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elodieunderglass · 1 month ago

Note

Ken is vegan, though I think I've only referenced it in the context of him having vegan haggis on Burns Night. this is very much a guy you would find in Bristol.

Chip shop order (TW for disordered eating among racing jockeys)

All of the Horse Dynasty are either having a kids' portion or sharing an adult's portion between two.

They are having Cod and Chips, No Batter on the Cod. sometimes vinegar but no salt.

Chip shops don't make a lot of money on that family.

They're all small-framed enough that it shouldn't be as much of a thing as they make it, even for the outlying Slightly Tall Men like Colm and the Saint, but that's how it is with ~*~generational food weirdness~*~

actually the Saint probably has batter. but he still has to share with Blaw. because they are so weird.

the Tiernan dynasty hits the chippie hard during Lent, and ignore it the rest of the time, I think.

the smokers have no sense of smell, taste, appetite, or shame. and they're all smokers.

much like my own mother, I picture Bill being quite interested in spicy things like curry sauce/horseradish/mustard, because it's one of the few things that taste different. Well, not so much taste, as having Awareness that Something is Happening. My mother used to GO IN on mustard.

i have just pictured Bill not having enough hands for something, and accidentally putting out his cigarette in a tub of curry sauce. but he hadn't quite finished with either of them (cigarette, curry sauce)

and then trying to decide if he still wanted them (cigarette, curry sauce)

probably fine

christ it's an entire family tree of disasters what happened

Charlie actually has a nearly-normal sense of smell and taste these days, although they developed so late that they Came In Wrong. Like, they're there, but they don't Guide Him in a Meaningful Way. He can detect that mint-soaked matcha is Green, or that Fish Has A Taste, but this doesn't connect to desire along the usual neural pathways.

Charlie manages to get Spice Bag surprisingly often. Spice Bag is an Irish/Chinese dish of chips with chilli, chicken, peppers and vegetables, and while normally region-locked to Ireland, Charlie asks for it - and often gets it - in random places.

Charlie mostly subsists on very strange scraps of things. his chip shop order with his family is Everything His Kids Didn't Eat. his chip shop order with you is Three (3) Of Your Scampi. if you don't order scampi, then he does something worse. so it's really up to you.

Rossa is a jump jockey and they're allowed to be bigger, but he's also somewhat tall, so it's shared cod & chips for Rossa and Pippa.

Derek thinks fish'n'chips is a very reasonable thing, one of the plus sides of immigration (it hits different from a real chippie, I'm with him there) and does not have an upper limit on how much he'd have.

he's coming around to salt'n'vinegar but, like, to be fair, Americans tend to be more of tartar sauce and lemon people, which is more what you get when you sit down, so it's a whole thing.

(it's a common Famous Fact that fish'n'chips are British-Jewish cuisine, but this is probably not entirely true.)

derek doesn't want to know what is going on with the mushy peas. don't tell him. he doesn't want to know

Killie's family-of-origin tradition of the Shared Order continues nicely with Derek. Derek will eat the batter so it isn't even a complicated order.

With the best will in the world, chippies (outside of bristol) aren't thinking of the vegan market. there's even animal products in a lot of curry sauces! but that's okay! Ken can have chips and mushy peas. he will be very happy.

ken is one of the few people on the planet who are self-sufficiently, completely, contentedly happy sitting on a wall, in an ugly part of town with a little pot of mushy peas and a wooden spoon. and you know what? those are the lucky people of the planet. blessed are they, long may they reign.

So, in the various relationships in the Killieverse, who's the "They SAID no PICKLES" partner?

oh my goodness! none of these weirdos eat burgers! how did I come up with so many people who canonically are not eating burgers. all right

Killie and Derek Derek and Killie are like this for each other. Killie is stoic and silent about taking damage to himself, but his response to anxiety and uncertainty is to lunge forward. He's possessive and protective, in the sense that he takes all the self-preservation and regard-for-one's-self that he doesn't have, and places it nicely like a little flower crown on someone else's head. Killie is also weirdly, brokenly gallant. ...It isn't always obvious that he's being gallant. Derek is a normal guy who would manage his own pickles. (in his case it would probably be cheese that he wanted left off, because he likes pickles). and he would be so, so happy to manage all the negotiations in the couple, because Killie's methodology is so very strange and off-putting, and a little too menacing. Derek is trying to sneakily get someone's attention to quietly resolve the problem before Killie notices and makes it weird. Derek is normal, patient and kind. Derek has probably worked in food service himself. Derek knows that mistakes are honest, and that changing orders is difficult, and jobs are hard, and that most people don't know about the meat+dairy not being kosher in the same dish thing, and that education on such matters is not going to be effectively achieved by Killie glowering at people.

Killie would never eat a burger for a long list of reasons. He doesn't eat mammal meat unless he can see it carved off the animal for himself, he doesn't trust melty cheese, and he could never manage that much ("AND there's chips?!" in a tone of throttled outrage, as if chips are an utterly unreasonable expectation on top of everything else.) Actually. One of the oldest Killie/Derek scenes I ever wrote is about how Killie Would Not Eat A Burger, in the context of him explaining to Derek that sexuality is fake and unreal, and everyone who claims to experience it is either lying or wrong. Like burgers, Killie says loftily, everyone lies about eating 'em. And Derek, paddling like mad in these unexpectedly deep waters, has to forcibly drag himself away from that, because he's just been handed the key to unlock whatever the hell Killie's sexuality is, but with the massive distraction of - what do you mean you've never had a burger -

Charlie and Killie Approach the counter together and form a polite and normal request, their different and distinctive wild-animal-in-a-Situation vibes suddenly gone all smooth and domesticated. gives an unsettling and weirdly unwelcome picture of what they'd be like if they hadn't split into two separate people as an embryo.

Pippa and Killie

Neither of them care about pickles on their own behalf, and with both together, they both agree they care less than they would have alone. But both of them would go up to the counter for each other. Knight and princess, but it's unclear which is which (and also both of them are the horse.) Pippa and Rossa Pippa does it. it's unclear whether Rossa was confusing about his order on purpose, because he loves watching her do it.

Charlie and [YOU] Charlie is the perfect person to send up to the counter if you didn't want pickles, because he does not find it unpleasant. it's mildly fun for him, actually. Charlie's day job involves being sent to do EXCUSE ME HE SAID NO PICKLES, but for things like funding and nonprofit organisations. Politely negotiating someone else's pickle order is enrichment for him, and an education for everyone else. Charlie asks for things off-menu and gets them. Unfortunately, the pickles are the only part of the burger Charlie would eat, so you really ought to just give them to him to him to eat instead.

Charlie and Suraiya (their younger nerd friend) One of the early scenes I've written about them is basically Charlie climbing across a counter to make Suraiya a new sandwich. Charlie's lesson to Suraiya is to make space for herself.

Bill and Helena The twins get the "being slightly gallant" from their dad, who, much like a rooster, considers all pickle-negotiations taking place in a certain radius of himself to rightfully be his duty. He would incite a pickle discussion as self-assigned alpha male on behalf of unknown women, children, and the bewildered. one of those embarrassing old guys. Unfortunately for Bill's combativeness and sense of dignity, he's married to Helena, who is furious in every waking moment that when she TRULY expresses her feelings, it causes a SCENE, and scenes are BAD. She hates and resents how bottled-up she is, and therefore how unsafe she is, because she is not allowed to defend herself from threats (unfortunately, such threats include people breathing in an annoying manner, songs played on the radio, the movement of birds outside, and mild inconveniences.) Anything and everything could be the last straw for Helena. She's far too upper-class and rarefied to be what Americans call a "Karen." Instead, what Americans call a "Karen" is trying to articulate the vague, wispy little shadow on the wall cast by the colossus of Helena. Helena deals with her own pickles. She's waiting like a hyena for the poor server to mess up the pickles. She'd do Bill's too. She NEEDS to make a SCENE and here is a REASON. it's a good thing those two don't eat burgers.

Ciara and Colm

Colm would never complain about pickles, or do it on anyone else's behalf. you'd have to do this for him or he would DIE.

Ciara would like to be the sort of person who would be assertive, but doesn't know a normal way to do so (she's aware that her parents are a lot, though) so rather than be embarrassed would like to avoid it.

Bren'n'Blaw

They are QUITE ODD. I would think they would go up to ask for a new burger together.

But they're so weird. they are probably deconstructing and reconstructing the two burgers to make two different burgers, one with Just Pickles and one with The Everything Else, and then they both share both of them. in the Land Rover in the carpark.

Ken + anybody

Although Ken's vegan, you could unfortunately probably get a whole pickled cow into his burger without him noticing. (the intersection of "vegan" and "boatie" and "geologist" resulting in a guy who mostly eats baked beans from a tin with a spoon - and what's worse, apparently thrives on it.) if you complained about having pickles, he would probably take your sandwich and remove the pickles for you. and do something faintly weird like putting the pickles in his pocket. and then give your sandwich back in the nicest possible way. Sorted! And you know what, it would be.

(why his pocket? is he going to eat them later? why not eat them now? is he going to... recycle them? is there a duckling in his pocket? will the duckling eat the pickles?)

Charlie would've probably run around Ken in tight circles, like a sheepdog with only one sheep, checking to make sure that everything was vegan on his behalf, and having a grand time going EXCUSE ME! HE IS VEGAN, if they weren't. Charlie was probably reading labels. KEN THOSE AREN'T THE VEGAN HARIBO.

this is unhinged, I hope I understood the assignment

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southernbluebellereader · 2 years ago

Text

Apple Slices

Captain John Price x Young Female Reader (COD MW(2))

| Part 1: Bruised Apple | Part 2: Current Fic | Part 3: Apple Pie

Warning: Platonic, going on slightly romantic, Angst, Facial Scars, [Mention of Violence], [Trauma]

Summary: Our Captain finds it hard to keep his presence away from Y/N.

A/N: It's not quite where I want it to be but I will write a part 3 eventually

Word Count: ~1,814 words

Master List

(tag list at the bottom)

At this point: where Captain Price, Y/N L/N was close behind. Where Y/N L/N was, Captain Price was close enough with crossed arms, keeping an eye on her. They were inseparable.

“Where’s your mini-me?” Laswell chuckled. Price looked over at Laswell and nodded in the direction of the ladies’ room, “Be right back.”

“How is she?”

“She’s doin’ just fine. Stubborn little woman, but she’s done some good.”

“I told you that you’d like her.”

They watched Y/N come out of the ladies’ room and reunited with Soap and Ghost trying to teach her how to play pool. She scratched her head at the way they tried to give her directions, making her even more confused.

“She can kill terrorists in three keystrokes but she can’t figure out how to play pool, that’s Y/N alright,” Price chuckled as he took another sip of his drink, looking back at Laswell.

“Eh, she’ll figure it out. Always have.” Making contact with Price, she lowered her voice, “She tells you what happened?”

“Her bastard Uncle.”

“She tell you he’s been rotting in jail since it happened?”

“No.” A slight relief. But not enough.

Laswell looked back at Y/N once more, seeing her giggle and smile, “You’ve certainly made a difference. I could barely make her crack a smile when she worked with me.”

“She liked green apples.”

—

“Do you eat anything else?”

“Sometimes.” Y/N cut up her green apple and gave the Captain half of it. “An apple a day keeps a doctor away, John. Maybe it’ll keep you from getting hurt.” They sat under the shade as they watched Soap and Simon grapple each other under the sun, John waiting patiently to grapple against the winner.

Mumbling something incoherent, he took the apple half and started to eat it, “I don’t need a doctor.”

Y/N looked up at him. She didn’t know if he was serious or not. She scoffed and shook her head, “Whatever you say, RoboCop.” Y/N looked back at Simon and Soap. The Captain looked down at her, he didn’t know if he should laugh or be offended.

—

However, there were days that Y/N didn’t feel so happy. On the day that she was attacked, she typically went home and stayed home. But she wasn’t home. She was on the other side of the planet. But it didn’t make a difference in how she felt, despite it happening several years ago.

It’s as if she could feel the pain in her face and the weight of a brute of a man on top of her body all over again, unable to move as the dull knife was pressed against the corners of her mouth, blood gushing into it.

“I need to take next Saturday off.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to.”

Price looked up at Y/N from his desk. Her eyes were dark.

“It’s not your birthday is it?”

“That’s two months from now.”

“Why do you need the day off, Y/N?”

“That’s the day.”

Every year on that day, since that day, Y/N never left her room - wherever she was. She kept water bottles and enough food on her person to keep her fed and hydrated until the next day. She didn’t want to be caught using the wrong knife.

—

“Where’s L/N?”

“Don’t worry about her.” Price looked at Simon sternly. They were getting ready for a debriefing after coming back from a mission. Worry bubbling in the back of his head, “But-”

“I’ll catch her up later,” Price remained tense the rest of the meeting. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but this was different.

—

“Y/N, it’s John,” Price’s voice was low and soft outside the door. He heard rustling inside her room, then silence.

He heard his name - barely a whisper. His chest tightened as he put his hand on the door handle.

“Y/N, can I come in?”

He heard more rustling, then more silence.

“Y/N, I’m coming in.” Swallowing hard, Price opened the door. The room was dark and barely lit by the moonlight spilling from the small window. The room was a mess. Furniture was moved, a chair was tipped over, and things were on the floor. Y/N’s heavy breathing from the corner of the room gave her away. Treading carefully, he held his hands up.

She looked exhausted. She was slumped on the floor in the corner of the room. Her skin felt warm, cold, and clammy. Her face lay in her hands, drenched in tears.

He stopped in the middle of the room and crouched down, barely whispering, “Y/N?”

Y/N rubbed her face with her hands, wiping the excess tears, then looked up at John. His heart fell to his stomach and his chest felt as if it was about to cave in. More tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but they were met with hushes.

“Shh, it’s ok, I got you, Y/N." Price sat down and scooted forward so that she was situated between his legs. She was trembling. He held his hands out, reaching out for hers. “I got you.”

Y/N hesitated slightly, unable to back up any further, keeping her eye contact with Price.

Price kept his arms and hands open but lowered them so that they rested on his knees. He just wanted to hold her and never let her go. He never wanted her to feel like this again. He didn’t care that the man who did this to her was in jail, he wanted to kill him himself.

“He’s not here, Y/N. He’s locked away with the key thrown away. He can’t touch y-”

“Then why is he still in my head? Why do I still feel knife?”

Price couldn’t help himself and pulled Y/N closer to his body. One arm lay across her back and the other rubbed his other hand over the back of her head. Y/N rested her forehead against his chest, her tears staining his shirt. Her silent sobs became louder, making Price hold her closer, rocking her gently side to side.

“You’re safe, lass. You ain’t never seeing him ever again. I got you.”

—

Price remained in her room for the remainder of the night in Y/N’s room. He moved some of the furniture back and cleared the floor. He took her flipped-over desk chair and placed it against the wall at the foot of her bed.

“...What are you doing?” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper from under her covers.

“I’m staying here tonight.”

“But won’t you be uncomfortable?”

“I’ve slept in more uncomfortable positions, Y/N. Now get to bed.”

“But-”

“Y/N. Please. You need sleep.”

—-

The morning after, John woke up shortly before dawn, silently stretching his aching neck. Damn chair. Looking over at Y/N, he smiled gently. She looked so peaceful when she slept. He glanced over at the time and silently crouched down beside Y/N, just watching her sleep. 6:32 AM.

Her steady breathing, a lock of hair that lay across of face, and one of her hands resting by her face made her look angelic.

“Why do I still feel the knife, John? I still feel it.” She kept repeating between sobs a mere few hours before, holding her hands to her face. God, he wished this never happened to her. But would he have met her otherwise? Would he have a new appreciation for green apples?

He was happy that she joined. She brought a certain liveliness to their surroundings. She even made Simon laugh a few times - he didn’t think he could laugh. But just like him and just like the rest of the team, she knew how to hide her feelings and hide her trauma - maybe a little too much.

But - ever since he laid eyes on her, there was a growing urge in his chest to keep her close. To keep an eye on her, to protect her, as she protected him while he was on missions. Y/N certainly made a difference as she served a pair of watchful eyes, relaying useful information he never knew he would need before a mission, weakening enemies quicker and more swiftly than if they went the normal route. He didn’t understand half of the software and programs she used, but they worked. He trusted that she’d keep him safe.

“John…?” Y/N’s groggy barely came out as a whisper. She blinked her eyes a few times as she groaned and stretched her body slightly. When she realized her Captain was sitting so close to her, her face blushed, and she pulled up the covers over the lower half of her face.

Smiling gently, John lifted his hand and moved the lock of hair away from her face, “Can I see you, please?”

Still blushing, Y/N moved the blanket down, revealing her face. Both of them stayed silent as the Captain gently cupped her face, stroking his thumb over her cheek, feeling the small indentation of her scar, “Ye alright, Y//N?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay, John,” Y/N turned her face slightly towards his face, feeling more of his calloused and rough palms and fingers on her face.

“Don’t worry about the briefings today, yeah? I’ll fill you in later.”

“Bu-”

“You need more rest, that’s an order,” John chuckled, “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

—

The Captain hated himself for feeling for Y/N the way he did. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. He can’t. He shouldn’t. But he does. The way she’ll always have a green apple and a fruit knife, and silently cut one of them in half and give one half to him. The way she’ll call him ‘RoboCop’ whenever he tries to complain or minimize his injuries. The way she’ll tell him “Godspeed” through her headsted before they begin every mission. The way she’ll constantly follow closely behind him to assess damage to some of their electrical and tech gear, assess how he and the team should approach a mission, and the way she double and triple checks all their gear before they leave.

The way she’ll spend an extra moment making sure her Captain’s gear is set right and runs smoothly, and say “Don’t go breaking my things, ya hear?”

“I’d put you out of a job if I didn’t, Y/N,” He’d answer back.

“Yeah yeah, just come back, alright?”

“Didn’t know you liked me that much, L/N.”

“A girl can only eat so many apples by herself, Captain.”

“Is that so, L/N?”

Y/N smiled and took a hold of his wrist and calibrated the little computer attached to his wrist, “How about I treat you to some apple pie when you get back?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

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

TAG LIST

@ateliefloresdaprimavera @galagcica @sweetybuzz25 @wisedinosaurpolice @itsasecrets-things @ronbon @lieutenantlashfaz @piper570 @shuttlelauncher81 @thanksbutno98

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod #call of duty mw2 #call of duty mw #captain john price #John price #Johnathan price #captain Johnathan price #John price cod #captain John price cod

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koltowave · 4 years ago

Photo

Yearning

Commissioned Art by @fleeting-sanity. Thank you for the amazing art! 💜

Odessen was beautiful the eve before the lunar new year.

Everyone was dressed with reds, flowers were in bloom. Jedi and sith who remained with the Alliance were helping with decorations and preparations with food and entertainment. The smell of cod stew was in the air as Kira faintly heard a smuggler and a sith argue over spices. Bounty Hunters and Jedi out in the field having a debate in good nature over the best route of fireworks without disrupting the wildlife when the new year on the planet starts.

All of this, was organised by Theron. And Kira was grateful for it.

It has already been a year since the Alliance took down the Order of Zildrog. Kira knew Theron did the right thing when he turned his back on her, for the sake of the Alliance. For the entire galaxy.

For her.

However, the pain was still there. Kira had forgiven him, in the official Alliance sense. But personally, she felt it hard to let go of the breach of trust. The pain was still there. She saw Theron’s pain. Both of them were going about their own ways, as they keep the Alliance they worked so hard on afloat. Yet at times she felt their relationship was in limbo.

And it was her causing it now.

Hugging the flowered jacket she wore around her body, everyone was finishing up and resting before the rest of the Alliance came through to celebrate. Kira was watching a soldier with her wife and their newborn child when Theron interrupted her thoughts. “Hey there.“

Kira blinked, distracted for a bit before turning towards him. Theron was dressed up for the occasional, no long wearing the grey attire he took to wearing since Nathema. He was back in his reds and greens, his hair freshly washed and wearing a warm smile.

Kira couldn’t help but smile, despite being a small one. “Theron, you look...” Kira was at a loss of words but she decided to go with the flow, like how she used to be. “...Dashing.”

“Heh, thanks, Lana helped me with this,” said Theron, his eyes lit up slightly. “You look rather beautiful tonight.”

“I had to dress for the occasion.” Kira paused, feeling awkward. “Thanks for doing this. I haven’t had the willpower to prepare Odessen this year...”

“It’s the least I can do,” said Theron softly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You’ve had your hands full.”

Kira looked back, wondering why Theron still stuck around despite her freezing him out and asking him to do stuff which Theron usually balked at. Like organising end of year festivities, something that Kira and Lana usually do. Not once since she asked him to do this three months ago, did Theron complain. Or sneak out to do something else for the Alliance. “So did you, Theron.”

Reacting to the torn expression on her face, Theron pulled her in, to give her a soft warm hug. A faint reminder of what they had before. “I didn’t mind it at all.”

Kira looked up at him, her hand on his collar, wanting to kiss him, but holding back. “You trying to woo me, Theron?”

“I am trying. Is it working?”

Kira’s expression doesn’t change as she remained within breath’s length from him. “It’s certainly working, Theron.” She paused, looking down. “Still got a long way to go though...”

Theron’s lip quivered slightly, but he kept a straight face. “And I’ll keep on trying...” His voice was soft, yearning. Wanting her.

Kira couldn’t help but feel bad. It has been a year already, she knew she shouldn’t be stuck wallowing in her own bitterness, but she needed time.

She hoped Theron would still look at her like this when she does let him in again. Perhaps this new year would allow them to start anew.

#swtor #skirmisher kira #Theron Shan #ficlets #lunar new year #lunar new year romance #more like... lunar new year ANGST #since lunar new year is close by valentine's day soooo :P #also uh it's been a long few years since i've posted something #*slinks back into liking and retweeting peeps content*

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monstrousgourmandizingcats · 4 years ago

Note

red, Green!

red: how was your first kiss?

Pretty awful, in different ways depending on what your definition of "kiss" is. I had an acutely embarrassing ~collision~ with a classmate when I was six or seven (we were both trying to kiss our teacher's dog at the same time), then, when I was thirteen, sloppily made out with a girl I had a crush on at a Christmas party. Very awkward!

what do you love about yourself?

Quite a number of things, few of which I really want to go into right now. I'm proud of being a good enough confidante that I have about half a dozen very intimate friends in my late twenties, though.

when’s the last time you warmed your hands in front of a fire?

Some time ago. I can't remember exactly. Not too long ago though since my aunt's house on Cape Cod has a working fireplace and I was there last winter.

would you rather watch a sunrise or sunset?

Sunset because I hate getting up early.

what’s the best thing about summer?

Swimming! Increasingly I hate almost everything else about summer because of the sweltering intensity of it and the way it underscores almost everything I hate about the direction this society and this planet are going in, but splashing around in the river for an afternoon never ever gets old.

green: what’s your favorite thing to do outside?

Probably hiking, either on its own or combined with nature photography and/or stargazing. I've tried to get into gardening but I just can't keep plants alive.

do you like camping?

I do not.

what would you spend $1,000 on?

At this point I'd put it in savings, because I have some expenses anticipated for later this year that are probably going to be low four digits.

what’s your job, or what do you want to do as your job?

I work for expenses as a collections assistant at a small museum, sometimes sell books/artwork/curiosities online, and meet most of my cost of living with family wealth.

what’s your favorite article of clothing?

A multicolored scarf that my aunt gave me after a trip to South America, where she has family on her late husband's/my late uncle's side.

Send me a color

#personal #give me love give me memes #anonymous

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years ago

Text

Clarity

500 followers/500 word drabble #1

A/N: Kicking off the requests with the second of two sent in by @suchatinyinfinity - a true testimony of how I can simply never write anything in order. Thank you for this one, Dani. It gave me some ideas for an expanded look at this part of Ryan’s journey. Like I need more things on my “to write” list.

Standing on the rear deck of the Eliza Jane in bright yellow rubberized outerwear and a pair of tall orange boots, Ryan gaped at the open water that surrounded him. Cold salt spray struck his cheeks as the wind flattened the left side of his hood against his ear, the few longer pieces of hair that stuck out from beneath the brim of his hat fluttering against his forehead. He could already feel his lips going raw, the deep chill of cool air on damp skin biting into his flesh. But neither sensation was enough to pull him out of his almost trancelike state.

I don’t know what I thought it’d be like but-

The boat rocked under his feet as it hit a small wave, causing him to step backwards and widen his stance. Bearing his weight down through his thighs the way he had learned to do on the trains, he reached out with one gloved hand and grabbed onto one of the nearby cod pots for extra stability, the black rubber squelching against the wet steel.

I never… I didn't… Damn.

He realized in that moment, that he should never have thought it to be like anything. He had grown up with the Atlantic for a backyard, the angry water always churning, pounding into the sand to show its strength. He had spent a whole summer on the shores of Oregon, and was familiar with the deep, saturated blue of the Pacific, the shock of white foam capping each wave as though shouting to the planet “This is the color of water!”

But the Bering Sea had nothing to prove to anyone. It’s steely waters pitched and heaved however they pleased. It touched the sky but never blended with it, seeming to shape the curve of the Earth instead of the other way around. It was pure power.

Since arriving in Alaska a few days prior, Ryan had been in awe of the wild beauty all around him; The snow capped peaks in the distance poking sharply into the clouds, the dense green canopy of the forest, his first moose sighting, the massive animal’s hulking size making his eyebrows jump and a surprised “Oh, shit!” slip out in a laugh, the colors of the clouds as the sun rose and set, the velvety blue-black backdrop of night and the impossible number of stars.

He’d seen mountains and forests, all kinds of wildlife and more sunsets in splendid layers of light than he could count. He’d seen oceans before. But none of them had been these mountains, those trees, this sea.

Aunt Holly had asked him, the last time he’d been home, how long he planned on traveling. There was no judgement in her question, only curiosity. At the time he didn’t know how to answer, leaning his head back against the wooden porch post. But on just his first day at sea he knew what he would tell her when he returned.

Until I see it all.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags please feel free to let me know! :)

*And just as a reminder, requests for this event are open through 4/6/21*

Tags: @something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @malionnes @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @pheedraws @beautifuldesastre @alraedesigns @dearmarii @fific7 @traeumerinsworld @obscurilicious @luminex3 @bisexual-space-slut @vetseras

#500 word drabbles #follower appreciation #thanks dani!#suchatinyinfinity #ryan brenner #a place he’s never been #Ryan Brenner fanfic #Jackie and Ryan fanfic #ben barnes characters #I love Ryan Brenner idk if I have ever mentioned that #but I do

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mainlytechnotrash · 4 years ago

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TMG AU (REVAMPED)

I got a lot of new ideas for this AU but I read back over the old posts and didn’t like them so I’m rewriting some parts. Most of it is gonna be the same but just written better. AKA: ignore all the old posts on this AU, this post overrides all of those.

(The tag for this AU will now be #tmg sbi au rv )

Many centuries ago, three Gods ruled the Earth. In the beginning, they ruled the planet in harmony together, each of them having separate responsibilities to take care of. They were very active at first, but as time went on, they slowly grew more and more dormant. However, one day, a fight broke out among the three of them, resulting in a 30 day war, now known as the “Dark Month”. Humans don’t know much about what truly happened or what sparked the fight, they can only come up with theories. However, none of the theories have ever been confirmed, and the Gods have stopped interacting with the humans since the fight happened.

The Three Gods:

Techno Blade - God of war, agriculture, and wisdom - Nicknamed the “Blood God”, acceptable offerings for this God included blood, potatoes, weapons, and other related things. Worshipping this God gives you strength, wisdom, and a boost in pride. - Represented by pigs and the color pink, this God is the most violent and feared God. He appears during times of war and major conflict, as well as famines. - Usually presents himself as a taller (7′6″ tall) man with brown hair that fades to pink, red eyes, and pig ears. He normally wears royal-like attire and a crown with red, blue, and green gems in it. Is normally seen with a sword and axe made out of a mysterious dark purple material. - Fun fact: He was called “Blood God” so much by mortals that his real name eventually got lost to time. Only the other two Gods remember his real name, though they don’t tell the mortals what it is because they find their theories on his name very funny

Philza Minecraft (yes thats his name, shhhhhh) - God of the sky, survival, and justice - Acceptable offerings for this God include art, armor, flowers, and other related things. Worshipping this God gives you a boost in happiness, increased intuition, and animals become drawn to you. - Represented by birds and the color green, this God is the most respected and seemingly the most passive, though there are plenty of times where he becomes surprisingly violent. He appears during times of disease and natural disasters. - Usually presents himself as a tall man (7′2 tall) with blonde hair, soft blue eyes, and large, grey wings. He normally wears green robes with a long grey overcoat, as well as a green and white hat. Is normally seen with a sword made out of the same mysterious dark purple material, along with a long-bow made out of a mysterious blue wood. - Fun fact: He is the least predictable God thanks to his random streaks of violent behavior. It’s hard to tell whether he’ll respond to a situation with peace or with violence.

Wilbur Soot - God of music, mischief, and the sea - Acceptable offerings for this God include songs, instruments, alcohol, and other related things. Worshipping this God gives you confidence, a boost in charisma, and a boost in musical talent. - Represented by fish and the color yellow, this God is the most playful and liked God. He appears during times of prosperity and celebration. - Usually presents himself as a rather tall man (7′10″ tall) with dark brown hair and brown eyes, as well as gills on his neck. Sometimes he has a fish tail, and other times he has fish scales. He normally wears a yellow robe with black accents, and is typically seen with a guitar. - Fun fact: His appearance is the least consistent out of all three Gods.

World Facts: - The color pink is seen as a very masculine and strong color. It is commonly used to signify violence, fighting, or other related topics. - Having a bird as a pet is frowned upon - Eating salmon, cod, or pork is highly frowned upon - Singing or playing instruments on the beach is very frowned upon - Seeing a feather is a sign of good luck for the next 5 years

#Technoblade #wilbur soot #wilbursoot #philza #philza minecraft #sbi au #tmg sbi au rv

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fang-wolfsbane · 4 years ago

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Transformers Generation One: A Seeker's Triangle: Chapter 02: Missing Memories

“Cover it!”

“Stabilise the thrusters!”

“Somebot come and help me with this!”

“Blade!”

“Star!”

Skywarp lurched upright. His servo resting on his chassis. Frag, he’d lost count of how many times he watched the asteroids slice into the side of the Autobot ship, tearing it open faster than a fine-tuned laser.

He remembered falling against the starboard side of the Ark, watching as both Autobots and Decepticons were yanked from the hole in the port side like dolls from a sparkling’s playhouse. One of them had been a recruit placed under his care. A femme.

No matter who he had asked after helping bring his fellows back online with th Autobots’ computerised assistant, Teletraan One, none had claimed to see her. After reporting his lack of information regarding the femme’s whereabouts to his father, Megatron, he had ended up with a visit to the medical bay and a mockery from his eldest brother, Starscream. He had made certain to repay his brother’s ‘kind advice’ with a fist to the faceplate. It had only been because of their younger brother, Thundercracker, interfering that they had broken up their fight.

All he remembered from the rest of that night was downing the little energon they had managed to steal from what the inhabitants of their prisoner planet, Earth, had called an oil rig. The inhabitants themselves had been disgusting little squiggly creatures that ran into the Autobots’ embrace the moment they showed up. He hadn’t bothered to stick around to hear what they were called, and frankly, he didn’t care.

Sighing, Skywarp sat up on his temporary berth. A pile of crates abandoned in a mineshaft that he had to fight his brothers and fellow comrades for. Megatron and Starscream had taken the deeper, cosier, corners of the mine for themselves.

It was times like this that he wished for a fellow companion beside him, if only to warm his protoform as it was freezing from the cold wind blowing in through the surprisingly large entrance. At this point he didn’t care if it was mech or femme. He hadn’t tried it voice his offer to any of his comrades. On his way to his ‘room’ the previous night, he had overheard Blitzwing mentioning to Astrotrain that he would have tried his luck with their only femme if she had still been around, even if he had to do so by force. He hadn’t known whether to reprimand or pity the mech. Blitzwing was certainly handsome, by Cybertronian standards, but the shapeshifting femme wasn’t one to toss away her armour at the mention of a pretty faceplate either.

Come to think of it, he’d never heard of the femme showing interest towards any of them, at least, not in the more private, intimate way. She had joined in on their mocking of each other about berthroom habits or situations but had never so much as mentioned taking a mech or even femme into hers. Each time one of the mechs tried their luck, she would simply shut them down, and if things got too intense after a cube or two of high grade, the femme, always sober, would put them in their place with a couple of manoeuvres he had personally taught her, along with a couple of others she claimed her frame simply remembered on its own despite not having any memory of it.

That part had always bothered him. One day he and his trine, Starscream and Thundercracker, had been going over a new strategy to try and raid an Autobot stockpile, when Megatron came in out of nowhere, a black and green coloured femme at his side, no older than somebot barely out of her teenage frame.

Starscream, ever his charming self, had resorted to taunting their father for taking an interest in the younger generation. A glare from the grey mech had shut him up with a push against the femme’s backplating, sending her stumbling into his brother’s blue arms with the order to train her to be one of them.

His brother had made a comment about having no interest in femmes that fell at his peds and shoved her over into Skywarp’s purple coloured arms instead. The femme had still wanted to make a retort when Starscream swaggered off with Thundercracker at his side, flashing a sympathetic smile towards the two of them.

Needless to say, neither had much to say to each other, which had made getting to know her strengths and weaknesses far harder than it needed to be, especially with her claim that she could remember nothing about how Megatron found her in the first place. She had claimed to already have been seen to by their resident – well, more like ex-resident at this point – head scientist, Shockwave, who had claimed that even he didn’t know how to fix her memory chips. Personally, he found it hard to believe but hadn’t pressed the matter. If Megatron didn’t need her memory chips intact, then neither did he.

He’d contemplated simply leaving her to her own devices and claiming ignorance when she messed up on her own, but the way she fidgeted had annoyed him enough to the point where he took her outside their old base and asked to see what she was capable of. And Primus, was she capable.

She asked for a couple of forms to scan, which, with some difficulty, he had provided for her. she had scanned them all one after another and changed into each and every one. Normally one bott could scan up to one form, with the rare exception of triplechangers, and be forced to stick with it for at least a decacycle, but there she had been, changing like it was nothing to her, even different types of alternate modes, sky, land and liquid-based. When he asked for her to switch in between, she hadn’t even needed to re-scan them. She claimed to be a shapeshifter, the first of her kind. How that had come to be, she claimed to not know either.

That night when he had asked Megatron for a smidge more information, his father had shrugged and claimed to not know either, only that Skywarp was to take her to Shockwave for further study whenever the scientist requested he do so. She hadn’t been too thrilled about the prospect of being poked and prodded like some lab experiment, but if there was one thing the cyclops bot did, it was staying professional. He had asked her to remove her armour multiple times, but it had always been in Skywarp’s presence, and not once did he go near her chassis or undercover plating. He even let her attach the diodes to measure certain function waves herself, only telling her where to place them and how to lock them in so that they didn’t slip during their sessions.

He had to hand it to the scientist. If it had been him, he’d have insisted on doing it himself with the claim that she would be too ignorant to handle the process. Each time she caught him staring for a little too long, one of Shockwave’s more blunt tools would find a target on the side of his helm. Whenever Skywarp scowled and demanded Shockwave restrain the femme, the scientist had simply ignored him with a comment about her being in the right to defend her dignity from his pervasive optics. Those sessions had usually ended with her demanding that Skywarp wait outside until they were done. Shockwave was inclined to agree each time.

He hadn’t realised that he’d been smirking to himself over the memories until Thundercracker came up behind him and placed a servo on his shoulder plating, yanking him from the thought of that feisty femme’s glare.

“Good recharge?” his younger brother asked, sliding into step beside him.

Skywarp huffed. “If only. It’s so fragging cold down here, I swear I’ve lost all feeling below my cod piece.”

Thundercracker merely chuckled, regaining his brother’s smile. Out of his multitude of brothers, Thundercracker was the only one that Skywarp ever felt he could really confide in. The others had their moments, but most of the time it seemed like too much of a chore to even attempt a form of conversation with them.

Their father hadn’t made it any easier either, always pitting them up against one another to see who would have the honour of taking over his throne one day. So far, whether he was deserving of it or not, Starscream had his greedy little servos flexing for the opportunity. They all knew it was only because Starscream was the first Decepticon prince that he wasn’t tossed out into the cold permanently.

The two of them reached their miniature energon storage, each taking a cube to try and quell the hunger grumbling in their abdomens. The bitter aftertaste didn’t help either. If it weren’t for their short supply or the difficulty in attaining it, he would have tossed it aside and led a raid on the inhabitant of this planet until they found something a bit more to their liking.

Megatron had forbidden any attacks on their own, especially after Starscream’s usual blunder that had ensured the Autobots knew they were still online, but he had also given them the mission to find their fellows wherever they could and to return them back to their mine base so that they could replenish their forces, if nothing else. It meant a tighter restraint on their supply, but with more bots on their side, the higher their chances were of increasing their supply. And if they just so happened to run into a potential energon supply along the way… well, there was no way they’d get into bigger trouble than Starscream would.

Tossing the rest of the pink-coloured fuel down his throat, Skywarp slung his arm around his brother’s neck, nearly causing him to spill his portion. Frankly, he’d be saving him the disgust.

“What do you say we go out and stretch our wings a little?” Skywarp asked, his lips pulling into a cunning smirk he’d had eons to perfect. Thundercracker only eyed his older brother, holding onto his cube a little tighter.

He nodded.

#transformers #transformers generation one #generation one #starlit meadow #skywarp #megatron #tfg1 #tf #g1 #starscream #thundercracker #astrotrain #blitzwing #fanfiction #shockwave #shapeshifter

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peckhampeculiar · 6 years ago

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Straight to the sauce

SALES OF HOT SAUCE ARE SOARING, WITH MOUTHWATERING VARIETIES FLYING OFF THE SHELVES LIKE NEVER BEFORE.

Three producers from Peckham and Camberwell talk about their homegrown recipes and why so many people do indeed like it hot

WORDS: HELEN GRAVES PHOTO: LIMA CHARLIE

Chillies are loved around the world for their unique flavour, wide-ranging heat levels and the buzz they give us as we add ever-increasing amounts to our food. The hot sauce business is booming, with lots of independent producers simmering, fermenting and blending chillies before funnelling them into handy, shakeable bottles.

Jen Ferguson, co-founder of Hop Burns & Black, said her business is enjoying a bumper year for hot sauce, with revenue from hot sauce sales in the East Dulwich Road shop alone up by 54% in the first three months of this year compared to the same period in 2018.

From the mild, everyday cayenne-based sauces to those made with the beautiful but serious scotch bonnets we see every day on Rye Lane, people can’t get enough of these spicy additions.

Now, three local brands – Peckham Sauce Co, Disco Hot Sauce and Slow Richie’s – are making names for themselves with their addictive homegrown recipes. Exactly how does one end up in the hot sauce business?

Archie Woodward of Peckham Sauce Co got into it through his love of fermentation, originally just making gifts for friends and family. A combination of “trial and error mixed with serendipity” led him to “create a unique fermented hot sauce that was like nothing [he’d] ever tasted”.

After doing some research and finding there were very few other fermented sauces on the market, he decided to use his background in marketing to launch a new business and has “never looked back”.

Just down the road in Camberwell, Jen Katan and Oli Kissick-Jones of Disco Hot Sauce were inspired by the scotch bonnet bounty so freely available in this corner of south-east London. “We were walking home from a night out and decided we wanted a late-night snack with some decent hot sauce but knew we were out of our usual fridge stock,” Oli explains.

“There’s always the opportunity to buy scotch bonnets from any of the late-night convenience stores so at 2am we embarked on making some of our own. We both have a lot of energy so we figured, what better time to knock some up?”

For brothers Richie and Alex Calver of Slow Richie’s it was a case of developing their established street-food brand, loved for their giant, juicy burgers and now their “hog kitchen” at Brick Brewery.

“Having had a career as a chef before starting Slow Richie’s, I believe in making food from scratch using fresh ingredients, not just opening a packet or jar,” explains Richie. “We were raised on spicy foods, so all our hot sauces contain a hefty amount of chillies.”

This includes that ever-present scotch bonnet, which they blend into their “Blenheim Black” with Brick Brewery’s Blenheim Black ale, where its fruitiness balances well with the bitter hops.

In fact, all three producers are huge fans of the chilli so familiar to residents of this part of London, with the Peckham Sauce Co fermenting their Batch One hot sauce with the bobbly, lantern-shaped bonnets as well as Dutch chillies, paprika, coriander, mustard seeds and garlic. This produces a sauce that is fresh and hot but aromatic too. “Some people say it’s quite similar to ’nduja [the spicy Calabrian sausage], which I can kind of see,” Archie muses.

Jen and Oli make their Disco Hot Sauce with a heavy dose of turmeric in addition to the scotch bonnets, inspired by a trip Jen took to Panama, where she fell in love with a “scotch bonnet-based hot sauce with mustard, fresh vegetables and herbs like onion, garlic and lots of turmeric. They serve it everywhere and keep it in recycled whiskey bottles.”

She resolved to come back and make a version of the sauce, albeit with a special “London twist” that includes English mustard.

With the hot sauce market crammed full of products, these cooks focus on small batches produced with high quality ingredients. “All of our chillies come from Rwanda,” explains Archie.

“We work closely with a few farms out there because the quality is second to none and it’s less than 24 hours from picking to landing at Gatwick. From there they get chopped down to a mash, then we chuck in salt along with our favourite herbs and spices. We then seal up the barrel and let it sit for at least one month but it can be up to three. Once that’s complete all we do is blend down the barrel and throw in some vinegar.”

At Slow Richie’s, all sauces are handmade in the kitchen at Dulwich Hamlet football club and they often take things one step further by working with high quality local producers.

In addition to their collaborations with Brick Brewery, they’ve made sauces with Gosnells mead (a green cayenne number) and Kanpai sake (roasted chilli and horseradish). Richie also cultivates some of the chillies at home for “small batch sauces”, including the fearsome Carolina Reaper, which currently holds the Guinness World Record for the hottest chilli pepper on the planet (it has been claimed that other chillies are spicier but this has not been confirmed by Guinness).

So what’s the best way to enjoy these sauces? Slow Richie’s, unsurprisingly, suggests trying it on their swine-based sandwiches at the brewery. Their behemoth Black Hog sandwich is made with slow-roast pork, black pudding and their Original Hot Sauce, while the Classic Hog comes with an impressive shard of crackling and their sweet-spicy chilli apple sauce (see their Instagram page @slowrichies for incredible photos that should come with a trigger warning for the hungry). Diners can then buy a bottle to take away and douse their sandwiches for ever more.

For Archie at Peckham Sauce Co, a bacon sandwich is number one. “It’s my favourite thing about the weekend,” he says. “I also made a Batch One braised short rib, which was pretty mind-blowing and the recipe for that is over on our Instagram [@peckhamsauceco] if you want to check it out. Batch Two [their habanero, yellow pepper and peach sauce] is pretty decent on tacos because you get a good hit of sweet, tangy spice.”

Jen and Oli are less specific, saying: “We eat it on literally everything! We also experiment with recipes and post the creations on our Instagram [@discohotsauce]. Last Saturday we made a spicy cod and fried egg ‘disco bap’ for breakfast and drenched that with Disco Hot Sauce. We add it to mayo for a spicy mayonnaise.

“It can also be used in salad dressings to add a kick, or as a flavour enhancer in a stew. We’ve also been experimenting with drinks too – a Disco Michelada went down a treat during the summer and the Disco Mary was on the drinks menu at the Montpelier pub last summer. We’re hoping to introduce it to the White Horse menu very soon.”

All the producers clearly have strong ties to Peckham’s creative community. “Being a local in south-east London has been brilliant for discovering food entrepreneurialism and connecting our favourite dance haunts and music networks with the sauce,” Jen enthuses.

It turns out the name Disco Hot Sauce comes from a combined passion for music and chillies. “I’ve worked in the music industry most of my life for labels such as Universal and currently Kobalt’s AWAL,” explains Oli. “I still DJ regularly and spent my early London days running dance parties and hanging out in late-night discotheques.”

“So much has changed in the six years Peckham has been home,” Richie says. “In that time the food and drink scene has grown massively and it’s been great being a part of it. There’s a real festival feeling in the area throughout the summer months; from the rooftops to Peckham Rye Park, everyone is having a great time. There’s very little reason to leave the area these days, with so much going on.”

Archie agrees: “I live in Peckham and it’s the best place in London – there’s literally no other place I’d rather be. There’s always so much going on, with new places popping up and exciting events. There’s very few places where you have it all and I think Peckham is one of them. The day I have to leave will be a very sad day.”

#featuredpost

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oliveplanet1 · 10 days ago

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Buy Top-Quality Army Shoes, Bags and Army Caps Online

Military gear is not only for soldiers anymore. Today, many people wear army-style products for travel, trekking, fitness, and daily life. Whether you’re exploring the outdoors or just love the army look, items like army shoes, army bags, and army caps offer both style and utility. In this blog, we will talk about the importance of these three must-have army accessories and where to find them online.

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Army shoes are designed to handle rough conditions. They are strong, comfortable, and perfect for trekking, hiking, and long walks. These shoes have thick soles and ankle support that keep your feet safe on tough terrain. Many people choose army shoes for daily wear because they last longer than regular shoes. At Olive Planet, you can find jungle boots, tactical shoes, and parade shoes in different sizes.

Army Bag:

An army bag is perfect for carrying your gear, whether you're going to college, work, or on an adventure. Army bags are known for their tough fabric, multiple pockets, and comfortable straps. These bags can hold your clothes, laptop, books, and other essentials. You can also use them for camping or outdoor activities. They come in different sizes and designs, so you can pick one that fits your style.

Army Cap:

An army cap completes your military look. It also protects your head and eyes from the sun. These caps come in different colors like olive green, camo, and black. You can wear them during outdoor sports, at the gym, or while traveling. Army caps are lightweight, adjustable, and give you a bold and confident look.

Olive Planet Services

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Olive Planet is your trusted store for genuine army gear. We offer high-quality army shoes, army bags, and army caps for army lovers, cadets, NCC students, and adventure lovers.

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Summary

Whether you're preparing for an adventure or just love army-style fashion, products like army shoes, army bags, and army caps are the perfect combination of style and function. At Olive Planet, you will find the best collection of these army essentials at affordable prices.

FAQs

Q1: Are army shoes suitable for trekking? Yes, army shoes are perfect for trekking because they are strong, have good grip, and provide ankle support.

Q2: Can I use an army bag for school or office? Yes, army bags are stylish and practical. They are ideal for school, college, office, and travel.

Q3: Are the army caps adjustable in size? Yes, most army caps have adjustable straps to fit all head sizes.

Q4: Do you offer COD and online payment options? Yes, Olive Planet offers both cash on delivery and secure online payment methods.

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#Army Cap #Army Bag #Army Shoes

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built-from-nothing · 7 years ago

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Feels Like Home

Prompt: “Oh, now they’re just being mean.”

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 3,016

Warnings: Fluff, angst, torture, (the real torture is the lack of pie), canon violence, blood, death (no main characters), and language.

A/N: Written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess ‘s Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challange. Unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own. Had a lot of fun writing this & hope you all enjoy!

You watch the cookie cutter houses whiz by from the backseat of the Impala. Perfectly manicured lawns lead up to cape cod after cape cod, undoubtedly housing the suburban family of four. The father working a nine to five. The mother running errands in the minivan, while the kids are off at school learning about planets and multiplication tables.

How you longed for that type of apple pie life. To have a normal home surrounded by the people you love. Well, minus the minivan. Hunting since you were old enough to use a knife proved that this life would never belong to you. No matter how hard you tried.

It was fruitless to harbor such desires, yet every time you found yourself working a case in the suburbs the traitorous thoughts crept back in; your loving husband engulfing you in his arms as you watch your two little munchkins run around the front yard.

You sigh and turn away, the sight of what you’ll never have too much to bear. You have it pretty good already, working with two of the best hunters in the business. You could be doing this all alone. The memory of that wretched night your parents lost their lives resurfaces. The way the wind howled through the Impala windows as if the world too was mourning the loss of your parents.

You glance up front to the boys, thankful that they had shown up that night and plucked you from death’s grasp. Parentless and eighteen, you had assured the boys you’d be fine hunting on your own. You had been raised accordingly after all, if the situation presented itself. But Dean insisted you stay with them, at least until you got back on your feet.

Three years later and here you are still working cases with the Winchesters, fitting right in with their usual antics and strange love of pie. You’d grown to love the boys, some more than others...

The slow purr of the Impala comes to a halt as you pull up outside of a dingy American diner and make your way inside. Sports clippings and memorabilia of the local teams line the walls, drowning out the loud eighties wallpaper. “At least it's not wood paneling this time,” you snark.

Dean rolls his eyes while walking to the far corner of the diner and slides across the brown vinyl booth. You sit across from Dean, Sam plopping down beside you. A waitress in her mid-twenties approaches the booth, her eyes raking Dean’s body, and takes your orders. Coffees all around, two cheeseburgers, a turkey wrap, and three slices of “sweet, cherry pie.” Sam shoots Dean his classic bitch face at the stupid line.

You anxiously await the arrival of your burger, tensions high as the case you were working had proven to be more challenging than expected. Several people were found dead in their homes with a barrage of various injuries. Some drained of blood, heart torn out, incisions in the back of their skull, the works. When visiting the victims’ homes, everyone gave the same response. “Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” After the third attempt, Sam’s suggestion to retire for the night was met with open arms.

“So what are we thinking? Werewolf, djinn, wraith?” Dean asks, before taking a gulp of his coffee, allowing a few droplets to escape the mug and run down his chin. You instinctively reach out to wipe his face, but catch yourself and not-so-casually run your hand through your hair. You watch as the coffee slowly slides down his face, impeded by his two day's worth of scruff. You snort as it rounds his chin and slips out of sight, Dean all the while oblivious. “Kitsune?” he questions, his eyes alive with excitement, taking your snort as a sound of demurral.

“No, Dean, you have something on your,” you laugh, motioning to your chin. His brows tilt in as he splays a hand across his chin, the sticky liquid coating his fingers. He smiles his thanks and hastily wipes his chin, a light blush filling his cheeks.

“Really, Dean?” Sam chides. “You can’t eat like a normal human being for five minutes?”

“At least I eat normal human food. Unlike that rabbit feed you love so much.” Dean retorts and raises his palm to you, which you gladly slap. Sam turns to you and clutches his chest, his mouth gasping in faux shock. You shrug your shoulders and flash him your best innocent smile.

The waitress returns, places your dishes appropriately, and before leaving turns to Dean and leans over the table, her boobs struggling to bust out of the v-neck uniform.

“Honey, we’re all outta pie, but I can bring whatever dessert we have in the back. On the house,” she whispers in his ear, Dean’s eyes flickering to her exposed cleavage all the while. He licks his lips and groans, satisfied with his dessert options. His eyes remain glued to the waitress’ swaying hips as she saunters off to the kitchen.

You glower at Dean, green clouding your vision. How he throws himself at anything with breasts infuriates you. Well, nearly anything seeing as how he has yet to make a move on you, despite your constant efforts. You’d think that eventually he’d be rejected by one of these bimbos. You pinch the bridge of your nose trying to reign in your anger. The waitress was just playfully flirting, and what Dean and Cheryll do on their own time is none of your business. She wouldn’t be the first, and she surely won’t be the last.

Your stomach churning, you push your burger towards the center of the table, the image of Dean slamming into another woman stealing your appetite. Sam sends a sympathetic glance your way and clears his throat bringing you and Dean back to reality.

A seductive grin spreads across Dean’s lips as his gaze sets on the juicy burger before him. He slaps his hands together and grabs the sandwich saying, “Come to daddy.” He engulfs the burger, fitting as much as he can into his mouth. Moans of pleasure sound in between bites, the savory taste of grease, carbs, and cheese flooding his brain with serotonin.

“That’s what he said,” you retort under your breath. Sam chuckles and rolls his eyes at your crude humor. You raise your palm to him requesting a high five, which he reluctantly returns. Dean in a food trance, ignores your jibes and now nearly finished with his burger, greedily eyes your untouched plate.

“Gonna eat that?” He asks, reaching to grab the rim of the plate. You quickly slap his hand away and pull the plate towards you.

“Don’t touch my food, Winchester,” you warn. He raises his hands in surrender and the waitress returns with a piece of cake. She winks and slips the receipt, her number scrawled across the back in purple ink, into Dean’s breast pocket before walking off. Waitresses.

You roll your eyes and quickly glance at the dessert before turning away. That’s weird, a carrot’s iced on Dean’s cake…

“Wait, Dean, I think-” you stammer as Dean shovels a bite into his mouth. The light slowly fades from his eyes, his nose scrunched in distaste as he hastily spits the dessert into a napkin.

“The hell kind of cake is this?!” Dean protests, and takes a large gulp of water trying to wash the awful taste out of his mouth.

“Carrot,” Sam chimes, smothering the chuckle that threatens to escape his lips.

“Who puts vegetables in cake?” Dean yells as he rummages his pockets and throws money onto the table. “Come on, we’re leaving this shit hole.” Dean strides across the diner, making no sign of acknowledging the waving waitress at the end of the counter, and throws the doors open wide as he exits. Sam follows shortly thereafter leaving you alone in the booth.

The loud roar of the Impala soon resonates throughout the small diner. Knowing full well a pissed Dean would leave you here, you hastily wrap your burger in a napkin, grab a handful of fries, and race out the door.

“Bye,” you giggle, batting your eyelashes furiously as you wiggle your fingers at Cheryll. As soon as you enter the Impala Dean speeds out of the lot, not even bothering to wait for you to close the door.

A scowl rests upon Dean’s face as he drives towards a motel still disgruntled from the dessert catastrophe. It was bad enough they were out of pie, but vegetables in the cake? Unforgivable.

And that waitress who couldn’t keep from throwing herself at him? Dean scoffs at the thought and crumples the receipt in his pocket to throw on the floor of the car. It had been a while since he had gotten laid, but he sure wasn’t that desperate. Besides. Dean glances at you in the rearview mirror munching away on a cheeseburger. There was someone worth waiting for...but not forever, you know. A man has needs.

A playful smile tugs at the corner of Dean’s lips as you come upon the motel. His sour mood from earlier slowly dissipating as one of his favorite parts of working a case soon awaits. Dean pulls into the only available spot and parks in front of room seventeen. The only benefit to checking into motels at the last minute was the lack of rooms. He’d almost always find some excuse for you to bunk with him saying things like, “You know Sam really spreads out once his face hits the pillow.”

He just couldn’t help the way being around you made him feel. Lying next to you after a long day’s work, a natural warmth radiating from you to slowly lap against his back, enticing him to wrap you in his arms. Carefully turning ever so slightly not to wake you so he could watch you dream, the slow steady movement of your chest lulling him to sleep. Then somewhere between sleep and consciousness he’d scoot closer, slip his arms around your waist, and pull you to his chest, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose as he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck.

Your warmth would spread throughout his body, encompassing his heart in a protective ball of warmth, safety, and lavender. This is what kept him fighting. What enabled him to go out and hunt monsters every day not knowing whether there would be another. But the feeling of holding you in his arms washed away every fear, worry, and doubt that coursed through him. You kept him fighting. You kept him alive.

Of course, he would never admit this to your face. How could he? Aside from the usual flirtatious banter, you’ve shown no interest in him; walking away every time you’d go out drinking after a case, leaving him to settle for whatever bimbo approached him next. Dean could take the fear of rejection, that was no issue. The thought of losing your friendship, your company, is what shattered his bravado to pieces. For Dean was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Come morning, every morning, Dean would reluctantly leave the bed to retrieve coffee and breakfast, blaming his actions on his subconscious liking to cuddle with whatever lies next to him upon your inquiries later that day. The clockwork routine always left Dean with the desire for more. More time with you wrapped in his arms. More moments alone with you. More than just a friendship.

“Dean, you okay?” You ask him through the driver’s window. “You seem out of it.” Dean closes his eyes and slowly rubs his forehead as if massaging his brain.

“Yeah, uhh-” he gazes at your face examining each feature. For a split second, you could have sworn his eyes sparkled, adoration filling his features before his usual hard mask of sarcasm and one-liners returned.

“Withdrawal’s a bitch,” he finishes. “Haven’t had a beer or decent slice of pie all day.” You nod your head lowering your gaze, wishing the glint in his eyes would return. It suited him. “We should probably get the bags out of the back.”

“While you were busy daydreaming, I went and unloaded the car,” you tease and back up to let him out of the Impala, sending your arms out to display the duffel bags hanging from your shoulders. Dean purses his lips and walks towards you, an eyebrow questioningly raised at your defiant tone. He closes the distance between you and stares you down.

“Not that daydreaming isn’t productive,” you hedge, and take a few steps back. Dean follows never allowing more than two steps to lie between you. “In this line of work, it’s pretty much the closest we’ll ever come to happiness.”

You stop and look up into his emerald green eyes. Your heart flutters as you get lost swimming in his deep forest pools. “So, dream on,” you murmur, your once witty remark lost in the depth of his stare. A playful smirk spreads across his lips, and you hurriedly avert your eyes.

“Y/n, I-”

You wave your hands and sigh heavily cutting Dean off. “I know, I know. No chick flick moments. You’ve only told me a million times,” you laugh pointedly, looking down at your sneakers. Dean scoffs, the playful smirk replaced by one Sisyphean in nature.

“Right,” he mutters and stares across the lot, his mind once again lost in creating endless possibilities that will never be. He clears his throat and watches his brother return with your room keys. “Well, which one are we Sammy?”

“Seventeen. Y/n, you’re in twenty-four,” Sam says, tossing you a key.

“Go figure,” Dean grumbles under his breath and grabs his duffel bag from your shoulder. When he finally starts looking forward to lying next to you Sam has to go and get two rooms.

“You can have the single if you want,” you say holding the key out to Dean, your eyes meeting his. “I’ll room with Sam.” Your gaze lingers for a moment longer trying to decipher what lies behind those emerald irises.

“Don’t mind if I do.” His calloused fingers brush yours as he plucks the key from your grasp. “Could use the alone time, if you know what I mean.” He winks and saunters off to his room. You shake your head at his antics and watch as he sashays away.

“No, I get it Winchester,” you holler after him. “Gotta make time to pamper yourself. Maybe take a nice bubble bath. Relax.” He stops dead in his tracks and spins, fire raging behind his eyes. He storms over, a stern finger pointed at you, and leans close bringing his eyes level with yours.

“That was one time!” he snarls, “And you swore you’d never say a word.” You bite your lip as the memory bubbles to the surface.

A few days had passed since your last hunt, and nothing was sticking out in the papers. You had made a collective decision to take a break for awhile and rest up before the next end of the world. After binge-watching Netflix with Sam, you headed to the bathroom to take a shower. You padded along down the halls of the bunker and mindlessly opened the bathroom door to find Dean stretched out in the clawfoot tub you had the boys install.

Scents of lavender, cherry blossoms, and vanilla filled the small room. The few candles you kept near the tub were lit. The flickering light casting a warm glow across Dean’s face as he lays surrounded by mountains of bubbles, his feet poking out of the soapy range to rest atop the tub edge. A shit-eating grin unfurls across your lips, knowing you were never going to let him live this down. You let him relax for a moment longer, examining the calm expression set upon his features before teasing him.

“Nice, isn’t it?” you ask. His eyes shoot open at the sound of your voice, his feet slipping back into the tub as he instinctually covers himself.

“No,” he scoffs. “I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” You hum your skepticism and continue to the pile of bath bottles littered on the floor. You pick one up and examine what little contents remain.

“Please tell me you didn’t use all my bubble bath,” you sigh.

“They all smelled so good, okay. But look, I’ll buy you new ones as long as you don’t speak a word of this to Sam.” You weigh your options and decide fooling him into buying you expensive body wash is worth its weight in embarrassment.

“Fine,” you sigh, walking to the tub and extend your hand in truce. He pulls his hand from the water and shakes yours, droplets of warm water running from his hand to yours and down your forearm.

“Care to join me?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. You release his hand, rolling your eyes, and exit the bathroom.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

The sting from your teeth digging into your bottom lip snaps you back to reality. You stare back at him, unrelenting. “I swear a lot, Dean. Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure you enjoyed the view of me naked in a bathtub,” he purrs in your ear. “Each bubble slowly popping to expose a big-”

“Don’t push your luck, Winchester,” you tease, playfully slapping his arm a few times. “You’re gonna need it.” You turn and walk with Sam to your room.

You were going to miss curling up beside Dean. It seemed to calm your nerves and make the stress of hunting somewhat bearable. Plus you liked the way his chest felt pressed to yours, but good god you weren’t going to tell him that.

“Maybe I should have been the one to bunk alone after the moment you two had back there,” Sam laughs. “You seriously need to get a room already.”

“Shut it, Sammy,” you grumble and plop your bag down on the bed.

Read Part Two here

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