#i used to have that then a hard boiled egg exploded in my mouth. and now it's gone LMFAOOO 🤝 🤝

[tea-and-secrets]

for the past few months ive had what is sort of a skin tag i guess in my mouth on my gums. it didnt hurt or anything and i could push it around with my tongue if it was in the way of anything so i didnt bother going to the dentist about it. i just noticed today that its gone though so i guess it fell off and i swallowed it without noticing or something. still no pain though so i guess its fine?

.

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Tess' Sharpuary - 10. Breakfast

Sweet brekafast is served in Hogwarts on Sunday, which is incredily popular with the students. A certain potions master appreciates so as well.

chapter specific tags: slice of life, fluff-ish, friendship

relationships: aesop sharp x reader (alluded to), aesop sharp & dinah hecat

10. Breakfast (1k)

tw: none

“Your lip, dear” said Dinah Hecat next to him, smiling into her cup of tea. Aesop used his fingers to wipe at his lips, quickly discovering that a dusting of fine sugar remained there from his meal. He licked the sugar from his digits unceremoniously, making his friend chuckle. “What?” he asked with a lifted brow but got no answer. Deciding not to focus on it too much, his hand reached for another scone. He brought it to his mouth and nose, breathing in its sweet smell before he proceeded to bite into the treat happily.

His eyes closed shut as flavour exploded on his tongue. The pastry itself was soft and incredibly fluffy, only lightly sweet, and sticking to the roof of his mouth somewhat. The generous filling of strawberry jam and whipped cream played a delicious symphony, the strawberry’s cheerfully wild sweetness mellowed by the airy, incredibly light and cool whipped cream, a hint of vanilla slowly creeping in and filling his senses. He wasn’t able to stop the deeply appreciative sound that hummed its way through his chest.

Dinah finally stopped pretending to read the Daily Prophet and turned to face him: “I swear to Merlin, Aesop, you’re looking forward to the sweet Sunday breakfast more than the students are!” Aesop chuckled but didn’t reply as his mouth was currently full of the sugary pastry. There was nothing quite like the Sunday breakfast at Hogwarts. It was served until ten o‘clock, so he had the luxury of sleeping in a bit, and most of the items weren’t usually served on any other day, as this amount of sugar was highly counterproductive to the students’ focus in class, the staff found.

Therefore, Sunday was something the majority of people in the castle looked forward to, the staff included. And Aesop, as Dinah liked to tease, most of all. However, that was just his sweet tooth, rather than any sort of aversion towards the goodies the house elves normally served them.

No full English breakfast could ever hold a candle to the breakfast readily available in the castle every day, and the smell of perfectly brown toast and eggs scrambled to perfection could be smelled long before one actually entered the Great Hall. It was enough to make many students visibly increase their pace in the morning, even those who looked like they were a mere pillow away from creating a make-do little nest right on one of the benches in the Viaduct courtyard and going right back to sleep.

It was a big change, having breakfast every single day. Back in his Auror days, Aesop scarcely had the time to make one in the morning before he had to go to work, and would maybe make some for himself on the weekend. After his injury, well, he did try to start his day off with at least a hard-boiled egg and toast, but usually just settled for a cup of tea. The firm routine of eating at Hogwarts actually forced him to exercise as much as he was able to with his maimed leg, as otherwise he’d be forced to enlarge his clothes. It took a while for him to adjust, but once he did, everything began feeling normal. Comfortable, actually. 

“You make it look like you haven’t had anything sweet in years, not less than a day ago,” Dinah spoke, pulling him out of his thoughts. He washed his last bite down with several sips of tea and turned his head towards her once more: “Hm? How would you know? I don’t remember eating anything sweet here yesterday.” Dinah’s eyes held a mischievous sparkle as she rested her face on her hand, and Aesop immediately regretted saying anything.

“Maybe not here, but I saw one of my Ravenclaws ascending the stairs from the kitchens, and then going in the direction of Faculty Tower, rather than the Ravenclaw one. So I figured she was either sneaking you some sweets from the kitchen, or she went to see Noreen about an injury she received in the Hufflepuff common room. One, for some reason, feels slightly more probable than the other.” Aesop cleared his throat. Dinah’s perception was as brilliant as it was maddening, and she knew there was something more going on between him and the now Seventh-year Ravenclaw that met the eye… And it felt like she’s known so for longer than Aesop himself. Simply maddening. It was as if she was teasing him over an innocent school crush, absolutely nonchalant about the fact that this ‘crush’ was on one of their students… 

Not to mention Aesop feared he was long past a mere crush…

“Just so you know, I do not ask her to sneak me sweets from the house elves,” he said instead, rather flatly and dumbly, prompting her to chuckle. The potions master willed his body from rushing blood into his cheeks, and his hand from crushing the scone and aking a mess of his robes. Merlin’s beard, if he was going to get this grilled every day after he’s had tea with the young woman, he might as well begin taking his breakfast in his room. Seeing just how often he met the girl and therefore provided Dinah with ammunition for further teasing, it might actually be a preferable solution. .

“I’m only teasing you a bit, dear, no need to get so defensive,” Dinah said, attempting to placate him as if she heard his little mental tirade, “just make sure you get some vegetables and meat inside your belly as well. Not even you can exist solely on scones and biscuits. I’m almost afraid to ask whether you’ve already tried so...”

The potions master couldn’t hold back a small chuckle of his own.

“Perhaps not,” he said, “but they work simply marvellously for breakfast.”

---

Thank you so much for reading ❤

[Ao3] - [Sharpuary 2024] - [Masterlist]

[kcrossvine-art]

Hihihi all! It’s startin to get hot out. Or maybe it already is hot. I can’t feel this. Today from the little book of mice and war we are making a chilled treat named “Great Hall Gooseberry Fool”.

(If you’d like to follow along with this foolish endeavor, original recipe is under the cut!)-

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Great Hall Gooseberry Fool?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Gooseberries

Sugar

Cornstarch 

Milk

Heavy Cream

(Optionally, vanilla pudding)

Grated chocolate

SO funny story; the principal, crown jewel, fruit of this confection was federally outlawed until 1966, where it transferred to a state-by-state basis. Now, the state I live in doesn’t have any restrictions on ribes (the family of fruit the gooseberry belongs to), but due to the decades of being banned, its still super duper hard to find. I’m not keen on the deets but golden berries are a lot more common than gooseberries, despite being the same family,. The main difference between them seems to be appearance, and taste. This will be relevant. 

AND, “what does Great Hall Gooseberry Fool taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

As if you ground up a pregnant mammalian insect and its unbirthed internal egg clutch, and ate it. 

Kind of like a rancid orange. Meaty.  Grainy. Viscous. Acrid.

With many tiny seeds

The custards pretty good!

Texture overall reminds me of baby food. 

A schnasty exploding bullet that gives way to an infection. The grated chocolate makes it look even more unsanitary but it and the custard were the most enjoyable parts.

.I managed about 2 bites before my mouth dug its heels into my brain and halted. This was meant for UK gooseberries, and you cannot substitute for cape/golden berries. 

.substituted Gooseberries for ‘Golden Berries’ .used almond milk for ‘milk’  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yipes! YUH oh!YORK!

In the future I’d make this with blackberry or raspberry, maybe? What I’m able to gather between the flavor profiles of goose vs golden, they seem to be more comparable to those. It’s also very very possible I didn’t puree it correctly, it called for an amount of water that didn’t quite cover the fruit and combined with the sugar I noticed even on low heat it seemed to caramelize some pieces of fruit skin?

The custard part actually turned out super well! Considering I’ve never made custard before, or, actually tasted custard before- I was thoroughly impressed with how it turned out! If only I hadn’t folded all of it into the fruit.

The custard and chocolate shavings try to papermache the termite infestation, and its damn good papermache, but the termites eat that too. 3/10. didn’t give me food poisoning, wasn’t as bad as the time i needed a scented candle held to my face to force down a whey protein shake, still super duper nauseating. 

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Fruit:

1 pound gooseberries, washed

1/2 cup sugar

Custard:

(or substitute 1/2 cup prepared vanilla pudding):

1 tablespoon sugar

1 tablespoon cornstarch

10 tablespoons milk

1/2 cup heavy cream, whipped

Grated chocolate (use a cheese grater), for serving.

Method:

Place the gooseberries in a saucepan with the sugar and two tablespoons of water. Cook over medium heat until the fruit is completely soft, about 10 minutes. Press the fruit through a fine mesh sieve set over a bowl to achieve a smooth puree. Let cool.

To make the custard, in a bowl, mix the cornstarch and sugar with 2 tablespoons of the milk.

In a small saucepan over medium heat, bring the remaining 1/2 cup of milk to a boil. Pour the hot milk onto the cornstarch mixture and stir to blend well. Return the mixture to the pan and cook over medium-low heat, stirring, until thickened, about 4 minutes. Let cool, stirring occasionally.

Fold the custard and then the whipped cream into the gooseberry puree. Cover and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled, at least 1 hour.

To serve, divide the fool between four sundae glasses and sprinkle each with a little grated chocolate.

[bakubub]

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00​ for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[ktheist]

muses. familiar!cat-shifter!yoongi x witch!reader

83.“My friends get so annoyed by how much I talk sometimes.”

x

“i thought witches don’t have friends.” yoongi scratches his arm, opening the fridge and checking out what little sustenance you have in it.

not much.

“and i thought familiars are supposed to indulge in their masters needs and wants,” hands on your hips you look at him with knitted brows and a pout.

but exactly five heartbeats later, you hear your phone buzzing and you’re hurrying to grab your bag, “i’ll be back!”

a second after the door closes shut, your head pops back in, the sulking pout now gone and in its place, the most brilliant smile and brightest twinkle in your eyes, “let’s have chicken for dinner! i left the money on the counter so you can order it and we can eat together.”

and then you’re gone.

min yoongi grumbles, eyes burning holes in the fifty dollar note lying on the white countertop.

‘did she think i’m broke or something?’

well, yoongi was quite literally homeless and living on tree branches in the deepest part of south korea’s reserves. but he was only living there because his last witch died from greed.

take over the world. become queen of every species on earth.

that sort of greed.

but you?

this 20-something year old pays - well, the humans like to call it tuition fee - to be a slave to an education that isn’t even beneficial to witches.

huh.

yoongi feels sorry for your bodiless ancestors who got burned at the stakes. if they had graves, they would be turning in them but they don’t because they took the risk to learn and practice witchcraft even if it was forbidden in their times.

now you’ve got all the reasons to learn - humans got so stupid that they stopped believing in anything besides logic - but you’re using him to predict what’s going to come out in your tests.

x

“ugh, my tailbone’s about to liquidize from having to sit in that exam hall for five freaking hours.” mina grumbles, stretching her arms over her head.

“okay, but why the fuck do we have to write a 10 page essay on why plato think our end goal is happiness?” soyeon’s scrunches her nose, as if physically cringing at the remembrance of it.

“isn’t that like, a statement? weren’t we supposed to talk about rousseau?” nayeon’s brows knit together in utter confusion.

“shit.” you’d expect soyeon to be cursing but it’s mina.

after a series of mina freaking out and the rest of you trying to calm her down by saying whatever possible answer they discussed could very well be wrong because nobody recalled hearing the professor mention who this rousseau scholar-guy.

except you.

and it wasn’t the professor who mentioned it.

it was the grumpy shapeshifting cat you’ve taken in who also happens to have futuristic premonitions.

almost as if they could hear your thoughts, soyeon turns to you, “we should’ve trusted ___’s instincts.”

technically, you were doing some reading on rousseau’s natural law theory when the girls sneaked up on you and scared your literal soul out of your body. they were surprised that you were even studying so you passingly mentioned having a strong, unquestionable feeling that he’s going to make an appearance in finals.

“you girls should’ve listened to me,” you cheekily proclaim, hands on your hips and chin tilted so high up, you can almost see the sun.

“oh great finals goddess, please tell us what you think will come out for criminal procedures,” mina gets on her knees without a care in the world and starts praying for you.

it wasn’t hard to stroke your ego and your friends know that better than anyone. so you tell them what they want to know on a pretense of ‘just predictions! don’t put all your eggs in one basket. i might be wrong!’

“yoongi, i’m home,” you singsong, swinging the door open only to have your shoulders sag at the lack of a certain black haired grump who would usually be sleeping on the couch and grumble for you to ‘shut up, i’m taking a nap.’

“huh, he’s not here.” you kick off your shoes and pad over to your room only to have your heart flutter at the sight of a cat snugly curled up in your bed.

“yoongi!” you squeal, dropping your bag and books on the floor before bounding over to the bed and gathering the slumbering feline in your arms.

the cat’s golden slits seem to appear on guard until they soften at the sight of you. he yawns widely as he stretches in your arms.

“i’m home, yoongi.” this time, your voice is barely above whisper, hand scratching his furry body as you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling.

“you were right about rousseau and now my friends think i have some sixth sense,” you prattle on while the weight on your chest starts curling himself up - you have no strand of doubt that if you just looked down, the black feline will be snoring away as if he doesn’t have a single ounce of care for your story-telling.

not that yoongi’s ever showed an interest in your life besides the magic that you happen to bottle up and exploded the day he was walking around in seoul out of boredom.

you’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you wake up to the sound of ‘here’s your chicken’ and a ‘thanks’ before the door clicks shut.

“was that the chicken?” groggy but hungry, you march over the kitchen where yoongi - now in his human form - is taking out the boxes with your favorite swicy chicken restaurant symbol from the plastic bag.

“with the way you were snoring, i didn’t think i should order dinner at all,” he says nonchalantly.

“i-i don’t snore!” you almost scream, cheeks heating up.

“uh-huh,” there it is again, the nonchalant tone that almost drives you up the wall. then he turns to face you, index finger tapping the corner of his mouth, “you’ve got some drool there.”

almost as if possessed by a chaotic spirit, you trudge to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you in your haste. your reflection stares back at you with bed hair pointing everywhere and alarmed, round eyes as you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand only to notice nothing there. you repeat the motion once again and true enough, not a smidge of drool is present.

“that lying-!” you huff, marching back to the kitchen with one objective in mind.

“lying isn’t very nice, yoongi,” you say, barely putting a lid on the boiling anger.

“being too trustful isn’t very witch-like either.” he counters, a swicy chicken in hand and bright red sauce in the corner of his mouth.

“i curse you into a monkey!” you scream, index finger pointed in his direction.

but instead of the black haired familiar morphing and turning into the animal you cursed him into, he continues eating without even batting an eye.

“what- but-” you look at your hand and then back at him, “i cursed you!”

“you can’t curse your own familiar.” he finally says halfway into your quarter-ish life crisis, “now sit down and eat before your stomach starts grumbling too.”

you huff in bashful frustration. face too hot to even look at yoongi in eye but you’re too hungry to throw another fit.

believe it or not, this is just one of your routine in your daily life - him teasing you, completely nonchalantly and you getting worked up over it and end up making a fool out of yourself.

in a few hours, you’ll end up forgetting it ever happens and end up cuddling the cat that’s curled up on your pillow. you’ve just finished revising another topic of your next exam.

the next time you wake up, it’s to grown sized male snuggling into your chest, his arm slung over your back and your leg wedged between his. there’s not so much as a hair’s breadth between you.

“y-yoongi,” you stammer out, unable to think properly.

but when the aforementioned man simply groans and nuzzles his face in between your boobs, your cheeks hit up and your hand ends up swinging in the air before it hits its target.

his cheek.

now he sports a red handprint on his porcelain skin as he goes around, making coffee for himself while you diligently study at your desk. it’s some time in the afternoon that a furry ball leaps into your lap and kneads your thighs with his little paws before curling into a ball.

“aren’t you so cute?” your heart flutters at the adorable little fur ball, hand scratching the underside of his neck and giggling at how he’s purring in appreciation.

you end up dropping your apple pencil and shutting off your ipad. carrying the clingy furball in your arms, you plop down your bed.

“ugh, my back feels like it’s gonna crumble off like biscuit crumbs,” you lament, not caring if the sentence makes no sense.

but before you can think of any other sentence that makes no absolute sense, you feel the weight on your stomach shift, the furball you were caressing now turning into a lump of skull with actual human hair as it holds itself up and places its forehead on yours.

“how is it that you willingly take me to bed when i’m a cat and slap me in the face like i’m some pervert when i’m my human form?” this time, you know he’s teasing you because he’s smirking like he’s amused.

“it’s different because you were a cat!” you thank merlin that your voice comes out strong and certain.

“i’m still me no matter what form i take though,” his hand is warm on your thigh. his breath fans your skin, “still a man.”

“it’s different,” you know you sound meek compared to when you started out.

but your face is hot and your heart is palpitating inside your chest. all of a sudden you feel too shy to even look at him. so you cast your gaze to the side. relief floods your system when he lifts his head from yours. but it’s short-lived. teeth bite on the delicate skin of your neck. not enough to hurt but enough to incite a surprised yelp from you.

and a swing of your hand.

that’s how yoongi ends up with another red handprint on his other cheek. the first one is barely disappearing.

and you, with a hickey on your neck that you don’t know what to explain to your friends tomorrow when you meet them for the exam.

but one good thing comes out of it. after the slap, a rope materializes and wraps itself around yoongi. it’s pure magic and not even he can undo it.

“stop teasing me,” you start, sitting on the chair with your legs crossed.

“start treating me like i’m a man even in my cat form and i’ll consider that,” he counters.

at that, you lift an eyebrow, all of a sudden feeling a rush of confidence, “start acting like a man in your human form then.”

that’s when yoongi looks at you like you’ve challenged his essence. his existence.

“untie me and i’ll show you what a man is, master,” he challenges back.

it’s the word ‘master’ that gets your stomach fluttering with butterflies.

“you have two heads but you’re using the useless one to interpret what ‘a man’ means?” eyebrows rising to the ceiling, you pretend to be surprised.

“you’re a witch but you don’t even know how to use a spell,” he shrugs, reverted to his nonchalant self.

and that’s what irks you the most. how he acts like it has nothing to do with him but rubs your lacking in your face.

“lay down.” you order and his body is sent flying backwards, barely missing the wall in his abrupt descent.

yoongi groans, gathering himself once again.

“see, i know you can’t go against my words,” you say, triumphant.

“how did you find out?” he strains his neck, trying to look at you now that he’s laying down.

“the way you always did what i asked and last night, you ordered the chicken anyway even though i was sleeping and i could’ve slept through the entire night.” those were suspicions - you only confirmed it when you gave him the direct order.

“fine, you win,” he announces, barely caring about the argument.

“good.” you nod, mentally willing the rope to untie itself. but nothing happens.

you try again.

and again.

and again.

“can i please be released?” yoongi finally says after one too many mental tries.

“uh, wait,” you push yourself off the chair and tread over to manually undo the knot that keeps the rope tightly wrapped around yoongi.

“you can’t do it with magic?” comes the million dollar question.

you sigh, dejected, “i think i need to be angry - or feel strongly about something to get my magic to work.”

that’s what happened when yoongi met you. overstressed and barely focusing on your surroundings, you ended up getting run over someone who was on a bike. everything just kept going wrong. you ended up bawling your eyes out on the sidewalk - the man who ran over you started panicking thinking he broke a bone.

“i’m cool now though.” you shrug, easily dismissing the dejection and whatever that upset you before.

the rope comes undone and yoongi shimmies himself out. but before you can do anything, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you down until your knee digs into the mattress in between his legs, your faces too close. if he’d just tilt his head, his lips would easily brush yours.

“yoongi,” you warn but he shushes you.

“try getting the rope to move with magic,” he instructs, voice uncharacteristically soft and soothing.

you take a deep breath, eyes trained on the rope lying around him whilst trying to ignore the millimeter distance between your faces.

you move your index finger and the rope lifts itself up. you motion to the left with your finger and the rope gradually slithers through the air in the direction you’re pointing.

“it’s working,” you almost squeal, beaming.

and in your excitement, you seek yoongi’s gaze, only to see the rope crashing against the ground in your periphery.

“good,” a smile plays on his lips.

all of a sudden, you’re out of breath, the perpetrator also being the cause of the rush of blood to your face.

thanks.

the words doesn’t really get passed your lips because his feel feather-light but his fingertips on your cheek is calloused but grounding. that’s how you know this isn’t just some dream.

then he pulls all of you down. the sudden shift of motion illicit a gasp out of you. but the shock stricken state is short lived. you find yourself breathing in his musky woody scent.

he leans down, kissing the delicate spot on your neck that makes your heart wretch inside your chest.

“yoongi, maybe we should take it slow and practice some other time?” you suggest and he chuckles, the sound ringing in your ear like a blissful melody.

“i’m not doing this for a practice run,” he confesses ever so casually, “i took on the form of a cat because you told me about the one you have back home. but you got too familiar with it that you forgot about me.”

he licks your flesh like a cat would. it’s supposed to be an innocent, cat-like gesture but something about the way his male body is hovering over you makes the fibers in your system go on panic mode. you wish the bed would open up and swallow you whole but you’re not powerful enough for that.

yet.

“i’m upset,” he sulkily says and sinks his teeth into your skin.

x

the fading redness on his left cheek where you first slap him is rosier than ever after your third slap landing on that one.

“when are you gonna let me go?” his voice echoes in the silence.

you turn around to see the man sitting cross-legged on your bed with his hands on his sides, the rope tightly wrapped around him. after he bit you, the rope ended shooting up and around him, as if it had a mind of its own and sought to protect you by disabling your neck-biting familiar.

oh, you sport similar hickey on the other side of your neck now too.

“hmm,” you tilt your head in contemplation, “after my last exam?”

“that’s like, in a week,” he grunts, “how am i gonna bathe? and eat?”

“you have two heads, yoongi. figure it out.” you shrug and turn back to your books and ipad.

x

note. this was requested by an anonymous as part of my drabble game.

[jamilelucato]

Best Teacher, Part 3 || Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!reader

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: y/N is a pureblood Slytherin best friends with Harry Potter, but not yet that close to the Weasleys until she’s invited to spend Christmas with them.

PART 1 || PART 2

A/N: It’s the last chapter, hope you’re all just excited as I am. I must say, it would have been better if I had published it on Christmas but I just couldn’t wait. So, if you want my advice, reread it on Christmas.

*gif below actually mine and I'm so proud

The first thing you realised when you got out of the bathroom was that you had the wrong wand. At first sight, you had no idea why or how. It was only when you kept on thinking that you remembered when you could have swapped it.

The night before had been... well, interesting, to say the least. You could still feel Fred's touch, even if it had passed hours. Heck! You had showered and you still could smell his perfume on you! 

To any help, once you finally managed to quiet your thoughts and sleep, he was there, visiting you in your dreams, just to kiss you again.

You were not complaining, though. Yeah, yeah, you had a resting bitch face when you got downstairs, which caused Ginny to ask you if anything was wrong.

"Slept on my wrong side, I guess" you answered, short and sharp.

She looked at you like she couldn't recognize the girl in front of her, and, to be fair, neither could you. You tended to be grumpy, especially in the morning, but never that grumpy.

It didn't make sense. You had just been kissed like you had been waiting your whole life to, and now you walked around acting terrible.

The Weasley Twins were not yet on the breakfast table. The boys — all of the boys in the house — were late for breakfast, that was their mom's complaint in the morning.

"I just know they are up to something, I know they are" she finished, seeing you and Ginny walk in. "Good morning, girls".

You tried faking a smile, but it felt too hard so you gave up. Mrs Weasley didn't even notice, going back to the stove, not waiting for a reply. You sat right next to Ginny, avoiding the chair where you were happy to sit one day ago.

"Where are the boys?" Ginny asked. You were not able to conclude if she meant all her brothers or just the twins, but you were curious just like her.

"Percy's in the bathroom" Mr Weasley answered, not showing his face because of the newspaper he held. "Ron and Harry overslept, I suppose."

You started madding up, desperately wanting to know the explanation for Fred and George's disappearance. They were, surprisingly, generally the firsts to eat breakfast and their absence on the table made your stomach boil up.

"Want an egg, dear?" Molly asked you after placing a scrambled egg in front of her daughter.

"No, thanks. Not that hungry today" your answer surprised Mrs Weeasley, but she didn't bother insisting. 

You were avoiding asking about the twins, but after pouring yourself a cup of milk — and remembering the night before — you just couldn't take the unknown anymore. "Where are Fred and George?"

Ginny was the first to look at you, slowly smiling as she was understanding your curiosity. She, before even you, noticed you three were up to something bigger than pranking everyone in the house. You suspected she even knew about the secret midnight getaways, but she was too embarrassed to say a thing. 

Mrs Weasley pointed a finger at you, letting go of the frying panhandle in a gasp. "See? The visitors noticed it is weird!" her voice was louder than before, her eyes wide open at Mr Weasley direction.

The husband let go of his newspaper, which fell on his lap. He rolled his eyes — a habit that you now understood it was very common for the Weasleys.

"Dear Merlin, woman, I believe they are alright. If they were up to no good, we would have known by now" he said, in a fail attempt of calming down his wife.

Molly simply got back facing the house's stove, but she didn't look pleased. "I swear if I catch them doing evil spells again..." but she never finished her threat.

Percy finally got down to the kitchen, sitting at his father's right. "Good morning, family. Good morning, y/N."

You were in no mood of being nice so you just mockingly smiled at him. Ginny chocked with her mug on hand, almost spitting the drink.

Harry and Ron came down the stairs laughing, but their giggles died once they sat on the table. Harry was polite enough to wish us all a good morning, but Ron didn't do so, he just sat next to you with a weird expression on his face.

"Where are the twins?" he asked, realising the missing pieces of the breakfast table.

"They weren't in their rooms," Mr Weasley said, finally revealing to you what you had been most curious about. "So I don't know where they can be."

Alas, that only left you with a lot more questions. What could they possibly be doing? Was it your fault? Could Fred have asked for his twin's help to disappear from the house just because you kissed him? If that was the case, good Merlin, your mood for the morning was less than appropriate. That was it. Fred hated you and was disgusted by the kiss. You were a shame for your name.

"They are not planning on dye my hair again, are they?" Ron asked, facing you. 

You shook your head. "Don't ask me, I don't quite understand those two myself" you replied, drinking all your milk with one gulp.

Ginny was about to burst into laughter, so she filled her mouth with her mom's scrambled eggs. Ron, on the other hand, kept on staring at you, like he was trying to catch something you didn't say. Harry looked at you sympathetically but said nothing.

Even after breakfast, Mrs Weasley and Mr Weasley kept on arguing about their missing kids, and you were eavesdropping, in hopes to listen to anything at all that could contain important information.

"That's rude, did you know?" Harry's voice whispered. You looked back to face the boy that had a smile. He sat next to you on the couch while you closed the book you held in case you needed a disguise since that didn't work out.

"It's just... I'm worried" you confessed, unwilling to pretend. Harry was the one you used to tell everything, so why not this? He might be able to help you, anyway.

"They're fine. They got my invisibility cloak this morning, so I think it's some prank they're organising" Harry explained, pressing his lips together at the end of the sentence. He seemed more worried about you than the boys, and you thought that could only mean you didn't have to worry.

"You allowed it?" you asked, knowing how much that cloak meant to Harry.

"I owe them a lot. Besides, they'll return it to me." he shrugged.

You stared at your best friend for a while, not knowing what to say. One thing was telling him that you were concerned about the twins' escape; telling him that you might have feelings for Fred was a whole other.

Harry Potter sighed. "Look, I don't know how to say this but... I'm sure he feels the same"

His commentary caught you by surprise.

"What?"

"Fred Weasley," Harry said, like that explained everything. Noticing you were still very much confused, he added: "This mix of thing you're feeling, he's totes feeling the same"

You raised an eyebrow at that information. There was a reason for you to have been friends with Harry besides all the odds — you two understood each other in a level that no other two persons have ever. It was like that when you found him about to cry on your second year, and it was like that right now, with him staring at you as he knew of your secrets.

"Am I that obvious?" you asked, giggling nervously.

He smiled, sympathetic. "I don't think so 'cause he and Ron haven't noticed it yet"

"Ron?" you replied, perplexed, which caused Harry to laugh a bit too loud.

"Yeah... He thinks you plan on killing his brother or something" he revealed. "I don't blame him, you do look at Fred sometimes like you want to explode his head"

"Yes! Because he's so dimwitted!" your exclamation made you both burst into laughter, so much, you lost your breath. 

It was good talking to Harry and realising your friendship was still pure and genuine, even if Harry's life was in danger all the time and you sounded like a spoiled child.

"Wait a minute" once you calmed down, a question popped in your head "When you say only Fred and Ron doesn't know about — hmm my crush, let's say — you mean that the rest of the family knows?"

"Well of course! George is even jealous of how much time you two have been spending together!" Harry said, leaning closer to you "Ginny thinks it's cute, on the other hand"

You glanced at him, with smirk "Ginny, huh? Talking to her a lot, are we?" He rolled his eyes. 

"Don't be stupid" his phrase made you start laughing all over again.

***

When George and Fred finally showed up, the sun was almost gone.

Molly Weasley awaited for them close to the front door, holding somewhat of kitchen utensil, that you weren't able to recognize due to the distance.

You, Ginny, Ron, Percy and Potter were having a picnic outside. After the food was all eaten, Percy got back to his room, but the rest of you stayed there, laying on the tablecloth on the grass, watching the clouds and making jokes. 

It was Ron that first saw his brothers arriving because he heard his mom's screams. To be fair, it didn't take long for all of you to hear her screams as well.

Ron desperately wanted to get up and be closer to the scene, but Ginny advised him it'd be better to stay. His mom could start punishing him too.

"WHERE WERE YOU TWO??" Molly asked, making herself heard all around the neighbourhood.

Fred had Harry's cloak on his hands, you recognized it, but he also had a bag in his hands that you didn't know what could it be.

George looked scared of his mom, so he was the first to talk. Although you couldn't hear him — differently from his mom, he wasn't screaming —, you imagined he was explaining where they went 'cause he held up to white plastic bags.

"YOU COULD HAVE WARNED ME! OR LEAVE A NOTE! THERE WERE SO MANY ALTERNATIVES!" Molly pointed out, making the twins duck their heads.

You could swear you heard they say "I'm sorry" and then she let them in. Not before exclaiming "After you come back from Hogwarts, you won't be allowed out of the house!"

You wondered if she was gonna remember that punishment once they were back.

"Where do you think they were?" you asked Ginny.

"I think they went to buy presents," Ginny said, not looking at you, still facing the house entrance.

"HA! As if our brothers would buy us anything" Ron had a weird face on and got up as soon as he realised the path was clear.

"I didn't say it was for us" Ginny replied, turning slowly to face you. 

It didn't take long for the rest of the eyes to fall upon you too.

"Bloody hell" grunted Ron, before rolling his eyes and forcing Harry to leave with him.

***

Christmas Eve was an event of not much importance at the y/L/N household. Her mom would make the house-elves put on some decorations for Christmas, like a tree and maybe some lights, but that was that. They would have a bigger than the already big dinners the house had, y/N's parents would give her presents, and after that, they'd go to bed. 

No hugging near the fireplace, no jokes about the holiday and no visit of the rest of the family to fill the house. To feel a bit less lonely,  you used to ask the three house-elves of the house to eat with you at the table, however, they generally refused. To make it up, you'd leave after dinner to eat some cake with them in the kitchen.

All that way of celebration was nothing close to the Weasleys' Christmas Eve. After the twins' arrival, Molly Weasley put all the kids to work, instructing you where to put every single decoration she had stored, and she had a lot. Percy and Mr Weasley got responsible for the tree, and they did a pretty good job with it.

Ginny would make you laugh now and then because she used to stop decorating the walls to put the ornaments on herself.

Although avoiding each other, you'd lock eyes with Fred from time to time, you simply couldn't avoid it. To break the stares, Ginny would fake cough right next to you, in a way of calling out your attention. It helped, because, you were not in the mood to gaze at Fred. 

Ok, it might have been you the one to run away after the kiss, but it was in the middle of the night. Besides, he was the one missing in the next morning, so, some part of your brain decided that he should be the one to talk to you first. The only problem was that he didn't seem ready to do so.

"Dinner's ready, kids!" Mrs Weasley called out for you all.

You followed Ginny, sitting right next to her like you had done it in the morning. Fred faced you, confused by your change of seats, but he didn't say a thing. Molly had prepared such a big feast that you were surprised she could have done it all on her own. Of course, the meal at your house was way bigger, but you couldn't blame her, she just didn't have house-elves for the rescue.

"It tastes like Heaven, Mrs Weasley!" you exclaimed, unable to contain your pleasure for the deliciousness that woman had prepared.

The Weasleys' mom smiled shyly, her cheeks turning red. "Well, thank you, y/N! It's nice to hear such a good compliment! You guys should learn with her."

The way she replied made you selfconscious. Ron immediately faced you, with an angry look, like you had ruined his whole life. Mr Weasley and Percy were smiling at your politeness, but you couldn't see because you were facing the only one you shouldn't.

Fred Weasley lifted his eyes from his food to you, trying to hide his smile. The truth was that he was really happy to see you hit it off with his mom.

"Oh, and dear, what did I say about my name?" Mrs Weasley said, forcing you to face her instead of Fred, which you were thankful.

"Sorry, Molly" you replied, using her name. She smiled back at you.

*** After everyone got full with not only the dinner but also the dessert, Molly cleaned the table without letting you get up.

"Wait, you fools. I want to give you your presents" she said, getting up from her chair. She got a plastic bag from somewhere behind her seat and started distributing what looked like handmade winter clothes.

"There you go, husband... Percy... Dear Ginny" she stopped herself to kiss her daughter's forehead. "Harry, I got you something too. As well for you, y/N, just let me find it" she sank her hand further into the bag.

"Oh, but there was no need, Mrs... Molly" you said, correcting yourself along the away.

"Nonsense" she returned, finally getting what she looked for from the bag. "Fred and George, here you go."

"Matching scarfs! Nice!" Fred commented, smiling to his brother. They wrapped the scarf around each other's necks.

"Now, we can look identical!" George added, making his mom roll her eyes.

"Here's yours, Harry" she gave Harry a black scarf, that had an 'H' in one of its ends. She turned herself at you, holding a golden-like scarf, much like the ones with the twins. "I had trouble with yours, dear. Ginny warned me you were coming at the last minute and..."

"Hey, no worries, Molly. You didn't even need to give me something!" you thanked her, interrupting her attempt of justification. She then let you get the scarf from her hands. You weren't wrong to think it was like the twins' one. It was one of the twins' one, Fred's actually because there was a big 'F' in one of its ends.

"I didn't realise I had already done one for Fred" she started, ducking her head, afraid of your reaction. "If you'd like, I can redo it until the end of the holiday, and, you know..."

"Molly, Molly" you interrupted, holding her arm, trying to calm her down. "It's ok. I like it this way."

"Damn right she does" Ginny muttered, and you kicked her under the table.

"Besides, I don't think Fred has a problem with it, do you, Freddie?" you asked, finally facing him. 

He was caught by surprise, swallowing hard before returning with a quick comment. "The 'F' looks good on you" and then he winked, making you blush.

Mrs Weasley seemed relieved of the way you handled things and smiled to you. "I'm glad you are here this year with us. I'll hope you'll come next years"

"Oh, she will," Ginny remarked again just so she could win another kick of yours.

"I have presents for you all as well. I mean, I couldn't come without presents" you said, getting up. "Just wait."

You left to Ginny's room, so you could get the presents you had bought at Hogsmeade for all of them. You even had caught presents for Bill and Charlie, because you didn't know they wouldn't be there.

"You didn't have to, dear," said Molly Weasley when you got back to downstairs. You nodded, "It's almost nothing, I mean, I got you all some candy from Honeydukes", you smiled showing your teeth, "It's barely a present."

You started passing the candy to everyone since they were all the same, it didn't matter to who you were giving.

"Well, thank you," Mr Weasley said, causing your cheeks to turn red. He was a very poilite but quiet man, quite different from the rest of the family.

"I've got ones to Bill and Charlie as well, 'cause I didn't know they wouldn't come. Can you give it to them, Molly?" you asked, politely.

"Sure," she said, running her hand to your back.

"What about our candy?" Fred and George asked together, which caused the table to laugh.

"Well, I knew there were things more important than candy for you two, so..." you got the last items inside the bag you had in your hands, "Bilton Blimes told me these were things you have been looking for ages but were never able to find."

The twins looked at you shocked, both their mouths wild open, which caused you to laugh. "I'd say after this morning you guys don't deserve it..."

"They don't" an angry Molly Weasley commented.

"...but I wouldn't use it anyway" you continued, giving them their precious little toys.

Percy was the only one at the table that was not laughing at Fred and George's faces. Even Molly gave in, giggling a little.

"Now, off of here, I need to clean up" she ordered, probably desperate to hide her smile from her kids.

Mr Weasley stayed with his wife, to help her with the dishes, which you thought was too cute of him. Percy was the first to leave the table, followed by Harry, Ron and Ginny, they were playing with each other, trying to steal one another candy. You just rolled your eyes at them.

"Thank you, so, so much, y/N!" exclaimed Fred, walking in your direction, holding his little toy in his hands, unable to take his eyes off of it.

"Yeah, y/N, thanks! If my brother isn't keeping you, I'd gladly do it!" George said, laughing. Fred slapped his back, but the twin didn't even move. He left the kitchen faster, leaving you and Fred on the slow walk you two were doing.

You didn't want to be the first to talk, but you needed to say something. Fred seemed to be feeling the same, but he didn't open his mouth. When you were brave enough to say something, he started talking with you. "So I" you both started together.

You stared at each other, embarrassed. "You go first," he said at the same time as you. You looked at him, ashamed again, and then you both break into laughs. He touched you in your elbow, suggesting with his eyes to the stairs. You headed that way, sitting on the second step.

"I'm sorry I run away last night" you started saying, avoiding looking at his eyes. He sat next to you. He reached for your hands, leaving the present you had just gave him on the upper step. "I'm sorry I disappeared this morning."

You both stared at each other, taking in a moment to just stay in silence. Neither of you cared to say that it was ok because you knew that wasn't the problem. You weren't worried about the disappearance but worried about what it had meant. What the kiss meant.

"So..." you began but couldn't finish. You weren't brave enough to be the first to mention it and by the looks of it, neither was he.

"I... hm, I've got you something. For Christmas" he said, swallowing dry. "It's in my room."

You didn't know what he was expecting you to say.

"Come, I'll show you" he squeezed your hand, before getting up and helping you do the same.

He guided you through the stairs, without letting go of your hand. He stopped at the sight of a door — you supposed it was his — and opened it, slowly. "Sorry for the mess."

"No worries" you smiled because the room was actually cleaner than what you expected to see from the bedroom of the biggest pranksters of Hogwarts.

He had to let go of your hand to kneel before his bead, to get something that was underneath it.

"Here," he said, getting up. "Take it, it's yours."

You took the box from his hands, scared of what could be inside. 

"It's not a prank, come on" he smiled, noticing you were afraid to open it.

You undid the lace, taking the cover of the box. Inside, your wand looked like as if it was just new.

"We swapped it" he pointed out, while you took your wand of the box. It felt nice to have it in your hands once again. 

His wand, the one you've been carrying around all day was placed on your boot. You bowed to get it and returned it to the rightful owner. "Here you go," you said, trying to smile even though you were a little disappointed with his gift.

He giggled at you while getting his wand. "That's not your present, y/N. Look closer to the box."

After hs advise, you came upon noticing the box had a spell, probably the Undetectable Extension Charm. You reached further inside the box, trying to find whatever Fred could have hidden.

"It's a quaffle!" you exclaimed, getting the ball outside of the box. It looked new, its red appearance shining.

Fred giggled at your reaction.

"Why a quaffle?" you asked, confused with the quidditch ball chasers use to score. Yeah, you had learned a couple of things.

"Well, I saw how happy you get playing quidditch and I want you to keep on playing" he started, looking deep into you eyes "I like seeing you happy."

He shrugged like he had said something of the least importance. You stood on tiptoe so you could reach him and kissed him on the cheek. 

He swallowed, his cheeks turning redder than his hair. "You'll keep on playing?"

"Of course! If you keep on being my teacher" you suggested, satisfied with your attempt of sassiness.

"Oh, you are a keeper" he commented, making you chuckle because of the double meaning of the sentence. It made you even happier once you realised that he might have been using the word's double meaning from the very beginning.

"FRED WEASLEY, WHERE ARE YOU?" you listened to a scream, probably coming from the living room.

"MOM, I'LL BE DOWN IN A SECOND!" he shouted back, making you laugh hard.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? IT'S ALMOST MIDNIGHT!" his mom shouted back. Fred rolled his eyes.

"I wonder if she noticed that I'm not downstairs as well" you pointed out, holding the quidditch ball with only one hand.

"Ginny must have covered you up, which I see George wasn't able to do for me," Fred said, his tone showing discomfort.

"Then, let's go. What are you waiting for?" you said, reaching for his hand to take him downstairs. It was funny, you tough, coping his mom's words.

"For this" he answered, taking his free hand at your waist, pulling you closer to him. The encounter of bodies made you let go of the quaffle, that fell upon the floor without any noise.

Fred leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. This time, there was no hush. You both have been waiting to repeat that for so long, that when it finally happened it was like the world had stopped just to let you two kiss in peace.

He embraced you tighter and tighter, and although, you needed time out for breathing, you didn't let go of each other.

You didn't know how long had passed when you finally got away from each other.

"Merry Christmas" Fred wished you, his voice a bit rough from the long snogging session.

You smiled at him.

"Merry Christmas, Fred."

[hanamakkiss]

Haikyuu boys cooking

Shiratorizawa | Nekoma | Karasuno

time for krows kakao~

Sawamura Daichi ↠ a responsible cook! uses (in everyone else opinion) too little seasoning BUT HE MEANS WELL 😭😭 so u just eat it but when he turns his back while cooking add some more salt in there!!! it needs it 😂😂😂 loves cooking with you sososoo much cus its one of the times where u actively spend time together. does sappy things like dance with u while waiting for the water to boil 🥰 and buys matching aprons

Sugawara Koushi ↠ ask him if he can cook and he'll give u the most beautiful smile and say "😇no😇" i mean, look at that face, makes u want to cook for him!!! 😒😠🥺🥰 all the neighbourhood aunties love him and bring him food all. the. time.😋 he doesnt know how to cus he nevers needs to! even when yall start living together he just keeps bringing home food from the neighbours!!!

Azumane Asahi ↠ can but rather bakes. and hes really good at it!! like baking cause the motions are calming and it helps with his anxiety. likes to listen to podcast whilst doin so. a panic baker too when hes stressed he instinctively bakes so you always have sweets at home LMAO. bakes ur fave desserts when ur down 🍮🧁😘

Tanaka Ryunnosuke ↠ knows the basics but isnt very good at it but if you're too tired to cook he will definitely whip up a meal for u!!! practices really hard to at least be able to cook ur fave dish well!!🥰🥰🥰 a fantastic person to cook for LMAO cus hes used to saeko and will give anything a try at least one cus sometimes they turn out ✨amazing✨

Nishinoya Yuu ↠ king of reaheating leftovers!!! no patience for cooking but somehow manages to make day old food taste fresh again. share your secrets young man 🔪🔪 dont lose sight of ur food while reheating cus he WILL snatch it up. doesnt matter how much he loves u cus he thinks with his stomach 🤤🤤🤤 makes up to u w ice cream (bitch!!! my lagsana!!!) absolute joy to cook for tho he eats everything

Hinata Shouyou ↠ king of prep!! cuts veggies🥒 and fruits🍑 so finely and beautifully u ask him for help all the time. he learnt from his mum when he was younger, but didnt actually do the cooking part. really good at making garnishes like apple bunnies and tomato roses. when he makes one he shows it to u excitedly and makes u go 🥰🥰🥰

Kageyama Tobio ↠ LMAO u think he can work a stove??? banned from the kitchen after he made an egg explode once. u tried asking what happened but he looked so traumatised u just let it go. will stay around the doorway just in case. (in case of WHAT? but he doesnt answer🥴)

Tsukishima Kei ↠ can do it but hates cooking😒 he thinks the clean up is too much of a hassle. if u ask him to help u he pretends he didnt hear u and puts on his headphones LMAO 🙄 in a pinch he just throws ingredients into a pot and hopes for the best

Yamaguchi Tadashi ↠ he can't! but only cause it... never crossed his mind to try? so when u ask him if he cooks he blanks out 😶 but after that he's super enthusiatic about learning and watches cooking videas all. the. time LOL he always sending u vids of mouth-watering food at night and making u hungry 🤤😠😠 lots of cooking dates where you guys try your best HAHAHAH

Bonus (because i love them 🥺)

Shimizu Kiyoko ↠ can do simple meals! shes an independant woman 😗💪🏻💪🏻 so she makes healthy balanced meals (they taste so good tho 🤤🤤🤤🤤), but make sure to take turns with her otherwise in 2 weeks she has exhausted her repertoire and u might sick of the same dishes😔

Yachi Hitoka ↠ shes really really good at it!! cooking together was one of the ways her mum and her spent time together when she was younger. it helps calm her cause she associates happy memories with it!🥰🥰 and also she loves seeing people happily eat her food she is the sweetest!!! if u ever have craving let her know she'll give it a shot. also makes the cutest bentos ever 🍱🍱🍱

Tanaka Saeko ↠ she's an experimentalist! once in a while she gets ✨inspired✨ and makes some... questionable changes to a recipe and its a hit or miss LMAO the bads are really bad but the good experiments taste so heavenly 🤤 u wonder if she should open a resturant but she forgets the recipe immediately so u probably wont taste it again 😭😭

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Effie turns 40

(Hayffie 💜🔥💥. NSFW. Sexual content and intensities at the threshold of midlife. Despite the title, this fic is primarily Haymitch-centric. The story, set about 7-8 years after Mockingjay, is part of a longer arc. Envisioning H & E’s character development is such a muse for me. Their voices were difficult for me to write in this one. I’m figuring them out as I go along. It’s a labor of love right now. Thank you for sharing the prompt — #13 below.)

***

Some decisions are calculated; you make them after they’ve turned over in your mind for hours, days, years even. Effie moving to 12 had been like that. Other decisions can’t even be called ‘decisions’ really. ‘Impulses’ would be more accurate.

Haymitch was generally not impulsive, unless alcohol clouded his judgement or blacked out all thought. There had been no alcohol the night before — on the eve of Effie’s 40th birthday, sobriety was part of their deal. And the whole thing was argueably the best sex he’d ever had with her or anyone else. Not that anyone was arguing the point.

Except something nagged at him — an impulse half-remembered, not because he’d been drunk, but because it had been hers — her impulse... maybe. And only as the sun came up did he give it thought.

“Don’t pull out...”

Her words turned over in his mind, belatedly.

During the night, the sheets had slipped to his side of the bed. If she woke just then, she’d accuse him of stealing the covers, which he likely did, since his sleep was fitful. A lock of hair coiled above her collarbone. He wasn’t sure how the ringlet stayed, given how many times he’d raked his fingers through her hair, pulled at it, dove inside it with that part of him that was into her far beyond the reach of his body.

He traced the curl with a fingertip then glanced down her breasts to her belly. Over a year ago there had been a baby there, for a while. He usually tried not to think about it. But the memory of its heartbeat nagged that morning along with the rest of Effie’s words.

“...Come inside me. It’ll be okay... It’ll be incredible.”

He didn’t hesitate. After pulling out all those months, staying in and feeling her clench around him as he spilled inside her had been so intoxicating that he didn’t even drink afterwards.

Before the pregnancy, Effie was fastidious about birth control. She set timers and took pills at precisely the same minute every day. After the miscarriage, she needed time to decide what to do since the pharmaceuticals had failed. And she felt like her body had failed.

Was she using something new? Did she get a shot or an implant? She hadn’t told him. Why hadn’t she told him?? Why hadn’t he asked her as she clutched his hips and reassured him and kept him in when he would have pulled out. Damn... just thinking about it made him want her exactly like that again.

He was planning to eat her out with breakfast. There was whipped cream in the fridge, and strawberries. He’d bought champagne, which she preferred to hard liquor. He’d drink it from the hollow of her stomach and let her do whatever she wanted to him, within reason. His girl would not be happy waking up 40, but he was planning to make her happy.

His thoughts mulled hot like spiced cider. And his mind wouldn’t let go of uncertainty or the memory of the heartbeat...gone. He didn’t want to go through that shit again.

He slid the covers over her, tucked the curl behind her ear, and waited impatiently for her to wake up.

***

Even with the curtains closed, the sun tormented Effie with reality. In that moment, 40 was the last thing she wanted to be. She rolled away from the window, pulled a blanket over her eyes, and tried falling back to sleep to no avail. She sighed in resignation.

Beneath the sheet, Haymitch caressed along the curve of her hip. His thoughts and emotions which had been rolling earlier were holding steady at the surface. This was her birthday. How long should he let her wake up before asking what he wanted to know?

She dropped the blanket from her eyes and opened them. As he stared into her, there was nothing playful about his expression, just unmistakable intensity. The feeling of a luminous bubble expanded in her chest and stretched along her midline to the juncture of her thighs.

She reached out and held his face in her palm. His jaw was still smooth with just a hint of stubble. She brushed her fingertips in the direction she knew the hair would grow. The familiar act flooded her with sensations of the night before, and she wanted his mouth on her.

She inched closer and nestled against him. Her lips plucked his once, and then again, sliding the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips. He opened as she expected, and he sucked her in all at once. His teeth caught her lip, and the sting brought her nails digging into his back.

He groaned along her tongue as their bodies brushed, seeking a fit to burst the bubble, which he was feeling now too. Intensity built quickly. He had something to ask, but there wasn’t space now between them for thinking, just feeling.

She drew her leg up along his side, and she opened. He clutched her hips and slipped in slowly, but slow wasn’t enough — like when horses turn home, anticipating oats and cubes of sugar.

She pressed her calf to his ass, urging. A thrill rushed through her as he sank into the sweetest spot. “I’m gonna come fast, honey.” She let go of his mouth in order to say so. “I can feel it.”

His toes curled in the words. He was snug inside her, and she was so wet already. “Fuck, Effie. We just started.”

“I know.” She met him with upward thrusts, letting go of restraint and taking control in turn, drawing out her own pleasure. “Look at me.”

He met her gaze again and held it. Her fervor was catching. He gritted his teeth and matched her pace, holding back when she slowed. Then pushing home like the horses.

“It’s so much,” she spoke of the feeling between them. Her nails played up his spine to the nape of his neck, then along his scalp. His shiver was a harbinger of what was coming. “It’s so much, Haymitch.”

His confession was quiet, tucked somewhere in between guttural sounds and a calloused thumb stroking her breast. “It’s everything.”

The admission, the gentle roughness, the flood of emotion lit her up. “Ohh, I can’t stop it.”

“Jesus. Why would you wanna stop it?” He said it to himself as much as to her.

Luminosity exploded. Her body quaked, milking the length of him. The force of creation swelled. For a moment she was the whole world — his girl. The whole goddamn world. He climaxed inside her without asking the question, without saying another word beyond their cries of pleasure and release. They broke open, glistening.

When her shaking stopped, there were tears on her cheeks. Her leg flopped back onto the bed. “Damn...” she whispered, “I’d be willing to turn 40 every day if each one can start like this.”

He wanted to linger inside her and kiss her tears and tell her how glad he was that she’d been born exactly WHEN she was so she could be exactly WHO she was — somebody who made him feel things he never thought he’d be feeling.

But the nagging uncertainty which had been holding steady on the surface boiled over, and he said none of that. Irritation crept into his voice.

“Damn it. You’re a fucking Siren.” His shift in tone was clear.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That depends.” He looked into her eyes once more, assessing her critically. Then he rolled out of her before he’d fully softened.

“On what?” She turned to face him.

“What birth control are you using now?”

She hesitated. “It’s called being 40.”

“What?”

“I’m old now.”

His face was blank. “40 isn’t old, and it sure ain’t birth control.”

“Withdrawal isn’t 100% effective, and you’ve been doing that for a year with no babies.”

Haymitch sat up, trying to figure out what was happening. “Me pulling out is a hell of a lot more effective birth control than you being 40!”

She draped her arm across her eyes. Saying the truth was uncomfortable, especially with him upset. “My eggs are mummified.”

“Overnight?! You were on your period last week for christ sake! Your drama is gonna get us pregnant again. Is that what you want?!”

Everything got quiet. She uncovered her eyes and dropped her arm to her stomach. “You said ‘us.’ Why talk about US getting pregnant when it’s never going to happen?”

“It ALREADY happened, not even two years ago. And right now there are millions, maybe hundreds of millions, of my guys swimming inside you. It just takes one *non-mummified* egg, and we’re back where we were a year and a half ago. Is that where you want to be?!”

She paused before answering. The delay was long. Way too long, he thought. Her thumb caressed her stomach, just once, but he noticed.

“Effie, do you want a baby?!”

“...I don’t know. ...Maybe. I don’t know!”

“Maybe!? You don’t know!? Well, you might have just gotten one, and I didn’t even get a say!”

He was inches from her in their bed, and he wasn’t touching her. He was scowling as if she’d stabbed him in the back with his own knife.

“I didn’t force you to be with me just now — or last night! ‘IT’S EVERYTHING,’ you said. You JUST said that! What happened to THAT?”

“‘Don’t pull out,’ you said! ‘Come inside me,’ you said! ‘It’ll be okay — It’ll be INCREDIBLE,’ you said!!”

“It WAS incredible! Sex is always good between us but never quite like that. And it’s not because you shaved, or I waxed or I wore that awful pleated skirt. It’s something more. I felt it last night and again just now. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it too because I KNOW you did!”

He leaped out of bed and stood naked in the middle of the room, fuming at her. Every muscle in his body was rigid. She wanted to touch him and soothe him and make him understand.

“Why do you have to be like this and ruin everything?!”

“You tricked me.”

“I did NOT! When have I EVER been deceitful?! You’re being unfair.”

He stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

As the water ran in the shower, Effie stayed in bed. Only when the room was quiet did she realize what she’d been doing. While they’d argued, she was clenching her pelvic floor, holding in those millions of sperm he’d mentioned. If I’m certain that I’m too old to have a baby, and if I don’t even know whether or not I would want to have one, then why am I doing this??

The only answers she could think of were that just maybe she wasn’t too old, and just maybe she knew more than she’d realized. Everything was jumbled, and she didn’t want to let go.

When Haymitch stepped out of the bathroom, he dressed in stony silence.

“We need to talk about this,” she said.

There were fresh tears on her cheeks, but they barely phased him. “I feel suffocated. I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Fine. Walk away...” As he did, she tried to sound angry. “Walking away is what you always do!”

She steeled herself against the sound she knew was coming. When she heard the front door slam, she told herself, “At the end of the day, it’s my bed he’s crawling back into!” She tried to sound confident, but her voice wavered. Because she wasn’t confident — and she wasn’t angry. Not really.

She was confused, and she was sad. She was 40 — and so goddamn sad.

***

Getting out of the house wasn’t enough. Haymitch wanted out of his feelings, out of his thoughts, out of his body. Walking away wasn’t enough, so he ran — at least fifty yards, veering off the road through a field, thick with grasses and aging saplings. He steered clear of scattered houses and the voices of people. People were just waiting to screw him over and slit his throat. Oats and cubes of sugar were a fucking fantasy. He was running toward nothing, chasing his own breath.

When he couldn’t catch it, he stopped and reached into his coat for his flask. It wasn’t there. Shit. At least coins jingled in his pockets. He gathered them up, and counted out enough to buy a bottle. He set off again in the direction of the Hob, walking now since he’d lost steam for anything else. He’d have to face people after all.

The building was uncrowded for mid morning. Fragrances of food and coffee made his stomach protest its emptiness. He bought a bottle of whiskey and had enough cash left on him for a bowl of soup.

“Mornin’, boy,” Greasy Sae greeted him in the usual way, “You’re showin’ up here mighty early.” She glanced at the bottle tucked in the crook of his elbow. “You pickin’ up supplies for the party?”

Fuck. He’d forgotten. Peeta was hosting a surprise that afternoon, baking a big cake and everything for Effie. Haymitch had no idea who all had been invited. Damn near everyone in 12 knew her now, outgoing as she was. Hopefully Katniss had reined in the boy’s generosity, and they’d keep the gathering small. Though Haymitch didn’t want to deal with any of that shit now.

“Can I get you a cup of beef soup?” Sae asked when he hadn’t responded, “Just made it fresh this mornin’ with the real thing.”

“The party. Right...” he answered late.

Peeta had asked him to come up with some excuse to get Effie to their place early in the afternoon. ...I just heard the kids talking about curtains, maybe you should go over and help them out... Something like that ought to do. Until the fight that morning, he’d been looking forward to spending time with them. He’d been looking forward to everything.

“...Soup would be fine,” he answered after Sae had already ladeled some into an oversized cup.

“How’s that girl of yours?” She filled the silence as Haymitch counted out change. “Turnin’ 40 can be tough for a woman. We tend to feel age differently before we’ve got kids. Once there’s kids, we ain’t got time to feel old. Take a moment to even breathe, and they’ll run right over you.” She handed him the soup. “I know she lost one, and losin’ ‘em hurts. It’s real hard to lose your first. But I got hope for you.”

As he stood there with the cup warming his hands, facing Sae’s crinkled brown eyes and thin smile, he felt Effie’s words filling his gut... Why do you have to be like this and ruin everything?! The thought stole his appetite, but he drank the soup anyway in three gulps and handed the cup back to her. The food calmed his stomach. “Guess I was hungrier than I felt.”

“Feelin’s can fool us. A body can get so used to emptiness that we start feelin’ full from it. But emptiness ain’t gonna nourish you. ...Now, I got customers waitin’. Tell Effie I’m wishin’ her a happy birthday.”

“I’ll do that,” Haymitch said out of habit. He was going to have to talk to Effie eventually, but he wasn’t ready.

He left the Hob feeling like a hypocrite. He’d accused her of tricking him when he was all too eager to finish off sex inside her with nothing in between them — so eager he’d done it twice. And, damn it, he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to do it again.

He cracked open the bottle and tried to chase away regret about what he’d said to her. He followed the gravel road deeper into what used to be the Seam. Long ago it was home, but home changes. The only things that tied him to that stretch of land were memories and wounds long sealed by scars.

His open wounds were elsewhere now, like home was. Swallows of whiskey wrapped the wounds in a layer of gauze. He could think and feel through it, but the thoughts and feelings were hazy, like the mist that covers the meadow in the morning before it’s touched by the sun.

Ghosts of a sort came out of the mist and murmured their stories. He wasn’t sober enough to tell the voices to fuck off, and he wasn’t drunk enough to not hear them. So he listened through the haze, walking without a destination in mind.

***

The first voice — longing — came from the seashore. Skipping rocks and building sandcastles with Annie’s boy had flipped a switch in him. The kid had been his shadow. At the week’s end, the little guy reluctantly said goodbye with a bear hug and a sloppy kiss on Haymitch’s cheek. What might have been if Effie’s baby had lived and become a child? Their child. It would have been something in between a giant pain in the ass and a love big enough to eat him alive.

I’d be a fool to consider bringing a kid into this fucked up world on purpose, the second voice — reason — said. He was an alcoholic who drank to stay alive. He believed he had no business being anybody’s father. And Effie nearly had a seizure every time she stepped in a pile of goose shit. Babies crap all the time, and they puke all over the place. And sleep?... Forget about doing it because they don’t.

And sometimes they die. A third voice — grief — lamented. They fucking die, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.

That fateful morning last year when Effie was losing the baby, she’d roused him from sleep. The chill in her voice tugged his heart into his stomach. “Haymitch, something is VERY wrong.” Cramping had come on in her back and abdomen, and she was bleeding.

Adrenaline rushed to his limbs as if he was in the arena. He’d gone to call for the doctor, and when he returned, Effie was sitting in the dry bathtub, still in her nightie. A steady stream of blood trickled down the drain, and she was holding something reddish purple in the palm of her hand. It was the baby — no bigger than an apple. ...Its name had been pulled from the Reaping Ball before it even had a name.

“I’m sorry,” she kept telling the tiny thing. “I’m so sorry...” She looked at Haymitch as he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and chest. Her eyes held no tears.

He wasn’t thinking about the baby just then. He was scared out of his mind about losing Effie. “The doc will be here real soon.” It was all he could say as he sat on the edge of the tub, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair. He must have said it as many times as she said “I’m sorry.”

The doctor’s arrival, exam, and treatment were all a blur.

“I know it seems like a lot of blood,” the doc said later, “But there are no signs of hemorrhaging or uterine abnormalities. I was able to remove the placenta. A miscarriage happens more rarely at this stage, but it’s not uncommon. I’m sorry, Effie — Haymitch. ...She appears to be developmentally normal for 15 weeks gestation. I wish could offer an explanation. Sometimes these things just happen. A miscarriage doesn’t necessarily negatively affect subsequent pregnancies. It may take several weeks to recover. When you feel ready, you can try again.”

“We weren’t trying.” Haymitch wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to clarify.

“She?” Effie had heard the doctor say it, even if she took in nothing else. She had only let go of the baby long enough for the doc to examine it. Otherwise she held it against her chest.

“Gender can be difficult to determine this early, but the signs indicate a girl. An autopsy could confirm, and it might show the cause of the miscarriage. If you’d like—“

“No,” Effie insisted, “I can’t let you take her and cut her open. She’ll be staying here.”

That afternoon Haymitch dug a grave under the maple tree in the backyard. He made it a full six feet deep so the scavengers wouldn’t find her and pick her apart.

Effie wrapped the baby in a small blanket along with her umbilical cord and the pieces of placenta and laid her in a jewelry box. “She’s used to being inside me. She’d be cold in the ground without a blanket.”

The words had been madness. If he’d let himself think about it like that, then he wouldn’t have gotten through it. One of them had to stay sane. Burying the tiny girl was his first and last act of care for her. Shoveling all that dirt over her was like burying an axe in his gut.

I refuse to go through that shit again, the fourth voice spoke in a convergence — anger and fear. It had been the one yelling earlier, as he took the discomfort of his wounds out on Effie. Thinking about the baby was too much, and his body wasn’t even the one she’d lived inside all those weeks. ...Effie’s was.

His feet turned him around, and he headed back up the road. This time he knew where he was going.

***

At home in the yard, the geese barked at him about leaving them to forage for their own breakfasts. The grass was sparse due to lack of attention. Not wanting their hunger to be something else on his conscience, he scooped wheat into their water buckets and pellets into their feed bowls. As they ate, they quieted down and left him alone, which was just fine by him. He liked most of them better at a distance.

Grass didn’t grow under the maple tree. A dense network of roots kept other plants from taking hold. He’d dug through six feet of those roots, and he pictured them growing back now around the jewelry box. The little coffin wouldn’t drift underground whenever the rains came. The tree would hold it in place.

He sat with his back against the tree and took another drink of whiskey — just enough to try to restore the haze which had worn off, leaving him raw again. Mist filled his eyes. The memories coming up were vivid and close. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. He hadn’t cried about anything in so long that he’d forgotten the way tears clog a person’s head before slipping out. They slid down the back of his throat until he’d swallowed so many that he thought he might throw up.

Effie found him there. She shuffled her feet as she approached so she wouldn’t startle him. She sat on the ground, cross legged with her hands in her lap. In the moment, she didn’t care if the soil stained her skirt. In all the years she’d known Haymitch, she’d never seen him cry. She ached to touch him, but she was afraid he’d pull away, so she didn’t reach. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t tell her to leave, and he didn’t leave either.

Long minutes passed before either of them spoke. In the silence, Effie was uneasy, but at least she wasn’t alone. He was right beside her. The geese wandered the grass, and a breeze was blowing through the maple leaves. The leaves brushed against each other, whispering things she could only imagine.

“We need to talk.” Choked up and hoarse, Haymitch sounded like a stranger.

“Yes, we do.”

He looked at her with swollen eyes. Hers were more pink than white. He was beating himself up inside for making her cry about this, especially today. “I don’t wanna fight,” he said. The battle raging between the voices in his head was all he could handle.

“I don’t want us to fight either. ...Not here. Not about this.” She glanced at the the baby’s grave. “I had no intention of tricking you about anything, especially this.”

“I know.” His swift acknowledgement surprised her. He reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers in her lap. “I didn’t mean to ruin your day.”

She held his hand as a lifeline. “It isn’t ruined.” She paused before saying it in order to keep from crying again.

“It’s not what I planned.”

“Things don’t always turn out the way we plan.” She hesitated before saying more. “...For a short time after I lost the baby, my breasts made milk. Did I ever tell you that?”

“I don’t think I was hearing much then.” He looked at her breasts, wondering what other details she’d faced alone. “I remember tracing veins there that I hadn’t seen before. ...Sometimes I watched your stomach while you were sleeping.” Sometimes I still do, he didn’t say.

“I never got to feel the baby moving inside me. She was always too small to feel. ...She had the prettiest hands. Long fingers for playing piano. Do you remember?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t remember her hands. He leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. “I’m mixed up, Effie.”

She scooted closer and laid her head on his shoulder. “Oh, honey, I am too.”

He caressed her thumb with his, and she watched the maple leaves cast shadows over their entwined fingers.

***

Eventually the geese wandered over, honking for more handouts.

“Give them an inch, and they want a yard.”

“If they had an actual yard, they probably wouldn’t be so demanding.”

“Suddenly you’re the goose whisperer?”

“‘Goose’ and ‘whisper’ do not belong in the same sentence.”

“I’ll give you that.” He pulled her to her feet, and they went in the house.

Despite the bit of teasing, the solemn mood followed them inside. There was much more to say, but they were both saturated.

“Listen,” he told her, “I don’t know if you want to hear this, but in about an hour I’m supposed to tell you that the kids are talking about getting new curtains and maybe you ought to go over and help them out.”

“Is that the secret code for my surprise party?”

“Peeta is trying to be subtle.”

“That dear boy is anything but subtle. This morning he was decorating a two-tiered cake with the blinds open. They actually COULD use some curtains.”

“If you’re not up for the party, I’ll have them call it off. Peeta might have invited half the town. I don’t know.”

“Be with me awhile. Then I’ll be okay to go.”

Haymitch was unsettled by the realization that being with her ‘awhile’ might never again be enough. Having witnessed so much death, ‘forever’ had always been a subjective and fairly meaningless concept. But it was starting to feel like something other than an endless train of horror. It felt precious and terrifying in a different way.

Effie stepped into his arms as he opened them. He needed to be held as badly as he needed to be holding her. Needing somebody other than himself was dangerous. He was uneasy with it, but he didn’t let go.

“Are you hungry?” He spoke softly against her temple. “I screwed up what I had planned for you for breakfast. I wanted to make you — happy.”

“I ate a little. Maybe we can have your breakfast for dinner?”

Sex was a touchy subject just then, but he wasn’t going to tiptoe around it. “It was gonna be breakfast in bed, using our bodies as plates and glasses. ...Are you still interested?”

“That depends. Will I get to make you — happy — too?”

If he thought too much about her sucking whipped cream off his dick, then they’d never make it to the party. “It’s your birthday, sweetheart. You make the wishes. I wouldn’t turn down that offer.”

At the end of the day, it’s my bed he’s crawling back into. The understanding was as comforting as his arms around her. She didn’t know what ‘everything’ would be, but whatever it might be, she wanted it with him.

[be-dazzled]

88 and Gruvia if you're still doing the prompts pls

88. “Don’t panic but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…”Rating: M for sensitive language and content

Juvia woke up utterly confused. She didn’t understand her body. The headache was so severe she thought she got hit by Thor’s hammer. Maybe, she did get hit by Thor’s magical hammer. She had no memory of what happened the night before. If Juvia tried to remember, her head felt like an egg about to crack open. With the pain she was suffering, Juvia preferred that too and wished that her head would just split into two.

Oh, the throbbing was killing her.

Her mouth tasted weird too. It was as if she boiled some dirty socks unwashed for almost a month of use and sipped the dirty sock soup. Juvia forced her eyes to open. Apparently, she could still do that at least. A low groan forced itself out of her mouth when she tried – and failed – to prop her elbows and help herself up. Juvia expelled a frustrated breath and decided it would be better if she turned to her side instead. But that caused somewhere else to throb.

Weird.

The heavy drapes were drawn across what she remembered to be a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the iconic Caesars Palace fountains. Good, she was still in her suite. Juvia hoped she didn’t do anything weird or funny last night.

Fragments of last night flashed before her eyes. She saw a picture of a strange woman dancing atop a pool table waving some replica of Thor’s hammer. Looking closely into the memory, Juvia realized the stranger looked exactly like her, except that the dancing woman’s clothes were kind of disheveled. The resemblance was uncanny. Maybe, because the wild woman dancing atop one of the pool tables was her – Juvia Lockser.

Hands flew to cover her mouth. It definitely was her! And suddenly she remembered taking her top off too, in front of so many people. Did she sign up as a stripper or something? Juvia prayed it was just her brain toying with her to teach her a lesson.

This isn’t you, Juvia Lockser.

She could hear a voice at the back of her mind reprimanding her.

You are not some kind of a lose woman.

And now she was talking to her own brain but she, the brain, was right. Juvia was a far cry from that shameless woman waving her lace bra like a flag. She got her shit together, stripper Juvia obviously did not. But between the two of them, stripper Juvia seemed happier – real Juvia wasn’t.

The taste of acid began in the pit of her stomach. The harsh reality was reminding her why she decided to fly off to Las Vegas and leave everything and everyone behind.

Bora. That son of a bitch.

But she wasn’t going to think about that jerk. She was in Las freaking Vegas and she seemed to have enjoyed herself last night. It was the only explanation why it felt like her body was thrown around the room. Another head-cracking throb hit her head. She decided to sleep it off. Thinking and remembering wouldn’t do her any good. If she didn’t force herself, Juvia knew she was going to remember the entirety of the night. She just wasn’t sure if she wanted to face that reality. So, Juvia lied back to bed, only to sit right back up when she felt some movement beside her.

The horror of the possibility rounded her blue eyes. She slowly turned to her side where she felt the continuous stirring. Juvia shuddered the moment it registered to her what – or who – made the stirring: a man. A warm flesh of a man was sleeping beside Juvia and he had his bare back on her.

Juvia became suddenly aware of that other part of her body where the throbbing was coming from. Somewhere down south. Juvia expelled a scandalized shriek.

“Hey, can you quiet down a little?”

The mystery man turned to her and Juvia didn’t care how good-looking he was. She didn’t care how chiseled his features were. That light stubble under his chin. That jaw that every male model would die for. That red swollen lips that was just begging to be worshiped. And that black bed hair. Oh god.

And she didn’t absolutely care that the white sheet fell down his lower abdomen, exposing some tanned skin and that good ol’ happy trail. She shook her head to get rid of the tempting thoughts. There was a more urgent issue on hand.

Like…

“Who the hell are you?!”

With her tone, it sounded more like a sentence rather than a question.

One corner of the stranger’s beautiful, beautiful mouth pulled up in a smug.

“Hey, don’t tell me you already forgot.” The stranger leaned closer, invading her space more than what she would allow a stranger. His dark blue eyes bored through her – teasing and taunting, filled with heat that was turning the pain in her core into something else. Something tingly. “You kept screaming it the whole night.” Then he continued, mimicking how she ‘screamed’ his name. “Ooh, Gray. Mm. That’s it Gray. Yes, Gray, there. Don’t stop, Gray. Oh G–”

Before this ‘Gray’ could get to that part which Juvia now vividly remembered, the mortified bluenette let out another ear-splitting scream. Not the kind of screaming the stranger was talking about. This wasn’t music to the ears.

“For such a small woman, you have a lot of that going on, don’t you?”

The glint in his eyes told Juvia that Gray was the kind of man whom no one ever said no to, who always got his way: proud and confident. Those kind of men scared Juvia. She slowly moved away, wanting to put safe distance between her and the stranger. Juvia was so occupied at wanting to get away from the raven-haired stranger that she didn’t notice that she was already backing away at the very edge of the bed.

“Hey!”

For a man with an ugly hangover, Gray’s reflexes were like that of an athlete. He pulled Juvia at the very last minute before the woman fell off the bed.

Juvia wasn’t sure if she should be thankful because apparently she was bare naked under those sheets and so was Gray. And she found her very naked breasts slapped against his hard chest. The heat that she was fighting exploded at the contact.

So, she did the most logical thing to do and pushed poor Gray stumbling off the bed.

“Aw!” he cried. A shock of black hair popped out of the edge of the mattress. “Woman! You are very violent.” Gray nursed the back of his head that earlier made contact on the carpeted floor. But the wince was quickly replaced by a lopsided smile. “I like it.”

“Get out!”

Juvia jumped off the bed, ignoring her body screaming pain, and backed away from the stranger as far as possible. She only stopped when the back of her thighs hit the bedside table. She tightened her hold on the white sheet wrapped around her body.

“Hey, you’re the one who invited me up here.”

Juvia grabbed the lamp and threatened Gray with it.

“Geez, you react like this now. Wait ‘til you remember every detail.” he said, raising one teasing brow.

There seemed to be a very dark and exhilarating story behind his grin. But that wasn’t the most exciting part of Gray because when he stood to his full height, Juvia’s eyes drifted down that part she shouldn’t be looking at, that part that made her heart tremble. Juvia immediately tore her scandalized eyes away from that part, but not without a second glance.

He was still hard.

She threw the pillow at him which he easily caught. Next was the lamp, which Gray luckily dodged. Then, everything that Juvia’s free hand could grab.

Gray stepped back, shouting at the crazy woman who was throwing things at him. He raised his hand to try to stop the woman and talk some sense into her. Until, a slim light hit the gold band around one of his fingers.

“Woman, wait!”

Juvia was trying to haul the bedside table, giving him some time to tell her off.

“Don’t panic… but I think we might have accidentally gotten married.”

Gray raised and showed his ring finger wrapped with the gold band. Suddenly, Juvia felt something cold on her finger. She checked her hand, praying to the gods of Las Vegas and that Elvis impersonator she saw in her memory that Gray was wrong.

He wasn’t.

The band on her ring finger was very and awfully identical with Gray’s.

“I. WILL. KILL. YOU.”

You know that thing that people say explains how a thin, scrawny person could carry a refrigerator double his size during a fire? Gray could only guess but those people were right. It was the only explanation as to why there was a shattered furniture next to him which came from the slender woman at the opposite end of the room.

Gray was realizing it only now but his new wife was a very violent person. He should tell his assistant to get him some life insurance.

…

Writer’s Corner: I’m stuck with #SIYC so I’ll try finishing requests here on tumblr. Man, the draft for this has been sitting on my desk for a very loooong time. But since we guys have some time in our hands for now, we’ll try to get things done. I hope I get around this writer’s block and continue with our favorite Bunhead and Hoopster.

AND I do smell some new modern AU fanfic coming on. 

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.2

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Ao3 link here.

ch.1 - ch.3

~~~~~~~~~~

A loud scream Jackie wasn’t prepared for disturbed her slumber and made her jump, lying on her stomach and propping the upper-half of her body up with her hands pushing against the mattress. She calmed down as she became used to the crowing of the rooster… or an opera singer dying… one of the two. Jackie relaxed and fell back on the bed. So that’s what Stan had meant yesterday.

Looking forward to her first day, Jackie hopped out of bed and started to get dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt with boots. No sense taking a shower now since she would get sweaty and gross later; she’d treat herself to a bath after dinner, like she did yesterday. After a quick brush through her jet-black hair, she took in a deep breath and gazed around her bedroom.

Stan said it was a guest bedroom, not that they ever had any guests, but Ma had this part of the house built in with the idea of visiting grandchildren. So Jackie was granted a small bedroom with a comfortable bed with an old quilt, a dresser, a nightstand, and a Jack and Jill bathroom with the opposite bedroom promised to be Fiddleford’s when he came up here from Tennessee. Jackie, who didn’t come here with much, was comfortable and anything she couldn’t fit in the nightstand and dresser she kept in boxes under the bed.

Jackie finally emerged from her bedroom and peered up and down the short hallway. She listened and could hear the shower running. As she journeyed to the kitchen her nose picked up the beautiful aroma of coffee and she instantly saw the pot filling up and heard the boiling water when she entered the empty kitchen. Whoever was in the shower must have started the coffee so it would be ready by the time they were done. Seeing no indication that breakfast was going to be made and given what she learned yesterday (that the boys couldn’t cook to save their lives), Jackie rubbed her hands together and started to hunt for ingredients to make biscuits.

About fifteen minutes later, Stan came out of the bathroom with a puff of water vapor behind him, shaking his mullet dry with a towel, his maroon robe wrapped loosely around him. He hummed to himself drowsily as he strode to the kitchen, but his not-so-keen senses heightened as he swore he could smell something cooking. Bacon? His mouth watering, Stan picked up the pace a bit without running and saw Jackie working hard in the kitchen. Holy Moses, who knew he had hired the best cook in Oregon?

“‘Mornin’.” He greeted casually.

Jackie glanced at him and her face dropped in shock. His toned, hairy chest was half-exposed, his legs bare below his knees apart from his slippers, and he had a smile on his face alongside those nice pair of brown eyes, the kind of smile you naturally mimic. It’s more contagious than the flu. Jackie caught it and returned it. “G’mornin’. Slept well?”

Stan shrugged. “Yeah, pretty good. You? Bed okay?”

“Yeah, it’s real comfortable.” Jackie replied. “Fix your coffee and sit down, biscuits are almost ready.”

Stan threw his towel onto the back of his chair and went to the cupboard above the coffee machine for a mug. Standing right next to Jackie and the stove, he saw a skillet full of sausage gravy being cooked, a pan sizzling with bacon, and she was currently cracking eggs into a bowl while another pan heated up. Stan marveled at how one person can keep an eye on so many things at once.

“You like your eggs scrambled?” Jackie asked.

Stan shrugged. “Sure.” His favorite way to eat eggs was over-easy, but hey food is food. The farmer can force anything down his gullet if needed. He watched as Jackie whisked six eggs in a big bowl and added previously shredded cheese, some chopped basil, and a small splosh of milk. Stan raised an eyebrow at that. “Why add milk?”

“Makes the eggs fluffier.” Jackie explained as she threw in some salt and pepper, whisked some more, and then poured the eggs into the small pan. The little hand-timer dinged and Jackie slipped on some oven mitts to pull out the pan of biscuits. Stan’s jaw dropped as the new farm-woman had a tray of twelve beautiful, fluffy, golden biscuits. She carried the tray to the table, where a dishcloth was folded to protect the wood, and she sat the tray down and used a little brush to paint melted butter on top. Stan licked his lips and reached to grab one, but Jackie smacked his hand and said, “Wait, mister, if you eat ‘em now you’ll burn yourself.”

Stan snorted as she turned back to the oven to flip the eggs with a rubber spatula and Stan sat with his mug of black coffee. Ford entered the room, yawning, but fully dressed. He had a rolled-up newspaper under his arm and he dozily threw it to Stan, who caught it one-handed like it was a baseball and opened it. “‘Mornin’, Sixer.”

Ford grunted as he grabbed a mug like a drunk man, poured some coffee, sweetened it with some sugar and milk, and gulped it down. Jackie watched him with a raised eyebrow as she moved the bacon onto a plate. Some people simply could not function in the morning. Ford poured a second cup, sweetened it, and sighed after a few sips, and then sat in his chair to breathe and obtain his necessary caffeine. 

“How long before he can talk again?” Jackie asked as she sat the bacon down and quickly moved to the eggs.

“I’d say two full cups for half-baked sentences n’ a full pot for him to function like a normal human bein’.” Stan sneered playfully as he read the headline.

“Har, har.” Ford said sarcastically. He then blinked a few times at the realization of another feast before him. Jackie set the big bowl of cheesy scrambled eggs down and began to move the gravy to another bowl. “Holy Moses, Jackie, you didn’t have to…”

“What else am I payin’ her for?” Stan asked but took the time to throw her a wink so she knew he was joking.

Jackie snorted and sat the bowl of sausage gravy down and made herself a mug of coffee. “Since none of you know how to cook and I don’t wanna eat brown meat, I figured I’d make breakfast.”

“Hey, I can make some mean pancakes.” Stan corrected. “Sure they got a bit of hair in them, but…”

Ford and Jackie laughed and the young scientist reached for a biscuits and was pleased to find it didn’t burn his fingertips. He bit straight into it to give it a try and it was like his brain had exploded. He had never thought he would ever know what it was like to eat a cloud, but here he was. He hummed and took another huge bite, too happy for words.

Jackie’s cheeks suddenly felt a little warmer and she smiled as she spooned herself some eggs.

While Ford happily fixed himself some biscuits n’ gravy, Stan bit into a biscuit as he read his paper and he froze like a statue. Angles were suddenly dancing on his tongue. He moved his eyes to Jackie and muttered, “I’d have to marry you if you always cook this good.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, your mother never cooked?”

“She always cooked,” Stan explained. “N’ she was good at it, too, but you’re… you’re really, really good!” And he engulfed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth.

“What Stanley is trying to say,” Ford said firmly and smiled at the dark-skinned woman. “Is that we’re extremely grateful you’re here.”

Jackie returned the smile. “Thanks. I’m grateful to be here. What made you decide y’all needed help?”

“Well,” Ford sipped his coffee again and began to explain in detail why exactly the twins decided to hire extra help on their farm. “You see we can handle it for the most part by ourselves, with Stanley handling the sheep and chickens and with me supervising the crops and sales, but recently something has caught my attention and… erm, kept me away from the farm, and it’s too much for one man to do on his own.”

“What’s been keeping you out of the farm?” Jackie asked, not at all judgmental as to why this man wasn’t helping his brother, but curious as to what caught his attention.

“Recently some strange things have been occurring.” Ford added. “I don’t know if it’s because I went away to college and saw what was considered normal and not normal or what, but there have always been weird happenings in this town. The deeper you go into the woods, the more natural anomalies there seem to be.”

“Which means stay outta the woods.” Stan said firmly.

“Which means, since we live on the outskirts of Gravity Falls, we’re safe.” Ford corrected. “But I plan to further investigate what’s going on, and I wish to spend all of my time doing so to quickly get to the bottom of it. I also need some help, and Stanley is too busy and it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to be at my beck and call, so I’ve asked my old college buddy to come down to help me investigate the strange findings in this town.”

“I get it, okay,” Jackie said with a nod, it all making sense now. “But what kind of weird stuff have you been noticing?”

Ford grinned excitedly. “You’ll see in time.”

Jackie blew a raspberry at this guy deciding to be “cool” and mysterious, making him laugh and resume his breakfast. “So, what kind of stuff we’ll you have me do?” Jackie asked Stan.

“Well,” Stan closed his newspaper. “Since it’s your first day I’ll walk you through everything. Some stuff you’ll do every day, some stuff only on certain days. The chickens need to be fed, the sheep need to be let out, the cow’s gotta be milked, n’ the crops gotta stay healthy n’ weed-free.” And he left the table to get dressed in a red button-up and jeans.

Stan made Ford do the dishes, claiming they were behind on work and it would take longer to get everything done since Jackie was learning. Right by the kitchen door, next to two big pairs of rain boots, was a huge bag of chicken feed. “We gotta keep it here or the hens get into it.” Stan explained and opened the bag, showing a big measuring cup inside. “One cup’s enough, just spread it out n’ don’t pour it all at once. If they’re still hungry there’s plenty of bugs.”

Jackie nodded, taking mental notes, and watched as Stan scooped out some food and opened the back door. Jackie had seen the farm yesterday, but to see the sun rising on the barns and crops made the whole thing sparkle gorgeously. She grinned at the little chicken coop by the house and watched Stan sprinkle out the feed as he whistled. A dozen or so hens scurried out of the coop with one big rooster standing as king on top of the small structure, and he fluttered his wings and floated down for food.

“That’s our rooster, Clock.” Stan explained as he put the cup back inside the bag, grabbed a woven basket, and closed the kitchen door behind them so no chickens would run into the house. “Here, get in the coop n’ collect eggs. We don’t need a whole lot, so don’t freak out if the hens aren’t makin’ that much.

“Any chance they’ll have chicks inside?” Jackie asked, eyeing the loud and proud rooster.

“Nope. Clock’s an old boy.” Stan explained. “That’s why he sounds so bad. We haven’t had a chick from him in years. Hey, he always does his job, though.”

Jackie chuckled and ducked into the chicken coop. Some nests had no eggs but some had one or two. Jackie carefully collected them and knew they would be great for baking and breakfast. When she emerged, Stan tossed a metal bucket to her. “Sheep need water. There’s a well out that way, just make sure they won’t get thirsty after you put the eggs in the kitchen. I’ve already got ‘em out in the field. If you need me I’ll be in that barn over there.” And he pointed to the smaller one of the two.

Jackie nodded and headed in the direction he pointed toward when talking about the well. As she walked, she took in her surroundings and was free to acknowledge how big his farm was. There was a lot of land, with the woods acting as the border. On one side of the land it was full of crops like a big cornfield, rows of carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, watermelons, and pumpkins, and closer to the house strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, and raspberries blossomed. Jackie also noticed a little herb garden growing in a basket on the back porch, not too far from the kitchen door. 

On the opposite end of the crops was the two barns and a huge patch of clear land for the sheep. Jackie awed at the thirty-something sheep that “bah”ed quietly and gnawed on grass, their coats a bit short, telling Jackie that they had been trimmed not too long ago. Somewhat between the crops and the fields for animals was an old well that might have once been the primary source of water here, but thanks to modern plumbing now it was only used for the livestock. Jackie saw another bucket tied by a rope with the pulley system and she was clever enough to figure it all out on her own.

Mustering up her strength and hardly breaking a sweat, Jackie filled her own bucket with water and carried it to where the sheep dwelt. By the fence that kept them away from the crops, there was a trough, so Jackie poured the water in it and the sheep came flocking, craving water. She chuckled and noticed the trough wasn’t full, so she walked back to the well, refilled her bucket, and poured it out again, this time sploshing some sheep a little, but they didn’t mind. In fact, they started licking each other’s faces for more water, making Jackie laugh and she petted a nearby sheep and admired the soft wool.

As she petted the sheep, she caught something out the corner of her eye and looked over at the smaller of the two barns. Stan was emerging with a beautiful gray and black horse and then gently slapped his behind so the horse would know he’s free to wander. The horse galloped for a bit and then slowed, lapping up some water at his own trough. Jackie wondered if she needed to fill that one, too, but Stan made his way to the well with his own bucket and watered the horse. Jackie smiled and walked to Stan, ready for her next chore.

“That there Truffles.” Stan explained, pointing to the horse as the woman approached. “Stubborn. It’d be best if you let me handle him. He doesn’t like people much, even gives Ford a hard time.”

Jackie nodded. “Gotcha.”

“Watered the sheep? Good. Ever milked a cow? Well today you’re gonna learn.” Stan said and motioned for her to follow him into the smaller of the two barns. Inside were two stalls and equipment for a horse and a cow. Jackie could even see a horse-drawn sled collecting cobwebs in the back corner. “Luna’s okay, as long as you’re quiet. Doesn’t like noise much. She’s got a soft spot for Ford.”

Stan opened one of the stalls and Jackie got a full view of a white cow with only one big black spot over her right eye. She mooed at the visitors and licked Stan’s outstretched hand. Jackie couldn’t help but notice how gentle he petted her neck and talked to her. Despite having a voice made of gravel, his talk was as soft as silk. “Hey mama, good to see you, good to see you. Try to be nice for me, girl, okay. Alright, c’mere, Jackie.”

Stan pulled a short stool over and motioned for her to sit. He knelt beside the cow and placed the bucket below the utters. “It’s really simple, just squeeze n’ pull n’ squeeze n’ pull.”

“Okay,” The woman sat on the stool, held the bucket between her boots, and carefully grabbed an utter. It was soft and squishy and she could feel the milk, and she did as she was told and smiled to see delicious warm milk fall into the bucket.

“Not bad, not bad at all.” Stan commented with a smile. “Here, you can squeeze harder, you won’t hurt her. Like this.” He gently covered Jackie’s hand with her own and showed her just how tightly to squeeze and pull. Jackie followed, her eyes darting up to Luna, but the cow only happily chewed on some hay. She didn’t even twitch her tail with uncomfortably. Jackie smiled at Stan, thanking him for his help, and he returned the smile and let her go to milk. She milked just as well as Ford or Stan could, and when Stan checked to make sure Luna was empty, there was no milk left to obtain.

“Good job.” Stan praised and stood up. “Take the milk in the house n’ Ford can pan it. He’s got a knack for dairy n’ makin’ butter. He can teach you if you want.”

“Sounds great.” Jackie hoisted the bucket up and let it hang in front of her. “What after that?”

“Well, nothing’s ready to harvest yet.” Stan answered. “We’ll check for weeds n’ make sure the gardens are healthy, then I think we’ll be okay until the afternoon. Usually around noon is when we go into town, do laundry, chop wood, or whatever else needs to get done aside from mornin’ n’ afternoon chores.”

“Well what are the afternoon chores?” Jackie asked.

“Basically reverse of what we just did. I’ll put up Truffles n’ I’ll show you how to drive in the sheep. Then you’ll water ‘em n’ milk Luna again, or you can make Ford do it so you can cook.”

Jackie snorted. “I think I’ll do that.”

“Good. Then we’ll have your afternoon chores only be to drive in the sheep.”

“Anything needs to get done today?” Jackie asked.

“I can’t think of anything.” Stan said with a shrug. “Ma used to have a little jingle… Scrub on Monday, Laundry on Tuesday, Knit on Wednesday, Prep on Thursday, Bake on Friday, Rest on Saturday, Clean on Sunday. O’course, you can do whatever you want, s’long as work’s gettin’ done. I’m sure I can find you something to do.” He hinted at and winked.

Jackie rolled her eyes. “I like it. Your mom was really smart… What’s today? Wednesday? Well, I don’t feel like knitting or sewing, so I guess I’ll try to clean the house for when Ford’s friend gets here. Hey, what did your mom mean by scrub on Monday?”

Stan shrugged. “Usually that meant the kitchen n’ bathrooms. You know, the tubs, sinks, toilets, the oven, the stoves…”

“Ah, gotcha.” Jackie wandered out of the barn with Stan and said, “Well, after I check the crops I’ll scrub.”

“Have fun.” Stan teased and headed for the corn to check for crows and other pests.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Great, so we’ll see you on Tuesday?” Ford clarified. “Thank you so much, buddy. I owe you. No, of course we don’t mind. We’ve got plenty of room. You’re welcome, goodbye.”

Ford hung up the phone and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been foolish to think Fiddleford could simply drop everything and move across the country just to assist him. Foolish and selfish. What stung most was how worried Fiddleford had sounded over the phone when he began making his request.

There was no good in stalling and not telling Stan, he had to tell him that the plan had changed. Ford stood and exited the parlor to try to find his brother, probably out in the fields by now. He knew if he did he would get tangled into trying to help, which was fine for today, so Ford mentally prepared himself for hoeing and pulling weeds as he entered the kitchen and found Jackie entering the room with a bucket of milk. “Oh, thank you, ma’am.” He said politely. “I’ll pan it later, we’re low on butter. Right now I need to have a word with Stanley.”

“He’s out at the cornfield.” Jackie assisted.

“Thank you.”

Ford found Stan right where Jackie said he would. The younger twin emerged from the field, satisfied with the state of the corn, and raised an eyebrow when the older twin said, “Stanley, we have to talk.”

“What’s the word, Sixer?” Stan asked as they started to walk alongside the edge of the field.

“Fiddleford will be here on Tuesday…”

“Great!”

“... and he’s bringing his son.”

They kept walking as Stan gave Ford a surprised and confused look.

“Tate. His four-year-old.”

“I know who the boy is, Poindexter!” Stan snapped, irritated that that was what Ford thought he was confused about. “That’s fine, we’ve got room for him, but why in Moses’ name is he brinin’ Tate? I thought your friend was only visitin’ for a few weeks.”

Ford sighed and ran a six-fingered hand through his fluffy hard-to-maintain hair. “Fiddleford is getting a divorce.”

Stan winced. He may not have known the nerd as well as Ford did, but from what he gathered he had been over the moon for his gal.

“She doesn’t want anything to do with Tater, either.” Ford added. “Says he’s too much like Fiddleford. He thinks this is a good way to start a new life, you know? Move here and help me, then maybe find their own place.”

“Or we can build a smaller second house.” Stan threw in. “More houses means more hands to work the farm, which means more money n’ more land.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Perhaps. For now I was thinking Fiddleford could have the guest bedroom and Tate could have the Jack and Jill bedroom.”

“Sure, I bet Jackie won’t mind.” Stan predicted.

“And you’re okay with Tate coming to live with us, too?” Ford double-checked.

“You kiddin’ me, I love kids!” Stan punched Ford’s shoulder and stood still with his arms cross over his chest. “It’ll be great, you wait n’ see! There’s plenty of stuff here to Tate to do until he’s old enough for school n’ nobody’s gonna get claustrophobic here. Not that Santa Claus is real.”

Ford groaned and pinched at his eyes under his glasses. “That was bad, even for you.” But the young investigator smiled at his twin and returned the punch on the shoulder. “Well, thank you. I know it’s a lot to take in in such a small amount of time…”

“You know something, Sixer?” Stan interrupted and gave him a slightly-more serious look. “It’s been too quiet here lately.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what your definition of quiet is, but…”

“You know what I meant.” Stan said firmly and resumed what he was trying to say. “I ain’t got a problem with it just bein’ the two of us - you know I don’t - but it’s been way too quiet here. I miss it bein’ crowded n’ busy n’ loud. So I say the more the merrier; n’ the sooner I can’t hear my own thoughts (though few there may be), the better.”

Ford smiled softly at his brother. It was true. The quiet had been appreciated at first, but now it wasn’t as appreciated as the noise that comes with good company. Ever since Ma and Pa had died and Shermie had gone back to California, it had just been the twins on this big farm. What Stan said was true, it was fine, and with Ford gone for four years while he earned as many PhDs as he had fingers, it was nice to reconcile and catch up. But now it was high-time the Pines family grew bigger and louder and weirder, the way it was supposed to be.

“Well, guess we should tell Jackie she’ll be sharing her bathroom, then.” Ford suggested and led the way away from the cornfield with his twin by his side.

[holylulusworld]

Sand In My Shoes - Part 4 – The other woman

Summary: You come back from holiday’s missing the love you found.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader, OFC’s

Warnings: angst, talking about divorce and lawyer stuff (don’t sue me for mistakes I’m not a lawyer), bitchy future ex-wife, language, violence (almost), smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, hair pulling

Sand in my shoes Masterlist

Sitting next to you Jensen can’t hold back a chuckle every time you don’t let his future ex-wife’s lawyer talk back.

“Mr. Jackson I already told you we are not here to negotiate. My client’s real estate agent arranged everything to sell the house to pay your client the sum she deserves, even tho we both know she doesn’t deserve anything.” Smiling sweetly, you ignore the boring looks of the other woman in the room.

“He owes me way more!” She starts screaming, ready to jump over the table to attack you.

“Please note that Mrs. Ackles is not cooperative and refuses to find a way to end this marriage like an adult.” You say politely to the stenographer. The man chuckles lightly, giving you a curt nod.

“This won’t be necessary.” Gasping at your reaction Mr. Jackson tries to calm his client. “She will behave. How about Mrs. Ackles agrees to your terms and gives the piano and everything Mr. Ackles wants back and she can keep the house.” Mr. Jackson silently begs you to agree and you raise one finger.

“I need to discuss this with my client. Can we have a short break? Five minutes.” Nodding the other lawyer takes a deep breath, still trying to calm his client.

“Mr. Ackles, can we talk outside?” Jensen nods, holding back a chuckle at his future ex-wife’s pissed expression.

“You promised to always love me and give me all I need, Jay. You broke your promise.” She spats and Jensen wants to say something, but you grab his arm, shaking your head.

“No, Mrs. Ackles. My client did everything to make you happy. We are here as you decided to cheat on him in the house he built for you, on the bed he bought to start a family. I would appreciate it if you do not talk directly to my client. Mr. Ackles pays me well to look out for his interest. If you excuse us now, I’ll talk to him in private.”

----

In the small separated room, you talk to Jensen to decide if he wants to give her the house or not.

“If I get the piano and the paintings she can have the house, but she has to stop using my name right now.” Jensen is busy slipping his hand between your legs as his face is buried in your neck.

“Jay, fuck, not here. Let’s keep it professional until you are divorced.” Muttering you push against his shoulders.

“What can I do, Sweetheart? If you go full lawyer you make me so hard I want to take you on the table right in front of them.” Jensen groans against your skin, marking your neck with his lips.

“Ackles, tame your libido. I want to talk about the house and your case, damnit, don’t make me all wet right now.” Chuckling he nips at your neck, slipping one finger into you to tease your g-spot. “Gonna fuck you so hard the moment we get out of here.”

“Fine. House…yes or no, Ackles.”

“Do it your way and I’ll have mine with you later…” His eyes are lust-blown when he meets yours and you grab the back of his neck to hungrily kiss his lips. “I’ll rip her apart for you, Jay. Now straighten your clothing and stop being that distracting. I can barely concentrate…”

“Jesus, Baby Girl, I need to fuck you on this table for sure…later…”

----

“My client agreed to your terms. Mrs. Ackles can keep the house under three conditions. She must give back the piano and the paintings listed under point 4 and 6, also she must stop using the name Ackles immediately. Lastly, she must stop posting things about my client, his show or anything according to him. She can keep the car too if she agrees to these terms today.” Ending your speech, you smile sweetly once again as her lawyer nods in agreement. “I think she won’t get a better deal.”

“My client agrees to these terms. We already discussed your proposal while you were outside with Mr. Ackles. We only want one more thing and this shouldn’t be a problem.” Her lawyer clears his throat and you nod, taking the papers he offers out of his hands.

“She doesn’t want my client to talk about his divorce and the reason to not severely affect her career.” A grin on your face you need to hold back a chuckle as you glance at Jensen. He’s smirking, giving you a curt nod.

“Fine by me…” Jensen whispers in your ear.

“Well, we don’t want this to happen, don’t we? I think we can agree to these terms but according to the posts your client spread all over social media everyone out there knows about her affair, but we agree to these terms.”

Handing Mr. Jackson the prepared papers you smile at Jensen’s future ex-wife’s.

She’s angrily clenching her jaw, ready to explode any minute. Her lawyer tries anything to calm her, but she can’t hold back any longer.

“Do you fuck Jay? Is it that? Do you ride his cock and that’s the reason you try to destroy me?” Now she lunges over the table to grab your wrist, but you are faster. Catching her wrist you twist it harshly, causing her to gasp.

“Please note that Mrs. Ackles tried to attack me. That I had to defend myself and twisted her wrist. We don’t want her to sue me later. Right, Mr. Jackson?” Pale the lawyer nods, pushing his client back onto her chair.

When she finally signed the papers and leaves the room with Mr. Jackson, cursing you smirk at her. The moment Mr. Jackson and the stenograph are out of the door she turns around and you nod, palming Jensen’s cock through his pants. “Every night bitch.” You chuckle and she stomps out of the room, slamming the door shut.

“Damn, you are a one hard-boiled egg.” Circling you Jensen push you against the table before he lifts you onto it, stepping between your legs to slide your skirt upward. “You make me so hard…” His face inches from yours he hums when you spread your legs wider.

“What do you want to do about it, Jay.” His teeth trap your lower lips as he slips one hand between your legs, teasing your clit with his skilled fingers.

“I’m gonna do...” Jensen husks against your lips. “...what I told you I will do. Going to lock this room and take you on this table right here and now. Gonna make you scream my name…”

----

Skirt around your waist, panties around your ankles you find yourself bent over the table as Jensen roughly fists your hair. He never was that rough during sex before but you would lie telling anyone the way he angrily fucks into you, calling you his dirty girl doesn’t turn you on.

“Fuck, you make me so hard every time you beat my ex-wife with words. I’m so turned on…” Jensen growls, slamming his hips against your rear.

Neck craned in an uncomfortable position, legs cramping you try anything to remain silent but the way Jensen drives wildly into you makes it impossible not to make pornographic noises.

“Oh, fuck…god…I’m gonna…” Gasping you feel your walls tightening around his hard cock. Jensen is grabbing your hips, now dragging you onto his shaft with every powerful snap of his hips.

“Come for me…”

Your voice is hoarse when you cry out his name, squeezing your lover tightly. Jensen can barely move due to the way your pussy is tightening around him.

It doesn’t take him long to paint your walls with his spendings. A loud grunt follows his orgasm and he almost shouts your name but a knock at the door let Jensen fall silent.

“Fuck…we are screwed.” You whimper as the knock becomes more demanding.

“We are sorry, but I have to discuss some more details with my client.” Praying your voice doesn’t sound all fucked out you wait for a response.

“No problem ma’am. I was just trying to find an empty room to talk to my client.” A gruff voice answers.

“Give us five minutes and we are…done.” You reply, holding back a chuckle when Jensen lazily thrusts into you. “Take your time…”

Listening to the man walking away you look over your shoulder, shaking your head. “Jay! Could you stop fucking me while someone is outside?”

Ignoring your outburst Jensen pulls out of you, already shoving your panties up your legs. “You will wear my cum the whole drive back home, damn…”

“I hate you sometimes, Ackles! How shall I be professional around you?” Trying to fix your clothing you ignored the dirty grin on Jensen’s face.

“You are fired…” Offended you place one hand onto your heart, gasping. “But Mr. Ackles, I need this job.” Batting your eyelashes, you look up at Jensen, licking your lips. “Can we not find a way to let me keep my job?”

“I think…” Cupping your sex with one hand Jensen leans closer. “That can be arranged…”

----

Relaxing in Jensen’s arms you snuggle closer to his chest, forgetting the exhausting day you try not to think about Monday, more appointments and the fact you have to meet up with Jensen’s ex and her lawyer on Wednesday to get the piano and the paintings.

“What do you think about, Baby?” Jensen husks and you chuckle lightly. “Aren’t women supposed to ask this kind of question?”

“Just relax, everything went well. If it’s about the paintings and stuff, she can keep it if you don’t want to meet up with her again.” Jensen tries to make you feel comfortable, but you slap his chest.

“No way, Ackles! I fought so hard to get your things! I will not let Mrs. Infidelity keep the piano and paintings. Let me do my job, Jay.” The look you give Jensen tells him to nod and smile instead of arguing. “I mean it, Baby. We won and this means I will meet up with her and get your things. Now shut your pretty mouth and cuddle me some more.”

“Hmm…that can be arranged, Y/N. How about a short vacation when this is all over?” Jensen softly kisses your hair when you relax in his arms once again.

“I got a new client, Baby. Christmas is close so let's just work and we can have vacations later…”

SPN Forever Tags

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If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason. Sorry.

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags     

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Sand in my shoes Tags

@linki-locks11, @spnbaby67

[ubernoxa]

A Stupid Dare - Chapter 11: A Pair of Idiots 

A Guns N’ Roses FanFic

Chapter Summary: Duff and Delilah being cute. That’s it. That’s the chapter

“Good morning,” Delilah woke to Duff’s hot breath on her back.

“Good morning, Duffles,” Delilah giggled back at Duff’s confused reaction.

“Duffles?”

“Yeah, Duffles,” Delilah replied messing up his already messy bleached puff of hair.

“I’m gonna go make some breakfast,” Delilah wiggled her way out of Duff’s arms. Once she stood up she immediately felt Duff pull her back down.

“Hey!” Delilah squealed as she fell back onto the mattress.

“What’s up?” Duff asked as he wrapped his arms gently around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Hopefully the roof, I’m not a fan of getting rained on,” Delilah replied earning a chuckle from Duff and a frustrated groan from Slash.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you,” Delilah said as Slash’s eyes fluttered open.

“It’s okay,” He lied as he rolled over and covered his head with a pillow.

Once he heard her leave, Slash threw his pillow over towards where Duff sat.

“what the fuck!” Duff easily caught the pillow that was thrown at him.

“I’m not saying that I want you two to have sex in your bed because I don’t wanna see that, but you seriously need to fuck her or something,” Slash said in a hushed tone, so Delilah wouldn’t hear him.

“Dude,”

“Seriously, it was absolutely painful watching you last night. Don’t get me started on this morning. How long were you watching her sleep. That’s creepy shit if I ever knew it,” Slash defensively held his arms up as he spoke.

“Slash,” Duff sighed as he plopped back into his.

“I don’t care how fuckin cute she looks. Just fuck her. Fuck her then date her. Date her and then fuck her. I don’t care just do something. If you won’t I will,” Duff threw the pillow back at Slash nailing him in the face.

“Chill out Duff, I’m only fucking with you. Just be more blunt with her about your intentions,,” Slash laugh before rolling back and went back to sleep.

Delilah stood in the kitchen searching through the cabinets hoping to find something to make for breakfast for the guys.

“Looking for something?” Delilah almost jumped as someone wrapped their arms around her waist.

“Food,” Delilah’s words were no louder than a whisper.

“What are you making?” Duff quickly opened the fridge to look through the food that Mags and the other girls had bought for them.

“I don’t know, maybe breakfast bowls?”

“Delly, what’s that?” Delilah’s heart skipped a beat when she heard him call her Delly.

“Well Duffles,” she paused and looked at the sly grin that was plastered on his face. She smiled to herself as she noticed that he might actually like her nickname for him. Little did she know that Duff would let her call him anything.

“A breakfast bowl is a bunch of random meat, potatoes, eggs, and vegetables. My brother and I would make it all the time back home. It looks like you don’t have any eggs, so random meat and potatoes it is,” Delilah shrugged as she found a bag of potatoes in a random cabinet.

She looked cute with her hair an absolute mess. Duff gently tucked a long strand of hair behind her petite ear. They locked eyes for a moment and both of them froze.

Delilah was panicking. She was internally screaming. Should she say something? Should she mess with his hair? Should she go and cook?

“Hey Del, are you making us food?” Axl’s words caused Delilah to take a step away from Duff and turn towards Axl. It was like the spell that had been casted over her and Duff had been lifted.

“Breakfast bowls,” Delilah smiled when she received a smile from him.

“Duff, are these potatoes good? Or have they gone bad?” Delilah rambled as she handed one of the potatoes to Duff. He immediately sniffed it and shrugged.

“Seem fine to me,” he shrugged back to Delilah.

“What do you ever know about potatoes?” The words sounded sour as they left Axl’s mouth. He clearly wasn’t a morning person.

“They don’t give the last name McKagan to the French,” Duff cockily replied.

———-

Delilah stood in Mag’s bathroom staring at her reflection. If only her parents could see her now, a smirk unknowingly formed on her lips.

“You should wear this,” Mags handed Delilah a ‘skirt’ as Mags called it.

“Mags this ‘skirt’ is barely longer than the one I wore when we first met,” Delilah protested as she held the fabric in her hands.

“This skirt, unlike the fabric you wore that night we met, is form fitting and won’t flash every living soul,” Mags quickly rebuttaled as she walked into the bathroom.

“Why can’t I wear pants?” Delilah wined leaning back on the toilet.

“Because it’s going to be 104 degrees Fahrenheit out tonight. I dont want you to pass out or melt from the heat!”

“Don’t underestimate me, I once wore a floor length dress with long sleeves in 90 plus degree weather,” Delilah teased back earning a laugh from Mags.

“Oh Honey,” Mags shouted emphasizing the O in honey.

“Unless your dress was made of leather, it’s not comparable. Your dress let your skin breathe. You will BOIL if you wear those pants. I love you Del but COME ON,” Mags replied as she comically waved her arms in the air for added dramatic effect.

“Plus girl you got legs that are to die for. Why not show them off?” Mags added earning a smile from Delilah.

“Fine!” Delilah agreed and put on the skirt. Even though this skirt was only a little longer than her old one, she almost felt comfortable in it.

“So who is Motley Crue?”

“They are the band the boys are opening for tonight. They are all borderline insane and from some of the shit I see them pull, I don’t know how they are still alive,” Mag’s laughter filled the bathroom where the two of them were getting ready.

“Oh,” was all Delilah could reply.

“This one guy Nikki, I have seen him light himself on fire both on stage and at parties. Im also pretty sure their guitarist is a vampire or alien or something. Their singer is hot though, but he knows it. I honestly don’t remember the last time I saw him without a girl literaly swooning over him. Their drummer is a sweetheart at times though, BUT those are the ones you gotta watch out for. They are a little much for me, so I usually stay away from them,” Mags focuses on the mirror as she spoke trying to fix her makeup. She wanted to look perfect for Derek tonight. Also known as the guy who she has been spending every other night with. She was excited to introduce him to Delilah and Stevie.

“A little much?”

“They make great music, but they are comple sleze bags too. The Nikki guy who lights himself on fire, he is the worst,” Mags added leaving the bathroom leaving Delilah alone.

“Hey it’s my favorite girls!” Delilah smiled as Stevie hugged the two of them as they entered the back stage area.

“Wow this place is nice,” Mags commented on the clean doors and mirrors. On top of everything there were even multiple rooms backstage.

The girls quickly followed Stevie who was in no way sober to a door that had a piece of torn paper with Guns N’ Roses written on it in sloppy handwriting.

“Look what the trash dragged it!” Stevie yelled as he walked into the small room.

“Cat not trash Stevie. Nice try though. It might help next time if you were a little less drunk,” Mags teased.

Everyone was sitting around drinking, well everyone except Axl and Izzy.

“Hey Delly!” Delilah smiled at Duff who motioned for her to come sit next to him. She walked over towards him without hesitation and plopped down next to him. To say she had been waiting all afternoon to see him was an understatement. She even wrote a couple of puns to hopefully get a laugh out of Duff.

Mag quickly shot her brother a raised eyebrow as she watched Delilah or ‘Delly’ sit next to Duff who immediately shrugged and sat down next to Slash. He loved his sister dearly, but he wasn’t gonna cock block his band mate for the rest of his life. He tried, but some things will always find a way. Atleast it was Duff and not Axl.

“So are you girls coming to the party tonight,” Slash asked only shortly realizing what was going on. He was too preoccupied with his guitar earlier.

“Party?” Delilah asked as Duff pulled Delilah onto his lap earning a glare from Mags.

“Yeah with Crue. They always have these big parties at their place after they play. Are you coming?” Duff asked as he mindlessly played with her hair.

“Mags you going?” Delilah asked across the room.

Mags wanted nothing more than to say no, and forbid Delilah from going. She sighed. She wasn’t Delilah’s Mom and it wasn’t her place. The least she could do was look after the girl.

“Hell yeah” Stevie turned towards his sister, and this time it was his turn to send a confused look her way. Mags hated the boys of Motley Crue more than she hated Axl. Why did she agree to go?

Little did he know that Mags wanted to yell no. She wanted to ‘forbid’ Delilah from going because she knew what happened at those parties, but she couldn’t. If she said no it would bring both unwanted drama and stores she would have to share which she was in no mood to share, so she agreed to go. At least this way she could also keep an eye on Delilah.

—————

“You were amazing!” Delilah cheered as Duff and the rest of the guys walked in from the stage.

“Not tooo shabby!” Mags gave her brother a hug after a performance well done not giving a care in the world about him being drenched in sweat. She was proud. It was about time that all of his hard work was paying off.

Stevie and Mags led their small group back to their room backstage or as Delilah earlier called it the kingdom of booze.

Before Delilah could walk away and meet up with Mags at the front of the line she felt Duff’s fingers intertwine with hers. She froze and shot a confused looked towards him.

“Come Delly, walk with me,” he whispered into her ear before placing his cowboy hat onto her head. She looked even cuter with the giant smile that formed on her face. She was beautiful.

She obliged. Her heart felt like it was going to explode. She assumed only drunk Duff saw her as attractive, and sober Duff only saw her as a friend, nothing more.

“Did ya like the show?”

“Yeah, I just told you I did Duffy,” she giggled back.

“Well I like you saying that you liked the show,” his smile was setting her heart on fire. Butterflies were causing chaos in her stomach as she tried to form some sort of reply.

“Hey, did you hear about the new restaurant on the strip? It’s called Karama and they don’t have a menu!” Delilah asked Duff mentally preparing herself to make sure she didn’t mess up the joke.

“How do you know what to order?” Duff asked curious into where she was going with this.

“There’s no menu because you get what you deserve,” the two of them laughed like idiots.

Izzy and Duff groaned as they heard Delilah’s pun. “Ohh God it’s a match made in hell,” Izzy muttered under his breath so only slash could hear.

“What’s that?” Mags asked as she pointed to Duff and Delilah holding hands.

“My bassist and your friend,” Stevie causally replied as he poured himself a drink waiting for her to freak out.

“Were you...I don’t know...supposed to cock block him and your entire band?” Mags sarcastically asked stealing her brother’s drink. Was she happy? No. Not even in the slightest.

She then watched as Duff and Delilah walked in giggling about what Mags could only assume to be one of his stupid puns. That’s when her heart melted a little. Only a couple of hours ago was Delilah on the verge of tears about leaving her family and her old life behind.

Stevie smiled as he noticed Mags relax when Duff and Delilah walked into the room laughing and giggling without a care in the world. How was he supposed to keep those two apart? Hell he would bet that they would lighten a dark room.

“Well I did at first, but this isn’t what happened last time. From what I heard they’re taking it slow. Duff might do stupid things, but I trust him to watch over her. He’s a good guy. Plus how am I supposed to keep those two apart,” Stevie pointed over towards Delilah who currently had a strand of Duff’s hair places above her upper lip like a mustache. They were acting like a pair of idiots.

Mags remained silent as she watched the two of them giggle. Delilah needed this. Mags knew Delilah needed someone to distract her and cheer her up, but she just wished it could have been her instead of Duff.

“Hey Mags,” Delilah shouted across the room noticing her friends saddened mood. Delilah went to return Duff’s hat, bur he quickly gave it back to her whispering into her ear, “Delly this looks way better on you,” followed by a quick kiss on her cheek. He could feel Mags stares across the room.

“Wanna go and listen to the show?” Delilah added as she finished her drink and walked over towards Mags who quickly followed her. Delilah was hoping that watching Motley Crue would raise Mag’s spirit. She hated seeing Mags down.

The two girls walked towards the stage. The original plan was to watch the show from the audience, but Mags quickly changed her mind when she noticed how packed the bar was. She always admired Crue fans, but they were ‘alot’ and Mags didn’t want Delilah to feel uncomfortable. She heard that a could girls were taking their bras off and throwing them at Vince during the show. They found a spot backstage where they could clealy hear the music while keeping out of the groupie’s way.

About half way through the set, Mags finally got the courage to ask Delilah the question that had been burning at her, “so you and Duff?”

“I have no idea. He so sweet and kind and funny, but I don’t know if he likes me back. What if he is just being nice?”

Mags laughed at Delilah’s cluelessness. “Del, first off he calls you Delly. He is making lists of real bad puns and jokes for you to laugh at. Don’t get me started on the way he looks at you,” Delilah blushed at Mag’s words even though they came out more of frustrated than sweet.

Mags froze for a second and wondered if Duff was Delilah’s first crush. She never heard Delilah once mention any guys outside her ex fiancé.

“So you’re not a fan of Duff,” Delilah raised her eyebrow.

“Ugh, how do I explain it,” Mags grunted and leaned back against the wall.

“He is going to be a rockstar. I’ve been on this strip long enough to know what happens here,” Mags watched as all of the excitement that once filled Delilah evaporate. Mags was mentally scolding herself. Why did her mouth deceive her like that?

“I just thought,” Mags watched as Delilah pull her knees into her chest.

“Well how about we make a deal,” Mags paused waiting for Delilah to look up.

“A deal?”

“You can date Duff, but if he hurts you I will beat the living hell out of him,” Delilah nodded and laughed as Mags hugged her.

“Come on let’s get back to the guys, cow girl. There is a huge after party that you are not going to want to be sober for,” their laughter filled the hallway as the walked back towards the room.

[gourmade4u]

Start at the basics

Kitchen Essentials

If you’re just starting out, what are some essential tools and tips to keep in mind while you’re working away at your best Gordon Ramsey duplicate? 

Well, for starters, you need to make sure that your kitchen has the necessary base in which to build from. 

TL;DR- Chef’s knife, rubber spatula, whisk, pans (all types are neatly listed below the picture with the whisk and rubber spatulas), glass mixing bowls, kevlar or other cut-resistant gloves, metal spatula, cutting boards, electric thermometer, colander, box grater, and a timer (if you don’t have a microwave or oven that has one). 

First thing’s first: 

A Chef’s knife. I purchased mine from Ergo Chef (not an affiliate, I’m just a huge fan). From the moment my hand touched this knife, I cried literal happy tears from the depths of my soul. If you have arthritis issues, or issues that cause your hands to swell or lock up from consistent use, an ergonomically designed knife is incredibly important. For those of you just starting, my first knife set was a Farberware set with a wooden block from Walmart. It was a 20 piece knife set with steak knives and it was less than 90 dollars. But take the time to invest in your knives, you’ll be grateful that you did. 

I’ll post in a separate article how to sharpen your knife, but do keep in mind to NEVER, hold on, let me bold this, NEVER: run your knives or single knife through the dishwasher, and/or leave them in the sink. After you finish using your knife, it is best if you wash and dry it immediately to keep it from rusting. Your knives will thank you, and so will your wallet. 

A rubber spatula.

So, this little guy is the absolute best. He will help you toast rice for your risotto, spoon out that perfect pan sauce that took you way too many tries to get it exactly the way you wanted, AND he'll make sure that all your batter makes it into the pan, or your mouth, whichever you prefer.

A whisk. So yes, a whisk is incredibly versatile. You can use it to scramble eggs, make meringue, mayo, vinaigrette, and bake that cake you’re gonna regret in a week.

PANsexuality is important. But it has nothing to do with this next list of pans.

Non-stick pan

10 in. stainless steal or ceramic pan 

Cast iron pan (or 3)

Sauce pot (if you're like me, you have 6)

Griddle pan (not pictured... yet)

Sheet pan

Casserole

Each and every one of these serves a unique purpose.

A non-stick is great for eggs, bacon, frittatas (which are fancy eggs), and so many other items that I promise aren't just breakfast food. 

A ceramic pan is wonderful, but in my personal opinion, a stainless steel is better if you're a novice. A ceramic pan requires a lot of spoons (energy) and maintenance. They scratch easily if you look at them the wrong way. But they are great for more even cooking than a stainless, and make the best pork chops. Stainless steel isn’t as hard to work with, isn’t as high maintenance (though, like knives, NEVER put them in your dishwasher), is ideal for crusting your steak, and making a pan sauce with the remaining bits. 

A cast iron pan evenly distributes heat and you can put it in the oven at 500 degrees without worrying about warping or damage to your pan. Cast iron is also fantastic if you don’t want to use as much fat in your pan to keep your items from sticking. Also, you can’t get a crust on a steak in any other pan, the way you do in a cast iron. Also, don’t put this in the dishwasher.

A sauce pot sounds like an unnecessary necessity. I’ll explain, when most people hear “sauce” pot, they get very confused because there are like, 30 types. This is an exaggeration, but there are a lot of types. A large saucepot can hold from 1 qt. to 5 qts. I always recommend getting a 5 qt. pot because you can use it for small amounts and large amounts. But the best advice I can give would be to get one that can hold at least 2 c of liquid, and also one that can hold 5 qts so you’re not making oatmeal for yourself in a pot that’s too big. 

A Griddle pan is more of a luxury item, but I always recommend having one in your kitchen. You can make your best pancakes, arepas, bacon, grilled cheese, tuna melt, etc. It’s honestly a great tool to have on hand if you want to whip something up quickly. 

A sheet pan is important for so many reasons. You can make cookies, cake, bacon (I know I’ve said about 2 of the others already), roasted veggies, etc. I definitely recommend having at least one on hand. You’ll find that you’ve allowed yourself to enjoy brussel sprouts  smothered in parmesan cheese, and roasted cauliflower with garam masala and ginger for the first time ever. Just trust me, your oven is made for a varying amount of possibilities, and the right tools can get you started.

A baking dish/pan/casserole, whatever you want to call it, it’s a huge piece of either: cast iron, ceramic, glass, or clay that can be covered and it will, much like your sheet pan, allow for new ideas in the kitchen. Casserole is a very common word used by mostly older women from the south, but they aren’t just a dish your grandma cooked in the 50′s. French toast casserole is so impossibly custardy and delicious, you will thank the Gods that there has ever been something so wonderful in existence. You have stews, roasts, lasagna (uncovered, don’t be rude to your lasagna), and so many others. Just please, okay? Okay.  

Glass mixing bowls are a MUST. Okay, so some really important things about these bad boys: DON’T leave them on a hot stove because the heat will make them shatter and explode all over your kitchen. If you have pets or kids, I don’t have to tell you why this would be bad for potentially weeks on end. You can, however, makeshift a glass bowl and a boiling pot of water into a double boiler to melt your favorite chocolate chips to make fudge. Glass bowls are also non-absorbent, so they won’t retain bad odors or flavors when you use them in the kitchen. They’re also incredibly sanitary for the same reason.

A pair of Kevlar or other gloves meant for slicing and dicing in the kitchen. I recommend this no matter what level of experience you have. Professional chefs cut and burn themselves all the time, it is best you do what you can to protect your fingertips and nails. 

A metal spatula will help you scrape any bits and pieces that have stuck onto your stainless or ceramic pan. Please be sure to use carefully, the metal spatula itself is very temperamental and can ruin your pans forever. 

Cutting boards. There are, a whole litany of reasons you need a cutting board or 10 in your kitchen. I myself have 4 and I use all of them. Cutting boards are made of several different kinds of material. Ultimately, for me, I use a wooden one and an eco-friendly material cutting board set I got from Bed Bath and Beyond. Cutting board maintenance is, arguably, the most important thing when it comes to  purchasing one. Best way to clean a cutting board is to make sure you’re passing your sponge over the slits in the board left behind by your knife, in the same direction. In other words, don’t scrub your board in a circle, but trace over the cuts in the board to ensure proper sanitation of it. 

An electric thermometer. Okay, so show of hands, how many people have deep fried chicken, burned the outside and undercooked the inside? I don’t know of any single person who is just beginning, who hasn’t done it. An electric thermometer is your best friend. You can get a regular thermometer, that will require constant calibration, or you can get an electric thermometer and not have to worry about calibrating it as often. Perfectly juicy, succulent, and properly cooked chicken will measure at 165 degrees Farenheit. Anything beyond 180, expect it to be dry, but at least it was cooked properly! To calibrate a thermometer: bring water to a boil, and then place your thermometer in the water, allow it to come to 212 degrees Fahrenheit, then place your thermometer into an ice bath until it gets to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Celsius would be 100 degrees boiling, and 0 degrees in ice. 

A colander is meant to strain out pasta water, and you’ve probably not seen it used for much else. But a fine mesh colander can be used to filter out your frying oil so you can reuse it instead of wasting it. This little thing is good for anything that requires draining: meat, starch from rice and potatoes before cooking them, washing all of your vegetables at once before getting started, and also, it can help with steaming your broccoli or shrimp when you don’t have a basket steamer.

A box grater in general, is a fantastic tool. They have different sides that allow you to do different things. From shredding cheese, potatoes, carrots, or zuccini. But the question a lot of people ask: what is that side with all the really tiny spaces in it? It’s a zester, and it goes so unnoticed for so long because most folx don’t know the best way to use it. The zester is great for adding a little elegance or pop of flavor into a dish. For example, if you use lemon pepper often, adding a zested lemon rind to your dish would bring out all that delicious acidity that you won’t get from just using the regular seasoning from a bottle. A little fresh lemon zest here, some grated nutmeg there, a little orange zest in your tea, these all pack a mean right hook. Try them out. 

Last, but not least: a timer, gentlefolx. I can not stress the utter importance of learning how long it actually takes you, the reader to complete a task from start to finish. Not everyone works at the same pace, so a recipe that says “prep time: 5 minutes”, might actually take you an hour, and that’s okay. Keeping a timer on hand so you can keep track of how long each task is taking to complete, or making sure you’re pacing yourself as things are bubbling away in the kitchen, is a great way to figure yourself out in the kitchen. I recommend listening to music, writing your ingredients on a white board that sits at eye level in your kitchen so you can refer to your recipe as you’re going without having to constantly look at your phone. 

I hope this helps every single one of you learn a bit more about what it means to begin your journey with food. 

[survivorwildwest]

Episode 9 - I’m My Own Girl

Returning from Tribal Council Russell ties his horse to the saloon and turns back toward his tribemates to say, “So, everyone voted for Todd but me?”

“That was the plan from the very beginning, Russell,” Kass reminds him. “I don’t know why you had to go trying to screw things up.”

“I’m not screwing anything up!”

“Clearly,” Kass smirks.

Russell storms off to the inn above the saloon. The rest of the tribe chuckles as he leaves.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a kangaroo rat’s eyes glow as she scurries around.

The next morning, the tribe reads the tree mail. Colby clears his throat as the residents of their small ghost town gather round.

“gun,” Ben finishes.

When their shadows are their smallest, the Cheynne tribe finds Jeff behind the saloon. Painted on the wall is a silhouette of a cowboy on horseback. The horse is grey with the number one printed on it. The cowboy is black with the number two printed on it. The cowboy’s head is yellow with the number three. The tan hat is worth four points and the cowboy’s red heart is five. Jeff tells them they will split into two randomly selected teams. He places two six-shooters, one with a teal grip and one with an orange grip, on the wooden stand in front of the silhouette. “Each person has one shot at the cowboy and his horse. The team who scores highest, wins reward. A breakfast buffet with sausage and eggs and bacon, biscuits and gravy, pancakes and syrup and of course, beans.”

Everyone cheers, especially when the beans are mentioned. The team wearing teal is Russell, Wardog, Ken, Bi, and Ben. The team wearing orange is Michaela, Jerri, Colby, Kass, and Wendy. Lauren draws neither and sits out.

Russell fires first. He takes aim and hits the cowboy in the leg. A teal gel is left where the bullet strikes, giving them two points. Michaela takes the first shot for the orange team. Her orange bullet explodes on the cowboys head, giving them a 3-2 lead. Wardog takes a shot and hits between the horse’s legs and its chest, giving them zero points. It’s 3-2 as Jerri takes her shot and hits the cowboy’s chest. The score 5-2 as Ken takes a deep breath, steadies his arm, knowing exactly where he’s aiming, he fires and hits the hat, giving the teal team a 6-5 lead. Colby fires and just barely knicks the cowboy’s leg. The score is now 7-6. Ben lines up his shot and everyone gets quiet. He pulls the trigger and the bullet hits the edge of the cowboy’s heart, giving them five more points. The score is 11-7 when Kass takes her shot. She hits the cowboy in his ribs, giving them two more points. Wendy takes her shot and hits the cowboy in the leg, covering Russel’s shot. The score is 11-11. Bi picks up the gun, lines up her shot and asks Jeff, “What do I need to win?”

“One point.”

“Oh, easy.” She fires. Her bullet explodes in the exact center of the cowboy’s heart, winning reward for her team.

“But five will do,” Jeff continues.

“Killher Bee!” Wardog yells as their team celebrates.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a swallowtail floats through the dry air with grace.

The teal team find themselves at a long table set up in a small cave. A pile of pancakes wider than any one of them sits as a centerpiece within a mountain of scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon. A ring of biscuits lines the mountain. The peak of the mountain is decorated with deviled eggs, each dashed with just enough paprika to give the ensemble that pop of red any good Cave Breakfast requires. At the end of the long table is a plate of beans on a warmer. The five castaways take their seats. Russell looks over his compatriots, tucks his napkin into his collar and folds his hands in his lap before touching his food.

Wardog makes an argument against Kass again, but it doesn’t gain much traction. Then Russell speaks up, “I’m glad to have you all here. I’m sure you all know my game. And I’m sure you all know how well that’s done me. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since Brandon left. Who I am, who he thought I was, who I want to be. I am turning a new leaf. I am becoming a new man. I want to play an honest game.”

“So, what are you suggesting,” Bi asks.

“The five of us come together. Ken can bring in Lauren and then we have the upperhand for the rest of the game.”

“Who do you want to take out, Russell,” Ben asks.

“Wendy. She has proved to me time and time again, she is not trustworthy. I want to play a game based on trust. I know you two are close, Wardog, but you gotta think about your future in this game and Wendy ain’t it.”

“That works for me,” Bi says, licking deviled egg yolk from her thumb.

“Ken, can you get Lauren, Ken” Russell asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” he says.

“Ben?”

“I’m in,” he says.

“Wardog?”

“I hate to go against Wendy, but I’m in,” he admits.

Russell says in a talking head, “And they say Survivor’s hard.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a goldfinch sits atop a willow tree.

Back in town, Lauren, Kass, Michaela, Jerri, Colby, and Wendy sit around the fire and boil some beans.

“Do you guys want to talk about who to target,” Kass asks.

“Is anyone close with Bi,” Colby asks.

“I’d rather see Wardog go to be honest,” Lauren says, “I know he’s itching to make a move. He’s going to do something that blows up everyone’s game soon. I promise you.”

“I’m good with that,” Michaela says and everyone around the fire comes to an easy consensus.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a scorpion hides between two rocks.

After the beans they considered lunch, Kass and Jerri wash dishes in the sink in the inn’s kitchen when Wendy and Lauren walk in. They sit at the rickety wooden table in the corner.

“So, you two are really on board with voting Wardog,” Jerri asks as she looks into the pot she’s drying.

“Absolutely,” Lauren says.

“I’ve wanted him out since I saw he was here,” Wendy says.

“I’m surprised you three don’t have some Edge of Extinction alliance,” Kass says while she rinses the dishes in the sink.

“No way,” Wendy assures her through a hiccup.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Jerri says.

“What about your friend, Lauren,” Kass asks, passing a freshly cleaned bowl to Jerri to dry.

“We’re just friends. That’s it.”

Jerri turns around and raises a single eyebrow to Lauren then looks back to Kass. They share a snicker before returning to dishwashing.

“So, when are you gonna cut him loose,” Kass asks Lauren.

“Well, I think the four of us would be a strong final four, so I could use him up until five?”

“I think Final Five is a good time for the Ken & Barbie story to end.”

“He actually doesn’t like to be called that,” Lauren says.

“What,” Jerri says.

“Isn’t that his name,” Wendy asks.

“Yeah, no but like the barbie doll, he doesn’t like that.” Lauren explains.

“Okay,” Jerri says as she dries the last dish.

“Oh my god,” Lauren says in a talking head, “That was so stressful. I felt like a teenager bringing a boy home for the first time.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a cottontail rabbit hops up to and munches on a plant under a log.

The winning team returns to camp with enough leftovers for the rest of the tribe to eat for the day. Russell immediately finds Jerri and the two head to The Oasis for water.

“What’s going on,” Russell asks.

“We’re targeting Wardog.”

“Wardog? Why?”

“It’s what Lauren and Wendy wanted.”

“Hmm. Interesting,” Russell says, scratching his head.

“Who did you target?”

Russell looks up at her, apologizing with his eyes before mouthing, “Wendy.”

“No, why?!”

“It was the consensus.”

“Fuck,” she says, massaging her temples, “Okay. Fine.”

“Really, you’re fine with it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a massive wrench in my plan, but it’s fine.”

“I thought you’d be more mad. Isn’t that your girl?”

“I’m Jerri Manthey,” she says with a grin, “I’m my own girl.”

Russell smiles a real big, proud smile back to her.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, the shadows of rocks grow and shrink as the sun rises and sets.

Michaela finds Ken in the inn. He’s laying down on a cot after a hard day of eating and chatting on the reward.

“How was the reward,” she asks.

“Oh, It was great,” he says, “Oh my god. I think I ate too much.”

“Where’s everyone’s head at?”

“Looks like Wendy’s the target. I’m supposed to get Lauren to come over to our side.”

“Cause y’all are shacking up?”

“Shacking up?”

“Or whatever you’re calling it.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Right. Sure. I know y’all are just waiting for the opportunity to take Ben out so you can get this room to yourselves.”

“I mean, it’s not our number one priority…”

“But...”

“It’s been brought up.”

“Ha! Y’all are nasty.”

Ken just shrugs his shoulders.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a coyote howls as it crosses a path left by a roadrunner.

Wardog finds Lauren sitting with her horse at the fire just before the sunset. She holds the reins in her fist beside her.

“Hey, Lauren,” Wardog says as he sits next to her, “I gotta talk to you.”

“Yes, Wardog?”

“I know you me and Wendy were supposed to be working together but,”

“What did you do Wardog?”

“Wendy’s the target.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since the reward, we all got together and decided to vote Wendy because she’s untrustworthy.”

“What?”

“That’s what Russell said.”

“Why are you listening to Russell? You know who he is.”

“No, he said he’s turned a new leaf.”

“Wardog. Come on. Don’t be stupid.”

“So, who are you voting for?”

“Russell! Obviously,” Lauren says, rolling her eyes and looking back at the fire.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Wardog says as he runs the plan through his head.

Ken approaches on his horse and reaches a hand to Lauren, “m’lady,” he says as she takes his hand and climbs atop her horse. The two ride off as the sun descends and the sky turns from blue to orange to pink and violet. Far from ear shot, as the stars become visible, Lauren tells Ken, “I know we agreed to not talk about the game on these walks, but I have to tell you, I can’t vote for Wendy.”

“So, who are we targeting instead?”

“Wardog.”

“What’s Wardog ever done?”

“Nothing. That’s my point. He’s going to do something soon if someone doesn’t take him out.”

“What if he wins immunity.”

“Have you seen Wardog in challenges? He’s not winning immunity.”

Somewhere under the Mojave Night Sky, a ringtail cat stands alert.

The next morning, Colby rouses the tribe and gathers them around the fire to read them the day’s tree mail.

At high noon, Cheyenne rides their horses out to the challenge where they meet Jeff. He stands in front of 11 balance beams. 

“For today’s challenge,” he explains, “each of you will stand on a beam while balancing a ball as it races around a ring. If your ball drops or you drop, you’re out. Last person standing wins immunity, and, as you have all informed me, has exclusive access to the immunity suite.” 

He holds up the rusty old key and tucks it into a pocket inside the bandolier.

Everyone takes their place and begins spinning the ball. Once everyone finds their rhythm, Jeff announces the challenge has begun. Almost immediately, the ball clips Wardog’s finger and he falls off the beam. Michaela drops soon after, then Kass, then Ben, all within a few seconds of each other. Russell loses his rhythm for a moment but is able to gain it back for a few moments before succumbing to the sound of wood scraping against wood. Colby loses focus and drops his ball. Ken, Lauren, Bi, Wendy and Jerri remain. Ken’s ball increases in speed with each rotation. Next to him is Lauren, who instinctively matches his speed. It eventually becomes too fast for either of them to control and they drop out one right after the other. Jerri, Wendy and Bi remain. All three women have found a concentrated rhythm.

Jeff announces they must move to the next smallest section of the beam. Once they do, Jerri easily finds her rhythm again, followed by Wendy. Bi is unable to find her speed again and drops out. Jeff notices Russell grinning.

“What are you so happy about,” Jeff asks.

“It’s both my girls up there. I’m good either way.”

“You don’t think you’d be good if Bi won?”

“Let’s just say, I’m more good with one of them two winning. I know they got me.”

“That’s right, Russ,” Jerri says, not breaking her concentration, “We got you.”

Wendy loses her concentration after a high pitched tic, forcing her ball to the ground.

“Jerri wins immunity,” Jeff yells.

Jerri quickly drops her ball to check on Wendy. Wendy tells her she’s fine. Jerri kisses the top of her head and cuddles her under her shoulder.

In a talking head, Wardog says, “I gotta choose between Wendy and Russell. I’ve played with Wendy but that’s the past. I gotta worry about my own future. Wendy’s my past and Russell’s my future.”

After the challenge, everyone congratulates Jerri on her win as she hangs the bandolier over the bar in the saloon. At the bar, Colby, Ken and Jerri all take a seat. Jerri spins around, tips her hat back and asks in an exaggerated drawl, “What can I get y’all?”

“Y’all got any sarsaparilla,” Colby asks, mirroring her charm.

“Darn tootin we do!”

“What are you guys doing,” Michaela asks with disdain as she takes a seat next to Ken.

Jerri and Colby giggle together like teenagers while Jerri pours each of them a whiskey. As she passes each of them a tumblr of the brown stuff, she asks, “So, it’s Wardog tonight, yeah?”

“I don’t know, Jerri,” Michaela says, “I’ve thought about it a lot and I think we’re pissing off less people with Wendy.”

“But, who cares about Wardog?”

“It’s just not the time,” Ken says.

“We can take him out at any time,” Michaela assures her.

“Colby,” Jerri asks for support.

“I just don’t think it’s worth the effort to save her,” he says.

“Fine,” Jerri mutters.

She downs her drink and walks upstairs. In one of the bedrooms, Jerri finds Kass resting. Jerri falls back on the creaky mattress. Her greying brown curls fall over the pillow as she groans.

“They’re targeting Wendy,” she says with her face in her hands.

“Do they have the numbers?”

“I think so.”

“Well that really throws a wrench in our plan, huh?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“What is Lauren thinking?”

“She doesn’t want to vote for Wendy.”

“You don’t have an idol for her?”

“No, I don’t...”

“Well, that is unfortunate.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a spider jumps over a crevice between two rocks as it builds its web.

As the sky takes on an orange hue, Ken and Lauren work on the fire when Jerri approaches them.

“Hey guys,” she says.

“What’s up Jerri,” Lauren says.

“Hey Jerri,” Ken says.

“So, you know it’s Wendy?”

“I heard.”

“You’re definitely voting for Wendy, Lauren?”

“I mean, what’s my vote for Wardog gonna do?”

Jerri gets up from the fire and wanders through the town until she finds Wendy doing the same.

“Wendy,” Jerri calls over.

“Jerri, hi.”

“Who are you voting for tonight?”

“Wardog, isn’t that the plan?”

“No, listen to me. Don’t waste your vote on Wardog, unless you want to. You have an opportunity to take out whoever you want in this game with your vote.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re gonna need to play your idol.”

“I don’t have an idol.”

“I know you do.”

“How do you know?”

“Because when I asked you if Hannah had an idol, your eyes darted around the same way they did just now. The votes are coming your way. All of them.”

“What do I do?”

“Play your idol. Take out whoever you want.”

“Whoever I want?”

“Whoever you want.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a leopard lizard rests on the side of a rock formation.

With the moon now lighting the desert town, the tribe rides out to Tribal Council. Jeff takes his usual seat at the head of fire while the remaining members of Cheyenne gather around. Todd and Elizabeth ride in on two gallant and gold akhal-tekes. The horses stand across from each other, as their riders preside over tribal council.

“Ben,” Jeff begins, “you mentioned at last tribal council, you felt there was a target on your back for having won before. Do you still feel that’s true?”

“Oh, yessir. Of course. I imagine there will always be a target on my back.”

“Do you agree, Michaela, will there always be a target on Ben’s back?”

“I don’t think so. If we take out Ben, then do we take out Colby and Russ next because they did the next best? Nah, you know that’s not how this game works.”

“Colby, do you feel targeted?”

“Well, sure. I’ve done well in Survivor, why shouldn’t I be considered a threat, but this game’s evolved. It’s so much more than building strong relationships with people. I don’t know that I can navigate this new advantage-heavy game.”

“Russell, how do you feel you fare in this next evolution of Survivor?”

“Well, clearly I’m still a threat or else Michaela wouldn’ta said my name!”

“I think at this point, Jeff,” Kass says, “It’s fair to say everyone’s a threat.”

“That’s the thing about Survivor,” Bi says, “Anyone can win.”

“Can anyone win, Survivor, Ken?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Lauren, do you believe anyone can win Survivor?”

“With the right amount of tact and luck, I think anyone could win Survivor, yes.”

“Wendy, do you think you could win Survivor?”

“Oh, I really hope so, Jeff,” Wendy says with a smile wider than her cheeks should allow.

“Alright, with that, it is time to vote. Wardog, you’re up first.”

Wardog makes his way from the campfire into the cave and the voting booth inside. He holds up a begrudging vote for Wendy and just says, “Sorry.” Colby makes his vote. He’s seen writing a “W” before fading to Russell. He proudly writes Wendy’s name, holds it just over the urn, leans his elbows on the stand, and says, ”You never should have turned your back on me.”

Wendy makes her way to the voting booth and contemplates her vote for a good while. Jeff turns around and peers into the cave after a few minutes to see Wendy briskly walking back to her seat.

“I’ll go tally the votes.” Jeff walks into the cave and returns with the urn full of votes. He sets it upon the rock he’s stood behind and says, “If anyone has a hidden immunity idol and you would like to play it, now is the time to do so.”

Wendy looks over at Jerri who’s staring back with her eyebrows raised as high as they’ll go.

“Jeff,” Wendy exclaims, getting up from her seat. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her gold nugget of an immunity idol. “During the challenge, Russell said that me and Jerri were his girls and I just wanted to tell him,” she turns to Russell before handing the idol to Jeff, “I’m my own girl.” She turns back to Jeff, “I’m playing this for myself.”

Wendy returns to her seat, looks to a beaming Jerri, then to Russell, who’s winning a staring contest with the sand. 

Jeff tells them, “This is a hidden immunity idol. Any votes cast for Wendy will not count. First vote: Wendy. Will not count.”

“Wendy. Will not count. Wendy. Will not count. Wendy. Will not count. Wendy. Will not count. Wendy. Will not count. Wendy. Will not count. Wendy. Will not count. Wendy. Will not count. Wendy. Will not count. Tenth person voted out of Survivor: Wild West and third member of our Jury... Russell.”

The jury and the rest of Cheyenne gasp. Jerri reaches over to Wendy and rubs her shoulder. Wendy smiles a humble, quietly proud smile. Russell grabs his torch, shaking his head, and makes his way to Jeff. His torch is snuffed and he walks away into the night with his small grey horse following close behind him. Jeff gets back on his clydesdale and rides off with Elizabeth and Todd.

“Player got played,” Russell says in his final talking head, “Gotta give her that. I ain’t mad. Great job, Wendy Girl.”

Read Episode 10 here

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: There! Finally got it to a more tolerable place. As usual, feedback is always incredible. I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Smut right from the get go. Pranking. 

Word Count: Roughly 3,400

“God, Sam.” You moaned out; not caring who heard past the thin walls in the bunker.

His long fingers turned out to be good for something. As they stroked inside of you, you were sure you saw heaven. His mouth trailed hotly across your skin. Stopping only to suck here, and nibble there. So confident that it was nearly criminal. Almost as though he'd been trained to hit every sensitive spot a woman's body possessed.

Sam crooked up into your g-spot while his other thumb rubbed firmly over your clit. Driving you to the breaking point with every touch. You clawed at him. Begging him to give you more. He didn't give in, though. Not until you were screaming his name as you came.

The erection lining up to you was thick and heavy when you were able to focus, again. Your hips lifted, trying to meet him in the middle. Desperate for more. He wasted no time, pushing into your waiting body in a single thrust. Groaning at the slick feel of you squeezing around his dick. Sliding in a little deeper at your broken whimper.

As soon as you were ready, he picked up speed. His hand braced on the bed beside your head. The other guided your hips. You moved with him willingly; demanding everything he could give in the process.

His thrusts slammed your body further up the bed. The headboard rocked roughly into the wall. But, nothing slowed him down. If anything, you both fed off of the harsh sounds until you were crying out his name in another orgasm.

When you came back to earth, he paused just long enough to smirk down at you. Sweat stuck the chestnut locks to his forehead. His lips were a deeper pink from all the work he'd put in. Huffing deeply, he shattered the fantasy, “So... who's the one who can't last?”

Your eyes shot open at that arrogant line. Only to realize that you were alone in your bed. Again.

It was official. Sam Winchester had somehow, successfully destroyed your mind and ovaries. Using nothing more than his veiled threat the week before.

The first dream could be labeled as a fluke. By the fifth? It was undeniably a pattern.

With an annoyed groan, you climbed to your feet. A slow waddle to the mirror only proved the horrible truth. Your cheeks were still too warm. Eyes too dark and dilated. A light sheen of sweat still coated your skin.

The large jerk had ruined you. You curled your lip at the thought. Internally, you started talking yourself down.

Just because you two had one weird moment where sex charged the air didn't mean that you had to sleep with the man. It didn't matter that your body and subconscious had locked onto him. You'd sooner find a stranger.

You changed into a pair of jogging shorts and a loose tank top that had once been Alice's. Your phone was strapped to your arm, and headphones plugged into your ears before you headed out on your morning run; determined to get the younger Winchester off of your mind.

After all, remaining in the bunker after the night before would be dangerous. A small smile played on your lips as you jogged out into the daylight. Enjoy your day, Sammy...

–

“Just like that.” Sam coached in your ear as you whimpered lightly; grinding yourself against his erection.

His hands kneaded into your thighs in encouragement. It was a new experience. Being in complete control over you. Making you writhe. Forcing you to lose the never ending sass. It took every piece of self control to not turn his head a little further and clamp down on the damp skin of your throat.

You sank down on him slowly; digging your nails into his shoulders. A heavy gasp escaped your lips as your body stretched to accommodate his length. It was his turn to moan as he felt your wet heat squeeze lightly around him.

One hand gripped your ass, and the other dug into the flesh at your hip forcing your body to move how he wanted instead of the slow grind you'd tried to start. You'd been on the edge before he'd pulled you onto his lap from all the time he'd spent teasing your clit with his tongue. All it took was two deep, hard thrusts and you exploded around him with a scream.

When you started settling down, he kissed deeply along your throat. Yanking harshly on your hair enough to give his mouth access to the damp skin he'd wanted to taste. Resisting the urge to sink his teeth into the soft meat of it. Sam didn't give you much time to recover. A broken whine left your lips when his hips shoved upwards.

“Sam...please.” He wasn't quite sure if you were begging him to end the torture he'd been putting you through or if you wanted more. He just knew he didn't want you to stop.

“We're nowhere close to being done, Y/N.” He promised huskily, moving you along him with vigor.

“You're going to- oh!” Your head was thrown back as he hit a particularly sensitive area. “Kill me.” You panted out, scratching deeper into his bicep.

“That's the goal.”

In no time, he had you screaming yet again, “Sam!”

Sam's eyes opened slowly. To his empty bed. He was so hard it hurt. Far from the first occurrence. He'd started dreaming about you since your night of failed rebellion. His mind stuck on the unusual tension that had sprung up between the two of you before.

Over the week alone, Sam managed to keep you contained; much to your displeasure. You were clueless when it came to the inner workings of vehicles. Meanwhile, Sam had learned from the best- his older brother. It had been child's play.

The only downside? You were around nonstop. The dreams muddled his mind. Forcing him to zero in on you whenever you were within proximity.

The more he tried to ignore you, the more you seemed to pop up. He'd gone on a run the night before, thinking it would help clear his head. He'd almost crashed into you about a mile down. It was as if he had pissed off one of the fates again.

To make matters worse, you'd decided that he was the devil. Not Lucifer or Crowley.

You shot him dark looks, knowing he was the one who'd disabled your vehicle. However, that was far from the end. The meals had stopped; leaving him to fend for himself. His laundry ended up removed from the washer- sopping wet and soap filled- and left in the clothes basket. A million tiny things. Nothing compared to what he knew you were capable of, but it crept under his skin all the same.

As he climbed into the shower, he couldn't help but to acknowledge that he'd lucked out as a whole. You'd been more than merciful over the last few pranks. That is, until the noticed that the water running over his body carried a trace of grit.

“What the-” Sam looked up at the shower head, and sure enough, the water was the color of fresh blood. “Y/N...” He gritted his teeth tightly, tasting the hint of watered down koolaid that dripped over his face. He'd gotten too comfortable too soon.

The water ran cold before the water was usable. But, he was a hunter. He could tolerate that. Anything to get the cherry red dust off his skin. Sam settled into the spray, only to find that his soap wouldn't lather up. Closer inspection showed that it was covered in a clear sheen of nail polish. Distrustfully, he tested his shampoo. When his chest hair didn't simmer off, turn color, or any other noticeable side effect, he used it as a body wash.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the end. As he sprayed his cologne, Sam discovered it had been replaced with perfume. Not any perfume, though. It was a cloaking brand that filled his lungs until they burned.

When he turned on his computer afterwards in an attempt to find an excuse to leave the bunker, he couldn't access any of the icons on his screen. It took him roughly five minutes to figure out you'd hacked into it. You'd deleted all of his icons after changing the background to a screenshot of his usual desktop.

Having had enough, he shot to his feet. Slamming into your room, he found it empty. Every inch of the bunker left him suspicious. However, you were nowhere to be found.

Sam tugged out his cell to give you a piece of his mind. Only to find his phone stuck in Japanese. It took him half an hour to fix that one. He had no idea how you'd managed it all without him realizing, but he was too furious to appreciate the work you'd put into your revenge. He didn't even bother to call you when he was done fixing the device. Too wound up to speak coherently. Even to your voicemail.

When he went to attempt to prepare something edible to hold him over since you were on strike, the eggs wouldn't leave the carton. You'd glued them down. He smashed two, trying to pull them out. Sending the yolk all over his clean clothes. By the third, he thought he'd gotten clever. He cracked the egg over the pan. Instead, nothing happened when he'd carefully maneuvered it. Only to discover that it had been soft boiled. Just enough to throw him off, and keep him hungry.

The coffee he made ended up being a bitter tea. When he tried sweetening it a bit with sugar to make it more bearable, he discovered it was salt. The Oreo he went to eat was filled with toothpaste. Nothing in the bunker was safe to him after that.

It was an easy fix to get your car up and running. He was determined to get something to eat that hadn't been tampered with before hunting you down. As soon as the vehicle turned over, the windshield wipers went up; staining the window with black window paint right across his line of sight. He figured it would be a simple resolution. Only to find that there was no windshield wiper fluid left.

You might not have known how to work on a car, but you'd had no problem 'cleaning' the windshield until it was gone before dumping out the spare kept at the bunker. If he wanted to leave, he was going to have to scrub it off of the windshield the old fashioned way. Further delaying him.

He decided at that point that you were well on your way to being a Knight of Hell, at the very least. Crowley was less of a pain in the ass. Cursing your name, again, he slammed his head down on the horn.

--

“Hey,” Dean walked into Sam's room in the early afternoon.

“Hey, when'd you get back?” Sam pulled his shirt on. Still damp from his second shower of the day.

He'd been hoping to run into you during a jog, but you'd obviously found a way out of the bunker. The hunter hadn't seen you all day. It wasn't difficult to piece it together. You'd either sweet talked Bane into giving you a lift, or had hitchhiked the hell out of the area. He grudgingly acknowledged that you'd planned it all out rather well.

“About ten minutes ago.” Dean glanced out to see if anyone was around before he shut the door. Making sure you didn't walk by to hear what he had to say. “Now...what did you want to talk about?”

Sam had called him that morning, raving like a lunatic. Demanding to talk everything over with his older brother. Apparently the reminder didn't settle well with the younger man. He winced at the memory.

“Just needed to be sure of something.” Sam ran his hand through his damp hair. Looking more sheepish than ever before.

“Shoot.” Dean nodded warily, leaning against his brother's desk.

“You and Y/N... you're not...” Sam trailed off with a pointed little, awkward, shrug. Saying it without actually having to say, or rather ask, it.

“Oh.” Dean straightened up as if he'd been stabbed. “Oh, no.” His face scrunched at the very idea. “I mean, she's...she's something real special. I'd have to be blind not to have noticed. But, no.” A shudder ran through the hunter. After a moment of thought, he continued. “Kissed her once. Not too long after I met her. It was just... not passionate.” He wrinkled his nose at the memory. It'd been the most awkward romantic experience in his life. Then, it clicked who was asking the question. “Why?”

“I always...well, I kind of thought...” Sam trailed off, and nodded to hedge the idea out. Dean got the message loud and clear. His face contorted at the very thought. “It's stupid. Never mind.”

“Damn right, it is.” Your best friend hissed out in dismay. “What the fuck brought this on, anyway?”

“Not what you're thinking.” The younger brother managed dryly.

“Then what, Sam?” Dean wasn't convinced. There was just something about his brother's face. Sam had almost looked relieved to hear it from him.

“She just went out, and it got me thinking.” Sam brushed it off, kicking his feet up on his bed. “Didn't seem quite right for her to go out to try and get laid if she had something going on with you.”

“Right.” He didn't buy it for a second. His eyes narrowed in obvious warning as he looked over at the taller of the two. “She's going to be back in a few hours. No paybacks, Sam. As far as I'm concerned, you two are even. I'm not getting caught in the middle of this. Again.”

“You don't want toothpaste stuffed Oreos?” Sam's smile twisted up wryly.

“You're the one who hit hard first.” Dean pointed out, loyally. “She just took it up a notch. Don't dish it out if you can't take it, Sam...” Trailing off, he turned to sniff. A second followed. He'd noticed it when it first came in, but it was getting stronger with the door shut. “Dude, why does your room smell like lavender?”

“Y/N. Hidden air fresheners. I've found three so far. ” He glowered as he took a deep breath.

At first he'd thought it was a kind gesture. A peace offering of sorts. Then, it had grown to be overwhelming as time went on. His eyes watered from the strength of the stench.

It was revenge. Plain and simple. He'd never be able to smell lavender the same way. A hell of a problem since most women seemed to be fond of it.

“Well,” Dean didn't bother to try to hide his grin. “Could have been worse. Could have been Cod, like I suggested...”

“You were helping her?” Things were rough enough with the one against him. Sam would be powerless against both.

“She didn't listen to anything I suggested.” Dean shrugged; his lip popping out in a small pout. “I guess she did okay on her own.” Okay? Sam's mind couldn't wrap around the word. You'd passed 'okay' on the prank scale once you'd hit his computer. You'd excelled at the war.

“Whose side are you on?” Sam asked, grudgingly. Wondering just how much ammunition you'd been given.

“I'm neutral territory, Sammy.” Dean grinned broadly. Then, it fell slightly as his mind started working.

“What?”

“You're my brother...I'd do anything for you...” Dean's jaw worked as he forced the words out. “I'm asking this as a favor to me, not for her. She'd kill me if she knew I was talking to you about this...” Sam narrowed his eyes a bit. Not liking where it was going. “Lay off a bit. She's having a hard time, lately.”

“You think I'm the cause?” Sam didn't buy it. Not with how you'd risen to battle.

“Part of it.” Dean answered honestly. “I think there's more to it than that, though.” His hand came up, wiping across his face lightly. “She's living for us, Sam. But, she never gets out. She never gets to meet new people...”

“Dean.... no-”

“I want her to come out on the road with us. It's been a bit since she's been out on her own. She's probably a bit rusty. With both of us there, there's no chance of her getting hurt.” Sam didn't agree. At all.

Dean was going to get you killed. He was sure of it. When he'd tried to mention it, Dean was unconvinced. Sam wasn't getting a choice in the matter. Great. Just great.

–

You'd stayed away until you were absolutely positive you had Dean as a buffer after the- totally justified- warfare tactics you'd thrown towards his brother. You hadn't seen him until Dean called you to dinner.

The table was lined with take out. He had no idea what you'd contaminated during your prank frenzy, and didn't bother to find out. Smart man. You were the only one who knew what all had been hit.

It was hard not to take great pleasure in the bit of hesitancy Sam had when he saw you. It took him too long to sit. As if the chair would fall apart beneath him. You weren't that juvenile. You'd simply hit where you knew it would hit the hardest. His chair hadn’t been included in the mix.

Small talk filled the room as you all scarfed down the Chinese. About the current hunt. The upcoming one.

“We want you to come with us.” Dean stated simply, making your fork stop before it could reach your open mouth. Slowly, you lowered it back to your carton. Your brows pinched together as you replayed the word 'we' in your mind. “Right, Sam?” Dean looked pointedly at his brother, who appeared to be more put out than anything. But, he nodded, and even tried to send you a friendly smile. Now, that's new. Your eyes narrowed distrustfully in response, making Sam turn to his brother with a look that said 'told you'. “See? It'll be great.” The older brother did his little fake smile, as if he was truly convinced the hunt wouldn't end in death of you or Sam. “Please?”

“I want my own room-”

“Deal.” Dean agreed, slamming his hand down on the table hard enough to make you and Sam both jump at the sound. Wide eyed you stared at him. He cleared his throat lightly, and pulled his food closer to him. “It's settled then.” He took a bite, looking down to try and play cool.

“You didn't even hear the rest of my stipulations.” You pointed out, a small smile pulling your lips almost downwards as you tried to hold it back.

Dean's head shook fiercely, “Doesn't matter. We'll do it.”

“We will?” Sam turned to his brother as if he'd sold his soul again. A grunt followed a thump, before a pained look your way. You had little doubt that Dean's boot had hit Sam's shin. A pitiful, entirely false, smile was sent your way before he gritted out, “We will.”

“Well then,” You grinned towards Sam, mischief glinting in your eyes. “Who am I to say no?” If looks could kill, you would have been a goner.

Dean carried an air that was a little apprehensive, but determined. You? Sam would describe it as devious, and plotting.The older man saw something else, though. 

You appeared more thoughtful as you glanced over at Sam after a moment. Almost hopeful. As if you wanted the chance to prove yourself to the other half of the Winchester duo. He turned his eyes back to his sibling. Sammy kept peeking your way when he thought it was clear.

Something had shifted. It was subtle, but undeniable. Dean chewed his food, looking between you two for a second time. He definitely hadn't imagined it. As if it hadn't been bad enough before...

Part Five

Tag: @burningmusicmachine @missmarrinette @sherlockedtash88 @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @sasbb23

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger

[what-the-ship]

Tickling the Ivories: Chapter 2

Dakota and Cavendish share a brain cell but Milo has full custody.

Thank all of you for the support the last few days. Part one: Here

Sunday was laundry day. The Laundromat they liked to use was moderately clean, plus it had a vending machine that was always well-stocked. Several people were milling around not speaking a word to each other. Each wrapped up in their own story.

Leaning against one of the tables Dakota glanced back and forth between the muted television hanging from the ceiling to their sloshing clothes. It was kind of trippy seeing the bright red and orange swirl together with the muted hunter’s green. When he got bored of that he would read the awful subtitles to the soap opera playing. Cavendish had the foresight to bring a book.

Long legs stretched out in front of him he was reading the book with both hands. Reading the cover Dakota noticed something about the title.

“Why’d you get a book with a misspelled title?” He asked before popping another corn chip in his mouth.

“What?” Cavendish asked in his usual Im-so-done-with-this tone. Dakota gestured to the cover with the hand holding the bag.

“They spelled ‘worm’ wrong.”

Cavendish glanced at the cover before sighing loudly.

“It’s an old English word term, that usually refers to huge limbless and wingless serpents. Over the years the meaning has been changed to refer to dragons apparently. From what I’ve gathered the author seemed to think the wordplay was worth being inaccurate with the title.” Cavendish explained barely looking up from the text.

Dakota’s possible next comment was interrupted by a bale of hay with the Murphy Trio hurling through the large glass window. Zack tumbled kicking the book right out of Cavendish’s hands right into an open dryer. The momentum forced the door to shut and caused the internal mechanism to start the unit on the hottest setting. In seconds the book began to smoke and the machine stopped.

“Sorry Cavendish,” Zack said retrieving the text. He pulled out the book only for it dissolve into a pile of ash on the floor. “Again, sorry.”

“Great now I’ll never know if Griff gets turned back to normal.” The tall man complained throwing his hands up.

“Oh? Are you talking about that Nicholas Flamel book? Its actually very interesting-“Melissa was cut off by being shushed by a fussy older man.

“No spoilers.”

“MY GOODNESS IS THAT THE TIME?” Milo exclaimed noticing the clock before it fell off the wall.

“Got to get this to Amanda before the competition.” He pulled out a pink polka-dotted present before slipping it back into his backpack.

“So planning on doing anything with your girlfriend tonight?” Tease Melissa making kissy noises.

“No. I’m going to watch my parents compete…from home.” Realizing he was ending the conversation on an awkward he turned to the two-time travelers. “Bet you two have an interesting night planned. You two are always doing something interesting.”

“Nope. This is it.” Dakota moved the hay bale where he wanted it to sit down. Cavendish sat next to him pulling out his phone.

“Besides. Why would we do anything for Valentine’s day?” Cavendish asked rhetorically still not looking up from his phone. Zack and Melissa looked at each other to mouth ‘I thought they were’ ‘Yeah me too’ to one another. Milo gave the two a hard stare, out of the corner of his eye Dakota saw a look that pierced his soul.

He knew the truth Dakota refused to acknowledge and he wasn’t pleased.

The God of mercy remembers Dakota existed and granted him a small blessing in the form of Milo’s phone ringing. Expression changing from scolding to joy Milo answered his phone.

“Hey, mom. Right. Oh, that does sound serious. Right. Yeah, we’ll find you a replacement. I love you too. Bye.” Milo still had grin as he announced his dad was on his way to the hospital and they now needed a replacement for the ‘last couple standing’ competition.

“Don’t look at me. My parents are out of town.” Zack waved his hands.

“Same.” Melissa nodded.

“Mm. If only we knew of someone else.” Milo gripped his chin thinking.

“Eh?” Melissa asked motioning to the two men now. Zack shrugged.

“Say, Dakota.” Milo took a step towards them. He fished out a flyer to hand to them.

“Not happening kid. I don’t know what it is but we want no part of it.” The teens look taken aback a little. Cool, laid back Dakota was being curt. Cavendish looked up from his phone to see what was written on the flyer.

“We’ll do it,” Cavendish announced taking the flyer from a stunned Milo. Ignoring the four puzzled looks the Brit folded the paper like a letter before tucking it into his coat.

“Alright see you at 6!” Milo smiled before leading his friends out of the Laundromat.

“Since when do you go for things like that?” Dakota exclaimed half crushing the rest of his chips.

“Not like we have anything better to do.” Cavendish had pulled out his phone again. “Might as well enjoy ourselves.” Dakota could feel his eye twitching under his shades. Unwarranted fury began to boil up inside him. All this time he’d been walking on egg shells and just…gah! Too many mixed signals man!

“I’m gunna lay down,” Dakota announced making his way to the van.

“Have a good lie down then. I can finish here.” Cavendish called out to his friend’s retreating back.

%%

Stretched over the entrance to the High School football field was a banner announcing, “The last Couple Standing”. Seeing the font they used Dakota felt a bubble of unease in his stomach. That font didn’t look too friendly. A small protest exited his mouth only to be drowned out by Cavendish hollering at him to hurry up.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dakota complained unbuckling himself to follow after.

%%

“Well, that went as well as expected,” Cavendish mumbled dragging his heels back towards the van.

“I’m starting to think Murphy’s Law is contagious.” Dakota moaned nursing his arm. The two looked like they fought a flame thrower wielding grizzly bear. Licking his fingers Cavendish put out his smoldering mustache. It all started with a single firework that started a series of events Rube Goldberg would be proud of.

“Just as we were winning too.” The grey-haired man scowled leaning back into the mostly empty van.

Leaving the doors still, open Dakota sat next to his partner to tap out a few pebbles that got lodged in there by the exploding fish tank from earlier. Who brought a two-gallon fish tank to school event anyway?

“Hey. I still don’t get why this stupid contest meant so much to you.” Dakota snapped digging wood shrapnel from his curls. Still lying on his back Cavendish pulled out the folded up flyer from earlier. Dakota unfolded it to read over the entire flyer. In the bottom left-hand corner in a spikey purple blurb, it stated the grand prize was a fifty dollar gift card to Rita’s Burritos.

“You seemed rather down lately. So I thought maybe a gift card to your favorite restaurant might help make you feel better.” Cavendish threw his arm over his eyes to give them a rest.

“You did this…for me?” Dakota was not choking up. He refused. Remembering he had picked up something earlier he reached behind one of the crates still leftover from yesterday’s clean. “Hey, I got you something too.“ It wasn’t wrapped so he just set on Cavendish’s middle taking the air out him slightly. Uncovering his eyes he saw a black orange keyboard lying in his lap.

“What’s this then?” He turned it on eager to hear what it sounded like.

“Obviously we can’t get a proper piano so I thought I’d improvise.” Dakota gestured to the three-pound instrument. There was a pause between the two of them.  Heart sinking his toothy smile faded to nothing. “You hate it.”  

In response, the taller man leaned forward to give a proper hug. He gave a small nuzzle before turning his face a little to-

They both froze for a second. In a flash the two separate wearing mirroring red looks on their faces. In an attempt to break the tension Dakota suggested a song. The two of them played several versions of ‘Going to the Zoo’ before they called it a night. Both smiling wide the two of them messed around with the keyboard well into the night.