#i have my leftover indian food to eat tonight after i finish working

[docholligay]

BOY OH BOY HAS THIS BEEN A FRUSTRATING ONE

THINK OF PLEASANT THINGS THINK OF PLEASANT THINGS THINK OF PLEASANT THINGS

[swtltlmrvlgrl]

Stay Until the Rain Stops

Summary:

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier AU. In Bucky’s search of what his “normal” looks like, he finds the reader sitting in a dark alleyway giving shelter to everything else, besides herself.

This story is part of my one-shot compilations inspired by the song “You Shine” from the musical “Carrie”, wherein two people see the way each other shines. This is NOT related to the previously uploaded story called “Accidents Happen”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (platonic!sam wilson and peter parker)

Warning/s: allergies, rain, fever, fainting, awkward

Word Count: 4,750

-----

“How can I leave you if you’re looking at me like that?”

You were on your way home from work, and it was raining heavily. To prevent the rain from soaking your bag and the important papers due tomorrow inside it, you positioned it in front of you - as if you’re cradling a baby in your arms. You were typing something on your phone when you heard a cry coming from the direction of the alleyway, you looked around to check if people noticed it too.

The sound of the cry hit too close to home that you weren’t able to ignore it. You walked towards and into the dark alleyway. With one umbrella in hand and your phone on the other, you turned on your phone’s flashlight and searched for the source of the soft cries.

You found it, and it is EXACTLY what you thought it was. Staring straight into your eyes with its pleading puppy dog eyes is obviously a puppy. It’s soaking wet inside a cardboard box. You immediately take off your grey cardigan and crouch down.

“Your parents left you here, huh?” You say, while wrapping the cardigan around the puppy.

You sit down - indian style - and place the box between your thighs. You pull the box and your bag closer to your body to make sure that the dog and your bag is properly placed under the umbrella, not minding the huge droplets of water accumulating on your back.

“I’m sorry.” You tell the puppy.” This is the only thing that I can do.”

The puppy wags its tail slowly. It breaks your heart that you can’t take the puppy home, but you’re allergic to dogs and puppies. The mere fact that you actually had contact with this puppy right now will have its consequences tonight or tomorrow, it’s fine but having it with you every day is a death sentence. Of course, you WOULD know.

When you were a child, you would ask your mother everyday to visit your aunt’s place because she had five dogs. You knew you were allergic to dogs so you made sure that you always drink your antihistamine after visiting your aunt’s house. But after playing with her dogs the whole day for 5 consecutive days, your body did not respond to the antihistamine anymore and you had to be rushed to the hospital. The worst part is, ever since that day, you’re not allowed to visit your aunt’s house and play with her dogs. You can only admire dogs from afar. That experience left a void in your heart that can only be filled by watching dog videos everyday.

“Ah!” You remember that you have a leftover carrot in the lunch box. “Today is your lucky day champ.” You scramble through your things. “My lunch was cut short so I have a few pieces of carrots left.”

You mash the carrots with your fingers, making it easier for the puppy to eat. “Here you go.” The puppy licks the mashed carrots at the tip of your index finger. “Good?” You ask, after you see him finishing up the food. The puppy wags its tail enthusiastically. “Man, how long have you been here?”

The puppy barks in response. “A long time huh?” You pat its head. “Okay. Here’s a deal.” You take his right paw with your right hand. “I’ll ask around the office tomorrow. I promise I’ll find you a new parent. Okay?” You shake his paw and he barks.

-----

Ever since he moved in one week ago, Bucky would always check the alleyway near his apartment building. It’s been pretty quiet and normal these past few days.

But not today.

Even with his hood up, he could clearly hear something in the alleyway. He walked slowly and stealthily, and found shelter a few meters away from the unfamiliar entity.

From where he was standing, he recognized the shape of an umbrella, and a box resting on what seemed like legs in denim jeans. He heard a voice, your voice, having a conservation with … the box?

Wait.

Did the box...bark?

“I’ll stay here until the rain stops.” He heard you say.

Bucky contemplated on what you just said. Is she out of her mind? He looked up and stretched his hands out to check if the rain would stop any time soon. An obvious, no.

After clicking his tongue, he clenched his jaw, and walked briskly towards your direction. He can’t just leave you there soaking under the rain.

Ah, Bucky was caught with a sudden pang of nostalgia. It’s been a while since I saved an irresponsibly impulsive person.

-----

The sound of footsteps approaching you puts you on high alert. The puppy must’ve smelled your fear and starts barking towards the direction of the stranger. The entity stops a few steps away from you. You hold your breath and pray that today won’t be your last day on earth. The puppy stops barking.

After a moment of silence, you hear three small taps on your umbrella. The person at the opposite side of the umbrella cleared his (you assumed he’s a man because of his deep voice) throat.

“I- uh - overheard your conversation with the thing in the box” He starts saying.

You pull your umbrella up, exposing the dog wrapped in grey cardigan and your drenched self to the man. Seeing the state that you’re in, Bucky swiftly takes off his leather jacket, leaving him with only his hoodie to cover his body from the rain, and proceeds to wrap it around you.

“My jacket’s a little wet too but...” He says. “This can warm you up a little.” He takes the handle of your umbrella. “I don’t think the rain’s going to stop any time soon.” Before you can say anything, he stretches his arms out for you to hold. “Maybe we should go and seek shelter first?”

----

“James Buchanan Barnes.” He introduces himself.”But you can call me Bucky.”

You can’t really tell him that he doesn’t need to introduce himself, cause you already know him. You work in the Avengers tower after all, and Sam Wilson has been talking about his new cyborg-brained partner coming in a week.

As a mechanical engineer, you’ve always been fascinated by the technologies coming from Wakanda, and you’ve been particularly curious about his metal arm. But you can’t really tell him that now, can you? Especially now that you’re inside his apartment while drying your hair with his towel. Good thing you always pack extra sets of clothes, it would’ve been awkward if he offers you his clothes, as well.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You tell him. “Thank you for saving me and the puppy out there. I’m actually...” You sigh. “...allergic to dogs and puppies so I can’t adopt him and take him home.” You continue, while playing with the tip of the towel. “I know this is too much to ask after everything you did but is it okay if he stays with you for now?”

Bucky isn’t responding. He can’t. How can he take care of a puppy, he can’t even take care of himself.

“I’ll find him a parent tomorrow, I promise.” You assure him, while putting the towel down and facing him.

“Sure.” Bucky gives a half-hearted response, while forcing a smile.

You heave a sigh of relief “Thanks!” You run towards him and shake his hands. “You’re a hero.”

Hero. That’s probably the last word that Bucky will use to describe himself, but he won’t deny that being called like that felt good. He didn’t even notice the way his half-hearted smile turned into a full one.

“You can stay here if you want.” Bucky offers as you let go of his hand.

You were taken aback by the offer. I mean, staying with Mr. Barnes would entail a lot of chances to ask him about the arm and maybe more about the Wakandan technology. But that’s too much to ask from him in a day, he’s just being polite and you don’t want to impose.

“Thank you so much for the offer. But I would have to decline.” You say.

The curve on Bucky’s face disappears. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You say in a hushed voice.

“I can take you ho - “ The sound from the puppy cuts Bucky mid-sentence.

The puppy must’ve understood what you just said, and started barking and crying. You and Bucky look at each other for a moment, then to the dog and to each other again. Bucky smirks, and you smile back. You both start walking towards the crying dog. You crouch down and pat the puppy’s head.

“Hey.” He stops crying and wags his tail, while aggressively rubbing his head and his muzzle in your hand. “I have to go.” The puppy starts crying again, a little louder than the first one.

You take a deep breath and sigh. “You’re using the crying technique again. We meet for 5 seconds and you already know my weakness. You’re even using it against me.”

You hear Bucky’s small chuckle from behind.

“Fine.” You rub his head a few more times. “I’ll stay. But no more touching, ‘kay?” The puppy barks once and wags his tail. He does a small twirl and pats your gray sweater-turned-dog-blanket and makes himself comfortable.

You breathe out and slowly stand to face Bucky.

“Don’t apologize.” Bucky starts talking before you could say anything. “The puppy actually did a better job than me in convincing you to stay. I mean -” Bucky rubs his nape and points at the wall clock. “It’s already late. I think it would be best if you stay here for the night.”

“I really, really don’t want to impose. But I also don’t want to leave him crying in your apartment. I promise I’ll go home early in the morning.”

“Sure.” He pauses. “You mentioned that you’re - uh - allergic to dogs, I can go out to buy medicine for you.”

“Oh no no. No need. I actually have some with me.”

“Water?” Bucky offers.

You nod your head. “Thank you.”

“Actually - uhm -” You stop him before he goes to fetch you some water. “I have something to tell you.” You pause for a moment to gather all the necessary strength that you would need for this confession. “We’re actually office or work mates… ish?”

Bucky raises his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I work at the Avengers Tower.” You say it as fast as you can. “But I’m not like you, or like a superhero or something. I work at the engineering department.” You confess. “Sam, your partner, I help him sometimes with his gears. He has been talking about you since last week.”

“Well. That man really likes talking a lot huh.” Bucky responds.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t know how I’m going to tell you without it being awkward.”

“I don’t think we can get any more awkward than this, Y/N.”

“Agreed.”

“So work mates, huh?”

“Yep.”

“That’s actually good news.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ll have someone with me on my first day.”

The tension and the awkwardness between the two of you started to disappear. Having some kind of a connection and a common friend, made Bucky feel a bit more relaxed and at ease. You, on the other hand, feel better because you don’t have anything to hide. You still haven’t told him about your interest for his Wakandan arm, but that’s a completely different story.

While you were drinking your antihistamine, Bucky took out his blankets and his extra pillows and laid them all on the sofa, where you will be sleeping for the night. After which, he arranges a pair of pillows and a blanket on the floor, a few steps away from the sofa, where he will be sleeping.

You really feel bad about this set-up, especially with Bucky just sleeping on the floor with just blankets serving as his cushion, but Sam sometimes tells you stories about vets having a difficult time sleeping on beds. It felt too soft, Sam would say, like the ground is eating them alive. Which is why, no matter how uncomfortable it looks and feels to you, you did your best to not put Bucky in a position where he has to explain himself and his feelings.

Bucky turns off the lights, except the lampshade beside the television.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

-----

You wake up to a very cold sensation, sending shivers down your spine. Your eyes feel heavy and you somehow find it difficult to breathe. Slowly, you open your eyes to wake up and try to sit up. Now you realize, it’s not just your eyes or your breathing is heavy, your whole body feels heavy.

This isn’t good.

You scan through the room to look for Bucky only to find a small piece of paper neatly placed on the table with a glass of water on top to prevent it from being taken away by the wind. His note was written at the center of the short bond paper with a black pen, his penmanship was surprisingly neat and easy to understand.

I’ll just go out for a walk. I’ll be back soon. - Bucky

You massage your head and look at the time. It’s 5 am. A little earlier than what you’re used to, maybe that explains why you’re feeling a little under the weather. Drinking the water made you feel a little better, you massage your head and walk towards the puppy. Seeing him sleeping soundly, gave you a sense of relief.

“Sleep well.” You whisper.

The sound of your phone ringing surprised you. Just from the ring tone alone, you know that it’s work-related. You pace towards your bag and search for your phone. You look at the screen. It’s Sam.

“Hey Sam. What’s up?”

“Y/N. I’m sorry to wake you early in the morning.”

“No probs. I’m already awake.”

“This early? That's new.”

You chuckle. “Yeah. ‘Cause I had a feeling you’d call. Women’s intuition.”

Sam laughs. “Right. I need your help in fixing Red Wing for a mission later, can you come?”

“Like now?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure. I’ll just fix myself and go there.”

“Is that Y/N?” You hear a voice from the background, based on the pitch of the voice, it has to be Peter. “Y/N! I need help with my web shooters too!”

“I just leave for a night and everyone misses me already huh.”

“Perks of being the gang’s favorite engineer.” Sam quips. “We have breakfast here too. We’ll wait for you.”

“Come faster, I’m hungry!” Peter shouts. “And I’ll be late for class!”

“Sure sure. I’ll go now. Bye Sam.”

“Thanks, Y/N. See you.”

“Wait! Sam!” You shout, stopping Sam from hanging up the phone “I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Is there a room for a puppy in the Tower?”

“A puppy?” Sam pauses. “Wait, Y/N. Aren’t you allergic to puppies?”

“I’ll explain later.” You tell Sam, while putting out a pen from your bag and then reaching for the piece of paper Bucky previously wrote on.

“Okay. I guess it can stay in my room.”

“Yes! Thanks Sam, see you!” Then you hang up.

Hi Bucky. Good morning. Sorry but I have to leave. Duty calls. I feel bad that I won’t be able to come with you on your first day at the tower but you can always pass by the Eng’g department if you’re free. I’ll be there the whole day.

Also, good news! Sam’s willing to adopt the puppy, so I’ll be taking it with me.

Thank you for everything and sorry for the trouble that I caused.

-Y/N

You pick up the box carefully, so as not to wake the puppy up and went out.

—————

“If you’re looking for Y/N she’s in the clinic.” Sam tells Bucky whose eyes were searching the building room. Inside his backpack was a piece of sandwich because you were and a small carton of milk he bought on his way home early morning, but wasn’t able to give you or the puppy because you weren’t there when he came back. “And the puppy’s in my room.” Sam adds.

“I see.” Bucky answers, trying to be as indifferent sounding as possible. But deep inside, he’s actually worried about you. Is it because of her allergies? Maybe I shouldn’t have let you stay in the same room as the dog.

“It’s not her allergies.” Sam says, like he read exactly what’s in Bucky’s mind.

“Good.”

Both Sam and Bucky enter the elevator going to the 5th floor where most of the weapons, tools and equipment are found. Upon arriving, Sam points at the second door at the right side area, on top of it is a huge sign written with black paint saying ‘Engineering Department’.

Sam opens the door. Lo and Behold at the far end of the room, wearing safety goggles, holding a soldering pen, with sparks flying all over the place, was you.

“I thought she’s in the clinic.”.

“My god! Y/N! I told you to stay in the clinic.” Sam ignores what Bucky just said and walks straight towards you. “I leave you for what? Thirty minutes? and you’re -” Sam takes his eyes off of you and shoots angry glances at the engineering staff. “And you all didn’t even stop her.”

“You know, she can’t be stopped when she’s in the zone.” One of the staff answers and the others nod in agreement.

“In the zone or not, she has a fever for god’s sake.”

“Don’t be mad Sam, I was the one who told them to not stop me.” You continue to solder on Red Wing’s fuel control unit.

“That’s a first. They never listen to you.” Sam stands at the opposite side of your working table with his arms crossed on his chest, the volume of his voice is lower, almost like a murmur.

“In my defense, you’re the one who asked for my help.” You pull the magnifying glass and adjust it a few inches away from the mechanism.

“That was because I didn’t know you had a high fever.” The moment you stop soldering, Sam pulls the magnifier away from Red Wing, making you put your full attention on the man standing in front of you. “I can handle this Y/N. Rest. Now.”

You pull the magnifier back and continue with your work. “Where’s Rain?” You’re attempting to change the topic.

“Who’s Rain?” The familiarity coming from the voice made you stop, you were expecting to see him today but not this soon. You put down the soldering pen, push your goggles up to your forehead.

“Hey Bucky.” You greet him. Bucky notices how pale you are and yet your smile never faltered. Your adorable awkwardness is still present as well.

“Hey.” He responds. “So... ‘Rain’... the puppy’s name?”

“Yeah. Peter, Sam and I named him this morning”

“Wait.” Sam interjects and looks at Bucky. “So, Y/N can call you Bucky but I can’t?”

Bucky ignores Sam’s comment, steps forward and points at Red Wing. “How long are you planning to fix that?”

You look at your wrist watch and then at Red Wing. “I’ll be done in 20-30 minutes.”

“Make it 10 minutes.” Bucky challenges. “If you’re not yet done by then. I’ll be carrying you out of this room and into the clinic.”

“Wait. What?”

“What? Can’t do it? I thought people working here are the best of the best.” Bucky pushes further.

You squint at him and then to Sam and then sighs. “Fine.” You set the alarm to ten minutes and then plug one of the airpods in your ear. “I’ll walk to the clinic myself.” Then plugs the other airpod to the other ear. “See you in 10 minutes.”

“And just like that, you listen to him?” Sam comments and puts his hands on his waist.

Bucky puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder “I had years of experience looking out for irresponsibly impulsive people.” He nods his head inviting Sam to step outside.

-----

“So Y/N reminds you of Steve, huh.” Sam says after getting out of your office.

Bucky smirks. “If by that, you mean, she reminds me of the times that I have to check alleyways ‘cause the sickly Steve “too-stubborn-to run-away-from-a-fight” Rogers might be out there somewhere, then yes.”

“Good thing she’s not the fighting type” Sam continues. “That would’ve given me a headache.”

“She's irresponsible, reckless and impulsive.” Bucky adds. “But she’s a good person.”

“That is something we can agree on.” Sam says.

-----

“I’m done!” With just a few seconds to spare, you shout and raise your two hands to celebrate. Sam and Bucky must’ve heard you cause a few seconds later, they enter the room and walk straight to your work station.

“I did it!” After congratulating you and giving you a high five, the two of them position themselves on each of your sides, Sam on your left and Bucky on your right.

“Now.” You take off your gloves, your goggles and your industrial apron. “A deal is a deal, I will walk - “

Thump.

The goggles that you were supposed to place on the table fell on the ground.

“Y/N!” Sam calls out and immediately checks your pulse. “She’s still alive. Just unconscious. She must’ve fainted because of her high fever.”

“I’ll take her to the clinic.” Bucky hoists you up and carries you like a princess. Bucky starts to run and Sam tries to follow after Bucky, but Bucky was too fast.

“The clinic’s on the 2nd floor.” Sam shouts at the running form of Bucky.

“FRIDAY.” Sam gets the AI’s attention.

“Yes, Mr. Wilson.”

“Please tell the clinic that Bucky will be taking Y/N there.” Sam commands. “Also, show Bucky the directions, I don’t think he knows the way to the clinic yet.”

“Understood.”

“Thanks FRIDAY.”

-----

The shape and form of the room you’re staying at becomes clearer as you slowly open your eyes. Everything in the room is white, white sheets, white curtains, white wallpaper, the cabinets are also painted white. Something or should you say someone, sitting on the white couch does not follow the all-white aesthetic of the room. He was wearing black leader jacket on top of a blue henley. His metal arm is holding a Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban book, while his flesh hand is flipping through the page. His expression is priceless, you can tell from his expression alone that he’s very invested in the scene that he’s reading.

“How long was I asleep?” Your voice catches Bucky’s attention, you kind of regretted speaking too soon, maybe you should’ve let him read for a while longer. “You’re already on the third book.”

“Let’s just say I’m a fast reader.” Bucky smiles and puts down the book on the table beside the couch. “You’ve been out for about …” He looks at his smartphone. “ 7, 8 hrs.”

“That explains my growling stomach.” You push yourself up into a sitting position, with the pillow serving as the cushion between your back and the bed’s headboard.

Bucky gets two trays of food in the small refrigerator and places them inside the microwave. “Sam gave us food before leaving for the mission. He told me that food will be the first thing that you will ask for, once you wake up.”

You laugh at Sam’s comment. “He isn’t wrong though.”

“Are you feeling better now?” Ding. Bucky takes out the first tray of food to the microwave and then places the second one. With the tray in one hand, he pulls the table with the other. He places the tray on top of the table in front of you.

“Thanks.” You fix the tray and Bucky goes back to the microwave oven. “I’m feeling much better now. Thank you.”

You search around the room for a place where Bucky can eat but you found none. So while Bucky was busy finding the utensils and getting the second tray from the microwave, you scoot your way towards the side of the bed and push the table outwards. This way, you and Bucky can sit beside each other and can eat on an actual table.

Bucky notices what you did and hesitates a little. You smiled at him, to reassure him and pat the empty space beside you. From the time when he first met you, he hasn’t been able to resist that smile. He’s starting to think that maybe this isn’t just because you reminded him of Steve.

“Sam hasn’t come back from the mission?” You start the conversation.

“No.” Bucky chews on the food inside his mouth. “The mission got a little delayed, they might come back late.”

You take a spoonful of rice to eat. “Who’s he with?”

Bucky thinks for a moment. “He’s with Clint and Scott if I remember correctly.”

“Why didn’t you join them?”

“I was -” Bucky takes a sip from the glass of water beside him. “I was busy reading.”

You almost choke on what you were eating. “You read three books!” You laugh. “You must’ve been exhausting.”

“Well the book isn’t going to read itself, you know.”

You both laugh at your sarcastic banter. The two of you continue your conversation while talking about how Bucky’s first day at the Avengers tower went. He was introduced to a few avengers present at the tower and the staff and he toured around the compound. He also mentions something about having a room in the tower, where he can stay if he wants to.

Bucky notices how you were gathering the boiled carrots on one side of your plate. “You hate carrots?”

“Oh!” You were surprised that he noticed. “I actually love carrots. I’m just saving these.” You point at the carrots. ”for Rain.”

He looks at his almost empty plate. “You should’ve told me that we’re doing that. I could have saved some for him too.”

“Giving him a place to stay for the night is enough.” You assure him. “I’ll take care of the food.”

“Too late for task distribution. I already bought him milk.”

“You did?!”

Bucky nods.

“I literally just met you yesterday, and I already owe you a lot. How can I even start repaying you.

“Well.” Bucky thinks about it for a second and smiles mischievously. “Sam must’ve mentioned something about your interest to the Wakandan tech.”

“He did?!” You cringe and facepalm at the amount of shame that you feel. “Well. That’s not a good first impression, isn’t it.”

“As a matter of fact, it IS a good first impression. You’re really good at what you do Y/N.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” You chuckle. “But yeah,” You continue. ”I can’t deny my interest. I probably talk about the Wakandan tech at least once a day. Thrice, if you’re Sam Wilson.”

“With that being said,” Bucky says. “You can repay me by allowing me to join your conversations about the tech.” Bucky flexes the fingers of his metal arm. “And I can use some help in checking up on this one. I mean, if it’s alright with you?”

“Of course it is! You don’t need to ask to join, you can join in anytime you want! You’ll have a valuable input to the conversation. You’ve been there personally and you’ve experienced their technology first hand.” You take Bucky’s metal hand and sandwich it in between yours. “Thank you, Bucky.” You squeeze Bucky’s hand and let it go. “I’m betting Sam told you about my obsession with Wakandan tech.”

“In your defense, Sam talks a lot.” Bucky assures you.

“He does. And he would hate it if you join our conversations.”

“I’m counting on that.”

“But seriously, I would love you - “ You pause. “I mean - you joining our -”

“I would love that too.”

Bucky doesn’t let you finish your sentence. You didn’t need to. It wasn’t necessary. In a span of two days, you made Bucky feel the most comfortable, and awkward but moreso, you made him feel normal. Despite knowing who he is, you didn’t show any signs of fear, or pity. You just showed yourself. And it was enough to make him think and feel that whatever it is that you would love to do, he wants to be part of it, too.

End

A/N: This came out longer than expected! Hahaha. I would usually limit my one-shots to 1-2k words but this came out loner than expected. I had a lot of fun writing Sam and Bucky's dynamic! You have to have that good balance of care and sarcasm between the two of them. That was enjoyable to do (that's probably why this ended up having 4,5k+ words). Did you enjoy reading it? I hope you did! Feel free to write your thoughts below!

Masterlist

[immodestmussorgskyy]

you have (1) new message

“I don’t believe in you!”

“I believe in you…”

You can’t help but snort, bursting into a fresh round of giggles. The dialogue in Nightmare on Elm Street is absolutely diabolical-- you struggle to figure out how anybody could consider this a horror movie. But hey… meteoric fame is hard to come by. It’s a cult classic for a reason. 

You’d usually be marathoning classic slasher flicks with your roommate, Chloe, but she’s on a month-long Hawaii dream vacation with her new boyfriend. What happened to bros before hoes? But hey, his wealth is apparently abundant enough to fund weeks of paradise beachside living, so good for her for getting that bread. And anyway, you’re content to sit alone in your little mousehole apartment and melt into the couch after work with a family-size bag of salt & vinegar chips under your arm. 

You watch the flickering screen with mild interest as you chomp down another handful of chips. Freddy Krueger is definitely failing to get you on the edge of your seat. Wiping your hand on your sweatpants, you pick up the remote and turn the movie off. 

“Nightmare, my ass.” you mutter under your breath. 

As much as you’d like to, eating nothing but salt and vinegar chips for dinner seems like a great way to end up with an upset stomach and a lot of regret later tonight. The pantry is well stocked with Chloe’s foods of choice-- organic steel-cut rolled oats, a billion different kinds of nuts and seeds all in cute little labeled mason jars, gluten free bread, a mockery of cheese puffs (chickpea puffs? Come on!). Your side is a library of boxed or canned foods in stark contrast: a couple opened boxes of Pop-Tarts, a few boxes of Kraft mac & cheese, a family sized box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and, the only thing not in a box: another bag of salt & vinegar chips. 

The fridge tells a similar story. Chloe’s avocados, farmer’s market tomatoes, and thick stalks of celery gleam in the vegetable drawer. She’s consumed half the shelf space with just kombucha and a few swanky craft beers. And bottles of oat milk, or soy milk, or some kind of thing pretending to be milk. You actually don’t have much in the fridge besides leftover Indian food from your favorite place downtown and a gallon of milk for your cereal, so you don’t mind her hogging more space. 

Muffy, Chloe’s ragdoll cat, stalks into the kitchen with you and gives you a tiny yowl. You lean down and give her an affectionate scratch behind the ears. 

“Scram, Muffy.” you murmur to her. “I’ve already fed you.” 

She looks up at you with a look that can only mean “and you’ll feed me more.” 

She stalks back into the living room, fluffy beige tail disappearing behind the wall in a flick and a wave. You tie your hair back and yawn. What’s on the menu for dinner tonight? 

Before you can think too much about eating, you remember that Chloe left you a voicemail before she took off. You fish your phone from your pocket and open your voicemail, tapping your toe against the linoleum floor as the dial tone plays. 

You have one new message, chirps the robot voice of your mailbox. 

“Hey girl. I’m boarding soon, so you probably won’t hear from me for a while. Make sure you feed Muffy, water the plants…” she clicks her tongue a few times, “take your meds, and don’t lay in bed for too long on the weekends. You know how that tanks your mood.” 

Chloe might be a total hipster health nut, but it doesn’t make it any less sweet that she frets over you so much. You break into a smile and make a mental note to call her back. 

“And. You can eat anything perishable of mine in the fridge or pantry while I’m gone. I doubt the bread or the veggies are gonna last long… you need to eat healthier anyway. No potato chips for dinner.” 

Your smile grows. She knows you so well. 

“I gotta go, but I’ll send you tons of pictures when I get there. Bye, babe.” 

You hang up and set your phone down on the counter. Eyeing the bland looking loaf of brown bread, you decide you’ll have breakfast a la Chloe for dinner. 

You toss the loaf onto the counter, then stalk to the fridge. The avocados seem pretty ripe. Tomatoes, too. You pick out one of each, then pluck a couple eggs from the carton you two share and set it all on the counter. Avocado toast with scrambled eggs sounds pretty Chloe. 

You gut the avocado, tossing its pit in the trash and scooping its innards out into a bowl. The fork makes quick work of it, turning it into a mound of mild green paste. Salt, pepper. Done. 

Hey, if Chloe let you eat her food, she’s bound to not mind that you’re using her nice kitchen knives too, right? You cut a few slices of tomato and grimace at its gelatinous, glistening center. You never liked tomatoes much, but she’s kinda right-- you do need to improve your diet. 

Before long, you’ve got a nice thick slice of toast slathered in avocado and garnished with ripe red tomato sitting next to a steaming pile of scrambled eggs. This may not be your beloved salt & vinegar chips, but it sure looks delicious. 

You snap a photo of your meal and text it to her. Am I healthy yet? you type, with a grin on your face. 

Muffy stalks up to you, looking up expectantly. You sigh and toss her a morsel of scrambled egg. “That’s all you’re getting, you little twerp.” you admonish through a mouthful of toast. It’s not… delicious, but it’s not bad for some mushed up vegetable on top of an excuse for bread. You curse yourself for not adding some cheese to your scrambled eggs. That would’ve really been delicious. 

You’d usually be scrolling through your social media right now, but something inspires you to look longingly out the window of the kitchen. The sky is a starless, inky black, obscuring everything except for whatever is illuminated by the weak orange streetlights. Usually there would be more traffic or drunk yelling-- you and Chloe didn’t exactly get lucky with the placement of your unit-- but tonight it’s eerily silent. That’s perfectly welcome to you, though. It’s much better than cranking up the volume of your music to drown out whatever street fight is occurring three floors below you. 

Suddenly, your musing and its silence is broken by the sound of your ringtone. It’s half past midnight… who in their right mind would be calling you right now? 

Unknown number. You frown and let it go to voicemail. Probably just some spam caller. 

You finish your dinner and sit there in the silence, then check your phone again. You can’t help but be curious as to what message they’ve left you. Gingerly, you open your voice mailbox again and listen dispassionately to the dial tone and the little robot voice. 

You have one new message and one old message. 

The voice that erupts through your speaker is unfamiliar, smooth, low. All you can discern is that it’s a male voice, its tone almost perversely cloying. 

“I was hoping you’d pick up.” A long inhale, a long exhale. “You seem a little lonely. Breakfast for dinner… cute.” 

Ice cold horror washes over you and you can barely move your fingers to hang up. This has to be some kind of joke. Some stupid kid getting really, really lucky with their prank call. 

But a question still sears into your thoughts:

Who would have known what you were doing? 

That you were alone in your apartment? 

Maybe, just maybe, by some insane stretch of the imagination, Chloe’s new boyfriend got ahold of her phone, saw your text, and decided to pull some prank. Yeah, that sounds about right. That’s the only situation that makes sense, unless… 

Somebody is watching you.  

You nearly jump out of your seat as the phone rings again. Unknown number. Your hands tremble over it as your panicked brain deliberates picking it up. Before you can think about it any more, you’ve snatched it into a sweaty palm and brought it up to your ear. 

“Chloe, this isn’t fucking funny. Cut it out.” you try to sound intimidating, but your voice trembles in just the wrong way with each word. 

“You picked up.” the voice breathes, and you swear you can hear a sinister smile creep onto whoever’s face it belongs to. “You must really be lonely.” 

“I said stop, Chlo--”

“My name’s not Chloe.” he snarls, and your empty threat dies in your throat immediately. Then, as if nothing had happened at all, his voice slips back into that relaxed, amused tone. “But I do wish I were spending a month in Hawaii right now. Lucky girl, isn’t she?” 

Another pang of fear hits you like a brick. You swallow hard, biting your lip. “Whoever you are, leave me alone. Or I’ll… I’ll call the cops.” 

“What exactly are you going to tell them, sweetheart? That some big mean boogeyman is leaving scary messages on your phone?” he lets out a mocking laugh. “They’ll send their best officers, I’m sure.”

“Leave me alone.” is all you manage to say, breathless and trembling, before you force yourself to hang up and practically slam your phone down onto the counter. Muffy jumps and cocks her head at you. You force yourself to break out of your panicked stupor and hurry over to the kitchen window, glancing hurriedly to the left and right of it. If somebody were on the fire escape, you surely would have heard it. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

You yank those curtains shut, then the curtains on the living room window, then finally the ones in your bedroom. You remember Chloe locking and shutting her windows, so there’s no need to check in there. Something tells you to anyway.

You creep to her doorway, palms sweaty. There’s probably nothing to see in there, you think to yourself, the curtains were already shut. 

Looking into her room, your stomach drops. 

The curtains are tucked neatly to the side, and her window is cranked all the way open, letting in the cool night air and the sounds of the streets. You nearly choke in horror and rush over to shut the window, making sure the lock is tightly down before throwing the curtains back over them. You must have just misremembered. She probably left the window open to let some fresh air in, or something.

But she never leaves her window open, or Muffy would get out, you realize. 

“Oh my God.” you gasp to yourself, before you sprint to the kitchen and grab the biggest, meanest looking knife in the drawer, as well as your phone. Muffy meows at you curiously, then yelps in indignance as you swiftly scoop her up by the stomach and fly to your room. 

“Sorry.” you mutter as you practically toss her onto your bed, then lock your door. It’s a pathetic, flimsy mechanism, and could probably be picked with a fork, but it’s better than nothing. You pause, surveying the room for any heavy objects, and settle on jamming your full laundry hamper under the doorknob. At least this way you’ll hear any intruder before they make it into your room. The knife you tuck under your pillow as you scramble under your covers and turn your lamp off. 

Your hands shake as you dial Chloe’s number. The phone rings once, twice, then goes straight to voicemail.

“Hey, Chlo,” you say shakily. “Uhm, I got some really weird calls from somebody tonight and I think our apartment might have been broken into. Or something. Uh,” you swallow hard, “Muffy and I are locked up in my room right now and I have a knife. I could be just imagining things, but if you don’t hear from me for a while, I probably got murdered or something.”

God, you sound so stupid right now, but it’s the best you can muster when your thoughts are racing at a million miles an hour. 

“I’ll call you when I wake up tomorrow. Bye.” 

You plug your phone in and set it on your nightstand, shrinking down underneath your duvet. Nothing is visible in your room, even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, except for the glow of the hall light you left on under your door. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

Check out this story and the rest of its chapters on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688007/chapters/70331253

[starrybouquet]

Dates and Daffodils

Even though she'd been thinking about it for the better part of a day, it was still surreal to have Jack O'Neill standing on her doorstep, dressed in jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a flannel that for once wasn't three sizes too big. One hand held a plastic takeout bag with red lettering, and the other was holding...a bunch of daffodils?

The sequel to Darkness and Dawn, containing the date which I never expected to write, but did, because so many of you asked for it. Enjoy. :D

(see what I did with the title there? XD)

Read on AO3 or under the cut here:

The counters were clear, the dishes done. The coffee table was free of clutter, the books all shelved, the papers stacked. Sam had even cleaned her desk, which she didn't think had happened in at least a year, and dusted the mantel, which hadn't happened in at least three.

And now she was inspecting her living room awkwardly, because she'd changed and couldn't keep stress cleaning because she didn't want to sweat through her clean clothes. Not that they were anything fancy, just a new red top and jeans, but still.

Determinedly, she strode to her dining-room-turned-office and grabbed Physical Review D off the stack of journals beside her laptop. Returning to the living room, she plopped onto the couch and opened to a random page, desperately trying to ignore her thundering heartbeat.

By the time Sam heard the sound of his truck’s engine outside, she had given up on reading journal papers and had progressed to pacing in the entryway, socked feet slipping against the floor. The clock on the wall read 18:00 exactly. Right on time.

When she heard his footfalls on the porch step, Sam couldn’t help herself. She moved to the entry and pulled open the door, not bothering to wait for his knock.

Even though she'd been thinking about it for the better part of a day, it was still surreal to have Jack O'Neill standing on her doorstep, dressed in jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a flannel that for once wasn't three sizes too big. One hand held a plastic takeout bag with red lettering, and the other was holding...a bunch of daffodils?

"Car--Sam," he said, and now Sam really had seen everything, because the Colonel--Jack--looked painfully nervous.

And as was always the case with them, as soon as Sam saw his brown eyes fastened anxiously on her face, a wave of calm washed her fears away, leaving only a profound sense of rightness in its wake.

She pulled him inside, smiling, and relieved him of both the daffodils and Chinese food. "The flowers--you didn't have to, you know."

"I know hearts and flowers aren't really your thing," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But you deserve them."

"I love them," Sam assured him. "Come on in--we can eat in the living room?"

Jack took off his shoes and padded into the kitchen and just stood at the counter for a moment, watching Sam put the daffodils in water. He was struck again with amazement that this woman has agreed, of her own volition, to spend time with him. On a date.

He was determined not to muck up the once-in-a-million chance he'd been given. Thus the flowers (daffodils, her favorite), and the clothes that he’d dug out of the back of the closet, the ones his mother had made him buy when she’d visited Colorado Springs a few years ago. JJ, you can’t go around looking like a homeless man. I know you make a perfectly good salary from the Air Force. Use it!

His mother had never met Sam, Cassie, or Janet. Jack was pretty sure he wanted to keep it that way. Although he was sure they’d all get along swell.

Okay, maybe he wanted her to meet them. At least Sam. Just maybe.

It’s only a first date, Jack! Even if it is Carter. You’re getting ahead of yourself. He shook himself from his thoughts. “Can I do anything?”

"You can go ahead and open up the food," Sam said, glancing at him from between the daffodils. "I'll grab the plates and silverware."

"Sure," Jack said, and wandered to the sofa, food in hand. He opened up the cartons on her coffee table and sat down on the sofa uncomfortably. It was far from the first time he'd been in Carter's living room, wasn't even the first time he'd eaten Chinese takeout on the coffee table, even. But it was different, with just him and Carter. He was pretty sure the chances he'd spill something or start convulsing from some alien disease as soon as she walked in the room had increased tenfold since the last time he'd sat on this couch. Because wouldn't that be just his luck?

“How did you know I liked daffodils?” Sam asked as she entered the room, plates and napkins in hand.

Jack squirmed. “You, uh, mentioned it when we set up the observatory on that moon last year.” He gave her an embarrassed glance.

Sam smiled but didn’t say anything, just sat down to his left and reached for the chow mein.

Maybe he hadn’t messed this up yet? “So...how’s the Indian?”

It took some time, but by the time the Chinese was finished, Sam and Jack were talking and laughing just like they did in the commissary or her lab or offworld.

It was almost like the night watches, where they sat up together on some deserted planet. The only difference was that they weren’t being so careful not to touch anymore. In fact, at some point during dinner Sam’s hand wormed its way into Jack’s, and then Jack had interlaced their fingers and tugged her hand into his lap, where he was now fidgeting with her fingers as he leaned back against the couch.

“I still can’t believe you drank that stuff,” Sam said as she stacked the dishes on the coffee table with her other hand. “I’d have thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

“Well, I did.” Jack smirked. “Don’t worry, that mission to P3X-595 is still very clear in my memory. How could I ever forget the part where--”

“Jack!” she scolded, abandoning the dishes in favor of reaching across her body to slug him in the arm. Sam glared until she couldn’t hold in the laughter anymore, and then she broke down giggling into his shoulder. He slid an arm around her waist and she leaned into him, still giggling.

When the laughter subsided, Sam looked up to find Jack with a delighted, pleased grin on his face. She’d never seen that particular look before. “What?”

“You called me Jack,” he said happily. And then, because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her.

It was light and sweet and tender, and Sam kissed him back in the same manner, reveling in the freedom of being able to do this with Jack O’Neill. To hold hands with him, have dinner with him, kiss him.

Gradually, Jack pulled back, until he was just brushing her lips with his. Sam rested her head on his shoulder again, and Jack tilted his head against hers, nuzzling the golden silk of her hair. They sat quietly for a while, each taking in the ability to just be together.

“I should clear the table,” Sam said eventually.

“I’ll help,” Jack said, releasing her hand and disentangling his arm from around her waist.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he insisted, and Sam didn’t argue. They worked just as well together at home as in the field, with Sam depositing the dishes in the sink and Jack putting the leftovers in the refrigerator.

When they bumped into each other in front of the sink, it was Sam who stretched up to kiss him. She tasted like chow mein and General’s chicken and that same indefinable Sam he remembered from the incident with the Touched, and Jack resisted the urge to press her against the counter and take this a lot further a lot faster. He pulled away and Sam chased his lips, making a tiny whimper in the back of her throat that came perilously close to shattering his resolve.

"Carter. As much as I’d love to continue this, I should probably go," he said huskily. "We've got an 0900 briefing tomorrow."

Sam looked up at him. Her eyes were a shade darker than usual and Jack instantly knew that was his new favorite color. “You think we should wait,” she said, understanding what he wasn’t saying perfectly, as always. He nodded abashedly and opened his mouth, but Sam shook her head. “No, don’t apologize. I agree with you.”

She took his hand and led him to the entryway. "We should do this again sometime, though.”

When Jack turned back to her with a helpless little-boy grin on his face, she couldn't help but smile. "Yeah?"

"Definitely."

"Sweet."

They beamed at each other for a beat before Jack busied himself with his shoes.

"Sam," he said quietly before opening the door. "I had a great time tonight."

She looked up at him, taller than usual with his shoes on and her in socks. “Me too. The best.”

Jack nodded seriously, and then turned to leave. As he reached for the door handle, his hand paused, as if he wanted to say something else, and part of her begged silently for him to stop, turn around, and walk her back into the house. But the moment passed, and he stepped out into the night. Sam waved as he got into his truck and then closed the door, refusing to watch his taillights disappear into the night like some lovesick fool.

Her house felt lonely without Jack there on her couch, slurping his noodles and making her laugh. Not a whole lot quieter, in reality, but more empty. In her head, she knew it was no emptier than it had been that afternoon. She’d lived here by herself for seven years, after all. Still, she couldn’t help but feel cold without Jack there beside her.

There wasn’t anything she could do about it. Finally, after all these years of next to nothing, they finally had permission. That in and of itself was a miracle. And so they’d both agreed they needed to take it slow, not mess this up, because what would happen if it didn’t work out?

Sleep eluded her that night, but it wasn't until past midnight that the idea hit her.

Make your own destiny. That was the creed by which they lived at the SGC, and SG-1 followed it better than anyone. Her career and her love life--she was living two incompatible philosophies. Both of them willingly fought impossible battles against the Goa’uld daily. Why couldn’t they fight just as hard to make them--Sam and Jack--work? At least for her, Sam realized, it wasn’t a choice. She’d been in love with Jack O’Neill for at least six years, if not longer, despite everything that had happened between them. She’d fight like hell to make them work, had to, in fact because this was her only chance. Being with anyone else just wasn’t an option.

She grabbed an extra set of BDUs out of her closet, shoved her feet into her combat boots, and just about ran to her car, heedless of the fact that she was wearing pajamas.

In under ten minutes, she was knocking at Jack's door, overnight bag in hand.

A sleepy Jack O'Neill opened the door, still wearing the same gray t-shirt but having switched his jeans for sweatpants.

"Carter?" he asked, confusion scrunching his features.

"Sam," she corrected, stepping over the threshold and into the warmth of his home. "I know we said we should wait. But it's been years, and that was the best date I've ever had, ever, not because it was fancy, it wasn’t, but because it was you. And it's allowed, and I know we can make this”--she gestured between them--”work. If we both want it, which I think we do. So I don't want to waste another day, Jack. Can--" She paused, moved her bag in front of her protectively, suddenly irrationally worried she'd misread the entire situation. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Jack's eyes had cleared quickly, and it looked like he hadn’t missed anything. He closed the door behind Sam and turned back to her.

Carefully, he cradled her face in his hands and leaned forward. "Of course I want this, Sam. This is the best idea you've ever had," Jack whispered just before he kissed her.

Though it started out tender, a gentle meeting of lips, the kiss quickly became passionate. Sam dropped her bag to the floor and pulled Jack closer by the waist of his jeans as he ducked his head to taste the skin of her neck. And oh, this had definitely been the right idea. They stumbled against the wall blindly, barely managing to avoid tripping over the bag sitting haphazardly in Jack's entryway, and then Jack pushed a thigh between her legs, making her gasp and wrap her legs around him, and oh God all she wanted was more more more more.

Sam whimpered as Jack pulled back, chest heaving, and tried to tug him back down to her lips, certain she'd die if he stopped now.

"Sam," he gasped. "I just want to check. Are you absolutely sure? Because I'm gonna have a hard time going back after this, and--"

"I'm sure," she interrupted, smiling at his sweetness in spite of everything. "Jack, I'm not gonna change my mind."

"Okay." And with that, Sam found her legs kicking air.

It was a long time before she came back down.

Sam awoke with Jack's arms wrapped around her and his warm brown eyes watching her face carefully. They were still lying skin-to-skin, legs tangled together. The outside world was asleep--curtains drawn, lights out--and orange streaks were only beginning to paint the sky, but both Sam and Jack were used to waking up with the sun.

"Hey," he whispered, stroking a hand through her hair.

She smiled sleepily. "Hey."

"I forgot to say something last night," Jack said matter-of-factly.

"Oh?"

"I love you, Samantha Carter."

She buried her head in his chest and blinked happy tears onto his skin. "Love you too."

Jack's arms tightened, and he tried to soak in the moment, remember every bit of it. With her hair tousled, creamy skin against the white sheets, Sam looked just as beautiful as he'd always imagined--which he had, more times than he'd likely admit. More so, because she was real and here, all of her. Faded scars along her shoulder, the imprint of a pillow on one cheek, and that sparkle in her eyes. It'd been a long time since he remembered being this peaceful--since Charlie, maybe. Or even before.

But he never was good at verbalizing all that stuff.

"Carter," he started, eyes begging her to understand everything he didn’t know how to say. "As far as I'm concerned, you can stay here as often as you'd like."

At Jack’s words, Sam felt something click into place, the same part of her that had calmed when he arrived at her house yesterday evening. It was as if she'd been adrift for years, and finally docked back in the port she'd called home.

No, that wasn't right. Jack would never, ever tie her down. It was more like she was a planet that had finally settled into a stable orbit around its star--she’d found something--someone--to center her, stabilize her when she wobbled along her path.

Later, she'd describe the metaphor to Jack, and he would indulge in his characteristic affectionate teasing of her geeky side before extending the metaphor in ways that had her giggling. But now wasn't the time for that. Now, Sam looked at Jack, only inches away, and her heart tightened with love.

"Jack?" Sam said quietly, looking up at him again, blue eyes luminous.

“Yeah?”

"Can I stay here forever?" Her eyes searched his, shy and hopeful.

Jack hugged her even tighter, pulling her head to the crook of his neck, and it was his turn to blink the tears away. "Sam. I would love nothing more."

Outside, the sun rose, painting over the sky with pinks and oranges. But in Jack's mind, it was nothing compared to the sun in Sam's smile.

That smile was his world, and now that he had it, he was never letting anyone take it away.

The Goa’uld wouldn’t know what hit them.

[thehomierobbstark]

Do you think Erik likes being in front of the camera? Like if his woman was a photographer and asked him to do an x rated photo shoot just for their eyes only. I’m talking baby oil and everything, would he be a little nervous?

+

A/N:  First, l want to say that I absolutely LOVE this question.  I know I’ve been sitting on it for a minute, but every time I read it I get so many ideas in my head of how this would go, and I love how unique this thought is.  I also really wanted to incorporate the above twitter post into a story, so I figured this would be the perfect opportunity! I broke this up into two parts because I felt like it would flow better, so more is to come for this. As always, thank you for asking!  I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of this!

Warnings: At the bottom 👇🏿👇🏿👇🏿.

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

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

“I want you to come home.”

Erik lies face up on the arm of the couch, his long legs making his feet dangle over the edge on the other side, his huge body taking up all the space in the middle.  He throws an arm over his forehead, blowing a raspberry and playing with the coiled extension cord that strung out from the base on the wall.

He was soo bored, waiting for her to get back to keep him company and make his night much more interesting.

“Baby, you know I’m working late tonight.  I won’t be back for another few hours, I’ve got one more client left to shoot.”  Y/N looks out the large glass window of her downtown studio, looking at the traffic pile up down below.  

She hears him groan on the other side of the line, followed by the sound of shuffling.

Erik sits up, leaning over the back of the couch to look at the wall clock.  6:47.  He kisses his teeth, pressing the phone back to his ear as he lays back down.

“Is this that same picky ass indie chick that cancelled on you twice already?”  The bass in his voice comes out, and she can tell by the way his breathings changed that his nostrils are probably flared out in irritation and his grip on the phone is tighter.

It was 6:47 on a Friday night, and instead of being laid up on the couch with him, his baby was still at the studio waiting on some flake.

“You should’ve told her to find somebody else, my baby time far too valuable to be sitting around for some bummy ass knotted haired white chick to show up.”

“Relax, babe! Please? She called earlier and told me she’d be here at 7:15.  I’m good babe, I promise.”  Her voice is soft and soothing in his ear, and the veins in his forehead smooth down at her request.

Fine.  He’d relax.  But only because she’d told him to.

Rolling over to his side, he changes the subject, not wanting his own sour mood to influence hers before the shoot.

“You eat yet?”

“…No,” she admits, voice meek.

“I’ve been caught up in portfolios since three, but I’ll see if I can take a break around 8:30 and order in.  Maybe that Indian place down the street?”

It was one of her favorites, and she’d discovered it one day when she was scoping the area for her studio a few years ago.

“You ain’t eat since WHEN? Uh uh. I’m coming down there Y/N.  That lady got you and me fucked up.”

He shoots up from his spot on the couch, reaching over to grab his Nike Air Bakin’s he’d kicked off earlier.

“Erik-”

“Nah babe, that bird not coming, and my girl not going hungry a second longer.  Call up that Indian place and order what you want. I’m on my way.”

She doesn’t even have a chance to dispute the plan before he air kisses her over the phone and hangs up, the hum of the dead line left ringing in her ear.

“Well, OK then,” she shrugs, and she holds down the switch, listening for the dial tone before typing in the number to Akbars Indian Restaurant.

~

At 7:30, Erik rolls into the parking structure under the building, the warm to-go boxes of Indian food filling the car with their mouth watering aroma.  He’d taken it upon himself to order a couple extra samosas and garlic naan, even though Y/N said she was swearing off carbs a couple days ago.  

He knew she loved the baked goods, and even though she didn’t agree, he loved the way she looked when she carried some extra weight on her.  All he wanted to do was keep her fat, happy, and laughing.  

His perfect little plump princess.

He keys himself into the building, riding the freight elevator all the way up to the top floor.  He lifts up the gate with one hand, stepping onto the dark marble floor of the wide open space and hearing the melody of soft jazz echoing around from the overhead speakers.

She often liked to work while playing music, stating that it helped to get her mind in the zone.  He eases up on his heavy footsteps to quietly navigate his way through the hallways, the veins in his forehead making a comeback.  

Even if that bird did end up showing up he didn’t care, she was just gonna have to wait in the lobby or some shit while he pulled Y/N aside for a lunch break.  And if she had any problems about that she could speak directly to him.  He had a few things of his own he wouldn’t mind getting off his chest.

He turns the corner into the main room, seeing a white backdrop and studio lighting on the far wall, the reception desk mirroring it on the other end of the room.

A few white leather couches decorated the space in the middle surrounding a dark oakwood coffee table, and off to the side laid an old quilted blanket with a couple floor pillows thrown on top, looking out of place.

He puts the food down on the coffee table and walks around, looking to see where Y/N is.  Before he can exit out into one of the neighboring storage rooms, she appears from around the corner, carrying some silver utensils and napkins from the kitchen as well as a couple bottles of water.

Her face warms as she sees him, mouth spreading open to reveal that gorgeous million dollar smile of hers that Erik couldn’t get enough of.

“You’re here,” her voice is airy and light, and he walks to meet her halfway, enveloping her into his arms.  She lets herself be engulfed, burying the side of her face into his chest.

They stay like that for a few minutes, no words being said as they hold each other, Erik making soft grunts of contentment as he presses kisses into the top of her head.  He lets the smells of her blueberry scented hair products fill his nostrils, taking in a huge breath.

“I missed you.” He finally speaks, and she leans her head back, neck craned as she looks up at him, resting her chin on his stomach.

“I missed you too,” she smiles, and she links her arms together behind him, his head dipping down low to kiss her on the lips, groaning lowly at how soft and plush like they feel against his.  

He closes his eyes, letting his mouth lazily rest on top of hers, too comfortable to move away.

“Where patchouli at?” He mumbles against her mouth, and she snorts a laugh.

“She not coming.”  She sighs, and he sniffs, giving her an admonishing Uh huh, told yo ass.

“Whatever,” she grunts, peeking around him towards the coffee table, the smell of the Indian food sparking the interest of her nose and her stomach.

She tries to pull away to go check out the awaited meal, but he pulls her back, whining from the back of his throat.

“Mmm nooo, I’m not done yet.” He lays his head on top of hers and holds her in place, her weak little attempts at wiggling out of his grasp failing miserably.

“Mooveee,” she moans at him, fake crying. “I’m hungryy.”

He can hear the pout in her words, and he smacks his gums and lifts off of her, succumbing to his baby girl.

“Fine.  But I’m laying on you while you eat.”  He takes her hand and leads her over to the blanket and pillows on the floor, grabbing the bag of food on the way.

“Baby ass…” she comments under her breath, but his ears pick up it, and he drops her hand, swatting her on the butt.

“Yeah and you love it too, don’t even front.”  He remarks confidently, and a bashful smile pokes at her cheeks that she fights from becoming full blown.  She did love it.

They sit, working together to lay out the food, Y/N grabbing one of the brussels sprouts out of the container and popping it into her mouth, chewing hungrily as she finishes filling up her plate.

She sits cross legged, digging in as Erik settles himself with his head in her lap, the rest of his body sprawled out on the floor far out of the range of the blanket.  He doesn’t care at all though, rubbing his large palms against her thighs and nudging his face under her shirt to kiss at her increasingly expanding stomach, happy to see all of the items on his list of three being fulfilled.

He munches on some of the food eventually too, mainly after she’d shoved one of the potato samosas into his mouth to stop his nipping at her tummy so she could finish in peace.  

After scooping the last bits of saag paneer into her mouth, she packs up the leftovers, Erik taking it to go put it in the staff refrigerator.  She folds up the floor blanket, dumping it and the pillows into one of the storage chests lined against the wall.

Before she even realizes he’s back in the room, Erik latches back onto her, wrapping his arms around the front of her waist and puling her back into him, humming into her neck and rubbing her full belly.

“You gon gimme a tour now?” He asks her, and she laughs at their little ongoing joke.

Y/N always changed around the decor and artwork of the studio, utilizing the projects of her latest clients and collaborations to give her fresh ideas and inspiration for upcoming shoots.  

Every few weeks there was a new theme, and since Erik could only visit a couple times a month because of his own busy schedule, every time he came it was like a new experience for him.

Since it was February, her current theme was “Black Love,” her way of honoring both the cultural celebration for the month and the Valentine’s Day celebration that fell in the middle.  There were portraits of several of her old clients hung around each studio room, like family portraits, engagement photo shoots, and maternity spreads.

Each studio had a different focus, too, so it was almost like walking through a museum the way that each room told it’s own story.

Since Erik had wedged himself back into his favorite spot - arms around her shoulders and nose buried in her hair - she had no choice but to waddle herself (and his) out into the hallway to begin the tour, starting with the first door on her left.

Opening the door, they step in, immediately hit with the scent of cinnamon and soft vanilla, and it feels like the aura of the room wrapped them in its arms for a warm, comforting embrace.

“I present to you: Studio One; Age Ain’t Nothin But a Number.”  She smiles lightly to herself at the name she’d borrowed from Aaliyah’s infamous first album.  She’d absolutely loved the artist since childhood, and wanted to pay homage to her legacy, honoring her the right way.

The color scheme was a shimmered gold and deep burgundy, the colors immediately, reminding Erik of his friends grandparents house he’d often visit after school back in Oakland.  Their house smelled exactly the same, and he could even spot the cinnamon broom sticks in the corner, giving off the fragrant smell.

The couch was vintage but it wasn’t old, and the carpet under his feet had him flashing back to the countless nights he’d spent on one just like it playing hot wheels and street fighter Sega matches.  

The whole room reminded him of his childhood, a feeling somewhere between nostalgia and longing striking him in the chest.  It was solidified even further for him when he looked up at the wall and saw the portraits that were hung around.  

Staggered along the wall were pictures of older black couples, some by themselves, and some of couples portraits.

The biggest picture hung in the middle, and it was of a young black couple, maybe early to mid thirties, the man a deep chocolate and the woman and ebony goddess.

It wasn’t until Erik took a closer look that he noticed the clothing they wore appeared to be from an older time.  As he studied their facial features, he realized that all of the pictures in the room were of them, just at different ages.

“One of my first clients,” she speaks from under his chin.  He’d walked them further into the room, stopping in front of the wide portrait to get a better look.

“They came in for a shoot to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary and they told me their story.  How they met, their first kiss, their first ‘I love you’s’.  Four kids and eight grandkids later, and this is the legacy they’ll be leaving behind.”  She smiles warmly as her eyes roam around the walls, taking in the history of their love.

“I asked if I could feature them in this months theme and in return restore their old photos for them, and they happily agreed.  They even lent some photos of their own parent’s for me to use.”

She points over to the corner of the room, Erik shuffling the both of them over to look at the aged photos from another time.

The both of them observe silently for a few moments, finally separating from each other to explore on their own.  Since Y/N had already seen the collection, she hung by the door, watching as Erik walked around the room like he was visiting and exhibit.

“I wanted this room to represent love in it’s truest form, and how it can survive through the years if you’re willing to put in the work.  It’s never too late to find love, or do everything you can to keep it alive.”

The entire display was absolutely beautiful, and after Erik was done soaking in everything, he felt as if he’d experienced this couples love story, right along side them.

“What are their names?” He asks her, making his way back to her to assume his original position.

“Judy and Maurice Jackson.”  She answers, and it’s almost as if by saying their names it breathes life into the room.

“This is amazing, baby.  You’re so incredibly talented,”  he praises her, and he brings her hand up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles, making her cheeks warm shyly.

“Thank you Erik,” she whispers back, and she kisses him on the cheek before grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the room, turning off the lights and shutting the door behind them.

For the next hour, that’s how they spend their time; moving from studio to studio as Y/N explains the story behind each idea.

The themes explored parental love, familial love, friendship, and cultural identity, the last one detailing just a few examples of how diverse and expansive black culture is in the United States.

Each studio had it’s own name as well, titled in order: ‘Me and Your Mama’, ‘We Are Family’, ‘Way Back’, and ‘Say It Loud’.

The last studio was a private one that Y/N had been working on for the last couple months to get it prepared for a new service she was offering in the spring.

The service would only be available to select clients, but she’d been dying to give it a test run.

Luckily, her favorite client had decided to drop by today of all days, giving her the perfect opportunity to try it out.

Approaching the closed door, she slides herself out from under Erik, instructing him to stay put while she goes inside to get the room ready.

Thinking it’s an interactive theme, he stays put, his only complaint being for her to hurry up because it was cold without her.

A few minutes pass with Erik out in the hallway by himself, and when she finally opens up the door, her small body is looking up at his, her favorite DSLR camera around her neck with a 28mm lens attached to it.

Before he has a chance to voice his confusion she pulls him into the room, shutting the door behind her.

This studio is significantly bigger than the other ones, large enough to fit an entire California King size bed and two sofas, one a suede midnight black and the other a leather blood red.  Fur pelts decorate the ends of the couches, and a gigantic faux white fur rug sits in the middle of the floor.

A couple lighting setups are sitting in the corner of the room, along with a few shaded lamp covers, one in purple, one in red, and the other in white.

Over the bed hangs a low hanging chandelier with both red and purple bulbs alternating around it.

Erik hadn’t said a word since he’d stepping into the space, just the sound of his footsteps as he walks around the room, observing everything.

His curiosity leads him over to a table on the far side of the room, and he picks up one of the many bottles of baby oil sitting on top of it.

He turns around, and his face says it all.

“Y/N….” She can hear the unnervingly calm tone in his voice, meaning that she had about 5 seconds to start explaining before he put a hit out on all her male coworkers.

“Okay BEFORE you start freaking out, just wait a minute and listen.”

His nostrils flare out a little bit and he works his jaw, putting the bottle down and crossing his arms.

“You got one minute.”

She launches into her rehearsed pitch, already having practiced it in her head ten times before she even opened the door to let him in.

“Spring is coming up, and I want to offer a new service to returning customers who’d expressed their interest in the past when I brought it up.  I’ve done their maternity shoots, their engagement portraits, their anniversary photos, and now I want to try my hand at…boudoir photography.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off, still having 30 seconds on the clock.

“It’ll only have a trial run of two months and I already have five clients booked.  It won’t become a permanent service yet until I can get feedback from them, but… I need someone to test it out on first before I can start.”

His eyes grow wide at that, his eyebrows almost up to his hairline.  He’d met a few of her loyal clients, and while he tried to keep it under control, he couldn’t help but be a little bit cautious when it came to some of them.  

She was adored and loved by all of them, and on more than one occasion he felt like a few of the women had tried shooting their shot at her, right in front of him.

When he’d brought it up she’d laughed it off, telling him he was just being paranoid because she was bisexual, but he knew what was up.

No way anyone could just take one look at Y/N and not be immediately drawn to her; she had that effect on people.  He had to protect what they had, and he wasn’t about to just watch it slip through his fingers.

“Nah babe, Ion like it.  You already got way too many people up in here tryna get atchu, they don’t need an entire room dedicated to giving them an opportunity.  Get one of your interns to do it.”  The plain look on his face combined with his still crossed arms indicated that the conversation was over, and there would be no further discussion on the topic.  

He must’ve forgot who he was fucking with.

She narrows her eyes, taking a step towards him.

“First of all, I wasn’t asking for your permission, I was telling you about my next business venture.  I’m a grown ass woman and this is my business.  You have no say here, Erik.”

His eyebrows were raised again, but for a different reason this time. It wasn’t often that he and his girl got into arguments, but when they did he always got just a little bit aroused at the fire in her eyes when she started going off.

She continued.

“Second of all, my interns aren’t paid to soothe your bruised ego, they’re paid to assist me when need and to gain valuable experience in their field.  So try again.”  She’d gotten increasingly closer with each word, and before either of them realize it she’s back in front of him again, her presence dominating.

He gives her a once over before laughing humorlessly, looking away for a moment before speaking again.  

“So, what? I’m not even allowed to have an opinion on this?” His brows are furrowed together, eyes concentrated on her face.

Her own facial features soften, and she reaches out with one hand, holding his face in her palm and stroking her thumb over his cheek.

“Aww babe, of course you’re allowed to have an opinion.”  A small smile appears on her lips, and she finishes her statement.  “Just make sure you have it quietly.”

She drops her hand and turns and walks away to finish setting up one of the light fixtures in front of the bed.

He stares at the back of her head as she goes, burning holes into it with his blazing thoughts.

She was completely right.  He had no place trying to take control over her ideas regarding her studio, especially after just seeing how amazing the outcome could be when she had creative license.

Even so, he couldn’t help but to be pissed with the way his princess was speaking to him.  He’d have to remind her before they left tonight about keeping that mouth of hers in check when she was popping off at him like that.  He figured a few backshot sessions over the front desk would be a good memory refresher for her.

Reaching down to adjust himself through his pants, he grunts in acceptance, following her over to where she was.

“Well, do I at least get to have a loud opinion on who it is you’re gonna be testing this out with?” He pouts.

She clicks the soft white shade into place on the camera, then walks over to the light switch to turn off the main fluorescent lights and tun on the red ones, their subtle glow primarily on and around the bed.

“I hope so baby.  Because you’re the one whose gonna be testing out for me.”

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

Warnings: Fluff, Humor, SoftBoi! Erik

[hallsp]

Ramadan Diary

Ramadan is a month of fasting, prayer, and self-reflection for the world’s two billion Muslims. The observance of Ramadan is one of the five pillars of Islam, a central tenet of the faith. The holy month itself commemorates the start of the recitation of the Qur’an to Mohammad, culminating in Laylat al-Qadr, the Night of Destiny, which celebrates the very first revelation.

The date for Ramadan varies from year to year, as the Islamic calendar is based on the movements of the moon, not the sun. This year, it began on the night of Sunday, May 5th, when the religious authorities glimpsed the thin crescent of a new moon.

I decided, after some encouragement from my students, to fast for all of Ramadan as a kind of personal challenge. This is a diary of my progress.

Monday, 6th May

Today was long, and hungry. I didn’t eat a morsel, nor drink a drop, all the livelong day. It wasn’t easy. I thought about food quite a lot. Bron, my roommate, is also fasting so we can do iftar together. An app tells me that the evening call to prayer, called maghrib, is at 19.27, but it began a small bit later — an agonizing two minutes — at about 19.29. Maryam, my other roommate, and raised Muslim, told me we have to wait until the prayer is finished, bless the food bismillah, and then eat. I broke the fast with some water and some dates, as is the custom, then devoured a chicken curry.

Tuesday, 7th May

Small bit easier today. Didn’t think of food so often. I was noticeably more tired though. I slept for an hour when I came home. Some strange reactions from some of the teachers to my fasting, but a lot of encouragement from fellow-fasters. Advice from other fasters includes waking at 3 or 4 AM for suhur, the pre-dawn meal, and easing into the iftar in the evenings with soup and salad. I decided against suhur, for reasons of laziness, so my fast is actually more extreme, having one meal, as opposed to two meals, per day. Broke the fast with some dates, a lot more water, and the last part of my chicken curry.

Wednesday, 8th May

Getting into the swing of things now, the hunger isn’t so obvious throughout the day, but much less energy. I’m in a very good mood, though. I’ve decided to make a fattoush salad, with the help of my Syrian friend Majd, who’s Christian and thinks I’m crazy for fasting. He also helped make lentil soup, another staple dish, with Bron, my roommate. So, this was a proper iftar: dates, soup, salad, and bread.

Thursday, 9th

Talked with the Biology teacher, who’s also fasting. He tells me that people ought to re-orient their mind towards other people during Ramadan, and that it’s not about feasting once the sun goes down. Look out, not in, essentially. More advice received: do not eat an even number of dates. Mohammad used to eat three. Broke the fast with (three) dates, and water. I made my own fattoush, which worked out very well. We also had leftover soup from yesterday, and I bought chicken tawouq, which I ate with bread.

Friday, 10th May

Today is International Day at school. The worst event for people fasting. There was food from every country on the planet. I had to borrow a tupperware container to bring the food home. Worse, today is Friday. The weekend is here. I have to go on a trip to Batroun for a bachelorette party with my friends leaving Beirut at about 5pm. Drink will certainly be taken. I can’t avoid it. Anyway, I’m not doing the fast for religious reasons, so once the sun goes down, I can eat, drink, and be merry. The hangover will be tough without a lot of water to compensate, though. We arrived in Batroun at 19:30 so I hopped out of the van, chugged some water, had a few dates, then started into the champagne. I managed to squeeze in a chicken burger in between the drinks.

Saturday, 11th May

The hangover wasn’t so bad, actually. In spite of this, I broke the fast for the first time — to drink a small bottle of water. As sins go, not so heinous. I was just so thirsty day after the night before. Religiously, you can break the fast if you’re pregnant, or menstruating, or sick. Maybe a hangover is a type of sickness? Anyway, spent the day on the beach, mostly under cover, and rested. Broke the fast back in Beirut with dates, some tuna fish, and pasta.

Sunday, 12th May

Apparently there’s an exemption on fasting if you’re traveling. I could’ve done with this on the road to Batroun! It also excuses my breach the day of my return to Beirut, I reckon. Broke the fast with dates, water, tawouq, bread, and pasta.

Monday, 13th May

People are always giving you advice when they hear that you’re fasting. Some of it contradictory. Bron was told not to drink so much water before eating at iftar. We decided to try it. Broke the fast with dates, no water, and chicken curry. Then copious amounts of water after. No obvious difference.

Tuesday, 14th May

Bron makes a strong point. Those who alter their body clocks by sleeping during the day and eating all night are cheating in a way. They’re just moving their day around, and sleeping through the hunger. It’s not a proper fast if you can’t feel the hunger. Broke the fast with chicken curry, round two, and lots of water.

Wednesday, 15th May

I feel hungrier today, not sure why. More advice with recommendations for iftar. The mindfulness coach thinks I ought to break the fast with some warm water, not cold, perhaps herbal tea, as this prepares the stomach better for eating, to be followed by three dates. He’s also of the opinion that people should be humble during Ramadan, no talking about their fast, no feasts at iftar, certainly no Instagram pictures. Broke the fast with a chicken burger from Smoked Bun, post-dates. Ridiculously nice.

Thursday, 16th May

I have a day off school today, for the funeral of Patriarch Sfeir, a Lebanese Maronite Cardinal. It was more difficult being home, actually. At work, even though I’m much more active and using more energy, at least I’m kept busy. Today, I caught myself watching cooking videos on YouTube. Broke the fast with (three) dates, and beef fajitas, but made with Lebanese bread.

Friday, 17th May

Broke the fast with a gorgeous mujaddara, a spicy mix of lentils, rice, and onions, made by a chef friend of Bron’s. Eaten with some of his delicious homemade bread, and some 961 Red Ale. Today is my good friend Enzo’s last night in Lebanon so drink will have to be taken again. What choice do I have?

Saturday, 18th May

Asma, Maryam’s friend from the UK whose working with a medical NGO in the Beqaa Valley, came for iftar. She’s a practising Muslim, so we had to lend her a Qur’an and find the Qibla, the direction of prayer. It was nice to get some more insight into the traditions. Apparently we can eat as soon as the call to prayer begins. We ate three dates, some ripe peach, and drank water, followed by mint tea. Dinner included pasta, fattoush, and more mujaddara. We also had ayran, a traditional kind of sour yoghurt drink. After dinner, we drank some Turkish coffee, then some Indian desi chai, made with ginger and milk. Finally, we had some traditional sweets, heloweyat. A proper iftar!

Sunday, 19th May

No hunger pangs at all today. I think my body has fully acclimatised to fasting. A small group of us went to see some childrens’ theatre in Tripoli, directed by a friend of ours and starring some kids from a Syrian refugee camp. It was really entertaining. The boys put on a production about a couple of swindlers selling dodgy seeds. The girls had a modern take on Cinderella. I could understand most of it, so I’m happy. We rushed back to Beirut for iftar. I decided to order a Ramadan Combo from Malik al-Tawouq: lentil soup, salad, and chicken tawouq platter, and a date cookie called ma’moul. Plus, a Miranda tamarind soft drink. The guy who delivered it was fasting and so forgot to take any money! We also ate some traditional Ramadan cheese sweets, heloweyat al-jibn, made with clotted cream called ashta, which we bought in Tripoli. They were spectacular. There’s a beautiful full moon tonight, which means: we’re half way through Ramadan! Ramadan Kareem!

Monday, 20th May

I genuinely don’t feel hungry during the day any more. Intellectually, I know I need to eat, but there are no hunger pangs. It’s not an obvious hunger. My sense of smell is more active, that’s about it. I decided to make chicken biryani today, which worked out really well. No big communal iftar today, as the final episode of Game of Thrones is available. Some things are more important.

Tuesday, 21st May

Bron invited two work friends over, a Syrian Muslim and a Jordanian Christian, and we also invited Dennis from downstairs. Bron made another batch of lentil soup, which was nicer even than the last one. She made fattoush as well. I contributed the remaining biryani. We had a huge variety of ice-creams with cones for dessert.

Wednesday, 22nd May

I didn’t eat so much today. I think my stomach is getting smaller. Broke the fast with three dates, some of the leftover lentil soup, a Mexican bean and tuna fish mix, and some fried haloumi. Fried haloumi is my new favourite food. Also, had a little pot of yoghurt.  

Thursday, 23rd May

The routine now is to break the fast with three dates, and follow this with warm tea, usually mint tea. This really helps the transition to eating. Today, I had a big plate of pasta, some fried haloumi, and a yoghurt.

Friday, 24th May

It’s 38° today. It’s so hot that the cold tap runs warm. It’s at times like these that you appreciate the true value of something as simple as a glass of water. Tonight we’re hosting iftar on our balcony. Maryam made a Palestinian vegetarian maqluba, meaning upside-down, which is made with layers of fried vegetables, potatoes, and rice, which is then flipped before serving, and topped with fried cashew nuts. It was delicious. I made fattoush for seven people, complete with fried pita bread, and it was my best one yet. I was relieved, as I was serving Arabic food to Arabs. My friend Shadi brought his fiancé all the way from Damascus. We eventually made our way to Mezyan in Hamra, where I was rewarded with a free drink for boldly asking for one. It’s Ramadan, after all, the season of good will.

Saturday, 25th May

Myself and my house mates, Maryam and Bron, went to the Beqaa Valley to meet with Asma, who had invited us to iftar with her boss, Doctor Fares, and his extended family. It was such an amazing evening. Typically Syrian. First, we sat around half-talking, half-watching Arab dramas, like Al-Hayba and Khamsa Wa Nos, while the family cooked. People were coming and going all the time. We then went for a short walk with the good doctor’s kids, who were adorable. His eldest daughter, Lamar, had very good English. Then we moved to the garden where we played cards, a version of Trumps. I managed to cheat a bit with help of the kids. Finally, as the sun went down, we ate in a big group in the garden, sitting on cushions around a selection of dishes. There was soup and salad, alongside three different meat dishes: chicken, lamb, and fish. The flavours were superb. The family were a lively bunch. At one point, Doctor Fares insisted on feeding us from his hand. I also discovered that they knew one of my colleagues in Eastwood. Lebanon is a very small place! We sang happy birthday to one his kids and topped it all off with cake. It was the best iftar experience so far.

Sunday, 26th May

Went to Souq al-Ahad, the Sunday market, with Bron. Such a crazy place. We bought some spices, some olives and maqdus (baby aubergine stuffed with chilies, and then pickled) from Aleppo, and salvaged an old backgammon board. It’s a great place to wander for a couple of hours. At one stage I was offered a taste of something, and when I said I was fasting he immediately said (in Arabic): “Me too, I’m Muslim. Are you Muslim? Are you Sunni or Shi’a?” I had to disappoint him by saying neither. It was at this point that he said, with utmost confidence: “It’s only a matter of time.” We broke the fast with a vegetable curry, alongside some maqdus and some Lebanese bread.

Monday, 27th May

I was a small bit busy with work tonight so I had three dates followed by a simple pasta with pesto rosso, onions, and tomato. Naturally, had some mint tea and gallons of water.

Tuesday, 28th May

Today, I had the least amount of food yet. I just had a simple pasta with spicy tomato sauce and cheddar cheese. I couldn’t even finish it. I think my stomach has shrunk over the course of Ramadan. I’m definitely losing weight.

Wednesday, 29th May

Today was a tough day. I was in a bad mood for some reason. I think it’s to do with not having enough energy. Usually, during the whole of Ramadan, my mood has been positive. I think I need to eat enough to maintain my energy levels. Tonight I made chicken vindaloo with egg noodles.

Thursday, 30th May

I had more energy today, back to my normal self. I broke the fast with the remainder of my chicken vindaloo. Also, the requisite number of dates and some mint tea.

Friday, 31st May

Another Friday is upon us. The last, in fact, of Ramadan. Tonight is a big night for Muslims around the world. No-one is quite sure exactly when Laylat al-Qadr is supposed to fall, but most believe it’s the 27th day of Ramadan, which is tonight. It’s also a Friday, so it’s a big deal. We had our last group iftar in the apartment. This time we had three Syrians with us, so we had plenty of help with the food. We had a rice and aubergine dish, a water melon and feta salad, a tabbouleh salad, and some fried haloumi. Later, I nipped downstairs to say goodbye to some friends, before moving to Strada 51, a local bar, and winding up in a swimming pool in a club at 4am. Your typical Laylat al-Qadr.

Saturday, 1st June

I had Arabic class with my friend Majd, from about 2pm. He spent half the day preparing a chicken and rice dish to break the fast with at 7.45. Bless him. I broke the fast with this and some delicious Ethiopian soup made by our friend Jodie, called shiro. It was spicy, and the perfect match for the chicken. I followed this with a few drinks with an Irish guy visiting Lebanon for a week.

Sunday, 2nd June

I broke the fast with three dates, some water, and pasta, alongside some fried haloumi. The end is nigh.

Monday, 3rd June

I had to work today, but I’ve been given the rest of the week off work to celebrate Eid al-Fitr, the Festival of Fast Breaking. Today might well be the last night of Ramadan, but we’ll have to wait for the religious authorities to check on the phase of the moon. It will end either tonight or tomorrow.

If Eid begins tomorrow, Muslims will gather for special prayers called Salat al-Eid, which is usually followed by a small breakfast, the first daytime meal in a month. Eid is usually celebrated by visiting relatives, where gifts are exchanged, and zakat is given to the poor. The kids will get a tidy sum of money. Unsurprisingly, food is very important. After a whole month of fasting, all sorts of delicacies will be eaten.

It’s official. Eid begins tonight. The fast is over. I broke the fast by going to Tariq al-Jadida, a busy part of the southern suburbs, with Bron. We then went to Dahieh, where we had some saj with jibneh and zataar, before walking through the market in Sabra and Shatilla. We ended up back in Tariq al-Jadida looking for heloweyat. We weren’t very successful, but we were given free street food: foul with lemon, and seasoned corn. Tomorrow, I’ll go for breakfast in the morning, and then hit the beach.

Epilogue

This month has been really amazing. I’ve learned so much about the traditions of Islam, I’ve met so many different people, I’ve tasted lots of new foods, and I’ve had some great experiences.

It was trying at times, but the effort was definitely worth it. Ramadan really focuses the mind, and makes you very thankful for what you have. It’s also helped me to think more about portion size and also about my own health. Lastly, it’s helped me bond with others who are fasting, and brought me closer to my Muslim friends and students. I can now say with pride that I made it through the full month of Ramadan.

[travelingtheusa]

SOUTH DAKOTA

2022 Aug 31 (Wed) – We drove into town this morning to have breakfast at Uncle Louie’s Diner.  Paul’s best friend had been Louie Zito so the diner had special memory for us.  The meal was good and they had lots of interesting choices on the menu.

       We found out that Barry went to the emergency room last night.  They diagnosed an infection in his intestines.  It’s a rare thing.  He’s on antibiotics but not feeling well.  Donna is having trouble getting the USB stick I gave her to download the treasurer information for the Nomads.  We were going to work on it but with Barry sick, she does not want to.  Maybe later.

      Joe & Diane returned after having the slide on their rig repaired.  They, Dave & Jackie and we went out to dinner in Spearfish.  We ate at the Steerfish Steak Restaurant.  The meal was very good and we all brought leftovers home.

2022 Aug 30 (Tue) – We drove to Crazy Horse today to see how far they have come with the monument.  The face and arm are clearly sculpted and there is a hole under his arm where he’s pointing to the horizon.  But there is still so much to do.  As I observed four years ago, maybe our grandchildren’s children will see the finished product.  It certainly won’t be done in our lifetime.

       After Crazy Horse, we drove into town to get a bite to eat.  Many places were closed.  A German place we stopped in had an almost hour wait.  That was too long and we wound up eating at a pub down the street.  That seems to be the big draw in all these towns.  I guess bikers like bar food because there are lots of them in Sturgis, Deadwood, Crazy Horse, etc.

      When we finished eating, we headed over to Mt. Rushmore.  We took seats toward the front of the amphitheater because we heard they do something for veterans.  Jim & Theda showed up and we sat together.  A ranger came out at 8:00 p.m. and gave a ten minute talk about freedom of speech.  Then we watched a 20 minute video about the history of the U.S.  It was very moving.  Then the ranger asked all veterans to come on stage.  Once we were all lined up, he asked for volunteers to help retire the flag.  I was one of six that brought the flag down and folded it.  At this point, they shone lights on the faces of the four presidents carved in the side of the mountain.  It was a beautiful sight.

2022 Aug 29 (Mon) – Jackie and I sat down this morning to review actions for next year’s National Muster.  I have volunteered to manage operations.  That includes administrative functions, parking, information and publicity, and the sheriff.  There is a lot to do.  I am racking my brain trying to think of all the people I know and can the touch on to help me.  There’s a lot of planning and action to take between now and next September when we convene in Amana Colonies in Iowa.

      Paul and I drove into Sturgis today.  We walked up and down the street.  There was a huge mural on the side of a building that was a picture of all the people there for the annual motorcycle rally.  One hundred thousand people show up every year on their motorcycles.  It’s a lot like RVers gathering in Quartzsite every year.  It’s a “thing.”

      We stopped in at the Loud American for lunch.  It is a biker bar that is open 24 hours a day during rally week.  We ordered their special – steak tips.  They weren’t that good.  On the way back to the campground, we stopped at the Ft. Meade Museum. There was a fort here that opened in response to the Indian raids. Gold was discovered in the area and people were pouring into the area. They were demanding the government protect them.

      Joe & Diane left to take their rig to a dealer.  There slide has not been working right and they are getting it fixed.  They hope to return by tomorrow.  Willie & Joyce left today.  They had to attend the funeral of a friend who unexpectedly passed away this week.

      We had happy hour tonight.  The group has shrunk.  There was Barry & Donna and David (Jackie’s husband), and us.  Jackie was working on the computer and did not join us.

2022 Aug 28 (Sun) – Six of us drove to Deadwood today.  There was a classic car show going on the streets were packed with cars and wandering people.  It was tough to find a parking spot but we finally did.  Willie & Joyce and Joe & Diane were with us.  We parked in a municipal parking lot then walked into town to the Social Club.  It was closed so we walked across the street to Mustang Sally’s.  After snagging a table outside on the patio, we placed our orders and enjoyed the pleasant day and all the cars that drove past the restaurant.  After lunch, we walked up the street, peeking in the windows and admiring the wares of the shops along Main Street. 

      After we got back to the parking lot, we drove to Mt. Moriah Cemetery.  Joyce stayed in the car and the rest of us walked into the cemetery to look at the graves.  Wild Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane were buried there.  Many other Deadwood famous characters were buried there.

      We returned to the campground and enjoyed happy hour at 5 p.m.

2022 Aug 27 (Sat) – We packed up and left Gillette, WY, at 9:30 a.m.  It was 110 miles to Sturgis, SD.  The weather was pleasant.  We arrived around 12:30 p.m. at the Day’s End Campground.  It is a campground that houses motorcycles during the Sturgis rally.  The rally was over and the motorcycles have mostly left the area.   We have a pull through, full hook-up site on gravel dirt.  The space is roomy.  There are 4 other Nomads rigs with us.  We had our annual meeting tonight.  It was weird not to be in charge of the meeting.  After six years as the secretary-treasurer of Nomads, I felt a little out of sorts.  I am sure it will pass!

[paganinpurple]

MariChat May - It Was You - Day 30: Scratch

Buy Me A Coffee?

This will be another early chapter and is chapter 4 of the full fic.

You would not believe how much I made myself crave Indian food when writing this. I ended up ordering in enough for two people the night I finished this one lol.

Also, if you cared enough to check, yes that is a REAL Parisian Indian restaurant. I am sad enough to research that thoroughly.

It Was You

<<Chapter 1     Chapter 3     Chapter 4     Chapter 5

Don't Scare Me

Marinette sighed heavily as she walked along the street towards home. After the Cosmetic Queen's attack yesterday she'd been hoping to get a quiet night tonight. But she needed to finish that French Literature project by Friday, and so her and Alya had holed themselves up in Alya's bedroom and worked far harder than they usually did on homework. At least she could look forward to a break once she got home.

She wasn't expecting Chat to stop by tonight since she had seen him just last night when he dropped in, as promised, with an enormous amount of Indian food. He'd claimed he had no idea what she'd like and had gotten enough to feed five people in order to increase his chances of bringing her favourites. She'd been gob smacked when she realised he'd even bought from Muniyandi Vilas, her favourite restaurant.

So now she was now looking forward to a night of staring at her computer screen and eating leftovers straight from the containers, manners be damned.

She was so lost in her own mind that she didn't hear the sounds of running until the man behind her was already grabbing at her purse and trying to run off with it.

“Hey!” she yelled at him, grabbing onto the purse and pulling back so hard she thought he might wrench her arm from it's socket. If he did steal her purse all he'd get for his trouble was a handful of cookies but Tikki was also inside so she couldn't let go no matter what.

The man was clearly stronger than her and would definitely win this struggle so she had to get someone to notice what was happening, and quickly before she lost her kwami to him.

“Help! Help!” she screeched, whipping her head around to look out for someone, anyone nearby. Curtains twitched but no one made a move to come to her rescue.

She struggled for a few moments but she could feel herself weakening. There was a siren off in the background somewhere but if it was the help she desperately needed, it was going to arrive too late to make a difference.

This was it. Dieu, if she didn't have Tikki anymore, she didn't know what she'd do. She certainly couldn't be Ladybug anymore but besides that she'd be losing a friend. One who Dieu knew what would happen to once this potential pyschopath discovered she didn't have any money in her purse.

She couldn't lose her. She couldn't. There was only one thing for it; she was going to have to transform to save her and face the consequences later.

Just as she was about to yell her transformation phrase, the thief grabbed a pocket knife from his coat and slashed at the purse strap she was clinging to. It frayed and snapped instantly and  Marinette felt a burn of pain across her arm where the knife had also made brief contact with her skin.

She watched helplessly as he turned and fled from her, purse with Tiki inside in his hand. She might have sunk to her knees and cried right then, siren wailing in her head, if the thief hadn't suddenly crumpled to the pavement a few feet in front of her.

It took her a second to put the pieces together and by the time she identified the silver baton lying next to him, Chat Noir had dropped down from the rooftops and was leaning over her attacker. As he picked up her purse and handed it back to her, a police car spun around the corner and the siren cut off as two gendarmes jumped out, checking the thief for damage and declaring him to be stunned, not even quite unconscious.

Marinette's relief was short lived and she tensed as it suddenly dawned on her that the gendarmes would want a statement and probably question why she had clung to her purse so determinedly. There would be no easy way to answer and even less chance to keep Tikki hidden while they inevitably wanted to photograph her purse as evidence.

It was stupid but she turned and ran in panic as the gendarmes shouted after her. She flew around the corner and into a nearby alley, watching from behind a dumpster as one of the men dashed straight past her hiding place. Marinette allowed herself a moment to weep over how close she had come to losing the little kwami, who futilely tried to comfort her. After she had calmed down considerably, she wiped the tears from her eyes and decided to transform to head home, to avoid being found by a gendarme looking the way she did right now.

Once Marinette was safely near home and detransformed, she walked the last street to the side door into her home. Taking a deep breathe and hiding her arm behind her back before heading into living room, she quickly gave her parents an excuse in order to head straight upstairs. She had only just begun to treat her cut when her skylight was flung open and Chat bounded in and down her steps to  sit by her side on the chaise.

“Don't you usually knock?” she joked to him, wincing as she patted an antiseptic wipe over her wound.

“You're hurt!” he said in genuine shock, glancing at the tiny mark on her forearm and taking it in his hands to examine it more closely.

“It's just a scratch, Chat,” she told him as she became uncomfortably warm from his proximity.

He took the wipe from her hand and continued where she had stopped cleansing the gash before looking through the first aid box beside her for a dressing and bandage.

He glanced up at her periodically as he worked, one eyebrow raised, and she could tell he was itching to ask her something.

“Just go ahead and say it,” she said.

He finished first, gently patting her bandaged arm  before sitting upright and looking at her guarded expression properly.

“Why did you run away from the gendarmes?” he asked.

“I...I felt stupid. I should have let him have my bag but I didn't,” she lied, “And I didn't want to explain this to Maman and Papa. They'd worry and I might not be allowed to go out to Alya's or anywhere else again.”

It was a half truth. Her parents would worry. They'd place tighter restrictions on her but it wouldn't last long. Not that she really wanted to try juggling being Ladybug with concerned parents despite that.

“I guess...I can understand that,” he said after a lengthy pause, his face darkened in thought, “I told them I didn't know who you were by the way; you didn't seem to want them talking to you. I gave a statement so he should be held and they say he's got a warrant out for him so you don't need to testify to keep him off the streets or anything.”

Marinette let out a deep breath in relief. She'd been worried about  him pushing her to report the attack officially and she didn't want that guy free to mug someone else so to hear he'd dealt with it alleviated her concerns.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling shyly, “for everything. Saving me, lying to the gendarmes, bandaging me up. All of it.”

“Do me a favour?” he asked, taking her hand in his clawed one, “Don't scare me like that again? Please?” It sounded like he was pleading. She was once again stirred by how much he cared about her. She watched him for a moment before she answered.

“Only if you promise to help me eat those leftovers from last night,” she told him, her smile widening and head nodding to the pile of take-out boxes on her desk.

She wasn't sure how to feel about the pleasant dip in the pit of her stomach when he tightened his hold on her hand and smiled back at her.

Buy Me A Coffee?

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How to Make Cauliflower Rice

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Chinese-Style Ribs

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Creamy Paprika Pork

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Amazing Slow Cooker Orange Chicken

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The Health Diaries: The 20 something clueless girl

Photo Credit: By Hammer & Tusk on Unsplash

Based off NewYork Magazine’s weekly Sex Diaries, ‘Health Diaries’ series is a collection of routines from anonymous real people where they record a week of their lives about food, nutrition, and health  — with strange, realistic, often helpful, and always revealing results.

Today’s diary is by a 23-year-old woman who is an art and design student from North India.

DAY ONE

8:15 a.m. A usual start: The noise of mum working in kitchen wakes me up; I never used an alarm in the morning. Typical morning scramble — a quick visit to the restroom and then shower, a couple of bread slices with butter in breakfast and then packing the college bag with lunch. Now I have half an hour to get to college.

Noon. I’m still in class about to go out to have my lunch. While sitting with a friend silently, she suddenly starts talking about her dark skin, double chin, and imperfection all around. I can feel her. But I am hungry. So I try to avoid her and get up to leave for lunch.

In the lunchroom, the discussion continues. She tells me that she used to do exercise every day but due to heavy study load and extra housework, she doesn’t have time to do exercise. I’m listening to her but my mind wants to know what’s inside my lunch box. The food in that box must be cold by now but I don’t care. I’m hungryyyy. Sorry dear, now I can’t take it anymore.

I open my box, ask my friend to join me but she says she is not hungry. I start eating my lunch while she scrolls her Facebook feed. She smirks sometimes while looking down at her mobile screen. After the break, we need to go back to class for next lecture.

Usually, I am busy at this time creating artworks and writing essays while chatting with friends but today I am staring at a lizard on one of the dirty walls of the classroom. I’m not feeling good; I know I’m not healthy.  Not that I’m sick — but I’m having a rough day physically and mentally. I do know my problem. This is a case where the food I’m having is fresh and healthy but it’s not what I want. I want something spicy, tempting, and different.

4:00 p.m. I arrive home, then off to shower. It’s relaxing. I am on my bed fondling with my artwork sheets; mum knocks my door with a glass full of warm milk for me. I request her to leave the glass the bedside for later as I was busy at the moment. She understands me so she does exactly that.

6:30 p.m. My dad and my brother are at home for what seems like five minutes and I’m off to my tuition classes on my bike. I am thirsty. I should have had some water before leaving home.

9:00 p.m. I enjoy designing and drawing artworks and creating type in this class. Having fun with friends is a bonus. Time to leave for home. I’m feeling like eating chaat (an Indian spicy and tangy dish) from a street food hawker but I resist. Mum’s dinner would be far better than that hawker’s chaat in a lot of ways. I know I am underweight.

10:30 p.m. After leaving more than half of the food on the plate, I say goodnight to everyone. Finally done with the flossing, teeth brushing and whining about a bad day, now I’m in bed; I put my air conditioner on. My hands start texting my friend on Whatsapp and doing some useless bantering before I doze off without saying bye to her.

DAY TWO

9:15 a.m. Daily wake-up; I’m being a very poor sleeper lately. This morning’s routine is especially crappy: no time to make the bed and have breakfast. I need to hurry up and get ready for college.

9:45 a.m. Sitting in class, I post a selfie on Instagram with lazy expressions. I keep scrolling the feed looking at photographs and feel worse. I need some help. This will not be a fun chat with vanilla friends, but maybe consulting session with someone who can understand me and can guide me. I will talk to Mum tonight.

2 p.m. I’ve been on Instagram and Facebook all day, sending updates. The usual time spent in texting as well. Like me, most of my friends are clueless about what they’re doing at this moment. But usually, after a few messages back and forth, we agree to stop the conversations and put the mobiles on rest. “open our pics,” meaning show our faces.

9:30 p.m. Lying in bed having a glass of Luke warm milk and still feeling hungry. Nothing strange — just a regular temptation.

DAY THREE

6 a.m. Eyes closed but I am already awake today. I am super excited for today as it’s my friend’s birthday. It’s more about the junk food: Burgers, French Fries, Pizzas, or what not. And I can’t sleep just fantasizing about cheese rolling down and squeezing in between the buns and bread base. I can think wild when it comes to food because I am ready to feast on anything that will come my way.

9 p.m. Two of my friends are at my house and we’re off, dressed as queens glitter all over for the party. We will do the makeup in the car: One unties her hair and the other starts working on lips and then her dress. Definitely, don’t want any potential issues (or hazards), should we get busy in dancing and eating.

10 p.m. We arrive at the venue. The vibe of the restaurant is impressive. It’s busy but we have a full separate section (a couple of tables) booked for the night. We are ready to settle down. The birthday girl arrives. We bombarded her with wishes, flowers, and gifts. The music was loud and we ordered our fuel. We’re showing off our dresses while feasting on the food. We’re a bunch of hungry lollapaloozas that are there to have some good time. This stuff is not easy to empty stomach— time to eat more.

11:00 p.m. While wrapping up the party one girl tells the other to have a look at her watch. We have to hurry up. We finish eating and hit the road. We're not used to such late night outs but today is an exemption. And I was desperately in need of this. I am getting tired now. By the time I’m sleepy, we’re just home. I suggest going all of my friends to stay at my place tonight but they chose not to because they say that will disturb my parents.

Midnight. I am happy with the way the night went. My dad comes out of his room and says in his usual way: “Be careful and don’t be late next time.” I find myself nodding and entering my room. Need some sleep because I need to go back to college tomorrow.

DAY FOUR

8 a.m. Still dreaming about last night and feel someone is standing beside my bed. It’s my younger brother with a pillow in his hands. I know what’s in his mind. Would love to stay in bed but I have to jump and get away from his playful hits. Still, my eyes are closed and giddy after last night. After some more hit and miss, he left me to get ready for the college.

3:30 p.m. I’m almost home after a better than usual day at college. I remember all my friends from last night were talking about the party. Being not a pococurante, I leave for home. Once I am in my room after a shower, I call my mum into my room. She’s a bit confused when she sees me smiling. She asks: “You enjoyed last night?” I nod. I need to spend some quality time with family while having dinner.

9:30 p.m. I call the day off at the tuition. Dinner is ready. I am helping Mum at the dining table. Calling dad and brother for it; served them food. I am pleased with myself. Tonight, it’s all about my kind of dinner: Rice, Kadi, Garlic Naan, Paneer (Cottage Cheese), and different types of pickles. But I’m more interested in talking to everyone.

10:15 p.m. Everyone is done with dinner but I’m still toying with my leftovers. Brother makes fun of me because of my slow eating habit.  Ultimately, I finish my dinner somehow and help mum clean the dishes.

11 p.m. Back in my room cuddling with my pillow. Switching off the lights, I doze off immediately.

Midnight. I feel thirsty and rush out for a glass of water in the kitchen. I should keep a jug of water in my room from tomorrow.

DAY FIVE

7 a.m. TGIF (Thank God It’s Friday)

There is nothing special about the day apart from the fact.

9:20 a.m. One of my friends tells me she is going to Canada during the holidays after our exams. We’re excited and start discussing what’s she’s going to buy for the trip and what she’s going to get for us. We’re bitches.

Noon. Lunch with friends while we continue our chat about Canada. We bite into the meal and lean over to whisper and giggle. I have no idea what I’m eating but I’m enjoying with everyone.

9:30 p.m. The food from the party is showing the effect on me. The throat is in severe pain. I’m having constipation and vomiting. Dad takes me to see a doctor. Now, I’m having medicine and milk. I hope I won’t have a fever tonight.

DAY SIX

10 a.m. Last night was long. I was not able to sleep. I’m sending a text message to a friend that I won’t be able to come to college because I am not well today. I’m hoping this won’t last for long.

11:15 a.m. I am still in bed, feeling grumpy. I don’t feel like having breakfast but I have to eat something before taking medicine. Maybe a slice of bread with strawberry jam. I remember the doctor suggesting me to drink water regularly, a couple of fruits, and eating small portions of vegetables that's easily digestible.

4:25 p.m. I’m tired of sleeping and need to freshen up. I feel like I am in a circle moving and returning back to where I started. I am being lazy, having a messy and chaotic mind today.  I get up and visit the washroom. I hear my mobile ringing in my room; I run to pick it up. I’m glad it’s my friend. She wants to know how I am doing. I am feeling better now. We chat for a while on random topics. My responses vary from Yes to Mmmm… to a frown. Though the whole conversation charged me  

9 p.m. The day has been a struggle and I want to be on a vacation from this struggle. I don’t have a luxury of leaving my body for while and float on the clouds. If I had that boon I certainly would have used it today. I just hope the rest of the weekend is not going to be as crappy as today.

DAY SEVEN

7:30 a.m. Not going with the flow but stuck in the river, my body seems to be dead; I feel weak and the fact every part is in pain, everything.  Now I know why they call it ‘Junk’ food: a dish created/cooked by so-called edible raw substances so badly that all its nutrients vanish into thin air.

I need to take action, make some changes, and work on my habits. After debating with myself, I hop in the shower.

10 p.m. Its time to get some rest and think about my body and health. It can’t be set to be very vanilla. I need to get specifics sorted out. Let’s see what the future holds as far as my eating habits and nutrition is concerned.

“Mum, Green tea please.”

Note: I thought of writing and then submitting my diary after listening to this concept from a common friend as I found it intriguing and tempting.

To all the health and fitness enthusiasts and experts, I would like to ask for your tips and suggestions (in the form of comments) for improving my health, routine, and eating habits.

(A Message From The Editor: To be featured anonymously in a future Health Diary, email me with a week’s entries of your daily routine.)