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barelyahumanbeing · 4 months ago

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The Strange Night at the Convenience Store

Pairing Humanoid monster x reader

Plot You moved to that place recently and already had a favorite convenience store. There was nothing special about, until you had to go there at night and cross into a peculiar version of it... with also a peculiar attendant

Warnings: None

N. A. So this is my first story for this blog, and I'm so excited with this new project! I have plans of bringing other formats besides lists like this one, so please tell me what type of content you feel more comfortable with 🥰 I'll also create a masterlist with all my content separated by creature, title and other categories in the future, so everything will be kept in order. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little story and feel free to share your thoughts!

🥀 You moved to that city a few weeks ago and were still adapting to your new routine. It was the first time you were going to live alone, so you were excited and scared at the same time

🥀 Among all the things you had to manage by yourself now, it was discovering the supermarkets and shops that existed near your place, and which of them had the best products and prices. One day, you found a convenience store on a gas station located on a block behind the one where your building was, which sold snacks and essential items at a good price. It quickly became your favorite store, and you went there on every opportunity you had

🥀 Thing is that you always went there by day, so you never needed to leave your apartment by night when you wanted a good treat

🥀 However, there was this time when you forgot to shop at day, so you only found out your pantry was empty when it was almost 21pm

🥀 You sighed. Your movie night would have to start later than you planned

🥀 You left home promising you were going back to its comfort soon

🥀 You used to cross an alley right behind your building to shorten the way to the store, but you didn’t want to use it at night, so you took an entire walk around the block.

🥀 When you were about to cross the street, you noticed a change in your surroundings. The street, the buildings and cars were... different. Old. It was like you were in the same place, but in a past version of it. Even the few people you saw on the sidewalks wore strange clothes: they weren’t retro clothes like the ones you used to see in popular shops, but real, old clothes, though they were in good conditions, as if they were bought recently. The people were strange as well, but you weren’t sure about why you thought that

🥀 You didn’t understand what was going on, but you decided to pretend everything was alright and enter the convenience store. It was better than making a scene and attract unwanted attention

🥀 It was like entering another dimension: it was the perfect scenario of those convenience store of the movies produced in the 1980s, but realistic… and with an unsettling aura. Maybe it was the green neon lights that came out of nowhere, casting a sinister glow over the objects and colored walls. You saw a calendar and went there to see the date. You held your breath: the sheet was new, but it was from February 1984

🥀 So not only you traveled to a different universe, you also traveled back in time

🥀 The store was empty, but this didn’t bring you the relief you were expecting: the idea of being alone at night in a distorted reality was far too scary

🥀 As you walked through the corridors, you observed the racks and found the strangest things, from weird foods with even weider flavors, objects which use you couldn’t imagine and other things you were unable to identify.

🥀 Well, unlike you imagined, you weren’t really alone in that place: a voice called from the bottom of the place. It was a male, duplicated voice that spoke polite words in human language, but little it had to do with humanity

🥀 “Good evening, Miss. What can I do for you?”

🥀 You froze in your spot. The voice was talking to you. The person – or whatever was that – already saw you. What should you do next?

🥀 Since you didn’t give any verbal response, the voice spoke again

🥀 “Hey, it looks like you’re lost. Do you need help?”

🥀 In fact, you needed help, but you weren’t sure if you could seek for any help in there with an unknown being... Still, you decided to risk it. It wasn’t like you had many choices

🥀 “I do... I think I ended up in the wrong address, and I’d like to know how I get out of here”

🥀 You said those things while approaching the counter. When you realized what you were doing, you were already standing before it, staring at the voice’s owner

🥀 He was a man, or something like that: a humanoid individual dressed in the same style of the people you saw outside, but in his case it was the typical attendant uniform of the movies; he was taller than any human you’ve seen in your life, being able to touch the ceiling in case he raised his arms; his skin was of a dark shade of green, and most of the visible skin was covered in a discreet layer of even darker hair, and the same color was seen in the thick strands on his head. His eyes, resembling gold and contrasting with the green of his body, glowed under the neon lights when he laid them on you. You comforted yourself thinking it was just a gleam of curiosity

🥀 To be honest, you were curious about him too. First, it was obvious that he wasn’t wearing a costume: the green, the gold and all that hair were too real to deceive one’s eyes. Second, there was no way one could fake that height: you barely reached his chest. Besides, in the middle of that extraordinary situation, you realized you weren’t sensing any threat coming from him; you felt like you were in the presence of a common person, which only difference lied in his appearance. It was like a weird dream, except that you knew you were awake

🥀 He spoke for the third time, and you confirmed the origin of the voice. It vibrated inside you now that you heard it closer

🥀 “Yeah, I see you don’t belong here. I’d be scared if was you, too”

🥀 That was said in a playful tone, and you saw the long fangs on his mouth when he opened it to smile. You let out a nervous laugh

🥀 “I don’t understand what’s going on... I went to a convenience store near my place, but tonight things went... differently. And now I’m here”

🥀 The creature made a "Hm" and thought of this for a moment. The absence of confusion in his traits showed you that, apparently, the case wasn't as unusual to him as it was to you. And, in fact, his reply let it clear

🥀 "It used to happen more often in the past. It's been a while since the last person from your side ended up here, but it's no big deal. We don't know why or how exactly it happens, but sometimes you just cross the door without noticing. Usually they get scared when they realize they're lost, but you don't seem scared at all"

🥀 He approached the wooden board as to observe you from close. You were apprehensive, but didn't step back

🥀 "Still, I'm sure it's your first time here", he continued, "I don't remember seeing your face before"

🥀 You crossed your arms in front of your chest. That was your time to smile

🥀 "You always remember people's faces?"

🥀 “Not always, but the most interesting ones never escape my sight”

🥀 You spent a considerable time staring at him, measuring those words. Was that his way to say you were pretty or, at least, peculiar? What was even considered pretty in that place? Whatever the answer, the whole thing was unbelievable: a non human individual was flirting with you?

🥀 "Well, I think you haven't seen much people from my side, then", you commented, "I'm pretty common among my people. I don't think you'd remember me anyway"

🥀 The glow in his eyes came back, stronger as he leaned over the board. The fangs seemed to glow in his smile

🥀 "I work at a convenience store, dear. I've seen more people than you could count, and I'm telling you: my eyes and my memory work well together"

🥀 Your smile faded a bit, less because you didn’t know how to respond than by embarrassment. Your hand brushed your hair behind your war before you could stop it

🥀 "If you say so..."

🥀 Fortunately for you, he made you a favor and changed the conversation's direction

🥀 "So, since you're my only client at the moment, guess you can have my undivided attention. What do you need for tonight? Coke? Snacks? Something else?"

🥀 You laughed at the casual tone after such an intense dialogue about remembering faces

🥀 "I need something for a movie night. What do you have for me?"

🥀 "Tell me what you want"

🥀 "I want you to surprise me"

Tell me if you want Part 2!

#monster love #monster romance #monster lover #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster x fem!reader #monster x female #slow burn #convenience store #monster fluff #monster imagine #monster stories

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lively-potter · 10 months ago

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— moon struck ; jjk ; one

— genre ; strangers to friends to lovers/kinda grumpy x sunshine/smut/fluff/angstwithahappyending 🥹

— warnings ; body insecurities ( mentioned ), eating disorder ( in the past but mentioned ), oc deals with a severe amount of anxiety and panic attacks, violence, smut ( later ), FLUFF, love struck jungkookie 🥹

— find me on Wattpad ; @/LivelyPotter

— word count ; 2.4k

— part two

— 2024 © @LivelyPotter

river’s pov ; six am

My brother Brandon always used to tell me to make sure the walls that I built to protect myself didn't become a prison — a prison that I couldn't escape.

Ten years later, I could shamefully say that I did not listen to his advice, and now I was paying for it in the worst way possible.

Knees tucked to my chest, I panted and eyed the area around me nervously, as if I expected the man that I had been avoiding as the plague had come upon me.

Tucked inside the teeny tiny cleaning closet across from the kitchen, with the door locked and closed – it wasn't possible, but in my mind, there was still a chance.

But maybe that was just me being paranoid.

Okay, I was paranoid. Very paranoid.

Listening closely to the parents dropping their children off, I prayed to whoever was listening to me at this moment that I wouldn't be found by anyone until it was only Sang, the children, and I in the building.

I gulped past the ball that seemed to be lodged in my throat constantly whenever he came to my mind.

He nearly always was on my mind, so I was growing quite used to the clogging of my throat and the constant upbeat of my heart thrumming inside my chest.

He was here, and he crept up on me ( not really, I'm just being dramatic ) without my notice with little Moon in his big strong arms.

Once I caught sight of him – smiling kindly and brightly as he always did, a breathless whisper of my name leaving his red-bitten lips – I squeaked and ran away like a coward, ghostly pale face stained crimson.

It had been this way for seven, grueling, nerve-racking, months.

Ever since Jeon Jungkook moved to Charleston with his two-year-old daughter to live closer to his aunt, Mi Cha, my life had turned on its axis. I was living in fear every morning when the twenty-six-year-old man would drop off his daughter at the daycare center Sang and I ran.

A whimper of disparity left my lips.

My other best friends Brett and Atlas would never let me live this down. On the other hand, Sang and Wil wouldn't give me a hard time about running away from the man when he hadn't even spoken ten words to me.

Not for lack of trying, he had tried speaking to me — every day in fact, but I was the problem. I was the one who chickened out the moment I saw his intimidating, tattoo-laden figure — looking totally out of place in the yellow and lavender mellow aura surrounding the daycare center.

I didn't want to admit to the rest of my friends and family that I was scared of him. Terrified is a better word for it.

I gnawed on my bottom lip, enough to taste the nasty metallic taste of blood coating my tongue.

I cringed and rubbed over the small gash on my lower lip.

I know. I know it's unrealistic and okay, childish to be afraid of a man that I didn't know...but I just couldn't help it! I just couldn't!

Not when he stares at me, with those pretty boba-like eyes and that sweet smile on his handsome face, which for some odd reason, I find him doing a lot before my slow brain finally clicks that he's near.

When I catch sight of him, my fight-or-fly instinct kicks in and I'm gone.

It leads me to some very embarrassing moments that I'm not proud of.

Heck, even last week at the supermarket, I found him and Moon shopping and before he could find me, I hightailed it to the freezer section, and thankfully old man Joe — the resident frozen food stocker, let me hide in the freezing ice room containing huge pieces of pork, beef, and chicken hanging from metal hooks.

I could imagine Brett and Atlas laughing at my misfortune. Those two were a lot more courageous than I was, and I was still fighting past my insecurities about how in the world those two amazing people would want to be friends with me.

A girl who had way too many issues and experienced large bouts of cowardice.

Oh for dingleberries sake!

A shiver tumbled down my spine as I once again remembered that freezer room.

It freaked me out since it reminded me of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but I held strong. Being forced to be scared of ole Joe plunging one of those metal hooks through my neck and suspending my dead body from the ceiling was better than being around Jungkook and those feelings I got whenever I was around him.

Yes, I was running away from my feelings, and I didn't care.

As long as it wasn't hurting anyone, I could carry on in life with a guiltless conscience.

I wasn't hurting anyone, right?

A tremble parted my lips as a quick knock sounded on the door.

"River, he's gone now." A resounding sigh of relief left my lips at hearing Sang's voice. "Moon's been crying for you for the past ten minutes."

I licked at my chapped lips and got up off the floor, and dusted off my light denim baggy pants, and tugged at the oversized Nike sweatshirt I wore as I opened the door and skittered out.

Sang, with her arms crossed across her pink dress-covered figure, watched me sympathetically and carefully wrapped her taller self around my pixie-like frame and led me down the hall and into the children's room.

"You know you'll eventually have to stop avoiding him, right?" She chuckled and pinched my rosy cheek between her manicured fingers.

I avoided her eyes and fiddled with the hem of my shirt, "You don't see his face every time you run, Rivvy." She sighed, "I feel bad for the poor man, Mi Cha speaks about it sometimes. You ought to give Jungkook a break."

Why did it matter to him whether I avoided him or not?

Wouldn't a lot of people be put off by the sheer dominance that man gave off?

Wasn't he used to it?

I cringed, "...I'm sorry. I just can't help it." I mumbled and tucked my pale hair behind my ears as a high-pitched scream entered my ears.

Wincing at the familiar sound, a smile quirked up my lips at the tiny baby, with her gleaming, tear-filled boba eyes and wobbly lips, and cute little curled pigtails swinging back and forth as she marched towards me.

Her little white Air Force ones thumped on the ground as the tiny little girl marched towards me clumsily.

I mustered a giggle and knelt to receive the adorable two-year-old in my arms.

This, ladies and gentlemen, was Jeon Moon.

"Riv!" She cried out a new version of my name, the only part she could pronounce, and fat tears dribbled down her face as she placed her head on my chest.

"Shhh," I hushed the little child, who had begun to get the other kids' attention and before the others swarmed me, demanding attention, I had to quiet her. "It's okay, Moon." I smoothed back her silky dark hair as she calmed down and sniffled against my sweatshirt.

Sang smirked and pushed her chameleon-colored hair off her shoulders, "I don't know why she always comes to you, River." She snickered, now holding little Sarah in her arms.

"But seeing as you both prefer to keep to yourselves and avoid other people like the plague, I kinda see it." She joked.

"Haha." I deadpan at her, blinking down at Moon. My heart swelled at the adorable child and I hugged her closer to my body.

She was just too darn cute!

I wouldn't admit it out loud, but she looked like a baby female version of her dad.

Over the next few minutes, Sang and I sat on the floor as we watched over the kids who had already raided the toy box.

Being the youngest and the most interesting yet introverted child I had ever met, Moon decided to stay seated on my lap while digging into the soft strawberry puff snacks her dad packed for her.

"Oh!" Sang spoke up suddenly, causing Moon and I to look at her, lips forming an O at being startled.

My best friend stifled a giggle, "Your brothers will be here soon — they decided to bring lunch for us since you forgot to bring your own." She sent me a knowing look, more than likely knowing that I had forgotten on purpose.

I once again avoided her eyes and turned my focus to Moon who cooed, those rosy sun-kissed cheeks chubbily pooched out as she ate.

I released a laugh of my own and wiped along her lips with a baby wipe, cleaning the crumbs from her little delicate face.

"Sounds good." I exclaimed, meeting her emerald eyes, "Brett messaged me this morning and said she and Atlas may come down soon to hang out."

Sang only nodded and looked behind my shoulder, biting her lol nervously.

I felt my stomach drop and dread fill my gut. "What is it?" I gulped, fearing the worst.

Sang chewed on her top lip thoughtfully, "I was wondering whether or not you could take over pickup later today, Brandon and Corey need me back at this apartment."

The nervous tinge in her voice caused suspicion to curl along inside my chest, but knowing I would have to face my biggest nightmare, I nodded.

"Sure," I replied, my normally soft-spoken voice shaking in trepidation. I would find a way out of having to face him. I risked a look down at Moon who began to toy with my earring.

Sang had a proud glint in her eye, "Thank you, Rivvy!"

"No problem." I forced a smile and played with Moon's little pigtails.

Sang walked off to help stop a dispute between a couple of ten-year-olds while I gazed down at Moon.

"Oh, Moon." A loud sigh left my lips, displaying the fear inside my heart. "Why does your daddy have to be so darn scary?"

***

third pov ; jeon jungkook

The twenty-six-year-old man stared glumly at the table before him in silence. Using a spoon, Jungkook stirred the warmed ginseng tea within the mug.

"Did that sweet River flee from you again, joka?" Jeon Mi Cha guessed, studying the expression on her nephew's face.

Jungkook fiddled with the silver bar through his brow and sighed heavily, his expression and bodily actions speaking for themselves.

He sipped slowly at the warm drink and licked the droplets from his pierced bottom lip.

"Of course." He exhaled, gritting his teeth. "It's been like this for months, gomo. Why should I expect anything else? I...I try to speak to her every day, and it just stings when she doesn't even give me a chance to speak to her."

Jungkook felt his heart squeeze within the confines of his rib cage and resisted the urge to rub the skin above his heart.

Mi Cha frowned, "I've known that girl since she was five years old and clinging onto her brother's pant leg." She chuckled, seeing a smile erupt on Jungkook's face as he imagined a tiny five-year-old River.

Fuck, he imagined she was as adorable as his Moon!

"She hasn't got out much, Jungkookie." Mi Cha smiled comfortingly, "From what Sang has told me, the girl was homeschooled by her brothers and never really left her home. The only people that are close enough to her are family and those friends of hers that she's known her entire life."

"I know," Jungkook rubbed across his sharp jawline and tongued his cheek thoughtfully, "Since Min Jee and I divorced...I hadn't ever really tried to get back into the dating scene — honestly, I never really felt the urge to, until I saw her." He rumbled, eyes crinkled at the corners as his cheeks flushed the slightest bit.

He'd never blush because of a girl before, but since he had met River Henshaw, blushing in her presence was all he could do.

He wished he could play it cool.

Mi Cha hid her knowing smile behind her hand and continued to listen to Jungkook ramble.

"It's unbelievable to explain this out loud...but I want to get to know her so badly...it's like...she's like..." he struggled to find the right words so his aunt came to understand him. "I just know that she's something special. I just know it. We've never had a conversation, but I know I'll fall for her the second she looks into my eyes and smiles at me."

She was perfect in his eyes.

Attracted to her from first sight, and later falling in deeper the more he learned about her from Sang, Mi Cha, and hell, even his little Moon, who worshiped the ground River Henshaw walked on just proved time and time again that he shouldn't give up.

He didn't think he could.

No matter how insecure he got...when all she did was blatantly avoid him and tremble when he got near.

It was a searing blow to his self-confidence.

When she looked at him for the first time, it was like bells rang in his ears and everything around them blurred and all he could see was her.

"You'll get your chance, joka. It will take time. She's a skittish one."

Jungkook nodded, but other thoughts overwhelmed him.

"It just makes me upset when I hear her mutter 'run, River, run!' to herself." Jungkook's face fell in sadness.

What if the reason she wanted nothing to do with him was because he was older than her? Not too much — only seven years — or was it the fact that he was a dad?

The woman his mother had tried and failed to set him up with a year ago was always put off by the fact that he had a daughter. A baby.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his brain, Jungkook looked back to Mi Cha and rose that pierced brow of his.

"Because you're here at seven am on a Monday morning and not at your shop." She snorted, "Plus you have that puppy love look in your eyes. Again."

Jungkook only grunted in return, resuming his task of avoiding her knowing eyes to count to specks on the marble counter.

author's note ; ✨

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you loved the introduction to River's story!

Don't hesitate to let me know what you think!

#dilf jungkook #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook #bts fanfic #wattpad fanfiction #wattpad #jjk #jungkook x original character #moonstruck

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timetraveltasting · 3 months ago

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MINUTAL MATIANUM (ROMAN PORK WITH APPLES, 1st c.)

It's a been a tougher week than usual - my husband broke his leg and had surgery, and I'm dealing with some dental pain - but amongst it all, I thought it would be a good idea to treat ourselves with a Tasting History dish that is especially hearty and comforting: Minutal Matianum (Roman Pork with Apples). From the quintessential Roman source by Apicius from the 1st c., De Re Coquinaria, this meat dish is made using ingredients that would have been available to Roman soldiers in Britain, near forts in the area of Hadrian's Wall. This hearty dish was probably closer to what the officers of the Roman army would have eaten rather than the foot soldiers, however. I decided to make this dish because my husband and I have enjoyed most of the Roman recipes I've made so far, and Max exclaimed this was the best Roman dish even he had made so far. We hope this dish provides us with the fortitude of a Roman soldier on the frontiers! See Max’s video on how to make the dish here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

As usual for me with Roman recipes, I struggled to compile all of the specific listed ingredients, but I did my best! I sourced a pork shoulder from our local butcher, and for the ground meat, I used a mix of 60% beef and 40% pork (a very common mixture here in Germany). For the pork roast rub, I used oil, a bit of salt, lots of pepper, and a tablespoon and a half of linden tree blossom honey. For the meatballs, I didn't use any egg to bind them, as I didn't have any on hand. Instead of garum, I used an Asian fish sauce (which Max suggests as a substitute). For the apples, I used some sweet Pink Lady apples (which I definitely snacked on while I was cooking). Instead of the long pepper Max used, I used the tablespoon of peppercorns. I decided to omit the asafoetida completely, as I couldn't find it at 4 different supermarkets, including the bio-supermarket and the Turkish supermarket. I've recently learned that I should look instead at an Indian supermarket, so now I'm on the hunt for one! I reduced grape juice myself to make defrutum, as Saba seems a little expensive. Instead of starch/cornflour, I used regular white flour, since I think they would function fairly similarly.

First, I set out making the rub for the pork roast. Nice and simple with olive oil, salt, pepper, and honey, I loved that I could customize this part to my tastes (give me that sharp pepper taste!). Next, because I didn't have a roasting rack, I made one myself out of tin foil by taking a large sheet, rolling it into a snake shape, and curving it into a zig-zag pattern on top of a layer of tinfoil at the bottom of my pan. It fit the pork perfectly, and then I added the rub and tossed it in the oven. My pork shoulder was just over 2 pounds, so I roasted it for just over 2 hours. While it was cooking, I rolled my meatballs (sans egg), ground my spices for the sauce in the mortar and pestle (which took awhile), and chopped and portioned the ingredients for the next steps. When the pork was almost done cooking, I began cooking the meatballs in olive oil, also adding in the leeks. I added in the chicken stock and garum, stirring to get any bits from the bottom to release their flavour.

While this cooked on the stovetop, the pork roast was ready to take out of the oven. It looked wonderful and smelled delicious! I let it sit for a little bit, then chopped it into cubes and added them to the pot with the meatballs. I added in the cilantro, then a little bit more chicken stock so the pork and meatballs were 3/4 submerged and sizzling nicely in the juices. I simmered it for 15 minutes, then added the apple chunks. I simmered it further, but for less than the 20 minutes in the recipe (more like 15). I portioned the meat and apples into our serving bowls to cool a little while I prepared the quick sauce, being sure to leave some of the juices in order to provide the base to the sauce. I added the juices, defrutum, white wine vinegar, garum, and honey to a pot, added the crushed spices/herbs, and brought it to a light boil, stirring often. I made a roux with some flour by mixing a bit of water into it, then added it to my sauce to thicken it. By the looks of it, I think I ended up thickening it a decent amount more than Max did, but I like a thicker sauce, so I wasn't too upset about that. I took it off the heat once it was combined and thickened, and drizzled it over the pork, meatballs, and apples. It looked absolutely scrumptious - the sauce added a nice silky shine to the meat, the leeks added a pretty green, the peppercorns some texture, and the apples a beautiful yellow and red pop of colour. I served the Minutal Matianum with a side Greek Salad to balance the heaviness of the meat.

My experience tasting it:

I made sure my first bite was with pork, apple, and some sauce - it was very tasty! The pork was tender enough, but I might have overcooked it just a little. Luckily, the tougher, hearty texture was balanced by the crisp and light flavour of the apple and the acidity, sweetness, spice-infused, and herbed flavour of the silky gravy-like sauce. Like Max mentioned, the sauce first tastes a bit sour due to the vinegar, but it melts into a sweetness from the defrutum and honey. It is still a very 'Roman' flavour of sauce - I could taste hints of the previous Roman sauces I have made in other dishes in this one, but this one was more like a gravy, and maybe more in line with the modern palate. In terms of herbs and spices, I found that peppercorn and cilantro were the most forward in the sauce - the mint and cumin were just barely there. I decided to make my next bite a meatball with some sauce, apple and leek: an absolute winning combo! I don't always have time to make a pork roast, so I can't see myself making Minutal Matianum often in its complete form, but I will most certainly make the sauce with apples and meatballs again in the future. Like Max, my husband and I both agreed this is our favourite of the Roman dishes I've made so far. This is a great meal for late fall/early winter, and I will probably make it again as the weather gets colder this fall. If you end up making this dish, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Links to harder-to-find ingredients:

Long Pepper

Flor de Garum

Colatura di Alici (Garum substitute)

Saba (Defrutum)

Asafoetida

Minutal Matianum (Roman Pork with Apples) original recipe (1st c.)

Sourced from De Re Coquinaria by Apicius, 1st century.

Put oil, garum, stock, chopped leek and cilantro and small ground meatballs in a pot. Chop previously cooked shoulder of pork with skin into cubes. Cook all together. Half-way through cooking add cored and diced Matian apples. While it cooks, grind pepper, cumin, cilantro and coriander seed, mint, and silphium root, pour in vinegar, honey, garum, defrutum, and some of the cooking liquid. Adjust the flavors with vinegar. Bring to a boil. Add broken tracta to thicken. Sprinkle pepper and serve.

Modern Recipe

Based on De Re Coquinaria by Apicius (1st c.) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

Roasted Pork

Pork shoulder

Olive oil

Salt

Pepper

Honey

Pork and Apples

1 tbsp olive oil

3/4 lb (340g) ground pork or beef, shaped into 1” balls

1 cup chopped leek

1 cup (235ml) chicken stock, plus extra as needed

2 teaspoons garum*

Small handful chopped cilantro

1 lb (450g) roasted pork, cut into cubes

1 lb (450g) sweet apples, cored and cut into about 1” pieces

Sauce

1 tsp cumin

2 tsp chopped cilantro

1 tbsp coriander seeds

2 tsp chopped mint

4 long peppers or 1 tbsp of peppercorns

1/2 tsp asafoetida

1/4 cup (60ml) white wine vinegar

2 tbsp honey

1 tsp garum*

1/4 cup (60ml) defrutum**

1/4 cup (60ml) cooking liquid from the pork and apples

2 tsp starch or cornflour

*Garum was a fermented fish sauce that was used in a lot of ancient Roman cooking. You can buy a modern equivalent or use an Asian fish sauce.

**Defrutum was a 1/3 reduction of grape must. Today, Saba is pretty much the same thing. It can be expensive, so you can reduce some grape juice instead.

Method:

For the roasted pork: Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C). Line a baking sheet with foil, then place a roasting rack on top of it.

In a small bowl, mix the olive oil, salt, pepper, and honey. There should be enough to coat the pork roast. Adjust the amounts to your liking.

Brush the olive oil mixture onto the pork, then roast for 15 minutes.

Lower the temperature to 275°F (135°C) and cook for about an hour per pound, or until the internal temperature reaches at least 165°F (74°C).

For the pork and apples: Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat, then add the meatballs and leeks and cook for 8 to 10 minutes, or until they start to brown.

Deglaze the pot with the chicken stock and garum. Toss in the cilantro and roasted pork. Add enough additional chicken stock so that it covers the bottom of the pot.

Simmer for 15 minutes, adding more stock if necessary.

Add the apples, then cook for another 20 minutes or until the meatballs are fully cooked.

For the sauce: Grind the spices and herbs with a mortar and pestle, then put them in a saucepan with the liquid ingredients. Stir together and bring to a gentle boil over medium heat.

Mix the starch with a little water, then add it to the sauce. Simmer for a couple of minutes until it thickens.

To serve: Dish the pork and apples into a bowl, drizzle with the sauce, and serve it forth.

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tobiasdrake · 2 years ago

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I would like to tell you a story. It's the story of two people who are very near and dear to my heart.

The story begins with a young enby named Willow. Willow was an unwanted child. Their father was a well-off businessman who was worried about what a child would do to his prospective future. When their mother wouldn't abort like he demanded, he pulled up stakes and moved to Minnesota, abandoning both mother and child.

Thus Willow was born to a single mother who resented them. As they grew up, abusive stepfathers came and went, leaving siblings in their wake. The middle child became their mother's favorite and was doted on incessantly, while their mother never forgave Willow for the crime of existing.

Things didn't get easier for Willow when, at the age of 7, they were diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and synesthesia. This translated into psychological and pharmaceutical bills, which translated into more resentment.

It was a hard condition for a 7-year-old to manage. Hell, it's a hard condition for an adult to manage. They would spend the rest of their life plagued by hallucinations. Haunted by intrusive voices and thoughts that hated them, urging self-harm and suicide. Insomnia that kept them from sleeping more than a few hours at night, and night terrors assailing them in their dreams.

It was not an easy childhood. More than once, Willow would go hungry to ensure their sisters ate. More than once, Willow left home to panhandle on street corners to try and help their mom make ends meet. And more than once, Willow would spend weeks or months finding friends to stay with, to escape their mother's mistreatment.

That's where I met them, in fact. We had met at a Magic: The Gathering event. They were 17 pretending to be 19 to avoid uncomfortable questions about why they can't go home. I was in my early 20's and had a poorly furnished one bedroom apartment, but I offered them my couch to crash on, and this stray cat I took in wound up becoming a dear friend for life. But this story isn't about me.

Life did not get easier for Willow when they became an adult. They graduated high school and entered college, only to find out the hard way that the adult world didn't want them. Few jobs will give your resume a second look once they see the words "paranoid schizophrenia" on your record. College was going to be a lot of money for a degree they weren't allowed to use, so they dropped out.

Their mother had racked up debts in their name, which destroyed their credit and made it impossible to get an apartment or a loan. Medicare, for reasons I still cannot fathom to this day, denied them coverage for their mental welfare. The lithium antipsychotic they'd been on was poisoning them, forcing them to go off meds and seek another way to manage their condition. They were wracked with insomnia during their waking hours and night terrors in the short time they could sleep.

They entered adulthood only to find every door closed to them and even more thorns than childhood had wrought. Even into their 20's, they were forced to crash on couches and lean on the charity of others. The world did not want them any more than their family had.

But they weren't alone anymore. They had friends, some fickle but others who cared enough to offer sincere help. And more than anyone, they had her.

Her name is Ally, and she became the love of Willow's life. A bottomless well of generosity. She didn't have much in terms of material wealth to share, having also left college for financial reasons and resorted to working at a supermarket to make ends meet. But she took Willow into her home and introduced them to a boundless love the likes of which they'd never known.

In Ally, Willow discovered kindness. They found patience. They started eating, and Ally, a woman whose greatest passion was to cook and to provide, made sure with every day that they were fed well. They found someone who could help them when the hallucinations got too hard to bear, without ever judging or making them feel like a burden.

In Ally's arms, they could finally sleep. The comfort she provided soothed away their insomnia. The night terrors were still there. They would always be there. But it was sleep nonetheless.

In Ally, Willow finally found a home. A place where they were wanted. A place where they were loved. Ally worked three jobs to make sure they would always have a roof over their head, and still cooked wonderful meals night after night to keep them fed.

Ally and Willow married in 2016. And they have had so many great years together. As someone who's known Willow for almost 15 years, I can honestly say I've never seen them happier.

I wish I could say this is where the story ends.

Early this year, Ally, this wonderful woman, was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. She's been put out of work and is undergoing chemo before surgery and radiation, and she's struggling to make ends meet.

Once upon a time, Ally dreamed of owning a food truck where she and Willow could work together. Now she goes to weekly chemotherapy treatments while trying to figure out how she's going to continue to support her beloved disabled spouse. And it gets harder with every passing month.

I'm doing everything I can for them, but it's not enough. They need more help than I can provide. Ally's GoFundMe can be found here. She's not asking for much. We all have our struggles and I wouldn't ask anyone to give any more than they're able. But if there is anything you can do, please help this story find a happy ending.

#lgbt #mental illness #schizophrenia #non-binary #charity #gofundme

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thebulletofsilence · 1 year ago

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PAGE 2 CHAPTER 1

I continued to run until I got to the heart of the city. As I looked around, gunmen were everywhere. 60 at least. Nobody was outside their apartments or work offices. I quietly crept around the corner, where there were barely any gunmen.

One of them had noticed me and glared. I froze. Eventually I burst into a run, a bullet immediately being fired. It thankfully missed me and crashed into the wall. I kept running until I turned another corner. Why were they attacking me? I wasn't even talking.

I realised I couldn't go anywhere from here. If I tried to run anywhere, the gunmen would notice me. And 60 bullets being fired at me all at once would spell disaster. I decided to take a run for it anyway.

Sure enough, bullets fired. None hit me, but one grazed my cheek and I yelped, passing the corner with my life and a scar on my cheek. I could hear their footsteps. I kept running until I spotted the arc that lead into the local nature park. I couldn't hear their footsteps anymore once I had crouched near the bushes there.

I stood up carefully, looking left and right. There were no gunmen protecting the surrounding area, but one was protecting the exit to the park, as if they knew someone would hide here. Bastards.

I ran over to the gate and climbed up it, a bullet being fired and missing me. I jumped down from the top of the exit gate and bolted for it. This time, no footsteps. I suppose they figured it wasn't any use.

Up ahead was my destination--the local supermarket. I didn't cease my run, and shoved myself through the doors. I stopped in my tracks at the state of the store. It was in distress. Knocked over empty cardboard boxes, racks on the floor, glass everywhere. Some of the lights had been broken. What the hell had happened to this place?

Nobody was at the counter, or inside in general. It was just me. Then I saw the reason. Bullet holes. They were everywhere. On the racks, the glass windows, I even spotted some blood. A rancid smell reeked throughout the store. I didn't even bother to look. I knew what was the source.

Why were they attacking so many innocent people? What was the reason for this? It's horrible.

I heard footsteps and quickly rushed behind the counter, ducking.

Someone tapped my shoulder and I jumped, looking over. It was a girl, and she was putting her finger to her mouth. I nodded and looked back.

There were two gunmen walking in, guns in hand and looking for someone. Looking for me. I kept crouched until they left.

I turned to the girl, unsure what to do. We couldn't speak. What was I supposed to do? She didn't seem to know either. The girl had some pretty bad bruises, and some scrapes. I assumed we were both on the run.

I grabbed her forearm and ran to the back, ignoring how much noise we made by crushing the glass under our feet. As soon as we got there, I slammed and locked the door.

She whispered, "Are you running from them too?" The recorders couldn't pick up whispering at a certain level, so we were good. I nodded.

"I'm Aoibhinn."

"Caolán."

She smiled at me, "It's nice to meet you."

#chapter 1

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thessalian · 2 years ago

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Thess vs Shopping Trips

Once again, ill-advised trip to Peckham for sundries. Didn’t help that the bus stop near my house was closed. Still, I needed some bits and pieces that I can’t get in this area on the weekend, and yesterday was bus strike, so...

Two separate pharmacies got a visit. One of the chain pharmacies in the area is cheaper than the other, but the cheaper one doesn’t have a pharmacy counter, so I couldn’t get mallet-meds there. So to the cheaper one for cold meds (I have a cold and it is doing my sinuses a misery), face wash, and something to deal with the insect bites that seem to have cropped up on my right middle finger. It was crowded, and people were not paying attention to how they were blocking aisles, and it was kind of miserable. The other pharmacy for mallet-meds was worse; the queue was awful and they only had one guy working the checkout, so ... yeah. Still, at least I got everything I needed.

Then, local grocery store. I’ve been looking up easy fudge recipes - ones that don’t require constant stirring and a candy thermometer - and picked out a couple for making over the next few days. This mostly because I figure I would be in zero shape to do the regular fudge-making when I got home from today’s excursion. Thing is, first thing I found when walking into big grocery store was ... you know those hugely oversized fleecy hoodies that are basically like wearing a fleece blanket? I’ve wanted one since the weather got overly cold but all the ones I were seeing were mega-expensive. But right at the front of the shop was a rack of particularly warm sweaters and ... some of those hugely oversized fleecy hoodies that are basically like wearing a fleece blanket. At a reasonable price. Fine, the quality isn’t going to be as good, but needs must, y’know?

(Note: it says something about the situation about heating bills in this country when shops known for selling cheap essentials are putting heavy sweaters and fleecy-blanket hoodies right up front. Not particularly a good something, either.)

Anyway, shopping really only involved the fleecy-blanket hoodie, two different kinds of chocolate, some espresso powder, and strawberry preserves, which I will turn into sauce for the making of strawberry fudge. Which made a fairly interesting bundle to take to the checkout. (I would have done the self-checkout but clothing item, wanted to ensure the security tag was taken off.) Thankfully I found a till with minimal queue, and amusingly, when I looked at the lady at the till ... she bore a nametag with the same name that turns up on my official paperwork. Y’know, the one my parentals use, which isn’t generally the one I use these days. Still, rough-looking very busy day, not much heating in the supermarket, I figured it might be nice to flag up that we share a given name, skipping over the fact that I don’t generally use it much. She was very amused by that, so it was a nice transaction for both of us, and that mood seemed to have carried over to her interaction with the next customer, so go, me!

...And then on my way out, someone not looking where they were going bashed past me and kicked my cane out from under me in the process. I managed to keep my balance, though that was painful, and the guy kind of looked over but with a very annoyed look and no apology whatsoever. The world may not be entirely made of jackass, but the jackasses are really disruptive.

Finally made it home, and now there are a bunch of kids stomping around in the corridor while I have a massive sinus headache. But I am in the warm fleecy-blanket hoodie and two pairs of socks, so that’s helpful. I also have some really good sherpa fleece slipper socks coming soon, as a sort of a Yule present, since while my shark slippers are cute, the soles are crap and have twisted in really uncomfortable ways. Still, fleecy slipper socks will make all things better when they get here.

I just wish the kids would stop...

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nickgerlich · 1 month ago

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Heat Wave

It’s not just you or me. It’s getting hotter in here. Except that it’s not the air temperature. It’s the food. And if anyone from Denny’s read my blog yesterday, they need to keep reading today. You might take your cues from the hottest—yes, I intended that—trend in food: Swicy.

It’s one of those fancy portmanteaus, a combination word blending sweet and spicy, and it is Gen Z leading the charge of the heat brigade. Fascination with ethnic cuisines known for their heat—Thai, Korean, Southern India, Sichuan China, and parts of Mexico—are fueling the trend. Gen Zers, it turns out, are those most willing to take chances when they dine, whether at home or in a restaurant.

I guess I’m just a geezer with Gen Z taste buds, because I am in love with all of this. My spice rack runneth over with heat, and every morning when I make my World Famous Breakfast Burrito, it has a variety of Asian spices blended in, and then covered with either a spicy Thai sauce or mouth-burning salsa.

The trick is to find the right balance of sweet and spice. Ideally, sweet should not steal the show; instead, it should complement, and help bring out the flavor the spice provides. Check the ingredients on those sauces you buy. If sugar is the first or second item listed, you are doing no better than ketchup.

Swicy is also a contradiction of what we have all seen in American Chinese restaurants, sweet and sour sauce, which is their answer to American ketchup. We do love slathering some kind of red sauce on our food, whatever it is. Thankfully, though, we’re moving away from the blandness. Oh, and I never saw sweet and sour sauce in China. They don’t see the need to ruin their food.

At least once a week, Youngest Daughter comes over and we cook dinner. She too is falling in love with heat, as has Oldest Daughter. We’ve cooked up a heat wave more than once to the point that I had to toss a Ziploc bag of dried chiles de arbol because no one could handle them. Still, if you aren’t sweating, sniffling, and crying a bit, you haven’t gotten there yet. But if you’re doing those three and even coughing a little, you’ve made it.

Or maybe gone too far. Like we did. Sweet Mother of Jesus, those things were off the chart.

We see evidence of the trend with the proliferation of Thai and Indian restaurants. Heck, even Amarillo has four Indian restaurants now, nowhere near as many as you will find in the north Dallas suburbs, but pretty good for our fair city. As for Thai, I lost count. Noodle and Ramen Bowl places are also on-trend. A new Asian market has opened on the south side of Amarillo, squarely located in a more white bread neighborhood than the other Asian markets along the Boulevard near where their core customers live.

An increasing number of restaurants have embraced the trend, and now one in ten US restaurants have at least one swicy entree. Some have entire sections. We also see it in the supermarket, with increasingly large international food aisles. Even my local Walmart has upped its game in this category. It’s not exactly the same as going to an authentic Asian market, but I can get almost everything I need. And if I ever get brave enough to try those chiles de arbol, I know where to find them on Amarillo’s east side. I even got to use my Spanish there.

Of course, trends come and trends go. There’s no guarantee that swicy will last forever, although the fact that it is rooted in Gen Z gives it a good shot at longevity. Well, as long as you guys don’t become like typical old timers who eat meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Bor-r-r-r-ing! Some other sensation will no doubt come along to capture a niche or the entire market. You can bet on this.

And then there are the ancillary products trying to keep up, like the failed Coca-Cola Spiced, along with a slew of others peddling spicy beverages. I’ve had beers brewed with Hatch chiles, and was not all that impressed. That said, on a recent visit to Roosevelt Brewing Company in Portales New Mexico, the brewmaster offered me a slice of a locally-grown red chile, which I let float in my Oktoberfest beer much like a slice of lemon in a Corona. Oh man, now that was excellent!

It’s a great time to be alive, and an even greater time to be eating. I’ve got plans to hit that new Indian restaurant in Downtown Amarillo, as well as Little Laos on Route 66. I’ll be sure to dress appropriately for the heat.

Dr “Turn It Up” Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #food #swicy #GenZ

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loggedbylily · 9 months ago

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written and edited by lily hayashi. made in relation to 'small girl, big thoughts' podcast, hosted by lily hayashi.

link to related podcast here

recently, there’s been a lot of talk about taylor swift’s carbon emissions (and overall carbon footprint) on social media. i honestly don’t really know enough about the situation to publicly comment on it, although i did read the article from the washington post (harwell, 2024) on jack sweeney, a guy who opened a (i believe it was twitter?) account to post about her flights. spoiler, she did try and sue him, but lost since flight information is technically public domain. this might sound super random and unrelated, but the reason he was posting this info (and has posted info about private jet flights of other celebrities) is to kind of mock the way they’re able to fly around so easily, racking up huge carbon footprints, whilst we’re the ones who have to use paper straws that decompose a little too well (such as in my drink!).

global warming, carbon emissions and general environmental issues aren’t any new topic being discussed; we’ve been talking about how bad our treatment of our planet is since around the mid 2010s, and from around 2020 onwards, following greta thunberg’s speeches and many other key events, it’s become a hot topic that’s settled near the top of the list of some of the most discussed things online.

something i really want to talk about in this post is the whole issue with greenwashing, which, is a combination of the words ‘green’, which, as you probably guessed, is to do with the environment and plants, and ‘brainwashing’, which doesn’t need much explanation. greenwashing is essentially pretending to make a product, event, object, cause, even a thought, mindset or person appear to be sustainable and natural; according to united nations, greenwashing is defined as ‘misleading the public to believe that a company or other entity is doing more to protect the environment than it is’ (united nations, 2023). speaking of those phrases, the keywords ‘natural’, ‘sustainable’, ‘eco-friendly’, ‘environmentally-friendly’, ‘vegan’, ‘cruelty-free’, ‘sulfate/paraben/silicone (insert any other threatening-sounding chemical name) free’ have been tossed around very frequently on the branding and packaging for products recently.

greenwashing is a psychology; it involves aspects of what i’m not going to put lightly and will instead call straight up manipulation, visual cues (such as colours, textures, typefaces) and also cognitive cues (keywords/phrases, statistics) and emotional cues (promises, statements) (these terms and descriptions are taken from the 2024 visual communication study design). as both a psychology and visual communication design student, it’s really interesting to see how much these two subjects overlap, especially when discussing something like greenwashing. in this post, i’ll mainly be discussing greenwashing when it comes to skincare, makeup and clothing, as these are my personal niche topics, and i’m more knowledgeable about them than other things, such as furniture, foods and technology.

i challenge you to go into the hygiene/beauty aisle in your local supermarket the next time you go grocery shopping, and count (or just estimate a percentage if you’re lazy with maths like me) of how many bottles/packages contain the following:

‘natural’ looking colours and motifs (think earthy colours, shades of green and minimal, sandy bamboo toned neutrals, and designs featuring things like leaves, plants, flowers, fruit, vegetables and other botanics)

the words ‘natural’, ‘vegan’, ‘paraben/silicone/sulfate (or any other chemical) free’, ‘eco-friendly’ on them

bonus points if their names have something to do with nature, but sound hilarious (a my personal fave of mine is ‘love, beauty and planet’.)

if your woolworths beauty aisle looks anything like mine, you'd find around 80% of the packaging contains at least one (and most likely multiple) of the above features. another thing is most of these bottles claim, rather proudly, to be made of recycled plastic.

now, grab the most ‘natural’ looking product you've found and read the ingredients list on the back. wow yourself at just how ‘natural’ everything on that list sounds! cocamidopropyl betaine! bis aminopropyl dimethicone! i just want that shit on my toast for breakfast!

moving past the jokes, (im quite proud of the above one) the thing that fucks with me about greenwashing is it's fake. yes, that shampoo claims to be a ‘natural’ formula, but ‘natural’ isn't actually a scientifically backed up standard in dermatology. there isn't a set list of ingredients or practices that make a product ‘natural’, which is why so many can just slap this keyword onto their packages and call it a day. think about what the word ‘natural’ actually means; if you think about it, it's such a general term. it kind of means nature based, right? but doesn't everything originally come from nature? and even if the ingredients are organic dirt and honey and rolled oats, these products are still manufactured in huge factories by machines that produce some not so natural carbon emissions. sustainable, am i right?

also, so many of these supposed ‘small’ brands are actually owned by huge companies disguising themselves as small beauty businesses that care about the environment and their footprint. but they don't. ‘love, beauty and planet’ (which has to go down on the list of the most hilarious names ive ever heard) is owned by unilever, a huge corporation. ‘thanks to nature' is owned by blusky brands, ‘herbel essences’ is owned by procter & gamble, ‘garnier fructis’ is owned by l'oreal, which is in turn owned by several companies such as nestle. you get the picture. it's not as it all seems. and this is the stuff written on the tiny, tiny text on the back; so small i had to squint, but big enough that it's still readable without a microscope, since it legally has to be listed there. isn't it funny how all these brands boast about their vegan formulas and recycled bottles, yet the second we wonder what big company their humble beginnings came from, they grow quiet?

it's not just the brands who greenwash; the people who use these products without actually checking them also greenwash in a way, too. “oh!” you remark, seeing a bottle of ‘all natural, vegan, super organic hyper-sustainable oat conditioner' on the shelf at woolies. sure, it's a little pricier than your usual pantene, but you're willing to spend the extra two dollars fifty. every cent counts if it's for the environment, right?

but surprise surprise, ‘all natural, vegan, super organic hyper-sustainable oat conditioner' is a registered product under procter & gamble, which, surprise surprise again, also owns pantene!

it's not your fault; you're just trying to do the right thing. we all are. but that's part of the problem. are you trying to be sustainable because it's something you care about, or just because you feel guilty for using a shampoo in a bottle that doesn't look like it was hand carved with bamboo by a monk in an ancient forest? it all comes down to conformity, the idea of trying to fit in with others. being organic or vegan is now the norm for these companies, therefore it's the norm for all products to have these words listed on them, even if they're far from it.

super fun activity: play a fun game of match ups with the shampoos and conditioners either in store or online! google which large corporations own these ‘little’ companies, and see how many of these so called sustainable products fall into the same manufacturer as your average body wash (hint hint, it's almost all of them!)

the sad thing is, greenwashing makes actually sustainable products look like everything else on the shelf. how are you supposed to tell what's real and fake when the only defining factor is a tiny sentence at the bottom stating that actually, earth super organics is owned by unilever, and not handmade in a cucumber farm in new zealand! isn't that crazy?

in my podcast episode (i’ll link it below) i’m doing more of a deep dive into the company ‘love, beauty and planet’ to use that as an example of greenwashing, and comparing this brand, which markets itself as super eco-conscious, to a brand that doesn’t necessarily market themselves to be like this, as well as their ingredients.

the moral of the article is, i (and everyone else) do not care if the shampoo you use is made of the most unnatural ingredients on earth. because most of our shampoos are probably made of the same shit, they just hide it better. but what i do care about is how open you (and the brand) are about this. if you're owned by johnson and johnson, you better motherfucking say on the front of the label that you are!

lots of love,

lilsxxx

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tangleweave · 2 years ago

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Beth grins at Eddie and instead of hiding it she ducks her chin down so her hair falls like a coffee coloured curtain to shade her face. It was the quiz that did it, one of those silly magazine things they were taking to pass the morning quietly. Which means she is still in her shark print pyjama bottoms, a shell-pink tank-top that read: “I got Lei’d in O'ahu” with a print of Honolulu’s famous skyline below it. Taking up most of the couch despite being small. Which means Eddie gets the tip of one toe poking his arm because her hands are cradling the mug of coffee that he’d brought her. Perfect compliments to the malasadas she picked up from Ocean Malasadas. While they weren’t exactly as good as the ones from Leonard’s back home, they are definitely made with love. And it’s been the better part of sixteen years since Beth had had malasadas with haupia and ube halaya filled ones. Her teeth come down lightly on her lips as she ponders the question. As she wonders if he’s suddenly a little too warm for his own good. “Shoots. So. Firs’ you’re a big guy. Long, lean muscle on ya. Lil too broad across ya ches’ an’ shoulder for a swimmer’s build but jus’.. I dunno. You look pretty huggable, especially when you’re wearin’ baggy hoodie.” She eyes him appraisingly, maybe for the first time ever in an objective fashion. There’s something alluring in the way she drags her gaze over him, stopping here and there. An appreciation of his physical form but devoid of the nastier side of lust. She does not seem to be capable of separating flesh from emotion, and under a veil of innocence she doesn’t seem to notice, that appreciation is particularly potent. A bit of that honey hue consumes the green of her gaze, giving her eyes a slightly darker tint. “Writer’s hands, gentle but calloused in places. T'ink you put dat t’ good use, brushin’ ya thumb acrosskeen bits, lingering as da mood take ya. Tells me you’re a sensitive type. Maybe a lil too soft until ya fire gets real lit.” Her gaze trails back up to his face. “Mouth like sin incarnate. Dere a Creole or mebbe Cajun phrase I heard once. No can remember but da last bit. "Chaud come l'enfer.” An’ it means hot as hell. Supposed t’ be about coffee but. I gotta tell ya, Eddie… I believe wi’ all m’ heart an’ soul… dat you could ruin someone wi’ it. Mebbe jus’ talk low an’ slow by da ear. Mebbe da way ya kiss until ya partner breathless. Mebbe just drag ya tongue ‘cross ya lower lip.“ She takes a sip of her coffee then tilts her head. "But wha’ I really t'ink you’d be like in bed? Jus’ look at ya face, specific…ya eyes. Dere’s so many kine in dat blue. You’re a gentle man, an’ I see you bein’ t'orough, passionate, kind, t'oughtful. Givin’ of yaself til dere’s no kine left, an’ I t'ink is because sometimes ya feel underappreciated, unseen. I t'ink you’re da kind of man dat in bed…you etch a mark. Indelible, unforgettable.” She blinks and tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear, not realising how her voice has gone thick in it’s sultry-near whisper. And when she smiles at him, it’s a winsome thing. “Yeah.”

~*~*~*~

The quiz is in a magazine that Eddie had first spied at Mrs. Chen’s store, sitting in the rack near the candy with no other copies of itself to keep it company. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, though his Other had made note of the teaser on the front. “The 36 Questions That Lead to Love – Plus Another 36!”

Eddie had, of course, scoffed loudly at the headline and indeed the magazine itself. It was literally one rack up from supermarket tabloids, and that was a realm he had no interest in revisiting even by proxy. But the noise had gotten Mrs. Chen’s attention, and she’d come down a little hard on him for it. “Gonna make like you didn’t write that sort of thing once upon a time, Eddie?”

“Yeah, once upon a time,” he’d returned. “Fairy tales end for a reason, Mrs. Chen.”

“If that’s true, why the stupid smile like you got a happily ever after on the brain?” She’d tucked the magazine into a paper bag along with a generous handful of Snickers bars. “That girl’s way too nice for you. You should try to learn how to hang on to her.”

He’d tilted his head at her. “Didn’t think you were into matchmakin’.”

“Now what makes you think that, Eddie?”

“I dunno, you never bring up any Mr. Chen, an’ you were never Annie’s biggest fan.”

“Mr. Chen is happy not being brought up, and Ann wasn’t nice enough. You have a better chance with that girl, so don’t blow it.”

The thirty-six supplementary questions provided by the article’s author are considerably less thoughtful and more uncouth than the initial offering, as endorsed by The New York Times. But Eddie’s been jumping back and forth across the lists with the magazine in one hand and a pen in the other while Beth is settled comfortably upon the couch, and ostensibly seeing just what sort of contact he’ll allow. Her toe into his arm isn’t insistent so much as it is merely present, perhaps curious if he’ll brush her aside.

He doesn’t. In fact, the slightest thrill warms his blood at even this simplest of contacts. To have her welcome him – no, really, insist upon him – as a guest in her home is far more than he could have hoped for… regardless of the chill temperatures off the bay. She couldn’t possibly know his bodily temperature is well-regulated even in freezing conditions. That she had been concerned enough to tug and nudge him to her townhouse, all while staring at him with those huge doe eyes… it had been truly touching to him.

His backpack had carried the magazine inside and had silently held it for him through the night. Even his Other had remained judiciously silent on the matter, though Eddie had felt rather certain that would last only marginally longer than Mrs. Chen’s withholding of her opinion… which was to say, not very long at all. It was only after his early morning retrieval of coffee for Beth – a modest repayment of her kindness – that he’d brought it out, judiciously folding the cover back over upon itself to keep the list’s nature out of immediate sight.

He offers her a quirky smile that tugs the side of his mouth out, stretching towards his ear for a long moment. “I give awesome hugs,” he confirms. “An’ the hoodie might look a bit ratty but it just makes everything that much more comfy, right?”

His eyes slide to the side when he senses that her gaze is lingering on him. He catches the fleetest glimpse of her teeth catching the corner of one lip as she looks him up and down, and for a moment, he feels warmth rising into his face. Is she… is she checking him out?

Yes, Eddie, she is.

Hey, hey… me-thing, right? Not an Us-thing?

Sure, waste time arguing when the girl you like is looking at you like I look at bad guys.

He remains quiet as Beth offers her pensive, well-considered analysis on how Eddie would treat a romantic partner. He can find neither flaw nor fault in her description, and for several moments he wonders how she could possibly know him this well without ever having seen him woo anyone. Except maybe her… and God knows how delicate he’s trying to be. He’s careful to avoid oversharing. He doesn’t make himself out to have an awful sob story – though he knows there are many who would not hesitate to describe it as such, with no irony and a wealth of sympathy. While he would accept pity from others, he wants nothing to do with hers, because they’ve shared enough of themselves with one another, in both spoken and unspoken ways, that he knows she, too, is burdened by terrible things she dares not name.

But she is far too sweet, lovely, kind, compassionate, and caring to deserve the loneliness he sees in her bearing. He knows a heart drained of life when he sees it… and he dearly wants to make her heart full, if he can. There’s far too much cruelty in this life as it is.

When she describes his hands and what she thinks he would do with them, he subconsciously rubs one thumb back and forth across the C2S paper of the magazine’s cover, the other along the length of his pen. For just the briefest moment, he imagines that what he’s holding is not media and writing utensil… but—

And then she says how he could ruin someone with his mouth. That draws out a grin that he can hardly help. She doesn’t know just how correct she is, which makes the remark all the more amusing. Oh yes… a great many sins have been committed with the teeth They share – but he can’t honestly say any of those were sins of the flesh.

The warmth in his face is starting to burn a little, though, from the way she’s unabashedly describing him in such a sensual context. She’s kindly and gently explained to him that she doesn’t experience romance or romantic feelings the same way most others do… and he feels like he’s tried his best to respect that as a boundary, even if it left him feeling a bit disappointed… but then there are moments like this, where she puts forth an appraisal that throws him for a loop. Where she describes him as something… someone… better than he actually is. Or maybe just better than he sees himself.

Yes, he wants to be gentle, thorough, and passionate. He strives to be kind and thoughtful. He wants to be noticed and appreciated. And he most certainly wants to be remembered. And her analysis, while dead-on, tells him… that she sees him.

Sometimes he really doesn’t know what to make of Beth – but she’s never made it a secret where he stands with her. And in this moment, he feels much like a child on Christmas morning, opening the big box and seeing inside it the very thing he’s been hoping and praying to receive for the last six months.

She sees him.

The faintest stitch appears between his eyebrows, and through his smile, he murmurs a reply that’s as much for him as it is for her.

“I hope so.”

#submission #brooklynislandgirl #beth riley #muse: eddie brock #[ long time coming ]

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jd-loves-fiction · 3 years ago

Note

Let me give you the idea of Haitani Ran telling you to go to places without panties. And he would just tell you to flash that butt. At a corner of supermarket, he'd ask you to play with your pussy there, might as well use one or two product in the racks to rub your pussy with. At another corner, he'd bent you down and fuck you quickly. Damn its so hot.

🌑 goddamn it's hot in here huh, don't do this kids🥴 oop this got long

[22:34] Pushing a shopping cart beside your lover in a near empty supermarket at night, the scene might've looked domestic to any onlookers, if it weren't for the sliver of wet skin visible beneath your short skirt.

Ran walks behind you, hands on the cart handles outside of yours, shielding your exposed behind, "Stop," he commands with a whisper.

You do so, Ran bumping into your back at the sudden stop. The action makes you realize that he's hard, just as affected as you by this little game of yours, even if he doesn't show it.

He leans to the side, hips still glued to yours as he extends one long arm to the shelf, "Rindo's favorite." he mutters as he grasps at an item you can't see, too preoccupied with his other hand which reaches under your skirt to swipe a finger through your wetness.

"My favorite." His sugary-sweet voice whispers as he places his wet fingers in his mouth while lightly pushing you to keep walking, uncaring of your buckling knees.

He stops you again when you reach the 'drinks' aisle, pulling you along to an nearly empty shelf and pushing the remaining water bottles to the side before bending you over the surface, "Ran--"

"Shh, don't want anyone to hear you, do you?" He purrs, flipping up your skirt and unbuttoning his pants before curtly impaling you on his cock without a warning.

Or at least, that's what you thought would happen. What you feel instead is the feeling of something cold with a somewhat sharp edge rubbing against your lips. "A water bottle?"

He chuckles at your tone, "You gotta try it before you can say you don't like it, so be a good girl and take it."

Just as he speaks, he pushes the bottle in. It's edges are slightly curved but still kind of sharp, and the bottle itself is surprisingly slim and cool, you doubt he just took the object off the shelf.

The cold edge rubs against your clit and as your mouth opens to let out a moan, two of Ran's long fingers go in instead, muffling the sound. The sight of your squirming against his ministrations makes him smirk in delight, before he pulls away completely.

"Raaan!" You whine around his fingers before he pulls them out, receiving only a giggle and a light smack to your exposed behind in return.

"You're so needy, darling." He teases, leaning coyly against the cart where he throws the bottle as you sit correctly on the shelf, looking up at him with your best pleading puppy dog eyes. "If you want to cum so bad, why don't you do it yourself?"

You blink up at him, stunned for a moment, and realizing that he doesn't expect you to do it, doesn't believe you would. So you do.

You prove him wrong.

Spreading your legs you watch his purple eyes widen before a pleased grin appears on his lips, crossing his arms while your hand drifts down to your center.

Ran's eyes move left and right subtly, checking to see if anyone's around, as you circle your clit, shiny with your arousal which drips onto the shelf.

Already having been teased all afternoon and on the way here, with Ran purposefully going over every bump possible, knowing that your unprotected clit was rubbing against the motorcycle seat, it doesn't take much for you to throw your head back, eyes closed and oh so close-- before your hand is suddenly ripped away from your center.

Tears well up in your eyes as you bite your lip to keep from crying out at how mean Ran is being with you today. He walks closer, keeping a tight grip on your wrist, "That's enough playing with what's not yours. Sit still."

You obey with a pout, legs wrapping around Ran's hips and pulling him closer as he lines his flaming red tip with your entrance. Your nails dig into his clothed shoulders at the stretch, but he doesn't give you a second to adjust before he's letting out a curse at your tightness and pounding you without mercy.

Before long, he's ready to reach his end, hands holding yours down against his shoulders and not providing even a little bit of friction to your poor, needy clit. A few more thrusts and Ran empties himself inside you, forehead resting in the crown of your head and you think that maybe now he'll help you out.

But he doesn't, simply pulling away and righting himself, looking around before nodding for you to get up and follow him, unbothered by your pouting and the way your cling to his arm while walking slowly, clearly uncomfortable with the shortness of your skirt now that his cum is starting to drip down your leg.

Your cheeks grow even hotter when you walk out, hoping no one looks back to see the string of white slowly making its way down your thigh.

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moon-catto · 2 years ago

Text

Stay Alive

Part I │ Part II │Part III

Summary: You finally tell Gojo about the truth.

Warning: Blood, violence.

Masterlist

You woke up in an unfamiliar room. Days passed but you couldn't get used to the high ceilings and the dark marble floors below you. This is the first time you ever step your foot inside Gojo's house even after years knowing him.

It's decorated with minimalistic furniture— very contrast to his outrageous personality. His house is silent too, just a subtle noise from the television to fill the quietness in the air. Despite its' extravagant ambience, it feels kind of lonely here. You wondered how Gojo spent his time daily here alone.

Well, you're going to find out.

As you made your way to the kitchen in the first floor, you heard someone shuffling something in the fridge.

"Huh, I'm ran out of milk too." His voice is heavy with sleep. You saw his lanky figure currently rummaging the kitchen cabinets with troubled expression on his face.

"Morning, Gojo."

"Wah!" He turned his body in panic. "You surprised me!"

"What are you doing?" You ignored his last remark and went on questioning him.

"Finding some edible foods for us." He raised his eyebrows in confusion. He really didn't sense your presence at all. Your footsteps and the way you breathe is so silent, just like a ghost. If you were trying to kill him in his sleep, there's a 3% chance you'd successfully pulled it off without him even knowing.

A small number, but it's the highest percentage he gave after surviving countless assassinations. Note taken, he shouldn't messing too much with you.

"It seems you rarely go on a grocery shopping." You said after some time examining his kitchen.

"Ah, that... Yeah." He admitted. "I rather to buy take outs than cooking."

"Then we should order takeout now."

"No!" Satoru prevent you from using the telephone on his kitchen counter. "We— I need to cook for you."

"...What?"

"I mean, this is the first time you visited my house right? It's already given that I, as the owner of this house served you a hearty home made meal." He put his hand on his chest in faux elegance, bowing slightly as he continues his grand speech. "Besides! You never see me cooking, right? Honor yourself, because you got to taste the divine dish specially made by Gojo Satoru!"

"Alright, alright." You rolled your eyes at his hyperbolic choice of words. But his goofiness made a small smile appeared at the corner of your lips. "We shall go to the market, then."

"Yay! Let's go!"

After putting Gojo's titanic hoodie to hide your face, you both went to the supermarket near his house. You're pushing the cart while the chef—he told you— is currently hyper-fixated on choosing between two onions in his large hands. The big onions seem like a miniature between his long fingers.

"Hurry up." You groaned for the nth time that morning. You barely made two items from the grocery list in the last one hour. He used too much time to choose between two vegetables that looked the same to you.

"Patience, peasant. Perfection can't be rushed." He shushed you and you rolled your eyes again. Like a toddler getting impatience at her mother in the supermarket.

"Right." You lamely answered and finally your patience ran out. "Just buy both, if you're that indecisive."

Then he clapped his hands. "That's right! Why didn't I think of that sooner?" He put the onions in the cart. "You're not as stupid as you look, Y/N." He snickered when your face fall even deeper.

"You do realized that I'm the only one who has the most braincells between the two of us?"

"Said you." He smiled wider when he sensed your irritation slowly building inside you.

"Next item, please." You pushed him with the cart.

"Geez, so impatient." He's rolling his eyes in faux annoyance. "Wonder where you get that trait from."

"I'm hungry, Gojo."

"Okay, okay. I'll be quick this time." Noticing your lack of energy, he quickly put some other items from the rack after a quick glance at the label.

"You're not a vegetarian, right?"

You nodded. After receiving your approval, he put in some meats from the freezer. You wondered what kind of dish he would cook for you with so much ingredients he's putting in the cart.

"Isn't this too much?"

"Nothing is too much for you, dear." He laughed softly while checking the milk cartoon. He missed how your face slightly reddened on his words. "You're too skinny. Far too skinny. We'll need to refill those juicy thighs agai—"

"Another word and I'll cut your throat off."

"Yes, ma'am."

Finally after what felt like hours of shopping, you left the supermarket with lots of paper bags in both hands.

"You're okay?" He leaned to you. "Need me to lift some?"

"I'm fine." You refused his offer, His arms are full with heavy paper bags as he told you to lift the lighter ones.

The elevator dings and you both quickly enter. He pushed the button with his shoe and you scolded him for being such a dork.

"My hands are full."

"You can ask me to do that instead."

"No can do." He shook his head. "You look like you're going to faint in any minute now." He quickly grabbed the paper bags from your hands despite your protest. "You're my esteemed guest, you shouldn't be spending any bit of energy."

"You're basically spoiling me rotten, Gojo."

"That's the point, sweetheart." He smiled at you. Full of mischief and teasing. "Didn't I tell you before? Just leave everything to me and don't do anything else."

"But this is too much—"

You're interrupted when the elevator door opened. "Nothing is too much for you, Y/N." You heard him said that before you both entered his house once again.

Like what he said, he prohibited you from doing anything at all. That's why now you're watching him cooking from behind the kitchen counter, one hand supporting your chin as your eyes gaze at his back.

To your surprise, he's doing well until now. You might mistake him for a real chef if you don't know him well. His way of movement is precise, the vegetables are cut in the same thickness. He even does the flambé thing while cooking the meat, a gasp escaped your lips and he grinned widely at your reaction.

"I'm so cool, right?" He brushed his chin with his thumb. "What a husband material."

"Your future wife would be soooo lucky to have you." You emphasized your words with a smile, laughing at his devastated expression when you openly broke his heart in an attempt to tease him.

"You're mean..." He fake sniffled.

"Humility is a virtue, Gojo." You told him when he come over to you to serve you his cookings. Garlic butter steak, potatoes gratin, and a bowl of caprese salad. A lavish breakfast, indeed.

You cut the steak and about to eat it when you see him literally staring at you with literal stars in his baby blue eyes.

"Don't mind me." He grinned, his smile is so giddy. You never see him that excited before.

The smell of the dishes in front of you is very tempting and the visual is pretty, that's already some proofs of his cooking skills. You don't doubt it.

He knows he's a good cook and confident in his skills. But why is he so nervous right now? Like he's a cooking show-off contestant and you are the judge.

When you finally took a bite on the steak, he swore his heart stopped. Everything became blurry and only you in focus. He analyzed your expression, your every movement and your eyes. Not good. He can't read what's inside your mind right now.

"... H-how is it?" He cursed himself for stuttering. What is he doing? He should be acting cool and impressing you right now.

You munched on the tender meat. The soft seasoning made your smile bloom. "... It's delicious."

"Really?" He eagerly asked. When he noticed the insecurity slipped in his tone, he quickly cleared his throat. "I mean... Really?" He asked, slower this time.

"Yeah." Your smile widen and his heart soared higher. "This is the first time I ate a steak, but this is definitely delicious."

"Huh? First time?"

You nodded. "All of these dishes, actually. I never eat it." You scooped a bit of the potato gratin into your mouth. "This one is also delicious." You hummed while nibbling on the soft potato. "You're a good cook, Gojo."

He's taken aback by your words. As far as he knows, you came from a well known clan. Your clan is quite big and supposedly financially well state. So how come you never eat a steak before?

"Thank you."

Your words bring him out of his train of thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Thank you. This is the most delicious meal I ever had." You said.

The scenery unfolding before him is heavenly, with the sun light from the giant window behind you outlining your body with a soft light and with that gentle look on your face. His breath stopped for a moment when he realized just how beautiful you are again. The tenderness in your eyes reminds him to that summer again, how you handle him so gentle like a piece of delicate flower. How you turned him so soft just with that precious smile of yours.

He wanted to stay in this moment, with you forever. Just forget about what happened outside and he'll protect you from any harm that may come over you. The moon and sun of his world, the entire galaxy dancing inside the brilliant orbs of your eyes— pulling him inside deeper every time he glanced at yours truly, the love of his life.

His smile came out weird. Maybe that's why your eyes widen slightly right now. "Ah, it's, uh..." He's tongue tied, heart beats too quickly inside his chest. Blood flowing to his cheeks when he felt your stare at him. "It's nothing. I'm glad you enjoyed it." He finally able to made a coherent words after mentally slapped himself. "I'll cook more for you, if you want."

"No, this is already enough." You convince him before he got up to cook again. "This is more than enough." The soft smile on your face as you look into the dishes in front of you ignited something inside him. A realization.

Are you not eating well before he meet you?

That explained everything actually. Your skinny body and the pale complexion on your face. You're always busy with overseas mission, so it's really hard for him to meet you except for occasional calls and messages. He can count how many you both able to see each other face to face in a year, that's just how busy you are.

Now he's feeling bad about it, you're not taking after yourself. But you'd be there if he needs any help. Such selflessness, it's straight stupid.

"Gojo?" your voice awaken him from his trance.

"Yes?"

He gave you a small smile in hope it would mask the uneasiness that's filling his heart. It seems to work because then you continue to speak.

"I need to tell you something."

This is it. After days, you finally opened a bit. He's dying to know and ask you about so many things. The reason why you did such horrible actions, why you're suddenly so busy and rarely came to the school... He wants to know everything. But knowing you, he knows better to wait than straight asking it. You're not as open as you would appear to be.

And you, you're contemplating to tell him about this whole chaos. It's already too much for him to be the strongest pillar of the Jujutsu World and other stuffs as well. You can't possibly add more burden to his shoulders, can you?

"I think you need to know about this. But that doesn't mean you are obliged to drag yourself into this mess." You told him and he nodded.

"Got it." He voiced his affirmation and you continued.

"It all started two years ago."

"Do i need to bring some popcorn? Because i can feel this is going to be long."

"Gojo..."

"Okay, okay." He puts two hands in the air. "I'm just trying to ease the tension."

"So, anyway." You're back being serious and he can't help but to think you're so adorable. "I was tasked to exorcise a one grade curse in this village in Nagano two years ago and rescue a civilian kidnapped by the curse."

"Then?"

"I exorcised the curse. It was no big deal, but the civilian. He's dead." You tilted your head a bit and sighed. "It's common for people to die after being kidnapped by a curse. But what's weird is i sense another cursed energy residue in the victim's body that doesn't belonged to the one grade curse earlier."

"Oh?" That sparked his interest deeper.

"As you know, i can sense other's cursed energy in a... quite odd way. One thing i can tell from that cursed residue is that the owner or the real killer of that civilian is really evil. Their cursed energy is really dark and filthy, i never seen anyone possessed such an awful cursed energy-- well, beside Sukuna."

"Sukuna is unable to kill people, except the victim is in contact with Sukuna's finger before."

"True. I would suspect the same, but there's no trace of Sukuna's cursed energy."

"So this is a new type of curse..."

"... Or a new curse user." You completed his sentence.

"Right." He nodded. "So you got any lead on the mysterious curse user?"

"Yeah. I reviewed a lot cases that supposedly similar to that case. I found some and followed them for a year."

"That's why you're so busy?"

"Duh." You rolled your eyes. "Anyway, that leads me to the village where I--..."

"Wait, before that--, how do you find the similar cases?" He cut you off.

"The victims in each cases have the same similarity. Same cause of death."

"What's that?"

"Their brain gone missing, and there's a cut in the middle of the forehead."

Masterlist

#Gojo satoru #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojou x reader #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo satoru angst #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jjk imagines #jjk fanfictions #gojo satoru fanfictions #gojo satoru

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comfortscripts · 3 years ago

Text

May I Have This Dance? ¬ Steve Rogers

Plot - After retiring his shield, Steve's partner realises that he seems to be missing something.

Requested? Yes/No

Genre - ☁️️Fluff ☁️️

Note/Warning - Steve didn't return to Peggy after Endgame (I refuse to accept that ending honestly), I think this is GN but please let me know if I have used fem!pronouns, also the reader wears a dress in this so if you are uncomfortable with that be aware.

Word Count - 1.7k

After your husband Steve retired from the superhero living, life seemed dull in his eyes. You could see that his once vibrant baby blues had lost their sparkle, their joy for life.

Whilst him having more time meant that your relationship thrived, Steve was missing something and you were missing him being truly happy.

It was Sunday and a rule of the Rogers relationship is that Sunday was an "Old School Day".

No technology, no going to the city and no current news or media of any kind.

It took a while to get use to but you soon learned to love it because it meant that you had the whole day with your soulmate, no distractions. But today was different, there was one thing that had taken up your entire focus all day.

A few days prior, you were in line at the supermarket when you spotted a flyer.

DANCE YOURSELF BACK TO THE 40s!

Have you ever wondered what a 40s dance was like?

Well if the answer is yes, get yourself down to the Michaelton Hall this Sunday at 7:30pm

The cashier was a motherly looking woman in her late 60s named Dorothy, her family had owned the supermarket here since the 1920s and being a cashier here was her first job. Twice a week she would come down and "relive her youth" as her husband always jokes.

"I thought that might catch your eye" Dorothy spoke after watching you inspect the flyer. "The old music, the clothes and just that feeling of a simpler time. I'm hoping to convince William to take me but getting him to dress up like a princess is more likely than getting him to dance."

You laugh at the woman's joke but mainly at the idea of William in a frilly dress. William and Dorothy had been married for 52 years but the only time William ever danced with her was on their wedding night, a story that you thought was sad but Dora took it in her stride.

"Well I am thinking that this might be a good way to get Steve out of his funk, even for only a night" You say with a wistful look on your face whilst piling fruit into your shopping bag.

"What a wonderful idea my dear!" Dorothy exclaimed whilst scanning the final item "There is a quaint little vintage store about half a mile out of town, I am sure you'd find a dress to knock Steve's socks off"

Smiling at the woman, you hand her some cash before taking one last look at the flyer "You are like a fairy godmother Dora. Have a lovely day and hopefully see you at the dance".

By the next morning, you were keen to start prepping for the Sunday surprise. Giving your husband a kiss goodbye, you headed off to 'run some errands'.

First stop was buying the tickets, then that left you with finding the perfect 40s dress.

You headed out of town to the vintage store Dorothy mentioned but you were not prepared for how beautiful the shop was. Flowers in corners all over the place, fairy-lights decorated the clothing racks and old pieces of sparkling jewellery was displayed throughout the store.

You could have spent hours in there, it felt like a visual time machine but it seemed luck was on your side. As you strolled further into the store, you noticed a stunning pastel floor-length satin dress with light embellishments near the sleeves. That was exactly what you needed.

Everything was ready. Tickets were bought, dress was found and Steve's old military suit was ready to be worn. All you had to do now was keep it from your husband till Sunday.

Making it to Sunday evening was difficult, you had nearly exposed the plans twice but thankfully Steve believed the excuses you came up with. But now it was time to get ready.

"My love, guess what I found the other day in the attic" You call out to your super-solider husband. "Your old army uniform. Perfect condition as well".

Handing the outfit to Steve, you see his eyes light up with the memories of his time back in the 1940s. Although he looked only slightly older than he did the last time he wore it, it was like looking back in time.

"Wow, I didn't think I would ever see this again." He spoke caressing the material.

"Steve, do you think you could maybe try it on again? I would love to have a glimpse of what use to be the fashion" You asked carefully, trying to make sure he didn't suspect anything else.

A small smile graced his face. "Of course, I probably would have wanted to try it on either way" And with a laugh, he headed upstairs to suit up.

Whilst the super-solider was getting ready, you slipped into your dress and quickly slipped on an oversized shirt which made it look like you were wearing a long skirt and t-shirt. Applying a bit of makeup before double checking that your purse was ready with the tickets, car keys and some other essentials.

Hearing footsteps descend your staircase, you turn around to a fully suited and confident looking Steve Rogers. This man has managed to make you fall more in love every day for the past 6 years but in this moment, he took your breath away.

"You look so handsome. How did I ever get lucky enough to call you my husband?" You express as you reach up to lay the corner of his collar down. Even though you compliment your husband all the time, Steve still flushes a bit red at the sweet words.

Leaning in to give him a small kiss, you suddenly remember that you are on a time constraint. You pull back with a mischievous grin dancing on your face.

"Oh no, I know that face. What have you done?" Steve asks with a little chuckle. Instead of responding, you grab his hand and head out to the car. After instructing him to get into the passenger seat, you settle yourself in the driver's seat and start the car whilst Steve sits beside you watching like he was trying to solve a puzzle - the puzzle being you.

"I have a surprise for you but I am going to need you to put this blindfold on whilst I drive us there" With a grin on your face and your hand offering a silk blue blindfold to your incredibly confused but handsome husband.

Cautiously Steve reaches for the blindfold and puts it on, he would trust you with his life so why not trust you with a small surprise.

After driving for 15 minutes or so, Steve feels the car stop and turn off.

"Wait one second" You say before he hears you open your door.

Bubbling with excitement you quickly discard of your t-shirt, place some kitten heels on and apply a sultry shade of red on your lips before throwing anything you don't need in the trunk.

Walking over to Steve's side of the car, you calm your nerves slightly with a deep breathe. Opening the passenger door, you take a hold of Steve's hand and carefully guide him towards the entrance of the hall.

Sounds of Moonlight Serenade songs fill his ears as he enters, still completely oblivious to his partner's scheme. He notices that it is far warmer in this area and that he can smell a mix of perfume and whiskey.

"Okay baby, when I count to 3, you can take off your blindfold" You finally say.

"1"

"2"

"3"

As Steve removes the silk blocking his vision and is immediately hit with a feeling of nostalgia. The hall looked like something out of his memories; men and women dressed in 40s fashion dancing the night away, a small band playing all the most popular songs from the decade he yearned for, men who reminded him of Bucky trying to pick up girls at the bar.

Steve thought that he was blown away until he saw his Y/N. The person who made life worth living, who made everything seem light again. There they stood, looking like they had just walked off the silver screen from an old movie. Steve never really believed that he could live such a happy life but somewhere along the way, he must have done something right because now he is married to an angel.

Walking up to you, he placed his hands on your waist and looked deep into your eyes. Drowning in Steve's ocean blue eyes was a favourite past-time of yours but this felt more than that.

"I noticed you have been a bit down since you gave up the shield and I couldn't see you frown anymore." You whisper quietly as if you were nervous that this plan wouldn't work.

"I know I say it constantly but I love you, Y/N Rogers. Your kindness, your care, your effortless beauty, you." Steve recited, filling every word with pure love and appreciation. "Sometimes I think that I am no one if I am not Captain America or I don't belong in this world but you. You, Y/N, you made me realise that you are my home, not the past. You are the only one I need in this life-time or any other life-time because you taught me who I am beyond the shield."

Tears start to well up in your eyes as you hang off his every word.

"This dance is amazing but what makes me happy is that I get to spend tonight and every night with my soulmate" Steve takes a step back and extends his hand. "So, may I have this dance my darling?"

Reaching for his hand, you make your way onto the dance floor amongst the other couples. As the song dies down, Stella by Frank Sinatra starts filling the hall with a romantic atmosphere and you feel Steve place his hand on your hip before placing another in your hand. This was truly a night to remember.

As you sway with your husband, you let your eyes wander to the other dancing couples and near the centre of the dance floor, you spot Dorothy and William smiling and swaying like teenagers again.

All you can do is hope that you and Steve will be dancing together when you are old and grey.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve rogers fluff #captain america imagine #steve rogers fic #captain america fic #marvel imagine #steve rogers oneshot #captain america oneshot

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restapesta · 4 years ago

Text

Fucking Milkovich

words: 5.5k

Five times Ian pulled Mickey away from starting a fight and the one time the roles were reversed.

1. THE STORE

The old lady had been side-eyeing them since they accidentally bumped into her at the wine aisle, Mickey backing into her as he and Ian led a loud, heated discussion about whether or not the Rose that was in Ian's hand was the same one from the gay party they had attended a couple of days before.

Ian was dead set on saying that it was the same bottle of pink wine and that even if it wasn't, it probably tasted the same, all the while Mickey was dead set on proving to Ian that the bottle was most certainly not the same one and that they should crack it open and try it even if they were still in the middle of the supermarket. They were bickering back and forth, not paying much attention to their surroundings, and Mick had backed away from the rack of wines, unceremoniously colliding with the gray-haired lady who was pushing a cart filled to the brim with groceries. It was a miracle the items hadn't toppled out, considering there was a mountain of them. Ian wondered how steadily the lady must've been pushing the cart, and how close his husband had come from knocking it all down.

Mickey had muttered a quick sorry and Ian had shot the lady an apologetic look when she just stared at Mickey and the tattoos that covered his hands and arm, blatantly revealed by his short-sleeved t-shirt. Ian had told him he looked hot in it that morning, so Mickey had kept the jacket off, appeasing his husband's gaze. He felt a bit cold but Ian's eyes following unapologetically as his arms flexed made it all worth it.

Ian gestured for Mickey to leave the aisle with his eyes, accompanied by a sharp tilt of his head -- and they continued their way to the other racks of food and drinks, Ian placing the bottle of wine in their own basket. They weren't there for a full-on grocery run. They were in Costco purely because their snacks and beer needed stocking up, and they needed some shit for the mac-and-cheese Mickey had been craving. Ian had lost a bet while they were at work today so he promised to make him some -- a deed Mickey was quite happy about.

They bumped into the lady once more at the cash register. There were some people six feet in front of them (considering they kept their distance), unloading their stuff, and the woman was mere inches behind them, as if she was waiting in line with the couple, not behind them, pressed close. Mickey shot her a glance and when he noticed her scowl, he gave her a slight smile that Ian knew was obviously not a smile, but rather a 'hello lady I crashed into, why are you standing so close, back away from me and my tall ginger before I tell you to back the fuck away' threat. He had a feeling the lady caught on to what Ian did, but chose not to comply, considering how her scowl deepened and how she seemed to press impossibly closer.

Mickey and Ian shared a look but kept their mouths shut, preparing to unload their shit onto the moving thingy -- but then the old bat spoke.

"Least you could do is let me cut the line." She was looking straight at Mickey, and to Ian, judging by the look on his husband's face, it seemed as if he was considering it. But when his gaze swept over the pile in her cart -- the one almost spilling over -- he simply shrugged, "No. I couldn't."

Mickey kept unloading the few items they did have, and Ian followed his lead, but the lady was persistent. "You are very unkind."

Mickey simply muttered an 'uh-uh' as he grabbed the money out of his jacket.

"You should be ashamed."

Mickey rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb and Ian knew that signaled danger, so he pushed him lightly with his shoulder, gesturing for him to pay. Mickey obliged begrudgingly, choosing to ignore the bitch. The cashier was just finishing placing their shit into the plastic bag, handing it to Ian, also handing Mickey back the change. They were going to leave the place unscathed.

Too bad the bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"You should put a leash on him."

Before Mickey had a chance to jump her and gauge her eyes out, Ian wrapped his hands around his torso and pushed him towards the door of the store, whispering 'calm the fuck down' to him curtly, the grocery bag in his hand making it harder to sustain his husband. It wasn't the first time he had done this, and he doubted it would be the last. It was somewhat of a struggle but Ian managed. He also tried to ignore the look of pure horror on the grandma's face.

When he was finally able to get Mickey through the door -- while the guy spewed graphic insults at the hag -- he let go, making sure to keep him a safe distance away from the store.

"What the fuck is it with old bitches being so fucking rude?" Mickey muttered loudly, grabbing the bag out of Ian's hand and pulling out the Rose. He opened the bottle easily and took a long gulp, emptying a third of the bottle with it. His face scrunched up immediately. "I fucking told you it wasn't the same one!"

Ian just shook his head.

Fucking Milkovich.

2. THE JOB

The day had been pretty slow. They had their regular cash pick-ups and deliveries, and they had finished most of them, considering how the day was nearing its end. Both Ian and Mickey were ready to get back home and crash on the couch, maybe down a beer or two, and especially take off the uniforms that had truly made them sweat today. Spring was coming, and fuck if Ian wasn't ready for the onslaught of discomfort the camo brought on with it. Mickey didn't look like he minded it much, but Mickey was Mickey, so it wasn't a surprise. Ian, on the other hand, was already considering alternatives.

They were delivering their last bags of weed, taking a long ass drive to fucking HerbalCare, knowing it would take them a while to get back home too -- but the Northsiders that owned the place were kind of their regulars, so they were used to it.

Both Ian and Mickey expected the usual chick to show up and pick up the marijuana when they eventually got to the place -- the one with the curly red hair and a sassy attitude -- but instead, an unknown guy did with a large-ass man following shortly behind.

The first guy looked like any other -- casual clothing, friendly face, easy demeanor -- unlike -- what Ian supposed was -- his bodyguard. He looked like a capo with his broad shoulders, tight black shirt, tattoos littering his body, head cleanly shaved. Ian glanced reluctantly at his own thug, mentally praying Mickey had a bullet that could take down the motherfuckers in front of them if necessary.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" The normal-looking one spoke.

Mickey nodded, also slightly taken aback, but not letting it show. "We have a delivery for HerbalCare." He glanced at Ian. "For Dina? Wasn't it?"

Ian nodded slowly, assessing the situation.

"I'll take it from here." The guy responded, eyeing Mickey up and down. "Dina is currently busy at the moment." Mickey didn't seem too happy with the asshat's statement. Ian wasn't either, naturally. The man had an odd vibe to him -- he seemed on edge despite his cool facade, and Ian saw straight through it. He glanced at Mickey who seemed to have been noticing the same thing. They were not handing shit over to these assholes. There's a certain trust you had to earn before claiming a couple of thousand dollars worth of weed from Gallavich Security.

"How 'bout I just speak to Dina, yeah?" Mickey's voice was calm and eery -- he was in boss mode. The mode that even scared Ian, sometimes. It was dangerous territory these guys were treading on if Mickey had resorted to going into the mode only slightly less scary than Milkovich thug mode.

The dude, still nameless, smiled without humor. "Why don't you just give me the weed, huh?"

Mickey pulled out his gun swiftly, pointing it straight at the guy's head. The shock on his face only lasted for a moment before it turned into a smirk. The capo next to him pulled out his own, only slightly smaller than Mickey's, pointing it at Mickey's head.

Well, shit.

Ian pulled out the gun from his waistband, feeling slightly worried for his and his husband's safety, pointing it at the tall-ass man. It was like a scene from a movie. A poor, shitty-quality one.

"How about we all just put down our guns and we'll come back when Dina gets here?" Ian's voice was smooth and the silence hung lowly over them for a couple of moments. Ian was never a gun sort of guy, but rather a talk-it-out one.

They eventually all put down their guns, albeit reluctantly.

"Okay, then. Guess we'll be seeing you." The guy muttered as he turned his back to Ian and Mickey, capo following behind, shooting them a glare. Their movements were slow and deliberate, but eventually, when they were a safe distance away, the capo turned around and shot them the middle finger.

Ian was just barely in time to stop Mickey before he leaped out to kill the motherfucker.

He wrapped his arms around him like a boa constrictor, attempting to stop him from committing homicide. As always, it took a while.

Mickey growled after a minute or two, finally calming down, glaring at the spot the asshole thieves were a few moments before. "Oh, you fucking will be seeing me. You'll be seeing me in your nightmares, you motherfuckers."

Ian barely contained himself from rolling his eyes.

Fucking Milkovich.

3. THE ALIBI

Ian had been nursing a beer for the past hour while his worse half had already downed three. Mickey was on his fourth glass of Budweiser, slightly tipsy, but not quite drunk just yet as he and Ian enjoyed their night out, something one might even call a date (correction: something only Ian would call a date).

They had gone out for chicken wings, played some pool after dinner -- even took a fucking stroll out -- and now, they were chilling at the Alibi Room, enjoying each other's companies, talking about anything and everything, laughing at Kevin's jokes and making fun of Kermit and Tommy, the regular drunks of the Southside.

It was a slow day today, their job weighing a little extra heavy on their shoulders, but the night was swift, in contrast. In fact, they were having a really good time, letting go of all of the fucked-up things happening in their lives right now, the burden coming off of their shoulders, even for a little while. And Ian was especially looking forward to the sex that was bound to follow when they got back home. Hell, if Mickey continues drinking the beers at this pace, maybe even in the bathroom -- it truly only depended on the level of horniness the drunken state would illicit.

They were still enjoying their alcohol and horniness when Kermit had decided to remind everyone of a comment. Ian guessed it wasn't supposed to be that big of a deal. Both Ian and Mickey had dealt with far worse from people far shittier than Tommy and Kermit. But the comment -- the one about how Tommy was against their wedding, saying it was a man-woman thing -- didn't really sit well with either of them. Ian had no idea how the topic even came up, and the whole 'kind of drunk and talk-y' Mickey wasn't helping the case, but the words most certainly had an undesired effect on the couple.

Mickey had stilled immediately.

It wasn't that big of a deal. Homophobes were all around them, and they knew that Tommy was as gay and as homophobic as any of them, and Mickey would probably ignore the comment had he not been this content with the night he was having.

Here he was with Ian, having a great time, enjoying his life, his marriage, and over-all his husband, and this asshole was going to ruin it with this comment. This stupid, meaningless comment.

Neither Ian nor Mickey lived in a fantasy -- the one where everyone was supportive of the gays and where love was simply love, no matter if it was between a male and a female, or a male and a male -- but sometimes, they forgot what world they actually lived in and in those moments they were at their most vulnerable to these sort of remarks. They cut them deep, Mickey especially.

He was so happy with Ian, so happy with his marriage, the life they shared, that the outside world rarely even mattered. But when he heard someone saying how they shouldn't have gotten married -- shouldn't have been enjoying their love and relationship, shouldn't be where they are now -- Mickey got pissed.

"Oh yeah, Tommy? Man-woman thing?" Mickey's voice was unnervingly steady.

Kevin eyed Kermit, silently conveying the question, "why the fuck would you say that". Kermit shrugged but Mickey only had eyes for dear old Tom. He was watching him like prey.

Tommy gulped, not as afraid of Mickey as he used to be, but definitely not one-hundred percent safe around him either. Everybody knew Mickey protected himself and his family -- Ian and the Gallaghers -- only. Everyone else could just go fuck themselves. Tommy fell into the latter group.

"That's just the way I've been taught. Y'all are good, enjoy your marriage." He attempted to climb out of the hole he had dug for himself but it wasn't really working. The asshole had made it too deep and had fallen into it headfirst.

"Oh, I'm so fucking happy I have your approval." Mickey bit back.

"Oh, no," Ian muttered lowly. "Mick."

"You should be happy I don't have a gun on me now. Now, while I'm on a date with my husband." He annunciated the words slowly, making sure Tommy understood and heard them very well and remembered them for good. Ian's heart fluttered at the mention of the word date, but he reeled it back in for now. He could enjoy it later when Mickey wasn't on the verge of murdering someone.

"Hey man, how 'bout you just calm down?"

Tommy really wanted to die today.

Ian was pushing Mickey out of the bar before he strangled the man with his bare hands. Mickey cursed as they were leaving, resisting his husband as he attempted to drag him out. Ian barely got them through the door, and when he did, Mickey tried hard to go back in.

Ian hissed at him to stop. Eventually, Mickey did.

"I see him one more time, I'm killing him, understood?" Mickey was baring his teeth at the bar as if Tommy could see him. "Him and his counterpart."

Ian closed his eyes briefly.

Fucking Milkovich.

4. THE BLEACHERS

It had always been their spot. From the beginning, it was a place for Ian and Mickey to run away to, not just to hook up, but to escape their lives and the turmoils of their families, each fucked up in its own fucked up way. It was easy for them to just disappear for a while, fucking against the fence, shot-gunning beer with no one to reprimand them for when they left the cans on the stadium, the world completely oblivious that it was the odd duo. Not just Mickey Milkovich, the infamous Southside thug, and not just Ian Gallagher, the skinny army ginger -- but both Ian and Mickey, a pairing no one saw coming, not from a million light-years away.

It was easier back then, sure, but now, it was better. They used to just fuck underneath the bleachers, making it nothing more than a hook-up spot, barely touching after sex, drinking beer like just a couple of friends, not like they were in between rounds, Ian aching for more, Mickey denying him access to it. Ian knew Mickey wouldn't even admit they were friends back then.

But then again, it was different then than it was now.

Now the bleachers were their spot. Not just a fuck spot like it used to be. No -- it was a hangout spot. They didn't have their own place yet -- that was still a work in progress -- and when the Gallagher house became too loud and too messy for them to just enjoy their night, outside of the confines of their room, they went to the bleachers.

It wasn't a regular occurrence, more like a once-a-month sort of thing, but it still felt great and rejuvenating -- it felt like them. A space in the dark where they could just talk and drink and mess around and make out in, unapologetically relieved of the burden on their shoulders, whatever it may be.

Tonight was a night like that, a night where all they wanted and needed to do was escape -- Terry's death was still weighing heavy on Mickey's soul, for reasons Mickey and Ian both had yet to uncover, and the house was brimming with too many Gallaghers with too many opinions and observations. They needed a break.

The spot under the bleachers was supposed to be reserved for them as always, and they had brought along a six-pack of beer as well, deciding to just get drunk, even if they still had to get to work the next morning. It would be a good ending to a shitty week.

But the asshole kids sitting at their spot weren't gonna let that play out.

Ian and Mickey were aware that they were grown-ass men, but it was ten pm and these children had no right to even be near the bleachers let alone smoking and drinking underneath them. They were far from teens and they reminded Ian of himself and Lip when they were mere eleven-year-olds trying to figure the messed-up world out.

Mickey didn't really see it that way. He was clearly just annoyed.

"Beat it." He said in a curt voice, flicking his wrist to point to the imaginary exit. Ian followed suit reluctantly, only after trying to convince Mickey to just let them have at it and go to the dugouts instead.

"No Ian, we came here because this is our spot and these little fuckers need to go." Mickey had responded.

Ian was aware his husband had issues.

He was used to it.

The kids laughed, the three voices laughing merging, sounding more like a pack of hyenas. "Watcha' gonna do about it, grandpa?"

Mickey had a very shitty couple of days.

Mickey was not a well-tempered person.

Mickey was on the verge of killing something.

These kids were the catalyst.

When Mickey took a swift step towards them, Ian was once again -- how many times was it, now? -- holding him back. The kids scattered around, scared shitless of the thug. They were gone in the blink of an eye.

Ian felt sorry for them, but he was happy that, at least, Mickey didn't dump their tiny bodies in the river. Not that Mickey would've actually done that.

Ian hoped.

"I was one second from threatening to eat them for lunch," Mickey grumbled. He then pointed at the free spot. "At least they're gone. Gimme that beer, I wanna have some good drunk sex."

He made a gesture with his fingers and smiled as if nothing had happened. Wasn't Ian supposed to be the crazy one?

Fucking Milkovich.

5. THE GALLAGHER HOUSE

Debbie Gallagher was extremely annoying nine times out of ten. Ian Gallagher knew it. Mickey Milkovich knew. The entire Gallagher clan knew it. But today, she seemed especially bitchy.

It was a Friday night -- usually reserved for a good home-cooked meal, chilling on the couch, watching TV, and just having a family night altogether. Even Lip and Tami were in the house on Fridays, bringing Fred along to play with Franny and Liam (who would more-so look after them than play with them).

That's how the nights usually went.

But tonight, Debbie the Brat had every intention of fucking it up.

She sauntered into the house, bitchiness oozing from her pores, head held high even though it should have been bowed down in shame. She was drunk off her rocks, and she was dragging Franny along with her.

"Hi, assholes." She greeted the family in the kitchen, letting go of Franny's hand, pulling her sunglasses off to reveal blood-shot eyes. God knows where the hell she had been today. All Ian knew was that she left the house sober with Franny and was now completely drunk, if not high, the little girl still trailing behind.

"Wash your hands, Fran," Liam instructed, eyeing Debbie up and down. She seemed even more fucked up than usual in his eyes.

She plopped herself down on the closest free chair which happened to be across Mickey. It was quiet for a few moments, everyone waiting for something to happen. Debbie was an unpredictable drunk, something they were only lately discovering.

It seemed like Debbie had woken up today and chosen violence.

She looked straight into Mickey's eyes. "Your cousin is a cunt."

Mickey raised an eyebrow while the other Gallaghers observing the exchange. Ian was sat next to him. He put his utensils down, not sure how this exchange was going to unravel, also pulling Mickey's knife out of reach, in a way he hoped was inconspicuous.

Just in case.

"She is a self-absorbed cunt who has no business in this house anymore." Deborah continued as if someone gave a shit. Mickey especially.

He shrugged. "Last I'd seen her was the morning after you guys broke up. I couldn't give less of a shit about whether or not she's with you or not with you. For fuck's sake, the break-up happened a long-ass time ago, get over it." Mickey looked down at his plate, continuing to eat his dinner, clearly signifying the conversation was over. He glanced at Ian when he couldn't find his knife.

Instead of moving on, Debbie grabbed a loaf of bread and threw it at him.

Mickey stilled.

Carl elbowed her hard but she paid no attention to the warning. She was having a staring contest with Mickey Milkovich. One she would eventually lose.

"Back the fuck off, Debbie," Ian warned himself.

She switched her gaze from Mickey to Ian. Her gaze was murderous. "Or what, Ian? You'll try and kill me with a bat?"

Collective silence fell over the table. Noone seemed to be breathing. All eyes switched to Ian, gauging his reaction, not believing the words that had left Debbie's mouth, but even warier of the ones that were bound to leave Ian's.

Ian had other things occupying his mind, though, and one of those things was his husband who was probably a second away from killing his sister-in-law.

"You bitch." Ian held Mickey down by his shoulders as he attempted to climb over the table and tackle her to the floor. "You and your condescending cunt can fuck off."

"Mickey. Come on." Ian pushed him out of the chair and shoved him lightly, indicating for him to go upstairs.

"No, Ian. She needs to be set fucking straight, or else you'll have a new Frank on your hands. This bitch." He fought against him as Debbie just sat still.

"Mickey." Ian shoved him towards the stairs, afraid he would have to explain to the cops how his husband murdered his sister if Mickey didn't leave the room, immediately. Mickey noticed Ian's serious expression, and slowly climbed up, all the while muttering to Debbie to go fuck herself.

Ian glanced at Debbie from where he stood.

"What?" She asked, innocently.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Debbie snorted. "Sorry if I hurt your feelings. Not like it wasn't true."

"I couldn't give less of a shit whether or not you think I'm crazy. You come in here and talk to Mickey like that again, I will be using a bat. Only then you'll see how crazy I can get." Ian was dead serious.

It was the first time since she came in that her eyes truly widened in fear.

He backed away upstairs slowly.

The rest of the Gallaghers were silent for a moment before they all collectively shot Debbie a dirty look, soon erupting in chatter, as if nothing had happened.

It had been merely a few seconds before Ian had entered their room, when Mickey finally started his rant, talking shit about Debbie, defending Ian being at the core of it all.

He had a lot to say, and Ian was going to listen to it all, like the supportive husband he was, always taking Mick's side.

As he listened to Mickey rant about Debbie, he thought about what he had said to her. It was true -- every single word that had left his mouth. He hoped she and the rest of them -- no matter who it was -- understood.

Mickey was more important to him than anyone else in this world, even his sister. He was Ian's family, his next of kin, the one Ian trusted and loved the most. When push comes to shove, he will chose him, no matter what. He will always choose his husband, the love of his life, his worse half.

God, he was soft.

Fucking Milkovich.

+1 THE STORE, THE JOB, THE ALIBI, THE BLEACHERS, THE GALLAGHERS

"You really keep me from killing people, man. Feel like I should thank you."

Mickey had muttered that lowly in the dark, his head resting on Ian's chest, both of them naked, enjoying their post-sex bliss. It was then when they were at their most open, letting out emotions and feelings that usually didn't seep into the mundane day.

Ian ran his fingers along Mickey's bare back, enjoying how Mickey shivered against them. "You do the same thing." He answered simply.

Mickey raised his head slightly to look at his husband. "No, I don't. I've never had to physically pull you away from stabbing or strangling someone."

"You do realize I usually get as pissed off as you do at these things."

"These things?"

Ian rolled his eyes in the dark. "C'mon Mick. You really think I'm okay with an old lady calling you rude and ignorant and judging you like you're nothing but a street rat. Or some assholes flipping us off after trying to steal our weed?" He adjusted his arm so it rested over Mickey's shoulder, Mickey's cheek pressed into his peck. "You think I don't get mad when Tommy talks about how we shouldn't have gotten married because we're men? Or how Debbie had the audacity to talk to you like that, in front of me."

"You never react to it, though. That's why I don't pull you away from starting shit. You kind of just stay calm." Mickey responded to Ian's short monologue.

Ian chuckled. "Mick. If I wasn't so busy pulling you away, I'd probably be the one murdering them all."

This time Mickey raised his head to fully look at Ian. They adjusted their positions so it was easier to keep each other's gaze.

"I'm serious," Ian responded to Mickey's expression of disbelief.

Ian was completely and utterly serious. That shit happened a lot.

In fact, had Ian not been so busy pushing Mickey out of the store, the plastic bag filled with shit they needed for dinner and the expensive -- but probably not correct -- Rosè in one of his hands, making sure his husband didn't go to prison for stabbing the geriatric bitch, he would have gotten really fucking pissed and probably have gone off at the grandma himself.

If Mickey didn't attempt to go after the fucking thieves, like the sociopath he was, Ian would've probably pulled out his gun and pointed it at the men's fucking back. Maybe he would've even tried emptying the clip.

Mickey trying to strangle Tommy was good enough of a distraction for Ian not to beat the asshole up himself. How fucking dare he talk about marriage like that, the drunk bitch. Ian would've been a second away from hurling himself at Tommy and beating the shit out of him -- but fuck it if Ian was gonna let Mickey get arrested for aggravated assault and risk his parole.

The kids at the bleachers didn't bother him. He knew Mickey had a soft spot for kids himself, so it was more of a hissy fit than a homicidal fit.

Debbie was the one that truly made his blood boil.

"You know," Ian began. "I would've probably signed a death warrant on Debbie and mine's relationship that night if you weren't there."

"How so?" Mickey was caressing Ian's cheek with his thumb, giving him the biggest case of heart-eyes. Ian didn't doubt that was how he was looking at Mickey himself.

"When she was saying that shit, all I could think of was making sure you didn't kill her. I barely registered what the fuck she was saying. I was trying to keep you from flipping the table and making Franny an orphan." Mickey rolled his eyes but kept silent. He knew there was truth in Ian's words. "But, if you weren't there. If Debbie had just started talking about me and the whole bipolar thing and I didn't have you to keep me from actually letting the words sink in..." He drifted off, not knowing how he would've reacted. The words would have probably cut him deep.

Shifting closer, Mickey pressed his palm against Ian's cheek. "Do we need to talk about how you should under no circumstance listen to your bitch of a sister? What happened all those years ago happened while you were manic and off your meds. Her using that as a comeback in an argument is low and a fucking betrayal. Right now, you are the healthiest you've been since your diagnosis and you shouldn't let her get in your head. Hell, if I have to, I'll fucking try and murder anyone to stop the words from -- what did you say -- sinking in?" Ian laughed wetly, feeling himself get emotional over Mickey's little speech.

"You're amazing, Ian." He finished. "I'm proud of you."

Ian pulled Mickey's body close, making their naked bodies press flush against each other. Their noses touched as Ian took a moment to appreciate what the universe had given him. The soft lines of Mickey's face, the blemishes, and the tiny scars -- the eyebrows Ian had joked were iconic to him -- everything that made Mickey Milkovich his Mickey.

A kid forged in hate and homophobia, morphed by the Southside into a short-tempered thug, capable of murder in the blink of an eye if you so much as looked at him wrong. A Milkovich taught to care for nobody but family, to stay loyal to them and never snitch, but also taught to put a bullet in their fucking heads if betrayed. A hard-ass and a thief, ready to shamelessly steal from any store of his choosing, barely giving a shit whether it lands him in juvie or not.

A man capable of so much love. A man who took care of Ian when he was at his worst, made sure to keep him safe and protected. The man who came out for him in front of his worst nightmare, all so he could keep Ian, even if he was nothing but a mess kept together by unawareness. A man capable of murder for Ian. A man capable of running away with Ian. A man capable of going back to prison for Ian. A man who loved Ian, and would always try to keep him safe.

"You done staring?" Mickey smirked at him.

Ian smiled, shaking his head slightly. "I don't think I'll ever be." He then added, quietly, "I'm so lucky."

Mickey nodded, his lips mere inches away from Ian's. "I am too."

Soft lips moved against each other slowly, creating a rhythm Ian never wanted to lose.

He knew he never would.

His life, even after all the worst possible shit a person could imagine, was pretty fucking great. All thanks to Mickey.

His husband.

His partner.

His soulmate.

His worse half.

His Milkovich.

THE END

#gallavich #shameless #shameless us #shameless final season #fanfic #Ian Gallagher #ian and mickey #ian x mickey #ianxmickey #mickey milkovich #gallaghers #5+1 fic #5+1 things #canon compliant

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