#or i should make those peanut butter bites i used to ages ago | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years ago

Text

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary:

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark?

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”

#soho speaks #batfamily #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #this is so fluffy my teeth fell out in the first two paragraphs #bi dick grayson #bisexual dick grayson #bisexuality #gay #lgbtq

351 notes · View notes

hairringtonsteve · 5 years ago

Text

and they were roommates.

[steve harrington x reader]

summary: The shit hit the fan, and you need to find a place to stay. Steve Harrington, being the knight in shining armor that he is, offers to let you crash at his place during the quarantine. Clearly, feelings ensue.

word count: 3,704

a/n: Hey guys. I’m back. The world is a little bit scarier than it was before, but we’re here and we’re getting through it. I need to emphasize that while this fic is lighthearted, it’s not me making fun of the situation. This last week has been excruciatingly stressful for me as well as the rest of us, and honestly, I just need some fluff. So here’s to you and Steve being stuck in an apartment together. Informational links will be located in the first reblog.

**********

“Do we stockpile toilet paper?”

You snorted in response, assuming that he was kidding. Instead of bothering to look at him, you kept your eyes on the Netflix menu, scrolling through the list of horror movies as you tried to ignore the anxiety building in your gut.

If someone had told you at the beginning of the year that you would end up being stuck living in Steve Harrington’s apartment for who knows how long because of a global pandemic, you would have laughed.

But who could have guessed that it would happen? Who could have guessed that your college would shut down and shift everything online, that you wouldn’t be able to fly back home because flights were too expensive? Who could have guessed that Steve Harrington would somehow have perfect timing and walk by just as you burst into tears over flight costs?

“No really, do we stockpile toilet paper?”

You ignored him and kept scrolling.

Really, though, his timing had been perfect. You’d been searching Google for the last twenty minutes, trying to find a flight back home when the cheapest flight out was still over two thousand dollars. Sitting on the steps of your college building – the one that had become like a second home to you since the dorms were awful – you’d shoved your head into your hands and cried.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Steve had asked. You didn’t bother to look up at him, instead opting to take in deep, calming breaths. “You good?” He sat down beside you, not bothering to keep his distance.

The news had been telling everyone to practice social distancing, but it was hard when you were suddenly hit with the reality that you probably wouldn’t see most of these people again. Everyone had thought that you wouldn’t start the I’m graduating college goodbyes until May.

“Oh, you know,” you began as you lifted your head up but didn’t look at him. Your voice was watery as you spoke. “Global pandemic and all that. I’m fine.” Steve leaned over your shoulder to get a glance at your phone.

“Fuck, that’s rough. You trying to get home?”

You’d gotten the email the night before. Sitting in the common area of your building despite the fact that your classes had ended hours ago, the group from your department had all sat at the various tables in shocked silence. Students out of the dorms within ten days unless there were extenuating circumstances. They hadn’t defined what those circumstances would have to consist of, but you knew deep down that you wouldn’t qualify.

“Yeah, I uh… My mom can’t afford it and neither can I.” A new wave of tears started to sting at your eyes. A few made their way down your cheeks. “I’ve got ten days, though. I can figure it out.”

Steve sighed. You finally looked over to him. The tears made him a little blurry.

“My roommate is flying out tonight,” he said. He looked forward before looking back to you. “I’m sure he’d be cool with you crashing in his room until shit gets sorted out.”

You stared at him. Your throat got thicker. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back the sob that wanted to burst through at the offer. Instead of saying anything, you gave him a short nod.

Within an hour the two of you were packing up your dorm room, throwing everything into whatever luggage you had. You hauled the luggage and everything else that couldn’t fit down the four flights of stairs and tossed it into his car. His two-bedroom apartment was a fifteen-minute drive away. There had been a quick goodbye to his roommate – who didn’t know what was going on until you had gotten there – and that was that.

“Toilet paper, Y/N. Do we need it?” A hint of annoyance was coloring his words and you finally shifted around on the couch, twisting your neck far enough so you could see him. He was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, already holding two packs of toilet paper, eight rolls in each.

“Dude, seriously?”

“What? What if we use it all up?”

“Then we go to the store and get more.”

“What if they put us under martial law and we’re not allowed to go anywhere?”

“Then we’ll figure that out. But we have enough for now. We’re not hoarding toilet paper like the rest of the assholes out there.” He tilted his head back and groaned. “Steve, c’mon. It’s fine. It’ll—” You were interrupted by your phone beeping, alerting you to a text. You ignored it. It was probably your mom, checking in. Again. “Steve, it’ll be okay. We’ll have enough toilet paper. We just need to go get food and beer, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve stared at you. “But what if one of us gets diahre—”

“Okay, that’s it. Get your shoes on. We’re heading to the store, dumbass.”

Steve grinned. “Wow, dumbass? It’s like we’re back in biochem.”

You snorted and got up from your spot on the couch, heading to where you’d taken off your sneakers near the door. You’d placed them next to his. It hit you, that your sneakers and his sneakers would be right there for the foreseeable future because of… everything that was going on. You swallowed, the anxiety that had been settled in your gut for over a week now threatening to rise to your throat. But you sucked in a deep breath, willing yourself to keep calm.

Things were fine. It would be okay.

Steve came up beside you and reached down to shove his shoes on. When he righted himself, he bumped his shoulder against yours and grinned.

“Think the beer will be gone?”

*****

The grocery store looked like it was ransacked. The toilet paper and baby wipes were off the shelves. People had grocery carts piled high with nonperishables and whatever else they could get their hands on.

You and Steve locked eyes without a word. His fingers thrummed against the railing of the last grocery cart that had been available while he raised a brow at you. You nodded and the two of you headed straight for the alcohol.

It took twice as long as usual to walk the length of the store to get to the far corner where they held the beer and liquor. Not surprisingly, the area was filled with mostly college-age looking people trying to get their hands on whatever would get them adequately fucked up for the next few weeks.

Steve cleared his throat and nodded towards the beer, the one that everyone had been studiously avoiding. “Should we get some?” He waggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes. “No, that stuff tastes like piss.” He laughed and pushed the cart forward, stopping to get a case of Angry Orchard. “You like that stuff?”

“No, but it’s your favorite, right?”

You nodded as you tried to remember when he would have been able to figure that out. The first time that you’d met was last fall, when you had the same biochemistry lab together. “Yeah?”

“I thought so. I remember you mentioning something about it the night all of us went out after our final in December.”

That had been over three months ago. But everyone in the lab had gone out for drinks to celebrate making it through finals week. At the time, you’d exchanged a handful of words at most. Hell, you hadn’t even mentioned that it was your favorite directly to him. Something shifted in your chest.

Weird.

After that, things grew quieter between the two of you as you made your way systematically through the store. With the alcohol, you got some staples, some favorites, making sure to take into consideration the fact that there would probably be a few nights where the two of you would drink enough to kill a horse. After that, you started to make your way through the food aisles, getting whatever was left over. While most of it was taken, you got the important stuff: bread, vegetables, fruit, meat, peanut butter. Things were scarce, but you got through it.

And the whole time, your stomach was sinking further and further down.

Things weren’t supposed to go this way. All you could think about was the day prior as your professors had said their goodbyes to the students, everyone trying to keep a brave face. Rationally, you knew that things would eventually be fine. But it was hard to keep that in mind when it felt like the beginning of an apocalypse movie.

“—You good to go?”

“Huh?” You looked over to Steve, blinking. At some point, the two of you had made it to the front of the store.

He smiled, soft and understanding. “I asked if you were good to go. We should probably get in line. They’re just getting longer.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” It took a few minutes to try to find the shortest line (if you could call any of them short. You glanced towards the front of the line, watching as the over-worked cashiers struggled to keep everyone happy. Looking back to Steve, you leaned against the grocery cart. “Have I thanked you yet for letting me crash at your place?”

“Only about ten times, but I haven’t figured out that you’re appreciative yet, so you could go for eleven.” You laughed and rolled your eyes as the line moved forward about an inch.

“Seriously, Steve. Thank you. You didn’t have to offer.”

Steve shrugged. “I kind of did. I can’t live alone.”

You scoffed. “You think we can live together and not want to murder each other?”

Steve shrugged once more. “As long as you let me win at Mario Party, we’ll be fine.”

The anxiety in your chest eased up a little. Maybe staying with Steve wouldn’t be too bad.

*****

As it turned out, being around Steve Harrington constantly was a lot to handle. He was adamant that the two of you worked together daily on your coursework. He’d said that it was to make it just like being on campus as much as possible, but the two of you knew that it was really just an excuse to bicker over homework and steal each other’s pens.

It was weird, knowing these little intimate details about him that you only find out when you live with someone. He sang while he did the dishes. He never made his bed and left video game cases strewn throughout the living room. He had a habit of falling asleep on the couch in the most uncomfortable positions. He preferred tea to coffee, sweet to savory, and had a weird lack of movie knowledge. He also played a lot of Fortnite with a bunch of kids from his hometown.

When you asked him about it, he’d just shrugged and said: “I’m a really great babysitter, what can I say?”

To which you’d heard, muffled through his headset, a boy’s voice shriek, “Bullshit Steve!”

The biggest problem, though, was that he was starting to get to you.

Objectively, you’d understood that he was conventionally attractive. A guy with hair that nice couldn’t be wholly unattractive.

It was just that it didn’t really hit you until two days into quarantine. You wandered around out of your room, too occupied with replying to a text to keep yourself from running into a shirtless Steve, complete with a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his hair.

His hands wrapped themselves around your arms as he pushed you back a little, making sure that both you remained upright. The two of you locked eyes. You were close enough that you could see the little flecks of gold in them.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped and suddenly you were acutely aware of him. Your eyes started to slide from his face – taking in his nose, his jawline, his mouth – to his chest when he let out a choked sort of noise.

“Please don’t look down,” he said, his voice higher than you’d ever heard it before. You looked back up at him, scrunching up your brow. “The towel fell and I… Naked.”

There were maybe three seconds of silence before you burst out laughing. You took a step back, clapping a hand over your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

There you were, in the middle of quarantine during a global pandemic, and Steve Harrington was naked and dripping wet in front of you.

“Just shut it, okay?”

You tried to stifle the laughter, but it just turned into muffled giggles. “You good to go there, Harrington?” You could hear a bunch of shuffling along with some muttered swearing before eventually, he gave the okay for you to look. Your hand dropped from your face and the laughter died out as you got a good look at his chest.

It took him clearing his throat for you to meet his eyes once more. He was looking at you with an intense look on his face. His tongue darted across his lips as he took a step towards you. Your heart thudded in your chest and just as he took another step forward and then —

A knock at the door.

The two of you jerked back. You almost knocked your head into a shelf while Steve said that he’d get the door. You watched as he stepped forward, raising an eyebrow in silence as he turned back to you, a sheepish look on his face.

“Did you just now realize that you’re…” You trailed off as you waved your hand up and down to motion towards the towel. He nodded, his cheeks growing red. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get it.”

He’d scurried down the hall to change while you opened the door to one of Steve’s neighbors clad in a mask, asking if you guys had any extra toilet paper.

You got the elderly man two rolls and waited for Steve to come back out of his bedroom.

He didn’t come out for the rest of the night.

That was twelve days ago and since then, the two of you had been avoiding each other like… well... the plague.

Instead, Steve would walk into the kitchen, only to see you and abruptly turn around to walk out. You would head into the living room to watch Netflix and immediately try to leave when he was playing the PlayStation. When the two of you did talk, it was weird. Stunted.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Whatever you want.”

A beat of silence.

“Cool.”

On and on it went, both of you hole-ing up in your respective rooms while trying to avoid the other. You even took turns doing the grocery shopping.

The worst part about it, though, was how aware you were of him. When you walked by him in the hallway, your senses honed in on the way your arms brushed. When he was leaning against the counter and shoving his fingers through his hair, your gaze would somehow magnetically drawn towards looking at him regardless of what was on the TV.

You had to shove your face into a pillow every time you heard the shower turn on.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. Crushes – and that’s what this was, a full-blown crush – were awful to begin with. They were inconvenient and distracting in the best of times. But this? This was downright torture. Utter and complete torture. You felt like you were going to snap at any moment, ready to combust at a second’s notice.

And then you got the alert on your phone. You were sat on the counter, a spoonful of peanut butter shoved halfway in your mouth. Your thumb flicked the notification bar down as you read the headline. It wasn’t anything different, just an update on the virus spread and the estimated time that it would take for things to calm down.

But that meant that you would be there longer. That meant that you would be in that apartment longer, having to go through silence and awkwardness and who knows what else for an “indeterminate amount of time.” Something inside you snapped. You hopped down from the counter, chucked the spoon of peanut butter into the sink, and hurried down the hall towards his bedroom.

After around five hurried knocks, the door swung open. He had a panicked look in his eyes as he stared down at you. “What? What’s going on? Did something happen?” He was frantic as he stared down at you.

“What?”

“You knocked like someone important just died, and I missed it. What’s going on?”

“I — I just wanted to talk?”

Steve blinked at you. “We’re… There’s a global disaster going on and you choose to knock like that so we can talk?”

“Steve, I knocked on your door. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“There’s knocking on a door, and then there’s whatever the hell you did.” He stepped outside of his room, causing you to step back as well to give him some space. “So this —” He knocked against his door three times, slow and not too hard. “-- Is how normal people knock. And this —” There he knocked hard and fast against the wood, exaggerating how hard you’d knocked. “Is how you knocked. Now clearly, there is a difference and you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“You’re dramatic.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “So what’s up?” He crossed his arms and quirked a brow.

You heaved in a breath and started rambling.

“I — Look, I get it if things were weird because I practically saw you naked but we’re in the middle of a fucking pandemic and I’m stuck in your apartment for who knows how long and I can’t keep avoiding you like this. It’s weird, Steve.”

He just stared at you and didn’t say a word. So you kept rambling.

“I get it that you’re really stressed out and I am too, but Steve, this is just making things worse? And like, honestly it’s not that big of a deal. You were shirtless. It was fine. More than fine, actually. Like, it’s cool. It’s —”

“More than fine?”

You stared at him. “What?”

“You just said that me being shirtless was not only fine but more than fine.”

You could feel your cheeks begin to warm. “I don’t — I —”

Steve took a step forward. “Is me being shirtless more than fine with you?”

You gaped at him, frozen.

“Do you like me being shirtless?” There was a smirk on his face now, as though your silence was enough of an answer.

“Steve, I —” He took another step forward, right in your space. He leaned down a little. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

“You like me shirtless.” He wasn’t asking anymore. Your rational brain wasn’t working. You opened your mouth to reply something, anything, and what came out was:

“We’re supposed to self-distance.”

Steve froze, eyes wide, and took a step back. “Did I — Did I misread? I thought—”

You tried to shake your head, hoping that he’d notice, but he was too caught up in the panic of thinking that he’d misread everything and crossed a boundary. So you did the next best thing.

(Really, the thing that you should have done a week ago.)

You reached out, fingers grasping at his shirt and tugged him towards you. You rolled up onto the tips of your toes and pressed your lips against his. He froze, his words falling silent. Your heart was pounding so hard that you feared it would come out of your chest. Slowly, his hands fell to your waist as his lips began to move. He pulled you closer to him, all thoughts of social distancing falling away as you kissed.

Eventually, he pulled away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “We’re supposed to self-distance?” He asked, a slow grin spreading across his features. You rolled your eyes and tried to pull back, but he gripped your waist a little tighter, keeping you there.

“I panicked, okay? You just — I just didn’t expect it to go that way.” He didn’t respond verbally, instead just raising his brow. “It’s been weird not talking to you and being here. And I didn’t mean to say that about you being shirtless, it just kind of slipped out.”

“Why are you acting like that wasn’t okay? Y/N, you know I’ve liked you since the first day of biochem.”

You blinked.

“Seriously, you had to have known. I was hung up on you.”

You blinked again.

“Y/N, I laughed at all of your terrible jokes in lab. I… offered to let you stay in my apartment during the quarantine.” While he’d started off laughing, by the second sentence, he was speaking slow and soft, enunciating every word. You opened your mouth to reply when he continued. “I let you win at Mario Party, come on. You’re terrible at that.”

Whatever thoughts of acknowledging his feelings flew out of your head at that. “Excuse you, I am great at Mario Party. I kicked your ass at that the first two days that we were here.”

He rolled his eyes. “I purposefully lost to make you feel better.” Your expression softened at his words. He pulled away just a little — his hands still on your waist — to stare up at the ceiling. “You were stressed about your mom constantly texting and I know that it’s hard for you to not be with your family. So I just wanted to make it easier on you.” He looked back down at you.

Warmth bloomed in your chest.

You smiled up at him as you searched for the right thing to say in response. But it was hard. There weren’t words to convey just how thankful you were for that. You leaned up to press your lips against his once more. After a moment, you pulled back just enough to look at him and grinned.

“So, you want to go play some Mario Party?”

#stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington #stranger things

426 notes · View notes

anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

Text

Make This Weird

Fandom: Carry On/Wayward Son | Simon Snow + Baz Pitch

Word Count: 2,111

Rating: Teen and Up

Synopsis: Set in the unwritten in between of books 1 and 2 - Simon and Baz have the flat to themselves while Penny's studying at the library.

(It’s been barely a week since I finished Wayward Son, and I literally could not. I cannot recommend these books enough.)

BAZ

Ugh. Aleister Crowley. This fucking rain.

I pull the hood of my navy blue macintosh up over my head, hunching my shoulders like that’s going to do any good. I’m going to be proper drenched by the time I get to Simon and Bunce’s flat, there’s no way around it now.

The deluge dumps in sheets by the time I make a huddled dash for the front door of their building. Maybe I should have stashed our curry takeaway under my jacket. I hope it’s not wet and ruined, because Simon definitely needs to eat (he always needs to eat) and I’m definitely not going back out in this.

I ring the buzzer for their flat, and Simon (I’m assuming) buzzes me in.

“Holy shit,” Simon says when he sees me dripping onto their welcome mat. I probably look like a cat that’s just been drug out of a stream. But it’s cute when he swears like a Normal, so I grin back and hold our takeaway bags aloft in victory. Because the thing is, I’d do a whole lot more than stand out in the rain for him. I’d battle a fucking hurricane if it came right down to it.

Not that he knows that. I think I’d probably really freak him out if I said it. Affection can be a tricky thing with Simon Snow. Sometimes he’s like a starving man, desperate and devouring and all-consuming. Other times he’s like one of those scared animal shelter rescue puppies you have to coax out of the corner with a spoonful of peanut butter. (Sometimes literally. I’ve literally watched him eat peanut butter right from the jar with a spoon.) (And once without a spoon at all. I know. My boyfriend’s gross.) (Boyfriend. Simon Snow is my boyfriend.)

And it’s hard to know what you’re going to get on any given day.

I set the bags of takeaway containers on the kitchen counter while Simon fishes out forks from the drawer that tends to stick. It’s a small kitchen, and he has to curl in his massive red wings for us both to maneuver it safely. He’s in loose grey trackies and a dark green hoodie that makes his curly hair look more reddish – it’s been a minute since he’s had it cut, and the thick curls fall in his eyes sometimes. Like now. I want to push it back, see his eyes, probably kiss him until he’s not that scared rescue puppy anymore. But I know now that’s not how this works – not yet.

“Where’s Bunce?” I ask instead, and shrug off my macintosh to drape over a kitchen chair.

“She has a paper due Monday,” Simon says. “She’s went to the library to write.” He’s already eating straight out of a takeaway container, over the fucking sink. Honestly, it’s like he was raised in a barn.

“So I have you all to myself,” I smirk at him as I rake the rain-damp hair off my face. There’s an unmistakable spark of something in Simon’s eye when he shoots me a look up from his food, and it’s not rescue puppy-ish.

“I suppose you do,” he grins, and he leaves a quick peck on my lips as he shuffles out of the kitchen with his takeaway container.

Well, then.

I can’t help the stupid grin on my face he leaves in his wake. I’m such a hopeless case where Simon Snow is concerned. But at least I’m not fighting it anymore.

I plate my rice and my chicken tikka masala – like any decent human being should – and follow Simon into the little living room where he’s eating on their beat-up old sofa, stocking feet up on the coffee table. His red dragon wings are spread out wide over the rest of the cushions, his red devil tail draped over his lap. He’s watching some old episodes of Top Gear, and I think this is really all we need. Good food, fast cars, a little snogging. Nothing trying to kill us.

I really am living a charmed life.

“Push over,” I tell him, so I can sit in front of him on the floor, plate on the coffee table. This is the arrangement. He’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t mind when my fangs pop, maybe even thinks it’s cool, but I just can’t. I literally want to set myself on fire when he stares at my teeth. (Well, maybe not literally anymore.) (But I still hate it.)

So, we eat in front of the TV so there’s no awkward silence to fill. (I hate talking around my fangs. I sound like I have dentures.) I sit in front of him on the floor, and then I don’t feel compelled to cover my mouth with every bite.

It’s normal. Sort of. It’s normal enough, for now.

Today, when I sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table, he shifts behind me so that his legs are on either side of me. It’s cozy there. Like he’s a tree, and I’m sheltering under his limbs.

But it’s a different sort of feeling entirely when I feel him run his fingertip through the ends of my hair. My rain-damp, probably insanely matted hair. I’m seized with insecurity and run my own hand back through it again. Merlin. Should’ve checked a mirror. He’s probably going to laugh at it any second.

“Christ, Baz,” he swears instead. “It ought to be criminal for hair to look that good after it’s been rained on.”

Really? I raise my eyebrows. Now I definitely want to check a mirror. This must be my lucky day.

“Thanks,” I mutter around my fangs, mouth full of chicken tikka.

And fuck he does it again. His fingers lace through the ends of my hair, brushing against the back of my neck. It’s impossible to suppress the shiver that follows, and it makes Simon chuckle.

“Sorry.” He’s apologetic even in his amusement.

“Don’t be,” I say, and I cover my mouth so I can turn to look at him. So he can see my sincerity. “It’s nice,” I insist.

Which is a bit of an understatement. Because he’s Simon Snow, and he’s my boyfriend who thinks my hair looks so criminally good, he must touch it. It isn’t nice. It’s fucking incredible. It’s making my dead heart beat erratically.

That’s only the beginning. I turn back to my plate of food, and then, unexpectedly, Simon leans forward and rakes his fingers against my scalp. It catches the breath in my throat. And my eyes stutter shut. My neck feels like its going to go limp. He pushes his hand through one way, watching as the strands slip through his fingers slowly. Then he does the same thing the other direction.

I have to be going red in the face. (I did just drain a rabbit a half hour ago.) No one’s ever touched me this way before. Ever. I mean, maybe a barber now and then, strictly professionally. But no one’s ever just enjoyed my hair. (Well, I do, if I’m being honest.) (Why else does one grow out their hair?) (But I thought I’d be the only one.)

Simon’s definitely noticing the effect he’s having on me. I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but I can feel the way he’s craning his neck to get a look at me, can feel his warmth behind me, so I shield my mouth with my hand again. I mean, Merlin and Morgana, I’m right in the middle of eating. He has the worst mealtime manners of any person alive.

Although, at the moment, I really, really don’t care.

“Feels nice, does it?” Simon asks, and I can hear the impish smile on his face. He does so enjoy undoing me. (I do so enjoy being undone, so it works out.)

“Mhmm,” is all I can mumble behind my hand.

And then he shoves his hands up the base of my scalp, gathering up all of my hair in his fist. Oh, Crowley, I will not moan. I will not make this weird.

SIMON

Am I making this weird?

I just –

Baz has, objectively, perfect hair. Ask anyone. (I’m pretty sure Penny would agree.) It’s dark and thick and shiny, and it falls around his face just so. I’ve definitely thought it for ages, even when I was sure we’d end up killing each other. (I’d just resigned myself to the fact that he was going to die with much better looking hair than me.)

Now I don’t just have to look at it. I can inspect it. I can marvel at it. And it’s full of his scent – all cedar and bergamot – when I hold it off his neck.

He seems to be enjoying it immensely, how my hands feel in his hair, so I don’t think I’m making it weird. And the scent of him hits me with a kick in the gut, full of memories and longing, and I’m drawn closer to him.

He draws in a deep breath – I can see how it darkens the hollow at the base of his throat. I don’t feel particularly hungry anymore. (Which ordinarily is cause for concern.)

With his hair gathered in my fist near his scalp, I tug him gently to the right. Baring the side of his neck to me. His lips slightly part just in time for me to spot the tips of his fangs retracting sharply, and he’s quick to pull his lips closed over them.

Eh. I bet I can make him gasp again.

And I do when I press my mouth against the bared curve of his neck. He’s so cold against my lips. (I used to burn hot enough for the both of us.) He draws in a quick breath when I do it again. And raises a hand to lightly cup the side of my head, holding me close. Slowly, he cards his cold fingers into my curls, and I trail my lips up to his jaw. Up to the lobe of his ear. Every inch smells like forest and rain.

“Simon…” he breathes.

I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he can hear how my heart is pounding.

BAZ

Aleister fucking Crowley.

I will sell whatever is left of my soul if it means Simon Snow will keep kissing me like this.

SIMON

I keep kissing him.

It’s really hard to stop once you start. (Especially when he’s sort of melting against me.) (Seriously, oh my God, could he be any more delicious?)

So, I just keep kissing him. The sharp edge of his jaw. The sandy stubble over his cheek. (He has to shave regularly now, and I’m really trying hard not to be jealous.)

But Baz catches himself as he starts to turn his face to meet my lips. He holds his damn hand over his mouth again.

This again? When will he get it? The fangs are wicked cool. I’m just going to kiss him until he gets it. I’m sliding off the cushions, turning him so I can crawl on top of him between the couch and the coffee table.

“Simon,” he says again, though, annoyingly, not in the same starved gasp I’m after. He’s saying it like he has something he wants to say. (It’s probably about his fangs.) (It’s always his about his fangs.) (Enough about the fangs already.)

“Shut up,” I insist. I’m straddling him, and Baz’s still got his hand over his mouth, the prat.

“My breath’s going to smell like curry!” he exclaims, looking a little wild-eyed as I’m hunched over him.

I can’t help it: I burst out laughing. It's just so unexpected - the absurdity of Baz Pitch worrying about what I'll think of him! The corners of his grey eyes crinkle up as the laugh becomes contagious. It means he’ll let me wrap my fingers around his wrist. Pull his hand away from his mouth.

“I love curry,” I reassure him, bending toward him. (And I really do.) And I cup his face in my hand and kiss him. I’ll kiss him until he sighs against my mouth and pulls at my shoulders. I’ll kiss him til he stops thinking about his fangs and his curry breath.

(Because curry isn’t the only thing I love.) (I’m gonna figure out how to tell him someday.) (I just don’t want to freak him out.)

BAZ

I’m going to pretend that, when he said “I love curry,” it was code for something else.

(Because it really seems – unless I’m delusional and I might be – that he meant me.)

(I hope he means me.)

----------------------------------------------------

Tagging a few people who’ve requested to be tagged in all my things/I think would be down for some Snowbaz content (if I’m wrong and you’re like, “Shannon - I don’t know what this fandom is, what am I even reading?” then just let me know): @loveyatopluto, @raging-bisexual-alert, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @annejulianneh111, @whosanxiety, @raeisgaeandahalf, @bookish-mind

#carry on #wayward son #fluff #fanfic #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #simon snow x baz pitch #simon x baz #boys in love #snowbaz fluff #rainbow rowell #fanfiction #one shot

39 notes · View notes

jungshookz · 5 years ago

Note

ok but like what if jungkook and y/n are at a hockey match and a kiss cam lands on them but they're both strangers

➺ pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

➺ genre: biRTHDAY-themed fluff that is so utterly sweet you will undoubtedly get like ten cavities after reading this; tae demolished a whole serving of cheesy fries and he’s not feeling so good mr stark; namjoon & y/n bond over the fact that they just don’t get hockey

➺ wordcount: 4.6k

➺ note: happy birthday to the man that not only owns my heart but also my whOLE ass!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! oh my goD i love him!!!!!!!!!!!! u ruin my life but also make it ten times better!!!!!!!!

(gif isn’t mine!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“remind me again why jimin couldn’t come with you instead?” you scowl when someone bumps into you from behind and you instinctively reach down to pull your purse to your front

…what??

you haven’t cashed in your latest paycheque and you don’t want anyone steaLing your hard-earned money

you stumble into tae’s back when someone knocks into you again

you would think that people would have the common decency to be a little more polite but no

this is so not your scene

plus you saw an army of ants feasting on the carcass of a cockroach in the washroom and you immediately hightailed it ouT of there

your bladder is just going to have to wait til you return to safety of your own toilet

tae told you he’d be happy to chug down a gallon of soda and give you the cup to pee in and you nearly considered it because that would probably be cleaner than the washrooms here

“because- yeah, two forks, please - because he had some dumb work thing that he couldn’t skip out on and i wasn’t going to waste my front row tickets!” tae scoffs as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world

well

that’s fair, you suppose

“you really couldn’t invite anybody else? i was your next choice?” you cling to the back of tae’s jersey because everyone keeps shoving into you and you feel like you’re going to be carriEd away by a hoard of sweaty hockey fans if you don’t hold on to something

you don’t mean to sound ungrateful because it is really nice of taehyung to have invited you to this apparently suPer big-deal of a hockey game (you’re pretty sure the fans here would rip each other apart to get their hands on a front row ticket) but like ?///???

you aren’t exactly a super enthusiastic sports person

sure, you’ll watch a couple matches if it’s on the tv while you’re cleaning up your apartment or if you just need some noise in the apartment but it’s not something that you actively seek out to watch

if anything you’re 100% more likely to watch spongebob squarepants over a sports game

you just don’t see the appeal of watching grown men (anD women! ur a feminist! girls are great!) gliding around on ice clickity-clacking a tiny puck here and there with wooden sticks while very aggressively shOving into each other at the same time

also the names of the hockey teams are always so dumb

you could probably come up with a better hockey team name because all you have to do is pick an adjective and then pick an animal

the screaming giraffes

the wailing whales

the condescending toads

you would pay good money to watch a match between the screaming giraffes and the wailing whales

you’re not sure if the condescending toads would make a good name now that you think about it

“aw, c’mon! it’s not like you had any other plans, anyways.” tae raises a brow at you and you immediately scoff

he has a good point.,.,., but stiLL

“i totally had plans!”

“ordering a party sized serving of chicken alfredo and garlic bread and watching netflix doesn’t count as plans.”

…okay anoTHer good point

the seats that you guys got are actually pretty good

you’re located right in the middle so you get an equal view of the goal on the right and the goal on the left

it’s not like you’re going to be paying attention to the game but still

very nice!

“can you believe we only had to pay $5 for all of this?” tae laughs lightly in disbelief as he rubs his hands together and looks down at the foot-long hot dog sitting on his lap

“…it should be concerning that we got all of this for $5.” you mutter under your breath and stare down at the plastic-looking cheese smothered over the fries

you told tae not to go overboard with the food but of course he didn’t listen to you which is why you guys are sharing a foot-long chilli cheese dog anD an extra large order of chilli cheese fries and a slurpee served in a literal bucket

usually you’d be down to inhale all of this but uh

you don’t want to sound snooty or anything but you saw one of the employees accidentally drop an entire bag of cheese into the pot before quickly fishing it out with their bare hands and you’re pretty sure that’s a health code violation

you mentioned it to tae and he said it wasn’t a big deal and- well, he’s already starting to scarf down the hot dog

side note

these fries are actually really good

you stab a few more of them with your fork before shovIng the biteful into your mouth and gently dabbing some cheese sauce off your chin with your napkin

just because you’re starving doesn’t mean all your manners are going to fly out the damn window

you didn’t eat breakfast this morning so this is a great first meal

“vou know what fhe beft part iv of sitting in the front?” tae asks through a faT mouthful of hot dog and you immediately wince in respond

men are disgusting

“what?” you reach over to wipe tae’s mouth with a napkin because both his hands are occupied by the almost offensively large hotdog

he swallows his bite before licking some chilli from the corner of his mouth

again

men are disgusting

“sometimes the hockey players get sLammed right up against the protective shield right in front of us.” tae gestures to the clear plastic panels separating the crowd from the rink “and if you’re really lucky, you get to see someone lose a tooth or something!”

you immediately make a face

“wha- how is that-“

“jungkook, over here! i found our seats!” you glance over for a second when someone quite literally scReams out loud for their friend

and then you’re turning to face tae again

“as i was saying,” you pause for a brief second when tae reaches over to take the fries from you, “how the hell is that the best part about sitting in the fr-“

you jump in surprise when what feels like a whole handful of popcorn suddenly scatters down on your head and onto your lap

oh coMe ON

you just washed your hair this morning!!!!!

the crumbs are going to look like you have veRy bad dandruff

also this is heavily buTTERED popcorn which means that the grease stains on your jeans are probably going to be there for the rest of your life

and these jeans were expeNSIVE

>:-(

this hockey game is not a very fun experience so far

“oh shit, sorry!”

“it’s all good, it’s all good…” you mutter as you flick a kernel of popcorn off your shoulder

yep

there’s a speck of grease on your sweater

greAt

“just be careful with that drink of yours because i-“ you look up to-

o-oh

oh god

oh god the popcorn guy is cute

and not just cute

he’s like.,,. he’s suPER CUTE

round brown eyes

obscenely perfectly tousled black hair

he definitely looks to be around your age which is a big fat bonus

although that colour-block hoodie of his is making him look a lot younger you still think it’s safe to say he’s probably around your age

“sorry, miss… the plastic lids here are flimsy as hell and mine keeps popping off so you can’t blame me if i get you wet!” the guy flashes you a boyish smile and you feel your mouth go dry

oh dear lord

have mercy

“hey- you want extra chilli on your half of the hot dog?” you’re rudely poPped out of your little bubble when taehyung suddenly elbows your side

“wh- what? what?” you tear your eyes away from the handsome stranger who’s making himself comfortable in the seat right next to you before clearing your throat and looking over at tae

“extra chilli!” tae chirps and raises your half of the hot dog up a little

he already finished his half which isn’t a huge surprise

to be honest he was going to just go ahead and finish the hot dog but he figured it’d be nice to at least offer you a bite

“-i even asked for an extra little container of chopped up onions because i know you like-“

“no!” you blurt out and whack the container of onions out of tae’s hand causing it to smAck against the plastic divider before clattering to the ground

the two of you blink down at it

tae purses his lips before subtly kicking as much of it as possible under his seat

“i, um, i’m actually not that hungry. you can finish the hot dog.” you clear your throat again before unscrewing the lid of your bottle of water and taking a tentative, ladylike sip

“…what are you talking about? you were going to town on those cheesy fries like five seconds ago- oW-“

“jungkook, over here! i found our seats!” jungkook perks up when he sees namjoon waving him over

there he is!

he was starting to get worried that namjoon wandered off somewhere or somehow locked himself in the supply closet or something

namjoon put him in charge of snack duty and he went aLL out

popcorn? check!

roasted peanuts? double check!

blue-flavoured slurpee? triple check!

he actually ended up getting two drinks because namjoon likes to bite the straw and jungkook doesn’t want to share a drink with a straw-biter

“here, i’ll take the peanuts and my drink-“ namjoon plucks the paper bag and the plastic cup cradled in jungkook’s arms before he steps aside to let him squeeze into the aisle

namjoon actually won these hockey game tickets from a raffle at work and jungkook almost exploded with joy when he invited him to come and watch it with him

it was actually pretty perfect timing because the game just so happened to land on jungkook’s birthday

namjoon gave jungkook the best birthday present and he didn’t even have to spend a dime

:’)

“s’cuse me, sorry-“ jungkook weasels his way in between the aisles and carefully steps over people’s legs as he makes his way to his seat exciTEdly

he’s never been to a live sports game before!!!

and he’s definitely never been in the froNt row of anything before!!!!

two birds with one fAt stone!

also he-

“oh shit, sorry!” he gasps when he accidentally tips his carton of popcorn a little bit causing it to land all over the stranger seated next to his spot

shiT

there goes half his popcorn

he’s not going to go back up to the concessionary stand to get more popcorn because the game is about to start and the line is probably still half a mile long

“it’s all good, it’s all good…” jungkook winces to himself and feels his cheeks heat up a little as he watches you brush the popcorn to the ground

yikes

he’s about to sit down when suddenly you speak up again “just be careful with that drink of yours because i-“

jungkook feels his heart skip a beat when you look up at him

oh wowie you’re pretty

…he just spilt his greasy popcorn all over a very pretty girl

double yikes

it’s fine

just play it cool

he can play it cool

“sorry…” jungkook raises his cup a little “the plastic lids here are flimsy as hell and mine keeps popping off so you can’t blame me if i get you wet!”

he immediately pales as soon as that tumbles out of his mouth

wha-

what the HELL was that?!?!?!

out of all the things he could’ve said

his three and a half brain cells came up with thAT

you can’t blame me if i get you wet???????

you probably think he’s some kind of weird peRVERT now

luckily your boyfriend starts talking to y-

huh

you have a boyfriend

of course you have a boyfriend

jungkook lets out a little huff before plopping down on the plastic seat

whatever >:-(

namjoon leans over and glances into the popcorn bag before frowning

damnit

he just wanted some popcorn

:-(

“holy shiT, did you see that backhand????” tae practically screeches as he reaches over and slaps your arm aggressively “y/n, did you see it????”

“i saw- i sAW it, i saw it!” you scowl and smack his hands away from you

“oh my god, that was legEndary-“

you can barely hear tae’s enthusiastic blabbering because all you can hear is the sound of skates shrEdding up the ice and the sound of the puck being whacked back and forth and also cheers and whOops from all of these diehard fans

you honestly have no idea what the hell is going on right now

all you know is that the two teams are tied right now and everYone’s getting frustrated

you’re not sure which team you should be rooting for so you’re just basing it off of which uniform you like better

in other words, you’re cheering on the pUrpLe team!

also no one’s been smacked up against the plastic divider yet which is a huge relief because you’re not sure if you want to see anyone lose any teeth today

“will you cut it out?? your future girlfriend probably isn’t going to appreciate it if you’re practically beating her up-“

jungkook perks up immediately when he hears that come out of your mouth

so that guy isn’t your boyfriend!

nice!!!!!

that means he still has a chance even though he dumped like a pound of popcorn on you and almost drenched you in his blue-flavoured slurpee

also he didn’t mean to eavesdrop

it’s just hard noT to eavesdrop when you’re sitting right next to him

he’s been paying attention to the game because duH but also he keeps thinking about how cute u look when you have a mouthful of french fries

also

now he knows that your name is y/n which is actually pretty fitting

you look like a y/n

it’s cute!

on an unrelated note

u smell rly nice but he can’t quite put his finger on what that particular scent is

jungkook’s nose twitches

“what do you mean the game isn’t over yet??” you groan and plop yourself back down in the seat “there was an intermission like half an hour ago!!!”

“there are two intermissions, you whiney baby!” tae scowls

you need to chill

you’re acting like watching a hockey game is equivalent to getting your teeth pulled out

you’re being a bABy

if he can sit through hours and houRS of your reality tv shows you can sit through one hockey game

“so…” namjoon pauses for a second “the game… isn’t over?”

“nope! there’s one more round.” jungkook chirps and shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth

“oh.” namjoon slumps back in his seat a little

he thought the game was over

to be honest he was ready to leave before the first intermission but jungkook looked like he was having the time of his life so he decided to wait it out

“so what are we supposed to do now?” namjoon furrows his brows “do they just expect us to wait and do nothing?”

“well, no, they’re doing that thing where-“ jungkook immediately chokes when he suddenly sees his face on the jumbotron

and unsurprisingly

your face is also on the jumbotron

“y/n-“

“hold on, i’m about to beat my high score-“ your tongue pokes out in concentration as you focus on your very intense session of tetris

“y/n-“ tae hisses and punches your arm

“ow!” you whine and rub your sore arm

tae’s been hitting you for the duration of the whole game and you’re pretty sure your arm is about to fall off

he needs to cut it out

he knoWs you bruise like a pEACH

“-what did i tell you about hitting me???” you put your phone down and turn to glare at tae

“you’re on the- look!!!!” tae points to the front and-

you immediately pale when you realise that yes, that is most definitely your face on the jumbotron right now, and yes, you and jungkook, the very handsome stranger that you definitely already have a crush on, are currently trapped inside of a big pinK heart with the words ‘KISS CAM’ floating on top of the heart

oh god

you can’t kiss him

you still taste like cheesy fries

and your lips are chapped

and your tongue is stained blue from the slurpee

you can’T KISS HIM

and also he’s a literal stranger but most importantly you are not in the right state to be kisSEd right NOW

“oh, no-“ you shake your head quickly before making a slicing gesture over your neck “we’re not- we’re not together!”

jungkook glances at you for a brief second and he can sEe the panic in your eyes

okay

he was down to kiss you but obviously you don’t feel the same way which is totally understandable but stiLL

oh well

he might as well join in on the protesting

“right, yeah- we don’t know each other!” jungkook shakes his hand at the camera and you flash a sheepish smile at the camera before shrugging

the crowd immediately erupts into boos and you immediately scoff before turning to face the people behind you

“excuse-” you gawk when someone has the audacity to thrOW a handful of popcorn down at you guys “-excuse you!”

you turn back to face the camera and shake your head before holding your arms up and crossing one over the other

“sorry! we’re not going to kiss!!!!!!!!”

you shoot a glare in tae’s direction when he joins in on the booing

sometimes you don’t know why you’re friends with him because he’s literally suCH a moRON

“seriously, we’re not- oh, okay-“ you let out a breath of relief when the camera moves away from the two of you

you immediately slump back in your seat

phEW

that was a close call

if ur going to kiss jungkook it’s going to be because he wantS to kiss you and noT because he’s being forCed to kiss you

“sorry about that…” he turns to look at you and you immediately perk up

“no, you have nothing to apologise for! don’t sweat it.” you laugh lightly and shake your head before digging through your purse for a stick of gum

your breath still tastes like cheesy fries and it’s not very pleasant

“i, uh, i’m jungkook, by the way.” jungkook sticks his hand out for you to shake

he’s… introducing himself to you

…does that mean… he might be… interested in you…?

much to think about

you take his hand gently before offering him a shy smile “i’m y/n.”

“and i’m taehyung!” tae leans over and shoots jungkook a boxy smile “i would shake your hand but my fingers are still sticky with cheese.”

your eyes flutter shut and you pinch the bridge of your nose

kim taehyung is the absolute bane of ur existence

“it’s nice to meet you guys. uh, this is-“ jungkook glances over his shoulder “this is namjoon!”

“hey, hi.” namjoon smiles politely and nods to the both of you in acknowledgement “are you guys big hockey fans?”

“i’m not, but tae is-“ you laugh lightly and namjoon’s eyes liGht up

“i’m not that big of a fan either! i honestly don’t really get it!“

“right??” you gasp in excitement because now you have someone you can actually talk to about this stuff “what’s the big deal with a group of grown men gliding around and-“

“i know!! also i always lose track of where the puck is-“

taehyung and jungkook lean back slightly to give each other the same looks of ‘do you hear what i’m hearing right now?’

“i don’t see what the point is of having two intermissions-“ you nearly jump ten feet into the air when the crowd suddenly buRsts into cheers and for a second you think it’s because the game is resuming

but nO

because take a WILD guess as to whose faces are up on the jumbotron aGAIN

“wha- are you people serious?!” you gawk as you stare at yourself at the screen

…is that really what you look like?

you look weirder when you’re up on the big screen for some reason

you don’t get a chance to dwell on the fact that people can probably see your pores from how HD the camera is because the next thing you know, the crowd is beginning to chant

“kiss! kiss! kiss! kiss!”

jungkook lets out a nervous laugh and shakes his head before reaching up to pluck at the silver hoop hanging from his ear (it’s a nervous hAbit and he is very vERY nervous right now) “sorry, we’re not going to!”

“kiSS! kiSS! kiSS! kiSS!”

“you heard the guy!” you gesture over to jungkook “we’re not doing it, you pERverts!”

it seems like the audience couldn’t give leSS of a shit because every time you and jungkook say that you two aren’T going to kiss they become more riled up

even taehyung and namjoon have joined in on the chanting

namjoon can’t help but snort when jungkook turns to look at him with briGht red cheeks

if ya can’t beat em join em!!!

“we’re going to be here all day! just move on!”

“KISS!”

“we’re not going to kiss!!!!!!!”

“KISS!”

“we don’t even know each other!”

“KISS!”

“my lips are suPer chapped!”

“KISS!”

“take a hint!”

“oh for the love of god-“ jungkook’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when you’re suddenly grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and pulling him towards you and-

his heart stops in his chest when you press your lips against his and he immediately freezes

o god

you’re kissing him

you’re kiSsing HIM

you pull away far too soon for jungkook’s liking (it was obviously only meant to be a peck) and jungkook blinks owlishly

wha-

is that it?????

that’s all????

you are riPPING him off

“there, we kissed! are you freAKS happ-“ before you get a chance to get all smug with the camera jungkook’s yanking you back and smearing his lips over yours

the crowd now eRUPTS into cheers and screams and namjoon is literally screeching his head off next to jungkook

taehyung isn’t doing any better

he threw his half-eaten hot dog up into the aIR

and for a brief second jungkook thinks you’re going to freak out and pull away but he’s more than pleasantly surprised when you begin to kiss him back

also he figured out what u smell like and why he likes it so much

it’s because you smell like his favourite fabric softener

and if that’s not a sign that you’re basically perFect for him then he doesn’t know what is!!!!

jungkook reaches up to cup your cheek gently while your fingers curl around the nape of his neck

needless to say

you are vERy much making out with a stranger right now (your mom would probably flip if she found out) but you most definitely don’t give a hECK because jungkook’s lips are so soft and he tastes like buttery popcorn

the tiniest of whimpers slips past your lips when jungkook teases you with small brushes of his tongue against yours

he tilts his head slightly to deepen the kiss and all of a sudden you feel lightheaded and your entire body feels like jello

he’s such a good kisser that you nearly forget the fact that the two of you are making out in front of like 20,000 people right now

a smirk twitches at the corner of jungkook’s mouth when he pulls away and you immediately respond with a whine

it started off with you getting him all flustered but obviously the tables have turned because you are just putty in his hands and he knows it

“jungkook…” you sigh breathlessly as he nudges his nose against yours

oH boy

your soul definitely left your body

you’re still floating on cloud nine

meanwhile the crowd is still compLETELY losing it because they were just expecting a little pek and not THIS

“yeah?” jungkook takes his bottom lip in between his teeth as he resists the urge to lean in and kiss you again

“i think this means you have to take me out on a date now.”

“…i think you might be right.”

best

birthday

ever

:-)

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

drabble masterlist // main masterlist

2K notes · View notes

brianamorganbooks · 4 years ago

Text

The Tricker-Treater

This is a teaser of the titular story from my upcoming horror collection. You can learn more about the project and help me bring it to life here!

Moira kicked spilled candy corn off her front step. The remnants of another weeknight massacre. This time, all in the name of a holiday.

She’d stopped keeping track of the holidays.

They meant nothing, after all. Just another day full of shit, another day without Norman in it. What was the point?

She looked over at the garden gnome that Norman had polished every St. Patrick’s Day. The ghost of an old conversation floated back to her as she picked it up from where the kids had knocked it over.

Moira closed her eyes and savored the memory.

“It’s a gnome, Norm. Not a leprechaun. It’s not his holiday.”

“I know that! But don’t you think what matters is doing it?”

In the present, Moira sighed. This St. Patrick’s Day, she’d grab a rag and polish the years of grime away. So far, she hadn’t had the strength.

It was the day before Halloween. She’d picked up trash all week, and if those damn kids tried their tricks tonight, she’d give them more than treats.

Movement on the sidewalk at the mailbox caught her eye. Riley stood there, all tousled blonde hair and sleepy brown eyes. His hand-me-down sweatshirt needed elbow patches. She’d see to that soon.

“Don’t stand there gawking at me. C’mon.” She waved him forward, but he looked at his shoes. She put her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter with you?”

“He’s coming here tonight to get you,” he said.

She squinted in the morning sun. “Who’s coming to get me?”

“The Tricker-Treater,” Riley said. “He’s coming here tonight. I made a deal with him.”

“What?” Riley never spoke in riddles. He wasn’t one to loiter at the end of her driveway either. “Peanut butter cookies inside. Tell me later.”

“No, he’ll be here later. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Moira frowned. “Stop listening to your brother. Come inside and have some cookies with me and we’ll go from there.”

Without waiting to see if he’d follow, Moira headed back into the house. She went straight to the kitchen. The storm door slammed shut not too long after, and Riley pulled up a chair at the kitchen table.

Moira carried the plate of cookies over to him. Up close, he looked like the same old Riley as always. All she saw was the haunted glint in his eyes he got from spending time with Taylor. Now school was back in, all he had was Taylor until their mother got home from work. Retail was hell, Moira remembered. When Riley’s mother got home, the last thing she’d want to do was scold Taylor for tormenting his little brother.

Norman would have scared Taylor shitless, given the chance. He would have protected Riley.

Norman had always been better with kids.

“Lots of trick-or-treaters coming here tomorrow,” Moira said. “So what makes yours so special? Why’s he coming here tonight?”

Riley froze with his hand halfway to a cookie. “Not trick-or-treater. Tricker-Treater.”

Moira shook her head. “I said that.”

“No, like… hang on.” He scooted the chair back from the table and dashed across the room to where the landline rested. There was a small pad of paper beside it. He snatched up the paper and a pen and ran back to the table. His brow furrowed in concentration. Sticking out his tongue, he leaned over the paper and spelled out the difference for her:

T-R-I-C-K-E-R

T-R-E-A-T-E-R

He set down the pen and waited for her to read his writing. Moira shook her head again. He didn’t know how to spell it.

“No ‘or,’” he said. “Tricker-Treater. He’s both.”

Something icy pricked the back of Moira’s neck. She brushed her fingers over the spot and found nothing. Her gaze drifted back to the paper.

“He’s both?”

“Mmhm.” Riley grabbed a cookie and took a bite. He devoured it, careful not to make eye contact with Moira. It was a sophisticated strategy for a seven-year-old.

Moira leaned on the table and stared at him. “Riley.”

He scooted his chair away. “I gotta use the potty.”

“Do you, or do you not want to talk to me?” she asked.

He stuffed another cookie in his mouth, and when he spoke, he sprayed crumbs everywhere. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“You mean the Tricker-Treater?”

“Yeah.” He choked on the cookie and coughed. Moira grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the sink. She patted him on the back and slid the glass to him.

Riley chugged the water and still couldn’t stop coughing. Moira took the plate of cookies from him, because no way in hell was he going to choke to death on her watch. Not if she could help it.

“You’d better head on home,” Moira said. “You’ll worry your mother sick.”

Riley scooted back from the table again. “Don’t call her. She doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here? Did you stay home from school, or did you skip?”

“I...”

His eyes darted to look over her shoulder. Moira spun around. Nothing there. When she turned back to him, he was heading for the front door.

“Riley!”

“I messed up, I messed up!”

She lunged for his sleeve and missed. He was through the front door and across the yard before she had time to try again. Damn it. What was wrong with that boy? He’d been in no hurry minutes before with a plate of cookies in front of him. The minute she’d mentioned his mother though…

Moira sighed and leaned against the door frame. Something was off with Riley, and she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she got to the bottom of it.

When he returned a few minutes later, Moira stood between him and the front door. “Riley, please. Tell me what’s going on.”

He chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t wanna. I’m scared. It never goes well.”

“What do you mean, ‘it never goes well’?”

“Every time I tell you, it… I messed up,” he repeated.

Moira sighed. She was getting nowhere fast. Whatever he had on his mind, it upset him so much he wasn’t making sense. If she couldn’t get him to focus, she would never figure out what was going on. And, seeing as how it involved her…

“Riley.” Moira grabbed his shoulders and held him there, stooping to look into his eyes. “Whatever you think is going to happen, I can face it better if you tell me about it, okay?”

His lower lip quivered. “Even if it’s bad?”

“Even if it’s bad.”

Riley gulped. “The Tricker-Treater is gonna stop by your house tonight. You gotta meet with him and do what he says, or else.”

Moira quirked an eyebrow at him. “Or else?”

He hesitated. “Like I said, I’ve told you about him before, and he… he always makes sure to catch you. Even if you run away, he finds you and he…” Riley’s voice trailed off into a sob. Shiny, fat tears bubbled over his lashes and rolled down his face. Moira pulled him against her and wrapped her arms around him.

Shit, she hadn’t meant to make him cry. Jesus Christ, that was the last thing she wanted.

Moira’s chest tightened. “It’ll be okay, Riley. We’ll figure it out together, all right?”

Riley pulled away from her. He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“I’m older and wiser. Humor me, huh?”

He sniffed and wiped his nose. Moira debated getting a tissue for him, but it was too late—he was already rubbing the snot with his sleeve. As perceptive as the kid could be, he was still a kid, and he was gross.

Sometimes she wondered what it would have been like to have children. Sometimes she watched Riley and was glad that time had passed her.

“You should run home now,” Moira said again. “Even if you did skip school, your mom won’t be angry as long as you’re safe.”

His gaze jumped over her shoulder again. She waited for him to refocus. He’d come there in such a hurry, and now he kept drifting away. The urgency had waned. That was good.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Riley nodded. “I’m… a little better now.”

“No more getting upset over the Tricker-Treater, okay?”

Hesitation, then another nod. A slow exhale. “Okay.”

“You want a few cookies to take home? You can share them with Tyler.”

Riley wrinkled his nose at the mention of his brother. “He doesn’t deserve cookies.”

“I suppose he doesn’t.”

Moira patted him on the head and went back into the kitchen. She eyed the half-empty glass in a pool of condensation, the cookie crumbs Riley had sprayed on the table. She looked back at Riley, still standing where she’d left him, and her chest ached. She flattened a hand against her collarbone.

She and Norman could’ve tried a little longer.

“Riley?”

His head jerked up. “Huh?”

“You still want those cookies?”

“Um… no thanks.” He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater again. “I’ve never stayed this late before. I don’t wanna see him.”

The poor kid was talking in circles again. Better send him off to someone much more qualified.

Moira propped a hand on her hip. “Go on, get outta here before I call your mom. And be careful tomorrow.”

Riley cast a long look at her before putting his hand on the doorknob. That was all it took? No fight? No begging her for cookies, saying he had changed his mind?

She should have insisted he take some.

If he’d still demanded some, that would have been proof things were normal.

Instead, Moira frowned at the back of his head as he walked out and left the door open.

* * *

Moira tossed popcorn into her mouth and watched Bill Murray fail to woo Andie MacDowell. There was no reason for the network to broadcast Groundhog Day on October 30, but she wasn’t complaining. It had been one of Norman’s favorite movies. They’d gone to see it in theaters the day it came out, which seemed so long ago now.

Without Norman, time dragged on. How had it only been a year since his death?

Watching a movie she’d seen more than a dozen times soothed her ragged nerves. That the movie was itself a perpetual, familiar cycle was not lost on her. In fact, that was a large part of Groundhog Day’s charm—especially tonight, when there was so much on her mind.

Riley’s behavior had left her shaken and confused. Sure, he was a kid, but he’d always been perceptive, and she trusted what he said. He usually meant what he said. At that age, it was rare for children to have ulterior motives. Whatever Riley thought was going to happen to her, it was worth considering.

The Tricker-Treater was coming to get her tonight.

Moira’s gaze jumped to the glow of the streetlight that permeated her closed blinds. Outside, the air was cold and crisp. Inside, she was cozy.

She drew the knitted afghan tighter around her midsection. Andie had slapped Bill. Normally, the moment made Moira laugh. Normally, she wasn’t wound up like a coiled snake.

The chiming of her doorbell made her jump out of her skin. She jostled the bowl in her lap, spilling popcorn everywhere.

Why was she so jumpy? It was likely Riley and his mother, coming to check on her after their talk. Riley’s mom Adriane was nice—she apologized for Riley with baked goods and wine. When she wasn’t working, she tried to come over for tea and pour out her soul to Moira.

In another life, they could have been mother and daughter.

In another life, Norman might still be alive.

Another ache struck Moira’s chest. The doorbell chimed again, demanding her attention.

She set the bowl aside and stood. Whoever it was, they were insistent. She doubted they’d go away if she ignored them.

Probably some damn kids, anyway. God willing, they wouldn’t egg her when she opened the door—for their sakes as well as hers.

She didn’t feel forgiving.

Moira crept over to the door and pulled back the curtain on the window beside the door. She had to see who had come knocking.

There was no one there.

Puzzled, she let the curtain drop and stood on tiptoe to look through the peephole.

No one.

Moira stepped back. She flattened a hand against her chest.

The doorbell chimed again.

Icy dread stuck its fingers down the back of Moira’s shirt. Her hand settled on the cold metal doorknob. After a breath, she twisted it and pulled the front door open.

And gasped.

The man—if the thing could even be called a man—stood at least seven or eight feet tall. It had to double over to fit under the awning of her porch. Pale red skin stretched tight over pointed features, most notably a bear skull. At least, she thought it was a bear skull. Norman would have known for sure. Norman always—

Coal-black eyes glittered at her as the thing bared its teeth—razor-sharp—in some semblance of a smile.

It wore nothing but a top hat, which it tipped before it spoke.

“I hope you were expecting me.”

His voice was low and smooth, like a jazz singer’s, and she shivered. Moira supposed she should have fainted or had a heart attack by then, but once he spoke, all her fear disappeared. It was like he had swallowed it up with his words.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Riley didn’t tell you? I’m the Tricker-Treater. Would you mind if I came in?”

Moira froze with her hand still on the doorknob. What was she supposed to do? The Tricker-Treater offered the illusion of a choice. Was it merely that—an illusion—or would he let her decide how the evening would progress?

Moira let her gaze wander over the creature’s form again. He had the gaunt, emaciated look of a feral dog, and the tightness in her chest only tightened even further.

Nothing about him made her think he’d give her any choice.

“C-come in,” Moira said.

The Tricker-Treater kept his eyes locked on her as he stepped over the threshold and into the house. Moira swore he brought the smell of decay inside with him, but a moment later, it was gone.

Rotting pumpkins, she thought. That was the smell.

Moira gestured for him to sit on the couch. Eldritch horror or not, he was a guest.

The Tricker-Treater sat, bones creaking and popping as he did so. Moira tried her damnedest not to wince at the noises.

She sat in Norman’s favorite armchair and waited for the Tricker-Treater to speak.

“Has Riley… told you all about me?” he asked.

Moira paused. “How do you know Riley?”

“We made a deal. He’s a special child, isn’t he? Perceptive. Tenacious.” The Tricker-Treater flashed her another chilling smile. “Fragile.”

The blood dropped out of Moira’s face. “What are you getting at?”

The Tricker-Treater steepled his long, bony fingers. “It would be a shame if any danger were to befall Riley. If you could prevent such a tragedy, wouldn’t you want to, no matter what the cost?”

Moira rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. “Don’t you dare hurt him.”

“We made a deal,” the Tricker-Treater repeated. “He asked for money so his mother could be around more often. I told him I could give him anything he wanted—such as money—for a price.”

The Tricker-Treater’s eyes made Moira’s head swim. She broke eye contact. “So that’s why you’re here. You’re going to kill me.”

She should have known this was how she would die. Norman, with all his superstitions and wonder of the paranormal, had died of a stroke in the kitchen. A nice, normal death. Meanwhile, here she was, whisked away by a monster for the sake of a child’s wish.

“Not quite,” the Tricker-Treater said. “Well, only if I must.”

Moira’s head snapped up, and she met his gaze again, even though it dizzied her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Tricker-Treater tapped his claws against the coffee table. Click, click, click. “If you play by the rules, everything will be all right.”

The sinking feeling in Moira’s gut returned. “What rules?”

The Tricker-Treater’s unnerving smile returned too. “Every game has rules, Moira. Do you want to play?”

Her stomach had dropped to her ass, and she didn’t think it would resurface anytime soon. Whoever this man—or creature—was, he wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he wanted from her.

“What happens if I don’t want to play the game?” she asked.

“You lose.”

“And what happens if I lose?”

“Then Taylor wins.” The Tricker-Treater’s smile tore across his face. “And I take you away forever.”

Moira’s throat constricted. So he did want to kill her. Even if he acted like she had a choice, she didn’t.

Riley had already chosen for her. He had sealed her fate.

But what did Taylor have to do with it?

“Taylor?” she asked.

“To fulfill Riley’s deal, I must receive a sacrifice. He had to present me with someone he loves and someone he hates to play the game. I balance the scales. The loser dies.”

Jesus Christ, she thought, what had Riley done?

“He’s too young to make a deal like that,” she said. “You’re taking advantage of him.”

“I don’t discriminate,” he said. “A wish is a wish, and I must grant it. You must play the game, or die. These are my conditions.”

“What if Taylor and I both refuse? You only need to kill one of us, right? And you seem reasonable. You wouldn’t kill us to prove a point.”

“No.” The Tricker-Treater’s smile twisted into something darker, more feral. Moira wanted to scream, but panic kept her gaze fixed on his face. “In the case of two refusals, I take the wish-maker instead.”

Moira gulped. “You’d kill Riley.”

“Kill is such a boring word for what I do, but yes. Riley would become the sacrifice.” He steepled his fingers again. “But of course, you always have a choice.”

Did he think she’d let Riley die? She must have been Riley’s “someone he loves,” which meant the Tricker-Treater had to know she loved him too. She couldn’t damn him.

Only one thing to do.

“I’ll play,” Moira said.

“Wonderful. Let’s go.”

The Tricker-Treater snapped his fingers, Moira felt a tug, and the whole world went dark.

* * *

The reek of iron pulled Moira from unconsciousness. Her eyelids snapped open, pupils unfocused as they sought the light. Only a spare bulb hung overhead, struggling through the shadows. A familiar teenage form swam into view, fastened to a chair by ropes.

Taylor.

A shadow skulked off to Taylor’s left, and Moira’s gaze floated over to it. A long, lanky figure broke from the blackness and formed a solid shape. Sharp teeth glittered in the light as the creature grinned.

The Tricker-Treater.

He snapped his fingers again, and the lightbulb shattered. Moira went to shield her face from the exploding glass, but ropes restrained her. The Tricker-Treater had tied her down too.

A brilliant light enveloped the room, blinding Moira for a minute. The light faded to a ball that hovered over the Tricker-Treater’s head. It was small, but somehow bright enough for her to make out everything in the room, including Taylor.

She looked back at the boy. Blood dripped from ragged scratches in his cheek and stained the front of his shirt. That must have been the source of the iron smell—Taylor’s blood.

Moira looked to the Tricker-Treater for an explanation.

“He struggled,” he said, “so I had to be rough. But he’s learned his lesson. Haven’t you, Taylor?”

Taylor groaned and twisted against the ropes. The Tricker-Treater clicked his tongue and wagged a finger at Taylor. He froze.

“Think it’s time for me to explain the rules of the game to you both,” the Tricker-Treater said. “But no cheating. Is that understood?”

Moira still didn’t know what was going on, but she nodded nonetheless. Whatever game he had in mind, she had to win, for Riley’s sake.

She didn’t know what would happen to Taylor, except that he might die. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Across the room, Taylor grunted.

The Tricker-Treater gave a wet, hacking cough. Moira watched it rattle his prominent ribcage. Had he not been so frightening, she might have worried for him. As it was, she wished the cough had been worse.

The Tricker-Treater pulled another chair away from the table. It scraped across the floor with a sound that bit Moira’s eardrums. She flinched.

He lowered his long body into the chair and removed his hat, exposing his shiny, red baldness.

“I will now explain the rules, and I will not repeat myself. You both must pay attention if you want to win.”

“I don’t give a shit about winning,” said Taylor. “I don’t even want to play. I don’t give a shit about Riley.”

A muscle jerked in Moira’s jaw. What an asshole. Did this kid understand what he was saying?

“That’s not what you said to me earlier,” the Tricker-Treater said. “You agreed to play the game because you wanted him to live.”

Moira almost didn’t believe it, but the Tricker-Treater had no motive to lie.

The Tricker-Treater stretched a hand toward Taylor, and Taylor’s eyes widened. The Tricker-Treater’s razor claws glittered in the light.

“You’ll play,” he said, “or Riley dies.”

Taylor shut his eyes. “Okay, okay, but please don’t hurt me.”

“It isn’t me you should worry about.”

Moira swallowed a curse. As much as she hated to cooperate with this… thing, it seemed like they had no choice. If she didn’t play the Tricker-Treater’s game, Riley would die. She wouldn’t let that happen.

"What do I have to do?" she asked.

The Tricker-Treater's smile widened. Moira withheld a shiver. Taylor flattened himself against the back of the chair, trying to get as far away as possible.

"Once I untie you both," the Tricker-Treater said, putting his hat back on, "you'll have fifteen minutes to choose a weapon and determine the sacrifice."

Moira frowned. "Kill each other?"

"So vulgar," he replied.

"I don't want to kill an old lady," Taylor said.

Like he even could if he wanted to, Moira thought. In her own way, she agreed—she didn't want to kill him, and she didn't want to die.

Riley couldn't die, either. She'd do what she could, whatever she had to. It wasn't a choice.

"Where are the weapons?" Moira asked.

Taylor gaped at her. "We don't have to do this!"

“I detest idle chatter,” the Tricker-Treater said. “Such a waste of precious time.”

Moira stiffened at his words. Did that mean they’d started? Were they supposed to get going? Why was she still tied up, then? The Tricker-Treater had said—

A click of his fingers and her bindings dissolved. Fuck, she had to get moving. She liked the word fuck, although Norman never had, and the way his face used to scrunch up when she said it to him—

“Moira,” the Tricker-Treater warned. “You don’t have time for reminiscing.”

She chose not to dwell on the discomfort of having him inside her mind in favor of finding a weapon.

But where the fuck were they?

Taylor was squealing something she didn’t care to listen to because she didn’t care more than for any other reason. She didn’t want to kill him but they would soon be out of time, and if she didn’t do anything—whether he killed her or not—Riley was in danger.

Moira dragged herself out of the chair and looked around the room. It was still difficult to see, with the only lighting coming from the flames conjured by the Tricker-Treater, but they were surrounded by several different boxes of all shapes and sizes.

Taylor leaped up from his chair and dove headfirst into the box behind him, digging like a dumpster-diver in search of castoff treasures. Shit, she had to get a move on or he’d kill her with whatever he found.

Moira started with a box on her left, plain cardboard on the outside, unassuming enough. As she dug through a pile of moth-eaten clothes, the sharp edge of something bit the palm of her hand. She cried out. Upon further, much more hesitant, inspection, she discovered the source of the wound—a Japanese samurai sword.

That’s a katana, Norm corrected in her head.

Moira didn’t have time to smile. She wrapped her fingers around the base of the sword and pulled—

Right as Taylor came sprinting toward her with a hatchet in his hands. The metal glinted as he brought it down, right as Moria darted out of the way.

“Jesus, Taylor!”

“Stand still!”

He lifted the hatchet and swung it down again, with Moira only narrowly dodging it this time. She was close enough to hear the whoosh of the blade as it came down past her face. As she ducked to the side, so did Taylor. His third hit struck her shoulder. White-hot flames lit Moria’s muscle fibers and leaked pain down her arm. Warm blood dripped off her elbow.

Jesus fuck, that hurt.

Movement caught the corner of her eye and she whirled around, still clutching her injured shoulder. Taylor had raised the hatchet again. She had to get out of his way.

Still carrying the sword, Moira feinted left. Taylor took the bait and swung. She moved right, raised the sword, hesitated—

The light went out. Moira couldn’t see one inch in front of her face. Distantly, the Tricker-Treater’s claws clicked against a hard surface. Dragged against it, more like.

Moira shivered.

Mooooiiiiraaaaaaaaa…

She jabbed with the sword, wincing as the blade bounced off the wall. She was almost relieved that she hadn't hit Taylor.

Something rough brushed her calf. She jerked back, swallowing a cry. Something metal clattered to the ground, and Taylor yelped.

"Don't move, Taylor."

"Are w-we out of time?" As brave and seemingly bloodthirsty as he'd been moments before, there was no denying the way his voice shook. Hatchet or not, he was only a kid. He had his whole life ahead of him.

And she'd tried to kill him.

Moira let go of the katana. It, too, clattered to the floor. "What's up with turning the lights off, huh? Not fucked up enough as it is?"

"I assumed it would be easier for you to kill him with the lights off," the Tricker-Treater said. "That way, you wouldn't have to see him."

"Whose side are you on?" Taylor countered. His voice had an edge to it that scared her, sharpened by fear into pointed rage. It made him sound dangerous.

She didn't think he had the strength to kill her, but fear could drive someone to do the unthinkable.

And she'd let go of her weapon.

"I believe in leveling the playing field," the Tricker-Treater said. "Moira is, shall we say, more experienced in life, and Taylor has more energy. We correct this discrepancy with darkness."

Moira swallowed. In theory, everything he was saying made sense. But all she could think about was that there must be something she’d overlooked—something the Tricker-Treater had overlooked. In other words, a loophole.

Some way to save Riley without having to kill his brother.

She had to pick up the katana again. Without it, she was powerless. And, there was still a chance that Taylor would rediscover his bravado, would run toward her again with the hatchet raised, would bring it down and—

The Tricker-Treater chuckled in the gloom, and Moira knew he’d been inside her head again. Shit, that was… inconvenient, to say the least. How could she try to find a loophole if he was listening in on everything she thought?

Get the fuck out of my head, she thought.

Again, the Tricker-Treater chuckled. “Manners, Moira. But… I would be remiss not to heed your request, as vulgar as it might have been phrased. All you had to do was ask.”

Moira gaped at him in the darkness—or, at least, she gaped in what she assumed was his direction. It was still impossible to see anything, and though the Tricker-Treater had claimed he was just leveling the playing field, Moira couldn’t understand how this was supposed to help her.

Distantly, Taylor whimpered. Could he be afraid of the dark?

“Please,” he said. “Turn on the lights.”

The Tricker-Treater’s claws clicked together as he contemplated Taylor’s request. “Moira, what do you think?”

What did she think? She thought this whole twisted game was a goddamn mess. She thought it was ludicrous that this… demon expected her to kill a child, or the child to kill her. She thought she would do almost anything to save Riley because she loved him, but she wasn’t sure she could do this.

Most of all, Moira thought she had already lost. She had to change her mind somehow, or else she really would. Find the loophole, she reminded herself. There had to be an angle she hadn’t yet considered.

Moira shuffled her feet. The point of the katana bit into her shin and she fought the urge to cry out. Warm liquid seeped from the wound—not too much, but not too little to escape her notice. The darkness heightened everything. Tentatively, she bent over and fumbled around for the handle, praying her fingers wouldn’t graze the blade. At last, they closed around fabric—the binding on the handle—and she pulled it up with both hands as she rose to a standing position.

“Moira,” the Tricker-Treater prompted again. And… the idea came to her.

If she could kill the Tricker-Treater, she could end the game. She’d win, without killing Taylor, and Riley would be safe.

Of course, she knew next to nothing about the Tricker-Treater’s fortitude, although he seemed like a formidable foe. She had to give it a shot. Anything was better than plunging the blade into Taylor.

“Turn on the lights,” Moira answered.

She tightened her grip on the blade and widened her stance to give her more stability. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck. Her heart beat so loudly it threatened to deafen her, but she stayed grounded. She didn’t have a choice.

The Tricker-Treater snapped his fingers, and the lights flickered on again. Moira coordinated her attack with the fluorescent flash. She ran full speed, katana thrust forward like a jousting lance. Taylor gasped, eyes widening in horror—until Moira jabbed the sword into the Tricker-Treater’s gut.

“Shit!” Taylor yelled.

The Tricker-Treater didn’t flinch. He didn’t scream, nor did he give any other indication that he had been struck. Instead, he wrapped his clawed fingers around the blade and looked right at Moira. The twisted grin he produced was the worst thing she’d ever seen.

“Well, now. Isn’t this exciting?”

Moira trembled, but she didn’t let go of the handle. If she did, she was afraid he’d find a way to turn the blade on her. Taylor crept closer to the scene, face ashen. He was trembling, too, even as he reached out to take the sword from Moira.

She shook her head vehemently. “You’re not responsible for this. Taylor, if anything happens—”

“It isn’t polite to speak about others as though they aren’t there,” the Tricker-Treater chimed in. He was still holding onto the blade, still the picture of tranquility even as the sword stuck out of his stomach and black blood dripped from the wound onto the floor. “I wonder if you two have forgotten your manners.”

“Fuck you,” Taylor spat.

Moira had to agree, though she couldn’t find the words. All she could focus on was the blood, the way it poured from the Tricker-Treater’s stomach even though the wound was technically still sealed up, and—

The Tricker-Treater flexed his claws, and his grin widened. The blade slipped out of Moira’s hands.

“Taylor!” Moira shouted.

The blade shot backward out of the Tricker-Treater’s stomach and whirled around to point at Taylor. He reacted a second too late. Moira stared in horror as the black-bloodstained tip pushed into Taylor’s chest. He stiffened, limbs flying out, mouth open, eyes the size of galaxies—

And then, his body dropped. It made a sick thwack as it landed.

Moira turned her head and puked. When she turned back, the Tricker-Treater was hunched over, holding his hat in his hands. He had the decency not to grin.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “This is… less than ideal.”

If she weren’t so afraid, she would have smacked him. “‘Less than ideal’? A child is dead! You fucking killed him, you son of a bitch.”

“If I hadn’t, you would have.”

“I wouldn’t have,” she insisted. “You’ve been inside my head. You must have known I wouldn’t.”

“Hmph.” The Tricker-Treater twisted his hat in his hands. He was having trouble looking Moira in the eye. “Well, this does present a challenge.”

She wrangled the urge to strangle him. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules of the game were clear. To save Riley, there must be a sacrifice.” He paused, as though waiting for her to remember the rules. “One of you must kill the other.”

“But we can’t now. Taylor’s dead.” Realization dawned on Moira, eclipsing the fear. “You killed him. That’s the loophole.”

“So it would seem.” If he was upset about Moira’s admission of looking for a loophole, it didn’t show. If anything, he was so lost in contemplation he paid her no mind. She could have attacked him then. Taylor’s hatchet lay on the floor not far from his body. If she leaned forward a little—

But what would happen to Riley? If she killed the Tricker-Treater, would she forfeit the game? She couldn’t wager Riley’s life on a spur-of-the-moment choice.

Instead, she had to bide her time and see what the creature decided.

“Unfortunately,” he said. “Riley must perish.”

All the blood drained from Moira’s face. Like hell he must, she thought. “What are you talking about? I played your stupid game. Taylor… well, that means I won. Those were your rules, remember?”

“Alas, Moira, that isn’t the case.” The Tricker-Treater clicked his tongue. “Neither of you did as I asked, as was required of you, so there is no winner. And, as there’s no winner, Riley’s life is forfeit. I’m afraid those are the rules.”

Moira’s stomach roiled. There had to be another way. She had to save Riley somehow, otherwise, Taylor had died for nothing. She refused to lose Riley, refused to let his mother bury both her sons.

“Take me instead,” she pleaded.

The Tricker-Treater hesitated. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Your life is only forfeit should the other participant take it. As the other participant is dead, there is no reason for your life to end.”

His logic and politeness made her want to tear her hair out. “Taylor shouldn’t have died. I didn’t kill him. Doesn’t that change up your shitty rules somehow?”

Again, he hesitated. His face twisted up as though he were in pain. “I concede that Taylor’s departure was unnecessary, given the game’s objective. Reckless, even. However… there must be some punishment for you.” The Tricker-Treater looked pointedly at the hole in his gut. “You also broke the rules.”

“You never said I couldn’t attack you,” she argued.

His mouth twitched. “Fair enough. Hm… let’s do this. What do you think I should do to you, Moira? What sort of fate would be equitable?”

Moira’s tongue sat like lead in her mouth. How was she supposed to make such a strange decision? The question wasn’t one she’d planned for. He wasn’t in her head anymore, so she wondered if she could just throw something out there, something far from “fair,” in terms of extremity. Or, perhaps he already knew what he would do to her, and he was just playing another sick game?

“Tick-tock,” said the Tricker-Treater.

Moira swallowed. Hard. If Norm were here, he’d have the perfect idea. He was always so wise, her Norm, even when he was being silly. The last time they’d watched Groundhog Day together, he’d said—

Groundhog Day. Yes, that was the answer. It was the only way for her to atone, while still paying homage to her husband. And, it was the only way to make sure Riley’s mother got her son back—and got to keep Riley, too.

It wasn’t a fate Moira looked forward to, but it was a fate she accepted.

She gave the Tricker-Treater a watery smile. “Have you seen any Bill Murray movies?”

* * *

When Moira came to, she was covered in sweat. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, and birds chirped outside. Jesus. She felt like she’d been run over by a train.

Out of habit, even after a year, she rolled over to look at Norm’s side of the bed. She smoothed a hand over the blankets and sighed. “Miss you more than ever, hon.”

Outside, the distant hum of a mower pierced the air. She must have slept in much later than usual. A glance at the clock on her nightstand confirmed her suspicions, and she groaned. That would teach her to go through a whole bottle of wine by herself.

A weird pain flared in Moira’s shoulder. When she reached for it, the feeling vanished. She checked under her shirt. Nothing.

Must just be part of getting old, she thought.

It seemed like it was going to be a nice day, what with the birds chirping and sunlight and all. Maybe she’d crawl out of bed and do something fun for a change, bake some cookies to give to the neighbor kid, Riley. Maybe he’d share with his overworked mother. The poor dear was working more than she was home, and Moira knew she was exhausted.

An hour later saw Moira dressed and pulling fresh cookies from the oven, the smell filling the house like a bug bomb—albeit a delicious one. While she waited for the cookies to cool, she slipped on her shoes and went outside to fetch the paper.

Moira kicked spilled candy corn off her front step. The remnants of another weeknight massacre. This time, all in the name of a holiday.

She’d stopped keeping track of the holidays.

tag list: @bauliya, @howdy-writes

#writeblr #writerblr #ttaos #horror #my writing

24 notes · View notes

yetremains · 4 years ago

Text

“...”

“Well damn, alright.” Yang downed the rest of her tea quickly, before gasping for a breath as she shoved her cup away.

“Lightning round, lets go!”

chocolate: when was your first kiss?

“It was in my young teen years, 15 I think. I’d been dating that individual for a couple weeks before they abruptly decided to kiss me then and there. We’d been dancing around the subject for a while. It wasn’t spicy or romantic, merely spur of the moment. Was sweet though. The year after that we had broke up and remained friends for a while until we lost contact.”

french vanilla: how old are you?

“You shouldn’t ask someone their age when they been through shit. Too god damn old is the best answer if you must know. I’m older than 28, trust me. Don’t let looks fool you. But hey, I’m getting even older come December 25th!”

cotton candy: three places you want to travel to?

“Do places long gone count? Can I say Home? Nah probably not. So three places let’s see... Japan, China, Romania. The actual places not whatever anything makes them out to be.”

strawberry: a language you wish you could speak?

“I know a damn lot of languages actually. Sometimes it’s hard to think of the right words to say because of this, knowing so many. It’s one reason I’m so odd with my way of speaking. However, I would not mind learning some dead languages. If that doesn’t count, then... Persian?”

coffee: favorite cosmetic brands?

“Ah hell. I mean, I’m not much of a cosmetic expert here. I work with whatever I really need for a music show or for just every day. I could say L’Oreal because I’m worth it joke but that seems in bad taste. If I was using cosmetics just for the enjoyment or to look special, I just try and get whatever works for me.”

mint chocolate chip: indoors or outdoors?

“Answered this one~!”

cookie dough: do you play any instruments?

“Plenty. I’ve decided to learn a few different ones so I can mix together my own music needs of demands arise for it. But I really enjoy stringed instruments or wind instruments. I carry a small harmonica or Ryūteki in my packs.”

rocky road: favorite songs at the moment?

“Not easy to give an answer for, I’ve got a really broad taste. But I’m thinking something with a heavier beat at the moment-”

butter pecan: favorite songs for life?

“Oh come on this makes it harder. As I said, broad taste. I can find enjoyment in many kinds of music and lyrics. Can’t exactly answer a favorite song for life here.”

cheesecake: what’s your zodiac sign?

“Which zodiac are we talking here? There are a lot out there. But the first one into my head is Capricorn. I am on the 25th of December.”

toasted coconut: the beach or the pool?

“As nice as the ocean can be, fuck the ocean. I’ll enjoy the coast line just fine but you won’t catch me swimming that far out in it. There is damn good reason why I don’t like the ocean much anymore. I’ll relax in a pool or a lake or river, thank you.”

chocolate chip: what’s your most popular post?

“Good question. I’ve made a few social media posts that exploded. But that’s probably not fair considering the music I do. I think my most popular is from years ago when I spray painted a statue of a certain someone to look like a baboon.”

bubblegum: books or movies?

“Both! Why choose? I enjoy both quite a bit. and besides, Books can always be there no matter what. And can hold so much valuable information depending what you are reading.”

pistachio: manga or anime?

“... Both again? But I prefer novels. This is more a guilty pleasure.”

salted caramel: favorite movies?

“I can’t remember the last movie I watched, if I’m honest, let alone a favorite movie.”

birthday cake: favorite books?

“Hmmm. Hard one. I enjoy the collected works of Edgar Allen Poe? There is Shōgun. The Mark of Zorro, Sherlock Holmes, Bram Stoker Dracula... There’s several.”

moose tracks: favorites for manga?

“Not exactly applicable, I don’t remember the name of any I like when I was young.”

orange sherbet: favorites for anime?

“The same as above. Wow I am old... I should really get in touch with these things again.”

peanut butter: favorite academic subject?

“Hah, I loved science and history. A damn lot really. I’ve used both to really help my self along and it’s come in handy. My need for knowledge had me spend a lot of time researching.”

black raspberry: do you have any pets?

“I’ve not had any pets since I was a rookie. Never had the time to truly care for one, and now with a hectic life, I’m not gonna do that to an animal.”

mango: when and why did you start your blog?

“Suppose just to exist and have something to do between pit stops.”

mocha: ideal weather conditions?

“It is torn between two for me. A nice warm day, clear, maybe with a gentle breeze. Some clouds above, and calm. That’s the ideal outing day... But, I suppose due to my birthday, I can enjoy a soft snow coming down,some snow on the ground, watching through a window with tea in hand while bundled up and warm. Much prefer clear day though.”

black cherry: four words that describe you?

“Now that’s just not fair. Let me think... Loyal, Determined, Caring, Protective.”

neapolitan: things that stress you out?

“Being reminded of my failings and those I’ve lost... the people I’ve hurt... Thinking about friends I wish I was closer too but too fearful to be that close. Hm. I can also be stressed out by far too much stimulation for my brain at once that it can spin my gears way too quickly.”

raspberry truffle: favorite kind of music?

“Again, broad tastes. But depending on my mood or feelings, it changes what my favorite kind of music can be. But I will always enjoy something gentle and calming.”

chocolate marshmallow: favorite brands of candy?

“I’ve always been partial to chocolates, or cream items.”

toffee: a card game that you’re good at?

“Ever hear of a game called Egyptian Rat Race? Also known as Egyptian Rat Screw, dunno why of course. I learned this game when I was a kid. 52 card deck, deal to each player until the deck is entirely used and everyone has a pile face down. Starting to the left of the dealer players pull the top card off their pile and place it face-up in the middle. If the card played is a number card, the next player puts down a card, too. This continues around the table until somebody puts down a face card or an Ace. When a face card or an ace is played, the next person in the sequence must play another face card or an ace in order for play to continue.If the next person in the sequence does not play a face card or an ace within their allotted chance, the person who played the last face card or an ace wins the round and the whole pile goes to them. The winner begins the next round of play.“

lemon custard: do you eat breakfast?

“Uh... Admittedly not often. With my metabolism problem I absolutely should, considering the demanding needs. I just can’t always bring my self to do so, the will for it isn’t there. I do snack though.”

dark chocolate: turn ons?

“Ooohh boy... Now this one has me turning a bit red here. I mean there is biting and tight holds, the usual stuff. But... I’m not gonna list a lot here, a turn on can be blindfolding me if I trust my partner enough.”

fudge: turn offs?

“Being an asshole, for one.”

peach: how do you relax?

“A nice cup of tea, maybe some soft music, and let my mind unwind a little. That’s if I’m alone. Otherwise a gentle conversation with a friend about small things... Once upon a time long ago I would have said long hugs or cuddling. Not an option these days.”

praline: a popular book you haven’t read yet?

“I’ve not read The Golden Compass, that has been on my to do list.”

superman: do you like sweaters?

“Weird how this one is with sweaters... but yeah I can enjoy sweaters in the right weather. They can be soft and warm, comfy. Great for cold days.”

cherry: do you drink tea or coffee?

“I drink both actually. But if I have the option for a good tea I’m going to take it without hesitation. Yet the spark of energy from Coffee can’t be denied.”

dulce de leche: an instrument you wish you could play?

“Without a doubt, Taisho-goto. Have you seen one of those? It’s so intricate and amazing, and can sound wonderful. It can be used to play all sorts of things. Fascinates me that the item was half inspired by a typewriter.”

blackberry: have you ever laughed so hard you cried?

“Oh a few times actually. It’s been a good long while now since I’ve gone that far, but it’s come close. But once upon a time this has happened!”

ginger: a new feature you wish tumblr could have?

“To Become A Functioning Website.”

blueberry lemon: favorite blogs?

“Now that’s just kissing and telling...” (( I’d also have to tag and dont wanna spam. ))

almond: favorite mean girls quote?

“Oddly specific, but... Variations of ‘One time she punched me in the face. It was awesome.’. “

butterscotch: what color are your nails right now?

“Uh, natural and colorless? I’ve not painted my nails in a while.”

cinnamon: have you ever been confessed to?

“I have yes.”

blue moon: have you ever had a crush on someone?

“Again, yes. We’re not gonna go into this can of worms.”

cappuccino crunch: do you take naps?

“Sometimes. There comes the occasion when one does get exhausted and needs a damn nap.”

mint: the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?

“Get way too flustered and accidentally admit I liked someone.”

brownie batter: do you like sushi?

“Completely! You say we’re going to get Sushi and you have my full attention.”

key lime: where do you want to be right now?

“Home unfortunately.”

red velvet: do you wear prescription glasses?

“Nope! I’m thankful for that, but one day I have no doubt that’s going to change.”

green tea: favorite flavors of ice cream?

“Mochi green tea, chocolate chip mint, red bean, Strawberry shortcake... Gelato raspberry or orange cream.”

#About Yang #Headcanon #(( THERE I DID IT. ALL THE ICE CREAMS ))#(( this was exhausting on the hands and brain i died. ))#(( but also did my best ))

4 notes · View notes

wildandsexyjacks · 5 years ago

Text

Maybe It’s a Chicago Thing

I know we’re way past halloween, but here’s Johnny (no The Shining pun intended) + #2 and #56 from this halloween prompts list requested by anon

Hope you like it!

Word Count: 1.9k

“Do I really have to go?” You ask, playing candy crush on your phone while you wait for your friend to finish her make-up.

“Yes!” she shouts from the bathroom of your shared apartment “You promised me, remember?”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s not like you’re gonna miss me, being too busy swallowing Ten’s face and all...”

She laughs and sticks her neck out to look at you through the open door.

“Y/N, come on, you used to love those parties! Is this about Jaehyun? Because that was, like, ages ago. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember it anymore. Probably no one does.”

You throw a cushion at her and even though she actually ducks, it doesn’t even reach the doorway, landing right in the middle of the living room.

“It was literally last halloween.”

She shrugs and turns back to the mirror.

“Just stay away from jello shots or try not to throw up on anyone’s shoe this time and you should be fine.” after applying a heavy coat of red lipstick, she comes out of the bathroom with her hands on her hips “How do I look?”

You squint at her outfit, uncertain.

“Like a stripper dressed up as a nun.”

You have no idea what her costume really is and the comment was supposed to make her mad, or at least a little annoyed, but your roommate smiles brightly instead.

“You know, that’s why we’re best friends. You just.... get me on a spiritual level. Are you ready?”

When you get to your old college friends’ place, the infamous House 127 known to host unforgettable parties, Yuta is at the door, dressed up as Edward Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist. He’s hugging a bowl full of chocolates, surrounded by half a dozen whiny children in cute halloween costumes.

“Come on, little dudes!” he orders, keeping the bowl out of the kids’ reach “Ten push-ups each or no one gets candy.”

Your friend charges at Yuta and punches his arm then takes the bowl from him to give a chocolate bar to each one of the kids. They all thank her very politely and run off to the next house.

“It’s called trick-or-treating for a reason, idiot.” she mutters, handing the candy bowl back to Yuta “They’re supposed to threaten you, not the other way around.”

“And where’s the fun in that? All right, whatever.” he rolls his eyes and gestures at the door “Hello to you too Slutty Nun, nice to see you Jello Shot. Welcome to our house of tricks, ladies, please come in.”

You pass by your friend, bumping her shoulder. “No one remembers, huh?”

The living room is heavily decorated, with purple lighting and spiderwebs and bloodstains on the walls - hopefully fake, but you never know with these guys, Doyoung sometimes takes things a little too seriously. There’s a table with snacks of all sorts and a silver platter with an unholy amount of the jello shots you need to stay away from. There’s also a beautiful jar filled with red wine punch, ice cubes shaped like tiny skulls.

You’re about to go for the punch but your best friend’s boyfriend - Ten - intercepts the both of you, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Then he looks at you and frowns.

“Where’s your costume?”

You point at your black smudged eyeliner and the Chicago Bulls shirt like it should be obvious.

“I’m Pete Wentz.”

“She’s lazy.” your friend corrects “And didn’t even wanna come, can you imagine that?”

Ten, you notice, is wearing a sexy french maid costume, and he looks utterly ridiculous but incredibly funny at the same time.

“I’m actually glad I came, though, otherwise I’d miss this.” you point at his costume “You two really deserve each other.”

“Thank you. Donut?” he asks, offering one of the pastries on the tray he’s carrying as part of his costume.

You’re about to take one but a large hand grabs your wrist. You look around - and then up because he’s super tall - to find a man you’ve never seen before. He’s got brown hair falling in front of his eyes, amazingly beautiful cheekbones, broad shoulders, and looks really good dressed in a black button-up and a white lab coat.

“Don’t take it, it’s a halloween prank. He filled it with mustard instead of boston cream.” he explains.

You want to slap Ten, but the nice-looking stranger is still holding your arm, so you stretch your leg and kick him instead.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

The boy almost drops the tray, hopping on one foot with a pained expression.

“Ouch! Thanks a lot, Johnny.”

So that’s his name.

“Thank you... Johnny, right? Are you dressed up as a doctor?” You ask, looking at his lab coat. He turns completely to you, so you can see the rest of his costume. There’s a tiny Snoopy plushie in his pocket, and you raise your free hand to touch it. “Oh! A vet, then?”

Your roommate sighs.

“Wow, you didn’t even bother, John. Congratulations, you’re literally dressed up as yourself.” She complains. “I bet you even came straight from work.”

Johnny laughs.

“No. If I did, I’d be covered in Mr. Flufflestiltskin’s urine. Big boy was really happy to see me today.”

“Oh, I can’t wait for that demon cat to be adopted.” She rolls her eyes, then smiles, holding onto Ten’s arm with one hand and waving the other to get your attention “Johnny is Ten’s best friend. He’s volunteering at our animal shelter while the construction company is setting up his clinic, he just moved back from... Oh.” staring at your Bulls shirt, she tilts her head to the side, a weird look in her eyes “You guys have a lot in common. You both like sports and suck at halloween costumes... Maybe it’s a Chicago thing, he was born there too.”

You look up at Johnny, and he finally realizes he’s still grabbing your arm, quickly letting go with an embarrassed laugh. Ten and his girlfriend exchange a look you know can only mean trouble and make up a poor excuse to leave, abandoning you to Johnny’s care. He looks around, eyes darting in every direction, not knowing what to say.

“Um... Thank you for saving me.” You say again, just to break the ice. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“No problem.” He shrugs “In fact, you should be suspicious of pretty much everything from now on, the guys have a bet going on and whoever pranks more people gets a reese’s peanut butter cups box and a month free of any household chore obligation. Trust no one tonight.”

“Not even you?”

You frown, but he shakes his head.

“I don’t live here. Besides, I know all their plans, which makes me the safest person to hang out with right now.” offering his arm, he winks at you “Wanna get something to drink?”

There’s really not much to think of. Your friend ditched you to make out with her boyfriend somewhere in the house, the other boys would not hesitate to prank your scaredy-cat ass... And Johnny looks really good. He’s also very nice, with his soft velvety voice and broad shoulders and warm smile. And he looks really, really good.

You grab his arm and take him to the food table. He reaches for the jello shots, but you tell him a quick variation of your sad jello encounter from last year - not getting into gastrointestinal specifics because that’s not something you tell a cute guy you just met -, and after laughing for a whole minute he ends up filling two cups with punch, handing you one.

With a steady hand on your lower back, Johnny guides you to one of the couches, and you sit down side by side. He compliments your shirt and starts a conversation about Chicago, then sports, then your interests. It’s easy to talk to him, he has a nice voice when he talks and seems genuinely interested when it’s your turn to speak. And you do have a lot in common, indeed. You talk about music, movies, sports, not even noticing how much time has passed since your friend vanished with her boyfriend.

A few punch cups later, when your favorite Fall Out Boy song starts playing, you drag Johnny to the improvised dance floor adjacent to the back door. He’s surprisingly good at it as well, especially for someone as tall as him. It makes you wonder if there’s anything he’s bad at, and you ask him just that.

“Flirting,” he replies with a cute laugh. “I’ve been meaning to ask your number for...” he squints at his watch “over an hour now.”

You take a step forward.

“Oh, I suppose it’d be useful.” you joke, smiling “I mean, you’re a vet and I have a goldfish at home.”

He comes closer too, only a little bit, subtly resting one of his hands on your hip.

“It definitely would. Goldfish need special care, it’s very important to have a professional at hand.”

One more step closer.

“It is isn’t it?”

You’re already on your tiptoes, hands on Johnny’s shoulder, and he’s leaning in... Until Haechan comes from nowhere running like crazy and bumps into the both of you, completely ruining the moment and making you jump back.

“If anyone asks,” he goes, barely stopping to talk to you “you never saw me.”

And just like he came in, he goes out with no explanation whatsoever. You and Johnny look into each other’s confused eyes before bursting out laughing.

“What was that?” he asks mid-laugh, shaking his head.

“I have no idea. He’s probably in trouble, but it’s not our problem...” you reach for his hand, a little shy, and clear your throat “Where were we?”

He glances at you, chewing on his lower lip.

“I’m pretty sure you were about to kiss me.”

You avoid his gaze, biting back a smile.

“Really? I think I don’t remember that...” going against your words, though, you move into his personal space, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Well, in that case...” with his hands on your waist, Johnny closes his eyes and leans in again “I was definitely about to kiss you.”

He does so, and it’s unlike any other kiss you’ve ever had before. Johnny pulls you closer, running his hands up and down your back as you thread your fingers through his hair.

“Mmhmm....” he hums after you break the kiss “Just like I imagined.” smiling, he takes your hand, intertwining your fingers “Come on, let’s get a drink.”

You move back to the table at the same time as Doyoung storms inside coming from the backyard, carrying a half-empty reese’s box that was probably meant for the bet and looking seriously pissed.

“Who ate all my candy?!!” He yells, poking random people on the dance floor, looking for the culprit “I WILL find out who did it and WILL kill everything they hold dear, whoever and wherever they are!”

Johnny laughs and squeezes your wrist to get your attention.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere else before he finds out the chocolate thief has left already and things get real ugly... Would you like to go grab something to eat?”

You nod in agreement, and the both of you head for the door, hand in hand and twin smiles on your faces.

The house really is one to host unforgettable parties. This time, however, you’re set to make good memories and you’re very glad you came.

Not nearly as good as I thought it’d be, but here it is. Happy belated halloween everyone, and thank you for requesting, anon!

#johnny seo #johnny suh #johnny scenarios #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct 127 #nct johnny

43 notes · View notes

identityexcavationstation · 5 years ago

Text

The High Fidelity Remake is Good and my Identity is Irreversibly Linked to Music Consumption

Hi! So, I’m kinda insane about playlists.

This year I’ve made a lot of them. They’ve been short and snappy on index cards, scanned and pasted in a book and uploaded to the internet. (I’ve really fallen in love with index card playlists and they’re my thing now and I think everyone should do them always and forever.) They were easy to churn out as a retrospective exercise because the music I listened to as a teenager really defined my high school experience. Also, I have most of my favorite songs from that period in a very dramatic playlist I started in 2014 so it was really a game of copy-and-paste.

Making these smol boys in batches has been a really peculiar experience because for years now, I’ve only made one playlist at a time. In my second semester of college, I’d officially burned myself out listening to only CHVRCHES for three months and began venturing elsewhere. (Don’t get me wrong, CHVRCHES absolutely bangs, but you can only listen to “Never Ending Circles” so many times before getting seasick.) All of the random songs I was listening to made me feel kinda hazy and purple, like I’d done all of this before. So I made a playlist full of them and called it “Deja Vu.”

I added to it all semester, and then suddenly it was summer and I didn’t feel purple and hazy anymore⁠—everything was blue and crisp on the way to South Haven as my friend blasted “Settle Down” by Kimbra in her beat-up Honda. So I started a new playlist and named it the first word that popped into my head: “Roots.”

Using Deja Vu as a rubric, I developed some ground rules for the playlists I would go on to create. They are pretty nonsensical but also exceedingly firm because if I don’t make rules for every area of my life I feel like I’m falling into a deep and limitless void. Health! Anyway, the rules are:

The playlist’s title has to be a short noun (seven letters maximum).

This has since transformed into a noun that is also a verb.

To generate a title, I ask myself what short word I would use to describe the phase of life I’m currently in. The answer comes quickly and reflexively, and I choose the very first word I think of.

One song per artist, no repeats!

Exceptions are made for artists who are featured on a track.

There have been times when I’ve obsessively listened to a whole album or an artist’s entire discography, so I have to choose just one song that represents the very best of that album or artist.

Tracks are added chronologically, based on when I first hear them and/or start listening to them compulsively.

The playlist has to contain an amount of tracks that is divisible by five.

If a song in a playlist is deleted from Spotify, I have to find a replacement asap that is accurate to what I was listening to when that playlist was being created.

and, most importantly,

I can’t make a new playlist until I feel I’m finished with the current one.

These playlists represent seasons of my life, cycles in which I change and evolve and stagnate and fuck up and try again. The only rule I have for beginning a new playlist is that I feel done with the current one—those songs are a little stale and don’t represent me anymore. These “seasons” don’t have any set length, and I can never predict when I’ll feel like a new being who needs new songs to define her. So far, my life has looked like this:

Deja Vu - 176 days (12.03.16 - 05.28.17) Most common lyrics: now, love, time, need, take

snow that covers ivy that covers bricks, towers made from dining hall dishes, smiling at the bus stop without knowing, sheet masks in the dorm bathroom at 2am, pink string lights and pink crocheted blankets and pink shag carpeting, cheap beer behind tarps and walking everyone home

Roots - 111 days (05.28.17 - 09.16.17) Most common lyrics: love, one, give, wanna, know

t-shirt tan lines, mozzarella and tomato and basil and singed spaghetti, sunset walks around abandoned high schools, green leaves outlined in watercolor, the smell of mildew and old paper in banker’s boxes, sweat-soaked french braids, the knife twist of eye contact, tarot readings under lamplight

Walls - 110 days (09.16.17 - 01.04.18) Most common lyrics: wanna, know, baby, take, feel

crying in the gender-neutral restroom, pretty boys holding guitars or rolling rock, photos in the forest, blue carpeting and lofted bedframes, pitch-black bonfires, sitting in the dining hall to just watch the people pass, snow on eyelashes in large wet clumps, laughing at lies

Bite - 78 days (01.04.18 - 03.23.18) Most common lyrics: know, love, stay, come, need

impatience at the airport, texting on the laundry room floor, nervous night drives, five grilled cheese sandwiches, acne like freckles, ceiling photos taken in secret, watercolor lines and paper houses, broken glass on the sidewalk, ink-stained forearms, notebook paper comics, writing small on basement walls

Windows - 131 days (03.23.18 - 08.01.18) Most common lyrics: love, now, know, baby, fall

books piled up by the bed, rum and coke and orange juice and vodka and cheap white wine, rainy day night walks, streetlights turning the leaves orange, echoes from the party upstairs, solo trips to the grocery store, always leaving the blinds open, aperol and chai lattes and smørrebrød, never coming home

Grip - 136 days (08.01.18 - 12.15.18) Most common lyrics: know, boy, lost, girl, night

read receipts, the creaking of an empty house, sand and bricks and traffic cones, sitting on the curb and shaking, applause at dinner, bubble tea, bike rides in torn jeans, mr brightside blasting at 10am, doodles during lectures, embroidery at the kitchen table, blue bus panic attacks, half an apple for lunch

Wait - 117 days (12.15.18 - 04.11.19) Most common lyrics: heart, want, one, back, know

crying in the lobby, measuring oats by the quarter cup, drunken voice memos, shoes on power lines, another bowl of granola, reading all the lyrics, photos taken with the flash on, sleeping on strange couches, shoeboxes full of photographs, wire catching the sunlight, fifteen minutes of windchill

Wave - 108 days (04.11.19 - 07.28.19) Most common lyrics: wanna, know, now, love, come

dancing on the porch, reading on the roof, tipsy trips to the corner store, silent heavy parlor air, chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting, barred windows and string lights and exit signs, highlighting the important parts, nails tapping on wooden tables, wet wind before the storm, biking straight into the smoke

Home - 178 days (07.28.19 - 01.22.20) Most common lyrics: down, know, now, wanna, think

steep downhill walks, fingertips covered in graphite and lead, blank faces on green walls, forest walkways, hands gripping thighs too tightly, light leaks in darkrooms, the handwriting of strangers, chains trapped between teeth, white words left unread, twirling at the tennis court, yellow becoming blue

Hand - 63 days (01.22.20 - 03.25.20) Most common lyrics: know, time, love, die, back

masking tape messages, laughing four shots in, BiC .07mm HB mechanical pencils slipped into coat cuffs, cheeks blushed with red ink, green floodlights and kissed knuckles, windows fogged from the inside, falling asleep with earbuds in, finger guns and everything in boxes, wedging open locked doors

_______________________________________________________________________

It’s interesting to look back at these playlists altogether, see them as self-contained units, little stories I tell about myself, about the people I used to be. Adding a song to one of these playlists was like making a vow, entering a relationship with a collection of sounds. It’s like I was saying “this song is now a part of me.” I constructed this little world for myself in the space between my ears, and it, in turn, created me.

I really mean it when I say that the first word that floats to the front of my mind becomes the title of whatever playlist I’m making. I never question what the word means, and its meaning always ends up describing that season of my life.

“Roots” became a period of reconnecting with essential pieces of myself I thought I had abandoned.

During “Grip,” I was holding on so tightly to things that had left me ages ago, and I think I knew that, even if I was unable to admit it to myself.

“Wait” revealed itself in two ways: it was a time in which 1.) I felt stagnant and restless, unable to be patient, and 2.) I was forced to grasp with a physical and emotional weight that had been bearing down on me.

The mind is a magical thing—it processes what we refuse to recognize.

Speaking of which, these playlist covers have been driving me up the wall for ages. They’re like nails on a freaking chalkboard for my synesthesia. Is “Bite” a heavily blue playlist? Sure. But is “Home” purple? Is “Grip” pink??? I think the fuck not!

(I could do a whole goddamn blog post on synesthesia, and I might.)

Now that I know how to switch out playlist cover art (can you believe it’s taken me this long to figure out how to do that?), I have decided to issue myself a challenge/project/way to procrastinate actual work I have to do.

I’d like to make a piece of cover art for all of the above playlists. And because I am, to reiterate, insane, I’m setting up some Rules For Creation:

All works must be the same size, on the same type of paper using similar materials (tbd but probably graphite, colored pencil, watercolor, fineliners, and/or collage).

The preliminary sketch for each cover must be created while listening to the playlist.

Each piece can (must?) incorporate the five most common lyrics as listed above because goddammit I did not spend four hours compiling lyrics in a web-based word cloud generator for nothing.

If I’m not having fun, I won’t make myself do it because this is literally just for laffs.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to creating some fun weird art! I know nobody is gonna read this and nobody is gonna comment but if, by some miracle, you feel like it, comment a playlist you’ve made that you’re really proud of! Or comment if you have some weird playlist rules! Or cyberbully me! Anything’s fair game.

TL;DR playlists are fun and I’m a maniac :)

6 notes · View notes

eris223 · 5 years ago

Photo

@kokkoro tis I, your Secret Santa!

It’s been a pleasure chatting with you these past few weeks. I hope you have a wonderful New Year’s Eve full of relaxation after the craziness of the holidays. I wrote something for you. Just a fun little fic inspired by some of our chats:

Charming Bites & Lady Knights

The parking lot was packed. Lexa’s shoulders slumped, and she pulled into the final available spot, steeling her mind, body, and soul for the inevitable irritation that came with being in a crowd of holiday treat shoppers.

As she slugged through the snow-dusted lot, Lexa reminded herself that this quest came only once a year. Only during the holidays did her mother, who never asked anything of her daughter, request a few charming bites, as she called them. And dammit, Lexa was a noble and true daughter.

So here she stood, calming herself before the local dairy farm and bakery.

The tintinnabulation as she pushed open the heavy door was nearly lost to the constant chatter of bakery employees and frantic customers. Lexa weaved in and out of bustling shoppers, coming to a halt at the end of a ten-person line.

The bakery counter line crawled forward, and every time Lexa dipped her head to the side to gain insight on why the line was moving so slowly, all she saw was a flash of blonde hair attached to a blur of a frenzied yet striking young woman.

“It’s moving slowly, isn’t it, dear?”

Lexa smiled at the old woman who just hopped in line behind her.

“It’s always a mess during the holidays.” Her words were direct and easily interpreted as annoyed, yet the elder’s smile was anything but.

While Lexa was no deipnosophist, she could manage a bit of chit-chat with a kindly old lady who reminded her of her best friend’s doting grandmother. “I think that employee is the only one working the counter. It can’t be easy with this many people,” Lexa motioned towards the counter just as the blonde woman heaved a sigh and greeted the next customer.

“That poor dear,” the old woman clicked her tongue. “We’ll be sure to leave her a nice tip, won’t we?”

Lexa nodded, her cheeks aching with the smile she sported. It wasn’t every day she met someone genuinely kind.

The line still moved at a glacial pace, but with the light and easy conversation with her line partner, the time passed quickly. Soon enough, Lexa stood only two people from the front.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s not ready’? I called it in three days ago!”

A hoarse voice crashed into Lexa’s ears, and she whipped her head towards the front of the line. A burly man leaned forward, hands on the counter, shoulders tense, as he continued to berate the pretty employee.

“I left a message on the machine. I said it needed to be ready today!”

“Sir,” the woman’s voice was calm yet peppered with exhaustion, and it was so much more luscious than Lexa anticipated. “Did someone from the bakery call to confirm or give you an order number?”

“Can’t you just give me one of those?” He motioned towards the stack of cakes on the back counter, and Lexa’s skin bristled.

A bout of pure protective nature coursed through her veins as she watched the young woman set her lips in a firm yet polite line.

“I’m sorry, sir, but those are reserved for other custo-”

“This is ridiculous,” he spat at the employee, and Lexa’s muscles tensed. “I can’t believe how far this place has fallen. Hiring fools instead of employees. I want a cake. There are cakes right there…”

Lexa wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword, her leather gauntlet stretching as she flexed her fingers. She drew the blade slow and with purpose, holding it at the ready.

She tapped the tip of her sword to the rude man’s shoulder. “Thou must apologize to the fair maiden. She art naught but a kind woman caught in a difficult situation.”

He turned with malice laced throughout his gaze. “And who do you think you are? Her knight in shining armor?”

Lexa stood tall, her heavy hauberk shifting and jingling, filling her with pride and confidence. “If she would permit me to be, aye.”

She spared a glance to the maiden in question, and the small nod Lexa received bolstered her further. “Apologize, or I will be duty-bound to defend her honor.”

The man gave Lexa an acute once over, sizing up his competition. With a low growl, he reached behind him, pulling a longsword from the scabbard on his back.

The metal blade scraped loud and dull against his sheath, and Lexa smirked. An expert swordsman could draw silently. This oaf was just a rude buffoon who needed to be taught a lesson in humility.

He swung without warning, his four-foot blade slicing through the air. Lexa, much quicker with her arming sword, ducked beneath the clumsy attempt.

With a flash of steel, Lexa whipped her lighter and swifter sword low, confident her foe would be unable to block such a blow. As her blade clanged hard against his battle-battered greaves, he stumbled backwards.

Lexa leapt into action, assaulting the retreating man with a succession of sudden attacks.

He grunted, his breath drawing in quick bursts with the peripeteia of combat. Emboldened by her enemy’s perpetually slower parries, Lexa ducked under a final graceless swing and landed a devastating blow to the center of his cuirass.

The large man stumbled, and this time, fell to his knees. Chest heaving with exertion, Lexa held the tip of her sword to the soft underside of his throat. “Thou hast lost. Apologize.”

“Dear? It’s your turn.”

Lexa shook her head, ridding her overactive mind of knights and chivalry. She cleared her throat and stepped up to the counter.

“Hi.”

The blonde employee was overwhelmingly gorgeous, with bonhomie dripping from her eyes down to the soft smile adorning her lips. Despite the heat in her cheeks and the fluttering in the pit of her stomach, a halcyon wave crashed around Lexa. After what seemed like an eternity, she muttered back a simple greeting.

“What can I do for you today?” The woman rested her hands gently on the counter in front of her, and Lexa, the suddenly smitten woman she was, completely forgot the reason she was actually there. She thought of nothing but the rude man who insulted this beauteous creature before her.

“I would like to formally apologize on behalf of that man from earlier.” Lexa locked eyes with brilliant blue. “He was out of line, and you were nothing but professional and courteous towards him-” Lexa leaned forward to get a better view of the simple name tag pinned to the woman’s white shirt. “Clarke,” she added with a smile.

“That’s sweet of you to say. Thank you,” Clarke bit back her smile. She dropped her voice low, and with a little twinkle in her eye, nodded behind Lexa. “But if you don’t order something in the next ten seconds, you’re going to be witness to a whole lot more rude customers.”

“Right, sorry,” Lexa mumbled as she tried desperately to contain her blushing cheeks. “Half a dozen cannolis, half a dozen peanut butter cookies, and one cream puff, please.”

“Just one cream puff?” Clarke paused, the pastry box half-popped open in her hand.

“I get one for myself every year. A little treat,” Lexa shrugged as she watched Clarke expertly pluck two fluffy pastry cream-filled treats into the box. “Oh, just one.”

Clarke looked up from the display case with a smile so big and bright she could have lit the night sky. “Try meat.” Her full cheeks ignited into an impressive array of pinks and reds as she manically shook her head. “My treat,” Clarke corrected, and Lexa couldn’t help but smile at the fluster-induced spoonerism.

“For being my knight in shining armor,” Clarke finished with a wink that transferred that impressive blush from her cheeks straight to Lexa’s. Her heart triple-timed, desperate to catch up to her racing brain. It wasn’t every day she met a beautiful woman who perhaps, just maybe, shared her slight obsession with lady knights.

“Can you please stop flirting and get on with your job?”

Lexa whipped around, shooting a death glare to the middle-aged woman standing three customers back. “Some of us have better things to do than watch this-” she waved her hand dismissively towards Lexa and Clarke. “Whatever this is.”

“Yeah, flirt on your own time!” Another snappy customer shouted, starting a low rumble of assertion that quickly grew to a cacophonous roar.

Lexa’s jaw hardened. In the minute she’d been standing there, Clarke had never stopped moving. The entire time they were talking, Clarke had been expertly plucking treats from the display case and packaging them neatly. These chthonian people should just crawl back under the filthy rock they came from.

“A little patience goes a long way,” Lexa narrowed her eyes at the woman who started it all.

She was met with a sneer that stoked the fire of anger deep within her belly. Lexa wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her sword once again. “I wish you all no harm, but if provoked, I will respond with force.”

The corybantic crowd drew their weapons: long swords, daggers, maces, axes, all glistened under the fluorescent lights.

Lexa waited atiptoe for some fool to make the first mistake. But her patience soon wore thin, and unwilling to be caught unprepared, she pulled her own knightly sword from her hip.

A jumble of footsteps echoed behind her, and Lexa gasped as Clarke, donned in a black Gambeson cinched around her waist with a golden belt and sheath, leapt over the bakery counter. Her boot-clad feet landed with a graceful thump, and she drew her own arming sword.

Lexa wanted to exclaim, to ask a million questions, but the crowd around inched forward. The gleam of polished steel glinted in her eyes. The stuttered adrenaline-infused breaths prickled her ears.

Lexa tightened her grip around the leather-clad hilt, her muscles coiled and ready. Clarke’s back pressed against hers as they both took cautious steps, painting an unseen circle on the old hardwood floors, surveying their numerous enemies.

The ephemeral dance ended in a flick of a wrist. The crowd fell in on them, a mess of steel and wood. Clang after clang, Lexa deflected the attacks, all the while keeping an alert ear to the sound of Clarke fighting.

Her fair maiden was no amateur.

The whistle of a well-made blade cut through the air behind her like a song of combat. Clarke’s back bumped against hers as a particularly devious blow caught Lexa’s sword.

A steady hand grasped her free one, and with a knowing squeeze, they twirled on their heels, exchanging foes in a deadly dance that couldn’t have been better choreographed if they tried.

They fought, side by side, deflecting here, helping there, until their foes we’re nothing more but a groaning mess of plate armor and chainmail amongst the floorboards.

Lexa wiped the sweat from her brow, sheathing her sword with a satisfied smirk. “My lady,” Lexa assessed the destruction around them. “You wield a sword to rival me.”

With a satisfied twirl of her blade, Clarke slipped the weapon securely into her sheath. “I expect not a savior, but a partner, my good dame.”

She smirked at Lexa, all satisfied and battle lust-filled. The kilig was unbearable, so Lexa took a bold step forward, wrapped her hand around Clarke’s neck, and leaned in.

“I’ll be right with the next customer,” Clarke smiled politely to the back of the crowd. She caught Lexa’s gaze, her face a little more flushed. “Thirty-seven dollars even.”

Lexa signed the electronic pad and accepted the pastry box from Clarke. With nothing more than a shy smile, she sulked towards the door, mindful to give that middle-aged love-hater an intimidating glare as she passed.

“Dear, this is unacceptable.”

Lexa turned around just in time to be leveled with a heartbreaking disappoint glare that grandmothers executed with perfection. Her line partner heaved a heavy sigh, her plastic shopping bag crinkling against her long coat in the process.

“What do you mean?” Lexa swallowed down the urge to cower.

“This shilly-shally-” she waved frantically at Lexa. “Just ask that young lady out. There isn’t a nobler cause in the world than matters of the heart, dear.”

The woman was right.

Lexa squared her shoulders and marched straight to the front of the line, ignoring several annoyed glares in the process. But when she reached the display case, Clarke was nowhere to be found. A chipper brunette stood in her place, tending to customers with a smile too big to be considered normal.

A few more frantic minutes were spent scouring the shop, and when she finally caved and asked an employee, she was informed that Clarke had been sent home for the day.

Lexa sulked out of the bakery, slipping the pastry box carefully into the passenger seat of her car. Her fingers gripped the keys, when out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of blonde.

Keys forgotten, Lexa hopped out of the car.

Clarke whirled around the parking lot, her unbuttoned coat fluttering in the freezing wind, searching for something. She turned down Lexa’s row. Her frantic movements halted.

Lexa offered a gentle wave, and Clarke began the slow walk towards her. The closer she came, the more manic Lexa’s heart. Clarke, rid of her bakery uniform, strode towards her with a gleam in her eyes. Her jeans, the midnight blue scarf tied haphazardly around her neck, the little gray beanie perched atop her blonde waves, it all added to the gawsy appeal.

“Hi.”

A glorious gallimaufry of emotions washed over Lexa with that one word. Her stomach fluttered, her brain fuzzed, and her fingers tingled with the need to touch. But Lexa stamped it all down and smiled a simple, “Hello.”

Clarke shoved her hands in her pockets, suddenly insecure, the vicissitudes of her emotions written plainly on her face. “My replacement finally showed up,” she mumbled into the frigid air.

“Long day?”

“The longest.” Clarke shifted from foot to foot, and the wind caught the lapels of her winter coat. A flash of a familiar symbol burned into Lexa’s eyes. A logo.

Not just any logo. The logo to the state renaissance faire. A faire Lexa regularly frequented during its season, soaking in the swordplay and artisans, the weaponry and the atmosphere. And here her new love was, standing before her, broadcasting to the world her interest in medieval merriment.

If Lexa wasn’t already a mess from a simple conversation in the bakery, she certainly was a catastrophe now.

“Would you like to get a drink with me?” Clarke’s voice held none of the worries her body showed.

Lexa stepped forward, grasped Clarke’s hand, and pressed a feather-light kiss to her knuckles. With gentle flourish, because what kind of noble knight would she be if she denied a lady such as Clarke a swoon-worthy acceptance, Lexa nodded, “It would be my honor.”

#clexa secret santa 2019 #hi #clexa fanfic #clexa

16 notes · View notes

eleanor-writes-stuff · 6 years ago

Text

a language that i never knew existed before - Day 14

For @sofondabooks, who asked for a “modern AU where Ben is a frequent customer at the restaurant where Rey works. Little does she know he only goes there because of her”.

Fingers crossed you’re a fan of the Waffle House craze that’s swept this fandom, because the second I saw a restaurant-based prompt I just couldn’t help myself. I hope you enjoy this, and thank you for the prompt!

Fellow Reylos, ‘tis the season to get a holiday ficlet of your very own. Prompt me here!

25 Days of Reylo Also available on AO3

It takes Ben three days to build up the courage to use her name.

“Thanks, Rey,” he says as the graveyard shift waitress drops off his order, and it might be the single most difficult thing Ben’s done since he left home three weeks ago but fuck if it’s not worth all the self-doubt and clammy palms just to see the way her eyes light up when he addresses her.

“You’re very welcome, PB&C,” she replies with that smile of hers that’s nearly as blinding as the beckoning lights of the Waffle House they’re currently in, the brightest thing for miles and miles in this particular stretch of highway.

He’d caught a scribbled PB&C on her order pad when he first placed his order three nights ago, and yesterday when he’d walked in sometime after three in the morning the line cook had abruptly dropped his conversation with Rey to announce, in a very poor attempt at a whisper, that Mr. PB&C had returned. Ben’s not sure if his order is actually that noteworthy or if he’s the only customer whose name they don’t know, but either way he figures she deserves to know his name now that he’s used hers.

“It’s, um,” he musters the courage to speak up before she can tell him to enjoy his meal and walk off, and the look of pleasant surprise on her face gives him the push needs. “It’s Ben, actually. I’m Ben. Hi.”

Now would be a good time for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. At least he has the self-control to sit on his hands to prevent himself from accompanying that stupid, lame hi with a stupid, lame wave, as if he’s not being weird enough already.

But the judgmental look he’s waiting for never arrives, and instead Rey’s smile somehow grows softer, kinder. “Well then,” she says just as nine bright-eyed, slightly tipsy college kids barrel into the sleepy diner, signaling the end of the three-to-four lull. “Hi, Ben,” Rey tells him with the slightest hint of laughter in her voice even as the raucous group begins to clamber into booths and push tables together with no heed for the terrible screeching sound they’re causing. “I should go deal with that, but… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He shouldn’t still be here tomorrow; hell, he shouldn’t still be here now. But it’s not like he actually has anywhere to be, and this sleepy sorta-town with its Super 8 and its dying strip mall and its welcoming Waffle House is better than driving aimlessly in an old truck that holds too many memories.

So Ben shrugs and tells her, “Yeah, see you then,” and promises himself that tomorrow will be the last day, that he’s not going to let himself get stuck in another dead-end town after all the trouble he went through to leave the last one.

It’s a doomed effort from the start.

“So, what’s your story?” Rey asks him on day twelve, sliding into his booth with a cup of tea and a plate of bacon. She’s allowed one fifteen-minute break every night, and sometime between him giving her his name and asking about her day, Rey decided to start spending it with him. That was four days ago, long enough for him to have realized – and accepted – the fact that he’s beginning to develop a crush for the very first time in his life at the ripe old age of twenty-two.

“Just your typical rich brat who ran away from home when he realized all the money in the world can’t make up for absentee parents,” Ben tells her with a practiced shrug because okay, fine, he’s been rehearsing this conversation in his mind for a while now. It was only a matter of time, of course, with Rey being as friendly as she is, and this is the closest he can get to the truth without revealing the fact that he still spends hours a day in his tiny motel room staring at his mother’s contact information, with one thumb hovering over the call button for what feels like hours on end.

Something tells him Rey figures it out anyway, the fact that the wound is fresher than he lets on. But she just smiles and digs into her food, says, “Ah, one of those,” between bites of crispy bacon with a knowing smile and kind eyes, and Ben thinks maybe he’ll stay a while longer after all.

On day twenty, he finally works up the courage to return the favor. “What’s your story?” he asks as they split a second order of peanut butter and chocolate waffles, the ones Rey used to tease him for ordering until he convinced her to try a bite.

“Oh, you know,” Rey shrugs, and her casualness isn’t nearly as rehearsed as his. “Hippie parents moved to an off-the-grid military base-turned-commune, died of alcohol poisoning, left me in the hands of the junkyard boss hired by the government to clear out the base. Just your typical orphan story.”

“Shit, Rey,” he hisses without thinking, and immediately drops his eyes to the table. “Sorry, I didn’t mean– that was rude of me, I’m sorry–”

“S’okay,” she tells him as she steals the last bite; he’s been letting her have it ever since the first time they shared food, anyway. “I mean, it’s a lot to take in. I’d be weirded out if you didn’t have a reaction.” And then, after a beat– “Anyway, I left a year ago, so it’s nothing. Feels like a different lifetime, even.”

The worst part is that he can’t figure out if she’s actually telling the truth. On the one hand, this is bright and sunny Rey who looks like nothing in the world could phase her; on the other, he’s seen a familiar haunted look in her eyes whenever she zones out for a minute. But she was kind enough not to push him when he shared his story, and Ben likes to think he can be kind too – for her, at least.

“A year ago?” he asks, and Rey shoots him a thankful smile as she leans back against the booth. “Have you been here ever since?”

She laughs, and Ben thinks he would happily stay in this odd little highway town for the rest of his life just for that sound. “Oh no, not at all. God, I’d be bored to tears if I stayed that long, I think. No,” Rey says as she begins to stack up their plates and cutlery, her fifteen minutes coming to an end. “I only arrived a week before you showed up, I think. See, when I left Jakku – that’s the base, by the way – I took a truck with me, ancient broken thing I’d been working on for years. The plan was to go where the wind takes me, drive from coast to coast to see what the world has to offer, that kind of thing, you know?”

Oh, he knows.

“But then the old thing broke down, so I’ve been stuck here ever since,” Rey laments with a sigh. “The town mechanic’s really sweet, he said I’m free to use the garage and whatever tools I need for free so long as I pay for the parts, but I’m beginning to worry that it might not be worth the trouble.”

“Why not?” Ben asks as she slides out of the booth and chugs down the last of her tea.

Rey gathers up their plates. “Something new keeps breaking every other day. Unless I can get another truck for cheap, it looks like I’m stuck here for now. I mean, there’s always hitchhiking,” she says, her nose scrunched up at the thought, “but I don’t know how I feel about getting into a stranger’s car–”

The words escape him before he’s even had time to form a plan. “I’m not a stranger.”

She stares at him for a beat, laughs despite the question on her face. “I know, Ben.”

His ears feel like they’re on fire, but the words keep coming anyway. “I mean– it’s not hitchhiking if you’re not strangers, right? It’d be more like… a road trip.”

“A road trip?” Rey echoes dubiously, a rare instance of her smile dimming as her features twist into something more thoughtful.

“Yeah, a road trip. Coast to coast, wherever the wind takes us, right? That’s what I was doing anyway, before I found you–”

And this, this is why he needs to keep his fucking mouth shut because now it’s too late, it’s out there and god, he can’t ever look her in the eye again–

“Ben?” she asks quietly, and with his eyes fixed firmly on the table he can see her shaking hand reaching for him, hesitantly landing on his forearm before she wraps her fingers around him and squeezes. “Ben,” Rey says again, waits for him to look up at her before she goes on. “It’s been three weeks. Why are you still here?”

There are a lot of things he could say: because the waffles are to die for, because I needed a break from driving, because you were laughing when I came in that first night and it made me want to smile for the first time since I made my mother cry–

Only that last one is true, and he can never, ever tell her that.

Or, well… not yet, anyway. Because the way Rey’s looking at him, with a plea in her eyes and her lips slightly parted in anticipation, makes him think that maybe this isn’t the end just yet, maybe there’s more to their story than this Waffle House in the middle of nowhere.

“I…” he takes a blind leap of faith, turns his hand around and laces their fingers together, draws courage from the tiny hint of a smile playing on Rey’s lips as she looks down at their intertwined hands. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

And somehow, those turn out to be the magic words.

. . .

It’s day twenty-seven, seven days since Rey put in her one-week notice out of sheer courtesy. He’s got a gas station map in his glove box, along with a Sharpie for her to chart their course, and Rey’s things sit in the backseat next to his, two lonely duffel bags that somehow look less sad next to each other.

Ben pulls into the empty gravel lot next to their Waffle House one last time, walks in to find Rey waiting for him at the bar with a plate of PB&C.

“To adventure,” she announces with a blinding smile, toasting him with a forkful of waffle.

He laughs, wraps one arm around her waist as he snags the waffle off her fork and muffles her indignant protests with a kiss. “To adventure,” Ben echoes with a smile of his own.

And to home, he can’t help but think as Rey leans in for another syrupy kiss.

This is nearly two thousand words and it's a world away from my original plan, but I'm... kinda okay with the way it turned out - even though Waffle House and the prompt word barely even figure in. Oops.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, and thanks for stopping by! As usual, please don't hesitate to like/reblog/comment if you liked this.

#reylo #reyben #kylo ren/rey #rey/kylo ren #rey/ben solo #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #ficlet: language that i never knew #my fics

49 notes · View notes

surveys4ever · 3 years ago

Text

26.

Have you ever been in weather below 0 Fahrenheit (-17 Celsius)? ...yes. Literally every year. There’s usually a week or two in January when it gets down to -50 to -75 F.

Have you ever been caught outdoors away from shelter during a thunderstorm? Maybe when I was a teenager? I’ve definitely been caught in the rain, not sure about a thunderstorm tho.

What’s your favorite macaron flavor? I’ve actually never had a macaron! But I don’t like meringue so I don’t think I’d enjoy them.

How often do you have friends over to your house? Literally never.

Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally? YES. The assistant manager at the last job I had was insane. She tried to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to leave town on the weekends in case they needed me. LOL girl bye.

How many times have you stayed at a hotel in the past year, and where? 0, covid.

Have you ever done a flip on a trampoline? Noooo.

What about a flip off of a diving board? I’ve never even been on a diving board.

Are you embarrassed by your school yearbook photos? I believe in the 10th or 11th grade I hated them but I was on the yearbook committee so I finessed some new ones to put in hehehe.

Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? I believe I learned at school.

Currently how many pictures are on your cellphone? 9,008.

Do you think dimples are cute? Oh hell yeah.

Would you rather chew fruity or minty gum? Minty.

The last time you went to the mall, who did you go with? Beebs!

What’s something you used to collect when you were younger? Rocks and lip balm.

Have you watched a movie today? Yes! We went to see Dracula.

Aside from your own, whose house did you last set foot into? We went to an indoor garage sale a couple weeks ago.

Do you love soft pretzels? They’re alright. They smell better than they taste in my opinion.

Who was the last person who cried around you? Why did they start crying? Was it unexpected? Does my dog count? Bc she’s just a drama queen and I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

Are you more likely to like someone before you really know them, or do you feel you like them more after you know a lot about them? True love is when you like them a ton before you actually really know them and then like them even more after.

Do you buy people cards on special occasions, or do you prefer to make your own? I honestly think cards are a huge waste of money so if I do give one, I made it. But I have a Circuit and I’m pretty creatively inclined so it’s pretty easy.

When was the last time you were being hypocritical? It sounds pompous but I honestly think I'm too self aware to by hypocritical.

Where on your body was the last cramp you had? Why did you have this cramp? My hip, because I was sitting weird.

What is the weirdest name you’ve ever heard? Someone I know named their kid Emanda. Unsure if its pronounced ee-manda or just regular Amanda. Haven’t wanted to ask. Another named their kid Albrea. I just call her Algebra. And another named their kid Annekke, pronounced Anika. She will forever be a-neek-ee to me.

Do you get embarrassed when people hear you sing/compliment you on your singing ability? Bold of you to assume I ever let anybody sing.

Are you good at comforting people when they’re upset? I’m the big sister to like a bajillion children. Yes I’m good at it.

Do you have any exercises you do everyday? Newp.

Do you own one of those singing fish? Do you think they are silly or funny? Hahaha I don’t but I literally just saw a Billy Bass at a thrift store yesterday. They were funny then and they’re funny nostalgic now.

Has anyone ever accused you of being bipolar or any other mental disorder? Do you really have any mental disorders? I have a pretty severe anxiety disorder but no one’s accused me of having it because like...it’s pretty obvious?

Did you buy the last thing you bought with your own money? If not, whose money did you buy it with? Haha yes! We bought movie tickets, a drink, and peanut butter m&ms.

Do you like to put your feet up on the dashboards of cars? Do you parents yell at you if you do that in cars? Our car is too short for that but yeah, my parents always yelled at me for it when I was young.

Which Beatle is your favorite, or do you love them all equally? I wouldn’t say I loved any of them but John Lennon is absolute hot garbage.

Do you enjoy classic rock? If so, who are some of your favorite classic rock artists? Uh...not really?

Did you ever own a Tamagotchi? Yes! They were all the rage in the 6th grade.

Are you more of a dog or cat person?/ Dog, definitely.

Have you ever failed math? I very, VERY narrowly passed the last math course I needed to graduate and I did the math and because of the mark I got on my final, I should have failed by 3% but I got 1% over what I needed to pass. Pretty sure my math teacher just didn’t want to deal with me taking the course over so he passed me BUT my math could have been wrong, haha.

Skittles! What's your favorite color? Lordt. I haven’t purchased skittles in ages. I think I remember red being my favorite?

Have you ever had a dream of stabbing someone? Yeah, actually.

What would you want your last words to be if you could choose them? I would just want my husband to know how much I love him and that I’ll be waiting for him in whatever form of afterlife there is.

Can you sleep with the light on? If I'm dead tired.

What’s the most bizarre horror movie you’ve ever seen? I mean...Dracula is supposed to be a horror movie. The only thing horrific about it was the acting.

What band can’t you stand listening to? I honestly can’t think of one right now.

Would you ever take a lie detector test for your significant other? I mean, if I had to? But we trust each other 100% and I’m brutally honest about everything so he would never require that from me.

What is your favorite Mystery/Crime/FBI related show? Murder, Mystery, & Makeup Mondayssss! Sha na sha sha na sha sha na sha sha sha na shaaaaaaaa!

Would you ever have a bird as a pet? Absolutely not.

How's your relationship between you and your grandparents? I love my mom’s parents to bits. My grandma is one of my absolute favorite people in the world and my grandpa is very quiet but he has a lot of really sweet moments. My dad’s parents are awful fuckin people. My grandfather died like 5 years ago and I really had to try hard to feign sympathy about it to him. My grandmother is still kicking it but we haven’t spoken in over a decade for good reason. She also changed their joint Facebook account to just her Facebook account less than a week after he died loooool. She hated him as much as I did I think. And then my bio dad’s dad is dead but he was also a piece of shit but his mom is a sweetie. We facetime every so often and she holds the phone a grand total of 6 inches away from her face the entire time and tells me the same stories over and over. Bu

Ever had a forbidden love or lover? Newp.

Have you ever had to speak at a funeral? No, thank god.

Do you know someone who’s been cremated? My grandma’s dog.

What is your current problem? My eyes are blurry because I’m tired.

Do you like canopy beds? Tbh, canopy beds are the epitome of glamor in my eyes.

What is your favorite animated movie? Onward.

Would you rather live in a small town or a big city? I like medium cities. You won’t get mugged walking down the street, traffic doesn’t absolutely suck, and you can get clear across town in 15 minutes.

If you could summon any animal to come to your rescue, what animal would it be and why? Uh? Why am I in trouble? Why can’t I call a human? What’s happening here?

Have you ever watched The Golden Girls? I tried watching a couple episodes but it didn’t pique my interest.

Did you ever like the Ninja Turtles? Noooo. Beebs loves them though so he tries to make me love them and it’s just not happenin, buddy.

Last alcoholic drink you had? No idea tbh.

What are you known for? For being talented and having big hair.

Has anyone ever threatened you? Oh yeah. There was this one guy who was constantly sending me really graphic messages about how he wanted to put a gun to my head and kill me or he hoped I would get XYZ and die. I tried to block him but he would immediately make 3 more accounts to send me the same shit.

Have you ever gone frog hunting? Noooo.

Do you ever suffer from dry skin? Yessss. My body is the Sahara.

Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal? No, I sleep with a husband.

What’s the weather like right this moment? It’s rainy!

Do you bite on straws, lollipop handles, or ice cream sticks? Nah.

In what type of area was your first sexual encounter? Beeb’s bedroom. His stepfather interrupted and made him come outside to talk to him for some reason and then very weirdly pointed out his half boner? V. uncomfortable all around.

Where is your mother’s side of the family descended from? Somewhere where white people come from idk.

What do you occupy your time with on flights? iPad games usually.

Do you dog-ear pages in books? No, I’m not a heathen.

What’s a made up word of yours? We call pickles ‘pickies’ and hamburgers ‘borgers’ or ‘borgs’ because we’re gross.

Do you use Q-Tips? In my ears? No. To clean out tight spaces of things I've thrifted? Yes.

Ever gone out with somebody you didn’t like? Noooo.

What hero or heroine do you most relate to in history, fiction, or song? ....No.

What makes you dizzy? Getting up too fast usually.

Are your parents liberal or conservative? Bleh, conservative. If you have liberal parents, consider yourself blessed.

Do you like your teeth? Did you have braces? I got away with having just an appliance/Invisaligns but I still don’t like my teeth. They’re perfectly straight and white enough but I have body dysmorphia and for some reason I think they’re atrocious and I hate them??? I can’t explain it.

Are you happy with your height? I’m 5′11 and I wish I was shorter sometimes. Hugging my husband would be easier.

#survey

0 notes

pommunism · 7 years ago

Text

so your pet has had a seizure - now what?

watching your pet have a seizure - whether it’s “fly biting” or a total grand mal - can be a deeply traumatic experience. maybe they were sleeping when it happened. maybe they were romping around with their favorite toy and suddenly fell over. regardless, now they’re flailing, their neck is rigid, they’ve lost control of their bowels and bladder, and if you’re like me when my dog first had a grand mal, you’re probably crying. so, what do you do?

first of all, what do seizures look like? in animals, they can manifest in many different ways. a generalized/grand mal, or the most extreme seizure, is when they lose total consciousness, fall over, become rigid, and spasm or paddle their legs like they’re swimming. many tend to urinate or defecate during this time. some stop breathing and turn blue. some drool excessively. some seizures are more minor and the animal may briefly lose consciousness, go limp, stare off into space unresponsively, or have facial twitches. some seizures are psychomotor, meaning they manifest as weird repetitive behaviors such as frantic tail chasing, lip smacking, snapping at the air (”fly biting”), excessive vocalizing, or aggression that are unusual for that specific animal. one animal can have different types of seizures. my dog usually has full-body generalized seizures, but when she was first started on phenobarbital, those eased up into facial twitches.

make sure your pet is away from harmful objects. this includes cords, sharp objects, furniture legs, etc - anything that can cause injury. they are completely unconscious at worst and disoriented at best and don’t understand where they are in relation to their surroundings. do not put your hands anywhere near their mouths. their jaws are also affected by muscle contractions and can reflexively snap down. it has absolutely no reflection on your relationship because they don’t know they’re doing this. the best thing you can do is gently move them to an open area and wait it out. i try to slip a puppy pad or towel under mine because she’s inclined to urinate.

time the seizure. this is SO critical, not just for you but for your vet. before i started using the stopwatch on my phone, i was trying to estimate it just by observation and i was surprised to realize i was overestimating it by a full minute and in reality, her seizures were roughly 10-20 seconds in duration. a seizure that approaches five minutes is an immediate medical emergency.

monitor their recovery. the recovery phase, also called the post-ictal phase, varies wildly between dogs. they may be unconscious for awhile. if possible, it’s a good idea to check the color of their gums and tongues by using something like a nail filer or wooden tongue depressor so you’re not sticking your fingers in their mouth. pink is good, purple means they are very low on oxygen, but if they’re breathing normally they should pink up. wrap ice packs and place them on their bellies and footpads or squirt alcohol on their footpads. overheating is the biggest complication of seizures, especially for overweight animals. they may have lost control of their bowels and bladder, so you can clean them up as best you can. it doesn’t hurt to pet them and speak softly to them. some may pop up and act almost normal. others may wake up but be temporarily blind, disoriented, clumsy, clingy, aloof, aggressive, hungry, thirsty, or have other behavioral changes for an hour or so afterwards.

write down everything that happened. this includes the date, the time the seizure started, the duration of the seizure, description of the seizure, any changes you might have noticed shortly before onset, and what their recovery was like. i keep a seizure journal in the form of index cards. this not only helps you keep track of seizures - especially if there are more than one - but helps you and your vet look at patterns and frequency. some don’t seem to have any triggers, but others do. stress is a common one. our groomer has had to bring a dog to treatment more than once because it started seizing as soon as he put it in the tub.

are seizures an emergency? when in doubt, my answer is always yes, please take it to the vet as soon as possible. however, i understand that sometimes these things happen after hours and emergency services can be expensive. in this case, i’ll tell you to look at context. one seizure by itself isn’t necessarily an emergency, as long as it’s not secondary to another event - trauma, liver complications (is your animal yellow?), poison, etc are all events that demand immediate attention by a vet, seizures or no. if your animal has more than one seizure in a 24 hours period, that’s called clustering, and is a medical emergency. having one seizure lowers the threshold, making them more susceptible to having them. the more they have, the less time they have to recover from the previous one, meaning their brains aren’t completely able to stop misfiring and can potentially lead to the worst case scenario: status epilepticus. this happens when the brain can’t stop misfiring, period, and the pet can’t stop seizing. status epilepticus refers to a seizure that lasts five minutes or longer. this is an absolute emergency. your pet’s brain will essentially fry itself and lead to permanent brain damage and death. personally, i would have my emergency vet on the phone once my dog hit the 3 minute mark.

what happens at the vet? your vet will want background, not just about the seizure itself but the context of it and history of the pet. they may want to do blood work and x-rays. ct scans and mris are great, but out of most people’s means. animals from pet stores or backyard breeders are more prone to epilepsy because of poor breeding practices, such as inbreeding. certain dog breeds are more prone to epilepsy, such as herding dogs, boxers, and cocker spaniels. the age of the pet matters - very young animals may have a liver defect called a portosystemic shunt, while much older animals are more likely to have a brain tumor. it can be an emotionally draining appointment.

epilepsy can be managed. if your pet is diagnosed with epilepsy, the good news is that most pets respond to medication and can have normal lifespans. the first drug of choice is phenobarbital. it’s inexpensive and very effective. chronic use may eventually impact the liver, so your pet will have to have routine testing to ensure it’s in the proper range and its liver is still functioning well. some pets can stay on nothing but phenobarb their whole lives. sometimes you may be given diazepam - aka valium - that you can administer rectally to stop seizures. potassium bromide and zonisamide are most commonly used as a secondary anticonvulsant when phenobarb alone isn’t enough. keppra is also good, but less common and more expensive. instead of rectal diazepam, my dog is on intranasal midazolam, which is better to manage her problem with clustering. there are side effects, but they generally improve after a few weeks on the meds. it’s not unusual for pets to have breakthrough seizures even when they’re otherwise well-managed. some may have one seizure every 6 months. my dog clustered for no discernible reason not that long ago, but my vet and i agreed it didn’t warrant a change in meds.

the important thing to remember is that epilepsy is not a death sentence, and it doesn’t have to affect your pet’s quality of life. dogs and cats don’t have our level of awareness; believe it or not, they don’t suffer half as much having the seizure as you do watching it. my dog is as happy and stupid as ever - happier, in fact, because she actually had anxiety until she went on phenobarb. i genuinely believe she’s never been happier, not even compared to the seven years she lived without a single seizure. it’s not a burden to give her medicine twice a day (ALL my dogs’ favorite time of day, because “pill time!” means peanut butter) or always have one ear listening for the sound of her paddling on the floor, it truly isn’t. it’s just another routine, and one that keeps her healthy, happy, and by my side.

so your pet has had a seizure - now what? well, now you know you’re not alone, and whether it’s epilepsy or not, i hope this helped you in some small way.

#not to be weird but if y'all could reblog this i'd be happy?

4 notes · View notes

syrupeel6-blog · 6 years ago

Text

foolproof cacio e pepe

Soon, extremely soon, I’m going to tell you more about our 12 days in Andalucía but before that, before summer is truly over, before I start thinking about cooking more complex meals again, before I even consider turning on the oven again, I wanted to tell you that this summer was the year I finally figured out how to make cacio e pepe, one of my favorite pastas, as good at you’d have in Rome, and we cannot let the summer end until you do too.

Huh? Deb, you wrote about it years ago, in 2011. But the recipe always bothered me, and the reason is written out right in it: authentic cacio e pepe contains only three sauce ingredients: pecorino romano (this is the cacio, the cheese), black pepper (this is the pepe, ground to your desired texture, often toasted first if you’re going for extra flavor), and pasta, plus splashes of the pasta’s hot starchy cooking water to form a sauce. It doesn’t contain oil, butter, cream, flour, cornstarch or any other binders. The trouble begins when you try to merge/coalesce/magic together water and cheese into an emulsified, creamy sauce. Ever tried to mix oil and water? In my kitchen, it goes about as well as you might imagine.

Frustrated in 2011, I added a little cream and butter* to make it work. But I never “finished” the recipe in my mind. Since then, I have tried — this is barely an understatement — every single 3-ingredient technique on the internet and in cookbooks I could track down, I have watched videos completely in Italian to try to glom how they do it, walked into the kitchen, repeated their exact steps, and failed every time. I try about 6 times a year. It’s been 7 years. I never, ever succeed in magic-ing pasta water and cheese into a smooth sauce. The cheese melts before it glues itself to the noodles, cementing itself instead to the pot, the bowl, the tongs, the stuff of dishwashing dread. I imagine this sounds familiar to others.

When someone emailed me (hi, Annie!) earlier this summer and told me about Flavio de Maio’s (of the restaurant Flavio Velavevodetto in Rome) method as shared by tour guide and Roman cooking expert Elizabeth Minchilli on her site, I was fresh off my latest cacio flop and thanked her, but expressed my doubt that this would be This One. That was 2:12pm. At 6:12pm, I sent her a photo of our dinner and told her she’d changed my life, and I hope yours, possibly in the next 20 minutes.

* it was good enough for Batali, so it was good enough for me, I rationalized in 2011; what different times those were

I wrote a thing: I wrote an Op-Ed for the New York Times about a favorite subject — cooking and why it’s terrible and you should never do it. Here’s the link. I hope you read, uh, to the end.

Previously

One year ago: Corn Chowder with Chile, Lime and Cotija Two years ago: Burrata with Lentils and Basil Vinaigrette and Eggplant Parmesan Melts and Even More Perfect Blueberry Muffins Three years ago: Angel Hair Pasta with Raw Tomato Sauce and Crispy Peach Cobbler Four years ago: Smoky Eggplant Dip and Strawberries and Cream with Graham Crumbles Five years ago: Rice-Stuffed Tomatoes and Almond-Crisped Peaches and Key Lime Popsicles Six years ago: Mediterranean Baked Feta with Tomatoes and Leek, Chard, and Corn Flatbread Seven years ago: Zucchini Fritters and Naked Tomato Sauce Eight years ago: Sweet Corn Pancakes, Eggplant Salad Toasts and Perfect Blueberry Muffins Nine years ago: Plum Kuchen, Lighter, Airy Pound Cake, Summer Pea and Roasted Red Pepper Pasta Salad and Lobster Rolls Ten years ago: How to Poach an Egg, Smitten Kitchen-Style, Chocolate Peanut Butter Cake, and Slow-Roasted Tomatoes Eleven years ago: Double Chocolate Torte and Spicy Soba Noodles with Shiitakes

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Quick, Essential Stovetop Mac-and-Cheese 1.5 Years Ago: Tomato-Glazed Meatloaves with Brown Butter Mashed Potatoes and Pomegranate Grapefruit Paloma 2.5 Years Ago: Belgian Brownie Cakelets and Broccoli Melts 3.5 Years Ago: Pecan Sticky Buns and Perfect Corn Muffins 4.5 Years Ago: Stuck-Pot Rice with Lentils and Yogurt and Dijon and Cognac Beef Stew

Foolproof Cacio e Pepe

Servings: 2 to 3, or to preference

Time: 15 minutes

Source: Flavio de Maio via Elizabeth Minchilli

Here’s the magic of this technique: The recipe sticks to the 3-ingrdient-only premise, but it begins the sauce with cold water, forming the cheese and pepper into a thick, paste-like sauce, without any of the separated, gloppy cheese risk that can happen with pasta cooking water. No heat touches the sauce until it hits the piping hot pasta, so it melts only onto the noodles. At this point, you use spoonfuls of cooking water as needed to loosen it to a thick but lightly creamy consistency. And it works every time, which will I bet will a lot more often after today.

Check out Elizabeth Minchilli’s site for a video of Flavio making it himself with an immersion blender.

The traditional pasta used for cacio e pepe is tonnarelli, sometimes sold as spaghetti alla chittara, a squared-off, slightly thicker spaghetti, but you use what you can get. I’m using standard thickness spaghetti here. The traditional cheese used for cacio e pepe is pecorino romano, a sharp, salty aged sheep’s milk cheese. If you can only get parmesan, it works too, but you’ll probably need to add salt to the sauce. While the recipe below works as written, you’ll probably want to make adjustments to taste, and to the intensity, age, and saltiness of your cheese.

How much is “a lot” of freshly ground black pepper? It’s impossible to measure — too low in grams to register steadily on a scale, too varied in coarseness to measure in consistent measuring spoons, plus peppercorns vary in intensity, and your preference may not be someone else’s. Taste the cheese-pepper mixture. The pepper should be prominent and give it a sparkly kick. If you want more, add more. Remember that this sauce base will stretch over a lot of pasta, so if it tastes too intense, that’s probably correct. For what it’s worth, I counted 46 peppermill grinds on one batch, but I keep mine pretty tight/at a fine grind.

8 ounces dried spaghetti or tonnarelli

4 ounces aged pecorino romano, finely grated

A lot of freshly ground black pepper

Bring a pot of well-salted water to boil. Cook pasta to one minute shy of package instructions and taste for your desired doneness, cooking a minute longer if needed. We are not cooking the pasta and sauce further together on the stove, so the bite it has now is about what your final dish will.

While it’s cooking, combine all the pecorino (except a spoonful for garnish) and lots of freshly ground black pepper in a bowl. Add 1 tablespoon cold water and use an immersion blender to work it into a paste, adding additional cold water, 1 tablespoon at a time, only as needed. You want to form the mixture into a paste about the thickness of cream cheese or frosting. I use about 4 to 5 tablespoons total for this amount. Blend more than you think is needed; you want this paste as smooth as you can get it. You can do this same process in a food processor, even grinding the cheese in it instead of grating it first but it will require longer processing to get the rubble-like cheese smooth.

Before the pasta is done, scoop out a cup of hot cooking water and set it aside. Drain the pasta very quickly in a colander (no need to shake every drop of water off) and immediately drop it, piping hot, into a large bowl. Add 3/4 of cheese-pepper paste in dollops and toss to combine. It’s going to be too thick to form a sauce but once it has begun to coat the noodles, pour in one small ladleful of pasta water and toss, toss, toss (a lot of movement helps here) to loosen the paste into a lightly creamy consistency that evenly coats the spaghetti strands. Taste and add more of the cheese-pepper paste to taste, or use it all. Add more pasta water as needed only to loosen.

Finish with reserved pecorino and a few grinds of black pepper. Eat immediately.

Source: https://smittenkitchen.com/2018/09/foolproof-cacio-e-pepe/

0 notes

ecotone99 · 4 years ago

Text

The Dinner - Part Three [RF]

It only took about fifteen minutes for Levi to help Stella get clean, reset, and joined with the family again. “You have somewhere I can charge my phone?” She inquired, as they exited the bathroom. “Why were you both in there together?” Matt asked, matter of factly.

As badly as Levi wanted to rat out Kyle’s stupid prank, he didn’t want Matt to spank any of the little kids with Stella around. He couldn’t undo that, and they hadn’t even sat down to dinner yet. “Just washing up.” He said, avoiding eye contact.

He knew Matt knew when he was lying, but hoped he’d let it drop, and trust his eldest son’s level of self-control enough to believe he wasn’t touching his girlfriend in the guest bathroom within inches of the family.

Matt did have more trust in him than that, just not in Stella. He decided to keep a closer eye on things as the night progressed. “So, phone charger?” Stella asked again. Levi shook himself back to reality and led her up the stairs to his room. There were plenty of outlets downstairs, but something inside him said he shouldn’t leave her phone out in the open for his brothers to scroll through.

He and Stella had exchanged the occasional intimate photo, but that wasn’t what he was worried about. They boys saw one another naked all the time and he knew even the youngest ones were respectful enough not to invade any girl’s privacy that way.

It was the other texts he didn’t need them reading and holding over his head. The goodnight texts with a million little emojis, the ridiculous nicknames they had for each other that he pretended to be embarrassed by but secretly thought were adorable, and a few other things. Some candid thoughts about his mental health, his relationships, his future. Not anything his kid brothers need be burdened by.

As Stella followed him to his room, she gasped at how different things looked when he drew the door open. “Wow, it’s so clean!” She applauded, grinning at the Spiderman lamp he still kept by his bedside even after giving the rest of the décor an adult upgrade.

Levi smiled as he went to plug her phone in. “Yah, he had Mom clean it special just because you were coming over.” Silas announced. “I’ve lived here my entire life and I had no idea this room had hardwood flooring.” Reese added.

“Where did they come from?” Levi fretted, rushing to shut the door. Just as the lock was clicking into place he heard Matt call from down the stairs, “Don’t you be shutting that door up there!” “Where did he come from!?” Levi wondered, as he yanked the door back open to reveal his snickering brothers to his giggling girlfriend. There was something unbearably wholesome about all this to Stella.

Before he knew it, she and his brothers were getting along as though they’d known one another their entire lives. He wasn’t sure quite how it happened, but she asked Tyson something about his big trophy, Reese something about his model airplanes, one thing led to another, and they were all playing lacrosse outside.

Confident that things were stable enough to hold for 90 seconds without his supervision, Levi went to check on dinner and spend a few moments alone with his mom, a privilege he hadn’t had in months.

“Hey Mama, I—” Levi stopped dead in his tracks. He saw steak, spaghetti Bolognese, “Mom, is this dinner?” “Mhmm.” Helen said, without looking up from her cooking. “Uh… Remember when I called three weeks ago and said Stella was a vegetarian?” “Yes.” She said, oblivious. “What did you think that meant?” “She likes vegetables.” “It’s more than that Mom, it means she can’t eat meat.” “Can’t or won’t?” “Same difference!” “Hey, watch it mister.” She cautioned. “I made a salad.” Levi peered into the bowl. “What are these red pieces?” He pulled one out. “It’s covered in bacon bits, Mom. They’re mixed all around.” “Well, it’s not meat, it’s bacon!” Levi buried his head in his hands.

He knew Stella would never agree to let him heat her up a pizza or even make her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She was too concerned with table manners. Why would his family go out of their way to make this difficult? Even on their most aggressively protein forward nights, they usually always had a plain starch and a vegetable. He thought back to other girlfriends he’d had home and couldn’t recall anything that approached such open hostility.

“Bring everyone inside Lee, dinner’s almost ready.” Matt said, coming around the corner. “It’s not cooked yet, Hon.” Helen explained. “I don’t care, it’s cooked enough. I’m hungry, let’s get some food on some plates!” Matt griped, making his way through the kitchen. “Great,” Levi thought to himself, “He’s in one of those moods.”

The boys and Stella came in, where Levi shepherded them into the living room to wait. That way he could think about how best to explain the meat-centered dinner to Stella and keep everyone clear of Matt until he’d gotten some food in him and hopefully cooled down a little bit.

“Where are your bags? Are they still in the car?” Reese asked Stella, playing dumb. Levi shot him a death glare, knowing full well that he’d explained to Reese all about Stella being unable to stay over, and how it was a pressure point between them. “She can’t stay over this time.” Levi said, hoping to make clear that it was the end of the discussion, not the beginning. He failed.

“Why can’t Stella stay over?” Kyle asked, with sincerity, unlike Reese. “Because she’s a girl.” Tyson said, blowing a bubble with his chewing gum. Hadn’t Levi told him Stella hates the sound of gum chewing? “Oh, yah,” Kyle said introspectively, “There are no girls living here.” “Mom’s a girl.” Silas corrected, though with a hint of uncertainty. “No she’s not, Mom’s a mom.” Kyle laughed, sure Silas was just messing with him.

“Moms are girls. Aunts are girls. Sisters are girls. All women are girls. Can we drop this, Kyle? Go wash up. And Tyson, spit that gum out. We’re about to eat.” Levi said, hoping a change of venue would distract everyone long enough to drop the subject. Kyle stayed frozen in place; eyes wide as saucers. “Is Mom really a girl?” He asked, mouth agape. “All people with vaginas are girls.” Tyson explained, popping another bubble and gnashing dramatically.

Kyle processed this information for a minute. “Is that why Stella can’t stay here? Cause she has a vagina?” “Actually, yah. That’s pretty much exactly why. Now go wash up.” Levi instructed, satisfied to have found a truthful, but age appropriate, explanation. By the time he spotted Reese’s smirk, it was too late to clamp a hand over his mouth. “But it’s not Stella’s vagina they’re worried about. It’s Levi’s penis.” He said. “I have a penis. Should I be worried?” Kyle asked, furrowing his brow.

Stella had tried to remain silent during this intimate exchange between brothers, but she couldn’t help it anymore, she burst into uncontrollable laughter. Levi was beet red. “Change of topic. Right now.” He demanded, letting them know in his eyes that he was not playing around.

It was then that Helen surfaced from the kitchen. “I better not be hearing all the nasty talk I think I’m hearing.” She warned from the doorframe. “Please, please, say dinner’s almost ready?” Levi begged from behind his hands. “It’s on the stove. Why? What’s the matter, Lee?” Helen asked, walking over. “He’s worried about his penis!” Kyle blurted out.

Helen stopped and stared him down, alternating between him and his girlfriend disapprovingly. Stella tried to stifle her laughter while the other boys gave up on containing theirs, collapsing into a cackling fit. Kyle didn’t get it. “Mrs. Hudson, I swear, this is nothing like how it sounds,” Stella attempted to reassure her through gasps and repressed giggles.

Levi tried to muster up support for Stella’s insistence, but it was all he could do to bury his head back into his hands. Helen gave up on trying to make sense of the scene. “Everybody move it to the table! I don’t want to hear any more of this nasty talk.” She said, turning back to add, “And Levi’s gonna lead us in an extra long grace tonight.”

With all the commotion, he hadn’t had time to warn her about the festival of meats. Stella eyed him as the steak, the pasta with meat sauce, and the bacon salad were laid out on the table. Levi served her a steak, saying, “We’ve got plenty of other stuff in the kitchen Stel, I can fix you anything you want.” “I’m fine, thank you so much though. The dinner looks wonderful.” Stella said, as she tried to calculate when the last time she’d eaten red meat was. “You cook now?” Helen asked, “You never cooked for us when you were here.” “Because you usually make something everyone’s able to eat.” Levi said, not in malice, but in exasperation.

Matt took his seat at the head of the table. “Boy, what’re you doing taking food before we’ve said the grace?” He scolded, as he grabbed a chili-filled bread roll simultaneously. “I thought Levi could lead us off tonight.” Helen offered. Levi cleared his throat and shut his eyes as everyone joined hands. Stella caught on at the very last minute, skeptically taking Reese’s hand, lest there be glue in his as well.

“Our Father who art in Heaven, thank you for these blessings before us here today. Thank you for the chance to have Stella here with us. Please let us all get to know each other better over this bounty. Amen.” He concluded, opening his eyes. “That’s it?” Helen asked. “What?” Levi asked, in genuine surprise. “Alright.” She said, murmuring to herself, “Must not be saying a lot of graces off at college.” Levi gave her a pleading, “Not tonight,” look, but it was lost on her averted gaze.

He watched Stella trying to saw through the center of her steak and pulled her plate over to help her out. As he cut the edges into bite size chunks, he realized, they were all completely raw. You could practically still hear this cow mooing.

“Mom, did, uh… You think you cooked these through enough?” Levi asked. She shrugged. “Matt was ready to eat, so I took them off. I told him they weren’t finished, but…” Helen stopped herself as she raised a jiggly forkful of bright red beef to her lips. “They’re fine.” Matt dismissed. “There’s enough blood on the plate for a transfusion!” Levi protested. “I’ll just have some salad.” Stella said, awkwardly grabbing a big forkful and placing it back down as she noticed the bacon smothering.

As the conversation got going, Levi felt his protective instincts kick in almost immediately, like he was walking Stella down a dark street. He couldn’t take two bites of his various meat dishes without having to leap out in front of an inappropriate remark or backhanded line of questioning.

They would start out so benign. His stepdad asked “So, Stella, we didn’t get to talk much the last time you were up here. What do your parents do exactly?” Levi knew this couldn’t be good, because Matt knew exactly what Stella’s parents did and that he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. He must be setting her up for something.

Stella didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. “My dad is in e-commerce, and my mom—“ “E-commerce? Pretty nondescript. I bet that pays well.” Matt sniped. Stella glanced at Levi, hoping to register some direction as to how to respond. Levi decided it was best no one humor the conversation, and tried desperately to redirect things.

“Stella’s an English major. Mom, why don’t you tell her about that book you were just reading?” “Oh, I don’t know. When do working people have time to read these days? I think it was—” Matt cut Helen off. “So now you’ve been here a couple times, what do you think of the place?” “Oh I love Montana.” Stella beamed. “Must seem small compared to what you’re used to, but out here we don’t want for more than we need.” Matt replied, coldly.

Levi mouthed “What?” towards his stepdad, but it fell on blind eyes. He knew full well Matt just bought a flat screen last year for the hell of it and had two cars sitting in the garage that he never drove, so he wasn’t sure where he got off with this laughable “We don’t want for more than we need,” bullshit.

The oldest of his little brothers, Reese, picked up on the irregularity of the conversation and seized the moment to ask the question he and his brothers had been practicing asking with a straight face over and over in advance of Stella’s arrival. He put down the Mountain Dew he’d been sipping just long enough to ask, “So, you’re rich, huh?”

“Hey!” Levi reached over and pinched him, hard, under the table. The momentary jolt of pain was well worth how much the boys would laugh over Levi’s mortified expression for days to come. Personally, Stella found his question refreshing. He was just asking directly what his parents had been asking passive aggressively since they’d all sat down. But she knew the last thing Levi would want was for her to take the bait, so against her better instincts, she quipped, “We do fine,” Wondering to herself when she’d begun to sound so much like her mother.

“Stella, you don’t have to answer these things.” Levi said, addressing the family more than her. “Let her answer! We’re just trying to get to know her, like you wanted us to.” Matt insisted. Helen locked eyes with her husband “Matt, how about you cool it here? Look what the kids are picking up from you.” “Look nothing! She’s a guest in my house I’ll ask her what I want.”

Little Kyle chimed in “Do you have a big house cause of you’re rich?” “I’ll bet she doesn’t have to work.” Tyson added. “What? She works. Guys, this is so inappropriate.” Levi rebuked. “You don’t ask strangers questions about money.” Helen affirmed, setting aside her personal animus towards Stella long enough to prioritize her ultimate responsibility as a role model to the boys.

Levi looked expectantly at his parents to more actively help correct the kids. “But Dad did it!” Silas piped up for the first time all night. Matt reached across the table and whacked the back of his head. Stella tried to conceal her shock. Levi buried his face in his hands. “No one’s talking to you Silas, eat your dinner.” Matt shouted at him. “Now, do you have a big house?” Matt continued. “Hey!” Levi pushed his chair back. “No one’s talking to you either.” Matt reminded him.

The boys, used to a fairly chaotic living environment, were getting a kick out of watching this unfold, oblivious to the escalating tension. “Now, Stella, I saw your Father’s name on that Forbes list. What’s that list for again?” Reese asked. Stella glanced at Levi to gauge whether or not she should levy a serious answer.

“Does it ever bother you that Levi comes from us poor folks?” Tyson asked, “Because, if you’ve got more money than him, that kind of makes you the man in the relationship.” They were too caught up in their good time to register the genuine hurt flash across the round contours of Levi’s earnest face. “Guys, stop.” He begged, quietly.

He could understand the younger ones not grasping why this night was so important to him, but they were modeling their behavior off the older ones, and the older ones had to at least have some idea of what it meant to bring Stella to officially meet them.

Didn’t they understand that it was only such a big deal because their opinions mattered that much to him? He stared apologetically into Stella’s eyes. The older two boys began to pick up on Levi’s mood and back off. The second youngest, Silas, had remained indifferent throughout. But the youngest, Kyle, was used to being the butt of these kinds of jokes, so remained content to watch the whole evening burn to the ground.

“If you and Levi get married, does that mean he won’t ever have to get a job, ‘cause of you already have so much money?” He asked, with a mix of real curiosity and pure mischief. Levi was now passing anger and entering rage, not because of what a five year old boy was saying, but because of what no adult was stepping in to say back. “Kyle, listen up, you don’t ask questions like that. All of you guys listen, rich or poor, you don’t ask people about their money. It’s not your business.”

“Levi’s right. You don’t ask people about their personal finances, that’s rude. Stella’s money is off limits.” Helen chided the kids, and the overgrown kid, embarrassed that her eldest son was having to pick up his parents slack. “It’s not her money, it’s her daddy’s,” Matt shot back.

That was the final straw for Stella. There was only so much she’d endure in the name of appeasing Levi’s family, and questioning her autonomy was directly over the line. “I don’t fault you for Levi having to work three jobs while he’s in school, so how about you don’t fault me for whatever my parents do or don’t have?” Stella replied, arching her back.

Levi swallowed hard. Reese backtracked a bit himself, realizing he might’ve poured too much gasoline onto this fire. Now everyone was overheated. “What I didn’t give my son builds character. What your daddy gave you builds poor houses. However you live with that is on you.” Matt replied, coolly. Levi knew his stepdad was just trying to win an argument and save face, but he also knew how many nights he’d spent holding Stella while she sobbed in his arms over how to reconcile the love she had for her father with the disdain she had for his business. So he knew how dangerously close Matt was to striking a nerve here, and that he’d protect her from him at all costs. In ways no one ever had for him.

“You don’t know any more than what you read in the papers, so just drop it.” Levi growled, moving closer to Stella and further from his family. “I know more about the working world in my little finger than she, or you for that matter, will ever know in a lifetime.” Matt said. Helen saw where this was going, and she knew it was nowhere good. “Matt, now is neither the time nor the place—”

“How could you know anything about any world when you’ve never left this town? You barely finished high school. Stella and I are eons beyond your understanding of the world, working or otherwise.” Levi said, pulling his shoulders back as he grew in confidence. Stella watched in horror as the two inched closer to one another, ready for a fight.

Her worst nightmare was unfolding before her eyes; she was so incapable of assimilating into Levi’s environment that she was driving a wedge between him and his family.

She didn’t want to get involved, but she felt obligated to try and diffuse the argument before he said something he couldn’t take back. So quietly it was almost a whisper, she interjected “Hey, Levi, maybe now isn’t the time to—” No one even noticed her. “Say that again. Talk to me that way again in my house son, see what happens.” Matt challenged, pushing back his chair once more.

For a moment, Helen and Stella extended a truce to one another as they helplessly locked eyes across the table, watching their men, so similar but for their physical features, inch closer and closer to one another. “You go away for a couple years and all of a sudden you don’t just forget where you came from, you denounce it!” Matt bellowed, so loud that the younger boys grabbed hold of one another.

“I’m not saying I don’t respect you or that I have a problem with this place. I’m saying it doesn’t equip you to judge Stella. Only talking to her does. The news gets it all wrong about her family’s business.” Levi pleaded, adamant but genuine.

“Does it now? Well I’ve got news for you kid—” “Matt, no!” Helen cried out, reflexively, despite knowing it was too late now. “I don’t watch the news. I am the news. That machine took my job. I’m paying the bills out of my 401k and it’s nearly tapped. So don’t tell me I don’t understand who that bitch is or what turmoil her family leaves in their wake. I know who she is and I know what you are. You’re a traitor who left us all behind to be something different, something you think is better. But all you’re doing is sleeping with the enemy. And I tried to bite my tongue, because I love you and I know you think you love her, but it’s her or it’s us, and I won’t sit here and pretend like it isn’t another second longer.“

And with that, Matt turned and walked out the front door. “Matt lost his job?” Levi asked, in disbelief. Helen stared down at her plate, pushing bits of raw steak around the rim, ashamed. “Nobody told me?! And then you tell me now? Here?” Levi screamed, voice cracking, loud enough to shake the cutlery. Helen shrank back, knowing she deserved it to a degree.

With tears welling up in his eyes, Levi, turned the opposite direction and retreated out the back door. Stella was in too great a shock to move at first. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t anticipated that his stepfather, the main breadwinner of their already struggling family, an American factory worker, might’ve been impacted by the new tech. Still in a daze, she stumbled up to follow Levi before he got too far to track down.

submitted by /u/Nightingale_Effect [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/32faG5v

#Blogger #Story

0 notes

irisplate9-blog · 6 years ago

Text

foolproof cacio e pepe

* it was good enough for Batali, so it was good enough for me, I rationalized in 2011; what different times those were

I wrote a thing: I wrote an Op-Ed for the New York Times about a favorite subject — cooking and why it’s terrible and you should never do it. Here’s the link. I hope you read, uh, to the end.

Previously

Foolproof Cacio e Pepe

Servings: 2 to 3, or to preference

Time: 15 minutes

Source: Flavio de Maio via Elizabeth Minchilli

Check out Elizabeth Minchilli’s site for a video of Flavio making it himself with an immersion blender.

8 ounces dried spaghetti or tonnarelli

4 ounces aged pecorino romano, finely grated

A lot of freshly ground black pepper

Finish with reserved pecorino and a few grinds of black pepper. Eat immediately.

Source: https://smittenkitchen.com/2018/09/foolproof-cacio-e-pepe/

0 notes