#to cover the taste of crushed up shrooms

[prof-peach]

"You will see the devil if you eat them, can confirm." hello i would like to hear about peach's morelull shroom trip

HA, well ok then, we're going down bad trip lane I see.

Peach being Peach, she's always had a tolerance for poisons, and no one seemed to say wether or not morelull mushrooms were ok for humans to eat or not, so she tested them out, checked them for specific toxins, they came up pretty free from poison, so she saw if things in the wild ate them, and pokemon did, they seemed fine! lots of mons enjoyed them. Even Val ate some and was totally healthy, no side effects. Sooooo she ate one too, just one as a little treat, see what they were like. She regretted the decision, more so for doing it without someone else around to keep an eye on her.

Stage one: audio effects. She was convinced her own thoughts were other peoples talking around her, and kept looking for them around the labs. She locked herself in a closet at one point to escape them, and freaked out when they were in there with her. Could hear very clearly, just about every drip and tap within the area, like REAL loudly. Clock ticking, way worse for her than usual. pipes rattling, sounded like something shaking the building real hard. Just all the audio processing problems.

stage two: Touch troubles, she got REAL touchy-feely, everything felt weird, rough things felt soft, soft stuff felt tingly, plants were weirdly warm when they aren't usually warm at all, there was a point where she was fascinated with a glass of water, the smoothness of the glass itself was painful somehow? like so smooth it hurt? brain couldn't comprehend it, kept trying to pick it up, having to stop, because it felt "sharp".

stage three: Everything started to move, it was pretty cool for a bit, but she had to lie down on the lab floor and pray the feeling of sea-sickness would leave. It did when she focused on the tiny dots on the floor tiles, shuffling around like tiny teeny durants, everywhere, millions of them. That eventually rotate back round to paranoia about being covered in bugs, something she's usually very chill with but the idea of their tiny legs freaked her out during this all.

stage four: Devil. Heart racing, sweats, shakes, lead in the lungs, muscle stiffness, the moving things from before start to feel encroaching, like they're closing in on you. She had to go stand in a field, and even the clouds looked like they were coming down to her level to try and crush her. Pokemon around her were totally confused, she was usually very calm, but the sheer terror of everything around her trying, at least in her mind, to swallow her up so she was gone, got in her head. The ground was wobbling under her, like she was standing on a half inflated bouncy castle, she decided to lie down and hope she didn't have a heart attack, shut her eyes real tight, hope it goes away. It did eventually.

She was left with a bad taste in her mouth, a sickening headache, and the need to sleep for what felt like three days. The shakes eventually stopped, the sweats died down, and she seemed to return to normal after about 12 hours. Its was....a very long day for her. She hasn't touched one of those again since, but does use them in medicine, now aware of their effects, trying to utilise the useful stuff, and reduce the whole 'heart attack' aspect.

[titan-fodder]

Deflowered Part Three

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Rating: E (explicit)

Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Reader

Count: 10.2k

Warnings: attempted coercion, drugs use (weed, mentioned shrooms and coke), trauma talk (death of parents), reader’s backstory, subtle manipulation, rough sex, vulnerability, zeke knowing better

A/N: you can tell i wrote this before i knew how much i hated floch, otherwise he would be the fuckboy, just so everyone is aware. i actually really like ian in the series lmao. 

So, you have a crush on Zeke.

It comes as an annoying revelation, but it's the truth, and you know it's the truth because you can't stop thinking about him. He's in your head all the time, the events and short conversations from a week ago replaying like a slideshow.

You know you shouldn't fall, shouldn't let yourself get in too deep since this can only end badly. Because of that, you turn down any offer to hang out at the Jaeger Bros. household. The mere thought of going over there, of seeing Zeke even in passing, makes your stomach ache in an uncomfortable yet satisfying way.

Even without coming in contact with him, though, it's impossible to ignore Zeke, not with the way your phone has been lighting up with his contact every few hours. It's your own fault. He texted you asking how you liked the playlist a few days ago, and you responded, prompting him to ask a few questions, prompting a conversation. One that won't die (not that you truly want it to).

Z🙊, 4:17PM The dude is kind of a dick, but he's a musical genius so whatever Anyway, what are you up to?

You gnaw on your lower lip, thumbs poised over your keyboard as you contemplate how this might go. Your friends, brother included, are at Eren's, but you're not, and you're sure that if Zeke is there, he's noticed.

Honesty is the best policy, and while you don’t tell him you're purposely putting distance between the two of you, you at least tell him what you've chosen over him.

You, 4:19PM homework unfortunately 😖 AP physics was not a good idea.

It really wasn't, and the fact that you're a year older than most of the seniors only adds insult to injury, makes you feel stupid that these concepts aren't clicking, but you'll be damned before you drop to the regular course. The only way to get a decent scholarship is to show off. It's your last option at this point.

Another reason to not get distracted.

Z🙊, 4:22PM Send me a pic

Your eyebrows raise, gut stirring with anticipation.

You, 4:22PM Uh… of what??

Z🙊, 4:23PM Your homework obviously

Letting out a thin breath, you nod to yourself. Obviously. What else could he have been asking for?

You stare at the textbook on your lap, your paper covered in marks from an abused eraser, then move your phone over it to take a picture, editing it to highlight what’s important.

You, 4:25PM Good luck Attachment: 1 image

Z🙊, 4:27PM I’m literally in grad school for the subject. I think I can handle it, babe. One sec

Your belly feels like it’s suddenly full of bugs, and it’s hard to tell if it’s because Zeke just gave you a little taste of his personal life, or if it’s because said little taste solidifies the fact that he’s extremely intelligent. Even with the condescension, you can’t help but feel hot, skin prickling as you wait.

Z🙊, 4:30PM Alright I can call and walk you through it

The thought that you didn’t actually ask for his help runs through your frazzled brain, but it’s quickly followed by the reminder that you’ve been staring at this specific problem for almost an hour.

Zeke figured it out in three minutes.

You text back ‘okay’, take a few deep breaths and flip to a new page in your notebook. When your phone lights up again, however, it’s with a FaceTime call, and your heart is suddenly in your throat. Hearing his voice is one thing, but seeing him on screen is an entirely different matter.

Swearing, you smooth down your hair as best you can, very aware of your bare face and cami-clad torso. You slide your thumb over the call to open it, and there he is.

“Hey,” he nods, gracing you with a half smile.

The week’s progress of not seeing him goes down the drain in a nanosecond.

Shaggy hair is a little messy, falling over his forehead, curling around his ears so that you can barely see the tips of his AirPods. He’s shaved since you last saw him, thick, blond stubble just a shadow of the beard you’re used to. And, he’s shirtless. You can see his bare shoulders and collarbone, know what he looks like further down, and fuck, you’re already blushing.

“Uh, hi.”

His eyes are somehow just as disconcerting through the screen, lit up by it and glowing pale blue. Zeke stares at you for a moment, mouth curving upward more and more until he finally chuckles and shakes his head.

“Okay, so what you’re gonna do—...”

A relieved sigh escapes you, happy to get straight down to business.

Because your problem isn't that you don't want to talk to him; it's that you do want to. To flirt with him. To get to know him. You want it badly. It makes your palms sweat and neck tingle. Makes you bite your lip and shift your hips. It makes you desperate.

But you push it all away, hold your phone with one hand while writing with the other. Your gaze flicks from your paper to the screen, listening closely as Zeke explains the steps, and you’re impressed with how he can break it down into smaller components when this is probably baby stuff to him. Most people hit a certain level of education in a subject and lose their ability to simplify it, too used to more complicated work so they forget the basics.

Zeke is patient, though, pausing and backtracking when you shake your head, asking, “Where did I lose you?” every time and picking up from that point.

He does this for the remaining seven problems you have, and you knock out homework that likely would have taken you all night in about half an hour. Still, you imagine Zeke had to have had more interesting things he could have busied himself with.

When you ask him, though, walking with your phone to the corner of your room where your backpack is, he just makes a non-committal noise and tells you, “Eren is here with his friends, and I’m trying to avoid going downstairs.”

His friends, your friends, they’re all the same, and you get that bubbling sensation in your gut when you think about the fact that all of them are over there, where you could be, but you’re at home, talking with Zeke on the phone.

Nobody knows. It’s something you constantly ruminate on. Whatever this is you have with him, no one else is aware of it. It’s just between the two of you, and that alone adds another thick layer of tension to the current conversation.

“I mean, I know you have a TV in your room—”

“Nothing worth watching.”

“And a giant bookshelf—”

“Not interested.”

You plop back onto your mattress, sticking your feet under the sheets and getting comfortable only to tense when Zeke speaks up again.

“The real question is why you aren’t over here.” Your grip tightens on your phone, and you look away from the screen, tugging your bottom lip into your mouth without an answer for him. “I’ve seen you bring homework over before, so what changed?”

“I just,” you swallow, try to wet your uncomfortably dry mouth before managing out, “I knew I was gonna have a shitty time with this assignment and didn’t really want your brother and Jean screaming at a screen making it even shittier.”

Zeke hums, and when you meet his stare again, you can tell that he has something else he wants to say, probably the same thought you’re having: you could have always just brought it up to his room.

But, you also know the argument to that: you wouldn’t have actually gotten anything done, too busy admiring or kissing or fucking Zeke to care about any amount of schoolwork.

And, he seems to realize this because he snickers and lowers his head, his face hidden for a moment as light hair hangs over his glasses.

When he looks back up, his expression is softer, and he agrees with a short, “That’s fair. They’ve been especially fucking rowdy tonight, so I can’t blame you.”

Good, good.

“Was just worried you were nervous or something.”

Shit.

You hide your cringe but feel your face heat horribly, don’t even know how to respond to that, but thankfully you don’t have to as the front door to the apartment slams, the familiar sounds of Ymir coming home and routinely shedding everything on her person sending a panicked buzz through your system.

“Definitely not nervous,” you breathe, forcing a smile, then tilt your head and tell him, “Hey, my cousin just got home with dinner, so I’m gonna eat, but thank you for helping me tonight.” You can at least sound genuine about this. “I really appreciate it, Zeke.”

He waves a hand as if he were actually right in front of you, casually shrugging, “Anytime. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

The breath you suck in once the call is ended is monumental, your chest expanding more than it has in the last forty-five minutes, and you toss your phone to the foot of the bed and lay against your pillows, blinking up at your ceiling.

You can already smell fried chicken wafting through the apartment, no doubt picked up on Ymir’s drive home, but all it does is nauseate you, your stomach in knots, any sign of appetite completely gone.

This is getting out of hand. It has been since the first night. Your entire being—body, mind, and soul—feels lit on fire, like you need to scream or cry or come (not helpful).

But, there’s also this deadly calm right at your core, a smooth numbness that’s sometimes able to convince you everything will be okay, just ride it out. It’s that energy that you fall into when you’re around Zeke, like it thrives off his charm and wraps you up inside of it.

Zeke isn’t here, though, and you are alone with your thoughts, groan when your phone vibrates because that pit in your stomach only grows.

You could just ignore it. You are “eating dinner” after all. Naturally your curiosity quickly wins out, making you sit up and reach for your phone.

The name you look down at isn’t the one you’re expecting, though. It doesn’t inspire the same fluttery feeling in your stomach (and pussy) which is strange because just a couple weeks ago, you had been in the throes of puppy-like infatuation.

Ian 💞, 5:18PM hey you wanna come over tomorrow? feel like i havent seen you in a long time

Your response is instant: yeah, what time?

Because maybe… Maybe you can ground yourself with this much safer option, this nice, younger college boy who obviously likes you, who you liked a lot but simply forgot about.

It’s cruel, really. Ian deserves a fighting chance.

And, so do you.

Ian lives in the dorms at the college downtown. You get there at around seven in the evening, smile when you see the boy who is

supposed

to be your crush, suddenly reminded why. Tall and thin, Ian is cute with his high cheekbones and boyish smile. He’s still growing into himself, obviously has a few years on the boys you go to school with but lacks that easy confidence Z—

No.

He invites you in, stepping to the side and waiting to close the door. There are two beds in the cramped space, but before you can ask, he tells you, “Roommate’s back home for a few days. Family stuff.”

You nod, glance around to take in the messy desks, the posters on the walls, the pile of clothes sticking out of a half-open closet. It’s all very…

Underwhelming.

It’s an odd experience, knowing that you should be nervous but aren’t. You can almost feel the empty cavity of your abdomen where those butterflies should be, their flapping wings nowhere to be found. Ian probably has plans for today, the two of you alone in his room for however long, and you’ve prepared accordingly because it’s what you’ve wanted all along, right? You wanted to impress him. You wanted to be good for him. That’s why you did what you did in the first place.

Breathing in deeply, you smile, “So, what d’you wanna do?”

Ian scratches the back of his head, shrugs his shoulders. “I was thinking maybe just watch something—catch up on things, you know?”

“Okay.”

You toe off your shoes, follow him when he steps over to his bed after grabbing a console controller from the TV stand. There isn’t much space on the twin mattress, but Ian leans against the wall, making as much room for you as he can. Still, it’s impossible not to be pressed hip to hip, and you already know in what direction you’re headed, how the two of you will end up before the evening is over.

“So, I have Netflix… Hulu…” You watch as he toggles through the options, having no real opinion of your own. “I’ve just been making my way through the Fast and Furious movies—”

“That’s fine. You can choose one of those.”

He does, reaching over you to set his controller on the nightstand on your other side. As he pulls back, you look closely at him, young and fresh-faced, and something in your stomach drops.

“I’m glad you invited me over,” you tell him.

“I’m glad you came.”

He gets a little more comfortable, makes a dramatic show of putting his arm around your shoulders and tugging you closer, and you giggle for him, willing away the tension in your body.

This isn’t new. You and Ian have cuddled before, have shared kisses. You’ve been ‘talking’ for over a month now, though you’re surprised he didn’t just drop you entirely considering your recent radio silence.

You met through mutual friends—Eren knows Petra who knows Rico who knows Ian. A party here, a chance run-in there, and now, here you are.

The movie holds little interest to you, fast cars and too much testosterone for you to be able to appreciate, so you spend about half of it mapping out what your next move should be. Should you make the first one? Would he appreciate you taking the lead? Are you qualified for it?

“Like this?”

“Yeah, just like that… Fuck, so good. You’re being so good for me…”

Heat travels down your spine, spreading to your hips, your center, and yes—yes, you can do this. You have the experience now.

You scoot impossibly closer, rest your head against Ian’s shoulder and hum when he turns to place a chaste kiss at your hairline. Smiling, you try to take him in, his smell, his wiry arm pressed against you, his long hair tickling your cheek. You want to cement it, drive out any thoughts of blond hair and blue eyes, of confident smirks and praises.

Tilting your chin up, you kiss Ian softly, lips turning up as he sighs contentedly. He waits for several seconds before testing the waters with his tongue, but you gladly accept the intrusion, thinking of his mouth and his face, Ian Ian Ian, not Ze—

Both of you shift on the bed, moving further down to lay on your sides. Ian hooks your leg over his hip, not so subtly grinding against your heat as he starts sucking on your neck.

He's a little sloppy but very enthusiastic, teeth and tongue no doubt leaving marks, and that thought has your stomach rolling.

"You just look good bruised."

Taking his face in your hands, you guide Ian back to your mouth, engaging him in a much more heated kiss as you use your leg to draw him closer to you.

His proportions are off—hips too narrow, legs too long. Your fingers get tangled in his hair rather than simply carding through wavy strands, and when he pulls back to look at you, you're almost startled by his dark irises.

You can do this. You can do this. Just stop thinking about him.

"Can I, uh…" Ian bites his lip and glances away as his cheeks darken a shade. "Can I try something?"

Lifting an eyebrow, you play coy, "Try what?" but the way he's slowly inching down your body, pushing you to lay on your back, answers your question.

"You haven't really… done much, have you?" He breathes against your belly, lifting your shirt to mouth over prickling skin.

"I, uh—no."

It's not a complete lie. Your eyes have been opened, but you're still lacking sexual knowledge in terms of quantity, relatively new to this realm.

Ian situates himself between your thighs, pinches the material of your leggings and pulls them down over your hips. He doesn't ask, just bites his lower lip, and admires the parts of you he's never seen before.

Your gut stirs uncomfortably, a lump forming in your throat as anticipation bubbles up from your chest. Anticipation and… something else.

"Just trust me, okay?" He says, lowering to his chest and gripping the meat of your legs to spread them further. "It's gonna feel really good."

Using fingers to open you up for him, Ian makes the first pass over your entrance with his tongue, and you're able to put a name to that other feeling: dread.

Because it feels wrong. It feels forced. He's too gentle, almost experimenting with you rather than going down. You let out little noises here and there, more for his benefit than for yours, shift beneath him and buck when he finally finds your clit.

He's not bad. He isn't hurting you. He's just…

Not Zeke.

You toss an arm over your eyes, arching your back and groaning. Why why why can't you stop thinking about him? Just for one god damn second. You didn't come here to compare; you came here to forget.

"Feel good?" Ian murmurs against your thigh, and you nod.

He can't seem to keep a steady rhythm as he licks into you, too busy trying different things, trying to provoke a reaction, but the only time he elicits a genuine response from you is when he begins to slide a long finger into your hole.

At last, the image in your head swims and dissipates, replaced by blissful nothingness as Ian starts pumping his hand back and forth. He doesn't curl the digits or aim for any particular spot, but the fact that he's inside of you is enough to at least start scratching that itch.

You think about warning him of the mess you're likely to make, no—the mess you absolutely will make with the proper stimulation. Will Ian actually be able to get you there, though? And, if he does, will he mind the squirting?

"Most guys find it hot. I certainly do."

God dammit.

You wriggle your hips, desperate to feel more of Ian, to feel him deeper and thicker. You want to be full again. You want—

"I think—" you pant, dropping your arm but keeping your eyes squeezed shut. "I wanna—I want you to…"

He moves quickly, climbing back over you to kiss you as he wrenches open the drawer to his nightstand and fumbles around in it.

You don't feel nearly as wet as you have been, but it should be fine with lube. That's what you've been led to believe. You'll be fine.

Ian grabs a little bottle and sets it on the side table then stands up to quickly rid himself of his shirt and pants. Sitting up, you tug your own top over your head, vaguely hear the sound of a cap opening, and when your line of sight is clear again, you find Ian spreading lube over his cock.

It's nice—a little thin, but long with a dark red tip. It would more than do the job you want it to, but—

"Uh," you cough, glance up from his dick and prompt, "Condom?"

He stops mid stroke, looking a lot like a deer caught in headlights, then tells you, "I don't use 'em. Doesn't feel as good."

And, for a moment, you just blink at him, taken aback by his honesty but offended that he thinks this would be okay with you.

"Well, I'm not on birth control yet so…"

He places a knee on the bed and leans over you, trying to be smooth as he catches you in a kiss that you quickly pull away from.

"It's okay, babe. I'll pull out, I promise."

Your stomach lurches.

Last time, in the car, it was different. Both of you forgot, too lost in the heat of the moment.

But now, you're of completely sound mind, know that this isn't what you want and have the time and power to say it.

"Ian, I'd really rather you just put on a condom."

You push gently at his chest, making him straighten up, but he still pouts and grumbles, "The layer ruins the sensation. I just wanna—"

Your patience snaps in a flash, "Alright," and you reach over to grab your shirt, tugging it back on.

"Wait, wait—"

"No." Moving around him, you retrieve your leggings and stand, pulling them up hastily and muttering, "You obviously have expectations that I can't meet, so fuck it. I'm not about to get myself into trouble just 'cause you can't stand the thought of being a little less sensitive."

Your heart is thundering in your chest, hands shaking as you dig through your purse for your keys.

You're not being a bitch, right? It's a safety issue! You don't know where he's been just like he doesn't know where you have.

Ian calls your name, struggling with his pants and choking out apologies, but you just wave him off, slipping your feet into your shoes and walking out. You almost feel bad for him. Maybe if you would have just let your request sink in or explained yourself better, he would have understood.

In the end, though, you're pretty sure he just wanted to get his dick wet, probably figured you were too innocent to know better.

Fuck that.

You have to wait ten minutes for your Uber, but the ride back to the apartment is mostly silent save for the radio station your driver chooses when you fail to voice your own preference. Your brain is a battleground of emotions. Pride for making the decision best suited for you, sorrow for likely ruining this almost relationship with Ian, and guilt for thinking about someone else the entire time you were in his dorm. The two of you would have probably been doomed if you managed to go through with fucking him, anyway. Just saved yourself a lot of trouble.

You're relieved when you make it back home, tip your driver generously then ascend the concrete steps to your apartment. You know Marco is out with Jean and figure Ymir has probably invited her friends over since you told her you would also be away for the evening. You didn't give her any details, but… She knows.

You can already hear loud laughter before you even turn your keys in the door—Reiner, you think—and it brings a small smile to your face, only for it to fall when you walk in to find the same group from the restaurant a couple weeks ago.

The Exact. Same. Group.

"Hey!" Galli is standing before anyone else, avoiding all the feet and knees in his path to you, then slinging an arm around you and taking a sip of the beer in his other hand. "Ymir, I thought you said your cousin was out tonight."

On the couch, Ymir cocks her head and squints at you. "She was supposed to be. What gives?" There's a bong in her lap, a tray on the table covered in little piles of ground up weed. Ymir doesn't like smoking around you and Marco, afraid of setting a bad example or something, but you really don't mind.

It's hard to focus on her, however. You're barely even aware of Galli hanging off you, waiting for your answer. All you can focus on are the pale eyes staring at you from the chair in the corner.

You feel nauseous, phantom touches from Ian playing out on your body as you stare at Zeke, and all you can do is grit your teeth and shake your head.

"Just… didn't work out," you finally tell Ymir, shrugging away from Galli and making your way to the back hallway.

Ymir must pass her piece off to someone else because she's up and following you.

"It was a guy, right?" You grimace. "Was he a creep or something? Do I need to kick his ass?"

You snort, turning just as you reach your doorway and grinning at the older girl. "He was just being a college boy, 'Mir."

"So, I do need to kick his ass."

"No."

She doesn't seem convinced. You drawl, "I'm fine. Just gonna shower," then slip into your room, shutting the door behind you and resting your head against it.

Your hands are even less steady now than when you were angry, breaths fast and shallow. You had been confused initially—what the fuck is he doing here—but, in truth, you should have put the pieces together the night Zeke brought you home. He was out with the whole group minus Ymir, for one, then made the comment about his friend living in the same complex.

It was all spelled out for you; you just hadn't taken the time to read.

Zeke can hear the running water from where he's sitting in the den that's far too small for this many people. It's setting his teeth on edge, making his neck stiff and his skin hot.

You're here. Or, really, he's here. This is your home. He had unknowingly walked into your territory, and now he's paying the price—silently plagued by the thought of your life here. What are you really like? What kind of secrets could he glean from your personal space? And, what do you look like in the privacy of your room, your shower—

He knows the answer to that one already—stunning—remembers all too well the way water streamed over your curves, how droplets hung from your eyelashes and pouty lips. Zeke already knows what you look like when wet (in more ways than one), and sitting here in your apartment is bringing every image he committed to memory back to the forefront of his mind.

The way you moved for him, how he made you moan and cry, what you looked like spread open and dripping and what you sounded like panting his name…

Zeke kicks an ankle over his opposite thigh, resituates himself before anyone notices the state he's in which is bothered.

Ymir said you had been with a guy tonight. Zeke had heard it when your cousin followed you into the hallway. It didn't work out, you told her in a stiff voice, but was your tone so short because you were upset, or was it the shock of seeing Zeke in your living room?

He shakes his foot, flexes his hand, pops his neck. Reiner and Galliard are getting loud about something Zeke has been tuning out since before you even got back. Bertl and Annie are on the couch next to Ymir, the three of them passing the bong back and forth and leaning to hand it off to Marcel every so often.

Zeke only indulges every so often, typically prefers mushrooms for the mood boost or coke for the energy. It isn't often he wants to smoke, and he made that apparent coming over tonight, rolling his eyes at Reiner when he had tried to pass him a blunt and flipping him off when he had snickered and jabbed, "Suit yourself, gramps."

Zeke feels like he's constantly surrounded by immaturity. Between his friends group and Eren's, it's no wonder he's been known to get cranky.

That's why you were such a surprise, having always blended in as one of the dumbass kids, but oh, you are so much more. You still have that hopeful twinkle in your eye like most people your age do, but it's slightly dulled—just enough to notice. You've experienced life in a different way from your friends. You're not careless like the others. You have drive, a force pushing you to do better. At everything. You want knowledge and experience.

And, Zeke wants to give it to you.

Maybe he's trying to capture his youth before it slips away from him entirely. Or, maybe he's just a horny guy presented with a beautiful, willing young girl. Either way, Zeke knows that he is infatuated. Whether it's with you or just the idea of you is also still up for debate.

A door down the hallway opens, and Zeke has to make a conscious effort to not to turn and look for you at the sound. No, he stays absolutely still, forces his gaze to Bertholdt who's droning on about law school even though no one but Annie cares. She's more or less in his lap, petting his hair as she listens to him speak lazily. Reiner is on the ground at their feet, arguing with Galliard who's perched on the armrest of the chair his brother is sitting in.

Everything and nothing is going on at the same time, and Zeke doesn't care about any of it. As soon as he catches sight of you sliding into the kitchen, he's on his feet, uttering, "Water," when Ymir looks up at him curiously.

He passes into the conjoined room, stops at the threshold to admire the view of you balancing on your tiptoes as you reach for a bag of chips on top of the refrigerator. You teeter for a moment, the snack just a little too far back, then drop back to the flats of your feet and sigh.

Zeke makes sure he's wearing his best smirk before asking, "Need help?"

You spin, jaw dropping slightly as you stare at him with wide doe eyes. The shocked expression makes his cock twitch in his pants, and Zeke doesn't wait for a response, just walks over and easily grabs the bag you had failed to retrieve.

Thanks,” you breathe, moving to take the chips, but Zeke holds them out behind his back for a moment, grin widening when you pout. “Wha—”

“Actually, how about instead of eating shitty chips, you come get a shitty burger with me,” he suggests, and the way you blink up at him speechless lights him up. “Come on, it sounds like you had a rough night.”

Your eyes narrow into something more confused. “How do you know about my night?”

“Heard you and Ymir talking,” he answers easily, squinting when he catches sight of something right at the collar of your shirt. Chancing a glance over his shoulder to make sure the two of you are still alone, Zeke brushes hair away from your throat, hooks a finger under the material, and pulls to reveal what’s very obviously a hickey.

His chest is suddenly bursting with a possessive heat, and Zeke has to fight to keep from sucking his teeth or scoffing or looking displeased in any capacity because he really has no right to be.

"Couldn't have been that rough, I guess," he mumbles, trying to keep bitterness from lacing his words.

Seeing a mark like this, left in plain view for anyone to find—for Zeke to find—it makes his gums throb, makes him want to sink his teeth into you, cover that mark and leave behind more of his own.

You reach up and gently push his hand away, rubbing at the hickey as your face darkens a shade.

"It wasn't… ideal," you say with a frown.

"Usually isn't," Zeke chuckles. He knows damn well your expectations are skewed because of him, and that thought dulls his jealousy and replaces it with a certain smugness. "Now, seriously, pack a bag. We can grab real food, and then you can hang out with Eren and whoever else he's with."

He watches you nibble on your bottom lip in thought, wants to tug it into his own mouth but keeps his distance as he turns to put the chips back on the fridge.

"It'll be good for you to relax with friends," he continues. "Plus, your cousin will be able to stop worrying about being a bad role model or whatever."

Nodding now, you force a self-conscious smile. "Yeah, you're right."

"Usually am," he smacks, pointing a finger gun at you, and the giggle that spills past your lips makes him smirk again. Responsive little thing.

"Okay, lemme go change into… Not this." You both look down at your oversized t-shirt and little lounge shorts. You had probably resigned yourself to a night spent cooped up in your room when you had gotten out of the shower.

Zeke has better plans, though.

He shoos you along then walks back into the crowded den, grabbing his keys off the coffee table. Everyone is involved in conversation, and Zeke doesn't have the time or patience to wait for a break in all the stoned conspiracies, so he simply walks up behind Ymir on the couch and plants a hand on the crown of her head, tilting it so that she's staring up at him with bloodshot eyes.

"Do you mind, Jaeger?"

"Not even a little bit," he deadpans before informing her, "I'm gonna bring your cousin over to the house to chill with Eren and company. Cool?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, if that's what she wants to do, I don't give a fuck."

Zeke hums, pushes Ymir's head forward, then walks away to post up next to the front door.

You reappear a few minutes later clad in a familiar ensemble—leggings and Zeke's own hoodie. You also have a knit beanie pulled over your wet hair, looking seven shades of adorable when you tug it down to cover your ears as well.

"'Mir, Zeke's taking me to—"

"I know, I know. Don't do anything dumb."

You wave to everyone else in the room then shove your feet into a pair of beat up Vans and nod at Zeke who opens the door and ushers you out. Once it's closed again, he takes your little bag from your shoulder, holding it himself and suppressing a satisfied grin when you stare at him as if he just gave you the moon.

"Thanks."

"Of course."

He helps you into the Bronco, makes sure your legs are tucked in before shutting the door, then walks to the other side.

Even in the crisp air, Zeke can feel that he's warm, buzzing with too much energy that he can't put to good use yet. The last time—the only time—you were in his car was when he brought you home and had you ride him. Only a week has passed, but it feels like far too long since he's been inside you. Zeke has half a mind to suggest another round, but considering what you had to deal with earlier, he doubts you would be receptive to the idea, may have already had your fill for the day.

It leaves a bad taste in Zeke's mouth, one he hopes a burger will get rid of, so he picks a playlist on his phone, the one he made for you, actually, then pulls out of the complex, heading to the nearest fast food joint.

"So, do you wanna talk about it?" He ventures after a few moment's silence, not totally sure if he even wants to, but there is a morbid curiosity in the back of his head that needs to be sated.

You stare ahead, pushing your lips out in a pout as you contemplate. "There's not really a lot to say."

"Was this the guy? Like, the guy?"

The one you wanted to be good for. The one you came to Zeke for. The one who started this.

"Yeah," you exhale, rub a hand over your face, and at first, Zeke thinks the little hiccup you let out is a quiet sob, but when your shoulders start to shake harder, he glances over to find you laughing into your palms.

"That bad, huh?"

"I mean," you snort amusedly. "I don't have much to compare it to, and I think—before it went wrong—he was genuinely trying his best—"

"How'd it go wrong?"

You scoff, probably roll your eyes, and drop your arms to cross over your chest. "College boy thought he was too good for a condom." The annoyance in your voice is cute, as if you hadn't let Zeke fuck you raw a week ago.

"Anyway, I asked him to, he said he didn't wanna be desensitized, so I left."

Zeke clicks his tongue. "What a good girl."

He hears your surprised inhale, sees the way you shift in your seat, and he has to wonder—did you think of him while with this boy? Did his face ever cross your mind? Did you remember his hands on you while someone else touched you.

He thinks he knows the answer, but he also knows better than to ask right now. Maybe later. Just to watch you squirm.

Zeke pulls into a drive-up spot and tells you to get whatever you want, giving you an unimpressed look when you tell him you’ll just have a kid's burger.

"What? I'm not super hungry," you defend yourself.

He waves a hand, not about to tease you for it, and orders the food, tacking on a milkshake for good measure. When it all arrives, you eye the shake with silent interest, and Zeke laughs, unwrapping his burger and taking a bite before grumbling around it, "S'for you, babe." He swallows. "You had a shitty time with a dude. That usually calls for ice cream, right?"

You scrunch your nose, a cute, snarl-like expression that makes Zeke think things, but he keeps them to himself, just relaxes in his seat and chows down.

You slowly begin to take little bites, bobbing your head to the song that's playing until eventually you speak up.

"I don't know why I was so surprised to see you at the apartment. I should've figured it out after that night at the restaurant."

"Just like I probably should've put together the fact that Ymir's your cousin," he adds, and you flash a tiny smile. "Didn't click for some reason."

"How long have you known all of them?"

"Uh, I've been friends with Reiner and Bertl for a few years, met at a metal show and just didn't really part ways," he tells you, remembering that time long ago when he'd almost beat the shit out of the brawny blond for accidentally pulling him into the middle of a mosh pit. Luckily, his taller counterpart was good at smoothing things over (fucking lawyers) and talked Zeke down, bought him a drink, and the rest is history.

He tells you all this and a little more, enjoying having your undivided attention. "They knew Marcel and Pock who were tight with Annie and Ymir. You get the gist."

You make a thoughtful noise and nod, and Zeke figures it's time to ask a question that's been on his mind since he took you home from work: "How long have you and Marco lived with her?"

You're quiet for a few seconds, lowering your half-eaten burger to your lap before asking, "You wanna get into this?" It isn't laced with sass or attitude, a genuine question if Zeke is ready to take on your burden.

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Well, uh, the answer is about two years."

"And, the explanation as to why?"

He watches as you slide your tongue over your front teeth almost as if counting them, eyes cast toward the roof of the car.

"We grew up about twenty minutes away, little nuclear family and all. 'Mir wasn't super close with her parents, especially after coming out, so she was over a lot. Cool older cousin. Marco and I adored her. Still do. But anyway…" You take a deep breath before continuing. "Mom and Dad went out one night when I was seventeen. Ymir was over hanging out. And, then at around one in the morning there was a cop at our door telling us we needed to go to the hospital 'cause they'd been in an accident."

Zeke swears to himself. He had a feeling it was something like this, but he'd hoped against it.

"They both died that morning within, like, fifteen minutes of each other. We thought our aunt and uncle would get custody since they were next of kin or whatever, but Ymir was twenty-three at the time and straight up went to court for us. She told the judge about how her parents kicked her out as a teenager and everything, and since Marco and I were older, they ruled we would all be able to survive together without any real issue."

It's a lot to take in, and there's an odd sort of ache right behind Zeke's sternum that makes him wrap the last quarter of his burger up and stick it back in the paper bag it came in.

You don't seem anywhere close to crying, but your utterly resigned tone is enough to tell him that you probably ran out of tears a long time ago.

"Is that why you're a year late graduating?" He asks.

"Yeah. Marco threw himself into school and sports to cope, but I just kinda… Stopped… Existing? I was still hosting at Garrison's for money, but I started flunking junior year and eventually stopped showing up altogether. Ymir talked to the counselor and administration who pretty much allowed me to take a gap year for extenuating circumstances. Then, I went back last fall."

You're too young to be carrying this kind of baggage, to be this damaged. But, Zeke knows it's what makes you hold yourself the way you do. Yeah, some people are just naturally more mature even as children, and maybe you were one of those, but your parents dying aged you. You may be naïve when it comes to a few things, but hard life experiences will go a long way in educating a person.

Zeke is being genuine when he tells you, "I'm really sorry you had to go through that—" corrects himself, "—are going through that."

"Thanks. I'm just glad I still have my brother and Ymir."

Zeke has to admit he has a newfound respect for the woman he previously thought to be a little obnoxious—crass and callous for seemingly no reason. Turns out there's more to her than a potential drug problem and a "desire for mad pussy".

Your dinner sits forgotten in your lap, but you finally make a move for the milkshake, taking a sip and showing a tiny smile around the straw. Zeke goes out on a limb and slides his right hand over the back of your neck, is able to stroke over the pulse point on the side of your throat with an outstretched thumb, and you shut your eyes, shoulders going slack as you relax into his touch.

"Listen," he pauses before fessing up to some slightly misleading information he fed you at your apartment. "Eren isn't at the house tonight. He's with Mikasa at the weird little blond kid's—"

"Armin," you laugh.

Zeke doesn't really care about his name, though he should have learned it a long time ago. "Moving on. I have no problem dropping you off over there, but…"

"Honestly," you cut him off with a deep breath. "If you don't mind, I'd rather hang out with you. I don't know if I could handle your brother's… volume. Or Meeks' perpetual puppy-dog eyes for him."

The corner of Zeke's mouth twitches upward. "I was so hoping you'd say that."

He puts the Bronco in reverse and pulls out from his spot, a little too happy to be driving both of you to his house instead of just himself. Inside, he throws away the leftovers from your late dinner, tells you to make yourself at home, then goes upstairs to his room to change into a pair of mesh athletic shorts and an old college t-shirt. You seemed to have had the same idea, in similar, comfortable attire, though your bottoms are much shorter. Looking through the collection of movies next to the TV, you don't notice him, and Zeke settles on the couch, content to just watch you for a few minutes.

He's still ruminating on the sad tale you told him in the car, starting to feel a little bad for getting involved with you. In the end, he knows you should be with someone your own age, that he's taking advantage to some extent, but…

The way you look at him, how you regard him with respect he doesn't deserve. It's intoxicating. You probably don't even realize you do it, but it's written all over your pretty face, and Zeke can't get enough of it.

You pull out a title and crouch in front of the TV to turn on his PS4. It gives him a fantastic view of your ass, fabric stretching over it and making Zeke's mouth water. You turn on the console, grab a controller, then straighten back up and figure out the home screen, navigating to the disc drive and selecting it.

When you turn, you look mildly surprised to see him sitting there.

"Don't mind me. Just being a creep," he admits, watches you take on a nervous expression. Knowing what's probably going on in your brain, he adds, "Don't worry. I didn't bring you here to fool around again. Figure you've had enough of that for the day."

You let out a relieved sigh, and he just barely picks up on your thanks before you walk over and plop down next to him.

He easily recognizes the title screen of the movie you've picked—Fellowship of the Ring—feels himself get pulled even further into your orbit and utters, "Good choice."

The movie starts, but only half of Zeke's attention is on it, too aware of you, of your body heat, of your chest rising and falling with every breath you take. He eventually leans on the armrest, spreading out to take up more of the couch with high hopes that you'll follow his lead. Your gaze flicks to him every so often until Zeke scoots into the back cushions and nods to the extra space in front of him. You have a short, internal debate but give in, lying down with your back to his chest.

He waits for another few minutes before allowing himself to drape his arm over your waist, and you don't complain, moving closer to him in a way that makes Zeke hold back a groan.

The floral scent of your shampoo fogs his senses, and he lets his eyes drift to the jut of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. You aren't wearing a bra, and Zeke cringes when he feels himself stirring in his shorts, right up against your ass.

The only hint you show of noticing is a tiny grin, like you're satisfied with his reaction to your body, and he has to chuckle through his nose.

So much for not fucking you tonight.

You're both still for some time, but you get restless and push back against Zeke in a not-so-subtle manner. He's half hard already, lowers his face to your neck and warns you, "Don't start something you can't finish, little girl."

It only encourages you, and you poke your tongue between your teeth playfully and grind against him harder.

Gripping your hip, Zeke grinds right back, cursing the material separating him from your bare skin before realizing he can remedy that problem.

"Fuck it. Get up," he commands, and you're rolling from your place in the blink of an eye, Zeke quickly following and gently pushing you so that you're not between the couch and the coffee table.

As soon as you're both clear of it, he takes you by the shoulder and turns you around, then bends to pick you up by the thighs and toss you over his shoulder.

You let out a surprised squeal followed by a giggle, kicking your feet a little as he makes his way toward the staircase. However, he pauses about halfway, eyes darting to the hallway that leads to the master bedroom—bigger and, more importantly, closer. He doesn't really care that it so happens to be Eren's room, switching his course and carrying you through the open door.

It's about as messy as Zeke predicted it would be, but he doubts either of you will be paying attention to anything other than the bed.

You bounce when he throws you onto it, watch with huge eyes as Zeke strips his shirt off then covers your body with his.

The first kiss already has him panting, a groan rumbling from his throat when you grab a tight fistful of his hair. You open your mouth for him, eager for his tongue, already arching your back and wrapping your legs around his waist, and Zeke has to know—he has to—so he finally asks, "Did you think of me earlier today? When you were with him, did I cross your mind?"

"Too often," you confess in a whisper, and his spine tingles when you go even further to tell him, "I couldn't get you out of my fucking head. He was literally eating me out, and all I could think about was you."

Zeke is very suddenly more jealous than he's possibly ever been, but he's also extremely turned on by the thought. Another man's tongue buried in your pussy, and you just couldn't help but think of him.

He smirks against your lips, teases, "Yeah? You want me again?"

"Yes, so bad."

He licks into your mouth, sucks on your tongue, then pulls back. "Wanna feel me in your tight little cunt again?"

You nod furiously, staring up at him with so much desperation, it makes Zeke leak pre into his shorts.

First thing's first, he thinks, tugging on your shirt until you pull it over your head. He immediately locates the hickey on your neck and all but attacks it, biting the bruised flesh until you whine and scratch down his back. He sucks it into his mouth, bringing more blood to the surface of your skin and working at it until he's positive the first mark is completely covered with his own.

"God," you huff. "You said you weren't territorial, and yet…"

"That was before I knew what it felt like to see you marked up by someone else."

You shiver, and Zeke works a hand between the two of you, sliding it into the waistband of your shorts and panties to dip a finger between your folds.

Fuck, you're already so wet. He doesn't think he's ever affected a girl the way he affects you. It makes him absolutely feral.

"Get these off before I tear them off," he growls, tugging your shorts down before you even have a chance to.

You lift your hips to help, and Zeke flings the material somewhere over his shoulder then stands to take his own off. He rids himself of his glasses too, placing them on Eren's cluttered nightstand, then rips open the drawer and searches blindly through the contents until he feels foil against his fingers. Typical teenage boy.

Licking his lips, Zeke tosses the little package so that it lands on your stomach. You pick it up, lifting an eyebrow.

"I want you to roll it on my cock yourself," he tells you. "Consider it practice. And, maybe closure for earlier."

Nodding, you tear into the wrapper with a canine then carefully pull the latex from it. He watches you study it for a couple seconds, then raise to your knees and move toward where Zeke's positioned himself at the side of the bed.

Before you press the condom to his him, you duck forward and wrap your lips around his cockhead, and Zeke fucking leaks into your mouth, coating your tongue with pre-cum and gasping your name.

"Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill me."

He gives a short thrust, making you drop your jaw and take him deeper. Fisting a hand in your hair, he slides in until he's against the back of your throat, and that praise is out of his mouth before he knows it.

"Good fucking girl."

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and Zeke sees the way you shift your hips, remembers that you're dripping for him, then pulls out.

"Alright, put it on, baby, come on."

You obey, struggling for a bit, but he just watches, admiring the way your hands look so small around his length.

When you finish, Zeke pumps himself a couple times, pushing you to lay back and grabbing an extra pillow. He slides a hand under your back and lifts you without a problem, situating the padding underneath, then gets between your legs.

Eyes hazy, you question, "Lube?" and to prove you don't really need it, Zeke pushes a finger into your pussy, meeting no resistance whatsoever.

"O-oh my god," you stutter, another breath forced from your chest when he slides a second one in and hooks them to press against your g-spot.

"You really think we need lube, sweetheart?"

He massages your walls, able to feel tissue swell under his touch, fluid already pooling around your slit.

"No, no we don't, okay, I want you, please please—"

Zeke removes his hand, wastes absolutely no time as he lines himself up and works his cock into you. Your head falls back. Your eyes roll aimlessly. Your jaw hangs open.

Zeke is in heaven, lost in the way you squeeze him tighter than he's felt you, sweet little cunt so perfect for him. He buries himself inside you knowing he's too big, that you're holding your fucking breath because you're so full of cock, but he can't help himself, doesn't stop until he's up against your god damn cervix.

You're silent, but your body is twitching on the mattress, near convulsing as you try to accommodate him. He should pull back, should serve gentle, shallow thrusts as your walls flutter for him, but he wants to be in your guts, wants you to feel him in your stomach, wants to leave a fucking impression on your insides.

Zeke grins when he notices your face is just a little too dark, realizes you still haven't taken in any air and reaches up to pat your face.

"Come on, baby, breathe. You've gotta breathe."

He pulls back just enough, and you gasp like you've been drowning, eyes finally finding his again but so fuck-drunk, he wonders if you're even really seeing him.

It doesn't matter. He's about to make you so stupid on his cock, you probably won't be able to focus for days.

Looking down, Zeke relishes the sight of his hips almost flush against you, the fact that you're capable of taking all of him, and when he slides out further, he sees that you've already creamed all over him.

"Mm, you must like a little bit of pain, making a mess like this."

He gathers the thick discharge on the pad of his finger, uses it to coat your clit and rubs over it relentlessly.

His hips are moving again, forcing himself into you as he toys with the little bud. You spasm around him and reach a shaky hand down to try to push his away.

"T-too much, Zeke. Can't—Can't—"

"Yeah, you can." He leans down to kiss you, then murmurs—threatens—"I'm not gonna stop until you come."

You whimper, but the way your cunt opens up for him just informs Zeke that the sense of helplessness you're probably feeling is turning you on.

Straightening again, he continues to fuck into you, swiping over your clit quickly, fascinated by the way squirt is starting to dribble from the tiny hole.

He's far past overstimulating you, rough thrusts hitting your g-spot then that back wall. It's pushing you up and down on the bed, making your tits bounce. Zeke pinches one of your nipples then strokes over it with a lighter finger, apparently just what you needed because your eyes open again, revealing the way they're glistening with tears, and the first one falls just as your muscles lock up.

You let out an honest-to-god sob as your orgasm hits you, words thick and hard to understand, but Zeke listens closely and almost comes when he realizes you're pleading for more.

"Don't stop, god, oh my god, can feel you so—so—deep."

Zeke does abandon your clit, but it's to grip your hips and drive into you. He throws his head back, grunts toward the ceiling, and tries to give you all he has.

You pulse around him, swollen and tight, and he knows he won't last much longer, not with the way you're begging for him, not with the way you're quaking for him.

Falling forward on his forearms, he crushes his mouth to yours, gives several long thrusts, then breaks away as he comes so hard his vision whites out. You surge upward, shoving your tongue back between his lips like you're not finished with him.

His pace slows, eventually stopping entirely, but the kiss continues long after, the two of you panting into each other until Zeke comes to terms with the fact that it is not an efficient way to catch his breath.

He pulls out with a regretful groan, and you release a shaky sigh, still twitching.

"You're gonna feel that tomorrow."

"I am—" another breath, "—well aware."

Zeke rolls to the side but keeps a hand on your thigh, rubbing circles on your warm skin.

"I think you might be a little bit of a masochist," he muses.

"Maybe. Or, maybe it was just the headspace I was in."

It's a likely possibility. Between your encounter with College Boy and the depressing conversation in his car, Zeke wouldn't be at all surprised if you were in the mood to be hurt.

"It's something we can explore later," he says, and you agree with a hum.

It takes some time for either of you to start moving, but Zeke reminds you to go to the bathroom, waiting for the door to open again before he joins you inside.

He runs a hot shower like he did that first night, flushes his condom down the toilet despite knowing he really shouldn't, then steps into the large, tiled stall behind you.

Your head is tilted toward the spray, letting it hit you right in the face. As soon as Zeke wraps his arms around you, you fall back against him, legs barely beneath you. He isn't sure if it's because they gave out or because you simply need to be held, but he doesn't mind, keeps you close to his chest.

Afterward, Zeke gathers all his clothes as well as yours then leads you from Eren's room and up to his own. He isn't entirely sure when his brother will be getting home and would hate for him to stumble upon the two of you in his bed.

You're both relatively quiet as you wind down for the night. Zeke turns the lights off but flicks the TV into a music channel. Back in pajamas, you lay close to him in bed, wrapped in his sheets as well as his loose grip.

Just as he's starting to doze off, Zeke is roused by your quiet voice, timid as the night you first ventured into his room.

"We should probably stop hooking up."

His stomach drops a bit, but before immediately arguing, he asks, "Why?"

You grit your teeth hard enough for him to hear, body tense when you admit, "Because I'm… I'm getting too attached."

And, just like that, his spirits lift again.

Burying his nose in your hair, Zeke murmurs into it, "It's alright. 'Cause so am I."

It's not just your body that he can't get enough of, and it's not the constant validation that you shower him with. Those probably have something to do with his feelings, yeah, but there's something else to it.

Zeke really should look past it—push it all down and encourage you to move on. He knows you're not right for each other, knows that this can get messy for you, and knows that there's a good possibility that he'll end up hurting you one way or another.

But, he also knows he's fucking smitten, and well, Zeke's always been the selfish type.

[finelinevogue]

Can you write more about narcolepsy Y/N and Harry. I absolutely adore their relationship. I love how Harry takes such good care of her. Thanks

yeah of course i can! hope that this is alright, i decided to do a quick blurb of them on a date night;

Must. Keep. Eyes. Open.

Currently you were trying to do your makeup for date night with Harry, but you were so tired and exhausted from your ridiculous irregular sleep patterns recently that you were struggling to hold up your eyebrow pencil to your face. So you had given up on makeup and decided that picking out on outfit might be better to keep your mind awake and busy, but no because you felt yourself about to pass out on the pile of clothes on the floor.

Tonight, Harry had planned for you to two go out for dinner. The both of you had rarely been out and so you wanted to treat yourselves and each other. It had been planned for the last week and you’d been so excited to go, until your narcolepsy had decided to strengthen and make you uncontrollably fall asleep more often than not. Your body was weaker than it was a week ago and so the excitement and readiness to go out for dinner was getting lesser and lesser.

“Ugh!” You groaned in frustration, because you couldn’t find anything to wear. Your clothes were now in a massive heap on your bedroom floor and nothing looked good enough to wear. Or more, nothing looked comfortable to wear. You just wanted to slouch and sleep forever, or at least that’s what your body was telling you to do.

You leaned into the pile of clothes, huffing because tonight was already not going the way that you wanted it to. Harry was supposedly picking you up in two hours and yet you had barely begun to get ready. You still needed to do your makeup. You needed to pick out an outfit. You should probably wash your body and have a quick shave, luckily your hair had been washed this morning. The thought of how much you still had to do was stressing and tiring you out, making you need another nap.

You were trying to convince your brain not to fall asleep, but you weren’t strong enough, so to sleep you had to go. For the third time tonight.

Lights out.

Often your dreams came quickly when you slept and you had a lovely experience in dreamland which made you never want to leave, but sometimes you woke up not even remembering that you’d fallen asleep and you’d be really disorientated. Your dreams were a result of a quick sleep, whereas no dreams were because you were asleep too deep to dream. Luckily you always had Harry there to help you come around, when you awoke disorientated, and now was no different.

“Hey my beautiful girl.” He cooed and you realised your head was in Harry’s lap, head facing up to see the ceiling - only Harry’s head was the only thing you could see at the moment. He was sat crossed legged and had both his hands stroking the sides of your cheeks calmly.

“Hi.” You whispered, smiling at him and how beautiful he looked.

“What?” He asked when he noticed you staring.

“You’re so pretty.” You responded, reaching on of your hands up behind you to caress his cheek as he did yours. He leaned into your touch and then kissed your hand so softly that it was barely noticeable.

He was so utterly handsome though, dressed in a t-shirt with an over-shirt left unbuttoned to display the vintage Fleetwood Mac print. He was wearing some trousers too that were belted up high on his waist, a fashion trend he very much enjoyed doing ever since you jumped his bones for “looking too fucking hot”. You didn’t have the energy to jump him though tonight. You didn’t really even have the energy for date night.

Shit a fucking brick. Date night.

“Shit, Harry! God, date night. I need to get ready. I need to… I need—” You tried to sit up really quickly, but felt dizzy when you tried to so Harry stopped you and pulled you to lay back on his legs.

“Woah, will you stop baby. It’s okay. Stop worrying.” He ordered politely, forcing his hands down on you so that you would stay put and not try to move again until you’d fully brought your mind back to life.

“But what about dinner?” You asked, pouting because you didn’t want to upset him or disappoint him. You didn’t want to be a burden.

“Dinner can wait,” He told you confidently, going back to caressing your cheek, “and I know what you’re thinking so stop it. You’ll never be a burden to me. Every moment i’m with you, no matter when or where, builds for the greatest story of my life. So, even if we stay here in our pyjamas and just sleep, cuddle or watch rubbish on Netflix will be still a great evening, all because i’m doing it with you.” He leant down to place his lips against yours, but you brought your hand up to cover his mouth before he could. He looked at you confused, letting you speak.

“Because we’re doing it together.” You nodded and he nodded in agreement. You let your hand go and he wasted no time racing the rest of the distance towards your lips, crushing them with his own. He was so in love with you and you could taste it all over his sinful lips. The kiss was uncoordinated and messy from this angle, but it didn’t stop you from both kissing your bursting hearts out. Harry tried biting your lip but it ended him biting your tongue because you were both so out of sync with each other. You burst out laughing and he had to move an inch away to laugh too.

God your laugh was infectious, Harry thought.

“Let’s not try that again.” He laughed through his words. “Nearly bit your whole bloody tongue of then.”

“Would be like you then, what with you jumping out a window and biting the end of your tongue off.” You shook your head and belly laughed as you recalled the evening he had been high on shrooms. It was a very funny, but also a very terrifying evening, for everyone.

“That’s why i’m saying let’s not try it again you dipshit, because believe me missing your tongue isn’t as cool as it sounds.” He booped his finger on the tip of your nose, making you flinch from the unexpectedness of it. “Y’so cute.” He whispered almost to himself, but you still heard him. You hummed in response and leant up to kiss him again.

“Hey!” You whined as Harry pushed your face away, never so easily rejecting your kisses. You were about to start protesting more, but you got interrupted by a yawn so had to back down.

“How about we love to y’bed and then i’ll give you all the kisses you want m’sleepy girl?”

And it was so completely obvious that your answer was a yes.

[vermillioncrown]

what's your favorite soup to make?

i have a top 5 soups to make (which doesn't form a perfect circle in the venn diagram w top 5 soups to ingest), if made to choose absolute favorite it would make the other soups cry and i don't want that

- western chicken soup

necessary: carrots, onions, celery, chicken thighs, salt, pepper, water, oil

fun: dill, parsley, lemongrass, ginger, a carb

starting off with a very simple, cost-efficient boy. mirepoix base (onion, celery, carrots), brown them in oil + salt + black pepper, then throw in bone-in chicken thighs w skin, cover w water, let simmer.

easy to jazz up if you want to get extravagant: give the chicken a bit of browning on the skin and underside first before putting in the mirepoix mix, add dill + fresh parsley + lemongrass + ginger, eat w noodles or rice, get less sad

backstory: from my undergrad crush's roommate, who taught me this for tutoring him in intro to programming (as in i was simping for this guy enough for him to outsource me to tutor his friends). great cook/bartender, horrible coder, hope he found a better major

- bastardized provençal garlic soup

necessary: garlic, sage, olive oil, butter, salt, pepper, water, egg

fun: potatoes, bread

this one has more steps. grab a big tub of pre-peeled garlic from the asian supermarket (or peel it all yourself, you masochist), and some fresh sage.

chop up a shitton of garlic, heat butter/flavorful oil, cook garlic in it, after a few minutes (make sure you have enough oil that you're not crisping the garlic instead) toss sage in. let the sage bring its flavor, then add water. the garlic + sage makes a very umami base that's reminiscent of a nice chicken broth.

because i'm an enemy of the french (according to all my int'l friends), i add diced potatoes so there's substance. be generous w the salt and pepper, potato absorbs a lot of flavor. as things finish boiling, either crush the garlic into paste and mix into the soup or leave it, fish out the sage so you don't eat bitter leaves

finish by serving w raw egg + beaten w olive oil + tempered w soup (it should be a nice, milky soup, not eggdrop), eat w bread.

backstory: "aigo bouido" was mentioned in pkmn x/y, in hotel richissime of lumiose city. a google search later while starving in my apartment, decided "why not"

(speaking of pkmn, i was done from day 1 w xy. paid no attention, got through it against my will (only bc i loved my chespin and wanted an aegislash), and when the big bad said "i will destroy kalos" i wanted to help)

(prissy uni student gary oak was almost enough to make up for my suffering)

- cantonese borscht

expensive bc of the oxtail (you can just use a big cut of roast w/o bone, but holy fuck you are missing out if you don't use oxtail itself)

http://yireservation.com/recipes/cantonese-hong-kong-style-borscht/ <- can't go wrong w this recipe, love things that are just "throw everything into pot and cook"

backstory: i was meh about this in childhood bc i preferred soup bones w lots of marrow. it's a very cha chaan teng (hk-style cafe) flavor, and when i moved across the country w no access to that style of eatery and home, it is the simplest way to capture it

- slavic borscht

https://www.eatingwell.com/recipe/252414/borscht-with-beef/

my added suggestions are: - use canned beets. it will save you time and frustration, and use the beetwater in the can to make your broth - buy the jar 'better than boullion' beef paste + the beetwater to make the broth (also, it's easier to keep and use than canned/carton broth) - let it cool a bit and add salt to taste. salt (judicious use of it) will bring out the other flavors - can eat cold, puree the soup without mushrooms and beef first and add them back in (or without the meat and shrooms)

backstory: the intersection of me playing the ace attorney series obsessively + having a hungarian roommate in undergrad made me mad curious about this pink soup, and she was down to teach me. great for your digestive health. like... really great

- bittermelon pork bone soup

necessary: pork spare ribs, dried or frozen mussels/oysters, dried soybeans, bittermelon, chicken broth, ginger, salt, water

if you hate the fishy stink of mussels and oysters, you can prob substitute w dried shiitake. or if you are a fancy rich bitch, try dried scallop (but at that point why are you doing that? use it to make fried rice!)

rinse the dried soybeans and then soak them for at least an hr.

if the mussels/oysters are dried, also rinse and soak.

chop up pork ribs into smaller chunks. salt it generously, mash around, let sit for 10-20 mins in a pot. boil water at the same time, then pour it over the ribs when it's done salting. turn on the heat and keep it at a boil for about 1-3 mins.

remove from heat, drain the pork into a sieve, use cold water to wash the meat and bones. you want the extra gunk and myoglobin out (it's not blood), use your hands and get in there. let rest.

prep your bittermelon by chopping in half like a loaf of sandwich baguette. use a spoon or knife to dig out the spongy white part, all the way down to the green rind. then chop into smaller sections.

chop a thumb-size knob of ginger, you don't need to remove the skin. slice the knob into actual slices.

start boiling the broth, put the meat and ginger in. reduce to simmer, add the soaked soybeans and sea meat, and then the bittermelon. once it's all cooked through, salt to taste, eat w rice

backstory: it's the chinese kid way to fucking hate bittermelon. and then at some time between the age of 21-30 an internal switch flips and it becomes acceptable. idk i got used to bitter stuff (black coffee, dandelion greens, chicories) so it's actually a refreshing flavor now

[wireddless]

Codeine Scene (Five H. x Reader) [3]

Codeine Scene Masterlist

Authors Note: First off, I am SO sorry. New Years is always a slow time for me, and I did not mean to take this long to publish. Second of all, this chapter is a transition chapter into a much more fucked up story. I’m warning you now that the rest of this fic will get really really dark. I don’t recommend reading after this chapter if you can’t handle depictions of r*pe, murder, heavy drug use (cocaine, etc,) and other disturbing topics . I’m basing this story off of personal experiences, and in no way do I want someone who isn’t ready to read something like this to read this. This is like the last safe chapter, please do not read after this if you can’t handle the topics mentioned above

Summary: Klaus moves Reader up to Ben’s old room early in the morning. Afterwards, they eat breakfast and decide to trip on acid together. Five learns more about her than he expected to today

Warnings: Drug use (LSD[acid],) mentions of suicide, mentions of sex

Word Count: 3777

Taglist: @alexander-hamilhoe @dumdumsun

The gentle shaking of (Y/n)’s shoulder pulled her from her sleep. Klaus stood over her, harshly whispering her name. Looking towards his window, she could see the sky was just barely starting to light up, it was still early. 

“Klaus it’s like 7:30!” She quickly grabbed the sheet that was covering her from the waist down and yanked it over her head. A small groan left Klaus’s mouth and he yanked it back off of her. “It’s Sunday!” She tried convincing him to let her sleep in, but it was no use.��

“I talked to Ben and he said you could stay in his room!” Klaus wrestled with (Y/n) over the blanket, knowing she was still tired. Ever the impatient man he was, Klaus spoke again, “We gotta get you settled in right now!” 

“Fine! Fine. I’m up.” (Y/n) sat up and shoved her matted hair out of her face.  “Why right now?” Klaus looked at her like the answer was obvious. It wasn’t, of course. 

“Because trauma can be associated with places! Coming in here right after what happened yesterday could be an issue.” He grabbed a hair brush off of his dresser and pushed her to sit on the bed. Climbing behind her, he started to brush her hair. “Even if you aren’t reminded of it in here, it’s always good to be able to have some privacy.” He made valid points. 

“I guess you're right.” Klaus was extraordinarily gentle with her hair, pulling out all of the mats and even putting in the effort to put it in a low ponytail to keep it out of her face.  “Thank you.” (Y/n) turned and smiled at Klaus, pulling him into a quick, tight, hug. 

Ben's room was up the green stairway, across from Five’s room. (Y/n)’s face scrunched a little when she realized Five would be right across the hallway, but she didn’t complain. Her arms were a little tired from carrying her suitcase and heavier back pack up the stairs so early in the morning, but it would fade rather quickly.

Klaus opened the door and stepped aside, letting (Y/n) rush to the bed with her heavy luggage. “Dad replaced everything in this room a week after Ben died.” Klaus sat on the bed next to her luggage, and she plopped next to him. “He said old reminders would only set us back, so he made this one of many guest rooms.” Klaus peered in the closet, knowing that Ben’s academy uniforms were no longer hanging pristinely on the rack. 

“He didn’t die in here, did he?” (Y/n) turned to look at Klaus, feeling heavy sympathy. 

“Oh no! A mission went wrong, and I suppose we all messed up, but the monster inside his chest started tearing him apart.” Klaus’s usual, very happy energy, was replaced by a solemn, cold one. “He died in the infirmary.” Klaus looked down at the bedsheets. They weren’t the one that Ben had used. “I still talk to him every day, but it still makes me a little sad.” Klaus sniffled and rubbed his eyes. 

(Y/n) pulled Klaus into a bone crushing hug, knowing he needed the comfort. “That’s terrible.” She was a very empathetic person, relying more on feeling than thinking, so she was struggling to hold back her own tears. “Are you sure he’s ok with this?” 

“Yeah! He said something about moving on, and finally attempting to find peace.” Klaus clapped his hands once as he stood. “He’s kind of started meditating too, which is kind of weird, because he’s a ghost and all.” He stood and glanced around the room, getting a good look at it before (Y/n) would make it her own. “Let’s go get some breakfast after we unpack, huh?” 

“That sounds nice.” (Y/n) stood and hugged Klaus again, silently letting him know that she was there for him. 

The walk all the way down to the basement kitchen was unexpectedly exhausting. Six flights of stairs later, two flights between every floor, they were sitting at the table, staring at Five scrape his eggs off the skillet and onto his toast. 

“I’m not making eggs for you two.” His voice was monotone and annoyed. He wasn’t a morning person. “Take some responsibility and make them yourself.” Five grabbed his food and coffee, and looked at both of them before giving his usual tight-lipped smirk and blipping away, presumably to his room. 

Klaus released a few small giggles he was holding in and hopped off the island. “He always seems to add a little spice to life.”

As he was making his way over to the fridge to grab some eggs, (Y/n) asked; “Is he like this every morning?” Not wasting a second after her question, Klaus replied. 

“Yep!” He pulled out four eggs and set them in a clean bowl on the counter. “Without a doubt. It’s worse on weekdays too, because the classes he teaches are all early in the morning. Now do you want scrambled, fried, or boiled?” 

“Scrambled, please.” As Klaus got to work on making breakfast for the two of them, she thought about what Five might teach. “Hey Klaus?” 

“Yeah?” Klaus was stirring the already scrambled eggs in the skillet. 

“What does Five teach? I mean it makes sense that he’s a teacher, but I just can’t think of what he’d be so willing to teach for a living.” Klaus looked back at (Y/n) before down at the eggs again. Her chin was resting in her hands, and she stared over at him, waiting for his answer. 

“I think some sort of ethics class, like there’s different types of ethics, but that’s all I really know. He doesn’t really talk about work, and it’s a bit weird considering he was an assassin.” Klaus split the scrambled eggs in two separate bowls with forks in them and gave one to (Y/n). 

“He killed people?” (Y/n) dug into the eggs, shoving them in her mouth, listening for Klaus. 

“We’ve all dabbled with a little murder before, it’s not really that big of a deal for us, but he swore never to kill for someone else again, I’m pretty sure.” Klaus fillet out a little moan of joy as he started filling his own stomach with the eggs. 

“That must be why he was so unphased about what happened yesterday, that makes me feel a lot better.” She concluded, trying not to remember the way she nearly beat the life out of the man in Five’s car as she shoved more of Klaus’s eggs in her mouth. “These are really good!” 

“Danke!” Klaus thanked her in German, with a mouth full of eggs. He swallowed them and continued speaking. “That actually reminds me- you’ve done acid right?” (Y/n) thought on the question for a moment before answering. 

“No actually, but I did do shrooms a lot with my friends before I dropped out.” Her fork scraped the bowl, trying to get the last of the eggs. 

“Good! You have experience.” Klaus poured the last of his eggs in his mouth, straight from the bowl, before swallowing. “Would you like to do acid with me? You don’t have to, but I feel like this would definitely raise your spirits.” Klaus leaned toward her, waiting for her answer. 

“I’d love to actually.” (Y/n) swallowed the last of her eggs, and stacked her bowl with Klaus’s, before taking them to the sink to wash them. Klaus stood and followed her, digging in the breast pocket of his half-unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and pulling out a small square of folded tin foil. 

“Great! Now stick your tongue out.” Klaus unfolded the foil and pulled a tiny white square of paper, roughly the size of a phone keyboard key, out from the six-ish others in it. (Y/n) stuck her tongue out as she rinsed the now-clean bowls and Klaus placed the piece of paper on it, before sticking one on his own tongue.

(Y/n) stuck her tongue back in her mouth and sucked a bit on the paper. “So do I swallow it, or…?” The tab didn’t make it any harder to talk, thank god. 

“If you want to, but you absorb it faster when it’s in your mouth.” Klaus picked up the bowls and started drying them. “It’s not bitter at all is it?” Klaus asked, checking to make sure she didn’t take a laced tab.

(Y/n) focused on the tab again, not really noticing any taste. “Not that I can notice.” Klaus smiled as he shut the cabinet where he placed the bowls. 

“That means we’re all good! You can swallow it when the paper feels soggy enough, though, you’ve probably absorbed most of it by now.” Klaus led her back upstairs to his room, practically dragging her by her wrist. “Things are gonna get really funny for a little bit before you actually start tripping.” Klaus shut the door behind them and plopped on his bed. 

“Doesn’t it take like an hour to kick in?” This wasn’t her first rodeo, so she knew her way around at least a bit. 

“Yeah yeah, it’s kinda like shrooms? But the visuals and the trip are just a bit different, you’ll see what I mean.” Klaus grabbed a joint he had rolled earlier and lit up, taking a few puffs before passing it to (Y/n). “Just settle in for like half an hour and then get up to see how you feel.” 

•••

Tripping on LSD was a profound experience. (Y/n) wasn’t able to go outside, as it was raining cold, so she stayed inside, wandering around the house. She and Klaus made some really cool art, and Klaus held it over the vents to dry while she was walking around the house. 

Tripping felt like seeing the universe fully for the first time, and she could somewhat understand Klaus’s view of the world. Many times throughout the last three hours, she thought she saw Five blipping away out of the corner of her eye. She had dismissed it every time, of course.

Now the trip was peaking, and the visuals were insane. The air around (Y/n) felt like breathable, transparent, clay, and it was a little overwhelming with all the visuals, so she opened the door in front of her and quietly sat next to it, letting out a long, happy sigh. Closing her eyes, she paid attention to the gorgeous visuals she could see behind her eyelids. 

(Y/n) didn’t even notice Five sitting on his bed, staring at her from over his book. She was too focused on the movement behind her eyelids, and the euphoric feeling surrounding her, so when Five spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“I think you have the wrong room.” The sound of Five closing his book reached her ears. 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I- I wasn’t paying attention I’ll leave.” (Y/n) stumbled over her words as she tried to stand, clearly embarrassed.

“No, no, it’s fine actually.” Five spoke, rather out of character. “A little company once in a while feels nice, and I see no harm when you’re being quiet.” His face was beyond distorted, but she could still recognize his permanent scowl. 

“Really?” (Y/n) settled back down, more relaxed and at ease. 

“Yeah, I don’t really care.” Five grabbed his book again, opening it back to where he was. “Just don’t be too annoying.”  

“I won’t don’t worry.” Five grunted quietly at her response. A smile painted itself on her face, and she slid all the way down the wall, with her head now on the floor with the rest of her. 

•••

And she was quiet. Five watched for like an hour and a half as her eyes slowly focused on something new in his room every few moments. She was quite taken by the math equations across his wall, and he found it rather cute. He started to find her less annoying, now understanding that she coped the way his brother did. 

He was alone once again in his room now, no longer accompanied by (Y/n). In fact, she was accompanied by one of her “friends.” She barely even knew the guy. 

Five could hear everything. Every moan. Every word spoken with the intent of being quiet, but wasn’t held under the gentle guise of a whisper. It infuriated him. 

Of course, he understood that she didn’t grow up in a particularly healthy home, given that she was in a homeless shelter at almost 18, so she didn’t understand healthy coping habits. It genuinely hurt his heart, if just a little bit, that he could watch another hurt soul walk down the same path as his brother. 

Klaus had gotten help for his addictions, and was off addictive drugs completely, but even Five understood that not everyone will be able to get the help they need. He wouldn’t say he had any feelings for her, but he still felt sympathy. 

Knowing that it was how she coped made hearing all of it a little easier, but he still wasn’t able to handle it after hearing it for fifteen minutes, so he jumped down to the kitchen, brewed himself some herbal tea, added a little vodka, and read his book, criss cross, on the table in the center of the room, attempting to ignore what was happening right across from his room. 

•••

Bailey had just left, and (Y/n) was exhausted. He was kind of an ass, and he treated her like shit in middle school, but he was a horny teen, and it was really easy to just invite him over.

The trip was fading out now. She was no longer peaking, and the visuals were far less intense. (Y/n), after standing at the stairs, staring at them for a couple minutes, deemed it safe to be able to walk down them. She knew it was normally safe to go down the steps while tripping, but something in her head told her to wait, so she did. 

These particular steps were a little steep, as well, so she made her way down slowly, leading herself to the kitchen in the basement. Her bare feet padded quietly on the floor as she walked to the stove, turning the heating element under the tea kettle on. The bags under her eyes felt so beyond heavy, and she knew she’d be sleeping deeply tonight. 

“You done up there?” Five’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. (Y/n) turned and leaned on the counter to face him. 

“Yeah, yeah, he left like ten minutes ago. I’m just really tired and want some tea to relax I guess.” Her arms were crossed, comfortably holding each other up. 

Five hummed in response. “Well I see we both thought of the same thing.” He lifted his mug of tea, peppermint maybe, and put it to his lips. 

“I thought you only drank coffee.” (Y/n) chuckled a little feeling the heat of the stove begin to reach her back. 

“Well it wouldn’t be very logical to drink caffeine so late in the day, especially when I have to teach an early class tomorrow.” Five flipped the page of his book, continuing to read while talking to her. 

“Makes sense.” Her words were drowned out by the high whistling of the tea kettle, letting her know she could pour it into the cup. Grabbing the tin of loose leaf tea, she hummed as she scooped it into the reusable tea bag that was next to it. 

(Y/n) dropped the tea bag in the cup, following up with the boiling water. She turned, bringing her and her cup to the table, now sitting next to Five. Five was a grumpy, annoying, old, man who has to grow up all over again, but his company was enjoyable, it contrasted hers in such a way that it comforted her. It made her feel like her ADHD was less severe, like her inability to focus was matched by someone who could do nothing but focus. 

Only a day had gone by since they met, and she was already comforted by him. 

Five shut his book and looked over at her. The more he got to know her, the more subtly enjoyable he found her. Her sitting not two feet from him didn’t bother him as much as it usually would. He was kind of ok with that. 

“You drink peppermint?” (Y/n)’s voice was scratchy and hoarse. She really did need the tea. 

“Yeah, it’s the least fruity from what I’ve tried.” He took another sip. “Simple classic.” He set it down and looked over at her, engaging in an unexpected conversation.

“I tend to prefer fruitier teas, I’ve noticed.” She looked down at the cup that she’d been drinking out of for a couple minutes now. “They go down easier and really comfort me. Reminds me of my mom, she only ever made fruity teas.” She took another sip, letting the warmth fill her up. 

“What happened to your mom?” Five looked back down at his drink, then back up at the girl next to him. “I noticed that you didn’t exactly live with her when we picked up your stuff.” 

“Yeah..” (Y/n) hesitated a little. He was awfully blunt. “I was like seven when it happened, but I’m told it was a double suicide, between her and dad.” Her legs were swinging a little nervously. “Mom sent me up to my room one night and told me not to come out until she opened the door, no matter what. The next day a detective came into my room and carried me out screaming. They were both dead on the floor. I lived with my aunt and uncle after that.”

“Oh shit.” Five didn’t expect her answer to be this upsetting. 

“Yeah. My uncle told me it was a double suicide, my aunt said the same thing, she manipulated me and made me think they did it because of me.” (Y/n) sighed into her drink, her distorted reflection staring back at her. “I don’t even remember what the scene looked like, just a lot of blood. I don’t look at anything about it either, don’t really want to relive it.” 

“That’s really tough, wow.” Five chuckled uncomfortably and finished his drink. “I didn’t know my mother, but my mom was a robot. She was pretty much indestructible, but she was fully shut off when our house was being attacked a long time ago.”

“Oh my.” (Y/n)’s voice was soft, hoarse, and tired. Her hand gently moved to rest atop his, not really knowing how else to reassure him, if he even needed it, of course. “I’m sorry about that.” 

Five didn’t even seem to notice his hand being covered. “No it’s fine, I got over it long long ago.” His words were just slightly slurred, and his eyes had reddened slightly.

“Well I’m here if you ever need like, a hug or something.” (Y/n) laughed. “I don’t really know how else to comfort anyone.” 

“It shouldn’t be your job to comfort anyone, that’s not your responsibility.” Five chuckled and smiled slightly. (Y/n) hadn’t expected him to smile, and it wasn’t as weird as she thought it would be.

Before she could even mention it though, Klaus’s happy, booming voice echoed in the kitchen as he practically skipped to the fridge. As she yanked her hand away from Five, she noticed the way he pulled his arm away as well. Maybe he did notice?

Klaus and Five started talking about something as he got off the table and placed his cup in the sink, but she wasn’t paying attention. Before her attention was quickly pulled to the floor, she thought on the way Five had wrenched his arm away. 

As anxiety inducing as it was, the LSD that was still in her system made it easy to quickly move onto the next thought. Before she knew it, a flash of blue wrenched her out of her head and she looked up at Klaus, now alone with her in the kitchen. 

“Hey, sweetie.” Klaus kissed her cheek and led her gently off the table and to the stairs. “Your trip going good?” He popped a black olive in his mouth. 

“Yeah it’s going fine, I really like it. It’s kinda different from shrooms, but not like a bad different.” She was just two steps behind him, trying to keep the same pace as him. 

“That’s great.” Klaus hummed as he popped another olive in his mouth. “These are absolutely amazing. I figured you would like it, it’s really calming and stuff for me. Makes the sad feeling kinda disappear for weeks after.” 

“Oh same, I’ve just felt creative and warm all day.” They stopped in front of Klaus’s room, Klaus still eating his olives. “I’m actually exhausted too, the trip felt really nice.” 

“Well I’m glad I could have helped.” Klaus pulled her into a tight hug, humming loudly. Hugs felt great on psychedelics, she had noticed. 

“You helped so much.” (Y/n)’s voice was slightly muffled by Klaus’s chest. She pulled out of Klaus’s chest, speaking again. “I’m gonna go to bed now, if that’s ok, I’m so so tired.” She laughed a little. 

“That’s fine, I’m gonna crash the moment I hit my bed, so..” Klaus smiled down at her, thankful for this mini-him. 

“Night night, Klaus.” (Y/n) and Klaus both separated to head to their rooms, both about to sleep deeply enough to miss a train going through the house. 

The stairs up to her new room were an almost pastel green color, covered by what looked to be years of grime and nicotine stains. It added character, she thought. The checkerboard floor at the top of the stairs seemed to lead her straight to her new room, which she was really thankful for, she was exhausted. 

Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting the old carved crystal just enough to open it. She closed it the same way, with just enough effort for it to work, she could have sworn she saw something blue flash near her, but she doubted herself immediately. Once she plopped on the bed, her fingers dragged her phone across the sheets towards her. 

It took (Y/n) two full minutes to open her phone, not remembering her password and then not being able to type the right letters slowed her down significantly. It wouldn’t matter though, because once she turned on some quiet music, she was fast asleep.

[togoshrooms]

The types of mushrooms which contain psilocybin, are known as magic mushrooms. They are wild or cultivated mushrooms. Psilocybin is a schedule-I controlled component, which means it has a high potential for misuse and serves no legitimate medical purpose. Magic Mushrooms are also known as shrooms, blue meanies, mushies, golden tops, liberty caps, liberties, Amani, philosopher’s stones, and agaric.

Shrooms containing psilocybin provide feelings of euphoria and sensory distortion, which are common effects of hallucinogenic drugs. Users also can experience disturbing hallucinations, panic, and anxiety after using the drug.

Important Facts of Psilocybin

Psilocybin may cause both positive and negative physical and psychological effects.

The drug can trigger psychotic episodes

Psilocybin is not an addictive substance

People with a family history of schizophrenia or early-onset mental illness face an increased risk of an adverse psychiatric reaction to psilocybin

What is Psilocybin?

Psilocybin is a psychedelic that works by stimulating serotonin, most probably in the prefrontal cortex. This part of the brain causes mood, perception, and cognition. Psychedelics also stimulate the other parts of the brain that regulate arousal and panic responses. It doesn’t necessarily that psilocybin always causes active visual or auditory hallucinations. Instead, it falsifies how some individuals that use the drug perceive objects and people already in their environment.

The effects of Psilocybin depend on the amount of the drug consumed by the users, past experiences, and expectations of how the experience will take shape.

When people consume psilocybin and it absorbs in the body, the body converts it to psilocybin. It is observed that the hallucinogenic effects of psilocybin mostly occur within 30 minutes of ingestion and last between 4 to 6 hours. But in some people, the changes in sensory perception and thought patterns can last for several days.

The varieties of mushrooms that contain psilocybin are small and brown or tan in appearance. Still, in the wild, most people often mistake identifying a psilocybin-containing mushroom and choose other poisonous mushrooms.

People usually consume psilocybin as a brewed tea or prepare it with a food item to cover up its bitter taste. Psilocybin is also taken as capsules, manufacturers crush dried mushrooms into a powder and prepare them in capsule form.

The efficacy of a mushroom relies on its species, origin, growing conditions, harvesting process, whether it is consumed fresh or dried. The amount of the active ingredients in dried mushrooms is about 10 times higher than the amount found in their fresh counterparts.

Common Names of Psilocybin by Drug Dealers

Drug dealers often sell psilocybin under its real name like:

Magic Mushrooms

Shrooms

Boomers

Zoomers

Mushies

Little smoke

Simple Simon

Purple passion

Sacred mushrooms

Cubes

Mushroom soup

Effects of Psilocybin

The most probable effects of Psilocybin are euphoria, peacefulness, spiritual awakening, a sudden change in emotions, hallucination, depersonalization, distorted thinking, visual distortion and alteration, dizziness, drowsiness, dilated pupils, muscle weakness, impaired concentration, unusual body sensations, nausea, paranoia, confusion, lack of coordination, vomiting, yawning and frightening hallucinations.

The effects may vary people to person, it depends on the mental state of the users, past experiences, personality, and the present environment. If the recreational user experiences issues with mental health or feels distressed about using the drug, they are at a higher risk of facing any bad experience. It can take the form of extreme anxiety or short-term psychosis.

Is Psilocybin a treatment for Depression?

Discussions are on-going about whether psilocybin can be used as a treatment for depression or not.

As per the two recent studies “psilocybin as a treatment for depression or not” one study examined that psilocybin has the efficacy of reducing depression symptoms without dulling emotions, and the other assessed the relationship between any positive therapeutic result and the nature of psilocybin-inferred hallucinations. However some researchers are looking into some therapeutic uses of psilocybin, they still, at present, look psilocybin as illegal and unsafe.

[sending-the-message]

If You're Going to Commit Suicide, Don't Do It In Florida. by IEscapedFromALab

I tried to kill myself last night. I grabbed the last of my stash, a relative ton of hydrocodone, Roxicodone, Xanax, vodka and the like and decided I would rather finish it than go through another day. I headed to my favorite spot, the Lake Worth Beach, easily one of West Palm Beach’s best. It’s patrolled, but not heavily enough to catch a junkie whose car wasn’t safe enough to drive there anyways (I caught a ride from a friend).

The beach is a particularly wide and scenic beach, even for Florida, with a pier that was as massive as it was ancient juxtaposed with well-kept modern buildings. As I jumped over an old wooden railing near a corner on the farthest side I had a brief moment to marvel at the glares of pink, purple and orange being pulled across the other corner of the sky. Then I remembered that I was still a fat guy before tumbling onto the ground in uncoordinated pain.

I settled down in a nice spot and took as much as I could at once before vaping some weed while watching the last stragglers and couples leave my isolated corner of the beach. I ate a last meal of one of Havana’s famous medianoche and a mamey milkshake (mamey is a fruit that tastes like caramel). I began to feel my breath get shallow; I got as close to catching up with the dragon as I had in years before putting the cherry on top, my last three Roxicodone. At some point my eyes closed and I happily wondered if I would ever open them again.

It felt like less than a split second before I did, completely and feeling utterly sober as well.

“Son of a bitch!”

I was going to be sober. That meant some nasty stuff was just around the corner for me. The stress of looking at my disaster of a life wasn’t going to be any easier without anything to get high. It was morning, and the sunrise was just beginning to fight its way through the black sky. The sky was covered in ribbons of turquoise, dark orange, purple and white. It reflected on the placid surface of the water beautifully, making it look like scintillating multicolored crushed velvet. The only other person on the beach was a man in a suit, standing waist deep in the water and staring at the sunset.

I stood up and dusted myself off, but felt pretty good considering what I had just done. I was about to begin the long trek to my car when I remembered I hadn’t brought it. I looked over the edge of the sea wall, where people often gathered to watch sunrises, but no one was there. I didn’t see any cars in the parking lot either, but guessed that there had to be maintenance workers parked in the back lot or something.

“Wasted on a Junky”, I thought to myself as I briefly took in the neon steaks in the sky. Florida had the ability to summon visual feats that I am convinced are on par with aurora borealis on certain days of the year.

I was about to get up and start walking around aimlessly to borrow a cellphone (junkies can’t keep up with bills) when I remembered the dude in the suit. My first thought was to chuckle at the fact that I had previously glossed right over the man in the suit, although it wasn’t abnormal for people to do weird stuff at the beach, especially in the mornings. My second thought was “Maybe he has some good drugs. Maybe he’s friendly.”

I took off my shoes and socks and took off my shirt so that it would look like I was just there to swim. Thankfully he had his back to me, and was far enough away from my corner in the bushes that it was unlikely that he saw me. I put my stuff on one of the wooden beach chairs and braced myself for the cold of the water, something I hadn’t felt in more than ten years.

It had been so long that I had forgotten that the water in Florida is almost never cold, not like it is in California or New York at least. As I sunk into the warm water, I was stunned at the array of colors reflecting off of the water. The sun seemed almost in the air now, but the bands of color hadn’t quit, launching ribbons of pinks, oranges, blues and other colors that seemed to dart in between.

The water seemed perfect, warm and heavy but somehow more comfortable than being dry on the beach. I soaked my hair before approaching the guy who I hoped would let me use his cellphone and who appeared to be enjoying the holy shit out of the sunrise, despite a nice looking black pinstripe suit clearly being ruined. He was still watching the horizon, but now that I was closer I noticed that his hair was immaculate.

“Hey, good morning, dude!” I patiently waited for a response, but the man just stood there, watching the sunrise. “Uhhh, I hate to bother you, but is there any chance you have a cell I could borrow? I left mine at home.” Floridians aren’t exactly polite, but it was unheard of for someone to just give you the cold shoulder. My people tend towards the more outgoing varieties of douchebaggery. I became a bit excited as I accepted the happy assumption that he must be on some quality shit. “Are you alright, dude? Tripping a bit? Maybe you could use a refresher?”

I did some quick thinking about how much weed I might have left and whether it might be enough to entice a stranger into sharing whatever drugs they had, which I was beginning to think might be shrooms or something else enthrallingly hallucinogenic. I took a few steps closer, wondering if he was even aware of me before I got a grip on myself. He was still pretty far out in the water; it was surprising it was only waist deep on him. This guy was either higher than I wanted to be or nuttier than I could realistically be able to navigate and I remembered that there were no cars in the front parking lot.

I took a couple of steps, suddenly feeling as if I was walking against a light current when I heard the water swish rapidly behind me. I turned around and the man was staring at me. He was wearing aviators that reflected the light of the sky just like the water and was clean cut, but he looked painfully familiar. He smiled widely at me, and then suddenly he began to walk towards me, his hands outstretched. I instinctively took a step back, but felt resistance. I looked down and saw the slender ribbons of color seemed to be denser around me, as if they were gathering around me.

A part of me was screaming at me to calm down, take a deep breath and just talk to this guy once he catches up to me. But the phrase “catching up to me” started repeating in my head and I decided to run like hell just in case. The resistance in the water grew and I suddenly felt sharp stabbing pains all over my body. I pushed forward, but when I looked down at the water again I saw my own blood coming out of what looked like small holes. I noticed the tendrils of color seemed to gather near them and I could feel something pushing its way into my skin.

A ragged gasp and broken syllable erupted behind me. It sounded like a computer playing back a recording of a deaf person trying to speak and failing due to some technical error. The man was gaining on me fast and was only about thirty feet away now. I almost stumbled from the surprise of pain near my groin, but forced myself forward even as I felt agony as squirming things popped from my skin. I felt things move desperately under my skin, pushing my fat and trying to hold my legs.

After a few seconds of pain, thrashing and salt water I finally felt the water lowering down to my ankles. I tried to pick up the pace, but it was like I had been stabbed by a syringe a hundred times. As I exited the water I felt a sudden tug on my right foot and saw a tendril of purple, scintillating to blue and orange, leave the water with me before it landed on the sand and jerked away. I planted both my feet on the sand and turned to see how my pursuer was faring.

Suddenly I felt shredding pain in my lungs as I gasped for air. I was no longer anywhere near the water. A fat old man was staring down at me and I was clearly in the corner I had collapsed into the night before.

“You ok?”

I was about to answer what sounded like a Canadian man when I noticed my mouth was filled with sand and blood that I quickly spat out. I felt like I was going to be sick.

“Cell..cell phone? Can I borrow your phone a second?” I managed to get out before coughing bitterly.

“No, no, uhh, sorry.” The man suddenly seemed frightened and was backing away quickly. This was strangely reassuring, as it was something I felt used to. I was about to write it off as a nightmare when I looked down and saw the sand covered in blood. Small pinprick holes ran along every part of my body. I gasped and looked out to the water, but other than an incredible sunrise and some elderly people doing tai chi, there was no one.

I found out later someone had called an ambulance and thought I may have been dead. They patched me up a bit and gave me some water and a candy bar. I managed to fine a pay phone that smelled like dead fish and vinegar and got a ride out of there. After I cleaned up at home, I started thinking about what led me to attempt to kill myself to begin with. I did a quick inventory of my life’s fuck ups to try and figure out where I had gone wrong. Along the way I ended up looking at pictures of myself in High School and College and I saw the man’s face. He looked a lot like me, but not fat at all, clean and with perfect teeth.

[mrsrcbinscn]

BDRPWriMo Task #6 - 10 Short-Short Stories

Task #6: Write ten short-short stories of no more than a paragraph long.

Franny Robinson’s musical influences; ten interview quotes about other musicians and singers that she says inspire her work

i. Jenny Lewis

“I dunno, there’s just-” Robinson paused and with her palms flat up, made claws with her hands as she searched for the words. “-something so honest about Jenny. I had the honor of performing with her once and I was just in awe. I think I have a little bit of a crush on her. I was first introduced to her work in 2001 by a great friend of mine from college, Dani Weiss [currently a member of the American-Canadian newgrass band The Weepy Willows]. We were...going on a little trip -

Q: Acid or shrooms?

“My husband is sitting right there, oh god. Acid. In moderation, I think things like that can be worthwhile experiences. In moderation. We were doing acid in her apartment and listenin’ to music and she [Weiss] put on their album Take Offs and Landings. I was real into it from Go Ahead [the first track]. Which. I always liked chill music when I dropped acid, anything too loud and busy made me anxious. And when the followup, The Execution of All Things came out, it was like - I was like - just like, ‘damn, this woman is amazing.’ Her songwriting ability is just phenomenal and her voice- I feel like I’m sittin’ across from her and she’s tellin’ me stories. There’s- again, the only thing I can think of is this honesty about her.”

ii. Hizuru

“Japan actually has a vibrant history with jazz music, so I’m familiar with a lot of Japanese jazz and have had the honor of working with many talented Japanese jazz musicians. I don’t know very much about Hizuru, actually, other than I love them. I have been experimenting with incorporating traditional Cambodian music with, you know, jazz and other western styles of music. That part of my culture is very important to me, so I want - I want to show the world how beautiful instruments like tro and chapei are. Anyway- I was struggling with a balance of sounds when in 2017 I stumbled upon a Hizuru song called - oh, god, I don’t speak Japanese, so I’ll probably butcher this. The song is called Ushiwakamaru. It is an instrumental piece, as is the entire self-titled album, and the blend of traditional Japanese music and modern jazz on that entire album is perfection. I hope they come out with more soon, I am hungry for more, truly.”

iii. Ella Fitzgerald 

Q: Of the early jazz vocalists, who inspires you the most?

“Oh my god, Ella Fitzgerald. Well - mm, no, absolutely her, no question. I am by no means implying I live up to her standard, in fact I never will, but I have channeled her. Especially in my earlier work when I was a bit more concerned with going what jazz fans want, expect, and love versus taking lessons from those who came before me and building on that with my own ideas, my own voice. If that makes sense? She was classic. It’s Only A Paper Moon was, I think, the first jazz song I heard when I was little. Or, it was the first that really struck me. [laughs] My oldest brother used his birthday money to buy an Ella Fitzgerald album for me on vinyl so I would stop running around the house singing the only lyrics I remembered. I think it was like [singing]- Say, its only a paper moon, sailing over a cardboard sea...and I forgot the rest so I could just repeat cardboard sea like three times.”

iv. Patsy Cline

“I’m from Georgia,” laughs Robinson, running a hand through her hair as she pulls her feet up under her on the chaise lounge in her Swynlake home. “Like, out in the country in Georgia. You couldn’t grow up there in the eighties and not have known who Patsy Cline and Dolly Parton were. Dolly was more, like, relevant and current, but Patsy’s a classic. And as a woman whose natural register is lower myself, I really appreciated being able to sing along decently well without much effort. We don’t - we don’t get to see alto voices in popular music a lot. Pop, even the jazz music that gets a following outside of hardcore jazz fans. Hitting the craziest high notes does seem to be a current trend across the genre spectrum.”

When asked if that was a bad thing, Robinson simply shook her head. “I don’t think it;s positive or negative one way or the other. It’s just an observation.”

v. Ahmad Jamal

“I mean, if you want to talk jazz pianists, you can’t not talk about Ahmad Jamal. On Green Dolphin Street? Autumn Rain? F---, man, leaving him out is criminal. He’s been in the game for five decades, that’s longer than I’ve been alive. I only hope to be on his level. Like, I hear words from his piano. I understand what I’m supposed to be feeling, thinking, or seeing when I listen to his work. And with instrumental music, that’s a challenge. Classical? I struggle to listen to classical music. I think it’s beautiful, and I really respect classical musicians, but unless I’m explicitly aware of what picture this piece is supposed to paint in my head, when I tell a classical expert what a piece makes me feel, they’re usually like ‘ACTUALLY...’

vi. Édith Piaf 

“My father - well, he’s technically my stepfather,” Robinson said, scowling at the word like it was a swear. “But, he adopted me when he married my mother, and my biological father may as well have been a sperm donor. Anyway. My father is from Switzerland, and they have four official languages there. He speaks them all, plus English, plus he learned to speak Khmer when he married my mother. He’s so cool, my dad. He’s from a Francophone-Italophone Swiss family, so I grew up listening to a lot of old French, Italian, and some German music from him. I still don’t speak German and Italian though, [laughs] sorry Dad.”

“We listened to Édith Piaf a lot together. I was very protective of my mother as a child, you know how kids of single moms are? My mom was my superhero and I was used to American men thinking they had a right to touch her because she was just a poor foreign woman who owned a restaurant. So when my future dad started hanging around, I hated him. But he was determined to make me like him so I’d let him marry my mother, and he’d take me for ice cream and play Édith Piaf cassettes in the car. He’d tell me about what the love songs meant, and didn’t tell me about the songs that weren’t, and told me the love songs are how he felt about my mother. He was like, ‘Dara-’ my legal first name is Darareaksmey, it’s Khmer. My parents usually calls me ‘Dara.’ ‘Dara, if you let me, I’ll be good to your mother, and to you.’ I eventually got tired of him begging me to marry my mom so I let him. [laughs]

I asked if she ever regretted giving him her blessing.

“No, never. He’s my dad, and the two boys he brought into the marriage are my older brothers. I’m my Swiss grandparents’ only granddaughter, so they spoiled me even from Switzerland. No, we’re family.”

vii. Dolores O'Riordan

Interview date, 26th of January, 2018

Q: Let’s talk about something I just found out about you from your Twitter feed the other day.

A: Oh, no, should I tell my husband to cover his ears?

Q: No, it’s rated H for Husband. 

A: Excellent.

Q: You’re a huge fan of Dolores O’Riordan. Which, I wouldn’t have guessed. But on the day the tragic news of her passing broke, you Tweeted out a tribute to her including ffive meet and greet pictures of the two of you together- the first, correct me if I’m wrong, is from 1994?

A: Yes, yes I had actually seen then the year prior, when I was thirteen, but ‘94 was the first time I could afford a backstage package with my babysitting money. The other four are from 1999, 2002, 2010, and 2016. I loved The Cranberries, they were the first concert I dragged my husband to when we were dating.

Q: Safe to say you’ve been a hardcore fan for-

A: Two and a half decades, yeah. Yeah, The Cranberries are one of my all time favorites. Dolores O’Riordan’s voice was...everything.

Q: You’re a jazz artist, primarily. What’s consistently drawn you to The Cranberries?

A: [laughs] Other than being a teenager in the 90′s? I mean, her voice. She changed the game for what it meant to be a female vocalist in rock music. And up until my second year at NYU, I wasn’t sure where I was going with music. I loved rock, I loved jazz, I was into R&B, I loved bluegrass. I sang in several bands in high school and college, and The Cranberries were usually on the setlist. Her voice was amazing. I idolized her as a young vocalist, even if I ended up gravitating toward a different genre.

Q: You uploaded a cover of Dreams with Irish alt-rock singer and guitarist Padraig Chen, and Irish indie musician Siobhán Walsh as well. How did that collaboration come about?

A: Padraig’s been a friend of mine for a long time; we met through a mutual friend who is also an Asian-diaspora musician in the UK and Ireland and it was a match made in music heaven. We’ve collaborated a lot. Siobhán is a friend of Pat’s, and we all looked up to Dolores, so we just got together and made our little tribute to her.

viii. Badi Assad

“I was first introduced to bossa nova...probably during my sophomore year of college. Her voice is like butter, but frankly, that’s not the most interesting thing about her. She combines traditional jazz, bossa nova, other Latin music elements, and traditional Middle Eastern sounds. Anything that is a marriage of different tastes and cultures is interesting to me, and when its done as well as she does it? Forget it. She is one of the best jazz and jazz-adjacent guitarists out there today. I really admire her. I hope to perform with her one day, it’s genuinely a dream of mine.”

ix. Ros Serey Sothea

“One of my most unexpected musical influences...well, I don’t - I don’t think she’s so much unexpected, as any of my following outside of my small Cambodian or Khmer-American following won’t have ever heard of. Ros Serey Sothea is one of the most important singer in Khmer popular music history, she’s called the Golden Voice. My mother would sing her songs to me as a child, whichever of them she could remember. Under the Khmer Rogue, which my mother survived, something like 90% of Cambodia’s artists, dancers, musicians, and singers died or were executed. She was one of them. And my mother’s favorite singer. Most of the master recordings from her and other singers like Pen Ran and Sinn Sisamouth were destroyed by the Khmer Rogue, so whatever recordings we do have of Khmer rock and roll from that era are so, so vital to preserve and keep record of. Even though I am a jazz music educator, at my lower level, more generic classes where I have the wiggle room to do so, I talk about Khmer music of the 60s and early 70s for a class because I feel so strongly about the legacy of this music.”

“I went on a tangent,” Robinson said apologetically. “Where was I? Oh, Ros Serey Sothea. Right, so her voice was just-” Robinson put her arms out to her side and swayed to the imaginary music in her head. “-you could just kind groove like this to only her voice, nothing else needed. Her voice danced on top of the backing band. My mother managed to get her hands on some records, her siblings who remained in Cambodia sent some to us and her other siblings who were resettled, in the mid-eighties. So, I was six or seven before I heard my first Khmer song from a record player or a cassette instead of my mother’s voice, even though she’d been singing to me since I was born. These songs are still incredibly important to Cambodians today, and diaspora as well.”

I asked her if that had anything to do with the semi-viral success of her recent  cover of 70′s singer Sieng Vannthy’s ‘Console Me’. 

“Oh, for sure.” Robinson said.  "It’s the first time I professionally recorded a song in Khmer, a lot of people were surprised I spoke the language.”

x. Dolly Parton

“Okay, Dolly probably has less of an influence on my music than my persona, I’ll be honest. But her music means so much to me. At my wedding, during toasts, my mother mortified me by throwin’ in video footage of my first ever live performance from ‘89. Little nine-year-old Franny was on stage in little secondhand cowboy boots, this horribly 80s lookin’ frilly dress, my hair in little twin braids, singin’ and dancin’ to Why’d You Come In Here Lookin’ Like That. To this day, my husband still brings that up.”

Q: How do you mean Dolly Parton influenced your persona?

“Great question. So, our origins are similar. Kind of. She grew up poor one of twelve children, I grew up poor, one of three. My family eventually was lucky enough to make it out of the poverty I was born into but we were still always poor, you know? Like. I remember my mom rationing her food so I could eat enough until that stopped when I was about seven and my mom didn’t have to make a meal for herself last two meals.  And we’re both from the American South.”

“I grew up on Dolly. She’s the queen of our people [laughs] and I’m not even being facetious. We love her. Can’t get enough of her. And I include myself in that; Dolly Parton is an icon. She is unashamed of who she is and where she comes from, which really struck a chord with me. As the American-born daughter of a refugee, I was always caught between two cultures. Am I Cambodian, am I American? Which can I claim? My mother taught to me my Cambodian culture, our Vietnamese friends taught me about Vietnamese culture, but my white father was from Switzerland so I didn’t learn to be American until school. That’s when I started droppin’ my G’s, sayin’ y’all and ain’t, and asking my parents to make grits for breakfast when they’d never eaten them before in their immigrant lives. I wanted so badly to just be seen as American, to be seen as just a girl from Georgia. If it weren’t for my mother refusing to let me speak English to her at home I would have lost my Khmer. She spoke English just fine, but English was for Out There.”

“My mom taught me to be proudly Cambodian, but I’m not just Cambodian, right? I mean, I’m biracial, sure. But more importantly, I’m bi-cultural. I’m not just Cambodian, I’m American - Southern, if we wanna get real specific. Both of my cultures are vibrant, and beautiful, and are equally important to me. My mom taught me not to be ashamed to be the daughter of a refugee - she didn’t get into specifics until I was older, but she was always made it clear she had Been Through Some Shit and could handle anything. Even now, when I go through something difficult I just tell myself, ‘Mom survived genocide, you can do whatever this is.’ I knew how to be proudly Cambodian, I knew how to wear traditional dress to nice events, and wear Khmer wedding clothes for my wedding instead of a white dress. But I didn’t know how to embrace this other part of myself - because wasn’t raised in the default Middle America. Even my American side is a type of odd culture, isn’t it?

Dolly Parton taught me not to be ashamed of the other half of where I came from. She is unapologetic about bein’ who she is. She is proud of where she came from. And I want to be the Dolly Parton of my rural Georgia town. My identities as Cambodian and Georgian are more important to be than my identity as, like, an American person in general. I want people to think, ‘that’s a Georgia woman’ when they think of me, just like you look at Dolly and say ‘that’s a Appalachian girl’ before you just go ‘oh, she’s American.’

[longislandweekly-blog]

The homey interior of Mac & Melts (All photos by Dave Gil de Rubio unless otherwise noted)

In this day and age of fast casual food, macaroni and cheese has been elevated far beyond its pre-fabricated Kraft origins. Look no further than Garden City’s Mac & Melts, which is celebrating its fourth anniversary.

Located in a strip at 684 Stewart Ave., this cheerful and bright 1,300-square foot eatery boasts 15 different variations of mac and cheese, ranging from the basic All American (combo of Wisconsin Sharp and Wisconsin Aged Cheddar Cheese) to more exotic versions like Pesto Chicken Mac and Cheese (Buttermilk fried chicken, pesto sauce with Wisconsin cheddar and mozzarella), Veg Head (broccoli, tomatoes, zucchini, roasted red peppers, creamy goat cheese), the South Philly (shaved roast beef, mushrooms, onions, roasted red peppers and homemade Cheese Whiz) and Make Shroom (sautéed mushrooms, aged Gouda, Gruyère and truffle oil drizzle).

The Short Rib Mac (braised short rib with Wisconsin sharp cheddar) is particularly stellar. Like the other types of mac and cheese, it features that fine line of mouth-watering characteristics endemic to this kind of culinary brilliance—a crunchy crust that covers al dente elbow macaroni and top-grade cheeses that maintain a gooey consistency that avoids any kind of wateriness. The ribs further imbue the dish’s textures with flavors that seep into every bite.

Mac & Melts is located at 684 Stewart Ave. in Garden City

Margherita Mac

The turkey pastrami wrap is the latest addition to the Mac & Melts menu

Gourmet salad

If you choose to dine in, there is an M&M Sampler consisting of the All American, Make Shroom, Alpine (Hormel bacon, Gruyère, caramelized onions and smoked Gouda), 5 Cheese (smoked mozzarella, aged Gouda, Wisconsin sharp cheddar, Wisconsin aged cheddar, Gruyère), cheeseburger, Southwestern (Wisconsin aged cheddar, pepper jack cheese, jalapeño, Andouille sausage topped with crushed tortilla chips), Buffalo chicken (buttermilk fried chicken, tomato, celery, Wisconsin aged cheddar, Wisconsin blue cheese, Frank’s Buffalo hot sauce, topped with crushed tortilla chips) and short rib.

The other half of the store’s names are its array of melts including the Classic Wisconsin Melt (a smooth blend of Wisconsin’s finest mild and aged cheddars on Pullman bread and grilled to perfection), the Mac & Melt (deep-fried mac & cheese, aged cheddar stuffed between two slices of Pullman bread, topped with homemade sun-dried tomato pesto) and the Dirty Tuna Melt (tuna salad prepared with diced celery, green apples, sliced jalapeños, crushed potato chips and pepper Jack cheese on sourdough).

Those not wanting to take the carnivore’s plunge can sup on the Mama Luke (grilled portobello mushroom, zucchini, roasted red peppers, onions, fresh mozzarella, arugula, pesto and balsamic drizzle on ciabatta with a fried egg available to add). There is also the option to add caramelized onions, sliced tomato and bacon to the already delicious proceedings. Recently added to the menu are wraps and a tomato bisque brimming with the kind of subtle rich flavor that allows it to avoid having a pedestrian experience with what can oftentimes wind up being a one-note kind of soup. As for the wrap options, while the BLT, avocado, pesto and buffalo are solid entries on this menu, every bite of the turkey pastrami wrap tickles the taste buds as the mash-up of Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato and Russian dressing blend beautifully with the kosher namesake meat used for this dish.

Mac & Melts is located at 684 Stewart Ave. in Garden City

Mac & Melts proprietor Richard Yorke is a Jericho resident who has been turning the masses onto this twist on an American classic with a major assist from his octogenarian father Mel. Fresh ingredients that are made-to-order are the hallmark of the business and extend to using gluten-free pasta. There is also an extensive catering menu available. And if you somehow have room for dessert, PBNJ, which is deep-fried creamy peanut butter, bananas, Nutella and grape jelly on Pullman topped with Cool Whip and chocolate syrup awaits.

To find out more about Mac & Melts, call 855-622-6358 or visit macnmelts.com.

Mac & Melts serves up the ultimate comfort foods. Long Island Weekly's Dave Gil de Rubio reviews the Garden City restaurant. In this day and age of fast casual food, macaroni and cheese has been elevated far beyond its pre-fabricated Kraft origins.

[royalnovels-blog]

PWE Chapter 208

Chapter 208: The Dark Cafeteria The elite werewolf bodies were distributed and looted, giving everyone some equipment. Even the unaffiliated players were able to get at least one piece of equipment. Lin Le received the hundreds of bodies that he had killed, and began looting. As for Ye Cang, he was kicked away by his party and made to go over to another guild’s area… After clearing up the battlefield, they marched to a flat area. Kunsa and the Treants dispersed the fog, but even with the fog gone, the ground was still covered in dark, shadowy plants. Ye Cang acted like a cafeteria lady, and began making food in bulk. He chose to make Werewolf, Skeleton, Mushroom Stew as well as Sewer Rat, Skeleton, Herb Soup. All the ingredients were things that he would never run out of. He cooked with many pots simultaneously, running from one to the next. The big guilds even sent people over to provide more pots and fires. Ye Cang would throw in the ingredients and seasoning, then move on, showing his peerless ability to mass produce dark cooking. After a mere 3 hours, he had made over 400 pots of each. Enough for 2000 people to eat, potentially earning him up to 2000 gold. CloudDragon and the others were shocked. Then broke out in cold sweat. F**k, that’s too much! How can we let him profit so much off of us. In the end, it was bartered down to 500 gold, half paid in federal dollars… The two thousand elites from every guild came over and looked at the black goop in front of them. It was emitting black and purple smoke, spreading foul miasma. That super, vomit inducing stink assaulted their senses, causing them to back away, step by step. They gulped. Can this sh*t even be eaten!? Although the buff is awesome… But with some coercion from their superiors, the spectacular sight of 2000 people passing out from food could be seen. FrozenBlood and some other girls couldn’t withstand their urge and rushed over to take a picture of it… “Hah~ This industry is too tough, bullying players like me who are just trying to etch out a living. Do you find it fun? Despicable…” Ye Cang grumbled off to the side as he began making food for his own group as well as the higher ups of each guild. He carefully selected from the skeletal demon’s bones, and added some rare mushrooms and herbs, the Sewer Rat Boss’s meat, ghost residue, rotten meat, and both slime gels, then boiled it all together. CloudDragon, NalanMoon, ColdFront, WillowDream, as well as the person in charge of Lord’s Reign in Really New Village were all speechless. You call this US bullying YOU!? They looked at the thick purple smoke billowing in the air in the shape of a skull, which was actually making a sinister laugh. The stink itself felt like a bomb continuously going off in their stomach, their mind, and their nose. It was the first time WillowDream and ColdFront had seen such terrifying food. They immediately began to sweat profusely, cursing at the fact that the game didn’t allow adjusting of senses. WillowDream couldn’t take it anymore. “Bi- Big brother hero, you can’t mean for us to eat this…” CloudDragon sighed. It had leveled up. Every material he used was either rare or boss leveled, making the stew’s buff too enticing. However, the flavor and smell… A drop of sweat dripped down his face. “Congratulations, you’ve created an intermediate grade dark cooking recipe. Obtain 1000 experience (experience towards cooking skill). Please give it a name.” “Specter, Zombie, Skeleton Demon, Wild Mushroom, Slime Stew…” Ye Cang muttered, feeling like just being near the pot would make him pass out. Not good, he was really losing consciousness!! He quickly scooped a bowl of and chugged it down. Then turned his head to the others, “Hurry and eat while it’s warm… before the smell… knocks.. you…” He fell on the ground, twitching… Specter, Zombie, Skeleton Demon, Wild Mushroom, Slime Stew: Eat to heal 2 health a second and 1 mana every 5 seconds. Also obtain +7 all attributes, +15 all resistances, +7 damage, +6 defence, +7 spell power, and reduces damage taken by 5%. Every time rage, energy, or mana is consumed for a skill, there is a 15% chance to increase damage by 25%. Persists for 5 hours. (There is a chance that eating this will cause you to drop dead on the spot, with no death penalty. There is a small chance to temporarily obtain a portion of the skeletal demon’s power…) “Brother PaleSnow, why do you do this…” SpyingBlade’s scalp tingled. Every time, he would make these inhuman biological weapons, harming everyone including himself… His food buff was equivalent to wearing one of the pieces of equipment dropped by the skeletal demon. Little Ye Tian was like a little supervisor, glaring at Zhang ZhengXiong, Lin Le and FrozenCloud. “Hurry and eat. I’ll be right behind you…” As if they were walking to their execution, the three of them ate with miserable looks on their faces. Everyone watched them lying on the ground, twitching. Little Ye Tian pinched her nose, went to a spot amongst her fallen comrades, ate, and began twitching with them… “I feel like there’s one upside to being with team leader. In the past, I wouldn’t dare to eat deep-fried centipedes, but yesterday, I actually tried one, and it was pretty good…” FrozenBlood said, almost crushing her nose from pinching so hard. “……” ThornyRose was also the same. She recalled how she had eaten that super smelly stinky tofu, and it was actually really good… However, it couldn’t even be compared to the smell and taste of this thing in front of them. She hesitated to go forwards. CloudDragon and SpyingBlade walked up together, and calmly had a bowl each. While eating, CloudDragon quickly sat in his crossed legged meditating pose, in order to maintain his image, however, he was still twitching all over. As for SpyingBlade, he directly passed out on his face, as if prostrate in admiration of the food… Before eating, the others resisted the stink and had their trusted aides form an encirclement, so that no one could see their sorry figures. These aides all rejoiced that they only had to eat the lower quality version… Mar watched the player’s activity, and then covered his nose. “My god, what are they doing over there. This smell, so strong…” “I think I saw the white haired warrior use the skeletal demon head and slime gel in his cooking. I wasn’t paying attention so didn’t see the rest, but there might have been some ghost residue and stink shroom…” The tall Kunsa said as he blew the foul air towards the players. Mar sighed in relief when the smell disappeared, then his expression became strange. He never would have imagined that the smell of boiled skeletal demon’s bones with a stink shroom and slime gel would be so explosively disgusting. That cooking was something that defied nature. A couple minutes later, everyone woke up one after the other, however, there was one of them who never got back up, namely WillowDream. Ye Cang kept a straight face, trying to hide his smile. “Little Tian, resurrect her so that she can eat it again…” “Yeah, yeah…” Lin Le crossed his arms and nodded. “Teehee~ okies…” Little Ye Tian said, making a girly giggle and said cutely. LordGrinned, ColdFront, and the others all raised their brows. These guys were too vile. However… for some strange reason, thinking that WillowDream would have to eat it again made them feel a bit better… NalanMoon looked at Ye Cang’s smile, and shivered. This guy definitely said the same thing that time! WillowDream was resurrected by Little Ye Tian and slowly woke up. She looked at Ye Cang’s concerned smile as he said to her, “New friend, don’t worry. We have someone with a resurrection skill, so you can eat without concern. There’s still plenty more.” NalanMoon looked at that concerned smiled. F**k! That’s the exact same expression! I woke up to the exact same thing!! Just how evil is this guy! She looked at WillowDream’s shocked expression. However, seeing this b***h like this feels so good~~! “Humph~ You afraid?” CloudDragon said, figuratively holding a knife at her back. NalanMoon also suffered because of those words. She clenched her teeth, holding back her anger. She was now an observer, but had first hand experience. She looked at CloudDragon differently. This guy… He’s also a super evil person in a different way… BlackIce was thoroughly convinced now. Not of their fighting strength, but their evil nature. She watched as WillowDream downed another bowl, and collapsed, twitching… Sigh~ Previous       Main menu       Next Click to Post