two had talked for hours if Mike had done something stupid or hurt you. 

Steve and Mike had been sort of friends before this, having worked with each other on missions before your partnership. But the words that Mike had been spewing at you hours earlier made it so that Steve could never look at him the same way again. Who could be that cruel to you on purpose?

--

The Avengers were going to a local hospital to surprise the sick children in the cancer ward. You’re paired up with Bucky much to your disappointment, everyone wanted Captain America and Black Widow together, they were well known. You don’t dislike the ex assassin, but he’s practically Steve’s brother which makes you infinitely more nervous around him. 

As you're waiting for the all clear from one of the oncologists you get a text from Tony with an updated schedule, one child was able to go home a day early so they were no longer there so a new room with a new kid was added. You briefly smile down at your lock screen, a picture of you and Steve making stupid faces in your uniforms- he even let you hold his shield. 

“Is that you and Steve?” Bucky’s long strands of hair hit the side of your face as he leans down to get a better look of the picture. 

“Uh- yeah,” you turn to look at his face, a small frown of confusion graces your features. His gaze goes from curious to a large frown, confusing you to no end. 

“Why did you guys take it?” he asks, crossing his thick arms across his chest, making sure to flex them.

“Uh, we had just gotten back from a long mission and we needed to decompress,” you smile fondly at the memory of the bleach blonde man making you laugh when you didn’t think you could even smile. He somehow managed to take your stress away, he always knew how to make it better; you’re convinced it was a power that came with the serum. “We were just goofing around and having fun, Steve suggested we take a picture to remember it.”

“You’re so annoying,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, brown locks creating a curtain around his face. Your jaw momentarily drops open in shock, but you quickly close it as the oncologist comes back to the two of you. You put on your well practiced mask, cheering up the kids was far more important than your measly little feelings.

For some unknown reason Bucky told Steve about the interaction. Steve immediately apologized the next day for Bucky’s actions, but it meant next to nothing coming from him and not the man with the vibranium arm. Steve just kept going on about how Bucky’s brain still wasn’t back to  hundred percent yet, but you knew Bucky had meant what he said.

--

“Are you sleeping with him?” Mike storms into your apartment that Tony gave you in Avengers tower, perks of the job. 

“What?” your eyebrows furrow, you aren’t a cheater. “Who?”

“Steve,” his name comes out of Mike’s mouth like it burned him, but you can see the sadness in his eyes. 

“Of course not!” anger starts to fuel you, how dare he make these accusations about you and your friend! 

“Sharon came up to me at work today and said she wouldn’t be surprised if you two were sleeping with each other behind my back!” he defends. Of course it was Sharon, you restrain yourself from aggressively rolling your eyes at the annoying woman's antics.

“Steve and I would never do that! And you know that. You also know that Sharon is obsessively in love with Steve and is most likely jealous of my friendship with him.” 

The conversation ended there that night, but you knew it wasn’t over yet. Mike left shortly after to go to his apartment twenty minutes away from the tower, and you were left to wonder why the hell Sharon would ever suggest a thing. Steve was just a friend! Right? 

The next day during training you were complaining to him about Sharon and Mike as you were punching one of the many bags filled with sand. Knuckles bruising and bleeding, but you don’t notice. Far too occupied with everyone sticking their noses where they don’t belong, just looking to start drama within the Avengers.

--

You and Mike had gotten into yet another fight about Steve a month later. This time you didn’t want to go to the man at the center of your problems, so you went to two of your friends Marie and Trisha. They’re both Shield agents that work with Mike, so they know the both of you enough to give you good advice. 

“He just keeps getting so mad at me for being friends with Steve!” you complain to the two girls, who roll their eyes at the words they’ve heard come from your mouth a thousand times before. 

“So break up with him,” Marie shrugs like it’s no big deal, checking her nails. 

“But I love him,” you blanch.

“Do you though?” Trisha asks with a judgmental eyebrow raised. 

“Of course I do! We’ve been together for two years, I see a future with him,” you furrow your brows at how rude they seem. “But do you think he’s right? Do you think Steve likes me?”

“Not even close!” Trisha laughs. “(Y/N), he would never go for someone like you, he could have any woman- or man- that he wants.”

“Dump Mike and forget Steve, they aren’t worth your time,” Marie looks up from her nails to give you an annoyed look.

So much for friends, huh. But Trisha was right about one thing, Steve would never go for someone like me. I’m not special, I’m not beautiful; I’m just annoying and I carry too much emotional baggage for anyone to deal with. You walked out of shield headquarters that day feeling worse than you did when you came, and no closer to solving this whole Steve Mike business. 

--

Steve was reading the briefing for your next mission when you entered the common room in the tower. You plopped down right next to him, swinging your legs over his lap and resting your head on his shoulder to read it too. He threw the arm that you’re leaning on across your shoulders to make it more comfortable for the two of you. You and Steve would sit like this all the time; during movies, reading up on missions, while talking about anything and everything. 

It made Mike uncomfortable, and maybe you were naive because you never understood why. Steve was your friend, and friends cuddle. Plus it was extremely comfortable and some days you just needed it. The first time you did it you did as a joke, trying to make Steve uncomfortable, it was a game you two play. But you both quickly found how much you both liked it and you do it without giving it a second thought now. Plus, it’s a nice added bonus when Sharon sees it and gets upset. 

--

Before you and Steve knew it a whole year of partnership passed, and Fury decided to change partners around. Steve obviously got Bucky and you got Nat. While she was your original first choice, now all you wanted was for Steve to have your six. There wouldn’t be anymore inside jokes, long talks, or silly photos to take. You would miss the way his nose crinkled when he would laugh at one of your stupid jokes, or how his face would scrunch up and the tip of his tongue would peak out from between his lips when would sketch you during your free time. 

If losing him as your partner weren’t enough, he was moving out of the tower. He found a cute little brownstone to move into, him and Bucky were going to be roommates. You believed Steve when he told you he would come visit you all the time, but it was just an empty promise. You felt like you were losing a piece of your heart and soul. Steve had become your best friend and you weren’t sure when you would be able to see him again. He left the tower one night, never telling you goodbye first. 

If anything good came out of Steve’s move, it was that you and Mike weren’t as rocky as you once were. You were crushed that you didn’t have Steve by your side anymore, but you would never tell Mike that. He’d never understand how you missed the super soldier as a friend. He and I would still text occasionally, or talk briefly if we ran into each other in the halls, but it was never the same. And it never would be.

The next time you saw Sharon she was smug, as if she were gloating because you weren’t close to him anymore either. But that all changed when Steve entered the tower with a shorter woman with long black hair on his arm named Ana. She was a nurse for shield, apparently they had met when she insisted he get a cut stitched after a bad mission, even if he would be healed within a few hours. You used to make Steve get checked out after every mission, made sure he took care of himself, but you were useless now. 

“She’s cheated on every guy she’s been with,” Sharon whispered to you as Ana swung her own legs over Steve’s lap and curled into his side. The smile on his face was so wide and loving, it was honestly revolting. Nat, Tony, and Sam all turned to watch your face at the interaction, you masked any possible emotion. But Tony saw the hurt in your eyes, you had officially lost Steve. But he was never yours to lose. 

You pushed off Sharon’s words, why would she tell you the truth when she hated you so much. But when Trisha and Marie texted you out of nowhere freaking out about her being a cheater you knew it was the ugly truth. Steven Grant Rogers, the love of your life as you always jokingly called him, was going to get his pure heart broken by someone who would never love as much as he loved her. 

-- 

Mike caught you one night, when he came over to surprise you with dinner, looking at the drawings of you that Steve had done while swiping through the pictures you had taken with the blonde. Mike, seeing that you were grieving the loss of such an important friendship didn’t say anything about it. Instead you guys ate your food and talked about your future together. He kept repeating that he wanted to marry you one day soon. 

While the prospect of spending the rest of your life with Mike was exciting and inviting; it was a nice safe choice. You couldn’t help but wonder, would Steve go to your wedding? Would he be your man of honor like you two joked he would be? Or did he not care about you now that you weren’t partners anymore? Because your life would be gray without him in it. 

--

Tony threw his yearly charity gala. You were dressed in an ombre blue dress that made you feel like Cinderella. Mike had surprised you and paid for you to go all out and get your hair and nails done. What you didn’t know was that Mike was trying to spoil you so you would be happy again and maybe fix your crumbling relationship. While your relationship was fine, better even, when Steve had moved, it was falling apart now as you wallowed in self pity over the fact that you lost your best friend. 

You had begged Mike for hours to go dance with you, but he wouldn’t. He just told you he didn’t want to and sat at your table sipping his drink. Steve and Ana were spinning around the dance floor, they looked so happy it hurt. You couldn’t help but stare, that could have been you. What did you have to sell to get Mike to seem like he cared about you and to dance with you? A kidney? An arm or a leg? Your soul? Because you would do it. 

Nat and Wanda saw how depressed you looked, so they pulled you onto the floor with them. And for a few minutes everything felt right in the world, you were finally happy. But that ended as soon as it began when Ana bumped into you while she was dancing, you would have fallen if it weren’t for Wanda and her powers. She giggled out a fake sorry before pulling Steve in the opposite direction.

When you sat back down next to Mike again you couldn’t tear your eyes off of Steve. Who had he become? He was so enraptured by Ana that he didn’t even try to talk to you like he always did at big events like this. What you didn’t know was that while you were holding back tears Mike was trying to talk himself into breaking up with you. He knew you weren’t happy anymore, that you would much rather be with Steve. Even if you didn’t know that yet. 

--

After a long talk with Fury it was decided that it would be better for everyone if you went back to being a normal shield agent instead of a part of the Avengers. While it stung a little and felt like a downgrade, it was what you wanted as well. To make things even better, you were now paired up with Sharon. Your long hours together proved she wasn’t as horrible as you once thought, but she was definitely not your favorite person. 

Mike started working in a new sector where he was partnered up with a new agent named Jana. He spent more time with her than with, you so you started hanging out with Trisha and Marie regularly again. The two girls tried to get you to shit talk Ana with them, but you wouldn’t. Steve was happy and that’s all that mattered to you. 

Mike broke up with you. He sent you a text at three in the morning telling you it wasn’t working. You wholeheartedly agreed, nothing felt right anymore, but you would have preferred the break up in person. That was the decent thing to do.he started dating Jana, and you were happy for him too. Just like Steve, you wanted him happy.

--

Months passed after the break up and you were still friends with Mike. He was your partner and your friend before the relationship, so you were sure as hell going to be his friend after the end of your three year relationship. Your break up wasn’t a secret, it seemed like everyone at shield knew the details of it. 

Mike, Jana, Maria Hill, and you were all eating lunch together when a familiar blonde haired blue eyed man walked through the cafeteria. Your heart started to pound, you hadn’t talked to Steve in almost a year and hadn’t seen him in even longer. Mike gave your arm a quick squeeze as Maria was getting ready to go talk to him. But Ana locked eyes with you as soon as Steve waved at you, and pulled him away from you. Mike pulled you into his side and Jana gently rubbed your hand that was sitting on the tabletop. 

Maria runs away from you and Sharon and up to talk to Steve when she sees him in the hall later that day. You and Sharon share an unsure glance before following Fury's right hand woman. Steve has a long talk with Maria about an upcoming mission she is accompanying him and Bucky on. He even talks with Sharon about a new technique Nat taught her when the redhead visited a few weeks prior.

“Hey Rogers,” you give him a small smile when his eyes finally land on you.

He opens his mouth, ready to speak to you for the first time in ages. But before he could get any words out Ana let out an annoyed sound, sent Steve a look, and stormed off. Steve gave you an apologetic smile before running after his girlfriend.

Your mouth opens as you let out what would have a mix between a sob and a scoff if it hadn’t come out silent. It felt like something was wrapping around your heart, giving it a painful squeeze. That feeling snaked up and constricted your throat, momentarily causing you to forget to breathe. Maria is looking at you with soft confused eyes while Sharon is glaring at Steve’s back as he runs after Ana. 

Ironically, you ran crying to Mike. It was a sick twist of fate, after a year of running to Steve when things went wrong with Mike, he was now the one helping you when it came to the hurt America’s golden boy caused. He took you out for dinner that night and spent hours comforting you. Because after all this time you finally realized it. You’re in love with Steve, you have been for years. But now you’ve lost him for good. 

-- 

“Are Steve and Ana still together?” Wanda asks when you visit her and Nat at the tower. 

“I think, why?” you glance between the two redheads confused why they would be asking you this and not Steve.

“Well her and this other shield agent came with us on a mission,” Nat admits. “And the entire quinjet ride she was hanging all over him.”

“We had to spend the night there,” Wanda says slowly, like the next words out of her mouth could change everything. And they do. “I caught her sneaking into his room.”

The world around you seems to slow and your fragile heart seems to crack even more. You knew it. You knew that bitch would hurt your Stevie. 

After leaving the tower for the night you immediately message both Marie and Trisha because they were right. At the office the next day you join in on the shit talking for the first time. Nobody hurts your Stevie. 

--

Tony invited you to the charity gala again, he kept whining that he missed your annoying ass. So you're put on a gorgeous deep red dress with a slightly bedazzled bodice. You're at the bar with Tony, Nat, and Wanda when Sharon comes running over; her dress, Trisha, and Marie trailing behind her. 

“Is Steve still with Ana?” Sharon asks, slightly out of breath.

“Why do people keep asking me this?” not only are you confused, but you're angry that it keeps coming up. “How am I supposed to know? Steve and I don’t talk anymore.”

“Ana came with the guy who’s room she snuck into,” Marie eyes you nervously as she speaks. 

“That's her ex,” Jana adds as her and Mike join the group forming at the bar. 

“Check their socials!” Trisha hollers unhelpfully. But you do anyway, and what you see breaks your heart.

You check Ana first, but after typing her name into the search bar nothing comes up. Mike quickly looks her up and shows that she still pops up on his phone, she obviously blocked you. Ana and Steve were still her profile picture, but you weren’t satisfied with that.

Your fingers fly as you type in Steve’s name. He pops up, but you suddenly aren’t friends with him anymore and the option to send a friend request isn’t there. Your cracked heart shatters. Everyone around you seems to fade and all you hear is white noise, you never meant anything to him. You don’t realize you're crying until your tears hit the picture of him and Ana laughing which is his new profile picture. 

Tony makes you another rum and coke, which you chug. Screw Ana. Screw Steve Rogers. And fuck feelings. You spend the night dancing with Nat and Wanda when they aren’t with Clint and Vision. Mike, who refused to dance with you a year ago, even took you for a spin around the dance floor. 

--

You eventually cut Trisha and Marie out of your life, they were nothing but trouble. They were bad influences, trying to get you to be a meaner person than you were. And it worked for a while, you had let them manipulate your hurt into anger since that was an easier emotion to process. Shortly after the gala you got transferred to a shield base in Sokovia, Wanda and Pietro excitedly showed you around their home. Sharon texted you a year after you left that Steve had apparently broken up with Ana.

It has been almost three years since the day of that gala and about two since Steve and Ana had broken up. Mike is still your best friend, he’s planning on proposing to Jana soon. He’ll occasionally see Steve and tell you how he is. Recently you decided to look him up on Facebook again to see how he was doing; he looks good, happy. You had the option to send him a friend request again, so you did. And within ten minutes he said yes. 

It has been about a month since that happened, you haven’t messaged him and he hasn’t messaged you. You’ll react to some of the old photos from the forties that he’ll post, or the memes he posts about Stranger Things, another show you had gotten him into. Facebook friends doesn’t seem like too much, but for you when it comes to Steve it means the world. 

While you don’t have that connection you had with Steve once, him accepting is like he’s accepting your apology for how poorly you acted when it came to Ana. You finally got your closure. 

And with that you put down your pen and close your composition notebook. The one you're shield appointed therapist, you had to talk to her for your yearly eval, had suggested. She thought it might make you feel better to have all of the words written down, all of the truths and emotions out in the open. You realized far too late how you really felt, and the notebook was the only way to fully process everything that had happened these past four years.

Forever tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​

[castielslostwings]

Winter Storm Warning

an under 4k deancas ficlet, just something i was thinking about when I saw Frank stealing coins from one of the Chicago fountains on “Shameless.” 

4k, rated G, homeless Cas/Sandover Dean, sweet Dean, meet-ugly (sort of). “Winter Storm Warning” The frigid air is biting, searing into the exposed skin of Dean’s face as he walks brusquely down the snow-dusted sidewalks of downtown Chicago. The unforgiving Illinois cold is rough, close to unbearable, but for Dean, it also spells freedom. Ten hours straight of mind-numbing meetings with a fake smile plastered across his face, crunching numbers and negotiating the supposed merger of a lifetime—that’s his job and don’t get him wrong, Dean is great at it, but enough is enough. Out here, the distinct lack of fluorescent lighting, pretentious leather seating, and endless glasses of cucumber water signifies that, at the very least, that mess is over and Dean is free.  Tomorrow morning, if the weather allows for it, Dean will be on a plane back to Kansas where the weather probably sucks just as much but at least the air can’t cut you like a damn knife. A blast of wind makes him flinch, trying to shove the hand not wrapped around his briefcase handle even further into his pocket. At least Sandover paid for all of his expenses this trip, important as it was, and soon, Dean will be sitting pretty in his seventy-five degree suite, some takeout and a sampler selection from the minibar laid out in front of him.  Several feet away in the slush-filled street a plow goes by, metal scraping against concrete, a heaping helping of snow tossed carelessly well over the top of the existing hip-high bank and onto Dean’s head. “Oh, come on,” he yells, waving his briefcase in frustration at the plow’s taillights, the snow slithering wetly down the back of his neck and underneath his starched collar. “Fuck,” Dean curses, trying and failing to scoop the slushy mess out of the back of his shirt and fling it down onto the street where it belongs. He shivers violently as a trail of ice goes creeping down into the hollow of his lower back, far past his reach, unless he wants to untuck three layers and flail around some more in the middle of the damn sidewalk.  What a day.  Thankfully, the Sheraton where he’s staying is only a few blocks away from the corporate offices he’s been holed up in all day, which is why Dean decided to walk to begin with. Well, that, and the fact that the mounting winter weather and the state of the streets wouldn’t have made UBERing any faster. With the melting snow now trickling into his butt crack but the air fresh and clean despite being painfully cold, he can’t actually decide whether he regrets the decision or not.  As Dean approaches the riverfront and where the street forks, he should take a right to walk down to his hotel. But the sun is out, despite the snow falling, and regardless of the unrelenting cold, it does feel good to be outside. So after a moment’s hesitation, Dean changes course and walks straight. He heads down towards the River Esplanade Park where he knows from looking out his hotel room window that there are gorgeous views of the river and Centennial Fountain still runs, even in the dead of winter. As he walks, his breath puffs white, delicate clouds drifting off into the air in front of him and Dean can almost see the moisture crystallizing, turning to ice right before his eyes.  It’s really fucking cold.  Centennial Fountain almost looks as if it was carved out of the stone walkway around it. Like God took his melon baller and just scooped it right on out. As Dean approaches, he walks down the steps framing the space above the wall of running water, intending to turn and follow the path along the river until he gets to his hotel. It’ll be a nice walk, scenic, with the sun glinting off of the grey-ish water that lazes by far below. Dean takes a moment to pause at the iron railing, looking out and sucking in a deep breath of impossibly cold air, relishing the way it stings his lungs before he blows it back out.  His peaceful reverie is interrupted by what sounds like a pained moan, and at first, Dean wonders if there’s a hurt animal nearby. He whirls around to face the fountain and looks over the steps leading down to it. The water is flowing the way it usually is, cascading down the far wall in gorgeous, icy waves before pooling in the shallow basin below and freezing solid at its edges.  All of that is relevant only because there is a man standing in the undoubtedly arctic-cold water. His dirty khakis are rolled up to his knees, shoes and socks lined up neatly on the last step leading down to the water on Dean’s side. Next to the articles of clothing is a small backpack, and beside that is a gallon-sized ziplock bag. From where Dean is standing, it looks as if the plastic bag is filled with change.  At first, Dean can’t make sense of it, thinks the guy must be some sort of head case, because who in their right mind would even consider wading into a fountain in Chicago in weather like this? But as Dean stares, taking in the ratty beanie pulled down over the man’s reddened ears, the too-thin coat with a sweatshirt stuffed uncomfortably tight underneath, his bright-red, ungloved hands and forearms, he suddenly understands, and he’s horrified. The man’s abused limbs shake violently as he bends down to plunge them into the water once again, moaning but persisting on when they make contact.  Even from afar, his own hands swathed in expensive, lined leather gloves that preserve his own body heat, Dean cringes, but he can’t look away. The man drags his hands back out and, dripping wet, they’re full of coins. He staggers unsteadily back to the edge of the water, and it’s obvious to Dean that it’s becoming painful for him to walk. It won’t be long before he loses feeling completely, if he hasn’t already. When he turns, Dean catches a glimpse of his face. He’s young. Dean’s age, maybe a couple of years older. That, or the streets have taken their toll. Not much of one, though, Dean has to admit. The man’s face and skin don’t look weathered or damaged by drugs or alcohol, the way so many folks on the street seem to look after even the shortest time enduring that existence. His facial scruff is decently kept, untinged with any sickly yellow. He’s handsome, Dean can already tell, and when the man glances up and makes eye contact, Dean’s destroyed.  “Wow,” he murmurs under his breath before shaking himself off and back to the reality of his current predicament. Or rather, the man’s current predicament. “Hey!” he calls out, but the man has already turned, is already trudging back towards the middle of the fountain. “Hey, man, get out of there!” The man ignores him, plunging his hands back into the water to scoop out another handful of coins. Dean skips down the steps, nearly wiping out on a patch of ice in his haste, and meets him at the edge of the water when he arrives back to secure his haul.  The man looks up at him warily, gorgeous blue eyes darting between Dean and his bag of coins with open distrust. His fingers are purplish-red now and Dean can tell just from looking that the guy can barely move them. He struggles to get the edges of the ziplock bag open without losing his coins, so Dean steps forward, trying to help.  The guy flinches, and Dean backs up immediately, hands in the air. “Whoa,” he says gently, “Hey, it’s okay, man. Just trying to help.”  “Please,” the man starts, but his voice breaks, from cold or fear or pain, really, it’s anyone’s guess as far as Dean is concerned. When Dean doesn’t move, he licks his blue-tinged lips and tries again. “P-please don’t t-take m-my coins,” he pleads softly, eyes downcast.  “Oh, shit,” Dean breathes, torn between backing up and stepping forward. “No way, man. Listen, I promise, I just wanna help. Here,” he encourages, carefully stepping forward and pulling the ziplock open with just the tips of his fingers, barely touching it. With any luck, the man will understand that Dean can’t pick up the bag that way, that he isn’t trying to make off with it. He seems to, if his wary glance at Dean’s face is any indication, sniffling as he sloshes forward, shins nudging against the ice where it’s collecting on the water’s surface. The man doesn’t even seem to notice what’s going on with his legs as his stiff hands fight to dump the latest handful of coins into the collection bag.  “Dude,” Dean says incredulously when the man shifts as if he intends to wade back into the deeper water. “You can’t go out there again. You gotta get out of that frozen death trap, get your shoes on, get somewhere warm and fast or you’re gonna lose those toes. Fingers too.”  The guy pauses, drags his tattered sleeve across his reddened nose and sniffles again, shaking his head in dismay. “Can’t,” he says roughly, and Dean wonders if his voice is naturally that low, or if that’s a function of the cold too. Jesus Christ, this poor sap. “Too cold to stop. I…” He trails off and reaches down to jiggle the ziplock as best he can with the clumsy fingers of one near-useless hand. “Almost have enough for a motel.”  Now, it’s important to note at this point that Dean Winchester is not the most careful guy. Casual sex with nearly anyone (and any gender) who will have him, drinking too much in unfamiliar bars, gambling with unsavory characters, all of those things are plenty familiar to him, par for the course, really. Life is a game of chance, a series of thrill rides, and Dean is more than willing to roll the dice on various risks to get to the rewards. But while he’s a risk-taker, a gambler, a man who, in general, is not afraid of much, he’s also not stupid. As such, why he does what he chooses to do next, is beyond even Dean’s own comprehension.  “I’ve got a room,” he says impulsively, rushed, just blurting it out like this is a normal thing to say to a complete stranger. “Right there.” He points at the Sheraton, its soaring frame towering over them from less than a quarter of a mile away. “It’s warm, there’s food… alcohol, warm shower. C’mon man, what do you say?”  The man narrows his eyes and backs up a step, out of Dean’s reach. “I am not a prostitute,” he says coldly, tone as frigid as the air. Horrified, Dean recoils immediately. “Oh—God, no. You thought…? No, Jesus, man. Listen, first of all, I got a strict rule to never pay for it and—okay, do you think you could at least get out of the water before we continue this conversation? I feel like I’m watching you freeze to death in front of me.”  The man looks down at his feet in surprise, as if he’s forgotten they were there, forgotten that he’s standing in water that’s only still liquid because it’s being agitated and moved through pipes that are probably heated just below the ground, warmed up just enough to keep the water from turning to ice. “Oh,” is all he says, casting a regretful look over his shoulder at the deepest part of the fountain. “Dude,” Dean continues, starting to become exasperated, but also not willing to become an accessory to suicide, which if the guy doesn’t get warm soon, is exactly what this is going to turn into. “Get out. I’ll give you money, seriously. It’s no trouble. If you don’t wanna hang out with me, that’s cool, I get it. Let me help you out, no one fucking deserves this. For fuck’s sake, you’re a person and this is dehumanizing, never mind that it looks painful as hell.”  Something in that word-vomit mess must include the magic words, because Fountain-guy sighs reluctantly and shuffles back toward the edge of the pool. “It is,” the man agrees, raising one naked leg to step up and out of the water, but slipping and nearly toppling into the fountain wholesale as he tries to bear the weight needed to pull himself up.  “Shit,” Dean curses, darting forward to catch him as he falls, wrapping arms around the guy’s waist and dragging him the rest of the way out of the water, onto equally freezing cold cement. “Alright,” he says. “You’re alright.” Without thinking too much about it, Dean settles the man on the steps before pulling off his own jacket, a heavy peacoat that his brother Sam gave him for Christmas a few years ago. He kneels down, cold from the stone soaking through the knees of his expensive suit almost immediately, though Dean ignores that in favor of focusing on wrapping the body-warmed jacket around the guy’s feet. “Get your hands inside your sleeves if you can,” Dean instructs gruffly. When the man’s feet are bundled together, Dean looks up to see the guy struggling—he can’t move his fingers at all anymore. With another muffled curse, Dean tugs the guy’s sleeves down and folds each of his stiff, freezing cold hands into the opposite sleeve. “Just…” Dean looks around, suddenly freezing himself, now that his coat is otherwise occupied, and he wasn’t exactly warm to begin with. He scratches the back of his head in frustration. “Man, I’m not gonna hurt you. Will you please come with me, let me help? You look like you could use a break, buddy. I’m trying to give you a break, nothing else.”  From his kneeling perch down on the frozen stone, Dean sits back on his heels to look up into the man’s curious blue eyes imploringly. To his surprise, the man nods. “Alright,” he agrees, still skeptical, still reluctant, but the tightness in Dean’s chest loosens with relief.  “Alright,” Dean echoes, retrieving the man’s socks and shoes before peeling back his jacket-blanket to shove them back on as quickly as possible. He can’t help but notice what poor quality they are—that kind of footwear probably wasn’t doing much to keep him warm prior to the dip in the fountain, and it’s not going to do much to warm him up now. But sitting out here in the cold isn’t going to help him or Dean, either, so Dean’s just going to have to work with what they have. He pauses before continuing, remembering the man’s reaction to him touching the money before. “I’m just going to put your coins in your backpack, okay? Is that alright?” Dean looks the man in the eye and waits for permission before proceeding. “Thank you,” the man says cautiously, watching like a hawk as Dean unzips the bigger pocket and stuffs the pilfered change bag in next to some more ratty clothing. When Dean slings the bag over his own shoulder, though, the man’s eyes narrow and Dean sighs. “You can’t carry it,” he explains patiently. “I think we’re gonna be lucky if your ass can walk.”  Thankfully, (or Dean would have had to call an ambulance) the man is able to shuffle down the stone walkway, slowly, still struggling to put one foot in front of the other, even with Dean’s help. By the time they reach the gold-plated revolving doors of the Sheraton, the guy is outright limping while leaning heavily on Dean and Dean’s own teeth are chattering from the merciless wind slicing through his tailored suit jacket and cotton button-down.  The two of them draw their fair share of strange looks as they hobble across the lobby, from patrons and staff alike, but Dean is quick to wave off the concerned concierge when she approaches. He insists they’re fine, only to call her back a second later and ask for various items from room service, only wondering in retrospect why he’s so invested in helping this guy. He could dump him in one of the cushy chairs decorating the lobby; have the front desk call an ambulance, let someone else worry about him.  But something about the guy draws Dean in, makes him curious how someone gets that desperate, to be risking life and limb for a few dollars. And, if he’s being honest, he feels involved now. If he dumps the guy off and he heads right back to the fountain because he’s got nowhere else to go, won’t that sort of be on Dean’s head too? People don’t fall this far without a lot of other people being willing to look the other way as they go down, Dean knows that much.  It’s not something Dean likes to dwell on these days, but he grew up poor—the kind of poor that makes a box of mac and cheese mixed with water look gourmet. The kind of poor where you don’t even know that hot water is something most kids have in their houses and don’t just access at the local YMCA or during a stay at a better-than-average (for you) motel. The kind of poor that, despite the zeroes in Dean’s bank account these days, has him stashing the leftovers from the paid-for corporate lunch in his briefcase, just in case. Hunger. Cold. Fear of what tomorrow may bring—as reluctant as he may be to remember, Dean gets it, sees all of it in the resigned sadness of Blue-Eyes’ expression, in the defeated curve of the frown marring his otherwise very attractive face.  Dean blinks, turning his attention back to the concierge, who’s still waiting to take his requests. A heating pad, a first aid kid (because who knows what else this dude has been through), whatever the chef would recommend through room service, “go crazy, just make sure there’s a variety to choose from.” Since Dean’s been here over a week, the concierge must recognize him, verifying his room number before flouncing off to oblige without further intrusive questions. Dean makes a mental note to tip them well when he checks out.  As they wait for the elevator, the man eases off from where he’s been leaning heavily on Dean’s shoulder, sparing him a small smile and a muttered, “thank you,” when Dean reaches out again to ensure that he’s steady. He doesn’t speak again until they’re both shuffled into the elevator, the man leaning against the mirrored wall, turning his head up to the duct blowing warm air with obvious relief. As the door dings closed and Dean pushes the button for the top floor, he speaks. “I’m Cas,” he says softly. “And there’s a winter storm warning for tonight.”  “Hmm?” Dean looks up from where he’s been pulling off his gloves, stuffing them into his pants pocket when he realizes his peacoat is still slung over his arm, wet and dirty from Cas’ feet. “Oh, uh, nice to officially meet you, Cas,” he replies, slightly awkward. He clears his throat and gestures around the elevator. “So you thought a day with a winter storm warning on the horizon was a good time to take a dip in an outdoor pool?” Even Dean has to wince at his own weak attempt at humor, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. He’s almost afraid to look at Cas’ reaction, but when he opens one eye, he finds the man staring back, amused. He is cute, Dean thinks reflexively, internally slapping himself for going there but unable to completely disregard the way the man’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s trying not to smile. As Dean watches, Cas brings his hands to his mouth and blows on them, rubbing one palm against the other with much-improved dexterity that makes Dean feel nothing but relief. The digits on his hands are still bright red and look very cold, but at least he’s able to move them. “No,” he says slowly, like Dean might be the idiot here, and hell, that’s possible. The corner of his lip quirks up. “Do you have any idea what it’s like on the streets of Chicago when there’s four feet of snow on the ground and four more to come? Risking hypothermia from the water would have been worth it to have a warm place to stay tonight and perhaps tomorrow. The shelters are overflowing, there is nowhere for a homeless man to go tonight. Trust that I would have been hypothermic and in danger no matter what I did.”  Dean can’t help it, he gapes a little. Those are the most words Cas has said since they met, though to be fair, a lot of their time together has been spent spent trying to get in out of the cold as quickly as possible. “Oh,” he replies lamely, feeling ashamed for thinking—even for a second—that Cas might have been stupid or that his situation wasn’t as dire as it clearly is.  The elevator dings their arrival and they make their way to Dean’s room, Cas still moving slow and stiff, his expression pinched whenever he has to put weight on his left foot. “Cas,” Dean ventures, not wanting to overstep but genuinely concerned about the guy. “Are you sure you don’t think a hospital might be—” “No,” Cas replies sharply, leaning against the hallway wall and shaking his head vehemently. “I can’t afford it nor do I care for the way the ER staff look at me when they find out I’m without a home.” The thick carpet and soft lighting mute what would otherwise have been quite a loud declaration, and Cas seems a little put out by that. He glares at Dean as if in challenge, but Dean just puts up his hands. “Your call.”  When they arrive at Dean’s door, both of them pause at the same time, catching each other’s eyes as if to say, well now what?  “Dean,” Cas starts, hesitating. “What exactly are we doing here? What—” he swallows. “What is it that you’re offering me?”  If it takes Dean a few extra moments to reply, a lingering several seconds of observing Cas’ face, so surprisingly open and hopeful, so sue him. “I don’t know yet,” he answers carefully and Cas almost looks concerned by that so he’s quick to add, “No expectations. I just… I thought maybe we could figure out what you need. A night in a warm room, some good food, some awesome company—if I do say so myself.” Dean winks and Cas cracks a smile, a real one that lights up his whole face. “Awesome,” Dean repeats, not entirely sure what he’s saying anymore and once again having to shake himself back to the present. “One thing at a time. Let’s make sure you aren’t gonna lose any fingers and toes, and we’ll go from there. Make it up as we go.”  When Dean slips his card into the reader, steps inside and holds the door open for Cas, the man is still smiling as he accepts Dean’s invitation and crosses the threshold. The door closes with a soft thud behind them.

***

I don’t have a taglist except for @ltleflrt, who maybe doesn’t even want to be tagged anymore 😂 , so if you’d liked to be tagged when if i post ficlets, please just comment and say so. :) this is not x-posted to AO3.

Also if you have a ficlet prompt you’d like me to write, please send it! My anons are on if you want to send that way, too.

[nevervalentines]

If u did the dare me kind it will make me very happy, i love your writing and i love them sooo

a teeny tiny snippet of a dare me wip, half gallon of milk and all 

Addy sees her again for the first time in six years in the aisle of the grocery store.

Beth is cradling a half-gallon jug of milk under one arm, hip propping open a glass freezer door.

This is a fantasy Addy has toyed with for so long. She has played her thoughts over its potential again and again until it felt nearly like a memory. For the vivid colors of everything she had imagined, the moment it actually happens is ghostly, translucent. She can feel the instant passing even as it unspools out in front of her.  

It’s a twilight zone. Addy’s carefully spun fictions splitting and streaming around the reality.

They don’t meet again on the mats, or in the dim lighting of a party, or rain soaked on her front stoop, but here – at the lip of aisle 7, Beth juggling a plastic jug while she considers endless stacks of Styrofoam egg cartons.

Beth still doesn’t see her. Her lips are moving, like she’s reading the packaging to herself, silently. She looks older. Her cheeks fuller, her hair lighter, the way it gets when she’s spent a whole summer in the sun.

Baggy sweatpants sit low on her hips, her crewneck pullover a dreamy blue. She isn’t wearing makeup and it feels like a novelty to see her here, like this, face bare. Beautiful. Addy can see the creases at the corner of her smile. If she didn’t know better, she would mistake them for laugh lines.

Addy is frozen beside a wire rack of chips. Tinkling muzak pipes through the speakers, filtering down through watery, fluorescent lighting.

Beth deliberates. Decides. Withdraws a dozen eggs in a cardboard carton. As she moves, her sleeve slips up her arm, revealing an expanse of her pale, narrow wrist.

At the sight of it, of her skin, an intimate battleground she used to know better than anything, Addy takes a reflexive step back. The beginning of a retreat. Her leg jars the shelving, just barely, but the hollow metallic echo is enough to draw Beth’s attention.

Beth looks up, eyes fixing on Addy. There is a beat of silence. Addy can tell the exact moment Beth sees her, really sees her. Her face flickers through a sickening slideshow, like a stream of light ghosting from the mouth of a projector.

First, surprise. Her fairytale lips fall into a perfect ‘o.’ Her knuckles whiten around the handle of the milk jug.

Next, hurt. Just a breath of it, enough that if Addy hadn’t spent years studying this landscape, she would miss it.

Then, worst of all, interest. Keen. Familiar.

Beth smiles.

She takes a step forward. The freezer door swings shut.

“Addy Hanlon. Of all the gin joints –” She shifts the weight of the milk to her hip, the eggs tucked under one arm. One hand stretches out. Addy realizes, belatedly, it’s meant for her to take.

“Beth,” Addy says. Then. “What are you doing here?”

Beth withdraws her hand, and her mouth twists. “Same as you, I would assume.” She shrugs. “Late night grocery run. Is that a problem?”

Addy is embarrassed to find herself already stumbling. Six years. A lifetime for a 23-year-old. And in thirty seconds, Beth Cassidy already has her on her back foot.

She feels at once completely and utterly 17. She can’t remember what to do with her hands.

“No, of course not. I was just –” she trails off, searching, “Surprised.”  

“Same small town,” Beth says. She shrugs. “We always used to come here. Only a matter of time, I guess.”

Addy almost loses the train of conversation, too busy trying to re-remember the shape of Beth’s collarbones. A hint of them peaks above the scoop of her collar.

Flatly, she says, “I guess.” Too busy with: the ridge of her knuckles, the arch of her brow, her weight shifting from foot to foot, like the milk is getting heavy.

“It’s been—” Addy starts.

Beth cuts her off. “Yeah.”

The sight of Beth haloed by linoleum and fluorescence smash-cuts Addy back to high school. Beth driving them to the townie grocery store on the edge town, jeep tires spraying gravel in the parking lot, a little stoned. They would raid the aisles for Little Debbie snacks and pork rinds to spit back up later. Would buy Smirnoff Ice at the register with the clerk who never carded if they flashed cleavage and big smiles.

Beth, then, tilting her head at Addy at the mouth of the dairy aisle, smiling her just-for-Addy-smile.

Beth, now, waving a hand in front of her face.  

“Hanlon? Anybody home?”

Addy jars back to present, finds her palms clammy. “Sorry?”

A little amused now, eggs swapped to the other hand. “I just asked if you were back all summer?”

“Just for July,” Addy says. “Trying to keep Faith happy.” She looks around, like she’s seeing the store for the first time. “It’s my first time home in months.”

It feels so pedestrian to talk like this. A casual catch-up conversation, like you would with anyone you fell out of touch with after high school. Something about it feels dirty, almost taboo.

“How about you?”

“Same,” Beth says. She turns now, starts to walk. Without thinking, Addy follows, falling into step a pace behind. “I have a month before my masters program starts up, then it’s back to school.”

Reflexively, Addy reaches out to take the half gallon jug of milk from Beth’s arms, just to relieve her of the weight. Beth’s eyes flash wide, but she says nothing. This close, Addy can smell a hint of her perfume. Like she didn’t wash yesterday’s floral blush from her pulse points, from the side of her neck.

They steer toward the register, already in step.

“Grad school. Wow. Congrats, Beth.”

Addy finds she means it. Beth flashes her a smile, a little shy, cheeks dimpling. “Thanks. I heard you weren’t doing too bad yourself.”

“Who said?” Addy has been careful not to ask after Beth, and only comes back to Sutton Grove when its necessary, too scared to peel back the scab of old wounds.

That sly Beth grin, eyes shifting. “I have my sources.”

Steps echo off the tile floor as they dodge through the aisles. Just past 10 p.m., the grocery is all but empty, humid night air crowding the floor-to-ceiling windows of the storefront, reflections warped and watery in the glass.

They play at small talk, the rhythm of it unreal in the ghost town of empty aisles.

Only the sign above register three is lit, the decal peeling off the plastic, yellow light flickering. A lone employee stands at the till, flicking through his phone, blue light throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief.

Beth rests the eggs on the conveyor belt and Addy crowds in behind her to set the milk next to it. Their hips bump. Beth smells exactly the same. It’s such a mind-fuck that the simple, incidental press of warm hip on warm hip is enough to send her reeling.

Addy is suddenly certain she is going to die in a fucking Save-A-Lot outlet on the edge of town.

White teeth digging into a full bottom lip, Beth looks up at her through her lashes. Addy burrows her hands deep in the pocket of her hoodie, nods toward the register.

“You gonna pay?”

A hum. Beth produces a wrinkled bill from the waistband of her sweatpants. A pale flash of skin, the divot of her navel. “Always in a hurry.”

When she turns to the lone employee, Addy thinks she catches her wink.  

Addy trails her to the parking lot, to an unfamiliar car. Beth pops the trunk, old-fashioned style, key-in-lock, and dumps the lone plastic bag into it.

With their mission completed, silence falls over them. They turn to one another under the pooled light of the lot’s sole floodlight. They shuffle their feet in the gravel. Beth seems so small like this. Her sleeve falls over her fingertips, and she pushes it back absently with one hand.

Addy looks hard at her forearm, stops herself from reaching out to touch.

She has a terrible idea and speaks before she can stop herself.

“So Riri is throwing a party. Kind of a reunion?” Addy’s voice tilts up into a question. They don’t need to mention that this used to be the kind of thing Beth would never need an invite to, let alone need to be told about it. “Nothing crazy, just drinking wine and talking about,” Addy flaps a hand, “the good old days.”

The cliché feels stale on her tongue and she immediately regrets it.

Beth looks at her evenly, silent.

Addy shrugs, fixes her gaze on the edge of the lot, where the shadows around the dumpster are deep, scrubby grass poking through asphalt.

“You could come, if you wanted.” She makes the mistake of looking back into Beth’s cold eyes. “It could be like old times.”

“Wine, huh?” Beth’s voice is pitched, low, grating into the air between them. “That’s a change from trying to shotgun a watermelon Four Loko in the 7/11 parking lot at 1 a.m.”

Addy laughs before she can stop herself, remembering the night. “I think that’s the closest I’ve ever come to dying,” she says. A lie. “I think I saw God that night.” Possibly true. She can remember the world turning topsy-turvy, street lights glinting like stars against a murky, smog filled sky.

“Oh yeah?” Beth is smiling now, too. “What did she look like?”

Addy crinkles her nose. “A little like you actually.”

Beth snakes out a hand – that pale, pale wrist flashing in the dark – and sneaks Addy’s phone out of her pocket. She adds a contact, lightning fast, extends the phone. Addy takes it, heart stuttering, fluttering.

“Text me when. I’ll be there.”

Beth climbs into her car without looking back. Pauses to fix her hair in the rearview mirror before she starts the ignition.

Addy watches Beth peel out of the lot, driving fast, rear lights flaring like the embers of a cigarette on an inhale.

She plunges her hand into her pocket for her keys and hears a rustle. Pulling out a paper, she looks down at her grocery list. She didn’t buy a goddamn thing.

[weartirondad]

Chaos, Yet Harmony

Summary: 3 times Peter made Tony watch Star Wars and the 1 time it was Tony's idea.Or: Peter Parker is unapologetically a geek and Tony quickly realizes that there's nothing he wouldn't do for him.

A/N: this is part of the @irondadsecretsanta and is my gift for @aslanscompass. It was a ton of fun & I wish you all a wonderful Christmas <3

Check out all the other AMAZING fics HERE !

FF.net I ao3

--

i.

Tony was wary when he answered the call at 10 past eleven at night.

He had learned early on that late night calls from teenage vigilantes were never a good sign and that, really, a call at any time from a teenager was a rarity and should always raise a red flag. So, yeah, he was wary but he felt like he was entitled to.

Next to him his fiancée was curled around the dark green plush blanket like a cat and regarded him, staring at the lit up screen of his phone, in amusement. “Don’t yell too much.”

He rolled his eyes and accepted the call, “No promises.”

“Mr. Stark?” came the breathless voice of none other than Peter Parker through the speakers and already he could feel his blood pressure rise and tried to breathe out deliberately slowly.

Calm, Stark, you’re calm.

“The one and only,” he answered and was almost proud of how calm and collected he sounded. Oh how deceiving voices could be.

“Oh!” The kid sounded actually surprised and paused for a second in which Tony could only hear the telling thwip thwip thwip of hectic webbing.

Not the best sign but he was calm. So very calm.

He was also already on the way to the nearest window, two steps from calling a suit. Pepper behind him was now openly laughing but he didn’t look back because –

“Great! I might need a little help here. Something.” Thwip. “Something came up.” Thwip. “Sorta.”

“Sorta?” Calm.

“I mean.” Thwip. “It definitely came up. Yup.” Thwip. “Definitely. How far are you from Queens?” Thwip.

“Three minutes,” he sighed, giving up on the act of sounding completely aloof, half waving to Pepper before turning around, stepping into his suit and jumping out of the window. There went the nice, cozy night he had planned.

“Kid? You still there?”

There was a long moment of no rambling and no thwiping and it was unsettling. If Tony knew that getting late night calls was a bad sign, he was sure as heck that random pauses in late night calls where close to the calling of the apocalypse.

“Huh? Yeah. Just, uh.” Thwip. “Try’na avoid getting hit.”

Jesus.

If anyone was going to test his body’s ability to handle stress it wasn’t his own superhero gig or some spandex wearing traitor, it was a goody-two-shoes kid dressed up as a spider.

“Okay, great. You keep doing that and tell me what’s going on.”

Just keep talking, kid, tell me you’re alive.

Peter started talking and while he sounded a little too excited for his taste he let the familiar sound calm him down. As long as Peter was talking, Tony could convince himself that he didn’t have to panic just yet.

He could already see Spider-Man flipping towards another building when a message from Pepper blinked up on his HUD.

Get home safe. Both of you. I’m heading to bed. Love you.

..

“That was wild, Mr. Stark! Like, super wild. Super mega wild. Super-duper mega –“

“Wild?” Tony suggested in mock seriousness, setting down on the landing pad and watched Spider-Man land gracefully behind him. The second the kid had solid ground under his feet he ripped off his mask and took in a big gulp of air. His hair was mussed, cheeks red and his usually light brown eyes dark, pupils dilated so much not much of the iris was left to be seen.

Typical signs of an active sympathetic nervous system, his mind supplied unsolicited.

“Steady,” he ordered roughly when a bony shoulder bumped into his arm but there was no real force behind it when he reached out to wrap an arm around him to do the steadying himself. As soon as he had him under control he led them to the kitchen to get one of the nutrition bars he had started keeping in stock for Peter’s mutant metabolism.

“S’rry.” The kid grinned up at him sheepishly, rubbing at the mess of curls on his forehead in a poor attempt to tame them. “What’re we gonna do now?”

He raised an eyebrow in silent amusement. “It’s midnight, buddy. You should probably get to bed sometime soon if you wanna make first period.”

“But –“ Peter looked disoriented for a moment, eyes flying back and forth between the clock and Tony felt for him when his searching gaze fell on him. He looked so hopeful, as if he was lost and Tony his compass and he was so certain that he would lead him back home. The genuine trust in his eyes pierced through him and immediately he felt lacking. Thank goodness that deflection was his second nature.

Shoving two granola bars into Peter’s hand, he took a step back to give himself some space to reorient.

“You’re too excited to sleep?”

There was a vigorous nod that had crumbs falling everywhere.

“Figures,” he sighed, “The aftereffects of adrenaline are never fun.” He watched the teenager devour the second bar in mere seconds, mind whirling with doubt. “Do you want me to stay with you until you are tired enough to go to bed?”

Wide eyes found his and, mouth still full, Peter gave a timid nod, uncertain question marks clear in the twinkle of his eyes and the way he cocked his head to the side slightly.

“Okay, let’s make some tea and put on a movie. What do you wanna watch? Frozen?” He turned around to start rummaging through the kitchen for herbal tea.

That must’ve been enough for Peter to finally swallow his food and get his bearings. “How do you even know about Frozen, Mr. Stark? Are you a fan?” he quipped.

He half-turned, kettle in hand, grinning when Peter plopped down on the couch and immediately tucked himself into the blanket Pepper had neatly folded and stashed on the arm rest before she had gone to sleep. “Have you been outside last year? Show me someone who doesn’t know about Frozen.”

“Fair point,” Peter agreed easily, mind obviously already a step further. “What’s your favorite Star Wars?”

“Uh,” Tony put the kettle on the stove, “I have seen about as many Star Wars movies as I’ve seen Frozen movies.”

“You –“ The way Peter turned must put a painful strain on his neck but he looked too scandalized to notice. “What?”

The kettle whistled and he put in two bags of Pepper’s herbal tea before replying, “I have never watched Star Wars.”

“Oh my –“ For the second time that evening Peter looked utterly confused which, for a kid that smart, was especially amusing. “What rock have you been living under? I thought everyone knew Star Wars. Especially old people.”

“Hey!” He admonished but had to admit that it lost much of its brunt when he put down two steaming glasses of tea and started tugging at the blanket to cover Peter’s foot fully. “Be nice to me.”

“I’m being super nice, Mr. Stark. ‘Cause I’m gonna introduce you to a galaxy far, far away. The best galaxy.”

Tony watched in amusement as Peter ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y. to put on Episode IV and then looked eagerly back at him. “You’re gonna love it.”

“This is supposed to make you tired, squirt,” he reminded him, tapping his knee gently.

“It will,” he promised, “Star Wars always calms me down.”

The way he said it made Tony pause, made his heart ache with the harsh reality this kid had had to face and how bright he still was despite of it. Instead of an answer he pushed the glass of tea into his hands and made sure he was all tucked in before starting the movie.

Surprisingly enough Peter wasn’t lying. Halfway through the movie his breathing had evened out so much that Tony thought he was already asleep, cheek mushed into one of the big pillows, curled in on himself.

When the movie was over he stirred, slurring “G’nna watch the rest t’morrow?”

“Maybe let’s split it up a little, whataya say?” He reached out to brush some of his curls from his forehead, surprised by the gentleness of the gesture. “But we can watch them together if you want to.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise, kiddo.”

--

ii.

With Peter it wasn’t exactly hard to notice when something was off.

Even Tony, who admittedly was often too caught up in his own world to be fine-tuned into other people’s feelings and was much more comfortable fixing a cranky robot than moody human, could see it from a mile away. Or maybe that was a new kind of sense that began and ended with Peter Parker’s wellbeing. Oh well, he tried not to dwell on that.

The thing about Peter was that, when he was fine, his entire being radiated contentment, his voice tripped with excitement and his eyes shone with laughter. On a good day he was the picture perfect golden retriever puppy and similarly receptive to hugs and hair ruffles.

Today, though, his usual exuberance had visibly deflated and when he came to the workshop he punched in his code and then continued to scuff towards his workstation with only a passing hello. That was not the Peter Tony knew and, frankly, it was worrying to see someone normally so eager and lively so … lacking of life for lack of a better word.

The thing about Tony was that he was, by his own standing, probably the least equipped to deal with someone having a bad day. Heck, his own bad days usually ended in working through every meal, chugging coffee by the gallon and seeing no sun light for hours on end and even he knew that wasn’t healthy.

So he kept quiet at first and let Peter work in hopes of it calming him down because what did he know about healthily dealing with teenage angst on a Wednesday?

He kept a close eye on him, though, because for how much Tony didn’t think he was equipped to handle Peter’s bad days he also wanted to chase the shadows from his face and the hardness from his stance however cliché that sounded.

He wanted to help, he did. He just didn’t know how. So he watched from afar and contemplated.

When Peter dropped the screw driver a third time and was getting more and more agitated with the web shooter he was working on, Tony decided to stage an intervention ‘cause what the heck. He hated seeing the kid so down.

Rolling his chair over to the teenager’s work bench he picked up the tool before Peter could. “You wanna tell me what’s up, squirt?”

Peter glared, which was about as intimidating as a golden retriever puppy glaring, “Nothing,” and reached for the screw driver. Which Tony pulled out of reach at the last moment.  Which made him look even more like a puppy. It was all in the big brown eyes, he decided then.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I have a secret identity.”

“Which I found out about in like a day.” He leaned back with a grin and started throwing the screwdriver in the air and effortlessly catching it.

“You’re Tony Stark,” the kid gave back with an eye roll, catching the tool before Tony had the chance to. “But I’m fine, honestly.”

“I mean,” he crossed his arms and watched him turn back to his web shooter rather listlessly, “considering that you not being fine usually means you’re bleeding out in an alleyway I’m not entirely reassured.”

“I’ve never bled out in an alleyway.”

“Yeah, because I flew in to get you before you could.”

“Why do you even care?” Peter snapped at him, a flicker of teenage annoyance dancing in his eyes before vanishing in the time it took Tony to ponder the fact that even this seemingly perfect kid could be annoyed. Finally. “Sorry,” he sighed, proving yet again how much better he was than literally anyone else, “I’m just annoyed.”

If that wasn’t a break-through, than he didn’t know what was. Silently patting himself on the back, Tony reached out to turn Peter’s chair so he was facing him and gently took the screw driver from his hands, putting him down on the work bench before giving the kid his full intention.

“What are you annoyed about?”

He shrugged indifferently, not meeting his eyes, “I don’t know. I just... Ned and I got into an argument and he was being so… so stubborn about it. Like, it wasn’t even that bad but he just wouldn’t budge.”

“Oh no, a stubborn teenager. Someone call the zoo we’ve found an endangered species,” he deadpanned.

Peter glared again but Tony could also see him bite down on his lower lip to keep it from curling upwards.

“Sorry, sorry. What did you and Ned fight about?”

“It wasn’t a fight… not really,” he corrected, “And it was dumb. Like, really ridiculous to be so annoyed about it. It’s not… it’s just stupid.”

Cocking his head to the side ever so slightly he raised an eyebrow and repeated calmly, “What did you argue about? I mean, if you don’t wanna talk about it that’s fine but if it’s got you so up in arms about it maybe you should is all I’m saying.”

“You’re gonna think it’s stupid,” Peter pouted.

“Maybe,” Tony shrugged, “But it’s still okay to be angry about something stupid sometimes. You don’t wanna know about half the things Rhodey and I fought about back in the days. Still do, actually.”

“Now I kinda do,” Peter grinned, then paused. “We argued about the Jedi code.”

“You… argued about the Jedi code,” Tony repeated dumbly, “Like… The Star Wars guys running around in wardrobes? They have a code?”

Big brown eyes flew up to meet his, full of indignation “Of course they have a code! There’s actually a couple different versions of it which is what we were arguing about because he said –,“ Peter stopped speaking midsentence, mouth slamming shut audibly. “It doesn’t matter… You don’t… you don’t have to listen to this, honestly, Mr. Stark.”

He made sure to school his expression and started speaking deliberately slowly, “Peter. I know I don’t have to listen to this. And, as you’ve pointed out before I am Tony Stark and you know I rarely do anything I don’t want to but, kid, you gotta know at this point that I like having you around and I like talking to you. That doesn’t just hold true when you’re your usual bubbly self but also, and especially when you’re not. This is clearly important to you. And if it’s important to you, I’m interested.”

He waited until Peter gave him a nod of understanding, timid as it may be, and leaned back in his chair again, “So tell me about this discourse in the Star Wars fandom.”

The kid didn’t have to be told twice and Tony felt his soul settle when he watched him perk up and dive into what must’ve obviously been weighing him down.

“Okay, so the Jedi code most commonly used goes like: There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge etcetera which, you know, it’s mostly meant to be used as a mantra for meditation to, like, get to a place where you don’t let your emotions overtake you and stuff. And I get that, I do.”

When Tony gave an earnest nod to show he was listening, Peter continued. “But it wasn’t always like that. It used to be: Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge, and so on. And I like that one better because it acknowledges the fact that Jedi do have emotions like everyone else, too, right? I think that’s important! And this whole black-and-white view of ‘There’s no emotion whatsoever’ makes me so mad!”

He was gesticulating wildly, cheeks reddening with fervor as he spoke.

“Putting aside how hypocritical the whole thing sounds, you can’t make people think that having emotions will put them on a direct path to the Dark side when so much of the goodness of the Good side comes from how much they care. It’s all about controlling those emotions enough to not make bad decisions based on them but – Why can’t there be peace with emotion? By giving their Padawans the feeling that they’re in the wrong for being… well, for being people they just make it so much easier for them to fall to the Dark side!”

“It just – it makes me mad how black-and-white they want to make the world seem. And by doing that they start lying to themselves and to their students and what good does a code do when it’s impossible to hold yourself to it? You can’t just go around telling people there’s no Death but the Force when that is, objectively, a lie. Whereas Death, yet the Force acknowledges that people die but gives you the closure of knowing where you’ll find them again and the belief that they’re still with you, somehow. I think … I think that’s beautiful.” Once he was done he slumped together on his chair.

“Feeling better now?” Tony asked, reaching out to pat the top of his head.

“Yeah, a little,” he sighed, “I’m annoyed that we even argued about it but I also don’t like how he wouldn’t even listen to my point of view, ya know?”

“Well, did you listen to his side?”

“I mean,” Peter blinked up at him sheepishly, “Kinda?” The corners of his lips tugged upwards and he gave a shrug, “Maybe not as much as I should have,” he admitted with a sigh. They fell silent for a moment, Tony giving Peter the time to work through the wall his mind had built up.

“Guess I’m gonna text him an apology for not listening and that it’s okay that we have different opinions.”

“Atta boy!” Tony grinned at him and while he knew none of Peter’s maturity was his doing, his heart still swelled with pride of how good Peter was.

“Can we watch Star Wars now?”

“You got your homework done?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“Hungry?”

He laughed, exasperated, “Nothing some popcorn couldn’t fix.”

Tony smiled, then sobered and gave him a once over. “You okay?”

Peter nodded, a lone strand of curl bobbing back and forth, smile soft and true. “Yeah.”

Well, that settled it. He clapped his hands once and got up from his chair in a swift motion. “Then let’s watch... What comes after Episode six?”

“Episode one!” Peter jumped up, grabbing his wrist like a child pulling their parent towards a candy store, “You’ll finally meet Anakin. And honestly that’s exactly my point! Maybe if they hadn’t told him that all emotion is bad –“

He let himself be dragged upstairs and listened to him rambling over the Jedi code and he realized, in that instant, that he was truly, irrevocably happy.

--

iii.

“I cannot believe I let you put me into this,” he complained, his voice breathy and rough.

Peter pulled on his white robe and fastened his light saber in its holder for the umpteenth time. “To be fair, you were the one who wanted a mask. I wanted you to go as Obi Wan.”

“He is blond, Peter,” he shot back like he had the last hundred times they’d had this conversation. He looked around through the dark lenses of his mask, the HUD he had installed blinking up to scour the crowd for possible threads, and sighed, “I miss the days where I was oblivious to Star Wars and didn’t have an annoying teenager dragging me to these things.”

“No, you don’t.”

He was glad the mask hid his smile at the easy banter. It was bad enough Peter knew exactly how wrapped around his little finger he was, he didn’t have to show it time and time again.

“Okay, I don’t. But you still owe me one.”

“But Mr. Sta-a-ark,” he said, dragging his last name for at least two more syllables than it had and looking as pitiful as if he’d actually just lost his hand, “I’m already being punished enough. We’re going to MOMA next semester.”

Despite himself, Tony could feel the fondness shine through as he chuckled, “Excuse me, are you actually voicing dislike in something? Are you actually my Peter Parker or have you officially become a rebel now?”

The kid giggled, honest to god giggled, and shrugged, “Guess there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Mr. Stark. I do dislike things!”

“Really? Name three.” He raised an unimpressed eyebrow, leveling Peter with a glare before realizing that the gesture was completely lost in his costume. Not even the tone translated. He really needed to figure something out for that next time. He couldn’t have his natural charm get lost in the Dark side.

The thought made him stop dead in his tracks – thankfully still unseen by the Jedi next to him. Next time? He hated this costume with a passion why would he consider wearing it again?

Unbeknownst to the inner whirlwind that were his thoughts, Peter actually answered his question after floundering for a bit.

“Well, I don’t like bad people. And hurricanes. And MOMA. Even though, MOMA really never did anything to me, I’d just rather go somewhere else y’know. I mean, it’ll probably be kinda nice anyway? So yeah, maybe I don’t not like MOMA. But – I still don’t like, uh, racists?”

Ah, yeah, that was why he was actually thinking about a next time in this ridiculous outfit. Because of Peter freaking Parker.

“Those are all very good things to dislike, Mr. Parker, but I was actually hoping that all people with a little decency and common sense disliked those things,” he teased. “Just admit that you do not have a single mean bone in your body and that it’s physically impossible for you to dislike anything.”

“That’s not –“

“I love your cosplay, man!” some guy in a badly made Yoda costume whose ears were precariously close to falling off the side of his head and were only held in place by a few strands of grey fuzz interrupted him and the disturbance would have annoyed Tony had Peter’s face not started positively lighting up at the compliment.

“Thank you!” he replied easily with a face splitting grin, “I love yours, too. What’d you use to make the ears?”

“Just papier-mâché”, Yoda replied, obviously taken aback by the interest in his own costume by someone with an obviously home-made light saber. He seemed excited, though, and started rambling about something until he let his eyes wander to the side and took in Tony’s appearance for the first time.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, yes, gasped, and gaped at him like a fish pulled out of water, “That is the best father and son costume ever! Can I take a picture of the two of you?”

And before Tony could so much as utter a word, Peter had already nodded his consent and leaned against him with a huge grin on his face and the other kid was fumbling for his phone and started snapping pictures of them. And then a selfie, because of course.

“Is this real life?” he breathed out almost silently.

“It might just be fantasy,” his sassy AI replied instantly, earning him another gasp and round of big, wide eyes from Yoda.

“Did your mask just reply to you? And did the eyes light up? How did you do that?”

“It’s just a, uh,” very high-tech AI system that was talking back to him, “it’s like Google glasses.” He cringed internally and could feel more than see Peter snicker against his side.

“Oh, like the ones Tony Stark always wears?”

By now Peter was having to work so hard on holding back his laughter that he had gone almost rigid, grinning from ear to ear and happily answering for him. “Yes, yes, Tony Stark is totally wearing Google glasses.”

“Ah, well, I think yours are cooler anyway. I mean you’d never find Tony Stark at the Star Wars midnight premiere.”

Oh, don’t I wish, he thought, ruefully imagining how comfortable he could be on his own couch right now.

Peter, though, Peter was loving this which made him reconsider his earlier statement about the mean bones in his body.  

“Yeah, you’re way cooler than Tony Stark. Right, dad?”

Oh for goodness sake. That sassy dad should not do the things to his heart that it was currently doing. That could not be healthy.

“Sure,” he cleared his throat to get rid of the pesky emotions in there, “I mean, Tony Stark is a pretty cool guy but, uh, yeah, so much cooler.”

And, as if someone had heard his prayers, the doors to the movie theater were opened and a reverent murmur went through the crowd before people – droids and aliens, Jedi and Sith alike – started wandering in and taking their places and finally, finally the thing they were actually here to see could begin.

Tony would complain about that day to anyone who would listen (and to some, like Pepper, who wouldn’t) but when Peter sent him one of the pictures the Yoda guy had taken, he framed it and put it up next to the picture of him and Rhodey proudly presenting Dum-E in his lab.

Until, of course, when he broke it in a moment of uncontrollable grief because looking at all he used to have just hurt too dang much.

--

iv.

“You coming, kiddo?”

The voice came out of nowhere, startling him so much he almost toppled over the front porch’s wooden railing he was leaning against.

“Wha-“ he whirled around and his heart simultaneously sang and sank, “Oh, it’s just you.”  

“Yeah, just me. Sorry to disappoint.” The quip fell from his lips easily but his mentor’s dark eyes shone with concern. Somehow that made the lump in his stomach grow even heavier.

“That’s not – I mean, uh, I’m not –“ he stumbled over his words, cringing at how high-pitched his voice sounded even to his own ears, “Sorry. I’m –“

He stopped midsentence when he realized that he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say and just shrugged, coupled with a small smile that was definitely fake and evidently did not convince Mr. Stark of anything.

He was still coming closer, slowly and careful of the shiny prosthetic that sat where his arm used to be.

The image made Peter sick and he tried to focus on his face instead. There were a few more wrinkles than he remembered, especially around his eyes and mouth – from laughing no doubt. He was sporting more grey hair, too, and he looked comfortable in his dark blue cardigan where he used to wear suits or band shirts. He looked exactly like someone who lived happily in a lake house.

“You okay, squirt?”

He snapped out of his spiraling thoughts and, on reflex, started nodding.

“See,” he stopped when he was next to him and leaned against the railing, too, facing Peter who turned to face the small boat that was moving ever so slightly with the lake’s small ripples. “I don’t believe you.”

Huh.

“You’re not okay.” It was a statement, leaving no room for him to argue.

“But –“ He was cut off and a part of him was glad for it because what was he going to say anyway? He was a bad liar and Mr. Stark good at reading him. That, at least, was something that hadn’t changed.

“None of us are really okay and that’s okay,” Mr. Stark said and turned to watch the lake now, too. “Or so I’ve been told repeatedly. But, as I’ve also been reliably informed, we have to talk to each other to get better.”

He shrugged and crossed his arms in front of his chest, tugging both hands under his arm-pits to keep them from shaking.

“No talking, I take it?”

He shrugged again.

“Would you let me hug you?”

His head snapped up instantly. The question came as a surprise but sounded honest and hesitant and attentive and it made his head spin. But, when he took a moment to think about it, he ended up nodding. He didn’t think there was a whole lot he would refuse the man for a while.

Almost immediately he was being wrapped into a strong healthy arm and pulled close until Mr. Stark could bury his face in his hair and take in a deep breath. He couldn’t help but notice how heavily his mentor was leaning against the railing while holding him but he also noticed how his entire body seemed to loosen as the hug went on, how tension and worry slowly sept out of his stance.

Peter noticed the same for himself, too, and somehow that made him want to cry.

The arm around him was steady and it held him together when everything had seemed to fall apart and his head was spinning and he felt his eyes tear up and his heart beat speed up and he suddenly wished that he could stay here forever.

Which was ridiculous. Mr. Stark just wanted to give him a quick hug and go on with his day. He couldn’t know how liberating his touch felt, how cared for and valued and loved Peter felt just by being in his arms and he couldn’t just tell him. He couldn’t –

But it felt so nice.

“Hey, hey, bud,” Mr. Stark sounded worried and it felt like he wanted to pull away and Peter’s breaths started coming in quicker at the thought. There was a sound somewhere in the back of his throat and Mr. Stark stopped pulling away but still loosened his grip.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” he shushed him and Peter had to swallow down a sob because this was getting ridiculous but it felt so nice, “It’s gonna be okay, I promise. It’s gonna be okay.”

After a moment he had caught himself enough to not start breaking down and gave a nod. “I’m –“ he sniffed and whispered, “Thank … Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

For a moment it seemed like his mentor wasn’t going to say anything but then he gave a small smile and pulled him into his side instead. “Anytime, kiddo. Now let’s watch Rogue One. The Force is telling me it’s time for a high stakes-tragedy-comfort movie.”

Despite himself, Peter let out a wet giggle. “There’s never a wrong time for Star Wars, Mr. Stark.”

“I know, I know. It’s tradition. Or so you keep telling me,” he said and the fondness in his voice almost made Peter cry again.

He didn’t, though.

They went back into the empty lake house – May, Pepper and Morgan were having a girls day apparently – made themselves comfortable on the big couch and put on the movie as if they had never done anything else. They moved like a well-oiled machine, like a team that had been working together forever.

Peter was curled into Mr. Stark’s side and his thumb was constantly caressing his knee and it felt wonderful. It felt like home.

The lump in his throat never left.

Somehow it kept growing with every passing minute and with it the loneliness and while he felt right at home it also felt like he shouldn’t. His body felt out of place, as if all the pieces of him had never truly reintegrated, leaving him with holes in his being that he wasn’t sure how to fill.

He watched Chirrut Îmwe blindly walk across battlefields and single-handedly eliminate an entire garrison, trusting the Force to keep him safe and the blazing desire for that kind of certainty hit him unaware.

Maybe that was the whole problem, he realized slowly, as he watched Galen’s message to his daughter and that was when the first tear fell, silent and painful.

Ever since he had come back barely anything had seemed certain anymore. There had been things he had believed to be unchangeable but then a mad Titan had snapped his fingers and his beliefs had turned into dust alongside his body and half the universe and then he had come back and everything had been different and even things that appeared to be the same just weren’t.

May had been gone, too. They still loved each other the same way they always had. Unconditionally. Unquestioningly. Easy. She never had to miss him, never faced a world without him in it. She was the only constant he could claim but everything else –

He couldn’t understand how it had been five years and Mr. Stark had a wife and a kid and a lake house and how he could have still missed him with all that. How he could’ve even had the time. Why would he miss Peter of all people? And, and…

Mr. Stark’s affection was different now. Fiercer, gentler, more… more parental. Or maybe it wasn’t different but he was more open with it. He looked at him the way he looked at Morgan and he couldn’t make sense of that. He couldn’t.

Why would anyone miss me?

He kept circling back to the same question.

Whywhywhywhy- Why me?

He didn’t notice he started full on crying until suddenly the screen in front of him was blurry and his cheeks were wet and his breaths came in rough. He tried to breathe through it, to keep his body calm and steady so Mr. Stark wouldn’t notice but it made his lungs feel like they were on fire trying to keep it all in.

As if he had read his thoughts Mr. Stark’s hand moved up from where it had been resting on his knee and started rubbing slow circles into his scalp. He didn’t move otherwise, made no attempt to pull away and when he spoke his voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Did he? He knew if he started talking, he’d start spiraling and he’d lose the last ounce of self-control he was clinging to. He didn’t want that.

He shook his head, but his body started shaking more violently anyway when he couldn’t breathe through the sobs anymore.

“Shh, that’s okay, buddy, that’s fine,” Mr. Stark murmured, “But stop trying to bite down on your tears. I know how much that hurts. It’s okay. Let it out. I’m here.”

He kept talking – quietly, soothingly, calmly – and at some point Peter’s body decided to listen and he stopped trying to keep quiet and when the first sob broke through his lips he buried his head in Mr. Stark’s stomach and let himself cry.

It hurt and more often than not Mr. Stark had to remind him to slow down his breathing so the oxygen could reach his brain and it didn’t seem to ever stop. But it was also freeing.

Every sob that tore through him gave voice to a pain he had buried inside like needles in his soul that he was pulling out one after the other. For the first time since he had come back he felt like he could breathe again.

His lungs were finally uncurling fully, the weight that had been sitting on his ribcage was gone. He could breathe and at first he gulped in the air like someone pulled from certain death through drowning. He felt like he had been suffocating for weeks and this was the first time someone had pulled his head above water again.

“Slowly, squirt, slowly. Breathe nice and slowly, the air’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

And if Mr. Stark promised to keep his head above water it must be right. After all, Mr. Stark always kept his promises.

They didn’t exchange anything other than those small reassurances and soothings until the end of the movie. And Peter shed a few tears when the inevitable happened but he was tired and cried out and so emotionally drained he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to feel again.

Still, when Princess Leia appeared on the screen he felt the same flutter of hope in his chest that he always felt when he watched it and his soul settled.

“Hope,” she said on screen and the single syllable word echoed through his body, spreading like a bonfire and melting places that had been numb for days.  

Everything was going to be okay.

When the credits started rolling, that’s when Mr. Stark started talking again starting with a cough to clear his throat that sounded like he had been crying, too.

“I know you may not want to talk about it, Pete, but I feel like we should.” He sighed and he sounded sad and strong at the same time. More importantly, though, he never stopped running his fingers through his hair. “You may not have heard but I’m a responsible adult now. Someone who makes kids talk about their problems.”

Peter snorted and Mr. Stark gave a chuckle.

“Granted, Morgan’s tears are usually about whether or not we’re letting her have that second juice pop but we do talk about that.”

“You give her the juice pop, don’t you?” His voice was scratchy but Mr. Stark didn’t comment on that. He laughed quietly.

“It depends, honestly. On whether or not Pepper is around when the tantrum starts.”

“You’re a great dad to her,” he whispered in reply and if he had thought he had calmed down just half a minute earlier then his heart felt like splitting open again now. He couldn’t put the finger on it, didn’t want to admit to himself that it was jealousy of the time they had that he would never get. He hated himself for thinking about it. If anyone deserved a family it was Mr. Stark and Morgan was the sweetest child. It was just –

Morgan belonged with her family, she was a Stark through and through – stubbornness and smarts and all. And Mr. Stark belonged with Pepper and his daughter, too. He knew that. He wanted that for them.

He just – he had thought that he had kind of belonged with Mr. Stark, too, but how could he now that he had been gone for five years? How could he ever belong anywhere ever again?

“As they say; practice makes perfect,” Mr. Stark spoke, completely oblivious to Peter’s thoughts, “Guess it gets easier the second time around.”

For a moment he forgot to spiral into self-doubt and angst and stopped. A Second… Second time? Huh?

As if he sensed the wordless question, his mentor pulled him closer and buried his face in his hair again. It seemed to soothe him as much as it calmed Peter. He seemed comfortable this close. Happy, at home.

“See, squirt, I know that I didn’t raise you. I would never take that honor and privilege from May and your Uncle Ben and your parents. They made you in the person you were when I met you and that person was already better than anything I could have ever hoped to achieve. But then,” he paused as if unsure how to continue, “We did meet and I did get the honor of being in your life, of mentoring you, of caring for you. I made a lot of mistakes at first and – My biggest mistake was trying to keep you at arm’s length.”

“I don’t – I don’t understand,” Peter whispered, pushing himself up far enough to meet his mentor’s eyes that were glistening with unshed tears. His gaze softened even more when he saw his own tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes and there was a shadow of anguish and a spark of love in them.

“I know,” he sighed, never breaking eye contact but shifting them into a more comfortable position, “You can’t understand because I never told you. Not really. But, Peter, you have to know, that you’re my kid. You are as much my kid as Morgan is. You made me want to be a dad, made me want to prove that I could because I wanted to be one to you and I didn’t want to fail you. And –“ he stopped and a shudder went through his body, “And then I did. I failed you and I – I never forgave myself for that. And I never stopped missing you. God, I missed you so much, Pete.”

But … “Why would you… Why me?”

“Because, Peter. Because you’re my boy and I love you and the world was so much darker without you in it and because every awful moment would’ve been less awful with you and every good moment would’ve been perfect. I – I kept going, I went on because I had to. Because there were Pepper and Rhodey and then Morgan. I had to keep going but that doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you every single second of every single day.”

“I’m scared that I don’t belong anymore. That I don’t belong anywhere anymore,” he admitted finally. The shameful confession uttered so quietly that the words almost got lost in his mentor’s heavy breaths on his cheeks.

“Oh,” Mr. Stark looked at him stunned, like he had grown a second head for a good moment before leaning forward and pulling him back in, holding him tighter than he had ever held him. Both arms folding across his back with the prosthetic cutting into his skin but it didn’t matter, it didn’t. Because he felt held together in place, in a place where he belonged and where he was wanted. He was being anchored and kept from drifting off into the infinite vastness of space and he was so incredibly grateful.

“You belong here, kiddo,” he took in the fierce words in his ear, let them run down his back and warm him like a hot shower after a cold day. “You belong with me and you belong with May. You belong in Queens and you belong here, in this lake house that has been planned with your bedroom in mind. You belong with your family and, for as long as you let me, I will never let you go ever again.”

He cried some more after that – cried himself to sleep that night in fact – but Mr. Stark was there the whole time, holding him, whispering reassurances and tickling a wet smile out of him eventually. The next day was a little bit better. The self- doubt didn’t evaporate, didn’t leave right away.

Some days were worse than others, some were better. Some the voices in his head had him going mad with why’s and what-if’s and some days he couldn’t even hear them over Morgan’s giggles and May’s bad jokes and Mr. Stark lecturing Dum-E.

Coming back wasn’t easy by any means and it did take a while but a couple of weeks later, he jumped out of Happy’s new SUV, running up to the front porch and flying into Mr. Stark’s waiting arms, and his thoughts hummed happily with only one thought.

I’m home.

[bomberqueen17]

bag of bones

I keep a gallon Ziploc bag in my freezer. Every time I cook meat at home, the bones go in it. Every time I chop vegetables, the ends go in it. Sometimes the pan drippings from roasted meat go in it, if I didn’t eat those. The leaves of celery. The tops of carrots, and the root tip ends. The ends of onions, and that layer you have to peel off, that’s juicy but still papery sometimes? that goes in there. And the other day I made a braised Swiss chard and chicken dish, and there was the tiniest bit left over of the braising liquid and some extra stem bits, and I threw that in the baggie with the chicken bones.

When the bag’s full enough, I get out the instant pot and throw the contents of the bag into it, and almost enough water to cover, and then pressure cook it for like 10 minutes on high. The meat’s already cooked, I probably don’t even need that much. I used to just boil it in a pot on the stove for an hour and then let it cool enough to put away. (Health Department says you should cool all soups to 40F within some crazy short amount of time, and one of the farm customers explained he uses an ice bath for this when he makes his chicken stock because he is the Perfect HouseHusband, and I don’t blame him one bit, but I also don’t do that and haven’t died yet, so, take it under advisement.)

I freeze it in Ball jars, or plastic Tupperwares-- I try to make it be some reasonable amount, two cups or four cups or whatever. Then when I’ve got groceries for a dish that calls for stock (pilaf, risotto, soup, all kinds of stuff) I take one of the appropriately-sized jars out of the fridge and let it defrost for a day or so. (Though last night I realized as I was beginning the recipe that I’d defrosted too small a jar, and the second little jar took seven minutes in the microwave on the defrost setting, so.)

The other thing I did that makes me feel virtuous is that I had a big bunch of celery from the farm, and some carrots and a couple of onions, and here’s the thing about farm celery-- I encourage you, if you’ve got a farmer’s market near you, to go and buy celery there, because the kind of celery they grow on a farm is not the same kind as is produced commercially that can sit in your fridge for two months and still be tasteless and go in soups as a matter of formula-- the stuff you get fresh is much skinnier stalks and bushier leaves and it tastes totally different and also wilts in a week. So I diced the whole bunch of celery, and mixed it with the carrots and the onions in little diced pieces on a baking sheet that I stuck in the freezer for a couple of hours, and then I poured the frozen little pieces into a couple of Ziploc baggies so I can use it by the cupful instead of the whole bag in one frozen chunk. Mirepoix!

We’ll see how it comes out, but I know frozen farm celery works fine in recipes so I figure the whole shebang will be nice. And then I get to have farm stuff in the winter. 

(I’ve done a ton of freezing at the farm but not so much here, so it’s nice to occasionally get a moment to do it for *me*.)

[bylillian]

So you think you’re in a pandemic? You are. And as someone who grew up learning how to plan for things like  this, the Cool Mom Eats team asked me to put together a helpful guide to keeping the family fed (and possibly entertained) during a potential quarantine.

So let’s jump right in.

To panic-shop or not panic-shop. That is the question.

You don’t need to fill your entire garage with toilet paper, although I truly commend you on preparation, should you be on an extreme high-fiber diet.

There are some items you should keep stocked though — but not just for times of home quarantine. As a recovering prepper, I found my “apocalypse pantry” a life saver after a tumultuous divorce, for example. And hey, who doesn’t want bragging rights at being able to fashion an Apple Brown Betty or chocolate chip cookie bars while the world freaks out? Just me?

(It’s just me, isn’t it.)

In seriousness though, I want to focus on the items you really need. But first, let’s get the pantry you already have, organized and ready for stocking.

While this is not a comprehensive list of absolutely everything you’ll need in your pantry/kitchen to feed your family, I assure you it’s a very workable list for you to get started. And if this all blows over faster than we thought, hey, you just saved yourself trips to the market in April and May.

Related: Beyond toilet paper: A helpful list of unexpected items to stock up on in case of a quarantine

Pantry prep: Start with a thorough purge

Before you load up the minivan with instant soup mix, there are a few things you’ll want to do first.

– First, know that this is not about Pinterest. If you are stacking items on top of each other, or making the use of every crevice of a small pantry, do it! Your food does not have to be arranged by color to make a beautiful ombre rainbow.

You are feeding your family, not entering a Instagram competition.

–Clean your shelves. If it’s been a while, can’t hurt to take everything out, give those shelves a good wipe down, and start fresh.

–Search for expired jars of food. Botulism can be a real problem here, and that twist-off can of pickled beets from 2016 isn’t sparking joy. Toss. (Of course keep in mind expiration and use-by dates aren’t always 100% accurate. As for those almost-expired pickles or that box of healthy cereal you hopped your kids would eat but they never did…that’s up to you. First, read this helpful article on food and expiration dates from Consumer Reports.

I’m not a gambler, so my instinct is generally to toss, but CR reminds us that “Nonperishable items like grains and dried and canned goods can still be used well past their label dates.”

–Organize items with the oldest in front. New items go behind existing food. Rotation is the key to a successful apocalypse pantry! Note: I’m currently living in a small apartment and by following the precepts below and being diligent with keeping track of and using my storage, have a four-month supply for me and my teenage son and our pets. It’s doable, it just requires a little forethought and organization

And hey, face those labels out. Not for Pinterest — for you.

– Group food in a sensical way. If you’re used to just shoving the microwave popcorn in front of the soup cans, in front of the flour container, maybe reconsider that. Grouping your foods by category (baking, breakfast, snacks, and so on) makes it easier to know whaat you have and what you need.

Now let’s go shopping!

Related: How to organize spices: 6 easy ideas that let you find what you need, when you need it.

The staples you want to stock

Here are my recos:

–Rice, dried beans, cereals, sugar, all-purpose flour and pasta last forever and are top of my list. Cereals are not just breakfast food. Same goes for dried oats and/or grits. Pasta is the real workhorse here, because of one simple reason: calories. If you need to stretch pantry items for multiple meals, you want foods that can get you to your calorie requirements with as little volume as possible, and here pasta is the waist-thickener you want. If you end up with sick people in your house, they’ll need calories to fight their way back to health.

–Biscuit/pancake mix is terrific for all meals, and don’t believe the old wive’s tale of it turning deadly after expiration, unless you have a highly rare mold allergy. Just keep it tightly sealed.

–As far as protein, it’s good to have frozen meats, poultry, fish… more on that below.

– I’d also grab those big jars of peanut butter if you can have nut butters in your home. (I’ll leave it between your family members to come down on the chunky/creamy side.) Protein sources are needed, and not everyone can tolerate (or want) beans, beans, the magical fruit multiple meals a week.

A good selection of protein-packed snacks

– More protein ideas: Don’t overlook options like canned tuna, sardines, jerky, and if all else fails, protein powder.

–As for canned fruits and veggies, 20 cans each of canned fruits and vegetables are a great starting point for your apocalypse pantry. They can liven up meals in a big way.  Fruit and veggie juices are also great additions, and coconut milk will make that 40-pound bag of rice way more enticing, come mealtime.

–Dried milk comes in handy, for cereal eaters and coffee drinkers alike. Also, get a couple of bulk containers of powdered drink mix like lemonade or fruit punch. The kids can get bored of plain water pretty fast.

–Jarred sauce isn’t a bad idea; get a variety of flavors. If you’re coming down with something and have people depending on you for meals who can’t cook themselves, you don’t want to spend all day at the stove stirring homemade sauce. While you’re at it, check your spice rack and make sure you have all the dried herbs you need to make that sauce more like homemade. (More below)

These are nerve-wracking times demanding thoughtful caution, but that doesn’t mean we have to eat like animals.

Stocking the freezer

Let’s turn some attention to the freezer.

I know we don’t all have massive storage in the kitchen; for what it’s worth, I have a small, apartment-sized fridge and have managed to stock 20 days worth of meat and veggies for myself and my son.

–Fresh berries and veggies like peas can be broken into smaller freezer bags and laid flat to freeze, and they stack wonderfully.

–If you’re a meat eater, load up on things that freeze well like chicken thighs and hearty cuts of beef and pork. Buy in bulk and break into portions to go in freezer bags. Plus, it’s easier to store and stack.

–Lord, be a ghost pepper on that raw chicken! I advise you season your raw meat with a marinade now and save time later. Plus, spices like jerk seasoning and other pepper-based spices are a preservative and inhibit microbial growth! You season your food not to replace proper cooking methodology, but also to enhance the flavor.

(And for the love of your gut, chicken sushi is not a thing, and y’all need to stop it.)

Don’t forget pets!

Should we face weeks or a full month of disruption in stores (remember, I’m an apocalypse planner), you don’t want your pets to suffer. How much do they eat in a day?

Multiply that by 30, and that’s what you need to have on hand. Don’t forget treats, supplements, litter, whatever else they need on a monthly basis.

Next-level pantry prep

These are the things that will make pantry food suck less, so take good notes.

–Stock up on dried spices. Garlic salt is everyone’s friend. Ditto to curry powder, ginger, cinnamon. Tarragon will liven up thawed chicken.

–Coconut milk with rice is another way to perk up bored taste buds.

–Bouillon for soup or as seasoning is always a great idea, and don’t overlook options like mushroom and onion bouillon as an alternative to chicken or beef.

–Items that will enable you to impress your family (or at least keep things interesting) include a variety of cooking oils, shortening for pie crusts, baking items for treats.

-Don’t forget fancy snack ingredients like chocolate chips, shredded coconut, condensed milk, graham crackers and the like.

When the kids are bored on day ten of self-quarantine, making a fresh batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies will eat up a lot of their time, and then while they’re recovering from sugar shock, you can grab the leftovers for yourself.

–Fresh herbs are a huge boon. Liz wrote about that here, including tips for apartment-dweller who may want to start a windowsill herb garden.

–Are you a coffee drinker? Do you like cream in it? You may have to resort to powdered creamer in a pinch, so be sure you have that on hand. Same for tea.

–As for water, please! There’s no need to hoard bottled water. Plus we all should be taking steps to reduce our single-use plastic. If that’s not top-of-mind right now, think about it economically — for the price you’d pay for a month’s worth of bottled water, you could easily buy a 2-gallon water filtration pitcher ($45 from our affiliate Amazon) for your fridge or a faucet-mounted filter.

We don’t have to hasten environmental collapse while coronavirus is going on, after all.

In summary:

Don’t Panic Rotation Spices and Seasonings Teach the kids to play gin rummy

We’ll get through this, and we’ll do it without resorting to MREs and Red Dawn-level terror.

Also, wash your hands!

Laura Stone, a descendant of pioneer polygamists from the early days of the Mormon Church, keeps busy as a Master Gardener, author coach and novelist. While the majority of her family still lives in Utah, she resides in her home state of Texas because it’s where the good tamales are.

[xxfuckmecalumxx]

Empty Space (Part 2)

A/N: Okay you can thank @boytoynamedcalum (and my two friends who I showed part one to and said they needed more) for this because it was all her idea for a part two lol. Also, everything in italics is flashbacks (Part one if you missed it)

“Babe its only two months in Europe without me, you’ll survive” You laugh watching him pack.

He groans “You came with me all over the US, why can’t you come to Europe with us” He pouts “this is going to be the longest two months of my life”

You laugh at his dramatic tone “My love you know I can’t come with you, I have work. Plus you have the boys to distract you, Just make sure you send me postcards”

He laughs knowing how much you love getting the postcards from him when he’s away “I won’t forget I promise” 

It had only been a week since Calum broke it off but you were still crying yourself to sleep every night. Calum had called while you were at work. You knew if you answered you’d fall to pieces right then and there so you let it go to voicemail. When you had finally gotten home you allowed yourself to finally listen to the message Calum left you. When he slurred out those seven words your heart stopped, you didn’t know what he meant when he said: “How do I make you love me”. You never stopped loving him, not even after he broke up with you. You knew he was drunk so you didn’t even bother to call him back and when you checked the mail and saw the postcard, it was the straw that broke the camels back causing you to spiral. A few days ago you had found a pack of Cal's cigarettes and you were tempted to try them. You hadn’t stopped since. You were also drinking nearly any opportunity you got to, so tonight was no different.

Your lying on the living room floor of yours and Calum’s apartment, if you could still call it that. Drinking white wine straight out of the bottle, smoking a cigarette. You sigh picking up the postcard you had just received, a picture of Big ben plastered on the front. You knew he’d sent it before he broke up with you, but you couldn’t get yourself to turn it over to read it. You couldn’t even think about him without crying or downing a gallon of wine. You were trying to hold on to the good memories but it was too hard to. All you could think about were the harsh words he said to you the night he broke up with you.

You and friend Josh were out shopping for his six month anniversary with his boyfriend. The two of you had been friends for years and you were very close. You had no idea fans had seen you until you went on twitter that night. You thought the pictures were harmless, they just showed the two of you laughing with Josh’s arm around your shoulders. But when Calum called you later that night all hell broke loose.

“I can’t believe you’d cheat on me!” he yelled harshly as soon as you had picked up

“Calum let me explain—“ he cut you off before you could tell him who Josh was.

“If you couldn’t handle me leaving you could’ve told me y/n! You didn’t have to go fuck someone else and I sure as hell didn’t need to find out from fucking FANS” he yelled, you could hear a big thump in the background.

Tears pricked your eyes, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing “Calum if you can’t trust me then I don’t want to speak to you right now”

“How about this, you’ll never have to talk to me again, if you can’t keep it in your pants then we’re over” and with that the phone line was silent

You didn’t understand what went wrong that night and it tore you up inside not knowing. The other boys had tried to contact you a few times but you didn’t have the energy to answer.

At some point, you fell asleep on the floor holding the postcard close. You were woken up by your phone ringing loudly, without even looking you answered.

You grumble out a sleepy greeting to whoever was on the other side.

“Y/N? Its Ashton” You could already hear the worry in his voice.

You sat up looking at the TV box for the time, 3:45 am. You groan loudly into the phone “Ashton what could you possibly need right now?”

he sighs “y/n What happened to you two? Calum won’t tell anyone and now it's affecting him on stage. please tell me you have some insight.”

You get up getting water from the kitchen “I can’t tell you, Ash, because I don't know either. I'm here in our apartment…alone drinking every night wondering what went wrong” Tears fall from your eyes as you sip your water.

“Let me fly you out here, I really think you two need to talk. something seems off.”

You scoff “I’m not coming out there for him to accuse me of cheating to my face instead of over the phone”

Ashton goes quiet “…he did what? I'm going to kill him”

You sip your water not saying anything. you know how much Ashton cared for not only Calum but for you as well. You heard Ashton sigh and Luke in the background asking who he was talking to.

“I'm gonna text you once I have plane tickets for you and not coming isn’t an option”

You didn’t think you could face Calum but you knew Ashton was serious. If you didn’t show up in Europe Ashton would personally come to find you and drag you by your ear to Calum. So when you got the text about the flight he booked for 7am you immediately texted your boss telling her you were sick. You find a random duffel bag in the closest and threw anything you could find in there. Most of it was Calums stuff that you had adopted as yours but you didn’t have time to be picky. By the time you had to leave you had barely gotten any sleep or time to change your clothes.

The first few hours of your flight you stared out the window trying to think what you’d say to Calum once you saw him. Finally, you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer and you let sleep take over you and didn’t wake up until you were nearly landing. You texted Ashton and he told you what car to look for after you had gotten your bag.

You were expecting a random driver but when you came out of the airport and greeted with Ashton your anxieties melted slightly. He hugged you tightly after seeing your tear stained face.

“damn you reek of smoke” he sighed putting your bag in the car before you and him hop in.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to change before I left…I probably should I don’t need to give him more ammo”

he sighs pulling away from the airport “I think he’ll be happy to see you no matter what”

you laugh not hopeful “Yeah okay”

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, the only noise was soft music playing from the radio. You still had no clue what you’d say to Calum. Ash pulled up behind the hotel and it suddenly sinking in what you were doing. When you got out of the car you couldn’t move, just staring at the hotel.

Ashton puts his hand on the small of your back guiding you inside “Don’t lose your nerve now”

You sigh following him up to Calum’s room knowing you can’t chicken out now. You stand in front of the door frozen with fear. Ashton knocks on the door walking away before Calum comes to the door “Thank me later”

You grumble to yourself mentally slapping him. Calum opens the door and suddenly all your other thoughts slip away. You look up at him noticing he’s lost weight since you’ve last seen him, the bags under his eyes are prominent, his eyes puffy from crying and he smells of alcohol.

He blinks a few times making sure you’re real “w-what are you doing here?”

You swallow hard, all you want to do is hug and forgive him but you knew you couldn’t “I came to talk to you” you say softly noticing the bruising on he knuckles. You realize that was the thump you heard in the background the night he broke it off.

He motions for you to come in and you do so watching him shut the door behind you guys. “You smell like cigarettes,” Calum says softly.

You nod ignoring his comment, turning to face him “Why’d you do it?”

he sights sitting on the bed shrugging “I—“

You cut him off “You didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself” you start pacing “You called me a cheater without knowing the full story and then left me to be confused and hurt without a real fucking explanation”

He sighs watching tears fall down your face “I wasn’t thinking…I don’t have any real answers besides I was jealous. But I fucking regret everything that happened” he scratches the back of his neck “If I drove you to smoke I’m sorry”

You sit next to him hesitantly “It wasn’t you specifically, I found them and wanted to feel close to you”

He shifts himself to face you “I'm sorry I didn’t listen to you…it was really shitty of me.”

You nod agreeing with him “…He’s gay you know. He has a bigger hard-on for you than I do” You laugh softly

He sighs loudly getting up “I fucked up big time, I know and I know a simple I’m sorry won’t fix everything but I’m hoping maybe you’ll take me back.”

You look up at him “I want to forgive you, its all I want right now but I can’t do that if you’re going to act like this anytime a fan spots me with a guy”

“That was the first and only time I promise I'll never make you hurt like that ever again”

You can see the truth in his eyes and you knew if you didn’t forgive him you’d regret it. So you did what your entire being was telling you not to do. you got up and nearly ran into his arms, hugging him so tightly that he might pass out. He hugs you back, just as tightly and you didn’t even mind that he smelled of alcohol and not his usual cologne.

Masterlist

[thats-pucking-amazing]

Columbus Part One (Zach Werenski) *Requested*

I was feeling inspired which worked out well...because @juicyhockey asked for something for “sad boi Zach Werenski”. I don’t know how many parts it’ll be yet...Maybe three? We’ll see.

Requested: Technically

Warnings: Nope

Requests: Open

Well Y/N, you thought to yourself, only 15 states left to live in. Pretty good for someone who is only twenty. It was a shame though that this was only the second state you had willingly chosen to live in. Both of your parents had been in the military so you moved around continuously until you turned seven and your life changed. They were on their way home for leave and their plane had been shot from the sky.

You’d been placed in the system...where you moved from place to place, state to state until at age 16 you’d had enough. You had chose to leave the system and strike out on your own. It was one of the hardest things you’d ever done and for a while you really struggled. But you did it. You earned your GED and worked three jobs to make ends meet. You’d taken online college classes and at age 19 had received a full ride Ohio State based on academics.

So here you were, starting over...again...in Ohio. The university had included a small one bedroom apartment within your scholarship, and you had gratefully accepted since it came with everything you needed. You’d arrived in Columbus from Nowhere, Oklahoma. That was the actual name of the town you’d lived in before...it wasn’t even really a town. You’d had to drive 15 minutes to get to a stoplight...and thirty minutes to get to an actual town. But you’d lived with a widow who just wanted company and needed help with chores around the house. So you’d lived rent free and were able to save all the money earned from your waitressing job.

Ms. Jackson had encouraged you to apply to school and once you’d been accepted she had happily decided to move to a retirement community in Tulsa. She would have her own space, a maintenance man, and a small garden, which according to her was all an old woman could want. You had purchased her car from her for $500 plus the price of dropping her off in Tulsa. She was the closest you’d ever had to a grandmother and one of about six contacts in your phone. Living with her for those seven months had been one of the best things that had ever happened to you.

You looked over your relatively empty apartment. You’d arrived in Columbus two hours ago and already had unpacked your meager possessions. The closet was not even halfway full, there were no dishes in the kitchen, no decorations in the living room save a picture in a vintage frame of you and Ms. Jackson that she had gifted you. Your bedside table had two pictures of you and your parents one on a beach in Hawaii when you were five and the other at the Grand Canyon in Arizona...the last state you’d lived in with them.

“Maybe I should go to the store,” You said to yourself. “Maybe I should stop talking to myself while I’m at it.” Before you left you did what you always did...made a list, starred the most important items, looked through and clipped coupons from the paper, added coupons online to your grocery rewards card, and set a budget. This process was a bit tedious...but in the end always saved you money and made your shopping trip so much easier.

You scanned over the list one last time before grabbing your keys and heading out. You locked the apartment door and headed down the stairs to the quad that all of the apartment buildings shared. You weren’t exactly in the mood to be social so you hurried to the area where apartment dwellers could park their cars.

A quick 10 minutes later and you’d made it to the store. You blew your hair out of your face. “Let’s do this thing.” You grabbed a cart and situated the list in the baby seat and then headed in.

Bread was first, followed by fresh produce, taco shells, mac and cheese, spices, flour, sugar, forty other things, a gallon of milk, and the most important part of the trip...a quart of ice cream. After loading everything into the reusable shopping bags you had also purchased (reduce, reuse, recycle buddies), you made your way to your car. A group of guys had parked next to you and were in the process of getting out, so you stood to the side so they wouldn’t feel rushed.

After they’d cleared the area you began to load your bags inside the trunk.

“Hey…” You jumped at the sound of the voice behind you and hit your head on the trunk. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

You rubbed the back of your head as you looked at the stranger. It was one of the guys from the car that had parked beside you. He had short dark hair and a small scar on his cheek. He was also built very nicely….NOT that you’d noticed. “It’s okay. I just thought all of you had left...so I wasn’t really expecting to hear anybody. Can I help you?”

“I actually stopped to ask you that,” He chuckled. “Would you like some help loading your car?”

“Um...sure. I’m not going to protest if you want to help out.”

“Are you on vacation? Or did you just move here?” Your expression was obviously confused because he nodded towards your car. “The Oklahoma license plate kinda gave you away.”

“Oh!” You gave a light laugh. “Yeah, I’m starting classes at OSU this semester. Are you and your friends students there?”

“No. We all work together, but we’re having a party to celebrate Cam’s new son...that was the short blond guy.”

“Oh okay! Tell him I said congrats.” You loaded the last bag and closed the trunk. “Thanks for the help...really showing off that Ohio hospitality.”

He scoffed, “I’m from Michigan. We’re the hospitable ones.”

“Ahh...so the rivalry I read about it real and thriving?”

“You better believe it. So if you’re going to be a Buckeye then we can’t be friends...sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

You gave a mock sigh. “I’ve never really been a sports person...so I don’t think we need to become enemies just yet.”

“Not a sports person? Maybe we should be enemies.” He teased.

You laughed. “I just wasn’t raised around sports...it’s probably a good thing. I’m way too competitive to get into sports. I’d probably riot if my team lost.”

He shot you a smile, “Maybe it is for the better then.”

You bit your lip. “Thanks again for the help...but I should probably go. I don’t want my frozens to melt.”

“No problem.” He stuck his hand out. “It was nice to meet you…”

“Y/N.” You said in response to his questioning look. You shook his hand. “The feeling is mutual…”

“Zach.”

“Well, Zach. It was nice to meet you. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

“I sure hope so.” You blushed but waved at him as he headed into the store. Who knows? Maybe Ohio wouldn’t be so bad afterall.

Let me know if you see any blazing errors!

[fuck-customers]

I didn't need to cry today, bitch

Okay this happened before Christmas but the submissions were (unerstandably) closed.

Trigger warnings for mentions of mental illness (mine)

So I'm the person who submitted /post/163840821992/ and as you know from that, I work in the click and collect shopping department. Sundays are actually our busiest day, in contrast to the rest of the store, and the couple of weeks before Christmas are the most mental time of all because customers order enough food to feed two armies (often to the point that we have to bring it out to them in two trolleys!)

So we've had our usual hectic scramble around (compounded by the fact that the stupid new system often divides commodities - like chilled, frozen etc - between two or three people so we might have multiple crates of produce for one order instead of one crate per order). An alert for an order comes in. All the stuff that doesn't need to be kept cold is already in the trolley (as per routine - the cold stuff is in the freezer and chill depending on what it is) so all I have to do is get this woman's chilled items.

I answer it and start packing. I scan the barcodes of the crates so we have a log of what's there and what isn't. And one is missing.

So I phone customer service and ask them to let the customer know that there seems to be something missing and if she can bear with us while we look to make sure. The woman on the desk (S) does that and not long after I find the crate and it's all good.

Or not.

It turns out this particular customer is a bit of a cow. She didn't like that she had been "standing waiting for twenty minutes" (bitch it's barely been five since the alert went off do you want your butter or not?) so she told S that I "could wait now" and that she was "going to the chocolates aisle".

So S and I (because I can't leave the front now) have a wee chat while I'm there (and S tells me about how rude the woman is on a regular basis) and eventually the woman shows up. She immediately starts on at me for how the trolley's packed.

Due to the laws in the UK about plasic carrier bags, there's a charge if you get us to bag your shopping so people have the option of not having any. This woman didn't want them. No bags is easier to pick from the shelves because we don't have to bag as we go (company policy) except in the case of raw meat and fish, and loose produce, but harder to put in the trolley because you can really only lift a couple of things at once instead of a bag of six or seven.

This also means that it's harder to pack the trolley so that the soft stuff doesn't get crushed - and when the chilled stuff gets packed last so the likes of 4-gallon milk jugs are going on the top. This woman has an insane amount of food in the trolley so obviously stuff is ending up under other stuff.

She goes ballistic; flinging things at me because "that's squashed, that's bruised" et cetera, et cetera. The bread she insists was flat? It was one of the few non-chilled things on the top. The tomatoes? Not even soft never mind crushed. The apples that were bruised? Lady it's December all the apples are being flown in from abroad they're all bruised and that's all because of the planes. Every item in her trolley is completely fine because despite the fact that I had to put some heavy things on the top, I did it so they would not damage anything underneath.

But still she blames me. Tells me I don't know how to do my job.

I take a lot of pride in how well I can do my job. I've got a touch of OCD and a heaping helping of anxiety disorder. I do things a certain way every time without fail because I'm terrified of doing it wrong. I pack trolleys meticulously.

But the only thing I packed was the chilled and the reason I didn't have time to reorganise it was because of the missing crate and the fact that I didn't want her to be kept waiting longer than necessary. And getting pissed about it. Which she did anyway.

That anxiety disorder and the fear of doing things wrong? Yep she pressed exactly the right buttons to fuck with them. I'm already frazzled because we're short-handed and the orders are all massive. It's just me dealing with the orders right now because E, my co-worker, is on break. And so I clam up. I'm trying not to cry. S notices and sends me off to get replacements for the stuff that's "ruined" so I can try to calm down.

Doesn't work I'm almost in full-blown panic attack mode. I'm crying. I grab the shelf where the salads are and S comes to get the replacements and drops the bombshell that "she's adamant that there's a meat product missing" and sends me to the chill to find it and also so I can calm down a bit.

She told me not to give the cow the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

When I'm on my way to the chill, E passed me on her way back down and went up to see if there was anything she could help with in terms of finding the missing thing.

I find a bag in the chill and take it up to the front but it's not the thing. E, however, has straightened things out because she was picking the chill and remembered the system error, and the woman is repacking her trolley "the right way". S takes me over to a manager and tells them:

"If you get a complaint about me or my pal here, ignore it. That woman is a bitch from Hell and is the worst person I've ever met in the twenty-eight years I've been here."

Then she sent me up to take a break and calm down.

tl;dr bitch customer makes me cry because her trolley was packed "wrong", awesome co-workers look after me when I nearly have a breakdown