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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 3 years ago

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Guardian angel?

***Reader Request***

Note: This request struck me in such a way that I wanted to really give it the old college try for them. Please, I hope that whoever you are, my anonymous friend, that you please begin to write! You have such a creative mind to have come up with this lovely, unique, and thoughtful prompt! Even if you just write a paragraph to get your feet wet, I’d be so happy to know that you did it! And please, if you haven’t already, feel free to send this prompt to other blogs that write TWD fanfiction, too! It may help you with your creative process, or it might simply help you feel joy to escape for a while inside more, and better, and different versions of it!

Perspective - 2nd person reader and 3rd person Daryl **the switches in perspective sometimes imply a time jump**

When - Quarry, pre-Rick

Relationships - Confused and protective Daryl x (therapist!) reader

Genre - pretty fluffy, but be mindful of the TWs

TWs - language, season 1 Merle doing his sexual harassment thing, and discussion and plot involving some mental health concerns

Word count - I ain’t gotta tell y’all nothing

Pronouns - she/her

You

“...Thank you for listening, sweety,” she whispers. The poor woman looks embarrassed. “I don’t know why I told you those things, it was silly of me – ”

“Why do you think that, Carol?” you cut in gently. “That you needing to get something off your chest and feel supported for a while is silly?”

She doesn’t answer anything at first. She just looks down at her hands and starts to absent-mindedly pick at her fingernails. “There’s no point to it, though, is there?” If her voice was telling the truth, she was near tears.

Gently again, you offer that “Maybe the point is that you simply needed to say something. And that’s a very big step, even if it seems small.”

Carol sniffs, then pecks a little kiss on your forehead before saying she needed to get back to ironing. “You know, I’m grateful that I’ve gotten to know you here. What you do for everyone makes life feel more bearable.”

“Same goes for you.”

She now shakes her head and waves it off in shame, saying that “I take care of the clothes and help cook when I’m not helping my girl get ahead on the homework she’ll never have to turn in.”

“Keeping clothing clean, fresh, and mended is important. It keeps us healthy and gives us a sense of normalcy. Cooking is necessary because eating is necessary,” you remind her with a wry grin. “And as for Sophia’s schoolwork, she needs that little anchor to how things were and that distraction that doing homework provides. And even if the world doesn’t improve soon, you don’t know when those things she’s learning will benefit her.”

At first Carol gets quiet again.“You know what?” she suddenly says.

“What?” Should you be worried? You wouldn’t think so coming from Carol, but...

“Ed has been hoarding some snacks in the glove compartment.” Then a look of peace spreads about her face and she smiles shyly. “Do you prefer oatmeal crème pies or cosmic brownies better?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re right. One of each, then,” she winks.

And before you can protest and remind her (again) that payment is not and never will be required, she holds up a hand, and with a good-humored shrug jokes that “I’d write you a check or wrangle up some cash for this therapy session, but I’m not sure the banks are open today.”

In all truth, you were happy to do it. Especially for someone in her situation.

And yes, one could argue that money was useless these days anyways, but so were the many other things that made money essential (even if that came with both good and bad). But you weren’t about to be calling in favors everywhere you’d tried to do good by offering your services. Everyone at the camp worked together to pull their weight, and this was your way of doing so.

Besides, the quarry camp has far fewer clientele than you used work with before the outbreak. You didn’t even mind having your work cut out for you due to the state of the world; it was your calling. The aspects of your personality that enabled therapy and psychology to come more naturally to you, you had augmented and worked hard to improve with your schooling and training. It gave you a sense of purpose and fulfillment, especially when you could see others growing and healing.

Looking at it objectively, you could also acknowledge without shame that you’d also entered into psychology because wanted to further understand some issues that you had of your own.

You’d always felt tranquil and at ease when you were helping others, yes, and that was a blessing. But every so often, you yourself suffered from panic attacks, nightmares, and night terrors. Those three also fed into each other, as is understandable when considering the nature of anxiety.

We all have something that we’re working on, or our loads to bear, do we not? Simply put, that was yours. It was something that you managed as best you could, for which you always were sure to pray, and for which you had been getting your own professional help before the outbreak.

One of the best ways you had discovered to manage symptoms was through swimming, actually. It was relaxing, and yet you could easily turn it into a workout and properly stress your body out in a controlled, healthy way. The stimulation from the water was enough to center you and ground you, but not too much to overstimulate and further induce upset. And this combined with the weightless sensation offered by swimming was able to ease your panic like nothing else.

And now, since the 24 hour gym with a pool was indefinitely closed, you swam the quarry. You then found that even the very natural, subconscious idea that there could be something in the water somehow aided you in relaxing. Maybe it was just the right amount of an adrenaline rush, perhaps? Especially considering that the quarry had no natural aquatic life, only those few species of fish added for fishing purposes and possibly from flooding in the area.

The human mind is fascinating, isn’t it?

The only catch was that your swims took place at night. Yes, you know, you know it is a risk. Maybe that was an irrational part of yourself, but you allowed it. And considering the perfectly smooth nature of the water, completely void of currents or waves, and that it was a relatively small body of water (even if fairly deep in parts), you accepted the risk and acted smart about it.

Plus, the moonlight and starlight were just as helpful to calming yourself when you’d had an attack. Moonlight was gentler where the sun could be harsh, and don’t even get started on the starlight. You’d never seen so many stars in your whole life! Without light pollution, the night sky was...indescribable. Words can’t do it justice. You could probably spend hours floating on your back just staring up into it.

Tonight you were scheduled for a swim. You practiced a regular routine, which is so important, and would go on extras as needed. And if today’s clear skies had anything to tell you about it, the visibility tonight for stargazing was gonna be out of this world. You couldn’t wait!

Daryl

Sure enough, he heard her get up in the middle of the night again. And sure enough, it was to the damn quarry lake again.

The first time it happened, that he saw her taking a night swim, he nearly yelped like a scared little puppy. The first thing that crossed his mind was that it was a chupacabra swimming for some reason (they were real, dammit), the second was that it was some kind of lake monster or maybe a seal lion or whatever (hey, dead people were walking around and eating the living like a damn horror movie, so why would a sea lion this far inland be too crazy?). The third was that it was a... a mermaid (and nah, no way in hell was he gonna admit that. Plus, he then saw that she had legs...).

And he didn’t want to shout out or nothing since she seemed like she was enjoying herself, so he kept quiet.

But he wondered what in the hell she was doing, swimming alone in the quarry in the dead of night. Crazy woman.

So he then...whatever, just sort of waited around to make sure she got out okay. Didn’t want anyone to have to wake up to a floating corpse.

Then the next time, courtesy of his being a damned light sleeper, he figured out what she was doing down there. He’d been awoken by a gasp, and then heard panting. Obviously, he froze and stopped breathing for a second, embarrassed as hell thinking that he’d overheard something sexual going on (or technically finishing up, he reckoned).

But then he heard a zipping noise belonging to a tent, and next the sound of footsteps heading away, towards the path leading to the quarry instead of towards another tent. And the panting hadn’t stopped, but instead sounded like it was coming from the same person who was walking away, with no other noises other than the cicadas and frogs and crickets. No other voices, no nothing, so he concluded that the person was alone and most likely had been alone.

So, he crawled out of his tent to check it out. Merle was out like a light, so he wasn’t worried about waking him.

Looking down the path, he’d recognized her by the way that she walked. “The little camp shrink,” Merle had nicknamed her. Dunno, she seemed okay enough. Most of the people here seemed to love her, that’s for sure.

So long as she was pulling her weight, he didn’t care. Anyways, he was pretty sure that Merle was still fixing to rob everyone eventually, so them having a shrink would probably be a good thing for after whenever they did that.

That idea still didn’t sit good with him, robbing these guys blind. He kinda, well...the camp seemed okay, is all. Had some decent people in it. And there were kids, c’mon like – stealing from kids was shitty!

Whatever, fuck it. What he thought didn’t matter, it’s about what needed doing. Or something like that. Right?

Anyways, right then he just wanted to know what in the hell was that woman doing at that hour. He half wondered if she was gonna go swimming again. And alone! Crazy woman, damn near acting like geek bait to wander around like that, and acting like ordinary bad luck bait to go swimming in the middle of the night!

So quietly, he followed her, and watched her sit by the water for a few minutes, almost like she was meditating or something.

Then she (shit, look away, Daryl, you ain’t a creep) took off her sleep pants and (c’mon, don’t) waded into the water in her tank top and underwear and (oh, for cyin’ out loud, woman) started swimming.

Guess it wasn’t a one-off thing. So he...stayed. Just to make sure she made it back in one piece. Crazy woman.

You

Lori was struggling over her dead husband and her new feelings with Shane. It was only natural to be confused, even if that fact didn’t lessen the pain. She’d been having marital problems with her husband, Rick was his name, and recognized how poorly she’d begun treating him. She’d even signed up for counseling to help her with those issues, actually, and was going to invite Rick for couples counseling to aid in that. Then he was shot and in a coma. And then he died.

Shane was struggling over the same. He was less open to sharing, as men tend to be, but he felt very conflicted by falling so hard for his dead friend’s (practically brother’s) widow, and so soon after his death. Granted, when someone is in a coma, it’s all relative; loved ones react with both grieving as if the person is already dead and with an assurance that the person will pull through. It was even more confusing for Shane since he’d immediately assumed a fatherly role over that little cutie, Carl. But the high stakes nature of the world these days offered a sort of catalystic agent to relationships of all kinds, be it romantic, platonic, familial. To fall hard and fast was a result of that, so certainly you understood Lori and Shane’s entanglement occurring, especially after they’d been close friends for so long.

Jacqui was struggling with the desire to go on, simply put. That troubled you the most since it was the highest risk. In the times that followed the outbreak, many people had acted to end their own lives rather than keep living in such a terrifying, scary, hopeless-seeming new world. But Jacqui was strong, and that she had reached out was a good sign. She was seeking help, and it gladdened you. And maybe it was a conflict of interest, but she also reminded you of your mother. You’d had more than one nightmare featuring Jacqui in recent weeks.

Andrea would discuss her guilt over not being around for a good deal of her little sister’s life. It was very understandable that they hadn’t been overly close given their age difference, and due to familial reasons. And now all of her fears and desires centered around protecting her little sister.

Theodore – he usually went by T-Dog, but when you two were talking, he asked to be called by his given name – was more open to sharing. He knew that he needed to let go of the worry about the elderly that he’d dropped off at the refugee center, and prayed daily about it, but knew that he needed extra help with accepting that he ultimately would not know what happened, and that he held no control over whatever did happen. He and you also discussed the mistreatment that Merle, another resident of the camp, often slung at him. Racism is such an insidious, monstrous thing.

If only Merle was open to growth and change. Or his younger brother. Those two had grown in a very unhealthy environment, no doubts there. But you had hope and trust that even they would change their tune. All it takes is for someone to realize that it’s okay to open up.

And Jim’s sporadic, little confessions about what had happened to his family were horrifying. The poor man. A lot of camp residents had horrifying stories, and all trauma is trauma, but you had to actively control your shudder when he whispered that the dead people had ripped his family, quite literally ripped them, from his arms.

Which lead you to tonight’s nightmare of Jacqui sacrificing herself and getting ripped from your arms and eaten alive while you were left untouched, even while surrounded by those things. You awoke feeling like you were being choked, then realized that you were experiencing sleep paralysis.

Finally, you were able to wake yourself up fully and were shaking so hard and hyperventilating so strongly that your extremities were numbing and your stomach felt cold and tingly due to the excess oxygen coursing through your bloodstream. You managed to grab your canteen and unzip your tent, wave to Dale on guard duty atop his RV, and stumble your way down to the lake as you practiced your grounding techniques and worked on controlling your breathing.

Daryl

She seemed to have a routine of it, so it ended up becoming his routine, too. He felt like an idiot for doing it – what, was he her guardian angel or something? And yet, he kept at it for over a month.

He just wanted to make sure she didn’t drown, okay? Plus the night sky was damned insane these days, all those stars and shit. And she looked sort of, dunno, nice out there when she swam. It was the way that she floated and looked up at the stars that did it. It made him feel like he could...breathe better, if that made sense?

And the old man had casually mentioned it today, actually. Daryl thought he was gonna get chewed out by him for thinking he was a creep, but Dale had just explained that it was simply something that Y/N needed to do to manage (manage what?), and that he was glad that someone else was keeping watch so that he didn’t have to keep leaving his post and climbing down off the RV to make his way down the hill and keep watch on her.

Dale also had the honest balls to admit “I was initially worried, to tell you the truth, that you may have begun following her to do something inappropriate. But whenever I checked, you were merely leaning against that tree with your arms crossed or sitting down on that rock as if you were in a waiting room.”

Maybe it was because he felt somewhat exposed that he snapped back “Somebody’s gotta make sure that bitch don’t drown.”

“Now Daryl, I know that you have a good heart; please refrain from using such a contentious word to refer to women.”

You

Tonight was a really bad one. Really bad. You had to keep at your grounding techniques and breathing exercises for far longer than usual. You’d even started to cry, but couldn’t even catch your breath long enough for your sobs to make noises. It felt like a heart attack this time, like you were dying. That hadn’t happened in a long time. It was really, really, fucking bad.

By the time you’d finally calmed down enough to regain feeling in your fingers and stop trembling, you were far too tired to swim. You trudged back up the hill and crashed in your tent without even zipping it up behind you.

Daryl

Well shit. Whatever happened to her tonight was bad as fuck. He was fairly certain it must’ve been nightmares, but like, shit. He’d never had a nightmare where he’d reacted like that. And he’d never seen her lose her cool like that. Shit, man.

Also, she forgot to zip up her tent, so he carefully tiptoed over and did that for her. Who wants to get eaten alive by mosquitos? No one.

Then he noticed Dale waving at him to come over up onto the RV.

“Everything all right, young man? What happened?” he questioned, his brows drawn close.

“Hell if I know. She didn’t even swim, she just seemed to be having a damn meltdown or somethin’.”

“The poor dear,” Dale sighed sadly. Then he patted Daryl’s shoulder and said “It’s very good of you to keep watch over her, son. Very good of you.”

You

It finally happened. You’d had a night terror and woke the whole camp. You played it off as saying there was a very big critter sneaking around your tent that had caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure which you preferred, the nightmares, where you would often remember them but could also consider them after the fact and try to understand them, or the night terrors, that you could barely ever remember but from which you awoke screaming.

You would’ve gone for a swim once the camp was back asleep, but you thought it best to stay in your tent and not risk waking anyone again, considering everyone would be on edge.

Daryl

“Annoyin’ ass bitch, screaming over a raccoon or some shit,” Merle slurred, still half-asleep, half-drunk, or both.

“Just go back to sleep, man, ain’t no big deal.”

“Why your panties in a bunch, little sister?”

“G’night, Merle.”

You

Carol and Jacqui made you coffee the morning after the night terror. “It’s a very refined combination of certified instant dark brew with genuine, powdered non-dairy creamer,” Carol shyly joked.

With a grin and a coy purse of her lips, Jacqui added “And some hot cocoa mix for a nice little somethin’ extra, baby.”

Also, after that morning the camp had cleaned up and took extra precautions to contain their food supplies to limit the amount of critters that might come sniffing about.

And then, you had four nights of peace after that night terror! You still kept your routine of swimming laps and doing centering exercises, but Lord how much better you felt getting some regular, undisturbed rest.

Glenn spoke to you about his family in Michigan and how he felt like he was a bad son for having lived so far from them. Then you two discussed ways to calm oneself and stay centered and focused while out on a supply run.

Amy spoke to you about a similar concern, that of her parents in Florida, and how she couldn’t stop wondering if they had somehow survived, too.

Miranda and her husband both spoke to you separately, each worrying about protecting their children and keeping each other safe, and what do if they, God forbid, lost one another or either of the kids.

And Dale spoke to you, too, but not about himself; about you. He’d noticed your late-night excursions but hadn’t wanted to cause you to feel self-conscious by bringing them up until now.

He then notified you that he would be there if you ever needed to talk yourself, and to of course be careful when you swam so as to not overexert yourself, even if you had “an extra guardian angel” watching over you. You hadn’t expected him to say something to that regard and it surprised you, but you found it very sweet.

Daryl

He was pretty sure he’d narrowed it down whatever was up with her to some nervous issue that gave her those nightmares, but at least she seemed to be having a better time with it this week. She still did those damn night swims, but he didn’t mind.

Okay, he minded a little because he was starting to get damned tired this week in particular, but it wasn’t so bad. He got to see the night sky looking all pretty and shit, and he got to see her floating in the water and gazing up at it, too, just as mesmerized.

He sure was glad that Merle wasn’t in his head or he’d call him a pussy for thinking girly stuff like that.

Whenever Merle asked where he was going if he caught him leaving, he would just grunt that he needed to take a dump and continue on his way.

You

Another nightmare. Another panic attack, though thankfully the attack itself was mild this time. Another walk down to the quarry while focusing on controlling your breathing and grounding yourself before you took off your clothes and slipped into the water.

You got winded after you’d done ten laps, so flipped onto your back to look at the stars. You decided that once you saw three shooting stars or until you yawned, whichever came first, you’d call it quits and head back.

Daryl

She was floating, and that usually meant that she was almost done with her swim. And good, ’cause he was extra tired tonight. Like, so damned sleepy. He kept doing that trap-pinch thing to keep himself from drifting off.

He wished that he could light up a cigarette to help him stay awake, but then she’d smell it and maybe see the flame or the burning end glowing in the dark and would freak and think he was creeping on her.

Whoa, shit, he just nodded off again. Okay, okay, she was still fine, still floating and moving her arms. But she was in an entirely different spot than she’d been before, which meant that he was out cold for at least a minute.

Dammit, Dixon, wake your lazy ass up and quit falling asleep like a damn baby. Drowsy dumbass.

You

“Well ain’t that the prettiest thing I done seen in a while.”

You froze, still ankle-deep in the water. God help you, you wished you were closer to your towel and clothes. And how had you not noticed him coming down the hill?

Well, you hadn’t been looking for anyone, duh. No one but Dale had ever caught you, and you’d been at this for a month and a half! Calm down, Y/N. Control your breaths. Use the panic to your advantage. You can hear better, see better, move faster, and you are physically stronger. Just control your breathing so you can feel better and think more rationally.

“If I’d’ve known this is what I’d find tonight, I would’ve had me a wash, sugar.”

“Merle. I don’t want you looking at me. Turn around so that I may put the rest of my clothing back on,” you told him, your voice somehow calm and clear.

“You ain’t my usual type, but those curves are delicious and you got a real pretty face. Ain’t harming no one by just lookin’ and appreciating, am I princess?”

“You are. It’s causing me distress, which is harmful even if not physically so. Turn around, Merle.”

“All right, all right,” he relented, and did indeed spin around. “But you should know that even without reaching down and rubbin’ it, I am so damned hard for you right now.”

“That you are feeling aroused is unwanted knowledge and I feel unsafe hearing you discuss it. Stop.”

“You sound tense, girl. A quickie could just what you need to chill a bit. You’re a shrink, so you know how it is. Say the word and I’ll get on my knees and eat –”

“Stop talking and go back up the hill. Now.”

“Just sayin’ it could be fun,” he whined, hands raised. “We could wake the camp together screamin’ this time for much more fun reason than gettin’ spooked by some little critter.”

“I will wake them up right now if you don’t back off!” you growled at him.

“Merle!” another voice suddenly shouted from the trees. “Get your ugly ass on out of here!”

Daryl

He’d fallen asleep? He’d actually fallen so asleep that he’d missed that his damned brother has showed up? Shit. Shit, shit, shit, what the fuck, man?

It was only when he’d heard her shout for someone to back off that he jolted back awake and saw what was happening.

Granted, he wasn’t sure what was happening, but he saw Merle (Merle!) standing at the shore and her standing a ways away, still ankle-deep in the water, and drew conclusions about the rest.

He may have been stupid, but not that stupid; he knew what his brother could be like. He didn’t think that Merle would go so far as to try anything, but he could still say some pretty nasty shit. Seemed to get off on it.

Cue Daryl to bark at for him to “Get your ugly ass on out of here!”

“There he is! So is this where you been sneakin’ off to, sly devil? Play with yourself while this fine little mama swims around?”

“I weren’t doing none of that shit, nasty bastard, now get out of here!”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” he sneered, rolling his eyes. “Even though you’re still a sweet little virgin, ain’t ya?” he added, low enough that probably only Daryl could hear. Merle then smirked and turned around, arms up in surrender. But not before he made sure to say “But hey, I would’ve been gentle with her.” A glance back at her with that shit-eating grin. “’Til you begged me to give it to you harder, ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

Daryl had no idea why he was ready to curb stomp his brother’s cracker ass but holy shit, he was.

He watched as Merle made it up to the top before finally finding the wherewithal to say something to Y/N.

“He’s an asshole. M’sorry,” he mumbled to her.

You

Inhale through your nose for five seconds, exhale through your mouth for five seconds. Feel the water as it moves around your ankles. Smooth and cool. Feel the rocks and pebbles and sand underneath your feet. Rough, hard, and grainy. Hear the insects buzzing and chirping. Feel the breeze gently flowing. Smell the wet earth scent tickling your nose. Inhale for five, exhale for five...

“He’s an asshole. M’sorry,” Daryl mumbled to you, interrupting your centering exercise.

Your voice is unsteady as you reply “You aren’t at fault for his actions, Daryl, remember that.” Inhale. Exhale. “Thank you for convincing him to leave.”

“You okay?” he asks.

“I’m not okay right now, but I will be soon,” you answer truthfully. You look up to see him facing away from you. That was unexpected, but very welcome.

“Here, um, lemme, um,” and he cautiously sidestepped towards your pile of clothes and your towel, picked them up, and sidestepped a little closer, arm extended. You grabbed the clothing and he immediately took a few steps away.

And he still hadn’t glanced in your direction even once. For that, you were grateful. You would have felt exposed and vulnerable even if you weren’t only wearing a sports bra and undies.

“Your brother alluded to you coming out here multiple times,” you spoke, toweling off and throwing back on your pajamas as fast as you could.

“I wasn’t doin’ nothing dirty, I just wanted to make sure – well, the first time it was an accident...” he trailed off.

“Why did you continue, Daryl?”

“You were swimmin’ alone. at night, in the dark. That’s risky.”

“That doesn’t quite answer my question.” You were using your professional voice, gently and calmly asking questions in an attempt to elicit an honest answer. “Why did you continue?”

“...Didn’t want you to drown. And you s-sometimes seemed all panicked and shit, and – I dunno, m’sorry, alright? Geez,” and with that, he started to scurry away back up the hill with his tail between his legs.

Before you could call out for him to slow down, he stopped and turned around to ask again “Wait, you’re okay now or do you need me to stay?”

Daryl

Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Dumbass, idiot, asshole, Daryl!

‘Or do you need me to stay?’ Why in the hell would she want him to stay?

Sure yeah, he’d been worried and wanted to see if she was gonna pass out or some shit, but he wasn’t that stupid (you sure about that?) to think that she’d want any more of his help after finding out he’d been watching her swim all this time!

Damn it. He just didn’t want her to drown is all! How shitty would that be, to have someone as damned sweet and loved as she was to kick the bucket from something like that? He’d never forgive himself!

“Yes, please,” she answered him.

What?

“Having you stay for a few minutes and walk back with me would be very welcome, Daryl.”

What?

She did? It would?

“I have an anxiety disorder, and these swims are a good way to manage symptoms,” she explained, seemingly very at ease with the fact. Then she paused to do that breathing thing again. “It also aids in my recovery after a particularly bad attack or nightmare, or after a night terror, of course.” Next, she looked at him and smiled. “Please come back, I won’t bite.”

So he did, awkwardly, (why are you so damned awkward?) and he wondered why on earth she’d not want to pummel him in the gut and rip him a new one. Unless she was about to?

“Can I help, or...?” he nervously asked her.

“In all truth, yes. Please rub my hands? It’ll help get the sensation fully back faster.”

So he took her hands in his and did as she asked. Weird thing was it was almost as if her hands were...electric or some shit. In a good way.

“You seem worried, Daryl. What’s going through your mind?”

“A lot. What’s goin’ through yours?”

“A lot,” she chuckled, her breathing just about back to normal. “Mainly that you must be the ‘guardian angel’ Dale mentioned a few weeks ago.”

“He what?”

“He used to make sure I was okay when I had my swims. Tried to be discreet about it, but he’s isn’t the most spry sort,” she said with another smile, her body relaxing as she closed her eyes. When she did that, he felt...relaxed, too.

“Anyways, he mentioned that an ‘ extra guardian angel’ was looking out for me. He isn’t the most religious of people, so that struck me as unusual. But it makes sense now. He knows that you’ve been keeping watch, I presume?”

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered back. Damn, this bitch was – sorry! Damn, this woman was quick, he meant.

And kind. And nice to be around.

How had it taken him so long to figure that out?

You

“That’s also why I’m not angry with you, in case you were curious. If Dale trusts someone, so too will I. And everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

“M’sorry,” he mumbles again.

The poor man’s self-esteem was in the gutter, just look at him.

“I forgive you for whatever you think you’ve done wrong,” you offer. “But I would really like to thank you, Daryl, very much. For putting your own rest on hold to make sure that I was safe.”

You start to slowly walk up the hill now, and he trudges beside you. You peer at him and wonder if he might share, even if a little, if you tried. “Was it difficult to have to stand up to your older brother like that, or would you say that that’s a facet of your relationship – that you can call each other out when needed?”

He frowns slightly when he considers your question. “Merle’s...I dunno, Merle’s sort of...”

And you feel warmth in your very soul when he shyly starts to open up.

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brettsey-two-tts · 3 years ago

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Brettsey Drabbles: Burn

For date night, Matt insisted on staying in instead of going out for dinner. Sylvie had no complaints, especially after he asked her if she wanted him to make something.

The two spent an hour chopping carrots, potatoes, and onions, and preparing chunks of beef for one of Sylvie's newest favorites: Matt Casey's braised beef stew. After she washed the white rice and loaded it into the rice cooker, she started washing the green beans. After she tossed the beans in some olive oil and chopped garlic, she seasoned it with salt and pepper and threw the whole thing into a pan. She put the pan on the burner and started the flame. She was about to go search in her drawers for a turner until she felt his hands come around her and rest comfortably on her waist.

"I got it," he offered with a warm smile. Sylvie didn't want to argue so while he started cooking the green beans, she went in search of her wine glass.

She leaned against the dining table and took a few sips of her wine while she watched her boyfriend expertly toss the green beans.

After a few minutes, Matt put a lid on it and turned the burner down low to let it simmer, and then wiped his hands off on a nearby towel. He caught his girlfriend's watchful gaze and was all smiles as he was pulled in by her natural and effortless beauty.

She handed him her glass so he could take a sip. After one sip, he put the glass to the side and leaned in for a slow kiss. Their noses brushed and their lips hovered before grazing ever so slightly.

He finally closed the gap between them and smiled into their kiss as he heard her laugh. "Matt," she muttered. He dipped lower to capture her lips again, but this time, there was a little more urgency. "Matt," she repeated.

"Hm?" he hummed as he went in for another kiss. He leaned further into her and then lifted her up onto the dining table. A small moan left her as she felt him press himself between her legs.

"Don't let the green beans burn," she warned him with a slight gasp.

He replied between passionate kisses, "I won't."

Between urgency and arousal, she tugged at the sides of his blue sweater and pulled him even closer. Her sweet scent, the one he realized he couldn't go a day without, tickled the underside of his nose, and soon, his head swam in her as she invaded all of his senses. The friction and heat between them climbed higher as he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her flush against him. She pulled away for air and brushed her swollen lips against the spot below his ear.

He moved his lips to the corner of hers and then to her cheek, before finally trailing down her neck. He was a split second away from indulging all of his urges and taking her to the bedroom until they heard the unmistakable sound of a deep sizzle that could only be described as 'burning'.

They both opened their eyes at the sound and pulled back to stare at each other as if they were checking to make sure the other person heard it too.

And then the smoke detector went off.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep...

"Oh shit!" Matt swore as he rushed back to the stove. He lifted the pot lid and reeled back as he wafted through a small puff of smoke.

Sylvie watched Matt frantically turn off the burner, move the pan off the heat, and then survey the damage to see what could be salvaged. She couldn't help but laugh because it was definitely not the first time they got too wrapped up in each other and burnt something in the process.

#brettsey #sylvie brett #matt casey #chicago fire #brettsey-drabbles #these lovebirds never learn do they #oh if it wasn't obvious the word of the drabble is the theme of the drabble #or i guess what drabble immediately popped in my head when i saw the word #i hope that makes sense bc im about to sign off from work and i cant think straight lol

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silhouetteofacedar · 4 years ago

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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 6: The Slowest Cooker

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

It’s Friday, April 17th, and they’re eating lunch in the Hoover building’s cafeteria. They eat lunch together almost every day now, Mulder realizes. They’re practically joined at the hip.

Except in the fun way.

Today is different, though. Because today she invites him over for dinner.

Scully’s devouring a caesar salad, and Mulder’s heart is warmed by the evidence of her returning appetite. Five months ago, she was dying of cancer, and now she’s here stealing the occasional potato chip from the bag he got from the vending machine. He doesn’t mind; she could take his entire sandwich from him right now, and he’d happily watch her eat it.

“Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand as she chews. “My mother got me a crockpot for my birthday and I’m thinking of giving it a test drive.”

His heart leaps, and he wants to shout yes, but instead he asks “What about Mark?”

She gives him one of her patented Scully looks. “I’m allowed to have friends, Mulder. And I still owe you for going to the bar with me that one time, remember?” She takes another bite of salad. “Also, he’s working.”

“Ah,” Mulder says knowingly. “Sure; what’s on the menu?”

“Pork roast,” she replies. “My mom’s recipe. The leftovers make great pulled-pork sandwiches.”

“Anything you’d like me to bring?”

Scully shrugs. “Red wine would go nicely, but I’ll be testing you at the door to make sure you’re not Eddie Van Blundht,” she says dryly.

“You gonna check me for evidence of a tail, Scully?” he says in a low tone, leaning in so they’re not overheard.

“Keep that up and I’m rescinding my invite and keeping all the leftovers to myself,” she replies, picking a wilted bit of romaine out of her salad.

It’s not a date, he reminds himself. Just friends sharing dinner.

Regardless, he takes a shower and puts on one of his nicer sweaters before heading to her place.

He knocks on her door at 6:30 sharp, a bottle of Pinot Noir in hand. His palm is a little sweaty, and he grips the wine tightly to avoid dropping it.

“It’s open,” he hears her call out.

He opens the door and is hit by the savory aroma of meat and herbs. His mouth waters instantly. When he turns and sees her in the kitchen, it waters for a different reason entirely.

Scully’s reaching into the cupboard above the sink, her soft green sweater riding up to expose a ribbon of creamy skin. He wants to wrap his arms around her waist, kiss her neck, tell her to forget dinner because he’s got something else on his mind.

Instead he just says “Hey”.

“Hi,” she greets him, bringing down two salad plates and setting them on the table. “Do you want to hear the good news first or the bad?”

Mulder blinks. “Uh,” he says brilliantly. That goddamn little sweater-

“The good news is that I’ve had the crockpot running for about six hours, and nothing’s caught fire,” she says, leaning against the countertop.

He nods. “And the bad news is…”

“I started the roast at almost half noon,” Scully admits. “I had to go to the grocery store first and that took longer than expected. So the meat won’t be done until eight-thirty.”

“That’s fine,” Mulder says, hoping his stomach doesn’t rumble loudly enough for her to hear. “Oh, and I brought Pinot Noir,” he says, reading the label.

---

They eat the salad she prepared; it’s spinach and apple with vinaigrette, and Mulder has to admit it’s pretty tasty.

“You’re a good hostess, Scully,” Mulder says as she pours him a glass of Prosecco. “Maggie should be proud.”

“Please note the size of crockpot she gifted me,” Scully replies, gesturing to the slow-cooker on the counter. “She fully intends for me to feed a crowd, not just you. I have a long way to go.” She sits across from him and takes a sip of her wine. “But this is a start.”

“Can I make a confession?” he asks.

Scully nods.

“I… I don’t drink much wine. So I have no idea if the one I brought is any good. I told the store clerk I was having pork for dinner and he recommended that one,” Mulder says, cocking his head toward the bottle on the counter.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Scully assures him. “I’m not a wine snob by any means. I’m kind of surprised you’re not one, actually, considering your background.”

Mulder shrugs. “I don’t drink much, aside from the occasional beer. But this is good,” he says, lifting his glass.

———

The Prosecco is… very good.

“How long until the meat’s done?” Mulder asks, resting his head on his hand.

“Half hour,” Scully replies, downing the last sip of her wine. “I’m sorry, Mulder. Do you want some cheese and crackers to tide you over?”

“M’good,” he says lazily, stifling a burp. He’s feeling warm and soft inside, and the wine’s put him in a charitable mood. “How are things with Mark?”

“Things are good… things are fine,” Scully says, then sighs. “He’s… god, he’s so nice.”

“Nice is good, right?” Mulder asks, toying with his empty wine glass. “People like nice.”

Scully narrows her eyes at him. “Are you feeling okay, Mulder?”

“We’re not talking about me,” he says, slumping in his chair and stretching his long legs out under the table. “We’re talking about Mark. Mark Eidolanterns.”

“Einolander,” Scully corrects him. “And yes, nice is good, generally,” she continues. “But sometimes I wish he weren’t so nice. I don’t know,” she says, exhaling. “I need more wine if I’m going to talk about this,” she says with a huff of laughter.

“Hey, we got it,” Mulder says. “Dinner’s almost ready anyway. Let’s try the mystery Pinot I brought.”

---

The pot roast is done cooking and they’re definitely a little drunk.

“Whew… I’m feeling this,” Mulder says, holding the bottle up too close to his face as he attempts to read the label. “It’s been so long, I forgot that wine does this to me.”

“Higher alcohol content,” Scully says. “And you’re a lightweight.”

“That your medical opinion, Dr. Scully?” he asks.

“Yes,” she mumbles, slicing a piece off of the roast and dumping it unceremoniously onto his plate. “Tada,” she says, pushing it across the table to him. “Meat.”

“I can see that,” he remarks. He takes another sip of wine. “Wine’s good,” he assures her, even though she’s already on her second glass of the red.

“Can’t say the same for the roast,” she admits, chewing. “I skimped on the salt and in hindsight that was a bad idea.”

Mulder shovels a piece into his mouth. “Tastes good to me,” he assures her. “But I’ve only had wine and salad since lunchtime so at this point I’d eat anything. I’d eat you,” he adds, pointing his fork in her direction.

“Pass that idea along to Mark,” she sighs, then covers her mouth. “I didn’t say that,” she says, face red.

“You did,” Mulder crows, too tipsy to feel jealous. “You did and I heard you.” He takes another draw from his glass. “The store guy was right, this is good with pork.”

“You’re going to have an incredible hangover tomorrow,” Scully says, chewing meditatively. “Wine’s a bitch.”

“You should swear more,” Mulder says. “It’s endearing.”

Scully shakes her head. “I can’t believe how drunk you are,” she says, almost fondly.

“I’m not that drunk,” he insists. Just in love with you.

Scully smiles. “No sober man has ever said that.”

---

“There’s no spark,” she blurts out.

They’d taken the rest of of the wine to the couch and are slumped on opposite ends, goblets in hand.

“No spark?” Mulder echoes. It was an admission he wasn’t expecting. He angles his body towards hers, careful not to spill his glass.

“With Mark. I like him, I really do. He’s kind, intelligent, a devoted father, and quite attractive; and yet…” She gestures loosely to her body with the hand not holding her wine. “Nothing.” She takes another sip. “I can’t shake the idea that I should be feeling more. And the fact that he hasn’t kissed me yet... I understand wanting to move slowly and let things grow with time, but not even a single kiss?”

“Th-that did strike me as odd,” Mulder stumbles. “You have nice lips.”

“I do,” Scully agrees, seemingly unfazed by the comment. “I should be kissed.” She drains her glass and holds it out to him.

Mulder pours out the last of the bottle into her glass. “Maybe if… maybe if you kissed, you’d find the spark.”

Scully shakes her head. “No. No, it does’t work that way. At least not for me. I don’t want to force chemistry that’s not there,” she explains. “It should come naturally, feel like it does with-”

Mulder waits expectantly for her to finish her sentence. “With?” he prompts.

Her face is flushed with wine, and she licks her lips. “Mulder, tell me honestly; do you think I’m settling?”

The room suddenly feels too warm, and he takes a nervous gulp of wine that does nothing to calm his body. “Scully, I- I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“You’re my closest friend,” she says softly, eyes cast downward. “Who else would I ask?”

She has a point. “Your mother-” he begins.

“She set me up with him in the first place,” Scully reminds him. “Clearly she’d be no help.”

“What do you want, Scully? If you’re honest with yourself.” He raises his glass. “In vino veritas, or whatever,” he says, taking another drink.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I always do this. I find a man I want to impress or gain the approval of, then resent the authority I let them have over me. This cycle of… of compliance and defiance is exhausting.”

He can tell she’s tipsy, and yet at the same time she’s strangely lucid. He’s never gotten to experience this particular kind of vulnerability with her before, and it gives him a thrill. He can feel the warmth of her body permeating him from across the sofa, her bright hair like a wood stove fire on a winter night. He wants to wrap her entire body around him like a blanket and have a long sleep.

“Yup, I’m drunk,” he declares, and throws back the last of his glass.

#my fic #txf fic #xfiles #msr #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #DRUNK AGENTS WITH POT ROAST #i don't drink so i did a lot of research for this okay like a LOT #the next two chapters are gonna be WILD aaa

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docholligay · 3 years ago

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Passover Seder for 15--This is How I Jew It (No, I will not apologize)

So, I am the Jew in Charge of Seder every year, not only in cooking the damn meal, but in leading it, which means I, as a practical matter, can’t be away too much. So, I do a meal for between 10-15, with stepping away for about 2-30 minutes. If I moved less quickly in the kitchen, it would probably be 40-50 minutes, but I am a creature of the kitchen and it’s no big deal.

The name of the game is: PRE-PREP. I have two ovens, but I put this together like a human being that does not, to show you how easily it can be done.

You need:

An oven

An electric roaster (I have no fucking clue what this is called in the UK. It’s this thing. I have one from when I did Tday with one oven, but I imagine you could sub a slow cooker if you had a smaller crowd.)

A large slow cooker

A sheet pan

A roasting pan

So, if you’re interested, in the New Year, closer to Passover, I can give you the actual recipes, but here is, from a timing standpoint, how I do things.

Meat: Prime Rib, which is BELLIIIEVVVEE is call Rib of Beef in Ye Ol’ Ingleterra, but I’m not 100%. Prime grade rib, here, is in the neighborhood of 20 bucks a pound. I do in fact ask my guests if they’d like to chip in, but I certainly don’t require it--Passover is our most expensive holiday and we make a huge deal of it in the way a lot of goyim do Christmas, food expense wise. I get a 15 pound roast. I go about a pound a person. I have never done a vegetarian seder, I don’t have vegetarians I’m close to, it’s just not common here even among the ~community~. I suppose I would do a slowroasted stuffed pumpkin or something--I find vegetarian centerpieces sometimes want for something.

Sides: Potatoes cooked in beef broth and spices, Honey dill carrots, brussels sprouts with duck bacon and mustard sauce. Passover is the one holiday where I make an honest to god, no dairy on the table, kosher style meal. So no mashed potatoes or anything like that.

Dessert: These are made the day before, no exceptions at all. Do not try to steal the time day of: Macaroons, Tarta De Santiago, flourless chocolate cookies.

So, how I do this. This is going to change based on how long you take to lead the seder. You have to know your own timing to adjust the timing of the meal.

Night before: unwrap your roast and let it dry in the fridge. Makes it cook better, makes the seasoning stick.

Morning of: Put your roast out and let it get to room temp. THIS IS ESSENTIAL for calculating the cooking time correctly. Should take 3-4 hours. Season it when you take it out of the fridge to let it get working, and season HEAVILY. THis is a big piece of meat.

Cut up your potatoes, toss them in a bowl, cover and put in the fridge. Same with brussels sprouts. I use baby carrots because I’m a lazy piece of shit so I don’t have to prep them.

DEPENDING ON ANTICIPATED MEAL TIME: Preheat your oven to 500 degrees F/260C yes you heard me correctly. I am the angel made of eyes and wings in front of you booming BE NOT AFRAID. So how you calculate the cook time is 5 min per poud, so yes, for a roast of my size that is 75 goddamn minutes at 500 and then TURN OFF THE OVEN AND DO NOT OPEN IT FOR TWO HOURS. DO NOT.

3 hours before meal time: throw carrots in the slow cooker with honey dill shit and cook on low (for my slow cooker, ymmv, try this one before your seder so you know)

2 hours before meal time: throw potatoes and beef broth, brown ale, and seasoning in your roaster. Turn onto 325 or so. This is also when I usually make the duck fat and mustard sauce and leave it sitting out.

Sit down and have your seder! When your two hours for the meat is up, get up, take it out of your oven, and turn your oven up to 425. Toss the brussels sprouts on a pan, and cook for 18 minutes or so. Heat up the sauce while you’re doing that, cut your meat. Toss the potatoes and carrots into serving dishes. Get it to the table. By the time you do that, brussels sprouts should be done, toss in warmed sauce, take to table.

Boom. Done. You’re a flawless Pesach angel.

#the holligay season

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missfangirll · 4 years ago

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Strawberries & Cigarettes

Fandom: Guardian Rating: General Relationship: Shen Wei / Zhao Yunlan Tags: Fluff, Kissing, Falling In Love, Pining, First Kiss, Established Relationship, 4+1 Things, Words: 3461 Summary: Four times strawberries (and cigarettes) remind Shen Wei of Zhao Yunlan, and one time he doesn't need reminding.

Read on AO3

I have had the title (this song) in my head for a while but couldn't find the plot for it. Also, it's really more of a 4 things fic, the last chapter is just crack, I'm sorry ^^ Maybe if I feel like it I'll write a proper +1, but for now that's all I can offer xD

- - - - -

One

It had been an especially draining day for Shen Wei, and he was once more grateful for his mask as he plopped down slightly less graceful than usual next to Kunlun at the campfire, stifling a sigh. The man shifted a little on his log to make room for Shen Wei, with such a natural ease that it made the other’s heart flutter, and wordlessly held a bowl in Shen Wei’s direction. As he didn't move to take it, Kunlun looked up and frowned. “You haven’t eaten anything today,” he said, sounding accusatory, and glared at the younger man, a challenge in his eyes. Shen Wei opened his mouth to answer with his usual evasive politeness when Kunlun added softly, “Let me take care of you, Shen Wei.” His heart stuttered and his breath caught. Having Kunlun’s tender affection directed so boldly at him always left him feeling warm and soft and he didn't have it in him to fight it.

Smiling softly, he took the bowl with a nod and started eating. He hadn't even noticed before how starved he really was, but filling his empty stomach did wonders for the chill in his bones and he felt more energetic than he had all day.

Kunlun watched him as he ate, smiling fondly, fiddling with a strand of hair that had escaped his braids. Shen Wei had to look away and focus on his stew in order to calm his jittery heart. After he had finished and leaned back to make himself more comfortable on the log, he took of his mask and hood, not able to suppress a faint smile. Kunlun always looked so happy, almost giddy when he did that, and he really liked the ever-changing expressions on the other’s face. Kunlun reached into his robes and fished out a small leather pouch that he shook in Shen Wei’s direction, a conspiratorial grin on his face. “I don’t have any more sweets,” he said, grinning, “but I got this,” he gave the pouch a shake, “from one of the cooks instead.” His smile widened. “She gave it to me when I told her I wanted to impress someone special.”

Shen Wei choked on air and had to hide his blazing face behind his sleeve. After he had overcome his coughing fit, he looked warily at the other, trying to gauge the expression on his face. But Kunlun’s smile hadn't changed, it still held the same fondness and warmth he always saw in it, so he took a deep breath and redirected his attention to the pouch the other still held between them.

“What is it?”

Kunlun grinned and held out a palm. “Give me your hand,” he asked and Shen Wei complied, still feeling a bit shy. Kunlun tipped the bag to drop the contents into his waiting hand and Shen Wei couldn’t suppress a smile at the sight of the small red orbs that tumbled out. Wild strawberries. Dried strawberries, probably collected some months before under a blazing summer sun, carefully prepared to conserve a tiny sliver of summer in the cold dark months.

Mirroring his smile, Kunlun put the now empty pouch away and nudged Shen Wei with a shoulder. “Eat,” he ordered, “I got them for you.”

Ignoring his red ears, Shen Wei shook his head slightly and held his palm closer to the other. “You have to try them first,” he said, “you like sweets.” The other gave him a look. “Ah, Shen Wei, you…” He trailed off, a cheeky grin slowly spreading over his face. “You know, you could feed me,” he continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Shen Wei had to violently smother another coughing fit. To mask his embarrassment, he took a handful of the small fruits and put them into his mouth. Tart sweetness spread over his tongue, visions of summer and warmth flooded his mind, along with a memory of the sweets Kunlun had shared with him all those weeks ago and suddenly he had to smother a completely different sound.

“They are really good,” he stated, slightly breathless, and with a fit of courage he didn't really understand himself, took one strawberry and held it in front of Kunlun’s mouth. The other stilled for a heartbeat, then his whole face lit up in a grin and he leaned forward to carefully take the fruit out of Shen Wei’s fingers with his lips, not breaking eye contact. Shen Wei tried to breathe evenly, his heart beating like a war drum in his rib cage, he could feel his blood sing in his ears and he was certain his face was a deep shade of red. In an attempt to hide his inner turmoil, he popped some more strawberries in his mouth and closed his eyes, enjoying the sweetness, trying to focus on something else. He heard Kunlun’s slight chuckle, felt the man’s warm thigh against his, the taste of the biting-sweet fruits on his tongue and knew he would be forever reminded of this night whenever he tasted strawberries.

Two

Shen Wei had just switched the rice cooker to ‘warming’ when he heard the apartment door open, then close, and someone stepping inside. He tracked the person’s way, listening as he toed off his shoes and kicked them into the corner behind the door, then shuffled over to the couch and plopped onto it heavily, face-down, heaving out a sigh. Without turning around to hide his smile, he asked, “Long day?”

Zhao Yunlan answered with a groan and pressed his face further into the sofa. At the movement, a cloud of unfamiliar scent wafted over to where Shen Wei stood behind the kitchen counter, heavy with cigarettes and… He turned to face the other with a raised eyebrow. Perfume. Cheap perfume with a fruity note. “What did you do?”, he inquired, trying to sound only moderately interested. It wasn't his place to become jealous over Zhao Yunlan, he reminded himself. Not yet.

The man in question didn't turn away from where he had his face smashed into the couch and Shen Wei could only vaguely understand what he said. “…observation… bar… late.” Another sigh. “...tired.”

“It seems that way,” Shen Wei remarked dryly, filling two bowls with the food he had been preparing, then walked over to the couch. He sat next to Zhao Yunlan’s legs and placed the bowls on the low coffee table. “Come, eat,” he said, “I made your favorite.”

The answer Zhao Yunlan mumbled into the cushions sounded suspiciously like a love confession, but Shen Wei stubbornly ignored his burning ears and hammering heart and focused on the food. He couldn’t let his foolish hopes get in the way of taking proper care of Zhao Yunlan.

With another groan Zhao Yunlan shifted into an upright position, his feet still on the couch, dangerously close to Shen Wei’s thighs. He reached for a bowl and made such a happy noise at the sight that Shen Wei had to close his eyes for a second. Stomping down on the fluttery feeling in his chest he took the other bowl and started eating.

They had done this a lot over the last few weeks, Zhao Yunlan seemingly never tired of praising his cooking, always making a remark what a good wife Shen Wei would make, which the latter never dignified with an answer, no matter how desperately his heart reached out to Zhao Yunlan.

After finishing his bowl Zhao Yunlan put it back on the coffee table and shifted on the sofa, tucking his feet under him so that he sat cross-legged. Shen Wei looked at him, considering. “Do you want more?”, he asked and moved to get up, only to be stopped by a warm hand on his thigh that had him suppress a shiver. “It’s alright,” he heard, and then, “Ah, Shen Wei, what would I do without you?”

He didn't answer and concentrated on emptying his bowl, then put it on the table. “I should clean the--” he began, but the grip on his thigh tightened and the other man shifted, leaning his head on Shen Wei’s shoulder. His heart skipped a beat, only to resume thundering in his chest and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Seemingly unaware of his state, Zhao Yunlan continued to snuggle closer, then paused, looking warily up at Shen Wei. “I should have showered, shouldn’t I? Do I smell very bad?”

Shen Wei had to fight the urge to bury his face into the other’s hair and breathe him in. He just shook his head, not trusting his voice. Zhao Yunlan smiled radiantly and leaned back into him. After a few heartbeats his breathing slowed and his head on Shen Wei’s shoulder grew heavier. Shen Wei didn't dare move as not to wake him and turned his head slightly. The scent he had noticed in the kitchen before was stronger now, almost overwhelming this close and Shen Wei breathed carefully, closing his eyes, savoring the moment. Zhao Yunlan smelled of cigarette smoke and beer, of air freshener and cheap perfume, and with a pang in his heart he recognized the smell. Strawberries. Helplessly happy about it and at the same time infinitely sad, he turned a bit further, holding his breath, slowly, carefully putting an arm around Zhao Yunlan. Resting his hand on the other’s hip he breathed the artificially sweet scent and closed his eyes, letting himself have this moment of peace and contentment, his love in his arms.

Three

Seven. Shen Wei had counted. Zhao Yunlan had gone through seven lollipops during their consultation, and Shen Wei was ready to snatch it from him and replace it with his tongue. It wasn't the fact that the man was eating candy like other people ate bread, he savored them. Not that there was anything wrong with savoring one’s food, not at all, but the way Zhao Yunlan savored his favorite sweets had Shen Wei close to a heart attack. He licked them with visible delight, his dark red tongue darting out, rolling them over his lips, his mouth closing slightly over the round candy, and Shen Wei had to breathe through his nose and stare at the crime scene photos in front of him in order to not do something desperate and foolish.

They had met in his apartment for a change, Shen Wei suspected this had happened because almost all surfaces in Zhao Yunlan’s flat were cluttered with some junk or other and there was simply more space to spread out the photos and files on his own coffee table, but that also meant he had no way to escape the other man’s dangerous presence. They sat on Shen Wei’s sofa, close enough to feel each other’s movements, and Shen Wei had spent the last two and a half hours trying not to notice how warm Zhao Yunlan felt next to his, even through the shirt. He had, obviously, failed spectacularly at this and now could only do damage control, which meant keeping his breathing as steady as possible and under no circumstances look up at Zhao Yunlan. Which he also failed at, as soon as he noticed Zhao Yunlan had stopped talking. Tentatively he looked up and was met with a stare that made his breath catch. Before he could say anything, the other had swooped up the photos and papers into a pile on the table and turned back to face him. “Let’s call it a night, Professor Shen.” He winked. “You look exhausted, and I think my brain can’t handle one more witness report.”

Shen Wei nodded hastily, glad to finally get some distance between them, but Zhao Yunlan seemed to have other ideas, because suddenly his arm was around Shen Wei’s shoulders. He had done that before, but never while sitting next to him, and Shen Wei’s heart stuttered at the sudden closeness.

“Professor Shen”, the other purred and Shen Wei had to swallow hard, “what would you like to do on this wonderful evening, now that we have so much free time.” Shen Wei almost expected him to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, but when he looked up, Zhao Yunlan’s face was serious. He swallowed again and looked down, not able to say anything safe that wouldn't betray his feelings.

Zhao Yunlan reached out a hand and for a heart-stopping moment Shen Wei thought he would cup his cheek, but instead he pushed a strain of hair behind Shen Wei’s ear, which resulted in a shiver Shen Wei couldn’t quite suppress. Zhao Yunlan looked at him with an unreadable look and inhaled deeply. “Look,” he said gently, “I don’t want to do something you don’t want, but…” He inhaled a second time and continued, “But you have been looking at me the whole evening as if… As if you…” He trailed off again and looked at Shen Wei, who found himself utterly unable to respond verbally. With a groan, he closed the distance between them and crashed their mouths together. He could feel Zhao Yunlan’s startled laugh, then plush lips opened for him and it felt like coming home.

Zhao Yunlan’s hand came up to his nape, weaving his fingers in his short hair, and he shuddered with the sensation. As their tongues met, he almost startled when he recognized the taste: strawberries. Artificial and much too sweet, but unmistakably strawberry flavor. Licking into Zhao Yunlan’s eager mouth, he tasted the lollipops and remembered how he had imagined tasting it on the other’s tongue, that night so long ago.

After a few heartbeats, he pulled away a fraction, still close enough to feel Zhao Yunlan’s breath on his lips, then, with a surge of renewed fervor he licked the other’s bottom lip, eliciting a low moan. Groaning, he wrapped an arm around Zhao Yunlan’s shoulders and deepened the kiss, savoring the other’s taste.

Four

The new house, Shen Wei mused, came with a whole lot of improvements for their lifestyle. The kitchen, for one, that now held enough space for a dining table where all of them could fit, and enough cupboards that working there felt sufficiently organised. Then Da Qing’s room, facing west as not to disturb the cat’s sleep in the morning and with a large enough window he could comfortably come and go as he pleased. (Zhao Yunlan had suggested a super-size cat flap for the front door which had Da Qing ignore him for a week.) Shen Wei also had his own office now, with a large desk directly in front of a window that took up the entire wall and enough shelves to store all his books – even the ones that he’d had stashed in his office at the university because his apartment couldn’t contain all of them, which had caused Zhao Yunlan to blink at him, looking first incredulous, then exasperated, then grudgingly accepting.

But the best thing, he thought, was the large garden. (Although, he knew, Zhao Yunlan would argue that the enormous bathroom was the best thing, since it now allowed them to shower together, and, well, but he very deliberately tried not to think about that right now.)

No, in his opinion, the garden was what made him fall in love with the house. Not just because it encompassed some giant walnut trees that appeared almost as old as Shen Wei, or because there was an ivy-covered canopy that held enough space to host dinner parties for the whole SID – he loved it because of the small vegetable garden Zhao Yunlan had planted in a sunny corner. It just held some rows of carrots, lettuce, and radishes, and Zhao Yunlan had even tried his hand at a few tomatoes (Shen Wei would never, not under threat of death admit to sending a bit of dark energy every now and then into the plants to make them sturdier), but it was the meaning behind it that always made his breath catch when he thought about it.

“I want to buy you a house, Shen Wei,” Zhao Yunlan had said, quite early in their relationship when Shen Wei still had to hold on to secrets and lies, and had looked at him with such a tenderness in his eyes that Shen Wei had taken to teasing him so that he wouldn't start crying. “A house,” he had said and tried to make it sound skeptical instead of yearning, “you just want me to cook for you all day and do your laundry.”

Zhao Yunlan’s gaze hadn't wavered as he nodded and answered, “Yeah, and I want to plant a garden where I grow vegetables for you.” He had fixed Shen Wei with a gentle, but still unrelenting gaze. “I want to give you everything, Shen Wei. You deserve it,” he had added and Shen Wei had had to calm his racing heart.

Now that Zhao Yunlan finally knew about the time loop, and their second first meeting, and their first second kiss, and everything in between, he had kept his word and bought Shen Wei a house and planted a garden. Some of the vegetables he grew there didn't even make it to the kitchen, falling prey, or rather snack to whoever was watering the garden, but more often Shen Wei included them in their meals, always to Zhao Yunlan’s unabashed joy.

Shen Wei smiled to himself and turned back to the pile of papers that needed grading, when he heard his office door open. He didn't have to turn to sense Zhao Yunlan, but something else caught his attention and he swung around. Zhao Yunlan stood in the doorway, grinning brightly, in his hand a small bowl with…Shen Wei inhaled through his nose, the faint scent striking in the clear evening air.

Strawberries. He raised an eyebrow at the other. Zhao Yunlan’s grin broadened. “Do you remember our first real meal together?” he asked excitedly, but then frowned. “I mean, in the past, so your first.. Eh, you know what I mean!” Grin back on his face, he continued. “We shared some wild strawberries, do you remember, and then I flirted with you and you blushed so furiously, holy shit, Shen Wei, I thought you would run away, but you stayed and…” He trailed off and inhaled as if to stop himself from rambling. “Anyway, I wanted to surprise you, to share strawberries with you again, but the variety we had then doesn't grow here anymore and the cultivated ones are a pain in the ass to grow, so…” He held the bowl out and shrugged, almost apologetic. “It’s not the same, I know, but maybe---”

Shen Wei didn't let him finish. In a smooth movement he was out of his chair and in front of Zhao Yunlan, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a scorching kiss. Zhao Yunlan almost dropped the bowl, then chuckled, leaning into him, wrapping his free arm around Shen Wei’s waist.

After a while Shen Wei pulled back, looking down at the bowl in the other’s hand, then back at his face. “I…,” he began, but couldn’t find anything to follow that. Instead, he took a strawberry and held it to Zhao Yunlan’s lips, smiling brightly. The other laughed and took the offered fruit, then took another one from the bowl and held it in front of Shen Wei. When he opened his lips, the sweetness that exploded on his tongue brought back so many memories that his knees almost buckled. It tasted of summer and sun and warmth and home, and of so much more, of memories, and of a life with Zhao Yunlan, that he had to close his eyes to fight back the tears. Wrapping both arms around Zhao Yunlan in a tight hug, he hid his face in the other’s shoulder, unable to express the gratitude he felt that all of it had turned out well, that they had earned their happy ending.

He turned his head slightly to press a kiss to Zhao Yunlan’s ear. “I love you.”

Plus One

“You… You bought what?!”

“Look, baby, if you’re feeling uncomfortable with this just tell me, okay? It’s no fun if you don’t have fun as well. I bought this because I thought you might like it, okay?”

“No… I… I mean…”

“Xiao Wei, I love you. There is no scenario, inside this bedroom or out of it, where I would try to force something onto you that you don’t want--”

“I didn't say that.”

“…Oh.”

“But, I mean…”

“So, you do want to try it.”

“Stop grinning like that. Yes, we can try. But if I don’t…”

“If you don’t like it, we’ll stop immediately, I swear. And now hold still.”

“...”

Zhao Yunlan grinned. He had hoped it would pay off to buy the strawberry-flavored lube.

#镇魂 guardian #guardian #zhèn hún #shen wei #zhao yunlan #weilan #my writing #fluff

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seiin-translations · 4 years ago

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2.43 S1 Chapter 4.3 - Drifting Yunichika

3. IN-AND-OUTER

Just continuing to wing all the volleyball jargon here cuz i have no idea what’s going on

Translation Notes

1. Don’t know if there are English equivalents for these terms, but the Japanese uses terms like 表レフト (omote-left) and 裏レフト (ura-left), where omote refers to the aces of the team, who are put in the front row for as long as possible, and the ura refers to the players diagonal to them

2. A broad attack is basically where the spiker approaches and jumps towards the net when they hit

3. Pipe in volleyball refers to a back row set aimed at the middle of the court

Previous || Index || Next

He had lied to Haijima about one thing.

Just before he entered the training camp, he received an email from Yorimichi for the first time in a long while. I’ll be back home in August, so let’s have some fun. Then call me when I don’t have practice. That was about all they exchanged back and forth, but he somehow failed to bring that up. Kuroba didn’t think that hanging out with Yorimichi was in itself a bad thing. He wasn’t going to go along with his smoking and drinking and riding double on a bike with no helmet like he used to. Even he had already learned to be sensible about that. He loved volleyball, his team was important to him, and he had self-awareness as a member of a sports team. …And yet, Haijima talked like he flat-out didn’t trust him.

Ah…geez, I’m feeling kinda gloomy.

“I’m getting a second helping of rice.”

When he stood with his empty bowl in one hand and a sullen look on his face, Uchimura, sitting across from him, looked disheartened.

“After eating so much meat yesterday, how can you eat again in the morning? I’m still not very hungry.”

“That stuff all got digested when I ran at night. Maybe you should have gone for a run too, Senpai?”

“I’ll have to decline, since I’m not so young anymore,” his senpai said like he was an old man, despite the fact he was only a year older than him.

The school cafeteria was usually open to students only at lunch time and only to faculty and staff in the morning, but during summer vacation, breakfast was prepared for club members using the boarding house. In addition, special meals were offered to members of the athletic clubs, which was much appreciated. The morning special for today was the combo of grilled fish and deep-fried chicken. The after-meal fruits were bananas and oranges. They were free to get second helpings of rice.

When he opened the lid of the six-litre gas rice cooker, the only remaining amount of rice was the rice grains sticking to the inside of the rice cooker.

“Ma’am, there’s no more rice!”

He hit the edge of the iron pot with the rice scoop and called out to the kitchen. “How much white rice can you all eat? There are students from other clubs coming for lunch, so please hold back a little.” A small old lady in an apron powerfully carried a stainless steel cauldron to replace the empty pot. White steam was rising from the pot where freshly cooked white rice was glittering.

When Kuroba left the rice cooker after piling a mountain of rice into his bowl, Okuma and Oda were lined up behind him looking like this was perfectly natural. Aren’t these two on their third bowls?

He returned to the table where Uchimura was, poured the natto over his rice and started eating his second bowl. Uchimura was also not lacking in appetite, and even though he was talking about something or other, he stored everything in his stomach without leaving a single grain of rice or a piece of vegetable on his plate, and he was about to peel an after-meal orange.

“I have no complaints about your stamina. But your mental strength though… Can’t you do something about it?”

“…I know that. You don’t have to tell me.”

“And? What happened to your partner with the mental strength of steel?”

“That’s how you’re comparing us…? Haijima’s still sleeping.”

Last night, he and Haijima were dragged out of the boarding house, and the two of them were made to do twenty dashes on the slope between the mountain and the school. In the darkness of night where there was only moonlight, they could only hear each other’s dying breaths as they dashed up the slope, pitching forward and almost falling, then staggering downhill, and repeat. Every drop of his urge to make merry with his school trip-like mood had been wrung out of him, and he fell asleep in an instant as soon as he collapsed onto his futon after he finally returned to the boarding house, where everyone was already completely asleep. As expected of Aoki-senpai, he had felt.

He woke up this morning feeling hungry as usual because he had recovered his strength after sleeping, but Haijima hadn’t recovered yet, and he was still lying flat on his futon as though he was dead. It’s not like one of our senpais came to keep an eye on us, and they wouldn’t have known if you had cut down on the number of dashes… He wasn’t that kind of flexible guy. When it came to volleyball, Haijima seemed to “not want to lose to anyone,” not just in practice, but also in preparation and cleaning, and he didn’t cut corners. Well, I think that part of him is pretty admirable, but he only has two hands, so there are times when you just gotta cut those corners.

“Haijima doesn’t have much stamina, right? I guess he’s not perfect.”

Uchimura tilted his head while tossing an orange into his mouth.

“That guy has plenty of flaws.”

When Kuroba answered sullenly, a plastic tray was placed on the table with a bang.

“O-Oh, Haijima. Good morning.”

Uchimura pulled himself away from the table, flinching slightly.

“…’Sup.”

With a sour expression like there was a sign reading “low blood pressure” pasted to it, Haijima pulled the chair next to Kuroba. His club activity switch still wasn’t flipped, so he was wearing his glasses, and his thin bangs were bouncing in a strange way due to his bed hair. When Kuroba somehow failed to speak up and kept silent, Haijima also kept silent towards him and began to bring his food to his mouth with his eyes mostly closed and a face that looked like he was about to throw up. He spiked with his left and right hands, but he basically used his left hand for holding pencils and chopsticks.

Kuroba, who had been wolfing down his second bowl of rice without a care in the world, slowed down his eating speed to match Haijima’s, thinking that it would look like he had an easier time even though they ran the same amount.

“You don’t look so good, you know? Don’t force yourself to eat if you can’t eat. Just eat a banana or something. I’ll eat one too.”

“I’m just sleepy from all the sleeping time I lost. I can eat.”

Haijima was strangely stubborn towards Uchimura’s concern for him, and he greedily shoveled down the rice that he had been slowly bringing to his mouth with so much vigor that he had to wash it down with miso soup. Is he doing this out of spite…? No wait, I have stuff I’m annoyed with him about too. Kuroba wasn’t happy with him. But Haijima didn’t even notice his dissatisfaction anyways.

He felt like an idiot and began energetically moving his chopsticks again. The fatigue in his body was reset after he woke up from sleep, and he planned to show his best performance today, but the gloomy feelings in his heart still haven’t cleared up.

Uchimura shrugged his shoulders at the two who were tilting their bowls and turning their chopsticks like they were competing against each other, then said, “I’ll be leaving, then,” before taking his tray and quickly leaving the table.

*** Kuroba’s position was the so-called “front-left” among left-side players, and it was considered the ace position in high school volleyball. Oda was the back-left, diagonal from him. (1) The left-side players, who took on a large percentage of the team’s total attacks and hit from both the front row and back, generally had the most number of hits. Aoki was the front center, and the back center who was diagonal to him was Okuma, who they were trying to polish at a quick pace. The right-side position that was diagonal to the setter Haijima was filled by Kanno. The left and right-side attackers, as well as the centers, were the so-called “attacker” positions.

The basic six-person team composition was two left-side players, two centers, and two right-side players. Due to the rotation, front row and back row players often changed places, attackers in the same positions were placed diagonally from each other so that the front row’s height and offensive power were maintained. The ability to receive in the back row was also necessary for the left and right positions. Receiving formations were the key to using more difficult combination attacks.

There was also a player in a special position called a libero. He mainly replaced a center player, who retreats to the back row, and played a central role in receptions (serve receive) and digs (spike receive). It was this position that did the miraculous dive in the middle of a rally. Hokao was this libero. And Uchimura was like a jack-of-all-trades who could step in if there was a shortage of people. There was no way Seiin could afford to have a reserve for each position.

They spent the afternoon of their second day of training camp practicing combo attacks. Two to four attackers went onto the court and coordinated a team play together with the setter Haijima. Although he had many thoughts about Haijima, Kuroba called out to him for a set. “Alright, over here!” Haijima glanced at him. He felt like he had an annoyed look on his face.

Haijima ignored Kuroba, and—also skipped Aoki, who also jumped for a C quick, before jump back setting the ball to Kanno, who ran right up to the antenna on the right side. The precision of Haijima’s back set was so unchanged from when he set from the front that it made one wonder if he had eyes on the back of his head. Quick attacks ranged from A quicks to D quicks, with A being the closest to the left side from the setter’s set position. B was a little farther. C was the closest to the right side with a back set, and D was a little farther. A combination attack was when another attacker got involved with the decoy quicker and disrupted the opponen’s blocking. Of course, there were times when a set went to the quicker. It was the setter’s chance to show what they could do by putting together a tactic that made full use of all the attackers on the court and make the most optimal set at each moment.

That’s what Haijima talked about yesterday. A combo with a center’s C quick and a right side’s broad jump—.

A sharp spike was driven in with a slap from the right side.

Kanno-senpai is so good…he marveled inwardly. He was an attacker whose special qualities were his fast swings and good control, and he was also good at getting around blockers (there was a suspicion that the blockers momentarily forgot his existence because he had such a weak presence). The right side also jumped to a double quick along with the center. A wide-ranged broad attack (2) was also required. Many times, a player who is a consistent receiver would be put in the position. It was a position that required the ability to be an all-rounder. Kanno wasn’t assertive, but he reliably executed the role that was given to him without hesitation. It seemed that Haijima also had a high opinion of Kanno. A guy who fundamentally didn’t communicate with other people always said a few words to him and made minor corrections after each set.

He called the set with all his might and when he was ignored, he felt that he was being lame, so he was determined to make up for it by hitting a big one as soon as possible.

But that didn’t go according to plan. After that, Haijima didn’t set to Kuroba at all. Not even a single one after several hours of play. It seemed that today, Haijima’s interest was in creating a combo between the centers and the right-side players.

Halfway through practice, he stopped calling for the sets and his jumping became half-hearted, which made Oda angry with him several times. “Kuroba—. Concentrate more. Even if a set doesn’t go to you, look around and think about your next move.”

“…I know that.”

When he answered with a rebellious attitude, Oda shrugged his shoulders like he had no idea what to do and made a proposition to Haijima. “Haijima, why don’t you try another combo after you finish this one? The pipe (3) might be faster if you do it with Kuroba.” He didn’t like the way he talked like he was obviously fussing over him. Even though we’re both first-years, it’s like only Haijima is special…I don’t disagree that he is special, but he doesn’t even seem to notice how much he’s valued by the captain, much less be thankful. The things that he was happy to be told about yesterday strangely got on his nerves today.

Though Haijima looked extremely annoyed at having cold water thrown on the practice he was taking part in, this was the first time in a long while he looked over at him.

“Kuroba.”

His body reflexively stiffened at being called. Haijima put his hands on his hips, kicked the floor with his heel once, sighed, and then spoke.

“There’s no point in you being here, so just get out of here.”

“Hah…!?”

His voice cracked at the sudden discharge notice.

“Wha, you…Don’t get too full of yourself, is a setter really dropping an attacker because of a personal grudge?”

“Grudge?” This guy looks like he has no idea what that means.

“You’re still mad that you had to run because of me.”

“I’m not gonna be picky for a stupid reason like that. Are you an idiot?”

This guy really put an emphasis on the first syllable of “idiot”. Don’t play blind to your stupidity! He really is such an unpleasant guy.

“So why…”

He grabbed Haijima’s arm and pressed him for an answer. Haijima’s face twisted slightly as he glared back at him aloofly. He looked and saw that he had put too much strength into his fingers and they were digging into Haijima’s arm, turning the skin there white.

He clicked his tongue and dropped Haijima’s arm as though it was on fire.

“Uchimura-senpai, could you please do receiving practice with me?”

He turned on his heel and left the court with long strides. “Huh? Alright,” Uchimura answered in puzzlement and followed him. “That moodiness of his…” The mutters of his senpais, who seemed to have given up on him, hurt his back, so he couldn’t turn back to the court anymore. I’m not the bad guy here…While frustration welled up within him, he pushed the ball cage to a corner of the gym. If he were to roll this thing with all his strength and smash it against the wall, it would dissipate a little, but that wasn’t going to happen, so he had no choice but to use all his self-control and push it with normal force.

The training camp that had been fun until the first night had suddenly become boring. Was this payback for getting carried away by feeling like he was on a school trip, just as Haijima said? He wasn’t really getting carried away. He had been plenty fired up for working hard at practice. That was all gone now with Haijima’s attitude.

He was the one who joined the team in April, but Haijima, who joined later, became an indispensable member of the team from that point on, and their senpais yielded to him. More than anything, Oda was captivated by Haijima. When it became like that, now that Nagato was gone, he was the only one treated like a halfway middle schooler, and not acknowledged as a necessary part of the team.

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#2.43 #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 book 1 #2.43 translation

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welcometophu · 3 years ago

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The Meaning of Home, Chapter 2

The Meaning of Home Chapter 2

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Pawel spends much of Monday lounging around the house. He gets up to help get Conor and Emma on the bus, so his dad can leave on time for work. After meeting the bus in his pajamas, he walks back to Dad’s house and lies down on the couch. He doesn’t really need a blanket, but he pulls it up to his nose anyway for the comfort factor and spends the day dozing and streaming old movies on his dad’s TV.

He never makes it as far as thinking about cooking anything for dinner, so he treats Dad and Conor to a night out. It eats up more time than he’d like, and it means Conor needs to scramble to finish the last of his homework once they’re home, but it’s nice to spend an hour letting someone else do the cooking.

Later that evening, after Conor goes to bed, Pawel and Dad spend the next couple of hours finally talking through everything that’s happened. Pawel doesn’t want to leave things out, but there are a few things he avoids for Dad’s safety, like the government involvement, and one thing he just doesn’t know how to explain.

He hasn’t seen Chelsea in a while. She’s relearning how to work within the world without draining souls to stay alive. He highly doubts she’s planning on stopping by his father’s for a visit, and even if she did, Dad never got to meet her as anything other than one of Pawel’s friends a decade ago.

Yeah. That is a complicated mess that he has no desire to go into detail about.

They go to bed late, but Pawel still wakes early on Tuesday to get his own kid on the bus. He figures it’s the least he can do, letting Dad get to work on time on a regular basis again.

Alone in the house again, Pawel feels refreshed and awake.

And bored.

He puts the phone on speaker as he putters around the kitchen, pressing to dial the number for Pels. She picks up after two rings, her voice gravelly and low. “What? Did we burn your house down?”

“I’m assuming you would have called me, rather than the other way around, if you burned my house down. Since you’re the one staying there.” Pawel rifles through his father’s cabinets until he finds a slow cooker. It’s dusty, but he’s pretty sure it’ll be functional. There should be enough ingredients for chili around.

He looks into a cabinet, and nearly bare shelves stare back at him.

Okay, maybe not.

“What?” Pels asks again. “You woke me up. Are you looking for my mom? I thought you had her number.”

Pawel finds tomatoes and beans, and starts emptying them into the slow cooker. “I do. I thought she’d be at work, so I called you instead.”

“It’s too early and—Dad, Dad, no, I’ll talk to him. Give me back my phone.”

“Hello, Ammon.” Pawel might not be able to hear Pels’s father, but he’s well aware by now that the ghost can hear him.

“He’s leaving, and I’m not putting this on speaker,” Pels mutters. “I thought he was going to start spending more time with Mom now, after the whole unbinding ceremony last weekend, but apparently she told him not to follow her to work.”

“Can she see him now?” That would be an interesting development. Pawel sets the empty can on the counter and reaches for a pad of sticky notes so he can scribble a reminder to himself to look into more detailed information about the ritual that the Burlington community performed for Pels and her mother in order to remove the bindings from their Talents.

“I think so. I mean, I’m pretty sure she can, but we’re not really talking about it. But seriously. Did you call for a reason? Cheyenne’s got these final projects to finish up since she left school a couple weeks early, so she’s not bothering me. Dad wasn’t bothering me. I was sleeping.” Pels grumbles under her breath.

“I just wanted to see how things were going.” Pawel peels off the sticky note and tapes it to the fridge, where he might see it later. Another search of the cabinets turns up chili powder and a few other seasonings. “Now that you’ve had a chance to settle into the house.”

“We’re fine. We’re figuring out how to be a family again without Peter.” Pels hesitates. “I’m learning how to see the world a whole different way now that I can see everything my Talent lets me see. Shane and Jess and I are talking a lot, and I’m going to figure this Mage thing out. So… thanks. For everything. Including letting us stay in your house while you’re gone.”

Pawel shakes some cocoa powder into the slow cooker, before adding a handful of dried onion. “Someone’s got to water the plants.”

“The plants were already dead when we got here.”

He laughs at Pels’s dry words. She’s not wrong. Pawel was gone for a month; everything went to hell, while his son went to stay with his dad.

Which, yeah. That brings him right back around to where he is now.

Pawel stares at the slow cooker. “If you need anything, you’ve got my number.”

“I’ll tell Mom to check in with you periodically. Oh and—” Pels hesitates before asking, “Cheyenne wants to know if it’s okay if she uses your backyard to practice flying?”

Pawel thinks of the time they used Alaric’s dragon to summon a Shadow in that same backyard. “That would not be the strangest thing the neighbors could have witnessed. But she should try not to break anything, including herself.”

“I think we can do that. Gotta go. Dad says there’s someone at the door.”

The line goes abruptly silent, and Pawel looks down at the screen of his phone as the connection is lost. “Okay, then.” He gives the vegetarian chili a quick stir, then puts the lid on, plugs it in, and switches the appliance on to cook on low. “That’s set, at least.”

He feels a little better, knowing that his home is in good hands, or at least, it’s not burning down. It sat empty for a month before; having someone live there for the summer should be better.

As long as none of the newly powered Mages set the place on fire.

Fire.

That reminds him.

Pawel checks one more time to ensure that the slow cooker is on and set to low, then heads back to the living room to dig out his laptop. He starts it up and finds the tab he’d left open for the outdoor music festivals, with a list of dates.

That’s what he thought: the festival that Rory and Thorne’s band, Phoenix Rising, is touring with will be in Buffalo this weekend.

Pawel buys four tickets. He figures Dad will come with them, and Conor will want to bring a friend. Probably Alan. And if Dad doesn’t want to go, Alan’s mom, Emily, might join them instead. He’s not worried if the tickets don’t all get used; he just wants options.

Conor will be pleased by the surprise, anyway.

He closes the laptop and looks back to the kitchen.

How the hell does his dad live like that, anyway? And what has Conor been eating?

No, he saw the answer to that this morning. Toaster pastries and cereal, and Pawel’s pretty sure that the last of the eggs were finished off as well.

Fine.

If Pawel’s going to be here all summer, squeezed into his dad’s small space, the least he can do is lay in supplies.

Pawel spends the day scouring the cabinets, making a long list of everything from prepared garlic and ginger for easy seasoning, to pantry staples like pasta, to critical items like various forms of protein for the freezer. His dad has a standing freezer in the garage, and even that seems woefully empty.

He loses time going through the sites online for each local grocery store, poring over the ads to determine which store will have the best value for this shopping trip. He types up the list to rearrange it by food type, so that as soon as Conor’s home they can head out and maybe they’ll be organized enough to get the trip done quickly.

“Dad!” The door bangs open. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving and something smells really good.”

“It’s not dinner time.” Pawel folds up the printout of the list and shoves it in his pocket. “We’re going shopping. Grab a snack.” His own stomach growls and he’s not sure how he made it from early morning to half past three without a meal. “I think I saw a box of granola bars.”

Conor lifts the lid to the slow cooker, inhaling deeply, while Pawel finds the last two granola bars. He tosses one to his son.

“Let’s get some food.”

“Can we get meat for the chili? That looked like it was all beans,” Conor grumbles. He buckles his belt, then directs Pawel to the grocery store.

Pawel already knows how to get there, but he’s not going to tell Conor that. Not when Conor seems comfortable in this place and is enjoying showing off that comfort level. He stays silent while Conor points out the entrance to the parking lot, then finds them a space close to the door.

Conor grabs a cart from the corral and pushes it into the store. “Emma’s Papa picks her up after school, so she doesn’t have to take the bus. She said they’re doing stuff today, so she couldn’t come over. I thought we could work on our—Emma!!”

Pawel catches the cart, stopping it from rolling when Conor takes off into the produce section. Emma’s answering shout is sharp and loud as Conor skids to a stop near a display laden with peaches. Pawel pushes the cart there, half an ear listening to the kids talking as if they weren’t together a half hour ago in school.

“Dad!” Conor waves at him, so Pawel picks up the pace.

He’s not sure who Emma is with. She stands next to an almost empty cart, except for a bag of peaches sitting in the seat. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of an adult.

“Emma’s shopping.”

Emma rolls her eyes, pushing braids back over her shoulder. “Obviously,” she says quietly. “Jennie had to pee. He’ll be back soon. She forgot to go before we left school.”

“Does your Papa have two carts? We can help you,” Conor offers. “You and me can do one cart, and Dad can do ours, and your Papa can do the other one.”

“You can call me Leo. I don’t think your dad would like it if you started calling me Papa like the rest of the kids.”

Pawel knows that voice.

He hasn’t heard the voice in a very long time, but there are certain phrases still etched in the deep recesses of his memory.

He exhales, and very deliberately makes himself look at the man who has joined him.

He looks good. Older, yeah. It’s been more than ten years since Leo graduated and left town for college. Apparently he’s back now, and from the police uniform, this would be Emma’s foster father that works for Pawel’s dad. He has the name ‘L. Papa’ embroidered on his uniform, just above the pocket, and his badge is still visible. Leo stands with one hand on the handle of the cart and reaches without looking to take a package of donuts out of the hands of the small girl sitting in the basket of the cart.

When he smiles, Pawel’s heart twists.

“I was glad to hear you reappeared,” Leo says quietly. His voice is a warm, low tenor, as careful and even as Pawel remembers.

“You’re fostering a Weather Witch.” It’s maybe not the best reply. Pawel refuses to wince when Conor snickers.

“I told you he’s single-minded sometimes,” Conor whispers loudly to Emma. “He’ll help find your parents. I know your Papa’s a police officer, but Dad’s a Mage.”

Emma’s brown eyes are furrowed and dark. Her lips purse, but she doesn’t say anything.

Leo takes two sheets of paper from his pocket, then hands one to Emma. “You know which cereals the boys like best. Pick one for yourself and Jennie that they won’t eat before you get a chance. Since you’re the one with me, you get to pick the pasta. I know it says twenty boxes of mac & cheese, but we only need ten. We’ll be shopping again next week.”

Emma takes the list and reads it over solemnly. “Nevaeh said we need more tuna, but it’s not on the list. I’ll get that, too. C’mon, Conor. There were some cookies on sale. Help me pick out ones that the boys won’t eat before we can.”

“Popcorn,” Conor replies. “Remember, we used the last of it last weekend? Did that get on your list?”

They roll away with the almost-empty cart before Pawel can protest.

The small girl in Leo’s cart has the box of donuts in her hands again. She opens the plastic carefully and takes one out.

“Jennie,” Leo says softly.

“I need sugar to sparkle,” she whispers around a mouthful of chocolate cream.

Speechless feels so strange. Pawel can’t remember the last time his tongue has been this tangled. “I—” He tries to break his own silence, and fails miserably.

“Things get chaotic with five kids in the house,” Leo says. When he smiles again, his pale green eyes crinkle around the corners with tiny lines that definitely weren’t there before. They match the faint hints of salt in his dark hair. “Conor’s got a lot of energy. He probably keeps you on your toes.”

“Dad says I’ve been cursed with a kid that’s just like I was,” Pawel says. He pushes his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to recover his balance. “He didn’t tell me you were one of Emma’s foster fathers. Just that she had two of them. Foster fathers. And two missing parents.”

Meeting his ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be this unsettling.

Pawel blames it on the fact that he’s probably still in a sleep deficit—two weeks is not enough time to catch up on missing sleep for several months.

“There’s a local teacher who works with a group that finds placements for Talented kids who need Talented families to stay with.” Leo has the second page of his list in his hand, and he refers to it while picking out produce.

Right. Shopping.

Pawel looks at his own list and tries to focus on that to give himself a little distance and wrangle his brain back into working order. Salad. They definitely need things for salad. And fresh vegetables for roasting wouldn’t be bad.

“Alice asked Colt if he knew anyone who might be able to take on kids about four years ago, and when he said we would, she put us in touch with Lucy and Rowan, and that’s how we got Matt, our first foster kid.”

Leo’s voice rolls over Pawel, dropping tidbits of information that he struggles to grab onto.

“Matt’s not bad,” Jennie says around a mouthful of donut. “Sometimes.”

Pawel latches onto the names, his fingers closing around a broccoli crown and holding it a little too tightly. He fumbles with the plastic bag. “Lucy and Rowan? And… Colt?” He had to have heard those wrong.

He manages to get the bag open and shoves two broccoli crowns into it, dropping them in the basket of his cart.

Leo is silent.

When Pawel looks at him, Leo stands with his fingers wrapped around the handle of the cart, his grip tight. “Colt Harrison,” he says. “My husband. You—”

“Dated him in high school, yeah.” Pawel finishes Leo’s sentence for him.

That’s… too much information. Pawel is struggling to assimilate it.

“Dad did not mention that,” he mutters.

“This doesn’t have to be weird.” Leo grabs the container of donuts and moves it to another area of the cart. Jennie could still get to it, but she pouts instead, slouching down in one corner of the basket, her lower lip sticking out and flecked with chocolate. “Colt and I met when he was interning at the law office where he works now. We’ve been married about three years. We didn’t even know each other back in high school.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird,” Pawel echoes. He’s right, of course. It shouldn’t be weird. It’s not weird at all. People meet. They fall in love. They get married. They have kids. Sometimes there’s a small world effect and it turns out that they may have already been connected beforehand.

That’s all Pawel is in this; an ancient history connection.

“Your dad talks about you all the time,” Leo says. He pulls a napkin from his pocket and cleans Jennie’s fingers. “Try not to touch anything else,” he admonishes gently before tucking the dirty napkin back in his pocket.

He’s so careful with her. Pawel remembers when Leo used to take care of his younger siblings. It only makes sense that he’d be good with kids now. As big and scruffy and rough looking as he is, he’s gentle, too.

“I need to—” Pawel holds up the list, showing just how long it is. “Dad’s cupboards are empty. I’m not sure what he and Conor have been eating, and I get the feeling that it’s takeout so I really don’t want to know. I need to stock up.”

“So do we. Matt’s eleven and Clan, and Duke’s fourteen. We go through a lot of food in our house.” Leo heads toward the back of the store. “Come on. We’ll catch up with the kids if we get moving.”

Pawel exhales and trails behind Leo. Jennie peeks around him, her thumb in her mouth as she looks at Pawel. Small brown brows furrow deeply before she turns away and curls up.

Her snores are adorable little rasps of sound. He can’t think how she’s sleeping through the rattle and squeak of the cart she rides in. Still, she’s silent as they work their way through the aisles, collecting items from their respective lists.

They turn down one aisle and spot Conor and Emma from a distance. Conor has sparks around his hand while Emma reaches for something falling from the shelves.

Pawel coughs, and Conor turns to give him an innocent look.

Wait. That reminds him.

“You’re taking in Talented kids,” Pawel says slowly. “So you or Colt must be—”

“We both are,” Leo says, glancing at him sideways. “I grew up Clan. Colt’s Emergent, but that’s his story to tell. I heard about you being a Mage from your dad. He’s proud of everything you’ve done at PHU.”

Pawel waves that away. “Youngest dean. Newest department. Only real expert on Talent as a whole because I’m the only person who’s bothered to go down the rabbit hole far enough to study it formally.”

“It’s still impressive.” Leo huffs.

“I just… I never knew.” Pawel thinks back and tries to catalog Leo’s family based on what he knows of Clan. He didn’t interview them for his thesis; they weren’t on his radar as a large Clan community. They grew up as a part of the town.

“You weren’t meant to.” Leo dips into his pocket and hands the napkin back to Jennie, who has somehow woken from her nap and polished off a second donut while they weren’t paying attention. “That was before the Emergence. We took a lot of care to be able to live here without anyone knowing.”

“But your community—”

“Widespread and buried within this town and the surrounding ones. We never really wanted to withdraw from the rest of the world. Which is what makes us good candidates for fostering. We don’t have those same prejudices that some might have.” Leo drops a hand to the top of Jennie’s head, and she looks up at him, smiling brightly.

There are, indeed, sparkles all around her, the air shimmering with her contentment and happiness.

“Conor wants me to help find Emma’s parents,” Pawel says quietly. “At the same time, I’m not sure if he really wants me to get involved, after everything that happened this last year. What do you—”

“I think they’re dead,” Leo says quietly. His hand still rests atop Jennie’s head, but his gaze is fixed on Emma. “I can tell you what little we know, but everything points to them being dead. The question is what happened to their bodies.”

Unfortunately, Pawel’s had experience with issues like that and can think of at least one scenario.

Which might mean they’re not dead.

They also might not be prepared to be parents anymore, either.

Leo pitches his voice louder. “You should come over for dinner some night.”

Both Conor and Emma turn to look at them. Emma grips the side of the cart, stepping up and holding on while Conor gives it a good push before jumping up himself. It sends them racing towards Leo and Pawel, until Pawel puts up a hand, throwing out a gentle cushion of magic to stop them before they crash.

“Yes!” Conor yells. “Dinner!”

“You could come over and meet everyone. If you want to.” Emma’s gaze drifts away, like she really doesn’t care about the answer.

“They’re like my second family. Third, maybe, because of Alan, but my second one here,” Conor insists. “And Emma’s dads are really nice.”

“They aren’t my dads.”

“I’m sure Colt would love to see you, too,” Leo adds.

Thanks for the gut punch.

“He says yes,” Conor says quickly. “Right dad? You say yes.”

What else is he supposed to do?

“Yes.” Pawel fishes out his phone, unlocking it and staring down. He doesn’t resist when Leo slips it from his fingers, opening up his text app and sending something.

Leo places the phone back in Pawel’s hands. “The first number is mine, the second is Colt’s. In case you don’t still have them.”

“I fried my phone and lost everything,” Pawel admits. “Back when I Emerged. So. Thank you.”

“It’s good to see you.” Leo’s touch is heavy and warm where he claps his hand against Pawel’s shoulder, then squeezes.

Pawel could hug him, but he thinks that might be awkward. He’s never had this situation. He has three exes—two of them he hasn’t seen since they broke up, and the other one is Chelsea. Which is just complicated.

“Yeah, you too.” He watches as Leo walks away, Emma pushing the second cart beside him. Pawel wonders just how distracted Leo must feel since Jennie looks like she’s grabbing her third donut.

Or maybe that’s just how it is. Maybe he spoils his kids with plenty of sugar.

It’s not like Pawel knows anything about how Leo’s life is now.

Conor tugs sharply at Pawel’s shirt. “Dad. When are we going to dinner over at Emma’s house?”

Pawel looks down at his phone, at the new conversation sitting there. All it says is, this is Pawel.

He locks his phone and shoves it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet, but not tonight. Let’s go find that meat you wanted for the chili. Chicken might be good. We could sauté it up quickly and add it so it’ll get a couple hours in the slow cooker with the rest. Or we could cook it up with spices and add it afterwards.”

“You’re just saying that because chicken is healthy,” Conor grumbles. “I got more toaster pastries. Dziadziu lets me eat them.”

“I let you eat them, too, just possibly not in the same quantities,” Pawel protests. It’s not an argument he’s going to have right now, anyway.

He’s going to focus on finishing up the shopping, and finishing cooking dinner.

He’s going to focus on anything other than the fact that somehow both of the boys he dated in high school grew up to meet each other and end up married.

Yeah, he’s going to do his damnedest to focus on anything but that.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #the meaning of home

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istoleyoursnacks · 3 years ago

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Set it and Forget it! (At least for a while)

Hey everyone! Snacks is back, and I have a new recipe for you! I found a lovely site a few years ago and ended up printing all of these “dump” slow cooker recipes cause when I was prepping to move out, I thought I would use a few or a majority of them. Turns out, no, but I think it’s mainly due to me not able to scale things down for just one person, and I don’t always like eating the same thing for a week straight. I’ll keep looking around for the actual site I used to get these, so keep an eye out for an update!

If you want to get really organized with it, a lot of the recipes I have in this notebook is freezer friendly, so you can do all of your shopping, and get them all ready into freezer bags, then pull them out the night before and have dinner the next day! Let me know what you’re craving, and I might have something for you!

I will type this and the other handwritten ones out too for you, under the cut, so that way you don’t have to translate my handwriting, and in case the picture doesn’t load for you.

Slow Cooker Root Vegetable Stew

1 large white onion OR 2 leeks (white portion only)

1 lb butternut squash, peeled, seeded, and chopped

1 lb carrots, peeled and chopped

1 lb parsnips, peeled and chopped.

1 lb Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and chopped

2 celery ribs, stems removed and chopped

6 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced

3 cups chicken or vegetable broth (chicken sounds weird here, so I would personally go with vegetable)

1 bay leaf

1 Tbsp sage leaves, finely chopped

1 tsp pepper

1/2 tsp salt

2 cups fresh kale

1. Add first 11 ingredients to slow cooker, and carefully stir to combine. Cook on low for 6-8 hours or until veggies are tender. Remove bay leaf, and carefully stir in kale.

2. Let the stew continue cooking for 10 minutes or so until the kale is wilted. Season with salt and pepper if desired.

3. Serve immediately.

Let me know what you think about this! This seems like a really yummy, hearty winter dish, but I’m sure on a cooler rainy day in the summer, this would work too! And if you use veggie broth, it’s definitely vegan! If you make this, share pictures with me! I would love to see (and smell vicariously) your creation!

Thank you! -Snacks

#snacks' guide to food #snacks shares!#feel free to use and share!

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rohad93 · 5 years ago

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Authority Online : ch 13

She woke up sweating.

Some of that probably had to do with Celeste, suctioned up against her back under their shared blanket and radiating body heat like a furnace, but most of it was probably the green, polyester prison she was currently steaming alive inside.

It felt like a sauna inside the tent and she could already feel her bad mood rearing its ugly head as she became aware of everything sticking to every inch of her

The clamminess of her skin wasn’t doing a lot for her sunburn either, but she was torn. Celeste was pressed up against her back, with an arm slung over her waist and her face buried in between her shoulder blades, sleeping peacefully.

Now she was faced with the task of escaping Celeste’s grip and this prison without waking the slumbering baker, who was currently breathing hot air on her already too hot skin; which ultimately was the deciding factor.

She carefully and almost painfully, slowly pulled at each of her fingers knotted into the black fabric of the tank top the blonde had slept in till Celeste’s hand hung loosely over her waist. She slowly wiggled herself out from beneath the blanket, silently cursing under her breath and setting Celeste’s arm gently on the ground, no easy task with everything sticking to her damp skin.

The tents zipper may as well have sounded like a hail of gunfire as loud as it was in the quiet of the morning and the low sounds of Celeste’s breathing, but she never moved as Jaune crawled out of the tent, trying to make as little noise as possible.

She zipped it back up and sighed in relief as she stretched out to full height and the cool air hit her damp skin.

She cringed at the idea of another night in the damned thing as she ran a hand through her hair, pushing some wet strands away from her forehead and trying to finger comb what she was sure was outrageous bedhead, into submission.

The campsite was empty save for the other tent, from which she could hear faint snoring, otherwise it was perfectly quiet save for the ambient sounds of the woods all around her.

There was a light breeze blowing, rustling the bright green leaves overhead and the dull, distant humming of cicadas that always accompanied summer and was the telltale sign of a hot day.

The sun was still sitting just behind the treeline on the opposite side of the lake-shore, casting long, glimmering rays of light across the water that shone so brightly it blinded her when she looked right at them.

She could use a little cool water to wash off her face and a short walk to stretch her stiff muscles. Normally she wouldn’t be comfortable walking around outside in the shorts and tank top she slept in but she was hot and groggy and couldn’t care less, especially since their little campsite and section of the lake seemed to be isolated from anyone else, as she had yet to see anyone else except the occasional person in a boat.

She carefully picked her way down to the water’s edge with her bare feet and wadded out into the water up to her knees, it was cool. She stuck her cupped hands in and splashed the water on her face, and her grumpy, heat-induced mood was quickly evaporating with the water trickling down her face.

She sighed to herself, completely forgetting she’d ever been grouchy to start with. She picked up another handful of water and just let it run through her fingers, taking the quiet moment to just be, for once.

Except for the little ripples she was making as water dripped from her fingers the lake appeared like a smooth, unblemished mirror. Her reflection stared back at her from the smooth dark water, red-faced, and hair a mess.

She ran her wet fingers through her hair, pushing the pale yellow strands carefully into place.

Except for the painful sunburn she now had... and getting smacked in the face with the tent pole…. And the tent itself… she wasn't having as bad a time as she thought she might.

Not a great time either, mind you, but decent enough that she wasn’t going to complain, especially not to Celeste, or make her think that she was having a terrible time. She recognized how important this trip was to her girlfriend.

She had still yet to really interact with Rose at all. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to do or say. She certainly wasn’t going to prostrate herself to the twenty-eight year old school teacher. If she wanted to continue sending dirty looks her way for no reason then so be it.

She now had a better understanding of the situation but she had done nothing to warrant the younger woman’s suspicion and she wasn’t going to act as though she had.

She would be cordial and make any and all attempts to be friendly to Rose, but she had her pride, she was not going to beg for anything.

She was so lost in her thoughts, staring into her reflection in the water that she never heard the quietly approaching steps.

After a few minutes, she shook the excess water from her hands as she turned and stopped, finally noticing Celeste, sitting cross-legged on a large rock and smiling at her from the shore.

“Good morning,” she greeted, wading out of the water. “Did I wake you?”

“Good morning yourself and no, it was a bit hot in the tent, though I suspect you knew that already,” she laughed, looking at the lawyer, now damp with lake water.

“It was a little warm…,” she tentatively agreed but said no more. She wasn’t going to complain, she wasn’t. Celeste smiled knowingly, but didn’t comment on it further.

“How’s your face feeling?” She scooted off the rock to stand in front of Jaune. Cobalt eyes roaming over the burned skin of her face.

“Tender, but I’ll live,” she assured, lips curling into a smile as she watched Celeste examine her face with an amusing amount of concentration.

“Well, for that I’m glad,” she chuckled and laid a quick peck to the blonde’s cheek. “We’re supposed to go hiking once they get up, are you coming?”

“Of course”

It hardly mattered that she had never hiked before in her life, nor that her interest in it was minimal at best. She had already agreed to come on this trip, knowing it wouldn’t be her thing, but she refused to damper her girlfriend’s mood by turning down the activities. She wasn’t going to ruin the family’s time when she had come knowing she wouldn’t have a good time. She would suck it up; it was one weekend.

“You’re going to need a hat, we don’t want your burn to get worse…” Celeste hummed.

Jaune made a face. She wasn’t really a hat person… even if it was a valid point. She really didn’t want that to happen.

“You’ll live,” Celeste smirked, seeing the look. “If you’re done down here you can come help me make breakfast.” She held out her hand and Jaune didn’t hesitate to take it. Celeste just smiled, lacing her fingers between hers.

The other tent was still closed when they got back up the hill.

“I’m going to change,” Jaune said before crawling back inside the slow cooker that was their tent. She made quick work of it, eager to get back outside and changing inside the small space was no easy feat to start with for most people, much less someone as tall as her.

When she came back out Celeste had already started cooking on the small portable grill they had brought along and the smell of cooking eggs and sausage filled the air along with the coffee from the percolator sitting on the metal grates. She sat on the log nearby with her cup, waiting on the coffee.

Within a few minutes, loud shuffling and grunting noises started coming out of the red tent.

Jaune watched silently as the zipper suddenly opened up just enough for Steven to come crawling out with a bright grin. He made a beeline for his aunt, attaching himself to her legs.

“Morning!” He grinned brightly, much too cheerful for someone who just woke up.

“Good morning, love.” She bent down to place a kiss atop his black curls.

Jaune watched as she poured boiling hot coffee into her mug, catching the boys attention. He detached himself from Celeste to jog over, clambering up onto the log beside her.

"Hi, Jaune." He smiled up at the blonde with his wide, gapped tooth smile and she couldn't help but smile back.

“Good morning, Steven.”

"Are you going hiking with us?" he asked.

"I am" she nodded, taking a drink of the dark, steaming liquid.

Celeste watched the two out of the corner of her eye as Steven talked and Juane nodded along, occasionally throwing out short answers between sips of her coffee.

She smiled to herself.

Steven seemed rather fond of the lawyer, who was always happy to indulge the child's long winded and often off the wall conversations and topics that changed at the drop of a hat.

Something she was convinced he had inherited from his mother.

With low groans and grunts the red tent finally unzipped all the way and Rose came crawling out, looking haggard as she climbed to her feet and shuffled over to them.

“Good morning” Celeste greeted, moving eggs around the pan with a spatula.

Rose grunted out a word that almost sounded like ‘morning’ before grabbing one of the empty mugs and filling it with coffee.

Greg followed a moment later with a jaw cracking yawn as he rolled out, inch worming his way out on his back.

“Morning everyone,” he called out.

Steven abandoned his place beside Jaune to jog over to where his dad was laying on the ground and climb on top of him.

“Ughh” Greg groaned. “Steven please,” he rasped, closing his eyes, resigned.

Jaune snorted into her cup with a small grin.

~ ~~

After breakfast, camp was cleaned up and they set off down the trail into the woods.

Greg and Rose walked ahead, trying to keep up with Steven, running around and across the trail, climbing onto every rock and log he could find and jumping off them while giggling madly as he ran about, inspecting every plant, bug, animal and rock he could find.

Jaune and Celeste brought up the rear, walking a leisurely pace while Jaune fiddled with the wide brimmed fishing hat she had been forced to wear to keep the sun off her already burnt face.

She grumbled to herself under her breath as she pulled at the canvas material.

"It's fine, Jaune." Celeste rolled her eyes, exasperated with the blonde’s mumbling under her breath.

With a huff she finally took her hands away from the hat, but was still scowling.

"I'm not a hat person…," she huffed, fingers itching to go back and continue to mess with it.

Celeste reached out and wrapped her fingers around the lawyers right hand before she could think to fiddle with it again.

“Maybe it’s not your best look, but you need to keep the sun off your face,” she reminded, squeezing the fingers wrapped in hers.

Jaune made an unhappy noise but squeezed back and didn’t touch the hat again. Celeste just smiled to herself.

Luckily most of their hike through the woods, they were shaded by the trees that lined the path, especially as the sun continued it’s journey overhead, heating up the air and making her sweat beneath the damn hat. The cicadas were loud, but they eventually faded into the background noise of the woods.

The worn dirt path led steadily uphill, the thick foliage thinning out some the higher they went. At one point they found themselves walking along the side or a drop off.

While she wouldn’t call it a cliff, the thirty or so feet to the forest floor was fairly steep. From here they could see the lake, peeking out from between the trees.

Greg and Rose had stopped just ahead of them, talking quietly and passing their canteen back and forth. Jaune and Celeste were looking out at the view when Steven scrambled over to them.

“Are you having fun, love?” Celeste smiled down at him as he stopped at their feet.

“Yeah! I can see the lake!” He peered out into the distance, even from here the sun shining off the water made it too bright to look at.

His eyes were glued to the horizon, looking at everything there was to see and completely unaware of the thin, crumbling area of the ledge he was standing on.

Till the dry ground gave way.

It was a flurry of movement after.

Being closest to him, Jaune had immediately lunged forward as the boy began to tumble forward over the edge, both arms wrapping around him, but in her rush had overestimated the distance and for a split second found herself careening over the edge. She held the boy tightly to her chest as the world became a dizzy blur of color, sound and pain.

Rocks and sticks dug into her skin as they tumbled down the drop, bouncing off the ground. Several times before eventually rolling to a stop somewhere at the bottom, luckily they had missed all the trees that could have easily killed her had she rolled into them.

Everything hurt and it took several long moments for her head to right itself enough to realize Steven, still wrapped in her arms, was crying and wailing, but it was still a long minute before she got all her knocked out breath back and could find the strength to move.

She carefully pushed herself up, letting Steven out of her grip, but he stayed where he was, crying, but at the very least, very much alive. Nothing seemed to be broken, or at least didn’t feel broken. She flexed her arms and fingers, carefully pushing herself up onto her knees, gently testing her back and legs. Something warm and wet was running down her forehead into her left eye. She reached up and felt the liquid dripping from her brow and sure enough her fingers came back coated in blood.

She must have hit her head on a rock on the way down, it also explained the headache that was beginning to roar to life, drowning out all the other aches and pains in her body.

It was also only now that she was becoming aware of the screaming from up on the ridge.

She couldn’t see them through the canopy of leaves they had rolled beneath, but could hear them just fine.

“Steven!”

“Jaune!”

“W-we’re okay!” She yelled back up and the yells stopped for a second.

“We’re coming!” Greg’s voice bellowed and then the distant sound of running before it all went quiet.

It had taken them about half an hour to hike to where they had been, so even running it would take at least half that to go back down the path and around to where they were, she wiped away the blood still dripping into her face away with the back of her sleeve and turned to the boy, still laying in the dirt, crying.

“Steven, does anything hurt?” She very carefully helped the crying boy sit up, she’d held him tight against her but that didn’t mean nothing was broken, no doubt her weight had pressed fully against him at least a couple of times in the tumble down the ridge.

He nodded through his tears.

“What hurts?” she grunted, wiping the blood dripping into her eye from her forehead away again before pressing her sleeved arm against it to help staunch the blood flow.

“M-My ankle,” he sobbed, holding his right ankle.

“You have to let me see.” She gently pulled his hand away and moved her fingers over the skin. It didn’t seem to be broken but a bruise was starting to form; probably sprained.

“Can you walk?”

Sniffling and with fat tears running down his face he tried to stand but the moment he put weight on his right ankle he crumpled, wailing.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said gently, trying to soothe his tears.

“Momma!” He wailed, holding his ankle and gulping in large lungfuls of air, hiccuping between cries.

More blood dripped into her eye and she growled under her breath before quickly undoing the buttons on her plaid shirt and pulled it off, leaving her in the blank tank top.

She managed to rip off one sleeve and tie it tightly around her head, hopefully staunching the majority of the blood flow, at least for long enough that she could get something done!

She ripped off the other and carefully tied it around the boy's ankle while he cried. A temporary fix but better than nothing, anything to put pressure on it. She shrugged the now plaid vest onto her shoulders, she might need more fabric from it later.

She sighed, it would take less time to get back to camp if she could meet the other’s halfway.

She was going to have to carry him.

“Come on, Steven.” She helped maneuver him onto her shoulders, careful of his ankle.

He’d stopped wailing but was still sniffling, tears rolling down his round cheeks.

“I want momma…,” he hiccupped.

“I know, we’re going to go find them, okay?” She grunted as she stood, balancing the thankfully small for his age boy, and carefully started picking her way through the brush and undergrowth back the way they had come.

It was hot and humid down in the thick of the woods, top that off with the blood still slowly soaking through the fabric tied around her forehead and the sneaking suspicion that she had a concussion and Jaune had decided.

She really hated camping.

Steven sat quietly on her shoulders, hands loosely fisted into her hair, and occasionally sniffling.

“We’ll be there soon,” she gently assured him.

Luckily that was true, as a few minutes later she could hear the sounds of frantic running through the grass, along with heavy breathing

She rounded a bend and could see Greg, Rose and Celeste running toward them.

“Steven!” The man yelled over his panting.

He slid to a stop in front of her and carefully removed the boy from her shoulders and held him in a crushing embrace which Rose quickly joined, both with tears in their eyes.

Seeing Steven safe in his parents grasp, Celeste hurried over to her, also on the verge of tears. She looked like she wanted to wrap her arms around the blonde, but restrained herself, not knowing how injured she might be.

“You’re covered in blood!” Blue eyes were blown wide as she took in what Jaune assumed must be a rather grisly looking scene.

“I hit some rocks, I think. How bad is it?”

She reached up and gently held the blonde’s face, and hesitated a second before pulling up the material to look at the cut and winced, it tried to stick.

“It doesn’t look... terribly deep…” She bit her lip, pressing the fabric back down gently. It at least didn’t seem to be bleeding much anymore. Jaune nodded.

“I think he has a sprained ankle...” She nodded to Steven. Her head was killing her and she was so tied. “...and I think I have a concussion,” she rumbled, closing her eyes. The sunlight was killing her head and her burned face.

“We gotta go,” Greg said upon hearing this, moving Steven to his shoulders and they moved quickly back toward camp.

Celeste stayed close to her side, watching her worriedly and holding her arm when she stumbled a little over the thick underbrush.

It only took about fifteen minutes to get back to camp but it felt like so much longer as her head throbbed with every beat of her heart.

“Get in the van” Greg handed their son to Rose and opened the back doors.

“What about all our gear?” Rose looked at him as she held Steven.

“I’ll come back for it another day, we need to get Jaune to the hospital and have Steven checked out.”

Jaune and Celeste climbed into the back while Rose hopped into the front passenger seat with Steven still curled up in her arms, his face buried in her neck.

The tires spun when Greg punched it. The dirt road jerked them around a little as he sped back toward town

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Celeste asked her quietly as she used an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit on the many tiny cuts on the blonde’s arms and face she hadn’t even noticed. Thankfully she’d been wearing jeans.

“I don’t think so…,” she mumbled, her eyes sliding closed but not five seconds after they did, Celeste was shaking her.

“Jaune, I know you’re tired, but you need to keep your eyes open, you can’t go to sleep yet, darling.”

“I know,” she grunted, eyes opening, but still trying to fall shut. Rose watched them over her shoulder and Greg frowned, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

Once her cuts were cleaned, Celeste sat next to her, holding her hand and keeping her awake till they got to the hospital.

~ ~ ~

It was getting dark when they got back to the bakery after Steven had been released with a small sprain hours before and Jaune, who they had wanted to watch for a few hours and did indeed have a concussion though thankfully, by a miracle, a minor one.

“I’m going to take Jaune home.” Celeste told Rose as they walked through the bakery, they could see the blonde outside, leaning against her car, arms crossed and frowning, waiting on Celeste. Several butterfly bandages holding the cut on her forehead closed and honestly, looking like a ragged, bloody mess in her torn jeans and plaid, blood stained, now vest. “I don’t want to leave her alone, as least for tonight.”

“That sounds like a good idea… but, before you go… I gotta talk to her,” Rose said.

“Right now? She’s really not…,” Celeste started, only for Rose to cut her off.

“Right now,” she insisted, walking out the lobby doors with her older sister on her heels.

“Jaune,” she called, approaching the blonde, who looked up, both brows rising in silent question upon seeing the school teacher approach.

Instead of stopping Rose walked straight into the lawyer, wrapping her arms around her waist and squeezing.

If she hadn’t been so shocked, Celeste would have found the wide eyed look on her girlfriends face quite comical.

“Thank you,” Rose said, squeezing the blonde even harder for a brief moment, mindful of her injuries “Thank you so much.”

Before she could think of anything to say, Rose let go, stepping back and wiping at her eyes. “

“I’ll see you both later,” she said before turning and walking back inside.

Jaune looked at her and she shrugged, but was smiling.

“It probably would have been so much worse then a sprained ankle if you hadn’t been holding onto him so tightly. You probably saved his life.”

“It was just instinct…” Jaune shrugged, looking away. There hadn’t even been any conscious thought to it. She’d seen him falling and she’d reacted.

“We’re all still very grateful.” Celeste insisted. “Come on, let’s get you home,” she said, climbing into the driver’s seat of Jaune’s car.

The five minute trip was spent in relative quiet and Jaune headed straight for the shower the second she walked into the house and Celeste waited in the living room for her.

When she finally came back out, her damp hair was combed back and the dried blood on her face was washed away. She was wearing fresh, clean clothes and looked far better then she had twenty minutes beforehand.

“Feel better?”

“Immensely” Jaune sighed, plopping down onto the sofa beside her and leaned her head on the baker's shoulder. They sat there in companionable silence for a few minutes before Celeste couldn’t help herself.

“I’m sorry I made you go with us.”

Amber eyes popped open and she sat up to better look at Celeste.

“You didn’t make me do anything,” she started. “I chose to go.”

“But I know you didn’t want to…, I could tell you weren’t exactly having a good time even before you fell off the trail,” Celeste countered, frowning.

Jaune frowned, lips pursed, before finally sighing.

“No, I didn’t. I’m not an outdoor person, I never have been.” She shrugged.

“Then why did you agree to come?” She turned to better face Jaune.

“I just wanted to spend time with you and make you happy,” she finally said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world and Celeste supposed it was.

Cobalt stared into amber for a long moment before she leaned forward, her forehead gently pressed to Jaune’s, mindful of her cut and sighed.

“I do appreciate it, Jaune, really I do, but please, darling, next time, just tell me, alright? You're not as much fun when you're sunburned and grumpy.” She chuckled.

“Right” Jaune smirked, eyes closing and body sagging.

“Tired?”

She hummed an affirmative. Exhausted was a better word, and she still had a headache, though not as pounding as it had been.

“Come on then, let’s get you to bed.” She stood up and held out her hand.

Jaune took it and let Celeste lead her down the hall to her own bedroom, hitting the lights as they went.

She all but fell into the bed, glad it wasn’t a tent.

She could hear Celeste chuckle to herself as she flicked off the bedroom light and climbed in behind her, arm wrapping around her waist.

Lips pressed softly against the back of her neck, followed by a quiet, breathy goodnight.

She mumbled the sentiment in turn, hand finding the one slung over her waist and gave it a brief squeeze before finally getting to close her eyes and let the sleep she had been fighting off for hours finally take her.

#Bellow diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #pink diamond #Steven universe #Greg Universe #Au #fic #Authority Online

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sunyoonandstars · 6 years ago

Text

⊱ 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ⊱⊣∷∷∷∷∷⊢⊰ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ⊰

❤︎ You x cheating idol! boyfriend Namjoon ⁇

❤︎ You x idol! best friend Jimin ⁇

word count 5.199

angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝟦 || 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌ℯ 𝓌ℯ𝓇ℯ

All afternoon you spend home alone, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the abandoned dorm's inhabitants, thoughts racing, mind spinning, turning time and again around the same questions, the same doubts.

Will the boys treat you differently when they find out about your breakup? Will there be tension within the group? Is it even possible for you to remain part of the group now that their leader discarded you? Whose side will the guys take? Do you want them to take sides at all? And can you expect them to? Will they judge you, blame you? Could you ever tell them the truth? Would you be able to live with yourself after destroying Jungkook's blind faith in his Hyung, his leader, Namjoon?

Dozens upon dozens of questions to which you can't seem to find any answers, however desperately you wrack your brain, still drowsy and achy from your epic hangover.

You can't seem to focus on anything, keep wandering around the empty apartment, browsing through bookshelves and magazines, turning on the TV only to blankly stare at the screen for half an hour and turn it off again. For a while, you busy yourself playing the game Jungkook left in the PlayStation, most likely ruining his score. But even that seems to be too demanding. You're restless, uneasy, for reasons you don't want to face.

Somehow, though, you end up lingering in the door to Namjoon's room, not entirely sure how you got there. You can't remember deciding to go this way, don't even recall walking there. But here you are. Frozen in place, standing on the threshold to his four walls, paralyzed, your hand still resting on the doorknob. You can't bring yourself to leave but not to step inside, either, as your eyes begin wandering across the familiar furniture, pieces of Namjoon's clothing scattered across the carpeted floor, thrown there and forgotten, his favorite hoodie among them, the first one you gave him after you started dating. Your pictures pinned to the corkboard hanging above his desk, a happy couple smiling into the camera, cheerful, unsuspecting of what was to come. You can't bear to look at them. Lies. All lies.

Did Namjoon ever truly love you? Did he really care for you? And if he did, how could he hurt you like that? What could possibly have prompted him to cast you aside like that, recklessly tossing away a relationship you had built on trust and intimacy like it was all meaningless?

Were you both at fault, somehow?

And what had been the last straw for Namjoon? What drove him over the edge, to do something that goes so drastically against his own nature?

For hours, you remain standing there, unable to move, to break the spell concocted of memories and regrets this room has cast over you, dwelling on what-ifs and what could have been, asking yourself if you will ever be able to forgive him. Until your traveling glance gets caught on the Ryan wall clock hung over the head of Namjoon's bed.

Fuck. Half past seven already.

Time for you to start cooking, because, in less than an hour, a bunch of hungry young men will come running to the kitchen, craving your famous Carbonara.

Like clockwork, you can hear the lock to the front door click at a quarter past eight, followed by upbeat chatter, muffled laughs and the sound of half a dozen pairs of feet eagerly heading your way. Only seconds later, Taehyung and Jungkook's faces already appear in the kitchen door, smiling at you broadly as they sniff the air.

"Hmm, smells great, Noona!" Jungkook exclaims before he throws open the door and comes over to peak into the pot in which you are currently boiling the pasta.

"Thank you," you reply, cheeks glowing. "The sauce is already done. How about you set the table?"

"Will do!" Jungkook dutifully nods his head, dragging Tae with him to where the dishes are stored.

"Wow, you made a salad, too!" Jin remarks. "Everything looks so good, y/n. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Maybe pick a wine. Or should we leave that up to Jiminie?"

There is a sudden shift in Seokjin's expression you can't quite place.

"What? What is it, Jin?"

"Yeah," he starts out with a sigh, avoiding your eye. "Jimin isn't coming, y/n. He's in a mood. I guess he's gonna spend the night at the studio again, practicing. Punishing himself for god knows what."

You know what.

"Again!?" you echo.

"Yeah. Didn't you know? When we got to practice this morning, he was already at it. He spent the night there, I guess, dancing like a madman."

You can feel your heart drop, struggling to keep a straight face.

"He had blisters all over his feet," Hoseok finishes Jin's report while gathering up wine glasses. "And he got a good scolding from our trainer, too. Doesn't keep him from overdoing it again, though, it seems. But, whatever. Jimin is a grown man, and he knows very well what he's doing. Yoongi tried to talk some sense into him, I did, too, but he wouldn't listen. Sadly, we can't force him to go easy on himself and act responsibly. And neither can you, y/n. Just don't let his antics ruin your mood, okay?"

"Hmm."

"Talking about Jimin," Yoongi suddenly chimes in. You didn't even hear him come in. "Do you have any idea where he disappeared to yesterday? It was like he dropped from the face of the earth or something. And, this morning, I find you in his room instead of him. So, I figured you'd know."

"Yeah." You have to take a sip of water before you can continue, fighting back the lump developing in your throat, threatening to choke you. "He – He was with me yesterday. We went to the beach."

"And then what?" Yoongi keeps probing you, his gaze intense, woke eyes searching yours. "What happened on the beach? Did you two fight?"

"No," you hardly manage to keep a treacherous quiver out of your voice. "No. We didn't fight. Nothing happened."

"Nothing, huh?" Yoongi arches a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Leave her alone." Namjoon's imperious tone causes Yoongi to spin around. "She's not Jimin's babysitter. Y/n is not responsible for him, okay? If he wants to be a drama queen, let him. He's gonna come crawling back to her soon enough, anyway.“

His words, spoken sharply, hit you like a slap to the face. Tears burning in your eyes, you stare down into the boiling water before you, avoiding Namjoon's piercing gaze.

"That's enough, Namjoon," Yoongi reprimands him in a low, dangerously smooth voice. "Your rivalries have no place here, now. And I won't allow you to talk about Jimin like that."

"I'm sorry," the younger rapper is quick to apologize. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay, I get it, Joon. Feelings suck. But it's not like Jimin is at fault here," Yoongi calmly goes on, taking up position next to you by the stove now, giving you a scrutinizing side glance. "You can't blame him for your jealousy. Those feelings are yours, Namjoon, so deal with them yourself and stop taking them out on Jimin."

"What do you know? Huh? Do you have any idea how –"

"The pasta is done," you cut Namjoon off, a single tear now making its way down your cheek.

"Well, the day is saved then," Namjoon scoffs. "Please excuse me. I lost my appetite."

With Namjoon's abrupt exit, the room falls perfectly silent for a few seconds, until Yoongi gently pushes you aside to turn off the cooker and take the pot from the flame.

"Please allow me to drain the pasta, y/n," he asks, his tone soft now, as he darts your trembling hands a worried glance. "You get the sauce ready. And you, Jin, stop gaping for God’s sake and pour us some wine already! Can't you tell she needs a drink?"

Sat at the dinner table, you try your best to muster a convincing smile, bring yourself to eat and take part in the casual conversation like you usually would.

Taehyung must sense that something is wrong because he keeps praising your cooking and asking about your day, inquiring why Namjoon didn't join them and if something is the matter, not being too pushy but just insistently enough to warrant Yoongi's intervention.

"Tae, I think y/n is still a little headachy. She had some soju last night. And a little too much, perhaps. So why don't you leave her alone for a bit?"

"Oh," Tae arches a brow. "Did you go drinking with Jiminie? He was a little off today, too. Serves him right, though. I keep telling him he should stop drinking. He's gotten too old for these kinds of escapades."

"Too old!?" Jin cuts in. "If Jimin is too old, then what am I? Watch your tongue, young padawan."

And just like that, the boys start bickering as if all is well and you're in the clear again, managing to stay out of the conversation and disappear into the kitchen almost unnoticed to busy yourself with doing the dishes as soon as everyone has finished.

You are not even surprised to find Namjoon there, waiting for you, nervously shuffling his feet, fiddling with his bracelet. The counterpart to the one you basically threw at him yesterday morning; a silver chain with a pendant in the form of a padlock. Seeing him still wearing it hurts your heart.

"Hey," you make your presence known, causing Namjoon's eyes to shoot up, meeting yours only briefly before he casts his gaze down to the tiled kitchen floor again.

Forcing your breath to slow down along with your racing heartbeat and to act as naturally as possible, you set down a stack of dirty plates next to Namjoon and start loading the dishwasher, hands trembling.

"Do you want some pasta?" you ask into the uneasy silence. "There's some left over if you're hungry."

"Yeah, thanks. I'd actually appreciate that."

"There's salad, too. Just let me get it quickly. I'll be right –"

"That's not why I'm here, y/n," he cuts you off in mid-sentence, holding you back by your wrist as you have already turned your back on him, rushing outside, towards the dining room, eager to leave this uncomfortable situation.

Namjoon's touch is gentle and hesitant, yet it stings you like a poisonous snake bite. In shock, you freeze, wanting nothing more than to pull back your hand, unable to bear the sensation of his skin against yours for even one more second, knowing where these hands have been and who they touched while you were unaware, clueless. However, you can't seem to bring your limbs to move.

Almost instantly, though, Namjoon realizes his mistake, letting go of you with a mumbled apology.

"I'm sorry, y/n," he starts out anew, his voice low, conveying nothing but genuine regret. Every last muscle and nerve of your body strung to the breaking point, you remain standing in the kitchen door, motionless, as you listen to what Namjoon has to say, your back still facing him.

"I was being a dick earlier," he continues. "I shouldn't have said those things about Jimin. Especially not in front of the others. And I don't know what else I would've said if Yoongi hadn't been there to cut me short. Probably a lot of stuff I would've regretted later. I was way out of line, and it wasn't the first time, either. I know that. And it's not like me to be so ... hateful."

"Exactly," you agree, your voice barely a whisper as you slowly turn around to look him in the eye. "Nothing you have done these past days is anything like you, Namjoon. I'm not sure I even know you anymore."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but –"

"No buts, Namjoon. A sorry is not gonna fix this. You messed up. Big time."

"I know," he admits, with his head hanging down, hands clasped together. "I'm well aware of the fact that nothing is just gonna magically fix this, us. I know I did you wrong, y/n. And I will never be able to forgive myself for hurting you like that. But ... to be perfectly candid ... I'm glad you walked in on us. Because the guilt, the secrecy, and the dishonesty were slowly killing me."

"Then why? Why did you choose to have an affair in the first place?" you finally pose the one question you had been bursting to ask Namjoon since yesterday. "It's not like these things just happen, Joon. There must have been a reason. And I think I deserve to know."

You didn't even realize you were crying until the first tear drops to the floor with a distinct splosh.

"I believe you already do, y/n," Namjoon calmly replies. His gaze holding yours is steady, unwavering, when you finally turn around to look at him. "You know why I did what I did. Deep down you must know. I'm sure of it. And I believe that's why Jimin isn't here right now."

"What's that supposed to mean!?" you snap at him, a flash of anger shooting through your blood, bringing it to a boil in a matter of seconds at the mere mention of Jimin's name.

"Your tone suggests that you understood exactly what I was insinuating, y/n. Don't act dumb with me. We both know you're not. And you're not that innocent, either."

"What!?" you laugh hysterically, your voice jumping up an entire octave. "What are you trying to say here? That I brought this on myself?"

"Well, you did, whether you like it or not. It's the truth."

"And what may that truth be, if you don't mind my asking?"

You know, you should better lower your voice, because the rest of the boys should under no circumstance have to be witnesses to this ugly scene. But you can't. The rage is overpowering, paired with a sense of guilt that only adds fuel to the fire.

"Oh, come on, y/n," Namjoon scowls. "It's so obvious. It always has been."

"What?"

"That you're in love with Park Jimin, for fuck’s sake!" he yells out so abruptly, you involuntarily flinch.

"Wha– I – I'm not!" you object weakly, shaking at this point.

Why are you so cold? Why is everything so bright? Too bright. Way too bright. Your eyes hurt, and so does your head, spinning with a sudden dizzy spell.

"I could see the look in his eyes, y/n. I'm not blind. And what you had with him was always more than mere friendship. At first, I didn't want to be right. I refused to acknowledge the truth, kept telling myself you loved me and not him. But, please, explain to me, y/n, if I was the guy who got the girl, how come I felt like I was third-wheeling all the time? As soon as you two are in a room together, you and Jimin are virtually inseparable, acting as if I’m not even there. And I knew, I just knew that I never won you over in the first place! That I wasn't enough for you and never will be!" Namjoon keeps raising his voice with every word he says. Until he's screaming at you, talking himself into a rage, hardly pausing to take a breath.

"Yet, I loved you, y/n, without rhyme or reason and despite everything. Because I just couldn't help it! And I still can't, to this very day, stop fucking loving you, y/n! I love you so much it hurts! And I hate myself for doing to you what I did! But, at some level, I think I wanted you to find out. I needed you to. Hell. I only started that stupid affair so you would discover it in the first place! Because you had to see for yourself. What you were doing to me, y/n! That you were ruining me!“

The bitterness in his voice tastes like poison on your tongue.

Your ears are ringing.

Why is the kitchen spinning? Why can't you feel your legs?

"Because, that guy, y/n, the one who slept with some random woman, kissed her in the very chair you gave him as a gift, that wasn't me. That's not Kim Namjoon, y/n. Not anymore. You have broken me. Don't you get it? You have fucked me up so badly, I don't even recognize myself any longer!"

Unable to fully grasp what is happening, you can feel the ground slip from your feet and watch as Namjoon's countenance rapidly changes from a mask of pain and contempt to an expression of pure horror.

"Y/n? Y/n!? What – Are you –? Wait! I –"

And the whole world falls over.

Just before it plunges into bottomless, pitch-black darkness …

When you come to, you find yourself in Jimin's bedroom again, surrounded by five worried faces, your legs resting on a pile of pillows.

"Y/n!" Seokjin exhales with relief. "You're awake!"

"God, we were so worried!" Hoseok sighs, reaching out to grab your hand and give it a tender squeeze, his face paler than your own, you're sure.

"How are you feeling?" Yoongi asks, his tone not conveying a hint of concern, but his eyes are alert with sheer panic.

"I – I'm okay. I think. A little nauseous."

"Yeah. Our doctor said that you might be," Jin nods. "I called him. I hope you don't mind. He's coming over to check on you."

"But – I'm fine," you protest, attempting to sit up. But Jungkook doesn't let you. With a firm hand, he pushes you back into the cushions.

"No, you're not, y/n. You should rest."

"Do you even remember what happened?" Seokjin inquires, giving you a worried look.

"No. I – Where's Namjoon?" Only now do you notice he is missing from the group huddled around you.

"I thought it was best if he took a little walk, to cool off," Jin replies, arms crossed over his chest. "What happened in there while the two of you were alone?"

"Why?" you wonder. "Did Namjoon say anything? Did you guys hear anything?"

"No," Yoongi butts in again. "But you fucking fainted, y/n. That's what happened."

"I – What!? No way!"

But it actually makes a lot of sense.

"Yeah, you freaking fainted. So stop pretending you're okay and just stay put while you wait for Doctor Song to arrive."

"Yeah, what Yoongi said," Jin nods along.

"All right, all right. Calm down, guys. I'm not going anywhere. I think I'm gonna puke if I move anyway."

"Eww, gross," Jungkook shudders in disgust, earning himself a punch in the ribs by Tae.

"But there was really no need to call a doctor."

"Yes, there was.“

Jimin's voice leads heads to turn.

"Jimin," you gasp, overcome with a dizzying blend of mixed emotions. "You're back."

"What the hell happened?" he asks without looking at you, his question directed at Jin and Yoongi instead.

Yoongi simply shrugs.

"We're not sure. Yet," Jin replies. "But ... I feel like Namjoon, and y/n have some explaining to do. Once she's better, of course."

"Y/n doesn't have to explain anything, okay!?" Jimin snaps back at him, a little too sharply.

"What happened is not her fault," he goes on, his tone softer.

"I can speak for myself, Jimin."

Brows furrowed, he looks at you directly for the first time since entering his bedroom. And his eyes say everything you're feeling.

"Whatever," he shakes his head. "I'm gonna take a shower. See to it that Doctor Song gets to do his job, Yoongi."

"I'm on it."

"Stop treating me like a kid, guys," you grumble as you watch Jimin disappear from your field of vision, shoulders slumped, looking so tired he must barely be able to stand upright.

"Not in a lifetime," Jin grins at you.

"Is there anything you need, y/nnie?" Taehyung asks, most likely gathering from the tense atmosphere occupying the small bedroom that he should better clear out, too, and leave the 'grownups' to talk. "A cup of tea, maybe? Or a glass of water? Some crackers? Or a tonic?"

"Tea sounds nice."

"Herbal tea?"

"Yes, please."

Not without giving you one last sweet smile, Tae leaves for the kitchen.

"I guess I'm gonna go clear the dinner table," Jungkook announces with a sigh.

And the youngest, too, takes off, leaving you with only Jin, Hoseok and Yoongi who censoriously observe your every move.

"You split up, didn't you?" Hoseok eventually breaks the quiet that followed on Jungkook's departure. "You and Namjoon? You're no longer together, are you?"

"No, we aren't," you admit, seeing no point in denying the facts. "We broke up yesterday."

"Why?" Yoongi blatantly asks. "And what does that have to do with Jimin?"

"What!? Nothing."

"Well, he's obviously affected by it," Yoongi remarks. "Jimin hasn't been himself all day. He's absentminded. And I can tell he's in pain. So, what happened yesterday? What did you do, y/n?"

"What did I do?" you scoff, feeling the pace of your heartbeat quicken again.

"Yeah. Because if you did anything to hurt Jimin, if you're toying with his feelings just to upset Namjoon I –"

"It's enough, Yoongi," Jin silences him. "Maybe you should go look after Jimin. We'll take care of y/n."

"Fine."

Your eyes, welling up once more, stay glued to Yoongi's hunched back until the dimly lit hallway swallows his figure.

"Wow," you shakily breathe. "Everybody seems to think the same."

"Think what, y/nnie?" Hoseok wants to know.

"That I – That I'm –" Your voice cracks. Ashamed of the tears that start flowing again, you bury your face in your palms.

"Hey, hey," Hoseok tries to calm your, one hand still holding onto yours, the other one gently patting your head. "It's okay, y/nnie."

"That you're what, hmm?" Jin picks up where you left off.

Reluctantly, you put down your hands and look up at him through a blur of tears. His head tilted slightly to one side, his gaze kind, a faint smile playing on his rosy lips, Jin takes a seat on the bed next to you.

"What is everybody thinking, hmm?"

"That I'm a player."

"A player? You?" Hoseok’s eyebrows shoot up.

"Yeah. That's basically what Namjoon said."

"I'm sure you got that wrong," Jin opposes.

"Well, I'm sure I didn't. And didn't you hear Yoongi just now? He thinks so, too. That I'm playing with Jimin's emotions."

"Don't take his words too seriously, y/n," Hoseok sighs, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure they came out more harshly than he intended. You know Yoongi. He can get a little overprotective sometimes. Especially of Jimin. I'm sure he didn't mean it. He's just angry. And worried. Wait and see. In an hour or so, Yoongi will come back and apologize, I know he will."

"Well, I hope I won't still be stuck in this bed by then," you grunt.

"Hah," Jin chuckles. "We'll see what the doctor has to say to that. But, for now, just rest, y/nnie. Doctor Song will be here any minute now. And we'll go and see what's taking Taehyung so long with that tea. In the meantime, close your eyes and don't beat yourself up. I'm sure everything will fall into place, soon."

"Thanks, guys."

"No reason to thank us, y/nnie," Hoseok smiles, both his dimples showing as he lets go of your hand to get up and follow Jin who as already set out for the kitchen, you assume. "Just focus on getting better right now, and everything else will follow. Close your eyes, recharge your battery and try not to overthink. I'll send the doctor in as soon as he gets here."

Yoongi hesitates when he reaches the door to the bathroom Jimin reportedly locked himself in. There's no sound coming from inside, not even the rushing of water, so he is clearly not taking a shower as he claimed he would.

Yoongi knows that, sometimes, Jimin needs to be left alone so he can recuperate in peace, too ashamed of his own weakness to face anyone, even his closest friends, tormented by doubts and self-deprecating thoughts. But today is not one of those times. Yoongi has a feeling that what Jimin really needs tonight is someone to talk. Or rather someone who listens.

"Jimin-ah, it's me, Yoongi" he announces himself, softly knocking at the door. "Can I come in?"

A few seconds pass before the door lock snaps open.

Without a word, Jimin indicates him to come inside, his eyes swollen, red-rimmed.

"What's going on, Jimin?" Yoongi cuts right to the chase after bolting the door behind himself. "Why are you hiding in here while y/n is basically living in your bedroom? More importantly, why is Joon so pissed at you? What were they screaming at each other for? And what the hell is wrong with you, over-exercising like that? You almost fainted during practice this afternoon."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're obviously far from it."

"Whatever," Jimin mumbles in dropping to the floor next to the sink, his back resting against the bare wall tiles.

"Don't try and give me some fuzzy bullshit, Park Jimin. You know that doesn't work on me."

"So, what do you wanna hear? That I'm in love with y/n!?" For a moment, Jimin just stares at Yoongi, his otherwise gentle eyes darkened with pain and resentment. "Doesn't everybody know already anyway? That I'm a fool for her? An idiot? For ever believing I could have her? I'm the one who's to blame for everything! How could y/n ever forgive me if she found out that I'm the one who wrecked her relationship with Namjoon? That I'm the dark spot? How can I ever face Namjoon again? Don't you get it? I'm the reason it all went to shit! I'm the freaking third wheel that brought the whole cart crashing down! I'm the one who –"

"Wait," Yoongi interrupts him. "Slow down there for a second, Jimin. First of all, you are not responsible for their actions. You are not to blame for anything regarding y/n's and Namjoon's romantic relationship. They are both intelligent grownups who have minds and emotions of their own. If they decide to break up, that's their choice and their business. It's not like you held a gun to their heads."

His words don't seem to be of great comfort to Jimin.

"Not exactly," he glares. "But I did do my fair share of damage."

"Look, Jimin," Yoongi resumes his attempt to reason with his friend. "I have been witness to the development of their relationship over the past four years, even since before they got together. Namjoon was pining for her ever before y/n even had a clue that he liked her. Ever since that award show where you got drunk afterward and – well, we all know the story. But that's not the point right now."

He pauses, pleased to see an abashed grin flash over Jimin's face at the mention of that fateful night.

"Anyway," Yoongi continues, sitting down next to Jimin on the cold bathroom floor. "Seeing them turn into a couple also meant watching you making sheep eyes at a taken woman for twenty-four hours a day. We've talked about it, you know, occasionally. Taehyung, Hoseok and I, sometimes Seokjin, too. We knew what was going on. That you were miserable. That you were into y/n or whatever, and probably too embarrassed to open up to anyone about it. I had no idea it was this serious, though. We assumed it was just a stupid crush. Being in love, that's something else entirely, though. Are you sure your feelings for her are genuine? And that you're not just obsessing over her to, I don't know, torture yourself or something?"

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"No idea," Yoongi shrugs. "You just seem to have that tendency sometimes, I guess."

The two of them fall quiet for a few minutes, just sitting side by side, lost in their own thoughts. And it's not the awkward kind of silence, but the comfortable, understanding sort that is evidence of the depth of their friendship, as Yoongi realizes with satisfaction.

When Jimin speaks up again, something has changed in his voice.

"When I said I wrecked their relationship, I didn't mean in some figurative sense, though, Yoongi. I'm literally a home wrecker."

"What? No, you're not. Stop being so hard on yourself, Jimin. You did nothing but –"

"Kiss her."

"You – What!?"

"I kissed her, Yoongi. Last year, at her birthday party. I kissed her. I kissed y/n. And, the worst thing is, she doesn't even remember."

Patently troubled by feelings of intense guilt and regret, Jimin runs a hand through his damp hair, soundlessly cursing under his breath.

"She was drunk, Yoongi. I took advantage of her state. I mean, it's not like she resisted. She kissed me back. I could tell, though, that she didn't really know what she was doing, nor did she grasp the consequences, but I let it happen anyway. And I guess, even though she didn't remember what happened that night, at some level she knew. That something did happen. That something changed. And that's when Namjoon and her started growing apart, Yoongi. Don't you see? It's my fault, it's all my fault!"

"No, Jimin, calm down. It's not like –"

"And last night, it happened again, Yoongi," the younger one cuts him short. "But this time it was the other way around. Y/n kissed me. Yet, again, she doesn’t seem to remember. And – She said things. And I don't know what to do, what to think, what to feel. Should I act on it? Or pretend like it was nothing? Should I tell her what went down a year ago? Or should I just act like it never happened? I – I just don't know anymore, Yoongi. I'm so confused. And angry. And – I don't know how to behave around her. Because, every time I look at her, all these feelings come bubbling to the surface. And ... they're just too much to handle, Yoongi. I don't wanna do something I will regret later. I don't want to ruin our friendship. What we are. What we were. I can't lose y/n. Do you get it? I can't. I literally can't. She's my – one. She's the one."

Finally, Jimin pauses to take a deep breath, cheeks speckled with red spots, eyes filled to the brim with helpless tears.

Yoongi watches him quietly, wishing nothing more than to be able to take his pain away somehow, anyhow, as he reaches out to rub his friends back, giving it a few soothing strokes, allowing Jimin to recover from his little outbursts before he speaks up again.

"Jimin. Why don't you go back a few steps and tell me exactly what happened last year at that party?"

↞ 𝓅𝓇ℯ𝓋𝒾ℴ𝓊𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 || ℰ𝓃𝒹 ℴ𝒻 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝟜 || 𝓃ℯ𝓍𝓉 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 ↠ coming soon

A/N: This is the re-release of a previous series I published in early 2018. It is in the process of being revised and edited. There will be new chapters and scenes added to the chapters to come. The series was originally based on a one shot request made by @im-cxnfused.

Tagging @gnoeccsij @d-noona @yoongi-is-a-mood @oyasumi7 @my-yehet-is-your-ohorat

Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged. Feedback is always welcome. Furthermore I encourage you to listen to the playlist (while reading) if you’re ready for the feels.

None of the GIFs used are mine. Credit goes to the original creators. I genuinely admire your work and dedication.

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pixieungerstories · 6 years ago

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Housemates - 5

View the pictures and learn about the sticker promotion here. Plus LOTS of other great stuff.

Vinny was arguably too young for him. Derick had become a werewolf in the early days of punk. He had been working at a bar and there was an accident. Now it was more than 50 years later and he was still at the same bar, or at least the same location.

He owned it now. No one knew that. He had a manager handling almost everything. He was still on the floor as a bartender and kept a really close eye on the books.

A big part of the attraction from renting from Bazur was that he wasn’t the oldest person in the building. Eventually, it would be him and the living statue after everyone else had passed on. At least the bar kept him young and current. He didn’t really get on with the local packs. They were too old fashioned around a few things he felt strongly about. He could see the attraction to having a family who wasn’t going to die on you. But there were some things he couldn’t be bothered to put up with.

Vinny was cute, but she also had zero bullshit tolerance. It gave them a lot in common. Derick nearly choked when he was listening to The Clash version of “I Fought the Law,” and she came in and asked if it was a remake of that old Green Day song. He appreciated most of the music she listened to. And it was one more vote against letting Tristan play country on the stereo.

After the first week of figuring out schedules, they started running together every morning. That was nice. It meant that he stopped getting reported as a stray and she didn’t have to worry about assholes commenting on her running pants. And, damn, her ass really did look good in those tights.

From morning runs it didn’t take long to ease into breakfasts together. Derick always cooked eggs. Vinny generally had cereal with added fruit or yogurt with added nuts. He started making her an egg, then two and talking about getting more protein in. She started out just humouring him before admitting that she wasn’t as hungry by coffee break any more.

The way he saw it, it was on him, Kogan and Bazur to help her settle in. Thea was useless around her. No one trusted Kevin to be alone with her. Dren was just too damn busy. Tristan would accidentally sprinkle double entendres into the conversation, then be mortified when he realized what he had said. Even if what he said was so obscure that she likely didn’t get the reference.

And Derick was fine with that. Tristan really was, as far as he was concerned, the competition. Nether Kogan nor Bazur was going to make the first move and Vinny wasn’t about to throw herself at them. Derick, meanwhile had long term goals with this arrangement and having Tristan get there first was not part of them.

Wednesday at dinner he opened with, “Hey, Vinny? We used to have movie night on Thursdays. Dinner in front of the TV. Think you could stick around and join us for that?”

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Um… OK. Something that can be eaten on the couch then?”

“Or we could order take away so you can have a night off.”

She looked a little confused. “I thought the point of having me here was so that you didn’t have to eat take ways all the time.”

Kogan rumbled at that, “One night a week isn’t all the time. ‘Sides, it will make it easier on you when you head back to school. I promised your mom that we wouldn’t let your grades slip.”

Derick mentally rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, ok,” Vinny agreed. “What movie?”

“We take turns picking,” Bazur explained. “Is there something you want to see?”

Vinny shook her head, “I’m not going first.”

Dren cleared his throat, “Don’t go giving away my turn just so you don’t have to watch The Life of Pi.”

Vinny blinked. “What?”

Dren shrugged and went back to slowly absorbing his food, “Bazur doesn’t always like my picks, but if I can put up with his period dramas, he can put up with-”

“Pride and Prejudice and Zombies doesn’t count as a period drama!” Bazur protested.

Tristan snorted, “I agree to disagree.”

“What kind of movies do you like?” Vinny asked.

Everyone started to laugh.

“What?” she demanded.

Kogan cleared his throat, “He likes chick flicks.”

“Romance,” Tristan corrected. “Nicholas Sparks style of thing.”

“Huh,” Vinny said, sound slightly baffled.

Derick watched Tristan brace for the comment about romance not really pairing with his rodeo back ground. It never came. It took a moment for the minotaur to wind down.

“Any way,” Vinny continued oblivious, as she got up and took her plate to the sink, “I have to rush to make it to work on time. Skipping cooking tomorrow, got it.” She finished scrubbing her dish and put it in the drainer. Then dried her hands on the towel. “Supper tonight is Boeuf Bourguignon,” she pulled a crock out of the new fridge and set it on the counter before digging out the slow cooker base, “It just needs to stay on low and it will be ready to go at six. I’m baking buns to go with it. See you at five!”

And with that she picked up her purse, walked out the front door and promptly missed her bus. Kogan laughed and picked up his spare helmet off the hall tree. “Let me,” Derick requested, “I’ll drive her.”

Korgan shrugged, and tossed the helmet to the werewolf. “Watch the speed limit. The rest of traffic doesn’t have your reaction times,” Kogan warned. “And neither does your passenger,” he added.

“Got it.” Derick opened the door just as Vinny got back to the house. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

Vinny smiled up at him, “Thanks!”

Yeah. That was worth it.

——

Derrick saved Vinny a spot on the couch. Next to him. Kevin was currently an egg chair. The pizza was great, the movie was eventually not bad, in the meantime Vinny settled in against him. She was warm and soft and she smelled good. She was comfortable here.

That was surprising. It had taken so little time. They were monsters. However much humans preached inclusiveness, it hadn’t been achieved yet. They barely tolerated each other. Monsters, non humans, others were only as tolerated as they were useful. Driders worked in construction, gelatinous were frequently ended up as sex workers, even if Dren had spent years at school until he was overqualified to work as a therapist for people with sensory processing disorders. Tristan had used sex work to pay for his degree because minotaurs couldn’t get other jobs. Werewolves were seen as diseased, it was only the transient nature of bar patrons that kept him employed.

Orcs worked as soldiers because they were good at following orders. And at killing.

And Derick was half convinced that more than half of Kevin’s issues were that he was generally considered furniture. He had no legal status.

Gargoyles were the history keepers. People paid extra to hire a real estate agent that could remember the history of a building. But they didn’t want them participating in society otherwise. And really, the only reason that they were all living in this house was that no one would rent to a single male non-human. Except another non-human. Even then, most were speciesist. Any other werewolves he had met considered humans to be prey.

Kevin just flat out left movie night at the first killing. By the time they got to the horrible ending, everyone was thoroughly uncomfortable.

Derick stood up and stretched, “Well, I feel morally superior for having watched that.”

Vinny shook her head, “I knew the ending. I just feel emotionally drained.”

Kogan coughed, “My turn next. I always pick comic book movies. Have you seen the first Deadpool?”

Vinny snorted, “Am I going to get to see the second?”

Kogan nodded, “Next week, myturn.”

Vinny nodded and yawned and stretched.

“Can I walk you home?” Derick asked. She blinked at him in confusion. “In case you get lost on the way upstairs, I mean.”

Vinny laughed and nodded and took his arm.

“God, I miss this.”

“And what is that?”

“Women who treat me like people,” he said simply. There was probably a better way to dress it up, but he couldn’t quite think of one just now. Maybe he should have taken the time because she stumbled on the steps at his words. His faster reaction time meant that he had a steadying hand at the small of her back before she could fall backwards down the few steps they had climbed.

He expected the flinch. It still stung when it happened.

“Whoa! How did you move that fast?”

“Practice,” he teased. Then as he started to pull his hand away, he felt her arm come across his back and up onto his shoulder.

“Good thing you decided to walk me home. Who knew this was such a dangerous area?”

He smirked; she laughed.

The third floor landing was freezing. “Shit. I know Bazur sometimes forgets to close the window, but he was downstairs with us all night.” He sniffed. “Smells like rain,” he said uneasily.

Vinny noticed. “Afraid you will melt?” she teased.

Derick blushed and pulled away. She caught his hand and pulled him in for a kiss. To his shock and horror he was too unsettled to even enjoy it.

Her face fell and she took a step back. “Wow, that was awkward. I… I’m sorry I overstepped.”

He didn’t move his hands from around her waist. “I really don’t like thunderstorms. It isn’t you. That was nice and if you try again tomorrow, I promise I won’t be distracted. I just really, really don’t like storms.”

She cocked her head and frowned at him, “My Nonna had a dog that would hi-”

Now he stepped back. “Don’t do that. I am a person, not a dog.”

She shifted awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I just thought… Well, it was the only time Baxter ever slept on her bed, was during thunderstorms. I have a big enough bed for both of us while you are… changed. I thought… I’m sorry. You’re right you are an adult. I’m sure you have this.”

Derick blinked. There was no way he could be understanding this correctly. “You are offering to let me sleep with you?”

Now she was embarrassed. She looked at the floor. “I’m not offering to have sex with you. Just… I … yeah. You can sleep in my room if you want.”

At that point, there was flash of light followed immediately by a crash of thunder that rattled the window. August storm season was officially upon them and Derick had kicked it off with an undignified yelp in front of his crush.

Vinny opened her door. “It’s up to you. But you are sleeping on top of the covers, whatever form you are wearing.”

He followed her into her room. He watched as she closed the windows. He could smell Kevin, but couldn’t see him. Vinny pulled a night shirt out from under her pillow. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”

Derrick watched her leave. He was stripped and changed and trembling by the time she got back.

Vinny looked at him, then closed the door. She crawled into bed then patted the spot next to her. “Come on then.”

#exo #exophilia #terato #monster #mimic #werewolf #slime #gargoyle #minotaur #orc #drider

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lundsandbyerlys · 6 years ago

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Slow Cooker French Onion Soup

Let your slow cooker do the work in this classic, comforting soup recipe from Twin Cities food blogger greens & chocolate.

While I already have a delicious recipe for French Onion Soup on my blog, it’s one that requires a lot of hands-on time. The onions are slowly cooked in the oven for over two hours and then the soup takes another hour to cook on the stovetop. That’s a lot of time hanging around the kitchen, and while it’s true that French Onion Soup takes some time to develop flavors (and that recipe is completely worth it), I wanted to come up with a method in the slow cooker that was less hands-on.

youtube

This recipe requires more time overall, but it’s far less work, as you let the slow cooker do it all for you. To begin with, you caramelize the onions in your slow cooker overnight. Did you know your slow cooker can do that for you?!

You simply put your onions, some butter and salt in the slow cooker and let it go all night long on low. When you wake up, your kitchen will not only smell lovely, but you’ll also have deep brown caramelized onions.

After the onions are caramelized, you add the remaining ingredients of the soup and let it cook all day. Easy, right?

To top it off, I think the bread and cheese is crucial for French onion soup. While I’ve used many recipes that simply put the bread and cheese on top and broil it, this recipe bakes it for 20 minutes and then broils it. This allows the bread to really meld into the soup – when I made it, there wasn't one bit of the bread that didn't soak up the delicious broth.

Can I just say this soup got me the slightest bit excited for chilly weather? I love a good hot day, but after having this French onion soup, I’m craving a chill in the air.

Slow Cooker French Onion Soup

6 servings Preparation time (active): 15 minutes + 20 minutes in the oven to finish Preparation time (passive): 8-10 hours to caramelize onions, then 6-8 hours to cook soup

Ingredients 3 pounds white onions, sliced 8 tablespoons unsalted butter 1 teaspoon salt 8 cups beef broth 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce ¼ cup white wine (or white cooking wine) 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar 4 sprigs thyme, plus additional thyme for topping Loaf of Italian bread, cut into ¾-inch slices, for topping 2 cups shredded Gruyère cheese

Directions

Place onions, butter and salt in large slow cooker. Cook on low for 8-10 hours. This works best if you do it overnight.

In the morning add beef broth, Worcestershire, wine, red wine vinegar and thyme. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Cover and cook on low for another 6-8 hours.

Heat oven to 350 F. Place ovenproof bowls onto baking sheet. Ladle soup into bowls. Top each bowl with 1-2 slices of bread and about ⅓ cup of shredded cheese.

Bake for 20 minutes.

Turn on broiler and broil until golden brown, keeping a very close eye on it.

Garnish with additional thyme leaves and enjoy!

#soup #comfort food #french onion soup #Fall #winter #slow cooker #crockpot #Family Meals #soup recipes #greens & chocolate #meatless dinners #fall soups #comfort soup #slow cooker soup #video

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lowcarbnutrients · 6 years ago

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Saturated Fat Alone Does Not Cause Heart Disease

For decades, saturated fat-also called 'poor' fat-has been classified among the leading reasons of heart problem. Greasy hamburgers, T-Bone steaks, tacky pizza as well as lotion sauces have actually long been prevented because of advice offered by nourishment professionals such as myself, wellness officials, and also as outlined by nationwide wellness authorities and also heart associations. The reality is, there is definitely no link in between saturated fat as well as heart condition risk. But wait. Don't allow this brand-new evidence be your permit to gorge on oily burgers day-to-day.

A brand-new big research published on Monday in the journal 'Annals Of Internal Medicine' examined 49 observational studies as well as 27 randomized control tests on heart problem danger based on diet data from greater than 600,000 people throughout The United States and Canada, Asia, as well as Europe.

What they discovered was that usage of saturated fat alone does not forecast heart condition.

They additionally discovered that those who consumed extra unsaturated or 'healthy and balanced' fats such as monounsaturated fat-rich olive oil or polyunsaturated fat-rich canola oil or nuts, were not at a lower danger of establishing heart problem. It turns out that heart problem threat is a lot extra difficult compared to saturated vs. unsaturated fat consumption. The researchers did verify, however, that trans fats, the large 'crook' usually located in processed, packaged foods or in deep fried foods like potato chips or French french fries, does raise the risk of cardiovascular disease such as heart assault or stroke.

The reason that saturated fat got a poor rap initially was as a result of it raises LDL cholesterol (low-density lipoproteins), the 'poor' sort of cholesterol that enhances heart disease threat. It turns out that saturated fat likewise raises HDL (high density lipoproteins), the 'excellent' kind of cholesterol. The lead researcher, Rajiv Chowdhury, MD, likewise describes in an interview that the particular subtype of elevated LDL cholesterol doesn't seem to be harmful-it is less dangerous than the smaller artery-clogging subtype of LDL that seems to increase with a diet high in refined sugars and also excess carbs.

Still, the scientists describe that it is traditional believing to tease one single nutrient when it concerns persistent illness risk, as well as I agree. Exactly what I find remarkable is that individuals have the tendency to turn greatly towards one type of food when another is deemed 'poor'- when hydrogenated fat was thought to be the big reason of cardiovascular disease, people counted on carbs to load in the void. When carbohydrates became the villain, individuals resorted to higher protein diet regimens, as well as currently that we understand that as well much protein isn't so great and that saturated fat isn't considered the culprit, we'll probably see a pattern in the direction of greater fat foods.

It's this or absolutely nothing mentality that gets individuals into problem.

I have no doubt in my mind that lots of people will see this research study as an environment-friendly light to delight much more often in greasy burgers, cheese-ladened appetizers, as well as French pastries, however I think that we have to pause, place the hamburger down and also truly assume concerning what we're doing.

When I got to out to my Registered Dietitian assistance community to see what their take on this brand-new study was, one RD mentioned the fact that many foods high in saturated fat are likewise high in refined carbs, exceptionally high in calories, often high in sodium as well as void of much nourishment to start with, so if individuals start eating these foods (believe restaurant burgers, cheese buns, pastries, luscious pasta sauces, cold-cut subway sandwiches) a lot more usually, they are most likely going to put on weight and also may even enhance their blood stress, both of which are threat elements of heart condition. On the other hand, if somebody determined to switch from margarine to butter, switch to 2% fat yogurt vs fat-free or make homemade burgers with lean hamburger as opposed to always using ground turkey, that seems sensible as well as completely healthy and balanced.

The media has the tendency to produce a frenzy around research studies similar to this as well as individuals have the tendency to translate research study findings right into their new diet plan mantra.

As all of us understand, nutrition research study modifications virtually daily, so my suggestion is to focus on these three points instead:

Moderation

Singling out one certain nutrient such as fat, carbohydrates, salt, or healthy protein as profaning is the incorrect way to go. Forgoing an entire food team frequently leads to feeling denied and also binging in the future and also might even result in vitamins and mineral shortages. On the flip side, anything in excess is not a good idea either. The old proverb 'done in small amounts' actually does prove out when it comes to nourishment and consuming. Delight in poultry wings as soon as in a while, not every 2nd day.

Enjoy a freshly baked pastry once a week as opposed to every morning. Spread a little bit of butter on your corn rather than splashing it so that it's trickling. Have a tiny glass of wine a night as opposed to half a container.

Become a Fooditarian

When I composed a blog post on coming to be a 'Fooditarian' a while back, I described just how my husband and I had actually made a decision to significantly decrease the processed/packaged foods that we purchased. Instead of having morning meal cereal, we're currently making homemade muesli or slow-cooker steel-cut oats. Rather of buying premade pizza shells, we're making entire grain pizza dough from square one. We're focusing much more on entire fresh foods as well as cooking from scrape regularly. Due to the fact that our food preferences a lot better, and due to the fact that we truly don't feel deprived of anything, it works actually well for us. Study constantly indicates the reality that usage of highly processed foods brings about unfavorable health and wellness outcomes such as excessive weight, heart illness, Diabetes mellitus, and also Metabolic Syndrome. As a result, reducing the amount of convenience food, packaged/processed food-like products in addition to sugary drinks as well as concentrating a lot more on real whole food is really a no-brainer.

Mindfulness

I constantly return to the importance of being a mindful eater. Also if your diet regimen is perfectly balanced with only entire foods as well as no unhealthy food, it is still possible to increase your weight and your risk of chronic illness if you're not eating mindfully (eating way too much). Pay interest to your personal cravings hints when eating. Eat prior to you end up being hungry and stop prior to you're over full. Let your body be your guide when it pertains to eating, not just how much food gets on your plate or what does it cost? your buddy across the table has actually consumed. Eat slowly as well as taste your food.

Even if you do come to be a Fooditarian, there are still some packaged foods that you will certainly get. Don't waste your time analyzing food tags. Here's the only point you have to know about nutrition labels. And also you may also be interested in discovering how being 'slim fat' has lots of health and wellness risks.

#diet #health and wellness #high fiber diet #new diet #nutrition #protein diet #wellness

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jasperwoke · 6 years ago

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Lemonade

“It’s lemonade”

“What?”

“Lemonade” Jake repeated once more.

In the middle of the table, just covered with a sky blue cloth moments ago, sat a cold pitcher of lemonade. Condensation could still be seen gathering on the sides, while the ice cubes inside slowly melted. Two lemon wedges sat on top and too much undissolved sugar sat on the bottom, each adding milky swirls into the juice.

“Why would- WHY the hell is there lemonade? It could’ve been knife. perhaps a blood covered gun. Hell, even a dead rat with a highly contagious viru- why the shit is it lemonade and how am I supposed to commit MURDER with a pitcher of lemonade?”

Aaron was just about to smash the pitcher. In all his years of being a “house painter”, he never got a client like this. And he never had to resort to means like this. Jake was his assistant. Similar to the way snipers need a spotter to call out distance and wind estimates on targets, Aaron needed an assistant to help “clean” on cases that got dirty.

Aaron accepted the case whilst meeting the patron in a coffee shop. Media often portrayed hitmen as top secretive, scrambling under the cover of night in black trenches and silenced pistols. Once he watched the movie Leon the Professional - he quite liked it. Hitmen, at least the majority, do in fact have a favorite cereal.

“Tell me Jake” Aaron composed, struggling to keep his voice a few decibels below pure rage “what light do you make of this situation?”

“Well… Clearly the lemonade pitcher has something to do with the client. Maybe its like kryptonite to peter parker”

Aaron snorted. “You mean Barry Allen, but anyway. Yes. That is what I was thinking. You are lucky to be under the apprenticeship of a professional like me. Let me tell you Jake, so many people in the field these days are amateurs” Aaron bellows a hearty laugh. “People in the FIELD” he chuckles again to himself

The target in question was not a highly sought target. Her radar was low, and at first, Aaron had to reconfirm with his client that the victim was indeed the right person. Sarah Briggen, mother of three, grandmother of two, and widowed at 65. Short gray locks hung slightly below her shoulders. Her soft brown eyes peeked form under folds of skin on her cheeks and drooping lids. She was grown and weathered. Weathered, but by no means, old.

Sarah’s house was an archetype of homely. She had a small abode out in Pennsylvania, where she and her husband used to farm chickens and store their yearly berry harvests in a tin silo out back. Her house itself was a flat one story wood building, painted in a lime green that had worn into a piss yellow over the years. However, the vibe of grandmotherly still filled the air around her farm. The scent of pies and tarts lingered as strongly as the taste of her always freshly prepared beverages. She made a killer root soda, but her lemonade was also a classic.

“This is the place, huh.”

“Sarah Briggen, age 86, says her husband died 21 years ago. And she’s been living alone all these years. Her children visit once a year around December for Christmas. Let’s see, oh, she lets passerby’s stay the night for a day’s worth of work. Who knew” Jake summarized Sarah’s file, slowly mapping out the execution in his head while doing so.

“Haha very funny Jake enough of the small talk, when does she go to sleep? We slip in slip out easy peasy you amateurs think too much read into it too much” Aaron snorted “If I took this solo case it would’ve been done already I mean, for christ’s sake, she’s 86. 86! I don’t need a pitcher of lemonade hell I don’t even need hands she probably suffers a different heart attack every day I’ll-” Aaron catches his breath “I’ll bet you this case that all we have to do is sit in this car and she’ll somehow break her pelvis and this job is closed.”

Jake glanced up. He took a while, measuring and picking his words carefully for dealing with Aaron. “I dunno boss, I think a more direct approach is better. Maybe we’d stop in around dinner, and feel her place out. Make it quick so the locals don’t suspect nuthin but I still think we should be on the lookout. After all, if she’s worth as much as the file says, I don’t think she’d be that easy.” Jake pauses, peering at the house, and quickly adds a “sir.”

They watched from the car for a few more hours. Mid July heat was no joke, but in the countryside, the overgrowth and vegetation helps circulate air. In fact, it’s been measured that it’s usually cooler outside of cities and urban areas. Sarah sometimes came out onto her patio and sat on her rocking chair. The duo didn’t find out anything else of value, expect that she really enjoyed John Denver. She moved slow, taking her time, but didn’t seem to be in stress or strain, only taking more time to catch her breath every so often. She had a small pink pocket square she hung around her waist that she would occasionally wipe her brow with. July is humid and hot.

When the fireflies started flying and the crickets started chirping but the birds stopped and the frogs began their low croaking, Aaron and Jake stepped out of their car. They parked behind a line of trees, and were sure Sarah hadn’t seen them during the day. They trekked up her gravel roadway, noting the two big tractors she had out front.

“Strange, I didn’t think a woman like her needed two tractors” whispered Jake.

“Oh my dears! Come on in, come in! Please. I’ve just been simmering some stock with McGrady’s be-” She stops to catch her breath. It’s clear she doesn’t get a lot of visitors and has a lot of love. Sarah beckons them in with her short flabby arms, making grandiose gestures in her not so grand shape, “Please, sit my loves, y’all ain't intruding at all oh hush up, you.”

Sarah gingerly takes out half a leftover peach cobbler from her fridge. The crust had grown a bit soggy from the moisture, but it was clear it was puff pastry. Small grating of orange zest adorned the top of the pie along with flecks of powdered sugar, whilst under, the peach jam stayed firm from the cold refrigeration. Sarah also pours them two tall glasses of lemonade. The sweet glazed nectar trickled down the sides of a highball liquor glass. She brushed the rim with specks of salt, and split a lemon wedge, softly pushing it into place on the glass. The lemonade was dense. It wasn’t just milky like the pitcher that Aaron had seen earlier. The way the light caught on the edge, the way the streams ran down the glass, the way the sugar didn’t collect at the bottom; the lemonade was conspicuous.

Aaron readily chugged it. He waited all day in a more than hot sedan in the July heat. He then plunged into the pastry, readily digging with his fingers. Had his partner not known better, Jake would’ve assumed Aaron was Sarah’s own family with how he was adjusting himself. Jake was positive at this point Aaron didn’t even know who Sarah was or where he was, only that the cobbler and lemonade were delicious. Aaron didn’t notice how his cup wasn’t filled with what Sarah pulled out from the fridge. He didn’t realize Jake pulled out their pitcher, and filled his cup with the placebo. He didn’t quite notice the underlying metallic taste in his drink, as Aaron readily gulped down two straight glasses. Aaron didn’t notice Sarah preparing and simmering her vegetable stock with a butcher knife, back turned to him, obscuring her face.

Aaron awoke in the kitchen again. It was dark out. He wasn’t tied or restrained, but his body wouldn’t respond. His arms hung limp at his sides, he could feel his fingers slightly numb from all the blood gathering at the tips. His head tilted back onto his seat, but the seat was tall enough to make him look forward. His eyes opened. It took a moment to adjust to the dark kitchen, with only two light sources.

“Wait, two?” thought Aaron

Moonlight streamed through the window curtains above the oven. Under the window was a slow cooker lit on the gas stove. The two light sources. On opposite sides of the light were two figures. One with a short 86 year old grandmotherly stature, and another resembling Jake. Aaron was confused. Perhaps it was him waking from the nice nap he took in the summer evening, perhaps it was from the copious amount of juice he drank, either way, his head was not too clear.

“Who- why? We’re on the same team you little- you PIECE OF-” at which Jake shoved Aaron’s sweat stained sock into his mouth.

“Well you see boss, I got called aside by a client too” Jake paused and inspected his nails. In the dark, as Jake raised his hand to his face, it looked more sinister and ominous, as if he was reaching for something. “Lovely Ms. Briggens here caught wind of what was going down. You see, her son is a very wealthy ambassador currently hosting a meeting in the United Arab Emirates as we” Jake waited for the right word “as we have this conversation. But anyway, it said somewhere in Ms. Briggens file that I so uncaringly forgot in the car, that her insurance covers about five million worth in equities.” Aaron choked a little. 5 million? His contractor was only offering fifty thousand, barely a scratch in her or this case’s worth.

“Well, why am I here? HUH? You’re the new fish you should be- why I oughta,” at least, that’s what Aaron tried to say. The sock in his mouth made him sound more, passive. Like he was whimpering. Perhaps, Aaron was scared.

“Well darling, let’s get to work shall we?” Sarah piped up. “The base has been cooking for a while now, I think it’s time to add the,” she cleared her throat. Her brown eyes caught the moonlight and for a split second, gleamed pure white. Two pale dots on a soot black face. Aaron gulped. He started trembling. He hadn’t notice his pants were soiled, or did he just soil them? His eyes too grew wide like Sarah’s, but not out of eagerness for the killer gumbo she was preparing. Sarah finished her sentence in a soft gingerly voice. The way a mother sings a lullaby to her child, before putting them to sleep. “I think it’s time to add the meat.”

#short story

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