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[nordenhelm]

My illustration for Caffeine Rush Zine @bycmykae 💙

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Ignorant | Steve Rogers

Wow I was really going through it with this one, huh? I think I listened to Bring Me To Life by Evanescence for the entire two hours it took to write this. I never write this fast-- I'm really going through it LOL! I hope you enjoy lovelies! It's the first Steve fic for Dinner at DIzzy's!

Appetizers (Tags): Angst

Entres (Pairing): Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Sides (Prompts): 3: “Apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

Notes: This has a ton of swearing, Requested by Anon

Word Count: 1.8k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“Just because you’re the leader here doesn’t mean you have the right to be an asshole, Steve!” Y/n hisses at the man, fists balled at her side.

She’s not going to swing. She would never swing on him— at least she doesn’t think she would— but right now she’s so damn close. All day he’s been pushing her around, yelling at her for the slightest trip ups. Yelling at all of them. She understands that being fugitives isn’t easy but holy shit can the man chill out for five minutes? She fell asleep in the backseat of the car for five fucking minutes! Certainly that doesn’t warrant the hour tongue lashing she just got. It does, however, warrant her retaliation.

He takes a step towards her, face twisted in a snarl unlike anything she’s ever seen before. “Watch your language!”

She doesn’t back down— she’s not scared of him. “Don’t fucking yell at me then! Stop being a dick!”

She doesn’t feel bad for the insult or the way he flinches, his eyes darkening immensely. She had tried to politely ask him for space thirty minutes ago and he didn’t give her any. If he gets to blow off steam or whatever the fuck he’s doing than so will she.

“I’ll stop being a dick when you get some common sense!”

Steve’s raising his own voice now, getting right in her face, and she only pushes forward, her cheeks filling with heat and her stomach clenching painfully. The audacity of this man is incredible. His usual light eyes are a deep navy color now, almost black from his blown pupils. He looks crazy— she doesn’t doubt that she does as well. She would bet money that she looks insane.

“I fell asleep for five fucking minutes and Sam was right fucking next to me! What the fuck is your problem?” She’s doing it on purpose now— if he doesn’t want her to swear then that’s all she’s going to do.

Maybe it’s the triple F-bomb that has the sound of feet pounding against concrete echoing through their shoddy apartment. Maybe it’s just the yelling in general. Either way it’s a good thing that Natsaha and Sam come sprinting in from the other room of the two room complex because if they hadn’t then she’s sure her fist would be cracking against the jaw of Captain Douchebag right now.

“Woah, woah, woah— what the hell’s going on in here?” Sam is quick to get in the middle of them, pushing the super soldier to one end of the room while Nat yanks on y/n’s hoodie. “We could hear you idiots from the stairwell.”

Y/n struggles against Nat for a moment, vision tinted red at the edges. From across the room Steve glares at her, seething. She can practically feel the hatred pouring off of him. It stings at her chest, biting into her veins. He would have kept yelling at her if they hadn’t stopped him, she just knows it. She wishes he would so she could scream back— her stomach and muscles are still tight and she’s aching to lay into him some more. She barely even started and now she feels like she’s about to bubble over.

“Seriously—” Nat tugs again and y/n stops fighting, opting instead to glower at the blonde from across the room— “What’s gotten into you two? You’re supposed to be the responsible ones!”

Steve tears his arm from Sam’s hold but doesn’t clear the space between them. “Why don’t you ask y/n—” he tilts his head, sneering again— “What was it you said ten minutes ago? Oh yeah— apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

Why that little fucking— “Don’t put fucking words in my mouth!”

She storms past Natasha, dodging her arm as it flies out— you’re not the only trained markswoman here Nat. Steve does the same, bowling past Sam easily to meet her in the middle of the room.

“Why not? It’s what you meant right?” He’s in her face again, breath hot on her face, and she only retaliates by fuming right back.

She feels like a dragon facing down her enemy— she’s ready to burn the entire building down if it means lowering him a peg or five.

“Actually it wasn’t but now it is you narcissistic dick.”

She can feel Natasha start to pull on her hoodie again but she’s not done— not now. Not when she’s just gotten started.

“You just can’t handle hearing the truth y/n— you can’t handle it when I tell you what you did was wrong. That you could have gotten us fucking killed with your ignorance—”

Her veins flood with fire, her lips curling into a painful scowl. In that moment everything turns slow, her heartbeat a dull thump, thump, thump in her ears, drowning out the rest of his sentence. The only thing that gives away that he’s still speaking is his mouth moving, his teeth bared and ready to be knocked out.

Oh so she’s ignorant now is she? Yeah well fuck you Rogers!

This time the only thing that stops her fist from slamming into Steve’s jaw is Sam catching it mid air, her knuckles slapping off his palm and bringing the sounds in the room rushing back to her at full force. She stumbles back with the impact but the soldier catches her, steadying her on her feet with a worried look in his soft brown eyes. It feels like she’s been underwater for days, her ears popping painfully as she gasps for breath.

“—s enough Steve!” When y/n blinks Nat is shoving her palm against the super soldier’s chest. “You need to back the hell off!”

She doesn’t realize until her eyelashes stick to her cheeks that they’re wet. That she’s crying. The sobs catch up to her when it registers, wracking through her with a force strong enough to have her whole body shaking. Sam is the first to notice, reaching out for her but she backs away, shaking her head. The room falls silent, three pairs of eyes now trained on her but she’s only looking at one pair of wide blue ones. Steve’s chest is heaving up and down, a cross between a feral and a confused look slathered across his features.

The look ignites the last of the dying spark inside her, her hand landing against her chest, wrapping around the dog tags hanging off her neck and yanking until she hears a snap. She waits for the chain to pool in her hands before she whips the metal across the room, hitting him square in the chest with a roar that’s more animal than human tearing from her throat— you wanted flames and now you’re going to get them.

“I’m ignorant? Me? Did you ever stop to ask yourself why the fuck I fell asleep today?” She slips her hands into her hair, tugging so hard on the roots that her scalp feels like it’s burning. “How about because last night you came back from scouting three hours late and looking like you got mauled by a fucking bear? And I asked you what happened and you wouldn't tell me a goddamn thing! You— Mister fucking super serum whatever the fuck! You just went to bed and I spent the rest of the night listening to you gasp for air! Not knowing if the shit was even working or if I was going to wake up to you gone! I—”

Her voice cracks and she curses, scraping her wrist across her face to wipe away some of the hot tears pooling down her cheeks. They feel like trails of lava melting her skin as they rush over her jaw and drip onto the floor. Steve’s face has morphed completely during the span of her rant, his mouth falling open, lips no longer busted open like they had been last night but still horrifying to look at right now. She knows he wants to say something— maybe he even wants to apologize— but there’s no fucking way she’s letting him. She’s not finished yet.

“I spent all night wondering if I was going to lose you! That I would wake up and have nothing! You’re my everything and I thought you were going to die and you wouldn’t tell me anything. So yeah, I guess I’m ignorant! Fuck you too.”

Her throat is raw by the time she’s done spitting the words at him, her head fuzzy from a lack of oxygen and her waning rage. It’s giving way too quickly to sadness— to the agonizing kind of heartbreak that has all her organs seemingly shutting down. Her face is sticky and itchy and she needs to get away from him right now.

She turns to meet the stunned faces of Sam and Nat, swallowing hard and wincing at the way her esophagus stings. She’s not going to have a voice at all tomorrow— or for the next week at this rate. Sam’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head from how wide they are, his mouth open but— like Steve— no words are coming out. She flicks her eyes to Nat who, thankfully, springs into action, nodding her head to the door, the question clear in her eyes— want to get the fuck out of here? Y/n doesn’t answer, she just starts walking.

It’s in that moment that Steve snaps out of his stupor, racing to catch her at the door, warm hand curling gently around her wrist. She doesn’t even give herself a second to enjoy it— to fall into his touch and forget the agony in her chest— before she’s ripping her arm away from him, cradling it against her chest and backing away from him.

“Baby I—” His face is tight, his light brows creasing the middle of his forehead.

She can see it— the regret. It carves across his face, tugging his lips into a frown and making his eyes glass over. Her chest squeezes at the sight, her own eyes coating with a fresh sheen of tears. She wants to wrap her arms around him— to tell him that she forgives him and that she loves him and that she’s scared— but he did this not her and before she knows it she’s taking another step back, shoulder bumping into Nat’s as she shakes her head.

“I’m sleeping with Nat tonight. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Night, Steve.”

Steve’s face falls, the first of his tears pooling down his now angelic face, and as she hesitates. Maybe she should— she feels a tug on her hand, glancing down to where Natasha’s slender fingers wrap around her forearm. She doesn’t have the strength to fight her comrade as she pulls her past the door frame.

As the super soldier falls from her line of sight all she can hear is Sam’s exhausted voice—

“Let her go, man.”

—and she breaks.

[harryhandstan]

so..I hate that this is so late but happy to finally have this done and be posting it for y’all! hope you enjoy! thank you to my betas @tbslenthusiast, @serendipitystyles, and @summertimestyles​ you’re all angels!! also sham was so kind to help me create a playlist for this fic which you can find here!

this is for @taintedwonder​‘s Styles Valentine’s Day fic challenge and most of the photos from the header were my inspo along with prompts 3. Can you just hold my hand? and 6. Let’s run away together.

as always any likes, rbs, replies, and feedback is welcome and very much appreciated!

word count: 4.1k

writing tag | masterlist

You can read his face before he even opens his mouth to speak.

“You have to leave again, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer at first, just joins you where you sit on the bed, an arm around your waist to urge you closer to him. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, as if that will soothe the sting of what he’s about to say. He buries his face into your neck before he speaks.

“Only for a little while, angel.”

You don’t respond by returning the kiss like you normally would, narrowing your eyes down to where he’s hiding his face, “How long is a ‘little while’?” 

“You could always come with me, y’know..” 

He’s avoiding the answer and he knows it, eyes darting up only briefly to look at your face. 

“How long, Harry?”

He’s fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt now, focusing on the loose thread hanging instead.

You nudge him lightly, pulling his attention back up to you, “Just say it! How long?”

He sucks in a big breath before releasing it and then the words come out in a rush, “A few weeks, possibly a month.”

You have to take your own deep breath before asking, “When do you have to leave?”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

“Promise.”

“My flight’s on the 14th.”

“February 14th? As in we don’t get to spend Valentine’s Day together?”

“M’so sorry, love, I really thought we were gonna get to spend the day together.” 

He’s pulled back from where he was hiding his face, studying yours now. It hurts him to see the disappointment written there; the pinch in your brow, the downturned corners of your mouth, the way your eyes have temporarily lost their shine and fallen misty.

“Ya really could come with me, y’know. Take a bit of time off, would do you some good to take a break.”

He knows better, knows it’s just a fantasy that you would ever be able to get that much time off from work to be able to travel with him.

“C’mon, love, let’s run away together.”

The way he’s looking at you know, it really wouldn’t take much more convincing to turn his fantasy into a reality.

“What am I gonna do when I’m cold and don’t have you as my personal heater to help me get warm?”

“S’why I left you my pillow to snuggle with. There’s a ton of extra blankets too, use as many of those as ya need.”

How could you explain that no amount of warmth from any blanket would ever compare to his? A blanket wasn’t capable of softly brushing your hair back from your face or tenderly pressing it’s lips to yours as you drift off to sleep. You open your mouth to try to illustrate such facts, but you close your mouth just as quick. You aren’t trying to be difficult or clingy, and you don’t want your last bit of time together to be filled with your complaints.

That thought only lasts for a moment, your anxiety building with each mile closer to the airport, “Well what do I do when your pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore?”

“I’ll try to be back before that happens, deal? Besides, you’ve got a whole drawer of my t-shirts to sleep in too. They all smell like me, right?”

“They do, but, Harry..what if..”

“Shh, hey, we’ve been through this before, right? S’gonna be hard for me to be away from you too, but I promise we’ll be alright. You can call me anytime you’re missin’ me, remember?”

His voice is that of someone trying to pacify a small child just before a tantrum, and you feel as though you’re being whiny and unreasonable. Missing him when he was away was almost unbearable though; everything seemed heavy and dimmer and you know it would feel like an eternity before you were together again. 

“Promise we’ll make up today the second I come home. You plan the whole day and just tell me when and where to show up, okay?’

The fact that it was Valentine’s Day didn’t matter so much to you. You and Harry made it a point throughout your days spent together to express your love to one another whenever you could, so today was really just..another day to spend together. So it’s missing him that has tears forming in your eyes again, just as they had the night before.

“Can you just hold my hand? Until..” You don’t finish the sentence, letting your voice trail off so he won’t hear it break.

“‘Course I can, baby.” He offers his hand, never taking his eyes off the road even as he lifts your hand to his mouth to place a kiss to the back of it.

Though you know he would never admit to it, you swear you feel the speed of the car slow just the tiniest bit, Harry wanting to add as much to your limited time together as he can.

Despite it still being light outside, coming home to the space you normally share together alone makes you want to do nothing but crawl right back in bed. It’s mid-afternoon and with Harry not home to motivate you to do something more productive, that’s exactly what you aim to do.

After dropping your purse and keys near the door and double checking the locks, you’re startled by the sight of a bouquet of bright pink roses adorning your dining room table. They definitely weren’t there when you left, and you pluck the small card nestled between the flowers with your name scrawled across the front. It’s Harry’s almost illegible handwriting and the sight of it makes your heart soar with excitement before you flip it open to read the message. 

It’s simple and small, more of his writing scratched across the cream colored paper in bold, black ink. Love, love, love, H. There’s a badly drawn heart underneath the note, and that makes you giggle out loud, filling the silence. If Harry were here, he’d have some cheeky comment about how adorable your laughter is, how he loved the sound of it.

“Don’t want you moping around the whole time m’gone, yeah? Promise me y’ll do more than just sulk around the place until I get back?” This reminder was given just before he’d had to rush off to catch his plane, giving you no time to offer him much more than a quick peck and a sad smile as an agreement. 

So technically what you plan to do would not be considered breaking a promise, just..catching up on the sleep you would’ve gotten if you hadn't had to wake up so early to ride with Harry to the airport. Normally that was something you would decline to do, preferring to sleep in, which Harry usually was fine with; but this time he had insisted on you accompanying him on his drive, wanting to get as much time with you on this day as he could. 

Just as you're about to venture down the hallway to the bedroom, you spot another item you’re sure hadn’t been on your coffee table earlier that morning when you’d left. It’s a medium sized box, messily wrapped with red paper and tied with purple ribbon and a bow. It’s quite heavy when you lift it, so you sit on the nearby couch to avoid dropping it. You waste no time tearing the paper away, lifting the lid to reveal a candle surrounded by tissue paper. 

There’s a pack of two lighters wedged next to the candle, and you curiously pull it from the box first to see more of Harry’s handwriting on a red sticky note. 

Baby you light up my world like nobody else...

That pulls another laugh from you, this one is bigger and echoes through the dimly lit space. The candle itself is a scent he knows you love, and you bring it closer to your face and inhale deeply. The smell of it helps ease even more of the unease and sadness of him being gone. You dig your phone out of your pocket to check the time and try to calculate whether his plane has landed and he would be able to answer a call from you. 

You ultimately decide to nap first and give him a chance to get settled. He would most likely be calling you later anyway, missing you just as much as you missed him and wanting to hear your voice. You could thank him then for the flowers, candle, and the laugh. So you continue your journey to the bedroom, slipping out of your clothes and sliding open the drawer of Harry’s t-shirts. He’s right, they do all smell like him and you run your fingers along the soft fabrics before selecting one. 

It’s plain white, one of his undershirts normally tucked beneath his expensive button ups and ruffles, but today it’s perfect and comforting attire to doze off in. It’s loose and just long enough on you that you don’t feel the need to put on a pair of your pj shorts with it, The bed is still messy from the morning, and you swear you can still see the outline of where Harry’s body normally tucks next to you on his side. You pull the blanket back and crawl into your usual spot, but it doesn’t feel right; it’s too empty and quiet without Harry. 

You grab his pillow from his side and try your best to replicate the way you would curl yourself around him if he was here. It takes a bit of time to adjust, but eventually you give up and just try to relax into the mattress as much as possible, covering your head slightly with the blanket to surround yourself with warmth.

You peek through the space uncovered to the alarm clock on the bedside table on Harry’s side, the bright red letters read 12:32 p.m. and you let out a deep sigh before drifting off to sleep. If you weren’t so tired, the thought that crosses your mind might just make you laugh again.

Alone in bed in the afternoon on Valentine’s Day. What a shame. 

You wake with a start, bolting upwards at the sound of your phone ringing loudly from somewhere near the bed. You don’t even bother to open your eyes to see who it is, just following the motions to answer and plop back down onto your spot as you let out an almost breathless and groggy “hello?”

“Not missin’ me too much, I see, took you a whole minute to answer,'' You know he’s joking by the hint of amusement in his voice and relief floods through your chest before any other feeling at the idea of him making it safely to his destination, “You alright, love? Sound a bit outta breath. Having some fun in our bed without me?”

“I..no, I was napping, promise, your call just scared me awake..how did you know I’m in bed?”

“I’m only teasing. Just a guess, figured you’d find your way back to the bed not long after you got home.”

“Found the flowers and the candle. Your note on the lighters made me laugh, thank you. How’d you do that though? They weren’t there when we left for the airport and you didn’t come back in.”

“Had one of my assistants drop the flowers off, and the candle’s been stashed in the closet for a week so she set it out for me while she was there. Wish I could’ve been there to see your face and hear that laugh,” He giggles at the thought of it, “S’that all you found? The flowers and the candle? I assume you found the one in the bathroom too, right?”

You’re more alert now, sitting up again to try to process what he’s saying more easily, “What do you mean? There’s more? The bathroom?”

“A few more, yeah. Hid here and there for you to find.”

“You left me a scavenger hunt? Do I at least get clues to help me find them all?”

“I’ve just given you one, haven’t I? Might be persuaded to give you a few more later.”

You’re up off the bed now, making your way to the bathroom where another surprise awaits. You hesitate for only a moment, stopping just as you reach the door.

“What’s in the bathroom? More flowers? One of those big, fluffy teddy bears?”

“M’not gonna tell you! You gotta go in to find out!”

Flipping on the light switch has you gasping at what you see. A heart, entirely made from more red sticky notes, each one embellished with reminders of his love for you. You stumble over words, trying to form a coherent response.

He senses your shock even through the phone and graciously gives you a moment before asking, “S’the heart all wonky or does it look nice? Told them to make it as straight as possible.”

“H..it’s beautiful! How did you have time to write all these before you left?”

“Finished up most of them last night after you fell asleep. They came to me a lot easier with my muse snoring next to me.” 

You truly don’t know what to say to that. You’ve never had someone be so bright and loud with their love for you and just this simple expression makes you feel so incredibly special and loved.

You know that emotion is flowing through the phone when he speaks again, softer and lower, “Y’sure you won’t let me fly you out here to be with me?”

There’s the sound of another voice before Harry barks out another laugh, “Jeff says m’proper miserable without you. He said he’d pay you whatever your salary would be for the next month just to have you here.”

“Tempting, but..” Harry knows how much you love your job and how such a long absence would jeopardize the career you’ve built, so you know he probably won’t mention it again.

“Technically it was gonna be part of my present for you, so..I’ll give you another clue.”

“How very generous of you, H. Will this one make me cry too?”

“Maybe. Knowing you, probably,” You roll your eyes but listen for further instructions, “Just remember I had to rush and there’s still a few I didn’t get to add but, go get your laptop.”

“What’d you do to my laptop?”

“Would ya just go get it? C’mon I’ve gotta hang up soon and I wanna hear your reaction before I hafta go.” 

“Alright, I got it. What now?”

“Go to your music library.” He gives you a moment to navigate through your programs, “Should be a playlist there with your name on it, lovie. Wait, are you already crying?”

“Shut up! Yes!” You wipe at your eyes with the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing as you try to read over the list of songs, “This is so sweet! The flowers, the candle, the heart and now this. Harry..I didn’t get you anything and you did all this for me. Thank you, I love you.”

“Love you more,” You can just picture the smug smile on his face, pleased that he’s done a good job of surprising you, “You can make it up to me later.” 

“Don’t push your luck there, H. You’ve just been forgiven, I still have time to change my mind, you know.” 

“I know. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” You hear what you assume to be Jeff’s voice again in the background, “I gotta go, babe. I’ll try to call again later, alright?”

“Wait! I don’t get any more clues? Can you at least tell me how many more are left?”

“S’no fun for me if I give away all my secrets now, is it?”

It’s only a day later when you find yourself in the kitchen, uncertain about what to make for dinner, eyes scanning over the ingredients in your pantry. Your laptop sits on the counter nearby, and you hum along to My Girl playing through the speakers, a song selected for you by Harry for the playlist he recently made for you.

You’re about to give up and heat up your leftovers from the Italian take-out you had treated yourself to the night before, when you spot the pack of Haribo gummy bears wedged in the corner. You almost have to stand on your tip-toes to reach it, and when you run your hand along the shelf you find another bag of sweets not far from the gummy bears. You smile down at the two bags, his favorite candy and yours sitting side by side.

There’s another of Harry’s red sticky notes on the pack of gummy bears: Being away from you is unBEARable. More of his cheesy jokes you’re sure he thought of himself. Your candy is void of any words, just another messily drawn heart, this time with your name in the middle. 

You decide to FaceTime him this time, wanting to see his face. It only takes 3 rings for him to answer, a tender “Hi, baby.” falling from his lips. The room he’s in is dimly lit, but you can still see him well enough to notice his hair is damp. His curls are more pronounced than usual, which was a sign he’d been too tired to much more than probably run his fingers through after his shower.

“Found another of your surprises.” You hold the candy up for him to see and he smiles.

“Better save me some of those Haribo, and not just all the colors ya don’t like either.”

You tear open the bag, sticking your tongue out at him before popping a few into your mouth, “I might, if you tell me where all the other surprises are.”

You can see him temporarily consider it, biting his bottom lip and meeting your gaze before he shakes his head, “Nah. I will tell you there’s only one more though..well, depends on how you look at it, but to me they only count as one.”

“They?”

He mimics locking his lips, and you decide to drop it for now, knowing you would most likely have to trick or beg him to tell you later. You’d let him think he won. For now.

You roll the top of the bag of candy down, opening the cabinet to tuck them back into the same corner you found them in. They just didn’t taste the same without him there to enjoy them with you. Plus you still had a still had leftover garlic knots and mushroom ravioli you planned to dig into later.

“S’that the playlist I made for you? Sounds like it.”

The song has changed to At Last, Etta James’ voice filling the small kitchen, “Yeah. I love this song.”

“Me too. Reminds me of you now..my love,” You sway a bit to the music before stopping, leaning forward to where your phone is propped on the counter, “Wish I was there t’dance with you.”

You try your best to hold back your emotions of missing him, but you imagine how he would rest his hands on your hips if was here. How he would spin you to face him and move his hands to rest on your back while he led you around in a slow circle across the floor. It wasn’t just his hands you longed for, it was the way he would bend to your ear to sing along to whatever song you were dancing to, especially one like this he knew you loved. You missed his voice in person, the way it would surround you with a comfort and peace you’d never be able to replicate with anything else. 

No matter what you do you can’t stop your thoughts from trailing to how when the song was over, he would lift you to sit on the counter and kiss your forehead. You’re wearing one of his hoodies tonight, and you pull the sleeve down over your hands to use to try to quickly wipe away any tears before he sees them. Once you feel you’ve reined in your emotions to the best of your abilities, you clear your throat before speaking again.

“I miss you, H.”

“I miss you too, angel.”

The music has changed again, Don’t Worry Baby by The Beach Boys lifting the mood enough you don’t feel so heavy and overwhelming with your yearning for him. You take a deep breath, planning to ask him about his day, but before you have a chance he says, “Go to your bedside table. The top drawer.”

“What?”

“M’tryin’ to tell you where your last surprise is. Go to our bedroom and look in the drawer. I’ll wait.”

You flash him a smile before turning to make your way out of the kitchen, through your living room and down the hall to your bedroom. It takes a bit of searching before you uncover a stack of bright, pastel colored envelopes tied together with the same purple ribbon as the candle from the day before. You work quickly to untie the knot and turn the lamp on so you can read the front of each one. There’s 4 total; open when you need a laugh, open when you miss my hugs, open when you need a reminder of my love, open when you miss me.

You tear into the final one immediately, setting the others aside for later. It’s not very long, the perfect length to boost your spirit even further. Just the thought of him taking time to sit down and write his expression of love for you makes you grin, and has that same feeling of being loved spreading through you as it did the previous day when you saw the heart on the bathroom mirror.

You had almost forgotten leaving him on hold in the kitchen until you hear, even from 3 rooms away, the sound of him singing along to whatever song is playing now. You close your eyes, picturing for a moment that it’s a typical night when he’s home, darting around the kitchen while he makes dinner or puts dishes away.  

You make your way back through the house to him, envelope in hand. Each one had been a different color so the second he sees which one you have his eyes brighten, his smile growing bigger the closer you get.

“Of course you opened that one first. Did y’like it?”

You shake your head no, breaking into a laugh when you see the look of disappointment on his face, “I loved it. Very charming of you to do all this just for me, H.”

“Yeah? I did a good job surprising you then?”

You roll your eyes. This man and his need for praise was too much, but he was yours, and you were his and you would do anything to assure him that you loved him just as much as he loved you.

“You did an amazing job, really, Harry. I never expected you to be able to do so much so last minute.”

His mouth drops open in mock dismay, looking down and shaking his head, “I can’t believe you would ever doubt me!”

You don’t say anything, just shake your own head at his teasing, sharing a look of adoration before you look away.

“Hey, did I leave my lip balm there? The coconut kind I use before bed? Thought I had it in my duffel but I couldn’t find it when I got here.” 

“Yep. I used it earlier when I got out of the shower. Want me to send it to you?”

“Nah, you don’t have to, but..you could bring it to me in person if you wanted.” 

“I would if I could, Harry.”

The tone of a new text from your phone startles you, and you try to suppress your elation as best you can at who it’s from. It’s Jeff, confirming the time of your flight he’d helped you schedule for the following day. Harry knows you too well, would instantly be able to read your face and be suspicious of what you were up to. You step away from his line of sight to let the thrill run through you, to let it fully wash over you so he wouldn’t see. You return as quickly as you can, brushing it off as if you’d just gotten a text from your boss or a friend. He was oblivious, none the wiser at what you were planning.

It was your turn to surprise him. 

[infinitymyth]

“Give me a hero.. that should’ve been a villain.”

( I saw this tumblr post on Pinterest somewhere and I would love to use it as a whump prompt! I did switch it up a bit but this was my main source of inspiration!)

TW: blood, tiny bit of puking, killing, blood splatter, human dropping, slight cursing, broken necks

Hero had always loved the thrill of fighting. The electric pleasure of catching those who wronged the good, Who wrong the world.

Hero woke up to alarms bursting through the headquarters. The tiny robots making obnoxious noise, Telling him of the mission alert.

“Head quarter lockdown!! Head quarter lockdown! Team please meet up!”

Quickly, hero sprang out of bed. His uniform already on; a little crumpled from sleeping in it all day but it would have to do.

he’s prepared

Just like a hero always is.

As they Should be.

Hero threw on his boots and rushed out his room. The door closing behind him and robot following behind. Hero pushed through tons of screaming people. This in turn making him slightly pissed.

Why would you scream In the face of danger? You need to be brave.

After running for a while hero saw the hallways getting lighter and the room getting warmer. The bots were leading him outside.

A figure was seen ahead. “ Hero!” sidekick ran over and pulled hero’s hand.        “ captin told me about the bomber mate, we ain’t killing them just tying them up.” Hero nodded.

Sidekick lead hero outside, As said, there were 3 bomber and healer already outside. Each person deciding on which one of the men to take down then heading to action. Healer and sidekick used a combination of blue and purple magic, limiting the punches and kicks; the body was not to be badly damaged.

Hero took a different approach. He had liked to fight, liked to have the person   fight prove themselves and loose.. the failure having to be one of his favorite parts.

At one point in time sidekick, healer and hero had huddled up to make a plan, one that wouldn’t hurt; Get the job done quicker. Hero had nodded.. he just didn’t listen.. he didn’t want to listen.

Hero kicked the backside of the first bombers legs, causing the man and the remote to clash into his chest. Hero then grabbed the first bombers head and banged it against his own, leaving the man with a bloody nose.

The first bomber put his fist in front of his face, Assuming a boxing position. Taking the first hit, Hero caught his left fist and crushed it in his hand. The bomber leaving a shrill scream.

Sidekick couldn’t take the time to look, The second bomber sitting on his tail, a blue beam was struck out his hand and burned the man just enough to grab the rope on his belt and tie it on his torso. Sidekick taking the time to wrap the rope tightly against the second bombers wrist and legs. The second bomber had no more mobility.

Hero laughed as he crushed the first bombers hand. Feeling cocky he pushed the man off of him. “ Fight like a man bomber!” The bomber ran right back to hero. The bomber not failing to notice the pleasure in the hero’s eyes.

Healer was struggling, She wasn’t normally out in the field, She stayed in the doctors office, She only came out when someone was severely hurt. The 3rd bomber kept throwing the remote under her foot, This in turn causing her to have to take cautious steps and not set of the waiting bomb. She took the purple healing magic and encased the man in a bubble. At first she was scared the plan wouldn’t work but slowly the man started to slow down and fall to the floor. She was glad for her sleeping medicine.

Sidekick dragged the second bomber over to healer. They both tied the bombers to the same pole, The sidekick using magic to keep them in place and make the ropes stronger.

The first bomber was a crumpled mess on the floor when sidekick and healer realized what was going on.

“ Mate! Captin said not to kill em’ aye?” Sidekick yelled.

Not listening, Hero ran over to the crumpled man. Hero lifted his left leg and kicked the first bomber in the face, The back of his skull hitting the steel from the side of the building.

There was red.. everywhere..

The bomber screamed and pleaded. “ p-please s-stop!!” A sadistic smile spread across the hero’s face.

“ mate! STOP!” Sidekick started to run over. Healer slowly following behind, Not wanting to be in the way of any danger just in case she needed to heal someone.

Hero smiled towards sidekick. “ can’t-can't you see he wrong the world? He wronged us?!”

Hero started to punch the bomber in the stomach.

“ you.”

Punch.

“Bastard!”

Something caught his fist mid air. A flush of Purple magic.. healers magic.

“ he wronged.. you..” Was all she said. Sidekick simply put his hand on hero’s shoulder. “ It’s alright yes?”

A sickening snap was all that was heard. It took a few seconds for healer to scream. Her magic vanishing in thin air and her wrist being bent in an awkward angle.

Sidekick tended to healer, Not yet understanding what happened to her. This in turn leaving the barrier off of hero’s hand.. He could now finish his task.

Red magic spurred from hero’s finger tips, A wisp wrapping around the unconscious body. Slowly the bombers body was lifted into the air. Slowly going up in feet.

Then it was dropped. Red splatting everywhere. Laughter filling the air. The Copper sickening and the other bomber puking on himself from terror. Healer froze on the spot. she was lifted and sidekick ran away as fast as he could, cradling the healer as close as he could to his chest. He would protect her.

Hero barley focused on them. He walked over to the other men. Choosing a different approach. Hero took his hands and placed them on the two Bombers necks. Then the squishing in necks filled the air.

Sidekick and healer ran even faster.. not even heading back to head quarters.

There was no more pleas or cries.. two necks were broken.

Hero spat on the bodies and fished a pair of gloves out of his pants pocket. Red was his favorite color after all.

* if you would like I could write whump on sidekick and healer.. maybe giving them names in there escape..?

[spacestationdaedalus]

Happy late Christmas to @malevon!! I might not be able to throw you a party but at least I can give you a fic to read to celebrate the last day at your job. This is the longest single piece I’ve written in a long time and my first time writing injury/whump, so I hope it’s comprehensible, at least. It was SO much fun to write, thank you for the lovely prompt <3

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435182

...

She's coming apart, now. 

I’m not scared of you.

Helen...was that...a lie?

Once he heard it, Saw it, Jon knew it was over. Her doors and hallways bend and creak under the weight of the Watcher’s gaze, and she herself is twisting. She’s always twisting of course, but this is different. It’s uniform, too comprehensible for the incarnation of lies and deceit. She’s screaming, crying out-

- it’s me, it’s Helen -

Channeling the power of the Eye comes a bit easier each time, which Jon registers in the back of his mind as vaguely concerning. The corridors are crumbling, colors blending into each other as Distortion and Spiral become indistinguishable. Jon staggers as the walls and floor shift, disorienting still even with the Eye staring down at them. It reaches out, then, a last-ditch effort to save itself. Stretching and warping with hands, sharp fingers that don’t belong to Helen or Michael or anyone with a name. Jon doesn’t stop talking.

He registers a pain, vague and far-off. Everything warps into red and a million colors all at once, and then he's nowhere.

Dry grass crunches under his feet, and icy wind cuts through him. He can’t actually hear it over the ringing in his ears, but he can definitely feel it, bracing and whipping the dark strands that had come free from their bun. There’s a ringing in his ears; it travels into his jaw, rattles his teeth. There's a coppery taste in his mouth and warmth trickling down his face. Another nosebleed. Great.

"Christ, Jon!"

Martin's voice comes from behind, and Jon sags with the relief of it.

"Oh, Martin! Good." Jon turns to greet him. His words sound strange to his own ears. Slippery and lopsided and wrong. The ringing in his ears is replaced with the dull roar of rushing blood. Accented by a rhythmic thud - his heartbeat, surely. Was it always so loud? He can feel it behind his eyes, and with every beat it hurts just a bit more.

"Wh-what happened? There was the hotel and then..." Martin's voice trails off, eyes widening.

Jon laughs, bringing a hand up to wipe his face. His fingers are cold. Which is strange because the rest of him is light and warm. He shivers. "Oh calm down Martin, it's just a nosebleed." He can taste the copper, still.

Martin rushes toward him. He's saying words that Jon desperately wants to hear, but he can't. Not over the roaring in his ears, or the blur of color and static. He can feel Martin's hands on his arms, his shoulders. Jon reaches up, tries to grasp one of his hands. Has his arm always been this heavy? He feels a pulling, sudden and deep - his abdomen. And it hurt.

He blinks. He's on the ground, half kneeling. Martin's arms are around him.

"-my god, what happened? Oh god Jon-"

His head is heavy, eyes tired. He looks down. And there's blood. His blood?

Oh.

He opens his mouth to tell Martin that it's alright, it's ok, it's not as bad as it looks. He makes a sound, he thinks. He hopes, desperately, that Martin understands.

A wave of dizziness overtakes him, followed closely by darkness.

Without himself to talk to, the dismal weather is a bit distracting.

Martin braces himself against the wind and the light pattering of rain. There’s hardly a way to tell if he’s walking in the right direction, or if there even is a right direction to begin with. He’d simply picked the way that felt right and began the trek, hoping he’d meet Jon along the way. Which isn’t an outstanding plan, sure, but Martin has a hunch that wherever the fog of the Lonely ends is where he’ll find Jon. Or, where Jon will find him - not that there’s much of a difference. Regardless, Martin hopes it’s sooner rather than later. His other self had slipped away into the fog long before, with all the fanfare of a breath dissipating into cold air. At the very least he’s walking with the wind instead of against it, though it doesn’t stop the minuscule droplets from painting his glasses. He’s already given up on cleaning them, resigning himself to the rivulets that form and drip down the smooth surface.

When the rain lets up and the fog clears just enough to catch a building crest over the horizon, the relief marginally outweighs the apprehension. The sight of something other than gray mist and dead grass is promising that he’s reaching the boundary of his domain.

Hidden horrors beyond comprehension aside, at least he can get a break from the damn wind.

It’s a hotel, Martin realizes, one of the old kinds you see in travel magazines and history shows. It’s weather-worn and outdated in a way that might have seemed charming at one point, but now practically oozes terror. The wind dies down as he approaches, for which Martin is grateful.

And in a matter of moments, it’s gone. 

Although "matter of moments" might be pushing it. One second it was there, and then Martin blinked, and then it wasn’t.

And Jon is there.

"Christ, Jon!" Martin says, half startled-fear and half relief. The wind picks up again in the hotel’s absence, but it seems more tolerable, now.

"Oh, Martin! Good." Jon turns, a dazed look on his face to match his tone. There's a thin trail of blood dripping from his nose. Overusing his powers again, Martin realizes with a bolt of apprehension.

"Wh-what happened? There was the hotel and then..." Martin looks to the space the hotel once occupied, and back to Jon, who’s facing him now. His voice trails off as slow sinking horror creeps in its wake.

Jon's shirt is ripped open, tatters fluttering like wind chimes in the frigid breeze. Four gashes, deep and red, run diagonally across his torso, from mid-rib cage to just above the waist. Blood is coating his stomach, his clothes-

Oh, god

Jon's wiping the blood from his face and laughing - why is he laughing? - as Martin closes the gap, heart lodged and hammering in his throat. He grabs Jon with shaking hands, holding him, steadying him when he sways back. Martin’s vaguely aware that he’s speaking, words and half-formed questions rattled off rapid-fire.

What happened where were you when how oh god fuck fuck-

Jon's knees buckle. Martin brings him into his arms, supports his weight as he lowers them to the ground. Jon is dead weight at this point, head falling to rest on Martin's shoulder. He brings a shaking hand to Jon's hair, then his neck. He can feel his pulse against his palm, light and fast and as frantic as the beating of Martin's own heart.

 He lays his down, gently, as gently as he can with how bad his hands are shaking. He rips the backpack open and grabs the first piece of cloth he sees. It's an old t-shirt, one of the few Martin brought with him from the safehouse. A faded band logo adorns the front. Jon had been pleasantly surprised to find Martin wearing it, since he was a fan of the same group. They’d laughed and sang their favorite songs together-

“I can’t believe I didn’t know you could sing!”

“I can’t really sing, Martin, it’s a functional skill more than anything-”

“Bullshit! You’re good! Like, actually good.”

“Is now a good time to mention I used to be in a band?”

“What?!”

Martin crumples the old shirt and presses it to Jon’s bleeding stomach.

That pulls a low moan from him, eyes closed and face screwed up against the pain.

"Sorry, sorry, I know," Martin placates, high and strung thin. Out of the grab-bag of work experiences Martin had gathered over the years, anything tangentially related to health care was nowhere to be found. Everything he knew came from corny 90’s job safety trainings and overly-dramatic television shows. 

He wants desperately to check the wounds - how deep are they? Will Jon be able to heal them before he, he bleeds out or something?! - but his arms are locked at the elbows, fists clenched in the white fabric ever-so-slowly seeping with red. He fears that if he were to move even a millimeter, everything would slip between his fingers.

A touch, feather-light on his arm, feels like a shock. It’s Jon’s hand

"I-it's fine, it's ok-" Jon's voice is soft and ragged.

"It's-it’s really not, actually," Martin replies, and it might have come across as playful if it didn’t crack so deeply through the middle. He sacrifices a hand to grasp Jon's. It's ice cold and small and thin.

Martin uses his other hand to gingerly lift the shirt. The bleeding is slowing now - thank god - and Martin is sure the edges have closed ever so slightly. Not that he had gotten the best look before. He remembers how quickly Jon’s leg healed after Daisy-

It wasn’t a miracle though, his mind supplies.

He throws the bloody shirt aside and digs through the backpack once more, Gauze, some tape, a knife, a bottle of water. There’s only a half-roll of the gauze left, and it’ll have to be enough. With a jittering determination Martin uses the water to clean away some of the blood, cutting away the remains of Jon’s shirt as he goes. As the red washes away, the wounds don’t look quite as deep, quite as awful as they did before. He feels the smallest sliver of panic leave him and he draws in a deep breath to calm himself. Martin notices, really notices the wind for the first time in minutes - or hours, how long has it been? It burns the tips of his fingers numb, slicing through him like the knife in his hands. They don’t have anything in the realm of antiseptic, because of course they don’t, and Martin desperately hopes that Jon can heal himself before it becomes a problem. He gently wraps Jon’s middle with fumbling hands, placating as best he can when Jon winces against the movement.

They aren't in the Martin's domain anymore, technically. Just on the edge between Lonely and god-knows-what. But the open, gently rolling hills and vestiges of fog sends his spine tingling. Like a rabbit with no cover, and a hawk circling overhead. Not to mention the wind - now that Martin’s brought attention to it, he can’t stop shivering.

There’s a cobblestone wall, maybe twenty meters away. Left over from the perimeter of the hotel, if Martin had to guess. Wedging themselves into a corner to block out some of the wind is probably their best - only? - option.

Martin leans forward, brings his hands to cradle Jon's face. For as frozen as his fingers are he can still feel the chill against Jon’s skin, which isn’t the most comforting sign. He caresses his thumbs against Jon’s cheekbones in an attempt to coax the barest bit of attention out of him. Jon hums as he opens his eyes, slowly, foggy and unfocused. Whether it’s blood loss or pain or the after-effect of using his powers, Martin isn’t sure. Probably all three.

“There you are,” Martin whispers, and as small as it is he can’t hold back the relieved smile. He presses a soft kiss to Jon’s forehead. “We need to get out of the wind, love. I’m going to pick you up, alright?”

“I can walk.” Jon murmurs, almost lost in the air between them.

Idiot man .

“Not a chance.” Martin kisses his forehead once more, the comfort at the sound of Jon’s voice, ragged as it is, bringing tears to his eyes. He re-positions the backpack and slips his arms under shoulders and knees, rising to his feet with only a slight stagger. Jon cuts off a cry with his teeth, and Martin whispers apologies once more.

The stone wall on both sides makes more difference than Martin had dared to hope. He sets Jon down delicately on the grass, followed by the backpack with a bit less care. As he rummages through it once more - he’d packed that blanket, hadn’t he? - Jon shifts, raising himself on shaking arms.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Martin starts as Jon leans himself against the cobblestone, arm wrapped gently against the new bandages.

“It’s ok, I can manage it,” Jon replies in between deep breaths. He’s shaking, Martin can tell, pale and drawn. Martin grabs the blanket from the bottom of the pack at last, crawling to kneel next to Jon.

“Alright, alright, just stay there now, will you?” Martin chides as he leans against the stone, dragging the blanket over them. He was starting to think they’d never need it, but with the cold air still biting against them he was more than grateful they’d kept it around. “It’s not like we can give you, y’know, stitches or anything, so try not to move around so much while it’s healing.”

Jon leans his head - and most of his weight - against Martin’s shoulder with a hum, eyes sliding shut. They sit in a not-uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Martin takes a breath to ask-

“I killed Helen.” Jon speaks, soft and half-muffled by the sleeve of Martin’s jacket.

“...oh.” Martin says, quietly, because what else is there to say? Then, louder: “Wait, did- did she do this to you?!”

“Not her fault.” Jon takes a breath, slowly. Martin thinks he’s about to fall asleep. Or pass out, but he certainly hopes it’s the former. “It was self-defense.”

Oh.

Martin’s not exactly sure what to do with that, and by the time he figures it out he’s sure Jon won’t be conscious anymore. Jon’s breathing evens out into something resembling sleep - or rest, at least, since he can’t really sleep anymore - and Martin resigns himself to his thoughts and his still-slowing heartbeat. The feeling of Jon’s breaths against him are enough to dispel the last dregs of his panic, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

Jon couldn’t have been asleep, because he didn’t dream.

The sensation is similar though; the lost time, the panic, the awareness that comes back to him with all the subtlety of a freight train. The headache isn’t exactly new, but the deep ache that sinks its teeth into his bones is an interesting touch.

He’s against Martin, still - Martin it’s Martin he’s safe you’re both safe - who’s breathing is slow and deep. He’s not dreaming, though. The last dream he had, at the safehouse, was about his mother-

Jon sits up, sudden, fast. He didn’t know that. Not before. But now he Knows.

Knowledge; a familiarity, awareness, or understanding of something-

Stopstopstop

The knowing pushes against him, against the back of his eyes that throb in time to his heartbeat. It’s hard and fast and it hurts -

Fever causes and increase in heart rate, breathing rate, and blood circulation to the skin-

Temperature is considered elevated when it is higher than 38 degrees Celsius, or 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit-

(32°F − 32) × 5/9 = 0°C

He brings his hands up, foolish to think he can force the onslaught back with the heels of his palms against his eyes. His hands are frigid and damp against his face, or is it his face that’s burning against his hands? The movement of his arms tugs against his chest, his stomach, and folding in on himself only makes it hurt more but he can’t stop-

You think you could be saved without paying the price?

T̶h̵i̷s̴ ̵i̷s̷ ̷h̸e̶l̴p̵i̴n̸g̶ ̶y̸o̵u̴.̴

Ỳ̶̧̮͎͔̇̑o̷͚̖̬͈̙̽̅̆̕u̷̢̙͍͙̅̽̌̂́ ̸̯̈̓͠ͅs̵̙͇̗͠͝ȟ̸̩̝̗͚͓̈́͒̈͑o̸̢͉͎̯͒u̸̬̩̯͇̿̿̍͛͝l̶͇̗̮̦͒̾d̴̠̪̰͉̉̃̈́ ̵͍̙̺͖̮̒̊b̵̡̯͕͕̘̑e̶̫̹̒͊ ̴̬͑̓g̸̟̝̻͕̣͊͠ ̶̞̰̯͍̟͌̑̌ṛ̶͍̹̀ ̴̲̭̚͜ã̸͎̼̥̜̦͆͝ ̵̝̺̈̿t̴̢̛͗͝ ̶̺̝̂͛e̴̙͆̆̉̚ ̶̜̦̮͓̱̓̒f̶̢̗͓̥͗ ̷͓̾͜ụ̵̭͋͛ ̵̝̪̃̋͗͘l̶̨̥͈̼̝͂͘͝

He tastes copper again. Copper and static and paper and magnetic tape pooling on his tongue. He clenches his teeth against the need to vomit every bit and piece of knowledge and horror he’s ever known. The door in his mind is cracking now, buckling and splintering with the pressure and the weight of it all. 

It was a small, unremarkable door, painted dark yellow, with a matte-black handle.

Something touches his shoulder and he would scream if he could open his mouth. The same something - hands hands two hands - touches his face, his hair-

And he had long, straw-coloured hair that fell onto his shoulders in loose ringlets-

“Jon,” someone says, and it’s Martin because of course it’s Martin. He’s kneeling in front of him, blessedly cold hands cradling his face. One hand brushes his hair back - had it come undone again? - resting against his forehead. It’s so soft and cool and comforting Jon can barely hold back the sob against his throat.

I felt the cold night air on my face and, and wet tarmac under my hands and knees.

“Good lord, you’re burning up!” He sounds frantic and Jon wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t know how. Martin starts on about medicine and things they don’t have and things that Jon knows, Knows can’t help him. He Knows it’ll pass and he Knows it won’t kill him, but in the moment that doesn’t feel like the mercy it should.

Jon shakes his head against Martin’s hands and tries, really tries to tell him it’s ok -

I decided to come to you and tell you my story.

“ I- ” The one syllable is jagged and dripping with compulsion and tellmeyourstory . Jon clamps down on it with a whine, shaking his head again. He brings a shaking hand to touch Martin’s on his cheek. He meets his eyes for the first time, wide and searching. Jon realizes he must look as wretched as he feels for Martin to have that look on his face.

I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry

“Oh, Jon.” Martin must understand, at least some of it, because his face softens. He pulls Jon to his chest - Jon would put his arms around him if they weren’t so heavy-

-held up my arm for a handshake, but he just looked at it, and laughed-

-but he settles for burying his face in the crook of Martin’s neck, eyes shut.

...felt like I couldn’t trust my eyes.

Her statement echoes in his ears and on his tongue. He remembers her face, her real face, before Helen twisted it into endless, sickening spirals. The bounce to her hair, the odd way she held her pen, the bags under her eyes that mirrored his own. He wasn’t mourning her. He certainly wasn’t morning Helen . She didn’t deserve that. He wasn’t mourning the woman he’d never known, a woman he probably wouldn’t have liked anyway , a woman that he let walk through that fucking door -

There has never been a door there, Archivist.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until his next breath catches in the middle. It’s silent because he makes it silent, because the second he opens his mouth the words will come spilling out and they’ll never stop. So his shoulders shake and his chest heaves from the force of it, and it hurts . His tears drip down the collar of Martin’s shirt, and Martin - god Martin - has one hand on his back and another in his hair, making soft circles with the pads of his fingers. He’s talking to him, and Jon can’t hear the words over the static and statement pulsing through his eardrums. But the vibration of his voice is gentle, comforting, and it makes breathing just a bit easier. His face is hot and he shivers against the chill creeping up his frame, but Martin is here and warm and safe and Jon hopes that he never has to leave.

“Here,” Martin says - and Jon hears - after who knows how long, shifting slightly but never taking his arms away. He repositions himself, back against the wall, and lowers Jon by the shoulders until his head is pillowed on his lap. The motion hurts, Jon knows, but it’s muted and far away against the burning of his skin and how cold he is in spite of it.

Later they’ll talk, when he’s better, about Helen and friendship and other things. Jon will say I’m sorry for worrying you and Martin will say it’s ok and they’ll both say I love you . But for now, Jon drifts off to Martin’s hand resting on his head, his whispered reassurances reminding him that he’s safe.

“Rest, love.” Martin presses a kiss to his forehead and brings the blanket over him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jon can’t stop himself from Knowing that, not now, but he doesn’t need the Eye to know that it’s true.

[fictorium]

hi, i love all the recent supercat and im realt missing cat. please could i have number 3 from the prompts list?

3. “It’s three in the morning.”

Kara doesn’t exactly mean to fly past Cat’s penthouse every evening while patrolling National City for signs of trouble, but it’s definitely maybe kind of become a sort of habit since Cat returned from DC in a blaze of triumph with a takeover bid and new plans for CatCo. 

Flying past is just polite, a discreet way to check on someone Kara’s come to care about. Someone who hasn’t called, sent a text, DMed, emailed, or even shown the slightest sign of interest in Kara since that grand return that was covered in the press for three days like a royal visit. National City is pleased to have its favorite adopted daughter back; Kara’s only a little miffed to discover Supergirl is still their second favorite. 

Just goes to show that not everyone appreciates being saved, really. 

Usually when Kara flies past all the lights are off, apart from the tiny nightlight in one corner of Carter’s room that he would deny ever having. Tonight though, the bedside lamps in Cat’s master bedroom have filled the space with a warm glow. Of all the parts of Cat’s home that Kara has ever seen, the bedroom is the place she likes most. The decor is just as expensive and flawless as everywhere else, but there’s a real softness and comfort to every piece that’s lacking elsewhere in Cat’s life. 

Kara really does try not to use her x-ray vision for non-crimefighting purposes, but she’s too curious not to see what has Cat up in the middle of the night. It’s not surprising when she discovers Cat sitting up in bed, reading something intently on her tablet, a pair of her ubiquitous reading glasses firmly in place. Kara likes this pair in particular, with their tortoiseshell frames. They suit Cat in a way the bolder colors don’t as much. 

Very sexy librarian. If librarians could afford Tom Ford eyewear and a silk negligée that probably cost Kara’s monthly rent, anyway.

Kara’s about to turn away and fly back to her apartment when Cat speaks. At first Kara assumes she’s paying too close attention, her superhearing tuned into Cat a little too much, because it sounds for all the world like Cat is talking to her. 

“It’s three in the morning,” she says, never looking up from what she’s reading. “Don’t superheroes need rest?”

That’s when Kara realizes that the moon is behind her tonight, casting her shadow over the French windows of the bedroom and its balcony. 

“Sorry! I was just passing!” She calls across the space between them, which isn’t very much at all really. 

“Every night for a week, by my count,” Cat replies. She swipes something off her screen and sets the tablet aside. “I have a security system, you know. It registers these things.”

Kara feels caught, even though she’s quite sure she hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s only tonight she did any actual spying, and it was mild at best. 

“I should go,” Kara says. 

“The doors are open.”

“Does that mean...?”

“Kara, I don’t want the rest of my building to notice you out there. I’m enough of a target for stalkers and grudge holders as it is.”

Maybe it’s the panic of reacting to her name, or of seeing Cat’s point about security, but Kara bundles herself into the bedroom like a clumsy blue-and-red bowling ball. She bashes into the side of the huge bed that dominates the room, and Cat frowns at being jostled.

“Hi?”

“Your moping is noted, Kara,” Cat says, pulling her glasses off and putting them on the beside table. “I’ve been trying to keep my distance for both our sakes, just like I try not to acknowledge knowing you and Supergirl are one and the same, but I can see that you’re struggling.”

“You’re back but you’re ignoring me.” Kara feels awkward standing, so she sits on the very edge of the bed, barely touching the sheets in her nervousness. “Did I do something wrong?”

Cat sighs deeply, letting her head drop back against the headboard. The firm wooden posts of it seem almost perfectly designed for ropes or scarves or... no. Kara refuses to let her mind wander. This is important. 

“I thought you would have moved on. Stopped caring.”

“I’d never stop caring about you, Cat. I don’t think it’s even possible.”

Cat smiles, sitting up properly again. Kara can’t help noticing how sheer the silk is, how much nothing Cat is wearing beneath that one thin layer. They’re barely four feet apart and the room smells of Cat’s expensive perfume. 

“I don’t have the energy to fight this anymore,” Cat says.

“What?” Kara asks, because even though she knows she has to hear Cat say it, once and for all.

“Your silly, persistent little crush. My mid-life crisis. Whatever this is that makes it impossible to be around you without finally admitting I feel... something for you. And it isn’t going away.”

“It’s not silly, and it’s not even close to a crisis.” Kara shifts her position, getting on her hands and knees. Cat watches, eyes glinting in the soft light, as Kara crawls toward her. “Maybe we’re just inevitable. But I know I’m tired of everything that isn’t us. Me and you. Together.”

“We haven’t even kissed--” Cat starts to protest. Kara closes the last few inches between them and makes the statement a lie before it can be fully expressed. Kissing Cat is everything she hoped for: hot, sweet, and so exciting Kara thinks her head might fly off. Instead she’s rewarded by Cat’s fingers threading through her hair, pulling Kara close for a second kiss, and a third, until nobody’s counting and clothes are being roughly tugged away from their bodies.

“Are we rushing?” Kara asks, kicking her boots onto the floor. 

“Four years of foreplay?” Cat counters, one eyebrow raised.

“Good point.”

Cat welcomes Kara into her bed, and it’s finally clear to both of them that it’s exactly where she’s supposed to be. 

[boymeetsweevil]

blue, not blanc - nsfw

Grouping: Reader x Jimin, SMUT wow

Word Count: ~4.5k 

Warnings: straight up sex, fingering, panty fetish perhaps? breathplay if you squint?? DEFINITELY NSFW

Based off the following prompt :) 

1.5 months before

Jimin was cooking dinner, like the good fiancé he was. You slid into a seat at the breakfast bar and sighed, hoping he would turn around to see what you needed. When he merely hummed in greeting you were forced to cut to the chase.

“I have a favor to ask you,” your sheepish tone finally made him to look up from the red sauce he had been painstakingly simmering, “I need you to be my date for the black and white investment dinner. I’m letting you know now so you can’t say you already made plans.”


“How do you know I don’t already have plans?”


“Jimin, please. Its a month and a half from now and we know you don’t plan that far ahead.”


“Maybe I should start.” He stuck his tongue out at you before turning back to his precious marinara.


“You can start by making sure you have a suit. And it has to be white.”

“Why does it have to be white? Isn’t that too...Las Vegas or something?”


“Its white because the firm chooses the color scheme. This year the investors wear black and the firm employees wear white. It’s an annual thing. Please.”


Jimin sighed, but didn’t argue further. You came as his date to all the horrible holiday parties they hosted every year at the newspaper. You even bought an ugly sweater the year he had been trying to suck up to his boss for a promotion. To this day he’s convinced that heinous wool article is what got him his current position of junior editor.

“What color should the tie be?” He walked over to your spot at the kitchen table, one hand cupped beneath the wooden spoon he held in the other. You leaned in to try it before flashing a thumbs up when it didn’t seem to be lacking any specific ingredient.


“The tie doesn’t have to be a specific color as long as it goes with your suit and my dress,” you froze mid sentence, “Shit. I need a dress.” You were quiet for a few beats as you watched him hunt around for the chili pepper flakes before calling his name sweetly. Too sweetly.


“What is it now?”


“I have such a bad migraine that if I so much as look at another screen tonight, I’ll cry. Do you think maybe you could possibly buy the dress for me after dinner? From that French store where you bought that scarf you got me?”


“Sure.”


“Great. I’ll send you the links. Oh, I need their no-show underwear too. It’s better than going commando, I swear,” you said cheerfully as you pulled out your phone.


“I thought your head was going to explode if you looked at another screen.”


“How else am I going to send you the links, Minnie?”


He raised an incredulous eyebrow and put a steaming plate in front of you.

“So, do I have to buy them tonight or can it wait a little. I’m waiting on a call from Taehyung about the parts for that vintage coffee maker I’ve been working on.”


“Well,” you chewed your noodles thoughtfully, “I guess as long as you don’t wait longer than 2 weeks. Everything always sells out of that shop really fast so you have to be quick about it, especially the underwear. I would buy it myself but my boss has been working me to the bone with reviewing these new manuscripts.”


“Leave it to me.”


24 days following

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he muttered to himself.

Jimin felt anxious sweat begin to prick at his hairline as he read your messages over and over again. He checked his calendar and grimaced when he saw that there were less than 3 weeks until the dinner and he still hadn’t ordered your clothes like you’d asked him to.

Once his order was called, he took his drink and sprinted out of the coffee shop he had been working in to drive back to his apartment where he’d left his laptop.

Your warning about items selling out and customs holding packages for an extra long time haunted him as he scoured his texts for the links you’d sent a little less than a month ago.

Jackpot.

He opened your laptop and carefully typed in the name of the dress you had bookmarked and sent to him. It was a nice dress, he noted, as he clicked on the drop-down menu and scrolled through the color available color options. When his cursor landed on the color IV (for ivory, as detailed in your text) he said a small thank you to the forces of the universe above. He added the dress to the cart and went to the search bar again to find the underwear. He blew out another breath of relief when he saw that the famous no-show panties weren’t all sold out. 

He searched for ivory again but he couldn’t find it. Is it sold out? How could it be sold out? All that’s left is BL. What’s BL. BL...for blanc because its french for white and ivory is white. I’m a genius. he pat himself on the back as he put the underwear in his cart and entered his card number. He had to grit his teeth when he saw the large chunk of change it would cost him to expedite shipping, but he supposed it was a meager price to pay for almost missing out on buying your dress after you’d asked so far in advance. 10 days later, Jimin received the package and called you to let you know that as soon as you finished your last manuscript you should hurry over and try on the dress to see if it needed any alterations. You swung by one morning later in the week to try on the dress in his en suite on your way to work. 

“Does it fit,” he asked in a half yawn as he leaned against the bathroom door. He nearly fell on his face when you swung the door open and handed him the haphazardly folded dress because you were running late.


“Yep. See you back here Friday! Make sure your suit is ready,” you shouted before swinging his door closed.


The day

Friday rolled around too quickly for comfort. You had barely gotten 2 days to rest from non-stop reading and editing before you had to commute to Jimin’s immediately after work. 

“Who the fuck schedules a gala at 7:30 on a Friday”, you had fumed to yourself earlier during rush hour.

Currently, Jimin was brushing his teeth in the bathroom frantically, dress shirt still half open, only briefs, and tube socks adorning his lower half. He was thinking about whether he would need to waste time styling his hair, seeing as the humidity from his shower was causing it to wave gently, when he heard a shout from the bedroom.

“Wha happeth? Ah you hut?” He panted around his toothbrush.


Nothing seemed to be wrong. Half your hair was in curlers and you still had your towel on as you stared down into the box where the dress and underwear were stashed away.

“I told you to order white underwear. Look at this,” you pulled the panties from their wrapping to reveal that they were in fact slightly lighter than Tiffany blue. “Minnie, didn’t you check the color before you selected it?”


“I dih--” he ran to rinse out his mouth and replace his toothbrush before coming back. “I did. It said it was white, it had a little BL and everything. For blanc. Because its French,” he trailed off. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“The site settings were in English, Jimin. I can’t read French. BL is blue,” you said quietly.


You picked up the receipt and handed the slip to the confused man.

“It says BL for---for blue.”


“Yeah,” you said lowly as you began to pull on the delicate underwear.


“I-I’m sorry. I really thought I picked the right color.”


“It’s alright, Minnie. It was a simple mistake, I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up in the first place. You were only helping me.”


“At least it’ll be covered up by your dress, right?” 


“At least there’s that,” you gave him a shaky smile, “Are you done with the bathroom? I’ll just go finish up in there and meet you by the door.”


“Alright.” He ran a head through his hair nervously, mussing up his bangs slightly. 

As he spun his car keys around, Jimin wondered whether the clothing would put a damper on the rest of the night when the sound of your shoes approaching shook him out of his musings.

The ivory of the dress looked against your skin was amazing and the way it molded itself to your figure took his breath away. But he could tell by the way your lips were drawn that you were still upset.

“What’s the matter?”


“The dress its...see-through. You can see the blue. I’m going to be the laughing stock of the whole company.” Jimin’s eyes dipped down and he saw that the blue stood out through the sheer, satiny material of the dress. 


“How about you call in sick and skip it. There’s no use in being uncomfortable all night for no reason.”


“I can’t. I volunteered to handle the jewelry auction. And my promotion is practically contingent on my being there. I have to go.” Frustrated tears welled up in your eyes.


“Well, you look beautiful. I almost don’t regret picking the wrong color,” he said while shrugging off his white suit jacket, “You can use this as a cover. It was making me feel too Vegas anyway.”

The joke fell flat when you simply spread your hands over the skirt one final time and took the jacket. You mumbled a quiet “Thank you.”

Much to his chagrin, the dress did put a damper on the whole evening. More specifically, on your evening. Jimin had a relatively good time. He had 3 free Shirley Temples and a shameful amount of gluten-free mini quiches. But even on the car ride home, your disappointment towards having to wear a jacket over such a beautiful dress all evening was palpable. When you arrived home, both of you seemed to release breaths you didn’t realize you were holding.

Immediately you began to strip out of your attire, exhausted from the gala. Jimin couldn’t help but watch you peel off the dress in your haste to get ready for bed. Because you were wearing a towel earlier, he hadn’t gotten a look at the delicate garments you had on underneath.

“Those are pretty on you,” he ventured quietly, ”The color is good.”


“Thanks. I can’t wait to go straight to sleep.”

 You removed your bra, threw on a sleep shirt, and hiked some sweatpants over the blue underwear.


He nodded and got ready for bed as well, all the while the image of you in blue burned bright on the backs of his eyelids while he waited for you to finish cleaning your teeth and washing your face. 

When Jimin felt the mattress dip with your weight, he waited a bit to gauge your mood. With your back to him and the way you lay close to the far edge of your side, it seemed you were still upset. But you weren’t the type to hold grudges and if you did linger on anything, you tended to internalize it, even if it was someone else’s fault. He reached a tentative hand out pat the curve of your hip.

“Not tonight, Jimin. I’m not in the mood right now.” You shifted to shrug his hand off.


“I really wasn’t trying anything. How do you know I’m not in the mood either?”


You turned to look at him over your shoulder and give a small laugh despite yourself. “You’re always in the mood, Minnie.”

“Hey, now,” he shuffled closer, sensing a lightening of the atmosphere, “I’m not always in the mood. You just looked especially good tonight.”


“How could I have looked good with your stupid jacket on. No one even got to see my dress.” 

Your voice was small, but it didn’t quite sound sad and he took a leap of faith by sliding the hand that was resting near your hip to snake underneath your sleep shirt and press to your stomach, pulling you in flush to him.


“That’s everyone else’s loss. But it doesn’t mean you didn’t look good”. He nuzzled his nose against the curve of your neck and let his hand knead lightly at the skin of your side. “Plus, I feel like we have a little secret since I was the only one who got to see you in that dress.”


“Well, I didn’t do that on purpose. Better you be the one to see those horrible underwear ruin the dress than my boss.” You closed your eyes and let the feeling of Jimin’s fingers gliding underneath the waistband of your sweats soothe you before you realized what he was doing. “Jimin!”

“What? I’m just touching you. Is that no longer allowed? Am I on probation?” He pulled the sagging collar of your shirt down and peppered soft, wet kisses across the parts of your neck the he could reach. It tickled and you barely held in a laugh.


“Yes, that’s exactly what this is. You’re on probation.”


“Okay, so let me probe a little bit,” he said with a mischievous lilt in his voice before yanking your sweatpants down unceremoniously. 


“Park Jimin,” you shouted when the colder air of the bedroom hit your skin, “That’s not even what probation means, you’re so--what is it?”


You peered at his face only to follow his fixed gaze down to the vibrant blue cloth covering your pelvis.

“Nothing, it’s just pretty,” he said almost to himself, his tone distracted and light. He smoothed a hand over the material, marveling at how smooth the fabric was. “You know my favorite color is blue.”


“Are you saying you did this on purpose?” You tried to scoot away experimentally but his hold remained firm. 


“I already told you it was an accident. But I’m realizing now it was a happy one.” 

“Yeah?” Your own voice sounded dreamy and far away as you basked in all the attention. He only hummed in response before making his move.

Now that you were somewhat pliant, Jimin wedged his other arm under you so he could further envelope you. One hand remained where it was, caressing the silken fabric without doing anything too risky. The other hand, however, quickly made its way over to your breasts. He massaged them gently, at first, until your nipples began to brush more firmly against his palms. He began to tweak them and pull, knowing it was the fastest way to get you squirming.


You arched your back in response and ended up pushing your hips back against his, accidentally grinding on him. You could feel his hardness through the double layer of the barely-there material of your panties and his boxers. Coupling this with the feeling of his hand traveling under your shirt to continue its ministrations on your nipples and the creeping sensation of his other hand as he fingered the intricate laser-cut designs above your mound. It was almost too much and you felt like you were being bombarded. You tried to sneakily tug the waistband of your sweats up as you distracted him as best you could by rubbing up against his front, but he caught onto your plan. His hand left the confines of your shirt quickly to grip at your throat and force you to lengthen your neck obediently.

“Just let me see, baby. I just wanna see.” His voice was lower than his normal speaking tone, and noticeably rougher. He turned his mouth to suck at the spot on your neck where your skin felt the softest and placed a warm hand over yours. 

He guided the hand you had holding the sweatpants down teasingly slow. There was something erotic about the movement that made you whimper quietly. He must have heard the sound because soon he was shushing you softly and finished pulling down the sweatpants as far as he could. You kicked them off the rest of the way before realizing your hands felt awfully empty. You tried to turn to face him, but he wrapped a tight arm around and simply plucked at your nipples a little rougher, nipped at the skin of your shoulder a little more harshly. 

“Jimin.” You felt too warm with the heat he was radiating at your back and even with the sleep shirt you had on bunched up at your underarms.

“I know what you need,” he said in a voice that pretended to be thoughtful and selfless. 

His free hand finally passed your mound to press between the apex of your thighs. The angle was a bit awkward with his arm winding around your torso, but with coordination he was able to circle his fingertips around your clit. At this point, you still had too much lucidity and were worried that he would ruin the expensive underwear and stain it irrevocably with your arousal.


You started to protest but he seemed to read your mind and give your throat a warning squeeze with his free hand. With the other, he shifted to swipe a few fingers near your clothed entrance. He made a pleased sound when he brought his hand back up and the tips of his fingers caught the low lamp light and glistened.

“Open.” He held his fingers up before your lips, his grip on your neck loosening so you could move to suck them into your mouth. 

You made sure to graze his fingertips with kitten licks before popping them out your mouth when you knew they were clean. Jimin nudged at your cheek with a slightly damp hand until you turned enough for him to kiss you, wanting to chase whatever was left of your taste. He groaned at the feeling of you licking into his mouth and you felt him throb where his groin was pressed against your ass. You kissed slowly for a long moment, all the while his other hand continued to rub figure eights around your clit before circling back down to the now sopping material covering your entrance. 


The onslaught of sensation was enough to have you gasping and breaking the kiss. You let out a long, broken moan as he hooked his fingers underneath the material to feel the wetness without a barrier, although it left little to the imagination at this point.

“I wanna be inside you badly right now,” he mumbled shakily. The tremors in his voice sent another wave of excitement through you. You loved when he got overwhelmed.


“Please, oh my god. I need it.” 

You breathed heavily out your nose to keep quiet while he shoved his boxers off. He pressed against you with renewed vigor and you both groaned at the feeling of his overheated skin pressing against yours. You moved to pull your panties off but he stopped you.


“Keep them on. I want you to slide them to the side and hold them like that while I fuck you.”


“How do you want it,” you asked as you stretched your hand out to reach for the condoms that lived in a bowl under the bed. You nearly threw the condom in his face when you finally grasped at a foil packet. He rolled it on and inspected it briefly before grabbing at the meat of your thigh to lift your leg and bring it to rest over one of his own.

“Like this. On your side, from the back. I want to be able to see you in these panties.”

Pressing a hand over your lower belly, he pulled you flush against him once more to line up his swollen head with your entrance. He bumped against you a few times to coat himself with your slickness. At the feel of the initial stretch you grit your teeth.

“You feel so good,” you sputtered when he finally bottomed out. His girth was one of the things you gave thanks for most. You felt perfectly full and the slick smoothness of his entry had your head spinning. He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and began to rock into you, shallowly at first.


“So do you. God,” he let out a whine when you clenched around him as he went deeper, “You’re so fucking wet.”


He shifted to plant a foot on the bed for leverage and so he could maneuver his hand back in between your now more open thighs. His fingertips bumped yours where they pulled the crotch of the panties up and to the side. You felt him grab your hand and move it slightly higher and more inward. It became clear what his motives were when the fabric caught on your clit with the force of every thrust. You grip on the fabric tightened as your back bowed, pressing yourself more firmly against him. Jimin moaned at the fresh wave of arousal you coated him with.

“Jimin,” your voice was tight with need and nearly drowned out but the slick sounds his thrusts made. 


“Harder?”


“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling your orgasm start to build. 

He cursed when you tightened up on him once more and rewarded you with a sharp smack to the globe of your ass. He began to fuck you in earnest.

“Arch your back, baby” he grunted. 

But before you could blink through the fog of your impending orgasm to comply, he brought his free hand up to cup your throat and pull you back how he wanted you. He squeezed a little for good measure and you felt an almost electric shock in your groin. You let go of the underwear in favor of tending to your clit with your own fingers at the same moment that he began to truly plow into you. Your toes started to curl and you marveled through your hazy consciousness at how your orgasms started the same way.


It started tonight, like it always did--with a pin-prick of pleasure that had you squirming. Then it turned into white hot waves building from the soles of your feet upwards. As the feeling reached your belly, the pleasure became molten and pulled every muscle in your body taut. You could feel your limbs shaking but you were too far gone to signal to Jimin that you were about to come, your breath leaving your mouth in increasingly small choked gasps. The pressure that had been building steadily in your abdomen snapped and you fell off your precipice screaming.

Watching you fall apart was always one of Jimin’s favorite pass-times. As you trembled before him, he tried his best to keep his eyes open so he could see you. But the way your walls gripped him tore his attention away. He squeezed his eyes shut and rutted up into you to chase his own high. It rippled through him faster than he was expecting, forcing him to tighten his grip on you to ground himself.

You calmed down first and listened to the sounds of his labored breaths in your ear. Luckily, you were on your side, so you didn’t have to worry about him collapsing on top of you or having to balance from on top of him to your side of the bed. Your back felt too sweaty though and you frowned at the thought of getting up again to take another shower before being able to sleep. When he eventually got out of bed to dispose of the condom and start the shower you grimaced at the feeling of cooling perspiration and tugged off your sleep shirt in hopes of dabbing at the moisture. 

“You coming,” Jimin asked when he came to lean on the doorframe of the bathroom.


You nodded and got up carefully, not wanting to overestimate the leftover strength in your knees and fall. You discarded your panties and he watched you hobble past him to the toilet with a smug expression. 

“I bet you’re not still upset about the underwear now,” he smirked at you while sliding open the door to the shower and stepping in.


“I bet you were never really sorry about buying my underwear late,” you countered over the sound of the water. You flushed the toilet and smiled softly to yourself while your washed your hands and he screamed at the momentary change in water temperature. 

He stuck his head out of the door as he waited for the warm water to return. “How did you know I bought it late?”


“You bought them on my account. I got the order confirmation and the email, it just got buried because I was swamped with work. But I saw while I was checking my phone in line for the women’s room at the gala.”


He had enough sense to give you smile that was 40% apology and 60% cheekiness.

“These are nicer than ivory,” he said with an exaggerated snobby accent.


“How? Because you got to play the white knight and lend me your suit jacket?”


“No,” Jimin trailed off. He stuck a hand out to pull you into the shower with him. “They’re nicer because they’re the underwear I fucked you in.”


“How charming. You know, the ivory could have been that pair too.”


“I don’t know. Nothing gets me in the mood faster than a nice blue. Why do you think its my favorite color?”


“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Maybe so,” he stepped aside to let you have a turn with the water.

“Wash my hair? Its the least you can do.”


When you both finished showering, you could tell that it was way past your bedtime but you had to wait until Jimin changed the sheets. You were so tired you would have gladly slept on them, but he had a thing about post-sex sheets.

You blotted the ends of your hair with an old t-shirt and watched him make the bed with a neatness you’d only seen in hospitals. A spot of blue caught your attention and you realized you left your panties on the floor. You pinched them by the corner daintily and moved to put the garment in his laundry basket.

“Wait,” he said and plucked the panties out of your hands before shoving them in the back pocket of his sweats.


“What are you gonna do with those?”


“I don’t know. Save them for a rainy day, probably.” He gave you a wink before returning to fluff the pillows one last time.

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Blue, Red and Lavender

ML Rare Pair March 2018, Pair: Gabriel Agreste x Mrs. Agreste, Day 24: First Date, for Remasa

AO3 / fanfiction.net

(Other days: 6 | 8 | 20 | 24 | 27 |)

|This is also a sequel to my Gabriel Appreciation Week story - Doomsday, and Day 27 is Part 3 of this series.

‘Boatline or jewel? Both would look good…’

The most promising of Reboux designers was seated at the employees’ cafe at the company’s headquarters, a stack of papers piling up on his table, next to three empty cups and a half eaten sandwich.

‘A-line skirt, yes, but it needs to end below the knee,’ he was sketching furiously and murmuring under his breath, earning sideway glances from the staff and any of his coworkers who happened to pass by him.

‘Empire waist is a bit too much…’ he tore one of the half finished sketches, absently made a ball out of it and dropped it on the floor, absolutely unaware of the annoyed stare the barista sent his way.

‘Maybe I should try a v-neck? For a summer dress this would be more appropriate…’ the mumbling continued to the scribbling of pencil on paper, and yet another design emerged from the depths of his imagination, fleshing up thanks to a little bit of carbon and cellulose into a slender figure of a young woman. If anyone bothered to inspect any of the bits of paper on and around Gabriel’s table, they would discover that she was present on each and every one of them - long, wavy hair, large eyes, full lips, hourglass figure and cosmic legs of a model. Any random passerby would probably just shrug, assuming this was Monsieur Agreste’s standard design fill-in model. It would take a fellow fashionista, subscriber of La Mode, to spot the cunning resemblance to their top journalist, one Emilie Launder, aka every designers’ nightmare with deceitful looks of a daydream.

And daydreaming Gabriel was.

‘V-neck would show more cleavage which is good in summer… ekhm, ekhm-’

He felt the blood rushing to his cheeks at the thought of Mademoiselle Launder���s chest exposed in the flowing v-neckline dress he was currently drawing, and a coughing fit followed making him even more red. Gabriel tried to dismiss this vision. He was a professional, for heaven’s sake. He dealt with cleavages and hips and legs on a daily basis. It was his job to make them look attractive. How on earth was he suddenly blushing like a schoolgirl, and at his own design nonetheless.

‘Well, this is a really promising dress,’ he was startled by a pleasantly low rumble at his ear and choked on his own saliva when a perfectly manicured red nail tapped at the waistline of the drawing, ‘but I look better in a ¾ length,’ Mlle Launder murmured winking at him.

Gabriel spluttered something incoherent in reply, feeling his cheeks warming up dangerously close to self-combust. He shook his head. This wouldn’t do. He just needed a moment to get his treacherous body under control and to reboot his brain after the woman of his dreams and drawings suddenly materialized in the cafe.  

She watched with open amusement as he held up a finger and took a deep breath.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Monsieur Agreste,’ she pursed her lips in vain attempt to hold back the satisfied smirk.

Gabriel’s neurons finally reconnected. ‘Um, I work here?’ he ventured, not quite trusting his voice yet.

‘Oh, a second gig as a barista?’ she chuckled. ‘I already got that you were a man full of surprises.  And here I thought Reboux paid his designers a decent salary.’

Her suggestion rendered him speechless once again, until his two remaining brain cells prompted that this might have been a joke. He cleared his throat. ‘Your presence, however pleasant, is a surprise, mademoiselle,’ he said finally rising from his seat and taking her hand.

‘Is it? I think I’ve told you I would hunt you down, haven’t I?’ she firmly shook his palm, not allowing for a hand kiss this time.

Gabriel tried to suppress his disappointment. ‘Indeed,’ he nodded gravely, putting on the neutral face of a professional. It would look much better without the fiercely stinging blush.

Emilie raised a perfect brow at him. ‘And you never called,’ she reminded.

‘I’ve been…’ his gaze flickered to the sketchbook and the piles of papers in the neighborhood, ‘busy,’ he ended lamely. What was he supposed to tell her? That he couldn’t get her out of his mind since their meeting at the Fashion Week? That every time he took his pencil, the only thing he could think of was another design for her? That his superiors didn’t mind when instead of his entries for men’s autumn line he presented them with a complete collection of smart dresses and gowns worthy of a princess and he was given a free pass to work wherever and on whatever he wanted as long as the results would match these first drawings? At this rate he would single-handedly fill the next few seasons of Reboux womenswear before the midyear evaluation.

‘Indeed,’ she repeated his own words, eyeing the sketches at the same time. ‘And not only with the designs,’ she added. ‘All I asked was a phone call.’

Gabriel’s face fell from carefully impassive to worried. ‘I have sent you some… messages. Didn’t you get them?’

‘Oh, I did,’ a Cheshire cat grin appeared on her face. ‘Our office ran out of vases by Wednesday. My desk looks like I’ve robbed a flower shop,’ she paused mid sentence and cast him a questioning look. ‘You didn’t rob a flower shop, did you?’

Despite his debilitating state he somehow managed to scowl in indignation.

‘I asked you to call, not to arrange a garden in La Mode’s office,’ Emilie sighed.

‘I’m sorry?’ Gabriel squeaked. Apparently he misread her signals and acting purely on his infatuation might have overdone in wooing Mlle Launder with romantic gestures. Just a little bit. Okay, maybe more than a bit. So sue him. … Would she though? He gulped.

‘Let’s see,’ the woman tapped her red lips with a slender finger. ‘On Thursday I found daffodils. I obviously felt flattered that you remembered what I said about French gentlemen going extinct.’

Regard and chivalry. That had been his first idea.

‘Then the yellow tulips on Friday got a good giggle out of me and a few sour smiles from my coworkers,’ she continued, for now choosing to look around the cafe.

Sunshine in your smile. Gabriel thought it would be a good follow-up. Not too invasive but sustaining the interest.

‘I admit I was a bit surprised to find that stunning amaryllis waiting on my desk on Monday when I got back from lunch,’ she still wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t miss the delicate coat of pink that colored her cheeks at the mention of amaryllis.

Splendid beauty. But that was hardly news. Surely she must have known what a gorgeous woman she was? He had some reservations about the amaryllis, but over the weekend he somehow convinced himself that he might have already lost her attention. When he found it on the flower market that Monday morning he bought it without really thinking it through. Unlike the tulips and the daffodils, he had to sit on this idea for a bit, and hadn’t decided to call for the office-boy until lunch.

‘Now you will probably be glad to hear that my coworkers lasted until Tuesday, before they started with their sarcastic comments, dubbing me the Sunflower Girl,’ she sent him a sweet smile. ‘Because sunflowers are my favorite.’

Adoration and dedication. Also bingo! He knew she’d like them.

‘We ran out of vases at the red carnations on Wednesday,’ Emilie mentioned casually. ‘And I could no longer evade questions about my secret admirer. Since by then at least some people in the office had done their homework on flower symbolism.’

Uh-oh. Were the red carnations for admiration already too much? But in that case today’s bouquet-

His train of thought was interrupted as Reboux’s office boy stuck his head into the cafe. He spotted the designer and strode in their direction with a broad grin, that was undoubtedly a result of the handsome pay Gabriel offered for the extra delivery for the last few days.

‘Monsieur Agreste,’ his smile broadened as he halted at the table. ‘I’m on my break so I can drop these beauties at La Mode now, if you want to,’ he carefully lifted the bouquet in question. A perfect arrangement of roses appeared in their vision and Gabriel noted with no small amount of satisfaction that his companion gasped at the display. Red, lavender and blue combined into one ample bunch.

He could almost hear the cogs in Mlle Launder’s brain spinning as she worked out the meaning behind the flowers and their colors. And when her delicate blush deepened, he knew he chose well.

‘Thank you, Jean-Luc, that won’t be necessary today,’ Gabriel passed the boy a 200 franc bill. After carefully depositing his cargo in the designer’s hands he left with a grin dangerously close to ripping his face in half.

Monsieur Agreste turned to the journalist. She was still staring at the roses, stunned into silence for the very first time. It was very satisfying, if he said so himself. His daily visits at the flower market and then the time it took to arrange the flowers personally had definitely paid off, if it had such an effect on her, even temporarily.

‘I see you have done your homework on plant symbolism too, mademoiselle,’ Gabriel murmured.

‘Blue for unattainable or mysterious,’ Emilie started weakly, ‘red for longing and desire. And lavender...,’ she reached to touch the delicate petals.

‘For love at first sight,’ he finished for her as he put his hand over hers.

She stilled and cleared her throat, apparently ready to take the initiative again. ‘Well, well, Monsieur Agreste,’ she drawled locking her emerald eyes with his aquamarine ones. ‘Now tell me, are you planning to propose with another bouquet before I finally ask you out on the first date?’

[quagmireisadora]

[Junghee / Gwiboon]  儚い

A/N: Part 3 of 4. Inspired by this lovely fic here. My thanks to @lockandminkey​ for letting me use their idea <3

------

Every time Junghee walks in a straight line, she hopes to find something.

“Sorry for calling you out on a night like this,” she says to Gwiboon. It is snowing, and as much as this country likes to romanticize the first snow of winter, to be caught in the first snowstorm of the year can be dangerous. Everyone they know is indoors right now. In fact, even the streets seem to be clearing up fast because the roads will soon be blocked with piles of the stuff, making it difficult for people to get home. Junghee has her own memories from last year, when she and Sodam eonnie were stuck in their car, hours away from home. They’d had to check into a dingy hotel for the night.

At least, it won’t come to that tonight. They’re just outside their shared apartment block, if it gets too bad all they have to do is rush back inside. 

“No worries,” the other says from under layers of wool.

A good portion of Gwboon’s face is hidden under a scarf--a gift from an ex, as Junghee found out many afternoons ago. Gwiboon has many exes, each one with some weird obsession or other. A handsome man whose one hobby was buying strange knives and swords online, a sexy professional dancer who’d dedicated a whole room for his shoes, and a soft and pretty woman who just loved scarves. She tells Junghee about them every time they hang out for a cup of tea or lunch at her place. There are remnants of these relationships all over the apartment, too. But above the creepy-looking blades, uncomfortable stilettos, and yarns of rainbow-colored wool, it is Gwiboon’s voice that catches Junghee’s attention. As amusing as the recollections could be, there is always sadness in the other’s voice. A deep blue sadness that colors their lonely afternoons together.

“I... I wanted to see you,” Junghee explains.

“You could’ve come over?” Gwiboon reasons, her forehead creasing in confusion.

Junghee shakes her head. “I wanted to see you,” she repeats, but the weight in her words is different this time; the lilt is soft and the intonation is gentle.

Gwiboon walks in circles to avoid running into someone.

The snow doesn’t bother her, but she accepts the other’s apology regardless. She has spent colder nights, tougher nights. A battle on the banks of the Imjin river, a march against tyranny in the streets of Gwangju, a soft whisper of goodbye on the gates of Everland. Tonight is nothing compared to the snowstorms in her heart. The streets are quiet, solemn. The world lies undisturbed, as if asleep. Only their footsteps leave traces as they stroll out and stand under a leafless tree. She has been through worse nights than this, but Junghee clearly shivers and draws herself closer. It makes Gwiboon curious enough to wait, but not curious enough to say something about it. So she listens quietly.

The other’s eyes are not their usual golden spears. They linger on things. They simmer and patter and slide. They hold Gwiboon like a mother holding a child for the first time, a little unsure and a little gentle.

Her oldest memories are from four hundred years ago. She does not remember a childhood, but she does remember the happiness of it. She remembers the distinct taste of running along mustard fields, the mild sweetness that swirled around her tongue and slipped between her teeth as she laughed. She reminisces after the roughness of weaved wicker baskets, the sting of drying red peppers, the silk of a horse’s mane, the tautness of leather on a scabbard. It is all a distant, long-lost, rusty memory but it exists in her mind and sometimes she brings it out of dust-filled corners like a family album. She disguises it all in the retelling, like it means nothing. But it is all she will ever have, all that defines her. She recites the tales of her time as a soldier in the Joseon armies. She talks about the revolution of a people against their oppressors. She holds out souvenirs from better days and worse days. And Junghee listens. She always sits quietly in her chair, with a cup of tea and an attentive smile and she always listens.

But tonight she recites a tale of her own.  

“I don’t know how else to begin,” Junghee says. Her voice is not as clear as it always is. Gwiboon gives an encouraging nod to help her along.

Every time Junghee walks in a straight line, she loses her balance.

There is a massive hole in her body, a gaping pit of nothing. She wasn’t born with it, but it appeared once out of loneliness that washed her like a tidal wave. Since then, it has gradually grown and consumed large parts of her organs, disabled her vital limbs. She fills it with things to complete herself. She takes up crafts and knitting in college, when the hole makes its first appearance. She takes a whole year off work to travel around the wilderness of Siberia. When her sister marries and moves away to another city, she does not attend the ceremony or the subsequent family meetups; instead spending her empty weekends reading terrible detective novels. She buys tickets to stand-up comedy shows where the jokes lap over each other and the laughter is loud and heavy on her mind. She indulges herself with online shopping and impulsive buys.

It’s not enough. Things and hobbies are not enough. So she fills the cavity with people. She walks into clubs and draws attention to herself. She walks into bars and hangs onto unsuspecting targets. She walks into rooms and selects a handful of people she can carry home or be carried home with. They need neither stay nor keep her by their sides, she doesn’t want a relationship. They don’t need to talk to her, or offer their hearts or lend their ears--she is incomplete only in body, not in mind. They don’t have to love her, as long as they stare at her like she is the only thing worth their attention in the room. They must hold her, and touch her, and taste her, and make her forget the things that float at the top of her thoughts like a layer of scum. She fills herself until she is brimming with strangers. Then she is sated. Then the feeling pours into her and solidifies like cement. She no longer feels like she is in pieces. And when she gets bored of them, she flushes it all down. Changes her number and moves apartments. She preserves this cycle for years, even after her fringe starts to taunt her with white hair.

She stands before Gwiboon now, regardless of completeness or void. Her ears burn in the chill, her fingertips are numbing inch by inch. She hugs herself to preserve the warmth in her chest and torso. Fear--of rejection, of failure, of solitude--has kept her burrowed in the unending search for answers. But now she stops looking, stops scratching at surfaces for the words beneath.

“I don’t know how else to begin,” she starts, and Gwiboon gives her a slight nod. “In fact...” Junghee chuckles at herself. “I don’t even know when I started feeling this way.”

“What way?” the other prompts.

“I don’t know when this happened,” Junghee continues. “But at some point between then and now, I fell in love with you.”

Getting the words out feels like a planet has rolled off of her back. She stands up taller, her legs suddenly stronger and her spine curved the right way. She feels graceful in her admission, feels herself pulsate with power. Gwiboon remains silent, but there is no animosity in her stance. She is, as before, quiet and patient.

“I know that--” Junghee tries to reason, taking a step closer to the other. “I know you’ve heard things about me, you’ve heard people in the building call me names. I know that. It’s all true. I am...” she frowns as if surprised by her own admission. “I am all those things. I won’t hide any of it, not from you.” 

Her eyes close as the snow begins to rush harder to them. Her scalp dampens with it, weighs her down. In the darkness of her lids she imagines the world as she would have it. Gwiboon is in her arms and she is in Gwiboon’s hold. They sway in place as they rest their foreheads together and listen to a tune that plays only for their ears. She dreams of her fingers playing the notes on Gwiboon’s skin and the other’s feet tap in time to it all. In the joint of their contrasting hair--silvery white against worn pink--the dream swirls as Junghee’s feet stop their advance. They stop walking in a straight line and she looks up, fixing their lips together in a smile.

“Wait,” the other whispers. Junghee opens her eyes to a broken dream.

Gwiboon walks in circles until she is dizzy.

She has lived too long and loved too much for it to seem real to anyone but herself. So she tells no one about it. But she has lived too long to not know herself, to not be familiar with every feeling there was to feel in this world. 

She had been married once, when this city was still called Hanseong. Jinki was an official in the king’s court and together they had built a home, a family. She’d been a wife, and then a mother when he’d given her three children to love and care for. For sixty years she had arranged his topknot for him and everyday from that life comes back to her as if it were only yesterday that he were standing there in his robes, looking up at her as if to ask how does this look? 

She had been a comrade once, when Taemin sat her down and explained the movement to her. His hands had gesticulated restlessly until she’d taken them in her grasp and run her thumbs over his cold knuckles. She still chuckles at the thought of how they had danced while he decoded Marx and Stalin to her mid-swirl. She’d been jailed with him, been on trial with him, broken out and lead an uprising with him. And had someone asked, she would’ve died with him.

Many years later she’d been a lover. The scent of Minjung’s neck rolls into her recollections when she walks past cherry blossoms. The softness of her cheeks and the smoke of her lashes come rushing when sleep is too far away. The haze of a lengthy kiss, the ache of a lengthy night, the warmth of a lengthy gaze left her spellbound then and leave her melancholy now when Minjung’s favorite song is on the radio. She misses those pink smiles like missing a part of herself.

Gwiboon has loved too much and then seen it die. Of old age, of despair, at the hands of the enemy. Through it all she has remained, helpless in her agelessness. She has loved and it has broken her every time to be left behind. So she walks in circles and avoids it all. Avoids the cycles by starting a new cycle, of solitude. But here is Junghee on this cold night, taking a step closer, and then another.

“Wait,” Gwiboon stops her. She can see the other crumble a little. She pulls the scarf off her mouth and her breath fogs. “Wait,” she repeats, softer, lower. “I am... not who you think I am.” Junghee blinks, only half-listening now like she is just one breath away from turning and walking away, ready to disappear into the storm. Gwiboon rushes to finish. “I would’ve loved you in another lifetime. When I still had love in me to give away. But I am...” she shakes her head like she does not know what words to use. “I am empty now. I don’t have anything I can give you and you will never be happy with me. I’ll... I’ll make you miserable until it will kill you to look at me, and you’ll--”

“Hey,” Junghee stops her. “No,” she shakes her head. “Don’t say that.”

Every time Junghee walks in a straight line, she waits to connect the dots. Gwiboon walks in circles so she won’t stop and look back. But when their paths meet and stop at each other they are shocked. The circle is cut in half and the line falters, their shapes melding together to form something new, something unrecognizable. Junghee reaches out and hooks a finger in the sodden wool of the other’s scarf. Gwiboon smooths the other’s wet greying fringe off her face. They look into each other’s eyes and they see something they have never seen, in all their time alive, and all their time dying.

[lubdubsworld]

Lightning and Thunder (Seokjin/OC)

Chapter 3

I was stuck dumb by how large and sprawling Seokjin’s apartment was, the entire expanse of the huge penthouse done in muted black and white. Some odd paintings here and there added a splash of color but most of it was geometric patterns, nothing too wild. 

The livingspace was wide and open , friendly and matching the personality of its owner. i noticed the comfortable slightly curved couch with the white upholstery , the small coffee table in front of it carrying a crystal vase with two long stemmed irises. 

The opposite wall was fully glass, showing a breathtaking view of the Seoul skyline and the carpet was fluffy white , expensive looking and feathery . 

 But what i really couldn’t stop staring at was what appeared to be a life size portrait of Kim Seokjin in a white tuxedo, fitted right in the centre of the largest wall in the livingspace right next to the door which led to the master bedroom.. 

“This....is. “ I stopped, just staring at it and trying to formulate words.

“Magnificent? I know... The suit is Brioni and the photographer was...” Seokjin ranted off some unpronounceable name and went on to decribe the suit in more boring detail and i cut him short when it became too much. 

“Are you a doctor or a model?” I said , staring slack jawed as he  reached for the first of the seven boxes ( which the concierge had kindly dropped off in the hallway )  into what looked like the spare bedroom . I watched him place it at the door and then return back for the next one.

“I model for my father’s Company, when he needs someone at short notice.” He shrugged and i gaped because I had been joking. 

“Okay... Dr. Kim.”

“Call me oppa.” He said casually and I spluttered. 

“I.. no.. that’s ...i can’t...”

“what? i’m not that old...” 

“But still.... “

“Fine. As you wish. Come see your room.” He ushered me in and I stared in awe. 

“Like it?” He said sounding amused as i took in the muted grey and blue colors, the robin egg blue bed with the aquamarine sheets. The curtains were a light teal grey , pulled aside to show huge bay windows that opened into a rooftop garden. I peered out into the roof in awe, seeing the small stone jacuzzi set into the corner of the wall. 

“this is amazing.” 

“Anyway, I’ve put in a study table , a night lamp and a case full of stationeries in your room. There’s also a worktable with a computer, Wi-fi connection, a printer and a scanner. I’ve kept the paper for the machine in the shelf underneath it. I don’t mind you listening to music as long as it’s at a reasonable volume....” 

He pointed out each item as he talked and i felt myself getting steadily agitated. 

I stared at him in helpless consternation.

“Dr. Kim, i can’t stay here!!” I whispere yelled. 

He blinked. 

“What? Why? is it the color...i can call an interior decorator if you-”

“What-No! it’s not the color .. it’s ...the colors perfect...i...”

“Are you scared of heights? The curtains can close, you know...” He grabbed a remote and pressed some button on it and i watched slack jawed as the curtains automatically pulled shut. 

Holy cow. 

“ i can’t just stay here for free.. it’s ...it’s too much...” i whispered raggedly. 

He blinked, red lips parting in surprise.

“Don’t be ridiculous... It’s not too much! You’re carrying my nephew or niece in there.” He pointed at my belly and I instinctively pressed my palm there. 

“even so... This seems too much.. “ i looked around. 

“You can help me around the house with some of the chores. If you feel bad about it.” He said casually , grabbing two of the boxes and placing them on the bed. “ I’ve emtied out the closet. Do you want to put your clothes in now? Or should i make dinner first?” He asked casually.

I grabbed the nearest box and opened it , seeing the figurines from earlier wrapped neatly in thick wads of newspaper to keep them from breaking. Grinning i unwrapped the package. 

“You cook?” i said surprised. 

“Not normally. i’m usually too busy but I took today off anyway and I’m not sure you should be eating take out. Home cooked meals are always healthy. Which reminds me.... There’s a recipe book in the kitchen counter. it’s mine and the stuff there is really simple. I’d prefer if you make your own meals instead of eating out.” He said firmly.

I pouted.

“I don’t cook well...i’ll just eat burgers and coke and fries... ”I said , mostly teasing. 

i knew my way around the kitchen. 

“Oh... well, i’ll cook whenever I come home and leave it in the fridge. All you’ll have to do is heat it up and-”

“i was joking!! Could you please stop being so nice, i feel like I’m swindling you!! ” I cried out , aggrieved. 

Seokjin chuckled amiably. 

“Your swindling isn’t going to affect me , Yeri ya. I’m rich enough to afford spoiling you.” He winked . 

 winked. 

Now here’s the thing. i knew that there was nothing even remotely suggestive about his wink. But just the visuals.....

With his messy blond hair and creamy white complexion and those long lashes, and those plump red lips.... 

Momentarily losing all control of my brain cells, I blurted out.

“You’re so pretty , I feel like I’ve failed as a girl....” 

He stared at me for a second and I expected him to burst out laughing at my ridiculousness.

Instead he went a deep, plum red. 

i stared as the flush spead up his neck, over his killer cheekbones and finally his ears looked like chillies as he ducked his head in embarassment.

“I... You... I’ll get started on dinner.” He rushed out before i could fully process that I’d somehow managed to make Dr. Kim Seokjin blush. 

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

“There’s some stuff i’d like to talk about.” Seokjin said , later as i sat perched on the counter, carefully cutting up spring onions and dropping them in a bowl. I hummed in acknowledgement , glancing at him. He was wearing a white t shirt, tight around his mammoth shoulders and hanging loose around his incredibly tiny waist. 

The apron around said waist was a pale baby blue, looking pretty against the gray stonewashed jeans on his long legs. He grabbed the pepper crusher and twisted it vigorously, seasoning the chicken in the bowl and reached for the salt immediately after. 

“Shoot.” I prompted  and then grabbed a carrot from a nearby tray and munched on it. Seokjin gave me a judgemental stare. 

“ I remember seeing you at the sushi place near the campus about three times last week. I would rather you don’t eat sushi in seedy places.” He said calmy.

I stopped munching.

“What?”

“Raw fish isn’t healthy for you. There’s a risk of infection and I also want your buddy’s number.”

“My who?”

“Buddy.. What do you kids call it... BFF? Your best friend? The girl you stay attached to.”

i swallowed the carrot and gave him a sheepish smile.

“Uh... i don’t have one?” I said softly. 

He stopped seasoning the chicken and looked at me.

“Excuse me?”

“i mean...i have friends..” acquaintances really. “ but uh.. no one close.”

“So who should I contact if you don’t pick up the phone?” 

I frowned. 

“You’re being weird now.” i pointed out. 

Seokjin sighed.

“i’m being responsible. Like i said, I won’t be here often. kit’s entirely possible we won’t be seeing each other for days. i would like to be able to check up on you in between.” He said primly. 

 Is this because of me wishing to see my mom, last night , God? Because this is freaking me out. 

 “ I’ll pick my phone up. for sure. I promise.” i said quickly. 

Seokjin hummed.

“Fine. And like i said , no coffee okay?” 

I groaned. 

“Fine.”

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

“ This is really delicious. “ i said brightly, shoving another spoonful of rice and a bit of chicken into my mouth. The sauce was rich and seasoned well, not too oily or salty. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. it’s important to eat well during your pregnancy.” he said thoughtfully. 

I continued eating, pausing to smile brightly. 

" Thank you for the food , Dr. Kim I’ve been feeling really hungry lately.” I admitted. “ Must be the baby feeling hungry then....” 

“Yes... but interestingly, you don’t actually need to eat any extra calories during the first trimester.” He said softly. 

I froze mid bite.

“What?”

“You don’t have to eat extra .... Not for another month at least.” 

Oh. 

I glanced down at the third helping of rice in my bowl. oh whatever. it had been so long since I’d had any home cooked meal. 

And then slowly his words began to ring on a loop in my head. i frowned. 

“Wait.. are you telling me i should stop eating? “ i glanced up. 

Seokjin looked taken aback as he frowned. 

“What...no , i-”

“Because i’m not fat! i went to the doctor last week and he said i was a healthy weight!” 

“Yeri.. i’m not insinuating that-” 

“Or are you calling me a freeloader... Am i eating too much for you to afford??!”

“Oh, for the love of God....” 

“Because you were the one who said that you could afford to spoil me!!” 

Seokjin sighed while i felt hot tears stinging the back of my eyes. 

Oh, God what was wrong with me!!

 My mood swings had been a bit bad but apparently, today my hormones were working overtime. 

“Sweetheart... I’m just worried that...”

“Forget it.” i stood up, horrified, partly because of what had happened and partly because I was close to tears. i had to get away from him before i embarassed myself completely. 

i quickly ran into the guest bedroom, not even sure why i was crying. 

Seokjin’s voice came from outside the door.

“Yeri...i was just worried that you’d get sick.... “ He called out imploringly and I felt worse.

“I...i know..I’m so sorry, Dr. Kim... i just... i’ve been feeling a little ... emotional these few weeks. ” I called back, still burrowed in the sheets. He was a doctor wasn’t he?? He would understand my suffering. 

“Should i come in?” He said worriedly. 

“No.. No.. i’ll be fine. I’m sorry for yelling at you. Thank you for the food. “ I said miserably.

“Okay. My shift starts in three hours. i won’t be here when you wake up. My chauffeur will pick you up when you leave. Just tell my name at the reception and he’ll come around, okay?”

I felt the heavy feeling of guilt settle deeper inside my gut. 

“Okay , Dr. Kim.” 

there was a few seconds of silence. I thought he’d left when his voice came through the door again. 

“Good night, sweetheart. i’m going to be right here if you need  me, okay? ”

I promptly burst into tears. 

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

And then at 3.00 Am as i emptied the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl of Seokjin’s toilet, I understood exactly why he’d wanted me to cut down on the food. 

It didn’t help that when I dragged myself to the kitchen to get some water from the cooler i found a flask on the spotless kitchen counter with a small note underneath.

 Yeri, 

This is ginger tea. Something tells me that dinner is going to pay you a visit again tonight. Drink this and drink plenty of water. Should help settle your stomach. Sleep on your side, 

Dr. Kim

Seokjin Oppa

Oh, God. Where was death when you really needed it? 

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

Seokjin POV

“So, I made her some ginger tea and left a note.” Seokjin finished , carefully grading the papers from his third year class. 

“Wow. You must really care for this girl...” 

“Hmm.... oh well, someone should. She’s pretty clueless and seems to have no friends. I tried asking around and she’s mostly a bit of a recluse. Not a lot of friends . And her family is shitty too. “

“wow, they made you swear? Must be real bad.”

“Dad’s banker, Mum’s a teacher. They’re supposed to be paying for her rent at least, she has a full scholarship. But they cut her off just because she’s pregnant.”

“Because of your brother.” Namjoon said firmly, his voice hard. 

“Taehyung’s a kid, Namjoon... he didn’t know...”

“Bullshit hyung. We both know he’s a menace. He didn’t ‘ accidentally ‘ sleep with her. He made a bet with those useless friends of his and got her drunk. I don’t think it’s anything less than rape.” 

Seokjin felt annoyance and guilt well up inside him in equal measure.

“Stop exaggerating! He didn’t get her drunk... he... he just got carried away...” Seokjin said lamely. His palms were getting sweaty. 

“And now you’re covering up for him as usual. You should really let him face the consequences of his reckless actions , hyung everytime you clean up his mess, it just makes him do worse things!” 

“what am I supposed to do, Namjoon-ah?! Let the girl know the truth?! She could make it public. It would wreck Taehyung’s life. He’s engaged already!” He said miserably. 

“And what about, Yeri hyung? She’s alone, no money, no family.... doesn’t she deserve compensation? Your brother is supposed to be supporting his child at the least!!” Namjoon said angrily. 

Seokjin couldn’t even defend his brother now. Taehyung was always reckless but this time he had outdone himself. 

Seokjin did hate his brother sometimes but he was still his brother. 

Yeri was a good girl and he felt sorry for her and  this time, he knew he was doing something wrong as well. . 

But he couldn’t help it. 

Family was still family. And Taehyung would always have to come first. 

But more than that, there was something far more important at stake. He thought about Taehyung’s fiancee and the 300 billion won investment that her father would be bringing in for the Hospital. 

He could have the pediatric oncology clinic that he had been dying to set up from his freshman year in medical school. Hundreds of thousands of children would be benefitted. 

But all that would go down the drain if Taehyung’s fiancee found out that the boy had made another girl pregnant. He couldn’t risk that happening. 

the greater good, he thought miserably. 

Besides, it wasn’t like he was abandoning Yeri. 

“I’m supporting her, aren’t I?” He said furiously. “ i’m going to take care of her and the baby. “ He said firmly. And he meant it. He would treat her like a queen. He would give her the best that money could buy. Anything and everything she wanted. 

Namjoon shook his head. 

“That’s not the point hyung. She deserves to know the truth. The choice should be hers.” 

Seokjin frowned and stood up. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He said firmly , before walking out. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE : 

Kudos to anyone who guessed that my story would never be angst-free. 

[spnroundrobin]

Masterpost: Round Two

Prompt: Cas and Dean have been dating for a couple months now but are trying to keep it quiet while they figure things out. There’s some unexpected downtime and Dean’s determined to make the most of it, setting up a whole bunch of activities for the two of them. The only problem: they keep running into Sam and have to pretend that they are not, in fact, on a date at all.

Sam and Eileen have been dating for a couple months now but are trying to keep it quiet for now. When the brothers get some down time, Sam invites Eileen over to spend some much needed time together. They make a day of it and are having a great time… except they keep running into Dean and Cas. Eventually they’re going to run out of excuses about why they can’t stay to hang out with them…

(Keep it Teen rated. Innuendos are fine but no on screen sexual acts. Your post can focus on one of the couples doing a date activity, both couples, and/or the brothers trying to avoid each other. Side characters welcome but only over the phone/Skype. The boys aren’t confined to the bunker, but let’s keep them in Kansas. No hunting, no killing, no one’s hurt. Set vaguely during canon.)

Schedule and Posting Instructions

(As submissions are made, they will be posted here by the mods.)

#1 @weasleychick32

Castiel stares at the boat for a long moment before turning his back on it and frowning at Dean unhappily.

“I thought dates were supposed to be enjoyable.”

Dean stops patting his pockets in a futile attempt to locate his misplaced coupon and turns an expression of outraged offense onto Castiel while the woman manning the rental booth sigh and turns her flat stare to the sky as though to ask what she ever did to deserve this. He can relate.

“We haven’t even gotten on the water yet!”

Therein lies problem number one. As for problem number two…

“Why is it shaped like a long-necked waterfowl?”

Dean glances at the boat then back at Castiel. “Dude, it’s a swan.”

“That’s what I said.”

Dean roughly scrubs a hand down his face then through his hair, looking pained. Why do humans insist on dating when it causes them so much stress? He’d be content staying in the bunker and watching Netflix, as they usually do between hunts, but for some reason Dean insisted he needs to start “treating him right” and thus instigated an entire day of forcing them to perform traditional couple activities. As of yet, he doesn’t see the appeal.

Long-necked waterfowl are mean.

“Just… trust me alright? You’ll like it. If I could just find…”

Muttering under his breath, he resumes checking his numerous pockets for the coupon that isn’t there. With a sigh, Castiel lets his attention wander. There’s the pond–green algae clinging to the outer-rim’s surface as tiny flies flit about–circled by a well-worn tree dotted walking path that is punctuated by a small sno cone stand almost opposite where they stand now.

Intrigued, he watches a child skip happily away last, a pink-topped cone in hand that she bites into with apparent relish. He catches himself licking his lips and with a frustrated huff turns away only for his attention to be snared by a familiar figure heading down the path from the parking lot. Make that two familiar figures.

“Sam is here. With Eileen.”

“What?!” Dean startles and for a moment Castiel can see him form the decision to drag him behind the nearby dumpster and out of sight, the only logical course of action to be sure, but then Sam looks up from signing to Eileen and freezes mid-step.

Excellent, they’ve been spotted. Castiel lifts his hand in a wave while Dean visibly fights the impulse to drag his arm back down to his side. He’s not sure how Dean’s insistence that Sam knowing about their romantic relationship would make things “weird” fits into his determination to “treat him right”, but he leaves that dissonance for Dean to resolve.

Sam waves back disjointedly and only then does Eileen look away from his face to follow his gaze. When she catches sight of him and Dean a beaming smile splits her face and she doesn’t waste another moment before hooking her arm through the crook of Sam’s elbow and dragging him down the path to meet them.

As they come, he catches a flash of Sam stuffing something into his pocket that looks mysteriously like a certain missing coupon. Dean curses under his breath, but due to his limited human eyesight, he doesn’t believe he spotted it. This is all good and well because while he doesn’t much care for long-necked waterfowl, swan or otherwise, he would very much like to try one of those sno cones.

#2 - skipped

#3 @ravenscat-tumbler

“What are you guys doing here?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, we had time on our hands so uh, I decided to bring Cas here, y’know… since he’s still learning what humans do in their spare time and all.” Dean says, fumbling through his excuse.

Cas frowns at him and Dean pleads, with his eyes at Cas, not to say anything.

Cas turns away and looks towards the sno cones again.

Dean sighs in relief and looks back to his moose of a brother. “What are you doing here?” He asks.

“Oh, uh Eileen said she was going to be in town for a couple days and we decided to take a chill day.” Sam explains. “Uh, we were just leaving anyways. I’ll see you later.” He says.

Eileen who was reading his lips, frowns.

“But we just got here…” She says as well as signs.

“OK BYE!” Sam says, interrupting her and then dragging her away.

Dean shakes his head and then turns back to where Cas was standing to explain, except Cas was no longer there.

“Cas? Cas! Shit.” Dean frantically looks around for him, sighing when he spots the back of his trench coat by the Sno cone guy.

He walks over to him and sees that Castiel is now crouched down, trying to pacify a cute 4-year-old girl. She was crying over her fallen Sno cone and her mom was no where to be found.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s just a sno cone. I’ll get you another one.” Cas says. “Which one do you want?” He asks, picking her up so she could see the flavours and colours.

“The blue one.” She sniffles out.

“Okay, you got stop crying first.” He says.

She nods and wipes her tear streaked face.

“A blue and a red please.” He says.

The guy hands them over and Cas places the girl down before grabbing them and handing the blue one over.

“Here you go.” Cas says.

“Thank you.” She says as she leans on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek.

Dean’s heart melts, that was the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Castiel would be so good with their kids. Wait, did he really just think that?

Cas smiles at her and ruffles her hair, “You are very welcome.” He answers.

Just then the girl’s mom comes rushing towards them.

“Oh thank god! I thought I lost you, Gem.” She says, grabbing her daughter and picking her up.

Gem tells her mom what Cas had done for her and her mom looks at him appreciatively.

“Thank you so much.” She says, walking over to him and rubbing his arm, suggestively. “It’s hard being a single mom you know. I just try to keep her happy.”

Cas nods, “I understand. You are doing a very good job.”

She smiles at him.

Dean clears his throat and walks closer to them. Giving the mom the evil eye, he slips his hand into Castiel’s.

“Hey babe, ready to go?” He asks.

Cas nods.

“Oh, uhm. Thank you once again.” The lady says, blushing before heading off with her daughter.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t want people to know you were on a date with me.” Cas says, gesturing to their hands.

Dean blushes, “C’mon man. It’s not like that.”

Cas ignores him and proceeds to eat his sno cone, fingers still laced together with Dean’s.

#4 - skipped

#5 @angelofthemoor

They continue down the sidewalk. Cas eats messily; soon, his nose is dotted with red juice, and his lips are stained red.

Dean taps his own nose. “You got a little something here.”

Cas brushes the side of his nose. “Did I get it?”

“No,” Dean chuckles. “Here.” He leans in and licks Cas’s nose. It tastes of cherry and that unique flavor he can only describe as Cas.

Cas scrunches up his nose, which still lies on the tip of Dean’s tongue. “Was that really necessary?” Cas pouts.

“Hmm.” Dean pecks Cas with his lips as he drags them from Cas’s nose to his mouth. His lips stop there, and they linger, Dean infusing the kiss with all his love.

When they reluctantly pull back, Cas solemnly declares, “Yes. Completely necessary.” Dean laughs.

Their hands remain intertwined as they stroll through the park. On the other side, there’s a breathtaking garden he wants to show Cas. He’s caught the guy studying a sunflower for several hours, so he knows Cas’ll love the colorful flowers. Plus, he’ll get a kick out of the animal-shaped bushes.

They pause so Cas can toss his empty foam cup into a trash can. A few hundred feet in front of them, there’s a carousel. Dean spots Sam and Eileen heading toward it, so he hastily tears his hand out of Cas’s.

“Look,” Dean says, nodding toward Sam and Eileen.

They step onto the carousel. Eileen straddles a horse, and Sam stands beside her, resting a hand on the small of her back. Like he needs to support her posture. He’s surprised she doesn’t swat his hand away.

Dean titters as he watches the merry-go-round spin. Kids crowd the ride; Sam and Eileen are the only adults on it. When the carousel finishes, Sam and Eileen hop off the ride, laughing.

“Aren’t you a little old for that thing?” Dean calls.

Sam jumps practically ten feet away from Eileen and blushes. “Uh.”

“It was my idea,” Eileen interjects. Sam and Eileen speak in a rapid flurry of sign language, which just isn’t fair. Way to make a guy feel included. When did Sam become so fluent in sign language, anyway? He’d known Sam had been studying it, but not that he’d become so adept already.

“When I was a kid,” Eileen explains, “I loved carousels. I had a case of nostalgia.”

“Oh,” Dean murmurs. He slaps Sam on the shoulder, and Sam scowls. “Well. We’ve gotta go. See you around.”

“Ditto,” Sam replies as he and Eileen stride off.

Cas squints after them. “They were lying.”

“What?”

“When they were signing. They were trying to decide on an excuse to give us.”

Interesting. What could they be hiding?

Not that Dean cares all that much. “C’mon, you gotta see this garden,” Dean asserts as he resumes walking.

Cas rolls his eyes. “So you keep telling me. This ‘hype’ better be justified.”

Dean smiles to himself. On occasion, Cas still pulls out the air quotes. Dean may gripe about it, but really, he thinks it’s cute.

#6 @posingasme

There was probably nothing in the world more endearing than tough Eileen Leahy pretending she wasn’t limping. Sam was falling for her all over again just watch her scowl.

“Shut up,” she signed irritably.

He couldn’t help chuckling. “Okay, mighty huntress,” he teased. “Come here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m fine.” She was moving her hands sharply, as she did when she was annoyed.

“You turned your ankle. Don’t be stubborn.” He smiled down at her. “Besides, I’ve been trying to get my arms around you all day. Throw me a bone. Let me pretend you need me for a minute.”

Eileen allowed a small smile to peek through finally. She sighed with dramatics. “Oh, Sam,” she cried. “I am a distressed damsel in need of a giant knight to save me-”

“Oh, all right. You suck at making a guy feel needed!” They laughed together, but she leaned on him at last, and he felt his entire body warming. She was exactly his type of strong and soft, and he was certain he had never been more in love than with this fascinating woman. “I know you don’t need me, but I hope you want me,” he murmured.

Sam hadn’t realized he had ducked his head until he felt her fingers lifting his chin. “Face me, please,” she said quietly.

His cheeks heated. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn't…” He stopped to take a deep breath. When he wasn’t using signs, stuttering was bound to make him harder to understand.

But Eileen was an excellent lipreader. It was a point of pride, he had learned, since many in the deaf community were not so adept as she, although they were inevitably more practiced than their hearing peers. She smiled at him. “It’s all right. I just like to point out when you’re talking to yourself,” she teased gently. “In case that’s an issue for you.”

He smiled back. One day, he would tell her everything, about how Lucifer had once haunted him, and he hadn’t been able to trust even that Dean was Dean, or that he was himself. But not today. Today, he just wanted to look into her eyes and hold her as long as she let him.

“Well?” she demanded. “Are you carrying me or am I hobbling the rest of the day?”

A bright grin came over him, and he sighed happily. “Where to, huntress?” he signed.

She loved the pet name. When he had asked her for the sign weeks ago, she hadn’t understood. “No, no. That’s hunter. You taught me that one. What’s huntress? Like Artemis. A female hunter. A warrior goddess who hunts evil and protects innocents. I know hunter. But I want to know the sign for Eileen. Huntress.” She had beamed at him, and shown him a variation on the sign he already knew, and it was how he addressed her, always.

“Anywhere,” she breathed.

He took her into his arms, and lifted. While he certainly didn’t like that she felt pain, he wondered if Eileen turning her ankle on the hill beyond the fairgrounds wasn’t the best thing that had happened all day.

But then he looked ahead, and dread came over him. “Dammit.”

It was too late. Castiel had seen them. “Sam! Eileen, are you all right?” The angel began toward them with concern in his eyes. Dean, behind him, had something else in his eyes entirely.

“I was,” she muttered. But she smiled. “I’m okay!” she called as their friend approached. “Just a twisted ankle.”

Castiel raised his two fingers, with which he extended his healing grace.

Sam sighed.

#7 @magickmoons

“Lucky we ran into you, so that I could help,” Cas commented.

“Yeah, lucky,” Sam echoed, as he reluctantly set Eileen back on her feet.

She flashed him a wry grin, then turned to Castiel. “Thank you.”

“Okay, well, now that’s settled, we can all go on with our own – separate – plans,” Dean declared. “Not that we had ‘plans’ exactly.” Dean’s eyes went wide when he found himself using Cas’s air quotes – couple of months dating and he was already picking up Cas’s bad habits – and he dropped his arms quickly.

Sam didn’t notice Dean’s air quotes, already pushing out his own stumbling response. “Yeah, no, we didn’t make any plans either, man. I mean, this was just kind of a spur of the moment, spontaneous, uh… thing.”

“Right, yeah. So, uh, we’ll just be on our way.” Dean nodded, just stopping himself from laying a hand against Cas’s back to guide him. He was anxious to get to the gardens, and maybe find some secluded, overgrown corner to steal a kiss or two. Or, at the very least, to get away from Sam and Eileen’s entirely-too-perceptive eyes.

“We will see you later,” Eileen said.

And the four of them started walking… in the same direction.

#8 skipped

#9 @hells-keeper 

“so… What’s your plans, huh?” Asked Sam, somewhat awkwardly. He wasn’t sure it was the best idea to start another conversation, but just walking away… It felt weird. 

“Like I said, nothing in particular. Cas and I just wanted to hang out, y'know?” Dean scratched the back of his head. He and Cas walked close to each other, but that was not new, and the road was a bit narrow for 3 muscular men and another not-so-petite woman. 

“Yeah, but… You had nothing in mind?” 

“Nope.” Dean said, and popped the ‘P’. 

“Oh, look, Dean!” Said Cas. 

“What is it B- buddy?” Dean covered his stumble with a well placed physical stumble.

“A bakery.” Cas grinned. 

“I guess we do have plans now? Wanna join us?” 

“No!” Sam almost shouted, and then calmed at his brother’s raised eyebrow. “I’m not a fan of baked goods like you, I think Eileen and I will be better on our own.” 

“Okay, see you later.” Dean smiled and he and his angel went to the bakery. 

“Why did you invite them? I thought you wanted us to have some 'alone time’?” Damn, Dean will never get rid of this habit if Cas keeps using air-quotes.  

“Rule number whatever if social interaction, Cas. When you ask someone in awkward situation like this if they want to join you, they won’t even follow you, they’ll go away 'cause they want all the awkward to be over. And anyway, speaking of awkward, what the heck is this place? A kosher bakery? How do you even–” 

“Dean, most bakeries don’t have anything with meat. Being kosher brings more costumers. Think that now it’s accessible for people whose hometown either doesn’t have bakeries, or a kosher one, and then, well, the price of the ingredients is fully paid back. Also, what’s the problem with that?”

“Doesn’t it usually… I don’t know, taste not as good?”

“First of all, their baked goods are mostly dairy, and not parve, second of all, you liked that vegan our I bought you once. You said it was one of the best you’ve ever had.” Cas said in his usual solemn voice. 

“What the heck Cas? You trying to poison me? Next you’re gonna say you put things in the quiche in such a way I won’t find them.” 

“Indeed.” 

"Cas! You trying to get me killed? I don’t need rabbit or tree-hugger food, I–” 

“Need to stay healthy. I also merit from it.” He squeezed Dean’s hand and brought the knuckles close to his face. 

“Also, I know for a fact that you can’t say no to pie unless you’re worried. And I know you’re not.” He kissed the back of Dean’s hand gently, and smiled. 

“Well, you are right…” 

“Do you want anything?” Asked one of the employees. He had the appearance of a sloth, and his name tag showed “Sid” 

#10 @zolaliz

Eileen waited until after the boys had headed off to the bakery to turn towards Sam. She didn’t have to say- or sign- anything for him to understand that bemused expression; the one very typical of his Eileen Leahy.

“Oh shut up,” he muttered, simultaneously signing the words. That little smile of hers broke into a grin, and after checking that Dean and Cas were out of sight, looped her arm with Sam’s.

“Shall we continue to the garden?” She said in her attempt at a snooty rich person tone. He laughed fondly, pulling her ever-so-slightly closer, and nodded.

“Lead the way, Madam.”

As they walked along the path, the colorful array of flowers peeked into sight over the next hill. Even from afar, Sam could spot butterflies and bees swirling around the pretty petals. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a overzealous puppy bounded onto the path in front of them, and almost knocked into Sam’s knees.

Eileen pulled him out of its path of fluffy destruction in the last instant, saving him from a date with the pavement.

“That was a close one,” he signed to her, leaning against her grip on his midsection. She laughed good- naturedly, and crouched down to let the puppy smell her hand.

“Oh my god, ohhhh my god, I’m so sorry,” an apologetic owner ran over, her arms outstretched toward her dog, “he really doesn’t mean any harm- I swear it! He just doesn’t know his own size, and-”

“It’s fine, really,” Sam assured the lady, nudging Eileen to get her attention. “He’s a cutie- who could be mad at this face? What’s his name?”

Though his question was directed to the lady, he still faced Eileen, allowing her to read his lips.

“Macaroon,” she replied breathlessly, swooping over him to reattach him to his leash.

“Macaroon,” Sam repeated, smiling, “that’s a great name.”

“I call him Roonie for short.”

“Hello Roonie,” Sam greeted, giving Macaroon’s ears a fluff. Eileen grinned and joined him in petting the slobbery thing.

“Is he a Lab?” Eileen asked the lady, who flushed and suddenly looked a little uncomfortable.

She turned to Sam, concerned, whispering, “I’m sorry, I don’t know sign language.”

“This guy here’s a Newfoundland,” Sam answered for her, and Eileen grinned down at the puppy, “they’re closely related to the Labrador.”

“And don’t worry about sign language, I can read lips. Sam is still learning too,” she gave a affectionate squeeze to Sam’s shoulder.

“Oh! That’s so adorable- you’re learning ASL just for her?”

Sam gave a bashful smile. “I guess I am, aren’t I? She is my girlfriend after all.”

The lady smiled down at them with the same look they were giving the puppy.

“Well sorry again for interrupting your date- have a nice day!”

“You too,” the lovebirds chirped together, giving Macaroon one last pat before walking away.

“So,” Eileen knocked her shoulder gently against Sam’s arm, “you’re comfortable telling a complete stranger about us, but you can’t tell your own brother?”

“You know it’s not that simple,” he sighed, eyes tied to his feet.

“Sam-”

“I know what he’ll say. That people like us- hunters, the life- we can’t have this.”

“But I’m a hunter too!” She signed quickly, face reddening slightly, “I can take care of myself- and Dean wants you to be happy, Sam. You know he does.”

“Sorry, could you slow down a little? I-”

“Sorry, sorry,” she complied, “Dean cares about you, Sam. And if he has any problem with us, tell him I’ll take care of his younger brother just fine. He has nothing to worry about. Besides, if he said anything on the matter he’d be a hypocrite, ‘cause he’s obviously dating Cas.”

“That’s different, Eileen. He can come to me with that when he’s ready.” Sam didn’t leave Eileen any chance of responding when he cupped her hands in his and brought them up to his lips. “Now, let’s go try and find a bouquet of flowers that’s as pretty as you.”

She held his gaze a moment longer, hesitant, before rolling her eyes and snorting, “impossible.”

He kissed her nose, and agreed.

#12 @blue-reveries

“For someone who was so hesitant about the baked goods, you seemed to enjoy that pie quite a bit,” Castiel said, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice as they walked out of the bakery at a leisurely pace. They were walking slowly because Castiel feared that walking too quickly might cause Dean to become sick.

Eating almost an entire pie could do that to a person.

Dean glared petulantly but rubbed his tender stomach gingerly. “Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have had that last piece but damn I’m glad I did.” He grinned impishly and paused for a second before looking at Castiel expectantly. “So what do we want to do now?”

Castiel nodded towards the walking path that ran along the water. “It might be beneficial for your stomach ache if we took a nice stroll,” he replied as he grabbed Dean’s hand in his and started to gently pull him towards the path, ignoring Dean’s whine of protest.

“I do not have a stomach ache,” he said but nevertheless he matched Castiel’s sedate pace and interlaced their fingers. “I just over indulged, happens to the best of us.”

Laughing quietly, Castiel nodded. “Very true, I suppose I can’t really tease you too much considering how many hamburgers I ate in my Famine induced binge, not to mention that little incident with the liquor store.”

Dean chuckled and lightly bumped their shoulders together. “Yeah, you’re just as bad as me,” he shot back playfully; Castiel rolled his eyes but smiled.

They continued to walk down the path, enjoying the sights; Castiel revelled in the simplicity of walking side by side with the man he care so much for, in getting to enjoy the feel of Dean’s warmth and more than occasional touch of their clothing brushing together. Despite all the various hiccups, today really was turning out quite well. True, he was still a bit disappointed that Dean wanted to keep their relationship secret from Sam but knowing that Sam was just as guilty of the same thing made him feel a bit better. It must be a strange Winchester trait to want keep things such as this under wraps.

And speaking of other Winchesters…

Luckily, Dean was looking off in the opposite direction so Castiel was able to subtly change their course so they avoided the line of benches coming up to their left. It was more than likely a selfish move, avoiding Sam and Eileen, but deep down Castiel knew that the other couple would appreciate his running interference.

So as it was, Castiel was the only one to see Sam and Eileen seated side by side on the bench; Eileen’s head resting on Sam’s shoulder, a small bouquet of flowers held in her hand. They looked utterly content and it made Castiel happy to give them this moment.

And as he and Dean continued on their stroll, Castiel hoped that maybe he’d get to have a moment like that with Dean as well.

Bonus Round #1 (or #13) @righteousdemondean​

Sam and Eileen were content. 

The day was still pleasant, and they didn’t have to hide what was between them. The meeting with the dog made it even better. But Sam felt like something was missing. He knew what it was. Dean. It’s funny how, despite everything, happiness for Sam has to include Dean in the equation. Without him, Sam can’t be really happy. 

Looking back to the time he was with Jess, he understood that. He was very happy, yes, but the guilt and loneliness never really left. He knew Dean would be broken when he left. Dean had put so much effort to give him the best this life could offer and above, and still was left alone with their dad, who, Sam realized only later, never really liked Dean too much. He blocked the vague memories of Dean telling him to go to his room when the Impala’s engine was heard getting closer, and tried to avoid any negative thought. 

He was happy now. Truly happy. And when he’ll tell Dean, and Dean would smile and accept it, he’d be immensely happier. 

If a voice inside him said, but Sam chose to ignore it. It was Dean after all. Dean was kind and thoughtful, and loved Sam enough for both their parents and probably grandparents. He just hoped Dean won’t make too many jokes because of it, he really didn’t want to be in this place. If Dean ever dated anyone, Sam really wouldn’t mind. Dean hooked up with chicks all the time. Maybe he could find one that’d actually fit him emotionally. 

                                                           ++++

Dean and Cas’s stroll was stopped dead by Dean.

“Cas…”

“Yes, Dean?”

“How do molecules taste like?”

“Single molecule usually doesn’t really have taste because not enough is reacting with receptors in your tongue. But few molecules shape a vague, not very pleasant, taste. I could feel all the chemicals reacting and the bonds made… Like, imagine that you feel the the amylum becoming a less tight knit chain, and the functional groups bonding with your tongue. Atoms are 99.99% empty space. Which means… Food is both tasteless and tastes like chemical reactions.” 

“That’s cool. I liked chemistry in high school, but I don’t remember them teaching us about how taste works. I do know that Spicy foods are reactions with heat receptors and that that’s why water doesn’t help. It doesn’t bond well with these things. Polar and not-polar dissolvent, right?”

“You’d be correct, I believe.” Castiel nodded. The world his father had created is more than impressive and complex. Whatever his father did, was only part of it all. After some time, he left, and evolution took its rightful place as the reason for the existence of everything. it always filled Cas with awe.

“What I still don’t understand…”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Why does the male body have nipples if they’re practically useless?”

Cas had to rest his face in his palm. “Really, Dean? If you really want to know, it’s probably because fetuses are female until they become male, so nothing really leaves the body, and rather grows out–” 

“Okay. I think the point is clear.”

“Also, I didn’t hear you complain about it wh–” this time Dean put a hand on his mouth.

“Shut up, angel, let’s talk about things that are socially acceptable when in public okay?”

Cas nodded and bummed in agreement, but was focused on a admittedly adorable canine playing with (probably) its owner.

Bonus round #2 @blue-reveries

It was dusk by the time they started to wander their way back to the car, Sam holding her hand while Eileen rested her head lightly on his arm. She was slightly amused at how Sam pouted when she said she was able to walk on her own; it was obvious that he secretly liked carrying her around. The parking lot was basically empty by the time they got there but not entirely.

There was a very familiar black car parked two rows over and several spaces down.

A few other cars broke up the distance but Eileen could see Dean and Cas walking to the Impala, Dean’s hands filled with boxes. Sam was occupied with searching for the key so he could open the car doors so Eileen took a chance and managed to get Cas’ attention.

“Dean, perhaps it would help if I just held the boxes while we drove home,” Castiel suggested, hiding the laughter in his voice as he watched Dean try in vain to find a way to stack the pie boxes so they wouldn’t shift around as they drove. Dean had insisted on going back into the bakery as they’d walked past it on their way to the parking lot and proceeded to buy multiple boxes of pie to take home, leaving Dean to balance the unwieldy stack in his arms on the way back to the Impala.

“I can do it,” Dean answered stubbornly, head still inside the car as he began muttering to himself about proper pie precautions. Shaking his head, Castiel looked upwards and smiled; it was as he was turning to look back at Dean that he noticed Eileen in the distance.

There was no mistaking the fact that she was trying to get his attention.

Hello Castiel she signed rapidly, you can sign, right?

Castiel raised his hands after making sure Dean was preoccupied. Of course, I speak all languages. Did you have a nice time on your date with Sam?

Even from the slightly long distance, Castiel could see her smile brightly as she responded. Yes, how was yours and Dean’s?

Smiling softly at the way Dean cursed at his current arrangement of boxes, Castiel nodded. It was perfect.

He watched as Sam made a gesture that he interpreted as joy at finding the car keys that dangled from his hand before he leaned down and kissed Eileen, who gave no indication she was talking to Castiel, on the cheek. While Sam was preoccupied with unlocking the car, Eileen signed rapidly. I think it’s about time we nudged these two in the right direction.

Castiel repressed the urge to laugh in relief. Yes, I agree. They think they are fooling each other but at this point it’s just embarrassing.

You work on yours and I’ll work on mine? Eileen said, nodding towards Sam’s broad back. They didn’t have much time, Dean had just declare that he “finally got it” and it looked like Sam was about to turn back around.

He nodded and signed back. That sounds like a good plan.

Sam started to turn back around so Castiel ducked and hid. He peeked his head over the top just in time to see Sam get into the car and catch a glimpse of Eileen stealthily signing as she walked around to get into her side of the car.

Good, see you at home!

Smiling, Castiel nodded and waved, making sure to be subtle, just as Dean emerged from the car. He turned to Castiel and gave him a kiss on the cheek, luckily he didn’t notice the car behind them.

“And we’re ready to go,” he said, slipping an arm around Castiel’s waist; his smile was utterly content and it made Castiel’s chest feel pleasantly warm. Dean rested their foreheads together. “Did you have a nice time?”

Castiel smiled. “I had a great time. Today was perfect.”

Dean gave him another kiss on the cheek and pulled away. “Alright then, let’s go home.”

[oovitus]

Weekend Reading, 7.1.18

Happy Sunday, and happy 1st of July! Summer sure is flowing along.

This week, Maria Popova sent out a “mid-week pick-me-up” email linking back to a post from the Brain Pickings archive. It featured a 1958 letter from John Steinbeck to his son, Thom, who had written home from boarding school with a confession of having fallen in love with a young woman named Susan.

It’s worth reading the post, and the letter, in its entirety. I’d read it the first time Maria posted it, but it touched me every bit as much the second time around as it did the first. It’s not just what Steinbeck says about love, which I think is great. It’s also how he says it: simply, generously, vulnerably.

Steinbeck acknowledges the inherent specialness and value of Thom’s feelings, regardless of whether they blossom into something shared or experienced between people:

“It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another — but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.”

At the same time, he invites his son to see and respect Susan; he encourages to embrace a kind of loving that includes “the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable.”

The part that really struck me this time was this gentle suggestion:

“don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”

Reading this, I thought of how often I greet what feels promising with urgency and fear of loss. This is something I’ve written about before, prompted by principles I’ve come across in my yoga practice—holding lightly, allowing things to come apart and turn into something else. But cultivating an unhurried approach to life is a practice that I need to revisit consciously from time to time.

There’s a seasonal component to all of this: it’s summer, and even the introverted and domestic among us often feel called to get outside and seize the day and do it all. Only weeks after writing about slowing down and taking care, I find myself feeling a lot busier and buzzier than I’d planned. That’s alright; it’s a sign of my feeling better and wanting to engage with the world around me, and I like that. I’m simply aware of my own tendency to rush after things, for fear they’ll slip through my fingers if I don’t.

I’ll be holding Steinbeck’s words close to me in the coming week, and as we move into the peak of summer, letting them turn over in my mind. When I think about it, it certainly rings true that really valuable and durable things—relationships, opportunities, gifts, desires—become manifest no matter the timing. They’re not fragile, and they’re not limited by contingencies. They have a way of finding us.

Wishing you all goodness that reveals itself exactly when it’s meant to. And a happy 4th of July, too.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye this week—despite the fact that asparagus is now scarce where I live—is Sherrie’s simple, herby asparagus lentil salad.

I’m in love with the electric color of Liz’s roasted tomato red pepper soup.

A creative green salad featuring sesame crusted avocado wedges—what a cool idea! Luise uses aquafaba to make almond flour and seeds stick to the avocado before baking it.

Two summery desserts today—because why not? Frozen desserts are on my mind this week (I’ve got a vegan dessert platter post coming up soon that features some of my favorite ice-cold vegan treats), and I love the look of these dairy-free toasted coconut latte popsicles.

I know that trifles are traditional English desserts, but the color scheme sure does make them a fitting choice for the 4th of July. I love Lauren’s vegan version (which features the vanilla cake from her fabulous cookbook).

Reads

1. A cool look at how pitch and emphasis can entirely alter the meaning of a spoken phrase—and how scientists are using that information to explore the possibility of speech prosthetics for those who’ve lost their voices to illness or injury.

2. Heartbreaking reporting on the loss of monkeys and other wildlife animals to electrocution on unprotected power lines in Costa Rica.

3. Also on the topic of animals and conservation, a tribute to an unlikely whale rescuer, Joe Howlett, a fisherman who knew ensnared whales were usually trapped as a by-product of the netting that was a part of his professional livelihood. I didn’t realize how endangered right whales are becoming and how many of them endure injuries in netting each year.

4. The current issue of Lapham’s Quarterly is dedicated thematically to water. Donovan Hohn’s introductory essay pays tribute to water and its many contradictions and mysteries. I love that Hohn references Adrienne Rich’s wonderful poem, “Diving into the Wreck.”

5. Gretchen Rubin interviews Vivek Wadhwa and Alex Salkever, who are the authors of Your Happiness Was Hacked: Why Tech is Winning the Battle to Control Your Brain—and How to Fight Back. I have technology to thank for a lot of goodness and richness in my life, but like many people, I can be compulsive about checking alerts and apps on my smartphone, which often keeps me from focusing on other stuff (reading, unwinding, settling into a piece of music or a movie).

I like the authors’ thoughts on building healthy habits and especially this piece of advice from Salkever:

“Don’t beat up on yourself if you don’t succeed in building healthy habits. Establishing and maintaining healthy habits is very hard, really a lifelong process that never stops. But make sure the habits you prioritize the highest and work the hardest to fulfill are the ones that make you happiest.”

On that note, it’s time to act on some of the habits that bring peace to my Sundays (like Salkever, I include doing dishes on this list, and I’ve got a little stack of them that need my attention). I’ll be back in a day or two with a delicious vegan pasta salad that’s perfect for 4th of July get togethers. Till soon!

xo

The post Weekend Reading, 7.1.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 7.1.18 published first on

[gardencityvegans]

Weekend Reading, 7.1.18

https://www.thefullhelping.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/weekend_reading.jpg

Happy Sunday, and happy 1st of July! Summer sure is flowing along.

This week, Maria Popova sent out a “mid-week pick-me-up” email linking back to a post from the Brain Pickings archive. It featured a 1958 letter from John Steinbeck to his son, Thom, who had written home from boarding school with a confession of having fallen in love with a young woman named Susan.

It’s worth reading the post, and the letter, in its entirety. I’d read it the first time Maria posted it, but it touched me every bit as much the second time around as it did the first. It’s not just what Steinbeck says about love, which I think is great. It’s also how he says it: simply, generously, vulnerably.

Steinbeck acknowledges the inherent specialness and value of Thom’s feelings, regardless of whether they blossom into something shared or experienced between people:

“It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another — but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.”

At the same time, he invites his son to see and respect Susan; he encourages to brace a kind of loving that includes “the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable.”

The part that really struck me this time was this gentle suggestion:

“don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”

Reading this, I thought of how often I greet what feels promising with urgency and fear of loss. This is something I’ve written about before, often prompted by principles I’ve come across in my yoga practice—holding lightly, allowing things to come apart and turn into something else. But cultivating an unhurried approach to life is a practice that I need to revisit consciously from time to time.

There’s a seasonal component to all of this: it’s summer, and even the introverted and domestic among us often feel called to get outside and seize the day and do it all. Only weeks after writing about slowing down and taking care, I find myself feeling a lot busier and buzzier than I’d planned. That’s alright; it’s a sign of my feeling better and wanting to engage with the world around me, and I like that. I’m simply aware of my own tendency to rush after things, for fear they’ll slip through my fingers if I don’t.

I’ll be holding Steinbeck’s words close to me in the coming week, and as we move into the peak of summer, letting them turn over in my mind. When I think about it, it certainly rings true that really valuable and durable things—relationships, opportunities, gifts, desires—become manifest no matter what. They’re not fragile, and they’re not limited by contingencies. They have a way of finding us no matter the timing.

Wishing you all goodness that reveals itself exactly when it’s meant to. And a happy 4th of July, too.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye this week—despite the fact that asparagus is now scarce where I live—is Sherrie’s simple, herby asparagus lentil salad.

I’m in love with the electric color of Liz’s roasted tomato red pepper soup.

A creative green salad featuring sesame crusted avocado wedges—what a cool idea! Luise uses aquafaba to make almond flour and seeds stick to the avocado before baking it.

Two summery desserts today—because why not? Frozen desserts are on my mind this week (I’ve got a vegan dessert platter post coming up soon that features some of my favorite ice-cold vegan treats), and I love the look of these dairy-free toasted coconut latte popsicles.

I know that trifles are traditional English desserts, but the color scheme sure does make them a fitting choice for the 4th of July. I love Lauren’s vegan version (which features the vanilla cake from her fabulous cookbook).

Reads

1. A cool look at how pitch and emphasis can entirely alter the meaning of a spoken phrase—and how scientists are using that information to explore the possibility of speech prosthetics for those who’ve lost their voices to illness or injury.

2. Heartbreaking reporting on the loss of monkeys and other wildlife animals to electrocution on unprotected power lines in Costa Rica.

3. Also on the topic of animals and conservation, a tribute to an unlikely whale rescuer, Joe Howlett, a fisherman who knew ensnared whales were usually trapped as a by-product of the netting that was a part of his professional livelihood. I didn’t realize how endangered right whales are becoming and how many of them endure injuries in netting each year.

4. The current issue of Lapham’s Quarterly is dedicated thematically to water. Donovan Hohn’s introductory essay pays tribute to water and its many contradictions and mysteries. I love that Hohn references Adrienne Rich’s wonderful poem, “Diving into the Wreck.”

5. Gretchen Rubin interviews Vivek Wadhwa and Alex Salkever, who are the authors of Your Happiness Was Hacked: Why Tech is Winning the Battle to Control Your Brain—and How to Fight Back. I have technology to thank for a lot of goodness and richness in my life, but like many people, I can be compulsive about checking alerts and apps on my smartphone, which often keeps me from focusing on other stuff (reading, unwinding, settling into a piece of music or a movie).

I like the authors’ thoughts on building healthy habits and especially this piece of advice from Salkever:

“Don’t beat up on yourself if you don’t succeed in building healthy habits. Establishing and maintaining healthy habits is very hard, really a lifelong process that never stops. But make sure the habits you prioritize the highest and work the hardest to fulfill are the ones that make you happiest.”

On that note, it’s time to act on some of the habits that bring peace to my Sundays (like Salkever, I include doing dishes on this list, and I’ve got a little stack of them that need my attention). I’ll be back in a day or two with a delicious vegan pasta salad that’s perfect for 4th of July get togethers. Till soon!

xo

[Read More ...] https://www.thefullhelping.com/weekend-reading-7-1-18/

[kelseybookies-blog]

Weekend Reading, 7.1.18

Happy Sunday, and happy 1st of July! Summer sure is flowing along.

This week, Maria Popova sent out a “mid-week pick-me-up” email linking back to a post from the Brain Pickings archive. It featured a 1958 letter from John Steinbeck to his son, Thom, who had written home from boarding school with a confession of having fallen in love with a young woman named Susan.

It's worth reading the post, and the letter, in its entirety. I'd read it the first time Maria posted it, but it touched me every bit as much the second time around as it did the first. It's not just what Steinbeck says about love, which I think is great. It's also how he says it: simply, generously, vulnerably.

Steinbeck acknowledges the inherent specialness and value of Thom's feelings, regardless of whether they blossom into something shared or experienced between people:

“It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another - but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.”

At the same time, he invites his son to see and respect Susan; he encourages to brace a kind of loving that includes “the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable.”

The part that really struck me this time was this gentle suggestion:

“don't worry about losing. If it is right, it happens - The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”

Reading this, I thought of how often I greet what feels promising with urgency and fear of loss. This is something I've written about before, often prompted by principles I've come across in my yoga practice-holding lightly, allowing things to come apart and turn into something else. But cultivating an unhurried approach to life is a practice that I need to revisit consciously from time to time.

There's a seasonal component to all of this: it's summer, and even the introverted and domestic among us often feel called to get outside and seize the day and do it all. Only weeks after writing about slowing down and taking care, I find myself feeling a lot busier and buzzier than I'd planned. That's alright; it's a sign of my feeling better and wanting to engage with the world around me, and I like that. I'm simply aware of my own tendency to rush after things, for fear they'll slip through my fingers if I don't.

I'll be holding Steinbeck's words close to me in the coming week, and as we move into the peak of summer, letting them turn over in my mind. When I think about it, it certainly rings true that really valuable and durable things-relationships, opportunities, gifts, desires-become manifest no matter what. They're not fragile, and they're not limited by contingencies. They have a way of finding us no matter the timing.

Wishing you all goodness that reveals itself exactly when it's meant to. And a happy 4th of July, too.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye this week-despite the fact that asparagus is now scarce where I live-is Sherrie's simple, herby asparagus lentil salad.

I'm in love with the electric color of Liz's roasted tomato red pepper soup.

A creative green salad featuring sesame crusted avocado wedges-what a cool idea! Luise uses aquafaba to make almond flour and seeds stick to the avocado before baking it.

Two summery desserts today-because why not? Frozen desserts are on my mind this week (I've got a vegan dessert platter post coming up soon that features some of my favorite ice-cold vegan treats), and I love the look of these dairy-free toasted coconut latte popsicles.

I know that trifles are traditional English desserts, but the color scheme sure does make them a fitting choice for the 4th of July. I love Lauren's vegan version (which features the vanilla cake from her fabulous cookbook).

Reads

1. A cool look at how pitch and emphasis can entirely alter the meaning of a spoken phrase-and how scientists are using that information to explore the possibility of speech prosthetics for those who've lost their voices to illness or injury.

2. Heartbreaking reporting on the loss of monkeys and other wildlife animals to electrocution on unprotected power lines in Costa Rica.

3. Also on the topic of animals and conservation, a tribute to an unlikely whale rescuer, Joe Howlett, a fisherman who knew ensnared whales were usually trapped as a by-product of the netting that was a part of his professional livelihood. I didn't realize how endangered right whales are becoming and how many of them endure injuries in netting each year.

4. The current issue of Lapham's Quarterly is dedicated thematically to water. Donovan Hohn's introductory essay pays tribute to water and its many contradictions and mysteries. I love that Hohn references Adrienne Rich's wonderful poem, “Diving into the Wreck.”

5. Gretchen Rubin interviews Vivek Wadhwa and Alex Salkever, who are the authors of Your Happiness Was Hacked: Why Tech is Winning the Battle to Control Your Brain-and How to Fight Back. I have technology to thank for a lot of goodness and richness in my life, but like many people, I can be compulsive about checking alerts and apps on my smartphone, which often keeps me from focusing on other stuff (reading, unwinding, settling into a piece of music or a movie).

I like the authors' thoughts on building healthy habits and especially this piece of advice from Salkever:

“Don't beat up on yourself if you don't succeed in building healthy habits. Establishing and maintaining healthy habits is very hard, really a lifelong process that never stops. But make sure the habits you prioritize the highest and work the hardest to fulfill are the ones that make you happiest.”

On that note, it's time to act on some of the habits that bring peace to my Sundays (like Salkever, I include doing dishes on this list, and I've got a little stack of them that need my attention). I'll be back in a day or two with a delicious vegan pasta salad that's perfect for 4th of July get togethers. Till soon!

xo

The post Weekend Reading, 7.1.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

[first-and-ten]

Week 12 Recap

Week 8 is when people say it’s halfway through the season, but it’s about now, the quarter-pole, that shit really gets real. Case in point: The first three teams were eliminated from the playoffs this week. It may be tempting to think of the flashy things that come with not doing well: after a season of failure, the silver linings of high draft picks and promising coaching possibilities offers some comfort. But in this league, every team enters the season with the same Best Case Scenario: The Super Bowl. As someone facing the gut-wrenching sadness of knowing my favourite team is no longer qualified for that possibility at a time earlier than the last week of December for the first time in about 6 years, this is fucking depressing. 

Teams That Need Kaepernick: CLE, HOU, JAX, MIA, NYJ, DEN, GB, TB, NYG, ARI

MIN 30 - 23 DET Game ball: Everson Griffen Bet: -$3 [L] Griffen had 3 sacks and a baby on Thanksgiving so that’s cool. Minnesota controlled the game most of the way, but Detroit made a great push at the end. It in fact looked like they had tied the game in the last minute until there was an offsides call that erased their FG-block-TD. Now the NFC North is all but clinched for the Vikes and the Lions will have to make it through the Hunger Games that is the NFC Wild Card race.

LAC 28 - 6 DAL Game ball: Keenan Allen Bet: +$50 [W] The Chargers got off to a slow start after karma got revenge on them for not wearing their color rush uniforms by taking out their kicker. That’s right, this is the second consecutive week that the Cowboys lost by 20+ points to a team with no kicker. And Chargers punter Drew Kaser MISSED THE NET ON A PRACTICE KICK! It’s so hard to miss those nets that OBJ hit one on accident last year! Anyway, after the tough sledding and wasted Red Zone possessions in the first half, the Chargers settled down and just exploded on Dallas. This is what Thanksgiving should mean: seeing the Cowboys get beat up on national television.

NYG 10 - 20 WSH Game ball: Josh Doctson because why not Bet: +$10 [W] Neither team really did anything worth winning this game. Kirk Cousins was punished all night by the Giants pass rush, and Eli had honestly one of the worst games at QB I have ever seen, and I have watched every game the Broncos have played since mid-2014. That’s some bad quarterbacking. 

BUF 16 - 10 KC Game ball: Tyrod Taylor Bet: +$3 [L] Taylor’s return had a cascade effect. I thought the environment at Arrowhead would be enough to get the Chiefs the win here, but it was... Not. Taylor hit some amazing throws and that’s really all that was needed out of him, as the Chiefs’ comeback push was as pitiful as any by Andy Reid.

CLE 16 - 30 CIN Game ball: Not gonna say because he’s an abusive asshole Bet: -$1 [L] The Bengals finally got the output they needed from their run game to not let off the gas. 

MIA 17 - 35 NE Game ball: Tom Brady because of reasons Bet: -$4 [W] Yep.

CAR 35 - 27 NYJ Game ball: Luke Kuechley and whatever referee decided Austin Sefarian-Jenkins didn’t catch that ball Bet: +$15 [W] The Panthers really worked hard to let the Jets win. A late Luke Kuechley fumble turned it the other way, but Josh McCown was tearing up the Carolina secondary until then. 

CHI 3 - 31 PHI Game ball: Doug Pederson and the reporter who asked him if Carson Wentz is having a “premature explosion” Bet: -$1 [W] Wentz deserves a game ball too, because he made throws under duress all game long. That’s the Bears’ bread and butter, and he neutralized it by maintaining poise and accuracy on the move and with big guys in his face.

TB 20 - 34 ATL Game ball: Juliooooooooooo Bet: +$2 [W] Julio! He caught 12 balls for over 250 yards and 2 TDs, becoming the only player in NFL history with 3 career games of over 250 receiving yards. One of those TDs was a 51-yard bomb from fellow wideout Mohamed Sanu, who has a career passer rating of a perfect 158.3, with 6 passes for 6 completions, 228 yards and 3 touchdowns.  The NFC South is a three-horse race.

TEN 20 - 16 IND Game ball: Derrick Henry Bet: -$10 [L] I fucking had this one, and then the Colts just imploded. Comically. This is the Titans’ first win EVER in Lucas Oil Stadium. At a certain point, you stop saying “I don’t have confidence in the Titans because they keep winning ugly” and start saying “The Titans have just enough ugly wins to go get an ugly loss in the Wild Card round.”

SEA 24 - 13 SF Game ball: Who else? (#3) Bet: +$12 [W] An unwatchable game most of the way, but the Seahawks gained momentum down the stretch. That game was not quite as close as it looks, because on the last drive of the game CJ Beathard was finally hurt (who has taken more hits over the last several weeks?) and replaced with Jimmy Garoppolo, who of course completed both of his pass attempts to end the game on a TD.

JAX 24 - 27 ARI Game ball: Glaine Babbert [sic] Bet: -$3 [L] This is the Other Shoe game. It looked like Calais Campbell would bail out Blake Bortles’ mistakes with a fumble recovery for a TD against his old team in the 4th quarter, but Phil Dawson hit a 59-yard field goal for the upset. If Bortles implodes even further down the stretch and the Jags miss the playoffs I will laugh so hard.

NO 20 - 26 LA Game ball: Jared Goff Bet: -$65 [L] Ouch. Bad day by Drew Brees, and bad day by the depleted Saints defense. This week was a good argument for Marshon Latimore as DROY.

DEN 14 - 21 OAK Game ball: Aqib Talib and Marshawn Lynch Bet: -$5 [W] So much to unpack here. Let’s start with the fight. Early in the game, Aqib Talib and Michael Crabtree get into it AGAIN! Turns out Crabtree wore his damn chain again, Talib ripped it off again, and Crabtree decided that meant war. Punches were thrown, Marshawn ended up escorting Talib through the Raiders bench to the locker room. Bless him. I have to be clear here: I am very much on Talib’s side. Unfortunately, though, he proved to be the greater loss after both were ejected, along with a Raiders o-lineman.  At that point in the game Chris Harris Jr. was already hurt (thanks to being sucker punched by Crabtree, perhaps prompting Talib to decide he needed to snatch that chain again), so suddenly the majority of time in the secondary is being played by Bradley Roby and Brandon Langley. Not good. Of course, it looked like the Broncos were gonna finally score first after a Shelby Harris sack-fumble of Derek Carr set us up in great position and Paxton hit Devontae Booker on a long pass to the 1 yard line. But then we got stuffed on the goalline twice despite putting in both Andy Janovich and Domata Peko to block. Lynch goes back to pass on third down and decides to throw to Virgil Green late when he was triple covered, the ball was tipped and fell literally right into Navarro Bowman’s lap, ending the NFL’s longest-ever team interception drought. From that point we were undermanned and disheartened, the Raiders picked on Langley and got out to a 21-0 lead before Lynch was fucking injured, of course, and replaced with Trevor Siemian, who brought us within striking distance before Langley let Carr hit Cordarelle Patterson on third down to salt the game. So... That’s how the Broncos’ season is going.

GB 28 - 31 PIT Game ball: Antonio Brown Bet: -$5 [W] That goodness we finally got a good game! The Packers played well! This was like one of those games where the Steelers just completely overlook a bad team on the road in an afternoon game, except it came at home in primetime. Unfortunately, AB made a Catch Of The Year nominee along the sideline to set up Chris Boswell, who had missed a PAT earlier, for a Heinz Field Record long 59-yard FG.

HOU 16 - 23 BAL Game ball: Terrell Suggs? Maybe even Sam Koch? Just not Flacco. Bet: +$1 [W] Koch made the best throw by either team on the day when he found his target in man coverage 40 yards down the field on a fake punt. Suggs led the charge to make Tom Savage Terrible Again and in the end it was pretty much a John Harbaugh game.

Record this week: 10-6 Record this season: 111-65 Locks record: 46-13 (Survivors used [XXX]: ATL, SEA, NE, GB, PIT, DEN, DAL, MIN, NO, DET, KC, LAC) Upsets record: 21-26 2014 pace: 106-40-1 Pickwatch leader: 123-53 (Jeff Ratcliffe, PFF) Betting: -$34

NFL Title Belt: PIT (Defended from GB)

MMA jackpot candidates: CLE (11)

The Room Where It Happens: N/A

Fallen Tributes: CLE, NYG, SF

FANTASY CORNER

Danger Squirrels 122 - 117.5 Team Kabdebo [W, 5-7]

An upset victory! And I don’t look too stupid for starting Dalton over Brees! I am so not starting CJ Anderson again, I don’t understand why he’s not getting used but the Broncos cannot be trusted in fantasy or real games. Siemian the Finals 190.13 - 106.33 The Papists [W, 6-6]

*Sigh of relief*  Finally Keenan Allen and Julio Jones pull their weight!  Now I can sneak into the playoffs if I just win literally every game from now on...

[oovitus]

Weekend Reading, 7.1.18

Happy Sunday, and happy 1st of July! Summer sure is flowing along.

This week, Maria Popova sent out a “mid-week pick-me-up” email linking back to a post from the Brain Pickings archive. It featured a 1958 letter from John Steinbeck to his son, Thom, who had written home from boarding school with a confession of having fallen in love with a young woman named Susan.

It’s worth reading the post, and the letter, in its entirety. I’d read it the first time Maria posted it, but it touched me every bit as much the second time around as it did the first. It’s not just what Steinbeck says about love, which I think is great. It’s also how he says it: simply, generously, vulnerably.

Steinbeck acknowledges the inherent specialness and value of Thom’s feelings, regardless of whether they blossom into something shared or experienced between people:

“It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another — but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.”

At the same time, he invites his son to see and respect Susan; he encourages to brace a kind of loving that includes “the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable.”

The part that really struck me this time was this gentle suggestion:

“don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”

Reading this, I thought of how often I greet what feels promising with urgency and fear of loss. This is something I’ve written about before, often prompted by principles I’ve come across in my yoga practice—holding lightly, allowing things to come apart and turn into something else. But cultivating an unhurried approach to life is a practice that I need to revisit consciously from time to time.

There’s a seasonal component to all of this: it’s summer, and even the introverted and domestic among us often feel called to get outside and seize the day and do it all. Only weeks after writing about slowing down and taking care, I find myself feeling a lot busier and buzzier than I’d planned. That’s alright; it’s a sign of my feeling better and wanting to engage with the world around me, and I like that. I’m simply aware of my own tendency to rush after things, for fear they’ll slip through my fingers if I don’t.

I’ll be holding Steinbeck’s words close to me in the coming week, and as we move into the peak of summer, letting them turn over in my mind. When I think about it, it certainly rings true that really valuable and durable things—relationships, opportunities, gifts, desires—become manifest no matter what. They’re not fragile, and they’re not limited by contingencies. They have a way of finding us no matter the timing.

Wishing you all goodness that reveals itself exactly when it’s meant to. And a happy 4th of July, too.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye this week—despite the fact that asparagus is now scarce where I live—is Sherrie’s simple, herby asparagus lentil salad.

I’m in love with the electric color of Liz’s roasted tomato red pepper soup.

A creative green salad featuring sesame crusted avocado wedges—what a cool idea! Luise uses aquafaba to make almond flour and seeds stick to the avocado before baking it.

Two summery desserts today—because why not? Frozen desserts are on my mind this week (I’ve got a vegan dessert platter post coming up soon that features some of my favorite ice-cold vegan treats), and I love the look of these dairy-free toasted coconut latte popsicles.

I know that trifles are traditional English desserts, but the color scheme sure does make them a fitting choice for the 4th of July. I love Lauren’s vegan version (which features the vanilla cake from her fabulous cookbook).

Reads

1. A cool look at how pitch and emphasis can entirely alter the meaning of a spoken phrase—and how scientists are using that information to explore the possibility of speech prosthetics for those who’ve lost their voices to illness or injury.

2. Heartbreaking reporting on the loss of monkeys and other wildlife animals to electrocution on unprotected power lines in Costa Rica.

3. Also on the topic of animals and conservation, a tribute to an unlikely whale rescuer, Joe Howlett, a fisherman who knew ensnared whales were usually trapped as a by-product of the netting that was a part of his professional livelihood. I didn’t realize how endangered right whales are becoming and how many of them endure injuries in netting each year.

4. The current issue of Lapham’s Quarterly is dedicated thematically to water. Donovan Hohn’s introductory essay pays tribute to water and its many contradictions and mysteries. I love that Hohn references Adrienne Rich’s wonderful poem, “Diving into the Wreck.”

5. Gretchen Rubin interviews Vivek Wadhwa and Alex Salkever, who are the authors of Your Happiness Was Hacked: Why Tech is Winning the Battle to Control Your Brain—and How to Fight Back. I have technology to thank for a lot of goodness and richness in my life, but like many people, I can be compulsive about checking alerts and apps on my smartphone, which often keeps me from focusing on other stuff (reading, unwinding, settling into a piece of music or a movie).

I like the authors’ thoughts on building healthy habits and especially this piece of advice from Salkever:

“Don’t beat up on yourself if you don’t succeed in building healthy habits. Establishing and maintaining healthy habits is very hard, really a lifelong process that never stops. But make sure the habits you prioritize the highest and work the hardest to fulfill are the ones that make you happiest.”

On that note, it’s time to act on some of the habits that bring peace to my Sundays (like Salkever, I include doing dishes on this list, and I’ve got a little stack of them that need my attention). I’ll be back in a day or two with a delicious vegan pasta salad that’s perfect for 4th of July get togethers. Till soon!

xo

The post Weekend Reading, 7.1.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 7.1.18 published first on