#Black Folks Cookin

[reasoningdaily]

Black Chefs & Culinary History | Institute of Culinary Education

We asked Black chefs at ICE about who has influenced them in the food world.

Marcus Samuelsson photo by Angela Bankhead, Cheryl Day photo by Amy Dickerson, and Jeff Henderson photo courtesy of Chef Jeff Live

ICE Chefs Nyesha Arrington and Chris Scott and ICE alumni Adrienne Cheatham (Culinary, '07) and Kwame Williams (Culinary, '07) share how Black chefs before them impacted their culinary careers.

February 1, 2021

There are so many influential cooks in Black culinary history, from modern celebrities to the storied authors we celebrated in 2020 to the indigenous Gullah Geechee who Mashama Bailey taught us about in a recent cooking demo — and of course, our own instructors and alumni impacting the culinary world every day. We asked a few of them to tell us about one Black chef they'd like to credit for making history. Here's who they chose:

Cheryl Day

"There are so many Black chefs that I admire, past and present. While there isn't the same representation that we see in, say, the French male category, there are still a lot of chefs and restaurateurs that have built tremendous careers that paved the way for so many of us today," ICE Chef Adrienne Cheatham explains. "One such person is Cheryl Day. I could talk about Edna Lewis, Lena Richard, Leah Chase, Patrick Clark or any number of other chefs, but it's Cheryl who has taken the mantle as a modern-day role model."

Cheryl is the baker and co-founder of Back in the Day Bakery in Savannah, Georgia, where she and her husband, Griffith Day, have specialized in Southern sweets since 2002. "Cheryl is at the top of her game: Her bakery is consistently written up for their amazing creativity, technique and delicious desserts," Chef Adrienne says. "She's written cookbooks and started an organization to mobilize restaurants in the fight against racism and for social justice."

The pair has co-authored five Artisan books, including "Cheryl Day's Treasury of Southern Baking" available for preorder now, and their pastries ship nationwide via Goldbelly. "Cheryl is also an example of how to run and pivot a food business during tough times while remaining true to the vision she set out to execute. She and her husband, with whom she owns the bakery, implemented a new schedule to provide a better work-life balance for themselves and their team," Chef Adrienne continues.

Jeff Henderson

"Chef Jeff Henderson authored a book pretty early on in my career called 'Cooked,'" ICE alum Kwame Williams says. "His story was super inspiring because it was a typical chef story of coming from a broken place and the kitchen being a sacred place that takes your battered, beaten, wounded and addicted. The chefs I had previously come across were more polished."

Jeff become the executive chef at Cafe Bellagio and Caesars Palace after serving a decade in prison. Now the author and motivational speaker founded The Chef Jeff Project, providing culinary and hospitality training to "disenfranchised youth, formerly incarcerated individuals and those seeking a second chance." The concept began with the 2008 Food Network show on which Chef Jeff trained at-risk young people for his catering company Posh Urban Cuisine.

"In short, he learned to cook in jail and less than five years after being released, was named chef of the year in Las Vegas," Chef Kwame explains. "For someone who never cooked professionally and based a career on passion and know-how to be acknowledged in a few years was one of the biggest inspirations for me early on in my career."

Now Chef Kwame is intentional about inspiring the next generation. "I try to bring along as many young aspiring chefs into my situations as much as possible," he says. "If I’m going to events or awards weekends, I bring someone young with me so they can come out and mingle with other chefs that they admire. I’ll have aspiring chefs who haven't even made it to a prep cook yet, even dishwashers, and I can bring them places and show them: 'Yes, you’re where you are right now, but you can keep going and eventually do things like this.' When there are young chefs who admire me through Instagram or working with me hands-on, I bring them along on my own personal journeys."

Mona Jackson

"There have been many chefs that have left a mark on me — some leave behind a sprinkling of their pixie dust when it comes to the fundamental kitchen cooking techniques and how to better apply them. With others, it may be lessons in business, and they leave behind the knowledge on how to run the numbers, get creative with concepts and such," ICE Chef Chris Scott explains. "For me, the influences that stick the most are the spiritual lessons behind why we do what we do."

After leaving Birdman Juke Joint shortly after it opened in Connecticut in 2020, Chef Chris reflects, "when I opened that restaurant in Connecticut and had the most dreadful time in my career, I felt alone. I felt as if I had nowhere to turn personally or professionally. And then I met Chef Mona Jackson. Chef Mona is a legend in the Bridgeport community. She has the kitchen skill and knowledge of Leah Chase and the sass and personality of Moms Mabley. She is indeed a diamond in the rough located in a city not necessarily known for its food culture."

Chef Mona owns and operates an organization called Cook and Grow, which teaches cooking, nutrition and kitchen safety, including classes on how food can affect diabetes, high blood pressure and childhood obesity. These classes are for everyone, but her focus is mainly young kids ages 8 to 13. She offers scholarships for kids that excel in the program and is on the lookout for gifted kids in the Bridgeport school districts that may have an interest in cooking.

Marcus Samuelsson

"When I was in culinary school, my friends and I were reading through the 'Aquavit' cookbook, and I remember thinking, Wow! This chef is so talented and looks like me!" ICE Chef Nyesha Arrington recalls. "Up until that point, most television shows and cookbooks I saw were very Eurocentric. We were learning about French gastronomic art but very little time was spent on other regions and the diversity of chefs of color. I had the pleasure of meeting the cookbook's author, Chef Marcus Samuelsson, in 2014 and he has been an amazing mentor to me ever since."

Marcus is the chef-owner of Red Rooster in Harlem and a dozen other restaurants in California, Chicago, Miami, New Jersey, Sweden and beyond. He's published seven cookbooks since "Aquavit," including most recently, "The Rise: Black Cooks and the Soul of American Food." Chef Marcus has won five James Beard Awards, including the Who's Who of Food & Beverage in America in 2016. We spoke to him in 2020 about his work fighting food insecurity with World Central Kitchen.

B. Smith

"During elementary school, I used to run home from school and watch all the cooking shows possible. One chef I came across was B. Smith," Chef Nyesha continues. "She always had a poised elegance about herself and I remember wondering why there were not more chefs of color in the spotlight."

Barbara Smith was the chef of B. Smith's restaurant, a Midtown Manhattan landmark from 1986 to 2015. She opened outposts in Washington, D.C., and Sag Harbor, New York, in the '90s; hosted “B. Smith With Style” on NBC; and authored three books, including “B. Smith Cooks Southern Style.” B. Smith was also known for modeling, entertaining expertise and raising Alzheimer's awareness. She died of the disease in 2020.

"When B. Smith passed away, I felt compelled to continue living out her legacy of hospitality and entertaining," Chef Nyesha says. "To gather friends and family at the dinner table is to share in storytelling and the creation of memories."

Bryant Terry

Bryant is a vegan chef advocating for health and sustainability through writing and education. He released "Vegetable Kingdom: The Abundant World of Vegan Recipes" in 2020, following the success of "Afro-Vegan," "The Inspired Vegan," "Vegan Soul Kitchen" and "Grub: Ideas for an Urban Organic Kitchen." He won the James Beard Foundation's Leadership Award in 2015.

"These chefs were some of the influences in my life, and there are countless more whose legacies will live on in recipes, storytelling and in our hearts," Chef Nyesha concludes.

#Black Chefs & Culinary History #Black Culinary History #Blacks in Culinary Science #Black Chefs #Black Foodies #Blacks in Food #Organic Kitchen #Urban Organic Kitchen #Vegan Soul Kitchen #Vegetable Kingdom #Black Folks Cookin #Black Food #Black Cookbooks #Black Food Matters #Black History Matters

[batminute]

Black Adam: Hierarchy of Power (with Jonathan Howell)

Power is born from rage as the Bat Minute gang take a shot at The Rock himself - it's Black Adam time! We'll delve into all of the ins and outs of this epic - whether you love it, hate it, or fall somewhere in between. We ain't gonna stop until we hit Rock Bottom, folks! The ultimate hero is here... or is that villain? What is he anyway? You decide as he teaches children extreme hyper violence.

  Join the crew on this ride to the city of Kahndaq and witness first hand the changing of power within the DC universe - if ya smell what The Rock is cookin'. SHAZAM!

  Here to help us smash the throne held by all previous sorry excuses for heroes is none other than Mr Impossible himself and a true member of our Bat Family - it's Jonathan Howell! Raise a Corona to somebody we forced to watch this.

  The next episode follows... soon. Same Bat Pod, different Bat Minute!

  Join us on Facebook at the Bat Minute Listener's Cave!

  The Bat Minute theme song is by the band Rat Bit Kit and Ash Lerczak (aka Doc Horror) of Zombina and The Skeletones and Double Echo.

  Today's Guest was:

  Jonathan Howell

Minute Impossible - Website - Facebook - Twitter

The Cast and the Furious - Website - Facebook - Twitter

    Check out this episode!

#batman #batminute #bat minute #tim burton #michael keaton #podcast #podcasting #podcasts #movies by minutes #movie #film #bat minute returns #bat minute forever #bat minute and robin #bat minute & robin #joel schumacher #val kilmer #george clooney #mbm #mxm #movies #movie review #film review

[post-modern-prometheus]

OK BUT THE WINTER SOLDIER!PETER AND BLACK WIDOW!WANDA AU HAS ME SCREAMING

👀 ehehehehe and that's not all folks.............................. @jadoue1999 n i got smth cookin

#I AM GLAD U LIKE IT IM TRYING TO SOUND COOL N CRYPTIC N ALL BUT YEAH TYSM HEHE

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

Oooh I was tagged by @ericsohns to talk about some fave music...thank you for the tag, Mikki! 😊

your favorite album(s): (I could have a kinda endless list not to mention EPs and such so I’m choosing my favorite albums and/or fave albums by some of my favorite artists/bands...not in order, except for the first two)

Damn the Torpedoes by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers

Rumours by Fleetwood Mac

I Got Dem Ol’ Kozmic Blues Again, Mama! by Janis Joplin

Break Out by The Pointer Sisters

Vs. by Pearl Jam

Little Queen by Heart

Telling Stories by Tracy Chapman

Pressure Cookin’ by LaBelle

Sister Dynamite by Alice Bag

Oh, the Places I Have Been... by More AM Than FM

Built to Perform by Phantom Blue

The Woods by Sleater-Kinney

True Colors by Cyndi Lauper

Pines by A Fine Frenzy

your favorite music genre(s):

Probably classic rock since it spans several decades. LOL But right now especially I’ve been big on punk rock!!

your favorite song(s): (Fun fact: this is pretty much in order, because I’m a weirdo who never organizes anything at all except for my favorite things, such as music and songs.)

“Free Fallin’“ by Tom Petty

“King of Pain” by The Police

“I Miss You” by Blink-182

“Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac

“Daughter” by Pearl Jam

“Crash Into Me” by Dave Matthews Band

most listened to artists:

...I mean, it kind of changes, especially when I find a new band I love (most recently that’s been SLEATER-KINNEY!), but I know I’ve probably spent AT LEAST a collective year listening to Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, hence how you can tell that they’re my favorite band.

an album that’s important to you:

I’m not going to choose just one...because most recently (2018), I think the album(s) that changed me the most and have been most influential on me were Off the Ground and Oh, the Places I Have Been... by More AM Than FM.

a song that’s important to you:

“Learning to Fly” by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers

what makes you like a song:

I’m really interested in lyrics (which I’m sure everyone I’ve subjected to reading my lyric analyses has figured out, LMAO), so most of the time if the lyrics are good - unique/interesting, or thoughtful - then I’ll end up liking the song.

your favorite instrument to hear in a song:

PIANO except that I’m a sucker for a GREAT fuckin’ combination of piano and guitar, too *coughs* Benmont Tench and Mike Campbell are my favorite musicians *coughs*

a song to dance to:

All right, well, since I’ve been listening to punk rock a lot, and since I got to watch them do a livestreamed set tonight, I’m gonna say “Chubby & Tubby” by The Black Tones!!! A little over a year ago now I got to dance my heart out to them with my best friend as I occasionally accidentally stepped on his toe and we swung our hair into each other’s faces...LOL IT WAS SO MUCH FUN and god damn I miss seeing that band live SO MUCH. PANDEMIC HURRY UP I HAVE LIVE SHOWS I’M MISSING AS DO THE MUSICIANS AND VENUE STAFF. 😭

a song from your childhood:

“Complicated” by Avril Lavigne

a song that reminds you of love:

“Keepin’ Me Alive” by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers (the purest love song TPATH has...💕)

a song you love lyrically:

I’m gonna choose a recent fave, and that’d be “Monday Mourning” by Black Ends 💗

Now to tag some lovely folks, but don’t feel obligated to do this if you don’t want to (or if you’ve already done this like recently)!: @supercoloursupervision, @buddyhollyscurls, @astoppedclock, @aredhel-of-doylkien, @niterunner, @ina-gartens-weave, @astarkey, @betweentimeand42, @soundsof71

#tagged

[yikesharringrove]

what do you think about a crossdressing Steve? Maybe he started just liking the soft fabrics of his mom's clothes but then he started wearing them as a way to attempt to hold on to the feigned affection she gave him. Eventually he just got his own stuff because they helped him feel calmer, softer. He would only ever put them on when he believed he would be alone for a while to cook or do chores... And then one day Billy comes over. Do with it what you will.

So, maybe you wanted smut, but non-binary femme presenting Steve is a ridiculously big headcanon I have that I have talked about with several folks and will be included in the next big fic I roll out, so this is some Soft Shit bc I wanted an excuse to write Steve as non-binary femme presenting.

For some drag queen Steve, I got a little thing here.

This exact kinda character study of sorts has actually been in my drafts for like, a month, so I’ve incorporated some of it into this. It's modern, and there is some language that may be harmful, so PLEASE be careful with yourselves, no slurs or anything along those lines, just ignorant stuff. Also, this really went off the rails at the end, I’m Sorry.

Thank you for sending an ask!

Read on ao3!

When Steve was a little kid, he always preferred playing with the girls.

They would have clothes for dress-up, princess dresses, and pirate costumes, anything any child could want. They had wigs, makeup, crowns. Little girls also had babydolls, little pretend kitchens he would play in, plastic baby bouncing at his hip.

When his nanny would come to pick him up from Carol’s house, she would have wipes in the car, to clean off his face. Your father will be very disappointed if he sees you playing with girls’ things again, Steven. He learned very quickly that playing dress-up, wanting to be Mommy when playing house, those are not things little boys did.

He remembers fighting with his parents, when they found the little plastic case of goopy lipglosses Carol had let him keep. He was seven years old and was crying, had screamed as loud as he could that if little boys weren’t allowed to play with makeup, then maybe I don’t want to be a boy.

When his parents started leaving him more often, their absences growing longer the older he got, he began going into his mother’s things, trying on her clothes. He was twelve when he first learned that women’s clothes were made of finer materials, were softer, felt like butter against his skin. He was thirteen and would slip into designer dresses each night, learning makeup from YouTube tutorials, practicing with things left in his mother’s vanity and whatever he could discreetly put in his pockets at Meldvald’s.

He got pretty good. Good enough that at sixteen, he wanted more, would go to stores in Indianapolis, would spend his allowance on dresses, skirts, blouses, frilly little things that fit, that made him feel good, correct.

The first time he put on a pair of lacy panties, he almost cried. the material was soft, the cotton tight and nice against him, the delicate lace trimming the waist and legs was pretty. Steve realized, all he ever wants to be in his life is pretty.

He began thinking of himself as a girl, a young woman. He would tuck his dick back, make the space between his legs flat, let his hair grow out more, long enough to braid, to pin with floral clips.

He started dressing up, going out. Finding bars that would let him in if he batted his false eyelashes just so, would overlook his obviously fake I.D. so that he could go in, talk to men that were too old for him, too interested in his doe eyes, his soft cheeks, men that would buy him drinks, fuck him in the back seats of their cars, whisper about how pretty he looked, men that would touch his cock and coo that his pussy was so tight.

He found he didn’t like that but would grit his teeth, didn’t understand why wearing women’s clothes felt so right but the idea of having a women’s body felt wrong. He didn’t get why he felt the most himself, the most comfortable with his dick tucked up in lace panties, but the minute a man told him he was a good girl he felt sick. 

When he was seventeen, he stopped going out, stopped dressing up. He had Nancy now, a beautiful young woman who wanted a nice, regular young man. He almost told her, almost told her so many times, but then she was drunk, slurring in his face that he was bullshit, that he was fake, like he didn’t already know.

So he kept to himself, started dressing up again, putting on a full face, a delicate outfit the minute he got home. He would dance around while cooking diner, would float around the house in heels and sweeping dresses. They made him feel better, feel good. He would dress up on particularly bad days, would wear his most beautiful pieces when he got poor grades, when his father told him he was a disappointment over the phone. He had been informed today by his English teacher she had assigned him a tutor.

So he had blinked back tears while blending eyeshadow, had put on his prettiest dress, a pretty dark green number, the fabric light, delicate feminine. He was ready to wallow in self-pity and makeup when there was a knock on the door, followed by the voice of his something-like-a-friend Billy Hargrove, announcing with a laugh that you should REALLY start lockin’ your front door, Harrington. Wouldn’t want someone UNSAVORY comin’ in.

Steve was frozen in the kitchen, his best-kept secret all over his face, his body. Billy didn’t even blink twice when he saw Steve, asked what’s cookin’? while leaning over the stove. Steve’s eyes were screwed shut, breathing fast when Billy looked back, took Steve’s shoulder lightly in his hands said, you need to breathe, Sweet Thing, take it slow, match me. He rubbed gently down Steve’s arms, his eyes clear blue when Steve was able to open his own teary ones.

“Billy, you need to swear to me you won’t tell, you, I, people can’t know. They’ll, I mean, I know I’m a fucking freak but no one-”

“Whoa, who said you’re a freak?” Billy’s eyes were sharp.

“Look at me, Billy. I’m, I don’t know what I am. Sometimes, sometimes I wish that I was a girl, but, but something about that feels just, bad, but, but being a fucking boy feels like shit too, and I just,” he was sobbing, loudly and openly, knew his dark liner was no doubt streaming down his face.

“Hey, that’s okay, Honey, you don’t have to know. You just have to feel good.” He led Steve in a few more breaths. “It’s not black and white, you don’t have to be one or the other. You can just be you. Can be Steve, if you want.”

“What-I don’t understand.”

“Well, you don’t feel right as a boy, but you feel just as not right as a girl. There’s more than that. You have more options.” He turned off the stove, led Steve to his bag, whipping out a laptop covered in worn stickers. “So basically, there’re a whole bunch of genders.” He pulled up an infographic on his screen, a color-coded mess of columns and descriptions. “There’s way more than man and woman. There are people who are non-binary, don’t adhere to the idea of two genders. Sometimes non-binary people identify as another gender, a third gender, sometimes they identify as a mixture of identities. Agender people often identify as having no gender at all. genderfluid people tend to fluctuate between identities, can feel agender one day, the next feel like a man, it all depends on the person.” He looked at Steve, hand gentle on his arm. “And none of it’s wrong. There’s no correct way to be a human. And they each are up to interpretation. There are people who identify as agender but choose to present a certain way, there are people who identify as male but choose to present androgynous, there’s no one way to do it.”

“So if I, if I feel good like this,” Steve gestured to the dress, the smeared makeup. “I can still be, a guy, like I can just be a guy that likes to look like a girl.”

“If that feels best to you. Like I said, you don’t have to  be a guy, just because that’s what you were assigned at birth.”

“What do you mean? ‘Assigned at birth’?”

“That means the gender that’s on your birth certificate. It’s just a better way of saying like, male-bodied, since that can be, kinda shitty for people. And like, what even is a male body, you know?”

“You’re getting a little introspective for me here, Bill.”

“Basically, just because you were born with a dick and a doctor was like, it’s a boy, doesn’t mean you have to be a boy that likes looking like a girl, or whatever you said. That’s a perfectly valid way to be, a femme presenting guy, don’t get me wrong, but earlier you said you didn’t feel right as a boy, and I just don’t want you to back yourself into a corner.” Steve blinked.

“Yeah, I think, I think you’re right. I don’t, I’m not a guy. I don’t think.”

“You do not have to know right now. You literally just learned about this, you don’t have to like immediately make a choice. Take some time. Try different labels, try different pronouns, try no labels, see what feels best.” He smiled, looking at Steve softly. “If you want to, I can, like, help you. If you, if you think of something you want to try, it may be nice to, like, hear it from someone else.”

“What was, what was the one that was like, sometimes people identify as like, another gender?” Billy typed away, pulling up a new article.

“I think you mean non-binary. It’s more of an umbrella term to some people, they find more leeway in it.” He scrolled down, pointing at a list of pronouns. “So, some people who identify as non-binary also use alternative pronouns, things like they or ze, which is a way for them to be referred to outside of the gender binary.” Steve’s mind was racing. He tested the words on his tongue, thinking ze, sie, hir to himself, to, themself?

“But if I identify, as, as non-binary, or something, can I still, like, dress like this?”

“Of course. Identity and expression are two different things. To some, they go hand-in-hand, but to others, they can be totally separate.”

“I think, as of right now I think non-binary is okay.” Billy beamed.

“Okay! You don’t have to decide right now, and some folks never decide, they spend their lives flowing through different ways to identify and express themselves, and again, that’s totally fuckin’ okay. Nothing has to magically click into place for you. You can experiment.”

“Can I, can we experiment with, with they. I kinda, it kinda makes sense.” Billy just kept grinning, his smile huge and beautiful.

“Yes, I can do that.” But his face fell, “But I, I mean, this is fuckin’ Hawkins, and I don't’ know, I mean, is it, like safe?” Steve felt like their heart was breaking.

“No, it’s, I don’t think it is, I mean, there haven’t been like incidents but also, we don’t have a lot of people that are, like, openly different.” Billy’s brow was drawn.

“I can, I can call you whatever you want just the two of us, but, I don’t want to like, out you-”

“You can, you can say he was it’s, when it’s other people. I don’t, I don’t want this to get back to my dad, or anything.” Billy’s eyes were sharp.

“I can do that, I can protect you, like that.” He was nodding vigorously. “I just, I wanted to be on the same page, didn’t want to be like misgendering you behind your back and make you feel like shit.”

“You have my express permission to, uh, misgender me, or whatever you just said.” Steve sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I just gotta get outta this fuckin’ town, man. Then I’ll be good. Live my little queer life outside of the shitty bar outside of town.” Billy laughed.

“You go there?”

“I used to, when I was first kinda, questioning myself. Used to let guys fuck me and call me, like, their pretty little slut or whatever. Not my finest moments.”

“Christ, Stevie. That’s some deep shit. I went once when I first got into town, and some guy was like, I wanna hear you screaming ‘Daddy’ for me and I was like, nope. No thank you to That.” Steve laughed with him.

“I’m pretty sure I did let that guy fuck me. Bily groaned.

“Stevie, no. Don’t call random men Daddy.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Bill, I got a lot of daddy issues.”

“Yeah, me too, but not that many.”

“Just enough to be called Daddy, then?” Billy went red, dropped his eyes from Steve as they cackled. “Hit the nail on the fuckin’ head then, didn’t I?”

“Whatever, you little asshole. Let’s just fuckin’ get on with your English homework that is why I’m here after all. Go grab your books.” Steve grinned, leaning in close to Billy.

“Okay, Daddy,” they purred, racing off up the stairs laughing loudly, hearing Billy cursing them out from the kitchen.

#yikes writes #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #non-binary steve #supportive billy #its soft until they are The Worst

[desiraypark]

Home-cooked Meal

Characters: Black (referred to as Chiron) x Black Male Reader

Content: Fluff; Romance (set in Atlanta, GA) Word Count: 986

Vacation. You had to force Chiron to take one. "I don't ever wanna risk goin' hungry," he said to you once. But you stressed the importance of rest and breaks. You also had to say to him, "Hellooooo, I have a job, too!" You were the marketing manager at the Children's Museum, and Chiron worked two jobs--bussing tables in the morning and replenishing at night. He was always in survival mode, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. But the back aches and the headaches; the falling asleep with clothes on—it was becoming a bit much. Monday was officially his first day of vacation. You wanted him to have as much time to himself as possible, but Monday had to be your day with him. You brought your work day to an early halt and rushed home to be with him. You entered your home to find him sitting on the patio and drinking from a beer bottle. "Hey, baby," you said, as you stepped outside. As you leaned in to kiss him, you saw sadness in his eyes. "Sup," he responded after receiving your peck on the lips. He looked down at his watch. "You're home early." "Yeah, I came to spend some time with you." You sat in the chair across from him and looked out at the blue sky. Then, you looked back at him--muscles bulging through his white tank; the fabric of his blue shorts separated by his wide open legs. "What's got you down today?" you asked. Chiron took a sip, and just shook his head. "Nothin'. Just thinkin'." You expected that response. Getting Chiron to open up was like demanding a flower to blossom in front of you. You didn't push him any further, though. You rose from your seat, kissed his forehead, and walked back into the apartment. Plush tan carpet melted under your shoes as you breezed through the living room and into your cozy kitchen. You searched the refrigerator and freezer for something. Nothing caught your eye. As you considered takeout, you got a better idea.

"I'll be back, baby," you called out toward the balcony. You rushed out of the apartment, and on the way to your car, you frantically scanned your brain. Your train of thought continued in the car. "Fuck, what the hell does he like?" you asked yourself. You started the engine and made your way to Publix. You'd asked him what his favorite food was once before, but in typical Chiron fashion, he just said "Ion got no favorites." You wandered around the grocery store, trying to think of everything that Chiron has ever "to' up", as the old folks say--and you realized that he eats every meal like its last--from ramen to steak. The light bulb went off--maybe you shouldn't think of his "favorite" meal--perhaps tonight was the night to go for "different". You dragged your buggy to the most empty section of the store you could find, and searched Pinterest for recipes--seafood recipes. Miami natives liked seafood, right? You hoped at least Chiron did.

Between shopping and prepping at home, a couple of hours had passed before you'd finally found your groove in the kitchen--salmon sizzled in your cast iron skillet; crab cakes cooked to perfection in your air fryer. You knew green beans would be a great complement to the meal, but you weren't going to settle for the can in your pantry. You and Chiron were going to feast on the FRESH stuff tonight! When you returned home, Chiron was on the sofa watching television, and finally, he'd made his way into the kitchen with a grin.

"What you up in here cookin'?" he asked.

"Dinner."

"What kind of dinner?" he looked over your shoulder and onto the stove. Then, he tugged on the handle of the air fryer, then pushed the door closed again. 

"You in my way, Chiron," you said with a sour tone, but you had a smirk on your face. Chiron tilted his head and lifted the corner of his mouth, revealing a little bit of the gold over his teeth.

"My bad, Chef Ramsey!" he said.

You chuckled, and attended to your food. "Get on out my kitchen, boy." He stared at you with that boyish smirk still painted on his face, but you did not return the look. He kissed you on the cheek, then walked out of the kitchen.

At about six o'clock, you started putting food on your china dishes--garlic butter salmon, crab cakes with homemade aioli, roasted red potatoes, and fresh green beans. You placed the plates on the table with wine glasses and silverware wrapped in napkins--no plastic to be seen tonight. As a finishing touch, you lit a white taper candle in the center of the table, and brought your Bluetooth speakers into the kitchen to play some Miguel from your phone.

"Dinner's ready!" you shouted, as your poured wine into his glass, and reapplied the cork. You sat the bottle on the counter when Chiron sauntered in with a big smile. 

"Have a seat,” you said.

Chiron sat down in his chair and examined the spread with happier eyes. You leaned down, kissed him on the cheek, then sat across from him. The two of you ate, but you barely talked--Chiron was destroying his plate. And you couldn't lie to yourself--you were, too. Chiron finished off his crab cake and nodded. Then he looked up at you.

"You been holdin' back on me," he said. You laughed.

"Just some light work."

Chiron scoffed and laughed. "Okay..."

"Thank you for the compliment, babe," you responded with a sweet smile. “I just never have time to cook like this. Or no one to cook like this for...”

Chiron’s eyes tightened. He looked down to hide his smile, then picked up a potato with his fork. He nodded again.

"This might be the best meal I’ve ever had in a long time...a very long time...”

#moonlight fanfiction #chiron x reader #trevante rhodes fanfiction #homecookedmeal #my fanfic

[flipsideds]

it’s all run amuck.

a server’s dropped two trays of fresh-baked scones, and the confections litter the floor like fallen leaves, purple-pink icing making the banquet hall look less like the site of a charity benefit and more like the streets of chilham mid-fall. it lights nostalgia beneath his ribs, and flip finds his lips tugging into a wistful smile.

but then a penguin-prettied guest clears his throat and arches a bristly brow.

“ right then, ” flip says with a curt nod. he clasps his hands, gaze sweeping one final dance across the sugar speckled floor. “ i’ll see to some replacements for you. ”  he forces a gentle smile –– the chasm between the man’s brows only deepens.

amuck indeed.

flip glides toward the kitchen. he’s a smooth-sailing afternoon cloud; light. airy. bloody nervous.

oh, dear.

flip allan bell has a case of the collywobbles, theodore, his old assistant would tease whenever he’d drop a bowl, tray, or spoon. the best baker’s hand he’d been, that one. it’s a shame he ––

flip blinks. thinks of flames, of ink black smoke. then tries not to think about anything at all.

quick fingers collect ingredients, combine. get to kneading. in here, there’s no clammer. no crowd. just sugar, butter, flour. a baffled baker’s best friend. he’ll forget the chaos, for a little while. he’ll close his eyes as he brings cherry compote to a simmer, and think of home.

or, alternatively :  greetings loved ones!! my name is linc ( 21 / est / she/her ) and here is the ever so lovely, ever so flighty phillip allan bell !

below the cut you’ll find a messy run-down of who he is, where he’s come from, and where he’s headed. i am so excited to write with all of you !!  he’s fresh out of the oven ( just ask nika ) so i am head over heels for watching him grow in the windy city !

toss on some nat king cole, julie london, billie holiday, chet baker & let’s get cookin’.

— && guests may mistake me as david corenswet, but really i am phillip "flip" allan bell + cis male + he/him/his  and my DOB is 02/29/1992. i am applying for the banquet manager position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite 201. i should be hired because i am + breezy, expressive, peaceable, but i can also be flighty, perplexed, vacillant at times. personally, i like to bake sweets, not hum along to nat king cole while dancing around my flat alone, and most certainly never wear trousers that are just a bit too short to show off my eccentric sock collection when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration! 

h i s t o r y .

born in the small english village of chilham, phillip allan bell never knew his parents––but they took great care in stapling a note with his name, birthday, and favorite color to the blanket he was found swaddled in on the steps of the local market. ( phillip allan. 29 february. needs green. ) or, at least, that’s how flip tells the story. it’s unclear whether or not his parents’ chicken scratch called for green the color, or green the currency.

when phillip started speaking, he couldn’t properly say his own name. hence the nickname flip was born. the other children in the group home took to it easily, so the single-syllable stuck.

he spent the majority of his childhood in and out of foster homes throughout kent, always returning to the same group home after intervals of six months to a year. he began helping in the kitchen early on, so he became known as flip baker –– whether in foster care or the care of group home supervisors, flip always came to dinner with a new sweet treat for the others to try. people wouldn’t want to end their time fostering him because they loved the food. but in the end, the poor boy wouldn’t be adopted. reasons tended to ring much the same, “ oh, he’s lovely, really. what a sweetheart. just a bit too nervous for us, we’re afraid. ”

in fact, nervousness colored most of flip’s young life. from loud noises to spiders to fitting in, his mind always spun about endless possibilities –– quite rarely the good ones. the kitchen was the only place he truly quieted this tendency. he baked and cooked with steady hand, when he was alone. other folks in the kitchen with him would disrupt that cadence, but flip was never one to complain. he’d just fumble a bit, laugh nervously, and move along. he’s a remarkable chef –– and the kitchen always has ample marks to prove it.

shortly after turning 16, flip relocated to london. an older couple agreed to foster and adopt him as their own, but that stability was short-lived. they perished in an apartment fire just two months later. their youngest son, theodore, agreed to take him under his wing. at only 18, the two boys became fast friends. when flip decided to open his own bakery, theodore offered to be his assistant. from then on, the sweet by & by was born.

the bakery quickly rose to fame in the london area. people traveled from far and wide to try the legendary fruit scones, fresh cakes, and scrumptious sourdough. the bbc did a feature on the bakery for one of their london food series, and the sweet by & by began attracting tourists for something more than its treats :  its adorably frenetic baker. the kitchen was always spotted, his cheeks always dotted with icing or sugar. but he’d always greet customers with a molten-honey smile. tender green eyes. for years, the bakery prospered. flip prospered. he rose early to bake. he and theodore experimented with new recipes, danced around the kitchen to billie holiday, nat king cole... things were brilliant. radiant. whole. and then came the fire.

( tw: fire, death ) it happened while on a morning that was... well. most unusual. typically, flip and theodore would open the bakery together––3am sharp. they’d start preparing the day’s fresh goods, oldies playing softly on the stereo around them. but this september day in particular started off like no other: with theodore opening. alone. flip had stayed the night at one of his friends’ flats, unplanned. they’d hosted a housewarming party, and broken out his kryptonite: good bourbon. he’d drank more than his fill, and shot a text to theodore asking if it’d be alright if he started out the next day on his own. theodore agreed with a cheeky reply, getting some, are you, flip? right! as if. both men thought nothing of it. the opening, the slight shift in daily pattern. flip would be in by noon and business would carry on as usual. except flip always handled the faulty oven. on this particular morning, the device’s... quirks... slipped theodore’s mind. it took twenty minutes for the wires to start smoking. thirty minutes before theodore, swirling about the countertops with earbuds in, realized something was burning. on september 30, 2020 the sweet by & by burnt to the ground. and three days later, by smoke inhalation, it took flip’s dearest friend with it.

and that’s how it goes, innit? the story? the heartache? standing on the corner of upland and darrell road dressed in his funeral tie, squinting through scorched brick and metal like maybe, maybe if he stared hard enough, theodore, alive and well, might rise from the ashes. he didn’t. he didn’t, and flip visited the property each day for a week until he realized... he never would. he sorted through theodore’s personal affects. finally started his adopted surname, bell, as his own. he appeased reporters, for a little while. told the story, expressed how much he’d miss his best friend. his brother. but what about the bakery?, they’d ask. what about the sweet by & by? in the last interview flip ever did for the local stations, he reckoned perhaps that chapter, however sweet, was now meant to close. somewhere, online, there’s footage of him blinking through tears. twisting theo’s favorite ring around his own middle finger. green –– tsavorite. it means compassion, theodore had explained one night, after closing up. after they’d snatched a pint at the local pub and meandered on home. benevolence. beauty. somewhere, online, a reporter asks flip about that very stone. somewhere, online, flip pretends he didn’t hear it.

then came the bubble wrapping. the cardboard, packing tape. fingers rubbed raw from crinkling tape around itself, tearing it off, starting again. after theodore’s services, after relinquishing the bakery property to dulwich, flip packs his bags. he buys himself a nap, a pack of werther’s originals, and flees across the sea.

to chicago. the windy city. it’s always been circled on theodore’s map of america. that’s one i’d like to see someday, he’d say over a glass of bourbon. reckon they’re as tough as they seem? flip would always shrug, take a sip of his own drink. he didn’t know. but now? now, he would. on the plane, he spins theodore’s ring around his middle finger. even when he falls asleep, his forefinger and thumb stay there, shielding.

his initial thought is... perhaps he’ll open a bakery. but with the financial losses from the blaze, flip knows better than to embark on such an undertaking. so he does the responsible thing –– he finds a respectable job, at a respectable inn. the american experience, he hears theodore croon in the back of his mind, as he fills out his application. he’s jet lagged, distracted –– he doesn’t realize he’s checked the wrong box until the material’s been sent. and then he gets it. a banquet manager. oh, dear –– he hasn’t the faintest idea where to begin.

d i s p o s i t i o n .

born on a leap year. meaning he’s 28. but also 7.

for real footage of how flip handles himself in the kitchen, or just in general, check out this video. do i watch it daily? yes. did it inspire the general framework for flip’s frenetic kitchen tendencies? ...maybe. the chief difference lies in the result. things may crash and burn. it might look like it’s about to fall apart. but he always, always pulls it into a beautiful success.

he’s got a very deep-seated fear of fire. he’ll light candles in his flat only to flinch and snuff them out. if someone in the kitchen cooks with wine or vinegar and the skillet bursts into flame, he’ll look as though he’s seen a ghost. and he believes he’s subtle about it; oh, he truly does. but anyone with two eyes and a brain can piece together this man is very uneasy around flames.

he’s moved here with truly no plan, beyond experiencing chicago in all its glory, to make good on theodore’s dream. but as glorious and exciting as that is, he’s petrified. please help him.

there’s... a lot of unresolved traumas and sadness regarding his childhood. the bell family was the first to truly see him and give him, in all his anxious entirety, a chance. losing his last link to them has been... difficult, to say the least.

he’s a sucker for oldie music. god. it transports him. you can frequently find him in the malnati kitchens after hours whipping up something beautiful to a background of billie holiday or french classics. humming along, eyes closed, swaying... he’s graceful, truly –– when he’s not thinking about anything.

very terrible about crushes. very terrible about crushes on him. flirting sends his brain into overdrive and... often, he short-circuits. ask him a question about himself he isn’t expecting and he’ll handle it kindly, but will look like a deer in headlights.

amendment: more often than not looks like a deer in headlights.

peaceful at his core. but with the ruckus and the world raging around him, there’s always something more to worry about. if he gives you winnie the pooh vibes, it typically means he’s spinning.

he has a very delightful way of managing, mostly because he’s scared shitless of people being mean. he handles every blip and bump with ease. but inside? he’s fretting.

amendment: most often, he’s fretting. very little quiets his mind. baking, maybe. you can tell he’s having a shit time if he shows up unannounced with endless supplies of new recipes.

adores poetry. he likes reading in public spaces, people watching. he’ll often mouth the words to himself, brow furrowed, eyes lighting like he’s seeing suns rise and fall for the first time.

he’s been in love once in his life. her name was georgie. she was the epitome of breathlessness, milky sunlight, espresso brewed on a crisp morning. she was... not who he thought she was. ( she cheated, after two years of time spent together. he found them out, on a date, on an impromptu trip to brixton market for fresh supplies. )

pansexual and very aware of it. he’s in denial about people fancying him. but he very frequently develops small admirations for people, from afar.

6′4, very tall. his pants are always a slight bit too short. if you tell him, he’ll act surprised, the beautifully eccentric socks peeking out from underneath will suggest otherwise.

he’s never had a s’more. he can’t tell if he’s more intrigued or scared by the thought of them.

doesn’t like birds, particularly ones that swoop low. ( there’ve been incidents. ) he also doesn’t take a great liking to men in tall hats. ( another incident. )

make fun of his accent please i beg you. he does not know how to handle it. he’ll stammer and chuckle and it’ll be bloody amazing, i promise you.

c o n n e c t i o n s .

MAGNOLIA BARNES –– friend. they met during her time in london. neither of them are aware they’re in the same city now, let alone the same hotel. i imagine flip hasn’t told her about the bakery yet. it hasn’t really made news outside of england, so that will certainly be... a story to tell.

FLIRTATIONSHIP / SOMETHING MORE –– just imagine this nervous little bean navigating a new love connection... please... he’ll be a mess.

TOUR GUIDES –– ever wanted to show someone your version of chicago? now’s your chance! flip is so bloody new to this place. he gets lost almost always.

CONFIDANT –– they talk about anything and everything. perhaps not all of it. but there’s an unspoken trust between them. they likely met in the most unlikely of ways, and here we are now.

literally anything under the sun? oh my WORD it has been an epoch since i’ve rped and i’m just. here for any of it. all of it. cute neighbor shit. mailroom mishaps. friends. enemies. someone who keeps sneaking the last of the lobby mints. i want anything you want to throw at me!!

#death tw #fire tw #malnatiooc #intro. #☼ –– there’s a feeling within me; an everglow ! inspo. #ahhh i'm sO EXCITE

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Wicked House

Prompt for the 31st was: Wicked. Thanks to @thats-amnesty-babe and Morgan E Ashton for the help brainstorming.

Duck whacks his hands together, clearing the dust from them, before raising a hand in friendly farewell to the movers. He picks his way through the boxes, up the stairs, and to his bedroom. Opening the door sends a bolt of dark, fluffed-up fur into the hallway.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry fuzzball, but I couldn’t have you bein underfoot or runnin out the door.” He scratches the cat behind her ears, and her affronted glare gives way to forgiving purrs. 

He unpacks for awhile, finds a good luck note from Juno tucked in the winter coat she gave him (“I mean it, Duck, winter up there’s a hell of a lot colder than here in West Virginia”). Orders pizza, gets the kitchen table set up in time to eat it. Flips through his to-do list for the next few days as he does. 

ka-BOOM

Winnie yowls and runs from the room as Duck nearly falls out of his chair. 

“What the fuck?” He dashes outside, expecting to find an exploded car or downed powerline.

He finds nothing of the sort. None of his neighbors are even poking their heads out. There’s a smaller boom, from the house next to his (his is on the corner, so only has one neighbor). 

“Well, Woodbridge finally managed to offload one of these places, huh?”

He turns to find a rather prim looking woman walking a furious looking Pomeranian. 

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re the first person to buy any of the houses near that wicked place in years.”

Duck looks around again. Every house on the block, save for his own darkly painted victiorian and the brightly painted one next to it, has a sun-worn for sale sign in the yard. 

“What the fuck?”

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

“Oh, so you’re the guy who bought the house next to Indrid Colds place?” The man at the grocery store asks as he rings him up. Duck  was overjoyed to find a real mom and pop place near his house and Leo, the owner, has been chatting with him.

“So it seems.”

“Don’t let folks make you too jittery about it. Indrid’s an odd guy, but he don’t mean no harm.”

“What the hell does he do? All kinds of weird lights and noises and shit coming from that place.”

“Not a clue. Seems like you’re in a better position to find out than most of us.” He tilts his head towards the beer Duck is loading into a bag.

“Dunno, kinda like havin all my limbs. Not sure I’ll keep ‘em all if I go in there.”

Leo shrugs, “suit yourself.”

As Duck walks home with his groceries, he mulls over the suggestion; sure, the loud noises aren’t great, but they no worse and no more frequent than a loud party or a neighbor with barky dogs. 

He sets the bags down on his front step, fumbling to find which pocket he put his keys in. 

“Don’t move!”

He freezes, finds a tall man with silvery hair moving purposefully up his drive. He’s in a long, silk bathrobe and bunny slippers, bright red glasses perched on his nose. When he places his hands on Ducks shoulders and starts moving him back off the porch, Duck tenses, tries to pull away.

He can’t. The man is surprisingly strong for such a beanpole.

“Hey, pal, look-”

“No, you look.” He points a finger, and Duck squints for a beat before seeing it; a black widow, dangling on a thread as she lowers down from his door frame. 

“Shit, almost walked right into her.”

“Yes, you did. I thought you might prefer not to.”

Duck takes another look at the stranger, including the spot where his hand is still resting on Ducks arm. The other man follows the gaze, pulls his hand back apologetically. 

“Gonna go out on a limb here and say you’re Indrid Cold.”

“Oh, you’ve heard of me!”  Indrid smiles brightly, only to have the expression falter, “oh, ah, you’ve heard of me. I can’t say I blame people for trying to warn you away from me, given my reputation.” The last few words come out so soft and resigned, the kind of vulnerability that’s either a trap or the truth of someone who has gone a little too long without the benefit of the doubt.

“Reputation don’t matter half as much as your actions. Far as I’m concerned, the only thing I know you done for sure is save me from a nasty spider bite.” He smiles kindly, holds out his hand, “I’m-”

“-Duck Newton.” Indrid takes it, shaking it with an oddly wide smile. 

“Uh, right. Well, I’m gonna get rid of that widow, but if you wanted to come in for a beer or coffee or somethin I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“That sounds wonderful but, oh, oh dear, um, excuse me something’s just come up. Hope to see you again.” He dashes back down the path, down the sidewalk, and up the steps to his bright yellow door. 

“Huh.” Duck watches the door for a moment, then goes to get a broom. 

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

The diner smells like eggs, bacon, and butter when Duck steps in from the chill of the early September air. 

It’s quiet, but he settles on a spot at the counter all the same, in case they need the booths for bigger groups. 

“Good morning,” a cheerful, somewhat crunchy-granola looking blonde woman greets him, pad in hand “any coffee or tea this morning?” 

“Coffee, please.”

“You got it.” She spins, grabs the pot, and pours him a mug. Several of the flatops are where Duck can see them, being worked expertly by a man who must be well over six feet tall. Whatever he’s moving about on them smells incredible.

“Ready to order.”

“Whatever he’s cookin right there.”

“Hash it is.” She smiles again.

The cook nods, and as he sets to work he asks, “you just passing through?”

“Naw, moved here a few weeks ago, got a job in the national forest.”

“Right on.”

“Oh yeah.” A voice behind him says, and he finds two older men sizing him up, “you’re the fella who got duped into buying next to Cold’s place.”

“He’s a man, Clarence, not fucking black mold.” The cook grumbles.

“How’s living next to the wicked witch treating you?” The second man, in a red ball-cap, asks.

“Warlock.” Says a clipped voice. It takes Duck a moment to see it belongs to the man going over receipts at the register, slick dark hair flecked with grey and face movie-star handsome, “if Indrid did have those abilities you all seem convinced he does, he’d be a warlock, not a witch.”

“How would you know?” Red cap retorts.

“Ey, shut up Jim, you know the boy was in the CIA. Better not disrespect him.”

“FBI, not CIA

“All I’m saying is that wherever Cold goes, disaster follows. Not to mention the man’s a known f-”

“One more syllable and you’ve got a lifetime ban.” Barclay points the spatula towards the men.

In the midst of the standoff, the bell dings. 

And Indrid Cold walks into the diner.

 He’s bundled up like it’s snowing, walks up to the counter and pauses when he sees Duck. 

Duck pats the stool next to him, “Nice to see you again, neighbor.”

“Likewise.” Indrid gives that odd smile again and sits down, “Good morning Barclay, Joseph.” He nods first to the cook, then the man at the register, “Oh, and hello Dani. The usual, please.”

Dani grins, turns to one of the drink machines and comes back moments later with a cup of cocoa.

“I can’t handle how bitter coffee is, even with sugar.” Indrid says, two seconds before Duck is going to ask him why that drink.

“You’re braver than I am, that much sugar this early’d have me on the ceilin.”

Indrid smiles softly, “Lightweight.”

Duck barks out a laugh, making Indrid snicker as well. 

“Any plans for this weekend, Duck?” 

“Got some new model ships to work on, might go for a hike, nothin too excitin.”

“You don’t get enough hiking at work?” Indrid cocks his head.

“I mean, not really? It’s different when I’m on my own; I don’t got an agenda or shit I’m supposed to be takin care of. I can just go at my own pace.”

Indrid makes a noise of understanding right as Barclay sets two plates down. Indrids’ is piled with pancakes and strawberries. 

Barclay points a can of whipped cream down at the plate, “say when.”

The tower of cream is almost a foot high before Indrid goes, “when.”

As they eat, they chat about this and that, though mostly Indrid asks Duck about his move, and how he’s liking the town. Then he muses, “I’d like to go hiking sometime. I really ought to get out a bit more.”

“You can come with me sometime, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure, long as you don’t mind me talkin about trees.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Duck raises his glass in cheers, “well, if you decide you want to, you know where to find me.”

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

Duck balances the plate of cornbread (his fathers no-fail recipe)  in one hand as he lifts the other to knock on the door.

“Come in!” Indrid calls a half-second before his hands meets the wood. 

The inside of Indrid’s house is laid out much the same as Ducks own. This is where the similarities end. There are drawings scattered everywhere, pinned to walls and strewn across tables. Art and posters and letters cover the walls, each of which is painted a different color.

As he makes his way into the kitchen he notices chalk and bottles of salt, piles of old books, and many, many, many sweaters. 

Indrid is at the sink, filling a kettle with water. 

“You’re right on time, I was just making myself some tea. Though I can make something stronger if you prefer.”

“Tea’s fine.” Duck sets the plate down, “figured I oughta make a proper, neighborly introduction.”

He leaves out the part where, in the two days since they spoke at the diner, he’s thought about Indrid quite a bit. And that whenever an explosion or other odd occurrence came from next door, Ducks’ first response is no longer annoyance; it’s worry. What if something bad happened and Indrid had no one checking on him?

“I’ve been thinking” Indrid sets a mug down in front of him, sits across from him at the rickety table, “there’s a little get-together at the Lodge, that hotel on the edge of town, this weekend. If you were interested, we could hike out that way and then stop by after.”

“You know the folks there?”

“I do. Barclay and Joseph live in one of the cottages, Dani lives in the lodge proper, and they were kind enough to invite me to movie night once. I suppose I found my people, so to speak, there even if I still am a bit solitary.”

“Be happy to come, like to get to know more folks in town myself.” Duck glances back from examining some nearby drawings, and immediately knows he gave the right answer. Indrid is looking at him like he hung every star in the sky. 

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

Ducks’ gotten used to the occasional smoke detector cry from next door.

But this one isn’t stopping. 

He grabs the fire extinguisher from under his sink and bolts out one front door and into another. 

Smoke drifts down the stairs and Indrid is nowhere in sight. So up the stairs he goes, turning into the room where the smoke is the worst. Mercifully, there is no actual fire, just clear signs of one being hastily and messily put out. He opens the windows, and after a few minutes of cross-breeze the alarm shuts off. 

It’s only then that he hears a tap running and someone muttering. 

He crosses the hall, finds Indrid glaring into the mirror over the bathroom sink, trying to sooth a nasty looking burn on his arm. 

“Shit, what happened?” 

Indrid stares at the water, “just an accident. I was careless. I’ll be alright.”

“Here, lemme look at your arm-yeah, okay, I’m gonna go grab my first aid kit from my place.”  

He’s out and back as fast as he can manage, returns to find Indrid sitting on the toilet lid, sulking. 

Duck holds out his hand and Indrid flops his wrist into it. As gently as he can, Duck tends to the burn. It’s not bad enough to need a hospital, but it’s still a nasty looking mark.

“What were you tryin to do?” He asks softly.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me?”

“I have certain...abilities. Magic. Most of it related to seeing the future. But some of it is more general, or is in other fields of the discipline, and I was trying to use one field to influence a future and it backfired.”

Duck considers him a moment, then gently squeezes his hand, “hey, it’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me. Don’t gotta make a story up on my behalf.”

“I’m not MAKING IT UP!” Indrid shouts, yanking his hand away and standing up.

“Indrid, you don’t expect me to believe-”

“ What? That I’m stuck seeing futures I can’t stop, stuck with powers I still can’t fully control, that I’ve made myself an outcast time and again all because of these blasted things.” He rips off his glasses and chucks them down the hall. Crumples to the floor, head in his hands.

Cautiously, Duck scooches across the hardwood. He wants to reach out, to soothe the tensed lines of Indrids’ body. But he’s not sure that’s what Indrid wants. Not sure if he’s royally fucked everything up.

“Okay, I’m listenin.” His voice, gentle as it is, may as well be coming through a megaphone for how Indrid flinches. Then he looks at his newly bandaged arm. 

“Ten years ago, I bought those glasses from a little curio shop. I thought they were stylish. I put them on when I got home and everything changed. Long story short, the glasses are a conduit to a demonish creature. When I put them on, he became my patron. I gained his ability to see the future, as well as some other powers. I panicked, tried to take the glasses back, but the store was simply gone. Turns out if I try to forsake his gift, it will go very badly for me, so I have to wear them all the time, save for sleep and things like that.”

“Jesus.”

“I’ve been trying to use my powers to stop the disasters I see coming but so often it doesn’t work, and then I have to watch it play out in real time after seeing it again and again in my head.” He stands, slowly, and walks to retrieve the glasses, “or when I try to do enchantments, sometimes things go haywire. Did you happen to see the little succulent garden in the living room?”

“You mean the one that’s as big as your coffee table?”

“Yes. That was originally two succulents. I bought them as a housewarming gift for you then decided maybe four was better. So I tried to magic up two more. And got a garden instead.” He’s still as he speaks, glasses held in his palm, “It isn’t all bad. I have been able to stop some things, and I’ve gotten much better at magic. But the failures so often dwarf that.”

“Indrid?” Duck stands in the bathroom doorway, waits for his friend to turn around before continuing, “thank you for tellin me all that. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Indrid’s smile is weak, but genuine.

“Are there, uh, things that help when this happens? You seem real upset and if I can help you feel better, I’d like to.”

“T.V, the mindless kind.”

Duck holds out his hand, “C’mon, let’s go downstairs.”

Indrid settles on the violet couch, wrapping himself in a thick blanket as Duck flips channels. 

“You’re from West Virgina, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then you may be familiar with my patron. I don’t know his true name, but everyone just calls him mothman.”

Duck drops the remote.

“Mothman? As in Silver Bridge, Point Pleasant, TNT plant, and all that shit?”

“Yes.” Indrid says mildly. 

“Holy shit.” He fishes the remote from under the couch.

“That’s a remarkably succinct reaction.”

“Hush you, you know I ain’t a man of many words.”

“Duck, two days ago you talked for half an hour about Kudzu.” Indrid shoots him a teasing smile, and Duck elbows him lightly. 

“Oooh, a Halloween cooking championship! Let’s watch that.”

Duck sets the remote down, joins Indrid under the blanket when the taller man opens it for him.

“You doin anythin for Halloween?”

“No” Indrid sighs, “I love it, but after the ‘living pumpkin incident,’ parents stopped letting their children trick or treat here.”

“Hmmmmm” Duck rests his hand just beside Indrids’, strokes it absentmindedly with his pinkie “y’know, Indrid, I think I got a way to fix that…..”

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

Duck waves goodbye to the group of trick or treaters as they scurry back down the walkway. He has to hand it to Indrid: the man really has an eye for decoration.

The yard is strung with glowing cobwebs and purple lights, bats made of purple shadow and glitter flitting through the air.  The multitude of Jack’O Lanterns flicker in a rainbow of colors, thanks to Indrid doing an enchantment on the flames. 

Ducks house is equally festive, Indrid choosing orange lights and one (magically) large pumpkin to contrast with the dark wood of the building. Currently Aubrey (Dani’s wife) and her giant rabbit (Dr Harris Bonkers, PhD) are seated on Duck’s front step on candy duty. Duck had asked for his new friends help after realizing just how nervous Indrid was that something would go haywire, and decided it was best if he was there to keep him company.

It’s been a successful Halloween so far; no explosions, no disasters, no decorations accidentally coming to life. He and Indrid chat between visitors, The Creature from the Black Lagoon plays in the background, and both of them have eaten more candy than two grown men probably should. Not a single kid who’s come to the door seems afraid of Indrid. Some are curious, and some have parents that definitely watch them closely. But most are just happy to get candy.

Best of all, whenever they’re seated on the couch, or waiting to open the door, Indrid holds Ducks hand, or sighs happily when Duck rests his arm around his shoulder.

The groups are becoming less and less frequent, and stars peek out from behind the clouds, when Indrid turns to him.

“Thank you, Duck.”

“Hey, wasn’t gonna miss an excuse to hang out with you and poach your candy.”

Indrid chuckles, “Not just for that. For everything, for being kind, for getting to know me and not writing me off as wicked. I-” He falters, turns away suddenly.

Duck may not have foresight, but he’s perceptive all the same.

“Want me to finish that sentence for you?”

Indrid looks at him wide-eyed as the ranger steps into his space, “Please.”

“I wanna get to know you better.” Duck grins, moves to pull Indrid to him.

Indrid beats him to it, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. Ducks back hits the door, Indrids fingers digging into his hair. He holds him tight, and as demanding as his kisses are the taller man’s whole body is shaking like the last leaf on a tree.

When they pull apart, Indrid rests their foreheads together.

“Yes, Duck, I would very much like to get to know you better.”

Duck kisses him again, keeps him close as he whispers, “well, happy fuckin halloween to me.”

Indrid kisses his cheek, “Indeed.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #promptober #au

[shooter-nobunagun]

Quarantine UST 5

//Seriously, writing for such a sustained stretch is...unprecedented...I think I haven’t done this since the beginning of my intro into this fandom. Maybe this period of time is good for something after all.

And yes, I definitely binged my way through FF7R as soon as it came out...

The days seemed to pass in a blur; yet as Sio woke up after another night of binging Netflix with Jess, it felt like nothing had changed, either. She’d adjusted to the rhythm of her new life fairly well: sleep in until 10am or so, leisurely troop downstairs for breakfast after brushing her teeth⁠—usually Adam was already up and frying some eggs, or sometimes they picked up coffee and pastries from a local cafe⁠—clean up, then she might go for a walk outside or spent some time in the yard while catching up on emails and texts from her family and Asao-san. By then, Jess and Mahesh were usually awake, and they’d all gather again for lunch (or in the other twos’ case, brunch), and afterwards Sio usually would do her training, either by herself or under Adam’s watchful guidance. Then it was free time (which usually involved another stroll outside), dinner, sometimes a group activity, and then everybody retired to their rooms for the night.

Recently, the group started venturing out a bit more; at first it was just to the local cafe for drinks and snacks, but yesterday the group’d gone for another grocery run, this time at the farmer’s market. Even with all the restrictions in place, Sio was glad to be able to spend some time outdoors again, and picking from the wide variety of fresh produce was much more fun than going to the grocery store.

Yawing, the sniper continued lounging in her bed, absentmindedly scrolling through her texts from last night. Her parents were doing okay (actually most of Japan seemed alright by comparison) though obviously they were concerned about her health and safety. Asao-san’s latest couple of messages contained the usual news and gossip, although the last one before she signed off left the sniper blushing and covering her face.

[Asao Kaoru]: By the way, how are things with Jack-san? You two seem to be getting awfully close... (ΦωΦ)~ Did you get any more peeks in during training?

“Moou, Asao-saaaan!! I-It’s not like, that!” The sniper screeched, tugging her hair. “Jeeze, why does everybody keep assuming we’re gonna...hook up or something like that...” 

Admittedly, her own brain wasn’t helping matters; at this point, she’d given up on denying her attraction towards him⁠—besides her nightly little ritual, she’d already had at least one...steamy dream involving him and no clothing. “Ugh...why do I have to make things so complicated...”

‘I just want to get to know him better, not get a crush on him! Besides, knowing him, he probably has a girlfriend waiting for him back in London. Or at least, had one...unlike me...’ A cool, good-looking guy like him who was the epitome of the tall, dark and handsome type? Sio looked down at her own flat chest, unfashionable haircut and childish face, and sighed. ‘Yeah right; I’d never stand a chance. He’s probably got way more experience and prefers girls who look like Newton...’

The thought depressed her more than she expected; even though she knew her chances were slim, and that shacking up with your platoon leader probably wasn’t the best idea, the thought of not getting any closer than just friendly teammates made her heart sink straight to the ground. ‘I know I’m just a below-average high schooler, and I don’t even have anything going for me except my e-gene; but even I can still hope, right...?’

She moped about all through her morning routine, not really bothering to fix her hair or wear anything aside from putting on a pair of shorts (why bother, it wasn’t like she was cute or anything). Walking into the quiet kitchen, she pulled out a box of cereal and some milk, sullenly eating her cold breakfast.

“Good morning, Sio dear. Oh goodness, is something the matter? You’re looking awfully peaked...you don’t feel ill, do you?” Jess came down the stairs, Sio a bit surprised as it was unusual for the blonde to be up before noon. “Hmm, you don’t seem feverish...”

“Oh, good morning, Jess-san.” She heaved another sigh, not really interested in finishing the rest of her soggy bowl. “It’s, nothing...I’m not sick, I guess I just feel...”

“The quarantine blues?” The sniper nodded, and the blonde patted her shoulder sympathetically. “There there, it’s perfectly normal. Things are unprecedented, you can’t expect to keep your spirits up all the time in a situation like this.”

“Yeah, well...I guess I’m surprised I’d let it get to me. I mean, all things considered, it’s not like we’re suffering or anything. There’s a lot of people who have it way worse than us...”

‘Yeah, and here I am moping about because I have the hots for my platoon leader even though I don’t stand a chance...’ 

Jess nodded in sympathy. “Definitely, I can see that. But you know, that doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad, either. I can’t say the past week has been much of a vacation, despite what Mahesh likes to claim. Feeling down about everything that’s been going on is understandable, and it isn’t healthy to pretend otherwise.”

“True...thanks, Jess-san...um, I guess it does feel a little better to talk about it.” Sio stirred her cereal a bit, surprised that she was finally having a true conversation with the blonde that didn’t involve a fear of tongues and kisses (mostly).

“Of course, dear. I apologize for my earlier behaviors...but I am still serious when I say I do want to be there for you, should you ever want another ear,” the blonde smiled kindly at the younger girl. “By the way, where is Adam? Don’t tell me he’s still asleep?”

“Eh? Adam-san...uh, I dunno. He’s usually here by the time I wake up, so...” Sio shrugged. “It’s not like I checked his room, but maybe he went out for something?”

As if on cue the front door unlocked, both girls turning around as Adam walked in, bag in one hand and a tray of drinks in the other. Sio rushed out to the foyer to help him unload and disinfect the door, keys, etc.

“Speak of the devil; we were just wondering about you,” Jess commented as Adam finally took his seat at the table. “New place this time?”

“Yeh; was checking out local places online yesterday and thought this might be a nice change of pace.” He passed out the drinks; only Mahesh’s chai latte remained untouched as the trio started unwrapping pastries and other baked goods. “Ogura, you’re alright with tea, correct? They didn’t seem to have anything like sencha, but I got jasmine, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, yes please; and thank you, Adam-san. You could’ve waited for us to get up,” Sio offered as she took a sip of her beverage. “I kinda feel bad for making you go all by yourself...”

“Eh, it’s fine. Even I like taking a break from cookin’ once in a while.” Their leader shrugged as he drank his coffee (pure black, no sugar or cream). “Besides, it’s nice to get some fresh air when it’s early in the morning. Also less folks t’ dodge...swear to god, every time we go out it’s like playing a game of Frogger...”

Sio sweatdropped, but it was true; as much as she cherished her daily walks, there was a reason why she preferred running on the treadmill. Trying to avoid other passerby who were also exercising or walking their dogs and also not getting run over by traffic... It was a good thing the yard was decently sized, and the days were slowly starting to warm up. The sniper glanced out the windows, where the golden rays were starting to bathe the garden with their yellow hues.

“Actually, I’m gonna eat out in the garden. The weather’s been so pleasant lately, might be nice for a change.” She took her tea and croissant with her; to her surprise, Adam followed. “Oh? Did you...also want to eat outside?”

“Why not; like you said, today seems to be shaping up to be pretty nice...would be a shame to spend it all indoors, again,” he gave her just a the slightest hints of a smile, and Sio felt her stomach fluttering with butterflies. Maybe she wasn’t insane for thinking it would be possible? Maybe?

“U-Um, s, so, how was the rest of the city?” She was stuttering again, much to her dismay; didn’t she get over this already?

Adam didn’t seem to notice, or at least, he didn’t comment on it. “Hm, mostly the same; not that many folks about, but all the better for me. At least we can still get takeaway and drinks.” He finished the rest of his cup. “I was surprised Jess’ up so early; usually she and Mirza sleep ‘til past noon...”

“Heh, me too.” Sio grinned as she finished her croissant. “Mm, this croissant is super flakey...so good...” If it weren’t for their training and exercise, she was sure she’d have gained at least 5 pounds by now. Even in the midst of a pandemic, San Francisco’s culinary scene did not disappoint; and that wasn’t even counting their cooking nights.

“To be honest, I’m more surprised you’ve been able to stick to a decent wake-up time every morning,” Adam teased, “considering someone always had to wake you for a morning meeting back at the Logan...”

The sniper nearly spit her tea back out. “H-Hey! Well, you’re always banging on my door every other morning anyway for some thing or other...so I figured, I might as well just save us both the trouble and get up anyway,” she pouted, cheeks tinged with pink. “Besides, those meetings were way early; if there’s one thing that’s better about this, is that I can at least sleep in a little...”

Adam smirked behind his sandwich, glad the sniper couldn’t see his face. For if she could, he was sure she’d be able to notice the warm flush spreading across his features, including his ears (mercifully hidden by his hair). She was adorable, really; the innocence of a girl, yet she was surprisingly insightful and able to see a clear line from point A to B, without being bogged down by details. ‘Not to mention that wit, when she actually works up the courage to talk back,’ he noted, recalling many of their previous conversations where she’d sparred with him using nothing but words.

Cunning, intuitive, determined and sincere; it was amazing how quickly his opinion of her changed, not just since she joined but even from the beginning of this quarantine. Hardly any of her quirks seemed detrimental now; silly at most, and charming at best. Was this what poets meant by love causing you to see everything through a rose-tinted lens? Even her appearance, which most people would probably consider average at best, gave him a flurry of feelings whenever he thought about them: large, round maroons, that cute bob with uneven bangs that could probably use a trim soon, and her slender, lithe figure... Adam swallowed and tried to turn his mind away from more lustful thoughts, but it was useless. It was obvious she was probably the most flat-chested female holder next to Geronimo, but it didn’t detract his attentions at all; if anything, he felt it suited her quite well. Once he’d caught a glimpse of those salacious photos Capa had distributed, and they gave him a bit of a shock—her willowy frame saddled with two huge water balloons that seemed to defy gravity, nevermind the fake, prancing-around poses the clones took.

All-in-all, good things definitely come in small packages, he decided. In fact, the smaller the better. Sio wasn’t that short, but her slight frame made it seem so, especially compared to him. He’d never paid attention, but Adam was sure the sniper would probably be just the right size for spooning, cuddled between his arms and those petite breasts could fit just right in his palms—

‘Hoo boy, stop right there Adam; you should not be thinking of your fellow holder in such a manner...’ But even his inner consciousness sounded half-hearted, as if it were just repeating things because that’s what was expected. And maybe it was right; even now, he still quarreled with himself on whether or not he should even pursue anything beyond friendly camaraderie with the girl. Her ambiguous feelings towards him aside, what if they got in trouble? What if it ended up interfering with their duties as e-gene holders? Or worse yet, what if it didn’t work out and the subsequent fallout ended up destroying their entire platoon?

“Adam-san?” He jerked up at her voice, having been lost in his own turmoil for the past couple of minutes. “Are you okay? You seem kind of...glum.”

You’re not wrong there, he almost said, but only shook his head. “Nah; just thinking about...stuff.”

The sniper nodded. “Yeah, I get that...I’ve been, kinda thinking on a lot of stuff too...”

Now it was Adam’s turn to be surprised. “Oh? Somethin’ else botherin’ you lately?”

“Ah uh, I mean nothing really...specific,” Sio squirmed, caught off-guard by his question. There was no way she could admit her burgeoning feelings for him. “I just...guess the whole pandemic situation is kind of getting to me, even though all things considered, this isn’t that terrible. But somehow things just feel...off.”

“Yeh, I get that too, sometimes. But I mean, this isn’t exactly a normal situation; people are sick and dying, we’re stuck in this house and still have to do our best to try and maintain a ‘normal’ life—and that’s not even counting the Objects mounting another attack at any minute.” Adam cut into the remainder of his muffin with a knife. “It’s normal to feel distressed about it—hell, I think I’d be more concerned if you weren’t...”

The sniper nodded, though she didn’t seem keen on finishing the rest of her pastries now, instead fiddling around with her fork. Adam felt a bit guilty; he hadn’t meant to ruin her nice garden breakfast with something gloomy like the virus. Especially not after they’d managed to have a normal, decent conversation.

“Hey uh, squirt? Y’know, if you need some time to yourself, you can skip your training for today,” he offered, the sniper blinking in surprise. 

“Oh...I-I mean, it’s fine, you don’t have to make an exception for me; it’s not like I physically feel bad or anything...”

“Don’t worry about it; I wouldn’t want you around that equipment when you’re all distracted like this, anyway. Last thing we need is an accident,” Adam muttered. To be sure, she’d definitely improved quite a bit, but sometimes he still did worry about her.

“...Are you saying you don’t trust me to handle myself?”

“...I’m just taking precautions.”

“Hnnn...” Sio didn’t say anything more, instead sullenly sipping the rest of her tea. 

Adam sighed inwardly. Why were girls so fickle to deal with at times? “...By the way, not sure if you’re interested, but one of our other care packages finally arrived, and they got our request for a game console plus some of the latest games, so...”

He didn’t finish, but Adam could tell by the way her eyes gleamed the second he mentioned the word Playstation. ‘Ah, so she’s also a gamer...’ Somehow he wasn’t surprised; it seemed natural that a military otaku would also be into video games, though he was curious if she played genres other than shooters or military sims.

“...What sort of games did they send?”

“Oh, I haven’t gone through them myself yet, but I’d assume a pretty wide variety...why, was there anything in particular you’re looking forward to?” Adam replied nonchalantly, testing out the waters. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to spend some time with her in a casual setting...

“Nothing really, but I mean, if there’s something good...” Her eyes shifted a bit over the edge of her drink, meeting his for a second before they darted back down at her plate. “I’ve been hearing a lot about Apex Legends...the guys from the Fifth Platoon are always talking about it.”

“Hm; I’m not that interested in battle royale types; I was actually thinking more along the lines of action RPG or adventure...”

They surreptitiously looked at each other for a few more seconds, before Adam suddenly got up.

“...You wanna go take a look, squirt?”

“...Okay.”

The two fast-walked back into the house, rushing by Jess who looked at the two in surprise and a yawning Mahesh, whom Adam barely had time to point to his drink—“don’t blame me if it’s cold, it’s not my fault you slept in”—and straight into the living room, where the 70-inch flatscreen sat in pristine condition, having only been used as a Netflix machine thus far. The package was still unopened, Sio carefully wiping it down first as Adam sliced the box open with ease.

“Oooh, what’s this? Looks like a headset...wait, oh my god is this one of those VR things everyone’s been talking about?” Sio’s eyes glittered with excitement as she dug around. “Wow, I wanna try it out later!”

“Let’s see, here’s the PS4,” Adam carefully set the machine up, along with its cables, “and as for games...well, looks like they did include Apex Legends, so if you want to give it a shot squirt, go ahead. Other than that...Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, whatever the latest iteration of Call of Duty is, Devil May Cry 5—that might be fun—Monster Hunter: World, and...well well,” Adam let a low whistle, “what do we have here?”

Sio looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised as she read the title. “Final Fantasy 7...wait, isn’t this game super old?”

“Look closer, squirt; it’s the remake. I don’t know how those bastards managed to pull it off with everything that’s going on, but I know what I’ll be playing tonight.” Adam tried not to sound too eager, but it was hard; Final Fantasy VII, while already dated by the time he was old enough to enjoy video games, was still considered a classic, and he’d secretly been hoping for a chance to play it as soon as it was announced.

Sio looked on in wonder as Adam diligently set the rest of the system up. He seemed much younger for a change, almost like a puppy instead of a wolf. His boyish enthusiasm was charming, and Sio felt like she was seeing a part of his true self, for once. It made her feel warm all over, but not in a horny way; rather, it was the joy of seeing him genuinely happy for once, instead of shouldering the burden of being their leader. ‘So I was right about him being a gamer...I knew that Metal Gear Rising t-shirt was more than just a coincidence.’

“Well, I guess I know what we’re playing then...” Now that everything was finally ready, she took a seat on the couch next to Adam; both sets of eyes now glued to the giant screen as the opening sequence panned over the in-game city of Midgar, the classic theme blasting from the speakers.

Though Sio didn’t know much about the Final Fantasy series (famous as it was, she preferred her games with more bullet-hell sequences and tanks), within a few minutes she could see why it was so revered, and why Adam was so excited. Movie-quality graphics aside, the action was tightly-paced and almost non-stop, Sio getting more engrossed herself as Adam deftly controlled the action on-screen. Before either of them knew it, it was past lunchtime; the only indication any time passed at all was Sio’s stomach complaining rather loudly after Adam finally got Cloud & co. past chapter 3.

“Whoa, I didn’t know it was so...cool,” Sio sat down to their late lunch (Chinese takeout), still in a bit of a daze at her mind replayed the action sequences and storyline. “No wonder it’s so popular...”

“Oh yeh; holy hell, they did a banger of a job remaking it,” Adam dug into the boxes with relish, barely paying attention to what was going into his mouth. “Shit, the graphics, characterization, soundtrack—and the overhauled ATB system is amazing—”

“I like the characters a lot! They look so realistic...well, as realistic as anime characters can get,” Sio mused, remembering the intro with one very well-rendered Cloud Strife. “So, I’m guessing you like a lot of JRPGs then...?”

Adam nodded. “I do, but I’ll play pretty much anything, honestly. I think the only genres I don’t do are racing and puzzles.” He shook his head, emptying the rest of his plate. “You? I prefer it when the action’s hot, bonus points if it’s got a great story.”

“Uh, I don’t play that many RPGs in general, but sometimes I do if it’s really good. But uh, yeah, I...prefer shooters like Ikaruga, or Biohazard—er, I think they call it Resident Evil outside of Japan? Oh, but there was that one series that came out a while ago, and I was surprised because I also liked the plot a lot...it’s called Bioshock?” 

“Somehow, I’m not surprised to hear that; a military otaku like you, would be shocked if you didn’t have some type of shoot-’em-up as your top three,” Adam smirked, Sio laughing sheepishly. “Anyway, if you wanna start your own file while I’m working out, go ahead; like I said, you should take a break today, get some time in for yourself.”

“Ah—oh, uh, okay...thanks,” Sio trailed off as Adam left, presumably to change and then train. “Well...guess I’ll try playing by myself.”

The console booted up, and soon the sniper settled into a comfy pile of cushions, learning the battle system based on what Adam was doing earlier. While years of shooters—first person and otherwise—had honed her reflexes fairly well, Sio had to admit this system of ATB, materia, and character swapping was a bit of unknown territory. Luckily the game was generous with tutorials, but she still struggled a bit against her first real boss, after the beginning section was over. She groaned as the ‘game over’ screen flashed, kneading her temples. 

“Man, I thought I had it! What happened...did I not use the right skills?”

“You might wanna check your materia slots, squirt. Those’ll matter a lot in the coming battles.”

A low, husky tone breathed right next to her ear, and Sio nearly jumped out of her skin. “Aaagggh! A-Adam-san, don’t do that! You scared the crap out of me...” She protested, hugging a pillow to her chest as Adam chuckled.

“Sorry squirt, but I was curious to see how you’d do. Didn’t wanna interrupt the fight, though seems like you’re gonna need to retool your party’s materia and gear first.” When he left, Adam was curious if the girl would continue playing Final Fantasy, or pop in another game. But it seemed Cloud Strife’s fabulous chocobo-locks had worked their magic, and he returned from training to find the sniper valiantly trying to defeat the motorcycle-crazy Rosche.

“Hrrm...I don’t really know what some of these descriptions mean. Magic I get, but things like MP up? Chakra?”

“Budge up a bit there, squirt, and I’ll give you some tips.” The sniper scooted to make room for the silver-haired man, as he plopped himself onto the couch and took the controller. “First off, always get HP up; more health never hurts. And then of course, healing...”

Sio nodded, but in reality she was only half paying attention. Adam was sitting right next to her, along with those chiseled muscles still glistening with sweat as his shirt clung to those washboard abs...swallowing thickly, she forced herself to listen to his advice, but even his scent was distracting; there was sweat, but it wasn’t offensive, mixed with a rather musky odor that she couldn’t quite place...

“—and this should be a pretty good setup,” Adam finished. “Uh, squirt? Ogura?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Oy, snap out of it; what’s gotten into you? 

“A-Ah—huh? Hai? I-I’m, fine...” Adam raised an eyebrow, but Sio snatched the controller back before anything else happened. “Th, Thanks for the advice...I think I’ll be able to get him this time...”

Adam blinked. “...Alright. Well, good luck then.” 

‘Was she checking me out?’ Though he tried not to rouse suspicion as he left, he’d definitely noticed Sio staring at more than just the screen while he’d been redoing her party members. ‘And I’m pretty sure she wasn’t randomly looking around the house.’ Oh no. The sniper definitely had a long way to go if she wanted to be more discreet about her little voyeuristic habits. 

The thought of their innocent little sniper actually being not-so-innocent made him hot all over again, and Adam groaned, because he knew this was the kind of heat that couldn’t be solved with simply a cold shower.

“Bloody hell...” ----- “Well, it sure seems like you two have found your quarantine activity,” Mahesh commented at dinner that night, both the sniper and the Ripper arriving long after the food arrived. “Sorry, we just went ahead and ordered some stuff we thought you’d enjoy.” He pushed their respective bentos towards the other two. “But it’s Japanese tonight, Sio, so hopefully it’s up to your standards.”

“Mmm...oh man, it’s so nice to eat Japanese food again...” Sighing with delight, Sio eagerly dug into her chicken karaage, potato salad and white rice. “A-Ah, that’s not to say the food we’ve been getting is bad or anything, it’s been really fun to try a lot of different cuisines and taste everybody’s home cooking too...”

“This is really good; I guess they weren’t kidding about San Francisco being a melting pot,” Adam nodded in approval. “Good thing DOGOO’s footin’ the bill...I wouldn’t fancy being the one having to pay for all this.”

“Just like they’re paying for all your gaming purchases?” Jess smiled knowingly at the other two, who proceeded to turn oddly pink. “What are you two playing anyway that’s got you so engrossed? It must be good, if you two are willing to skip dinner.”

“Oh, uh, it’s the latest Final Fantasy VII Remake! I’ve never played it before, but Adam has, and then I started playing it too and it’s just so good and the battles are super cool and it’s a lot of fun to play--” Sio started gesticulating wildly, chopsticks flinging rice haphazardly and Adam had to sternly remind her to not toss food everywhere.

“Oy squirt, calm down! Say it, don’t spray it.” He muttered, flicking a piece of rice off his shirt.

“And then they even sent a VR headset! Which I’m super curious about,” Sio finally finished her bento, so they could talk without the risk of food flying about. “You guys should try it out too! I-I mean, not that I’m forcing you two to play video games if you’re not interested...”

Mahesh hummed in amusement, looking at least mildly fascinated. “I’m probably a ‘casual’ gamer by yours and Adam’s standards, but I’d be willing to try out this virtual reality deal. I wonder how it compares with Capa’s illusions...”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Sio grimaced, still remembering all those inappropriate pictures Capa took (and then distributed, the nerve of him). “Pervy old man...”

“Well, certainly we won’t have to worry about that. Let’s all check it out, then; Jess, you in?”

The blonde nodded, though not without conceding that gaming wasn’t really her thing, but it might be fun to watch others. 

“I’m more of an analogue girl; I don’t care that much for all those flashy explosions on screen, but bring me a set of Catan or Dixit and I’ll play any day.”

Now the entire squad was circled in the living room, the large windows open for some fresh, night air. After some rigging, Adam managed to figure out how to configure an output so those who weren’t wearing the headset could see what was going on, via his laptop.

“Alright, now who’s our first lucky contestant? Sio-chan, since you seem so excited, why don’t you go first?”

The sniper squeaked, not being used to put on the spot. “M, M-Me? U-Uh, I’ve been playing a lot of games today, s-so, why don’t you or Jess try it?” She laughed nervously, hoping they wouldn’t force her to take center stage.

“Yeh Mirza, you seem awfully eager to see how it works...why don’t you give it a whirl,” Adam goaded. Those dark eyes seem to meet his in a challenge, before the Indian resolutely put on the gear.

Everybody else watched eagerly as the screen loaded up. “Whoa; I’m not going to lie, the graphics aren’t photorealistic, but it sure feels like you’re somewhere else,” Mahesh gingerly stepped around, everyone suddenly giving him a wide berth as he set up the boundaries. “Please warn me if I’m about to run into something, or someone; I can’t exactly see anything in the real world...”

“I wonder if we’ll ever get to the point where it’ll feel even more like we’re inside a different world,” Sio said quietly to Adam, as Mahesh started playing a rhythm-action game called Beat Saber. “I don’t like Capa, but I have to admit his AU weapon is incredible. When I was doing those training exercises, it really felt like I was in a jungle, or in the middle of Shibuya...”

“Maybe; but I think we’ve got a ways to go,” Adam responded dryly, arching an eyebrow as the Indian flailed his arms all over the place. “...Definitely a ways to go.”

After a couple of tracks, Adam couldn’t take it anymore; seeing Mirza’s piss-poor coordination and timing destroyed any sense of fun or pleasure from the thumping EDM/techno tracks provided by the game. “Alright, you’ve had your fun. Let me give it a try.”

“More like Adam can’t stand Mahesh butchering those songs anymore,” Jess whispered, and Sio giggled. “He doesn’t like talking about his hobbies, but I know for a fact he’s into these music-type games. Who else do you think petitioned to get that dancing revolution machine installed in the Logan’s workout room...”

Before Sio could fully realize that statement, Adam took over. He selected a track that none of them had ever heard of before, and despite this being his first time playing, immediately notched the difficulty up to Hard. “Someone’s tryin’ to show off, eh?” Mahesh teased, but that didn’t seem to deter the silver-haired man one bit. If anything, Adam was laser-focused on the track before him, slicing through the colored blocks flying past with coordinated ease, as if he’d memorized the track beforehand.

“Whoa, he’s so good...how the heck does he know where to slice and stuff? I can barely keep up with what color they are, let alone what direction to hit,” Sio murmured, staring at the neon-colored action in awe. “There’s no way...he hasn’t played this before, has he?” She watched as Adam completed another combo streak, his multiplier at the max of 8x. “What the hell...”

Mahesh shrugged. “Who knows; I don’t think so, since VR is so new, but that’s Adam for you. Always full of hidden surprises...and probably some he hasn’t even revealed yet.” The trio watched in silence until Adam finished the track, with an impressive score of A, to their fervent applause.

“Well that was an ace performance! Especially for your first try.”

“No kidding; what, can you see the blocks before they appear or something? Sure you don’t have some hidden ability to see the future?” Jess jokingly suggested, though for some reason Adam flinched a bit at the statement.

“...Ha ha, real funny. If you must know, it helps a lot when you’re familiar with the song...”

“Eh? Adam-san, so you like this type of music, huh? Electronica?”

For some reason the sniper’s question made him blush, his cheeks turning even redder than they already were from the faux-workout. “Uh, yeh...I listen to a whole bunch of stuff, just so happens I recognized this track, and uh, decided to give it a go...”

“Now now, no need to be modest! Music or not, you really are good at this type of stuff. I guess we shouldn’t be surprised, given how skilled you are on the battlefield...” Mahesh praised.

“Yeh, and it’s a good thing you’re a defender-type, not an attacker; otherwise we’d be long dead already,” Adam replied sarcastically, making a jab at the Indian’s less-than-stellar hand-eye coordination. “Anyway, I’m headin’ up; that took more out of me than I expected, and I want a quick rinse before bed. G’night.”

“Oh uh, good night, Adam-san,” Sio watched curiously as he climbed up the stairs. “I wonder if he’s upset about something...it’s not that late,” she glanced at the clock, which just hit 10:30pm. “Maybe he’s tired.”

“Or, more like someone’s just bashful. Don’t worry Sio, he’s not offended. I just don’t think he’s the type who likes being the center of attention all of a sudden,” Jess mused, as Mahesh picked up the controls again. “Ironic, considering he’s our de facto platoon leader.”

“Well, you don’t have to be outgoing to be a leader, I guess.” Sio nodded, reaffirming her thoughts. Adam was not the smoothest talker, but he had a certain charisma, especially on the battlefield. While Nobunaga’s e-gene was invaluable for strategizing, she wouldn’t deny that Adam knew how to adapt and call the shots, especially in the heat of battle. It was the same type of charisma she felt now, that inexplicably drew her towards him, despite his stoicism and sometimes abrasive words.

‘Though, he’s definitely less harsh, now. Not just his words, but the way he acts, around everybody too...’

He was a kind person, she decided. Probably just not used to letting his guard down, and Sio had a feeling that was partly due to his childhood, of being alone and having to fend for himself. ‘Kinda like me, except I’m just super awkward and terrible with talking to people in general...’

“I liked that song he played...I don’t usually listen to music without lyrics, but it’s really catchy. I kinda wanna listen to it again...” Sio pondered as the rest of the group finally decided to retire for the night.

“Why don’t you go ask him?” Sio blinked in surprise as Mahesh sidled up next to her. “He said he’d heard it before, right? Maybe he can share it with you.”

“Ah, I—uh, I don’t, wanna bother him with something trivial like that...” She laughed nervously, though Mahesh simply winked at her. She stopped short of the attic staircase right before the room, and looked up. The door was already closed, and he was probably already asleep, but Mahesh’s suggestion repeated itself in her mind.

‘Actually, maybe I will...after all, why not. I’ll ask him tomorrow...what kind of music he likes...’

If she was lucky, maybe he’d even offer to let her listen to some. Flushing hotly at the thought, Sio quickly went into her room and dove underneath the covers.

‘Ah Sio...what are you getting yourself into now...’

#documentation #//herp #//yay video game #//also beat saber lol

[logancreatesworlds]

Black Folks Don’t Do That Shit

Author’s Note:  Hello everyone!  So I got this idea after seeing a Tumblr post with Lupita Nyong’o and it kinda just spiraled from there.  Hope you all like it!

Warnings: Some harsh language and that’s it...for now.  😈😈😈

Disclaimer:  None of the images used are mine.

Prologue

You shook nervously as your eyes shot open.  Harsh breaths hit your lungs as you tried your best to sit up, your heart drumming as if it were part of a marching band.  Something stopped you.  You looked down at your wrists to see that they were bound to a bed.

You pulled and pulled with all your might, but it was useless. 

Then, the door opened and she walked in.

Your eyes narrowed, “You.”

She smiled, “Yes kitten, me.”

“You drugged me.”

“Yes.  To make you more…compliant.”

She sat down and smiled pleasantly.

Her red lips curled upwards like a Cheshire Cat.

It was almost like things were normal, like she was normal…

But she wasn’t.

She ran her clawed hand up your naked thigh, her bright red eyes alight with undead interest.

You should kick her, fight her – do something, but you didn’t.

Black folks don’t do that shit.

“So sad to see you leaving,” Pepper Potts commented as she watched you pack your last suitcase, her red lips sticking out in a thin line of her pale face.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “But I have to be moving on.  Can’t stay in the same place for too long, right?”

“Well,” Pepper said, “If your path leads you back to New York, you always have a job here.”

“Thank you,” you replied, giving her one last hug.

Today was your last day over at Stark Tower as the Stark family’s personal chef.  Sure, Friday could have done it, but Tony insisted on paying you 15$ an hour to work during the week after tasting your banana pudding.

However, cooking the same healthy ass Californian recipes were just getting too old.  You were forgetting why you enjoyed cooking in the first place.

You quietly sat on the next Amtrak train back to your home – New Orleans, Louisiana.

Time to get reconnected.

_

“Mama!”

“(Y/N)!  Oh my babygirl, you’re home!”

You squeezed her tightly as her familiar scent filled your nose.

Pears, lilac, fresh linen...

“I missed you,” you said, kissing her cheek.

“And I missed you too,” she replied, “Come on in.  I got your favorite cookin’.”

“Crawfish n’ rice?”

“Yup.  And we also have pecan pie.”

“Of which I will be getting the first slice,” a familiar voice said.

While that voice didn’t disturb your mother, it still scared you even now.

“(Y/N),” your mama said, “You remember Sunny, don’t you?”

How could you forget him?

“Of course,” you replied, plastering a falsified smile on your face.

“Good to see you (Y/N).”

“You too.”

A brief, awkward silence washed over the room, but your mother - ever the perfectionist mediatior, quickly ushered you upstairs to help you unpack.

This was going to be a long visit.

_

You sighed softly as you breathed in through your nose.

The New Orleans air was thick with the scent of car oil, sweat, trumpets and dough frying into beignets.

It smelled like home.

But there was something else in the air.

Children’s laughter, bubbling chocolate, pumpkin rinds...

Halloween, or it would be in thirteen days.

It was fitting, given all the smell of spook in the wind and jack-o’-lanterns on porches.

It was your favorite time of year.

Feeling invigorated, you walked into a farmer’s market and up to a local vendor who was carrying a rather large flower stand with him.

“Excuse me, kind sir?”

“Why hello lady,” he said in that familiar southern accent, “What can I do you for?”

“I’m looking for some translucent orchids,” you said, “Do you have any available?”

“Translucent orchids?  Hmmm roses...daffodils...lilac.  Nope.  No orchid.  Sorry sweetie.”

“Thanks anyway.”

You continued to walk, quietly ghosting through the loud and boisterous crowd.

Despite feeling invisible, you could feel someone watching you - like you weren’t alone.

You wish, you though petulantly to yourself.

You looked upon the fruits and vegetables, fitting in between families of black fathers, ebony mothers and swart children.

They all seemed so happy...

Sighing, you got to the other end of the market and looked back.

For a second, it seemed like the world slowed down.

Then...

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You turned around and saw a woman.

Now she stuck out.

Her dark skin stood out against the umbrella she was holding and her black outfit was only matched by her tinted glasses.

She looked like the night itself.

Nevertheless, you spoke to her.

“Just not in the Halloween spirit,” you replied.

“Such a shame,” she commented, “New Orleans is a place of magic.  And you seem like you are in tuned with its charm.”

“Me?”  You scoffed and laughed.  “I’m not much “in tuned” with anything to tell ya’ the truth...”

“Well,” she replied, “Perhaps I can change that.”

She extended her hand to you, and in her dark manicured fingers lied a small card.

You read the mysterious writing.

‘The Udaku Family’

“The Udaku Family huh?  Since when do families have their own cards?”

“The couple I work for is a bit...unorthodox.  And they need a new cook.”

You furrowed your brow, “How did you know I was a cook?”

She smiled, “You were looking at the fruits and vegetables the most, and you seemed disgusted with the ones that looked too ripe.  Only someone who is planning to cook is concerned with such affairs.”

“Well aren’t you observant?”

“I’m trained to see what’s in front of me.”

“So...your boss is looking for a cook.  When do you want me to come?”

“Tonight,” she answered, “A black Cadillac shall pick you up.”

“But you don’t even know where I live?”

“Don’t worry.  We’ll find you.”

You briefly looked down at the card, “Look lady, I-”

She was gone.

_

You quietly looked out the window, anxiously waiting for that black car to roll up.

Was this a good idea?  Of course not.

“They were probably sex traffickers looking for an innocent young girl,” your mother had said.

Still, you were going.

Yes, this is how literally every white girl got kidnapped in all the horror movies you watched, but something pulled you towards that woman at the market today.

There was that intuition in the back of your mind...

‘Don’t go to this weird ass house.  Black folks don’t do that shit.’

And yet?  You didn’t listen to it.

Soon, a car rolled up in front of the main walkway.

A Cadillac Sixty Special maybe?

Its black coat shined as the moonlight casted a gentle shadow upon it.

You swiftly got up and exited the house, kissing your mother goodbye on the way.

The woman from earlier was in the driver’s seat.

“You made it,” she said with the same silky tone from earlier.

“Uh...yeah,” you said, clutching your pure strap, “Yeah, I’m ready.”

She smiled and nudged her head towards the back, signaling you to get in.

You swiftly obeyed and soon you were riding into the night.

_

“So...how long y’all been working for these Udakus?”  You asked as the car drove with buttery ease.

The woman in the front passanger seat answered, “For a long time.”

“Okay...”

You briefly looked out the window and asked another question.

“Do you guys always fetch chefs from their houses or...?”

The woman laughed quietly, “You are quite curious, little one.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Little one...?

“That’s an interesting accent you got there?  Where y’all from?”

The first woman gave you answer, “A place far away from here.”

You were quiet after that.

_

Your mouth dropped at the black and white house that came into view.

Even though the moon and headlights were your only source of light, you could still spot its modern quality.

“Damn,” you mumbled.

The women laughed, “We get that a lot.”

They pulled in and the three of you got out.

That feeling of attraction from earlier now increased tenfold as you got closer to the door.

The door unlocked and slowly creaked open.

Holy.  Fucking.  Shit.

“Wow,” you commented, “Nice place.”

“We do the best we can,” the first woman said.

“I love the decor.”

“Then you shall make a fine fixture here,” the other answered.

“Now remember,” the first woman turned back to you, “Our employers are a bit strange but they are kind.  Don’t let them scare you.  Take a seat and relax.  They shall be out soon.”

You looked around, “Thanks gu-”

They were gone.

You huffed and sat on the plush roundabout.

What is it with these people and disappearing?

_

You waited for what felt like hours.

Looking at your clock, you saw the time.

9:45 pm.

Huffing, you laid back and prepared to text your mom that she was right.

This was a dumb idea.

“Nice work (Y/N),” you grumbled to yourself, “You’re in a house owned by some rich ass white folks who you don’t know.  And they are clearly too rich and occupied for you.  Who do they think they are - Will and Grace?”

“Not exactly.”

You gasped and sprung up, whipping around quickly.

The woman standing there was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen.

She was dark-skinned, with an hourglass figure that would make any model weep.

Her bright red dress showed perfectly under the light of the chandelier.

Her hair was shaven with dark curls atop her head and her eyes...

They were red.

“You must be the chef my girls brought me,” she said, her tongue beckoning you with an African accent you couldn’t place, “I am pleased.  They chose well.”

“Oh uh...thank you.  Forgve my rambling please.  I’m usually not that rude-”

You gasped when the woman quickly pulled your extended hand to her with lightning reflexes.

“It is already forgotten,” she said, her honeyed voice filling your ears.

She held your hand an inch away from your nose and took a big sniff.

Her eyes brightened, “You have a lovely scent.”

“Um...thanks, it’s my mom’s perfume.  I wanted to make a good impression.”

She nodded and let your hand go, “Come.  It is time for your interview to start.”

“Yes ma’am.  I have my resume-”

“That won’t be necessary.  All I need is your name.”

“(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N).  And you are?”

“I am called Nakia.  My two girls who brought you here are Okoye and Ayo.”

“Those are pretty names.”

“If you manage to impress me, then you might learn where they come from.”

Nakia walked you into a large kitchen.

The cabinets were pure oak, the fridge was stainless steel and the island was marble.

She sat down, “Cook for me.”

“What do you want me to make?”

She smiled at you, “Anything you want.”

You quietly sat your purse down and got to work.

You fished out all the dished and ingredients and whipped up one of your favorite recipes.

Nakia watched you interested intent.

You boiled the rice and fried the shrimp.

You sautéed the peppers and onions to perfection before taking them and the shrimp and setting them on top of the Basmatti.

You then set the bowl in front of Nakia along with a glass of wine and handed her a fork.

“Bon appétit,” you said, standing back, “Enjoy.”

Nakia nodded and ate.

Her face was expressionless for most of the meal and when she was done, she smiled at you.

“You’re hired.”

Your eyes bugged out of your head.

“Really?!”

“Mhmm.”

“Oh ma’am thank you so much.  But...won’t hyour husband be upset that you hired me without his approval.”

“My husband is a hermet.  But despite that we are equals.  And trust me...”

Her smile widened.

“He will like you.”

____________

And that is all for now my lovelies!  Hope you stay tuned for the next part.  Please feel free to tell me if I should just delete this.  I’ve been throwing this idea around for a while now...

@macfizzle  @wakanda-inspired  @bribrisback  @kumkaniudaku  @black-is-beautiful18  @weasleyginerva @kissesbooboo @supersizemeplz @chaneajoyyy @dreamingoftchalla  @lavitabella87  @pastelpanda19  @chocolatemonkeyrainbows @blackreaders-assemble @blackmissfrizzle  @laketaj24 @eerythingisshaka @blackgirloneshots  @sisterwifeudaku  @destinio1  @pocmarvelworks  @black-mcu-imagines  @black-is-beautiful18  @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove  @wakandalivesforever  @iwrite4poc  @siriuslycollins  @wakandas-vibranium  @100kindsofblake  @muse-of-mbaku  @naturally-bri  @helperofthenight  @dumbchick  @sweettea-and-honeybutter  @drsunshine97  @pastelastronomy24  @plussizeappreciationfics  @royallyprincesslilly  @afro-royalty  @tenaciousarcadeexpert  @shinyanchorface  @scarlettlullaby16 @hennessystevens-udaku @stark-red19 @marvelheaux @valynsia

#t'challa x black!reader #t'challa x nakia x black!reader #polyam fics #black panther fic #t'challa x reader #vampire fics #ugh I know there are some grammatical errors SOMEHWERE up in this thing #oh well #I'm writing again!!! #that's what matters

[hydaelynshimbos]

Notes from the Present: Orphans of a Lost Cause

Featuring: Elodea, Beatrid, Marius

“Are yah’ sure we didn’t miss anything pops?” Beatrid stepped forward in their brisk walk back to the orphanage. The streets of Ala Mhigo much louder than normal today. “I thin’ so, Shoul’ las’ everyone a couple’a weeks if I don’ fin’ yah’ eatin’ thirds again.” Elodea couldn’t help but chuckle, the fire headed young woman shooting him a glare through her glasses. “Not my fault my cookin’ is just that good. Besides isn’t it habit for all the women in your life to devour food?” Beatrid shot her father a bright grin, the highlander looking up at her “Father” knowing he wouldn’t be able to say anything against that one.

Elodea’s ears twitched in thought, all the gil he’d spent on food for Arha and Khojin alone was a nightmare if he didn’t properly fund his new lifestyle; Thank the Rhalgr Zurri at least just had a black hole of a stomach for sweets. “Loo’, jus’ cause mah loves got a bottomless pi’ don’ mean mah daugh’r needs on-” He was interrupted by shouts and chanting, something about an execution if the fuming words to be believed. At the entrance to one of the many alleys that lined the quarter’s streets was a mob, the inner ring of angry Mhigans throwing stones towards the stone buildings. 

Had a beast gotten inside? He hadn’t seen his people riled up like this in a while. “Hol’ mah’ bags. They’re gon’a need ‘elp if a monster go’ inside.” Elodea practically threw his bags towards Beatrid, the young woman letting out a brief shout as Elodea shoved his way through the crowd. What they were focused on became all the more clearer once his height could help him view above the mob. A small figure bundled in messy robes, it couldn’t be larger than a couple fulms tall. “I go’ it I go’ it!” Elodea roared over the crowd, waving his burly arms to get the careless tossing of stone to stop. They’d practically thrown a whole masonry at whatever this was.

“Don’t get near it Elodea!” He heard from one of the street urchins that recognized him, another shouting that it was a monster. “I’s a whole three fulms, can’ be tha’ bad..” Elodea crouched down next tot he shivering bundle of fabric, claws gently tugging at that tunic that hid it. The thing gave resistance, but not for much long as he tugged it off with a firm pull. Elodea instantly felt his blood boil, fangs baring between his cracked lips at the sight of a frightened child shaking with his hands covering his head. “Wha’ in the ‘ells is wrong with all’a yah-” Elodea had turned partially to try and view the crowd but his blue hue had caught onto a single feature onto the pale child’s face.  “See it ain’ no kid it’s a monster!” Shouted a member of the crowd, numerous shouts ringing through the streets. Elodea himself was frozen, breathing hitched and rough at the sight of a developed third eye in the center of the scared child’s forehead. Every nerve in his body had rung into fight or flight mode at the sight of that third eye, Why was he getting this response? He’d been around Octavius for over a summer by now, maybe it was because he glamoured over that symbol of the garleans. “Moved aside Elodea, Kid ain’ human!” The tug in his core grew worse, it felt like his body was going to collapse onto itself until nothing was left of his existence. “ ‘Ells yah really do test me Rhalgr..” The words slipped from Elodea’s cracked lips low enough that the garlean child would probably the only one to hear it. “Come’n  kid.” Elodea pressed his forehead to the top of the child’s own, arms wrapping around the lost child. “Elodea don’ tell us yah’ actually pity the monster. Let him grow up and he’ll kill all’ve us. It’s in his blood!” Had it been a few years back Elodea probably would’ve agreed, but he’d already taken a Garlean’s help on more than one occasion. 

“Shu’ up!” Elodea growled, lips snarling as he stood up slowly, arms helping the child rest against his chest with his free arm to cover the battered young. His tail was erratic, rattling at it’s tip as it swat at the crowd; Finally it was on his side for once. “I’s a bloody kid! Yah’ thin’ he’d be able tah’ ‘arm any of yah!.” Blue and gold eyes darted about the crowd, slitted pupils tightly shaped in focus. His breathing was ragged, worked up into a confused rage before Beatrid finally had broken through the crowd to help cover the child. “We’ve got it handled fol’s!” She shouted, arms waving franticly with the cloths bags full of grocies.

Both sides fell silent, the angry mod processing how two of the more generous folks in Ala Mhigo were actually siding with a Garlean; Elodea and Beatrid processing exactly what they were getting into by helping a child of a monstrous race of folk. “I’s on yer’ hands Elodea. The kid screws anything up, i’s yer head.” One of the folks grumbled before the mob had finally settled on a decision and broken apart. Elodea stood in place, looking at the shaking bundle of a boy in his arms in silence. “Well, I guess tha’s one more for the orphanage huh pops?” The question was met with silence again, Beatrid not quite sure what to say to her father for a moment. “I know wha’ you’re thinkin’, You’re righ’ too. A kid can’t be hel’ responsible for wha’ his paren’s or kin did.. Let’s go get him fed, he looks hungry.” “..Yeh’.” Elodea’s heavy hand patted softly at the child’s back, rubbing into it gently as he buried his head into his black and gold mane. “Le’s ge’ ‘im some food..”

#notes from the present #elodea inarch #beatrid inarch #Marius Inarch

[papa-rhys]

Benevolence - Preview

Here’s Chapter One of my novel for your viewing pleasure. 

It’s only my first draft so it’s subject to change! Enjoy!

The papers have spelled my name wrong again – damn mess that they are. 

It ain’t like “Olivia Sullivan” is difficult and if they was strugglin’ so damn much, they coulda just used “Black Olli” like everyone else. They say I got some Indian in me, that it’s what makes me so “savage” in nature, but I don’t know if that’s true or not and I don’t reckon the press knows a damn thing they’re talking about when it comes to Indians. To be honest, I don’t know how much of anything them papers say about me is true, these days.  

Probably most of it. 

When you live the kinda life I live, you get in the habit of forgettin’ all the awful things you do. All the dead faces you leave behind ya tend to blur into one, and after a decade or so, the papers can say anything they damn well please about you ‘cause you can’t remember enough of what you’ve done to confirm nor deny it.  

Readin’ through the paper feels like I’m reading a Penny Dreadful, only I’s the subject of it. I ain’t got the foggiest idea whether or not I killed that man like they’s sayin’, just like I ain’t got the foggiest whether or not I got Indian blood tricklin’ through my veins. But I guess there could have been a point between the seventh and eighth shot of whiskey a few nights back where I did indeed bounce that man’s head off the edge of the bar and kill him. I suppose it does align with my reputation. 

I close the paper and fold it in half, slapping it onto the wooden bench beside me and getting to my feet. It’s a painfully hot day in El Santo, New Mexico - hotter than usual, even. The black shirt and jeans I’m wearin’ ain’t helpin’ matters, but us Sullivan’s always did value style over comfort. Stupid, really. Good fashion sense never did much to help ‘em when The Law came chargin’ into camp. The thought makes my skin flush even hotter and I shake it off. God, I’m achin’ for a little rain. 

Folk around town are busying themselves, taking advantage of the sunshine overhead. Cowboys mosey on by, dipping in and out of the saloon despite it only being just past ten in the morning. The ladies are dressed in their cotton dresses and holding their lace parasols, chatterin’ to each other about their god-awful husbands. 

Ma ‘n’ Pa always reckoned I’d make some feller a fine wife. And I suppose I would. If I wanted to. But I reckon I’m built for the life I got. I can shoot, I can brawl, I can lie, and I can damn well rob a feller blind. The Lord didn’t design me for cookin’ and cleanin’ and watchin’ babes in their cradles. I ain’t no damn maid and it’d be a waste of all I’m good at if I settled for bein’ one. I don’t gotta be cooped up in no farm house in order to show a man I love him.

I head for the general store and pick up a few supplies for the road. Baked beans, jerky, some cartridges for every one of my weapons, and a few carrots and corn cobs for my horse, Monty. It’s a long day’s ride ahead of us until we get into the next town over and I reckon we’ll both be beat by mid-afternoon and dyin’ for a good bit of grub. 

“Hey there, boy,” I coo, patting him on the side of the neck as he huffs. There’s a funny lookin’ guy standing outside the saloon a little ways up the street that’s been eyeing me since I went into the general store and I reckon I’ve been made. But I ain’t too keen on letting him know that I’m aware of him, so I keep my head tilted down as I fuss over Monty a little more. “We should make a move, I reckon,” I tell him, earning a shake of the head from him. “Yeah, well I’s the boss, not you.” 

I untwist the reins from the hitching post and mount up, keeping my head forwards as I bring Monty around and keeping my eyes off the man outside the saloon. I observe him from the corner of my eye on the way past – black hat, long black coat coverin’ a brown shirt, and gold capped boots. Ain’t no mistakin’ who he is. 

He’s a Red Wolf. Hell, I’d bet my life on it. 

I dig my heels in and Monty starts into a trot; his hoofs thudding rhythmically against the dirt road. I don’t want the Wolf to know I’s made him, but I sure as hell do want him to be able to catch up with me farther along the trail that leads outta town. He’ll follow, for certain. He wouldn’t be able to resist a young woman  and besides, he knows exactly who I am and Red Wolf creed says he’s gotta kill me soon as he recognises me. Here’s hopin’ he abides and manages to catch me.  

Otherwise, how else will I be able to kill him? 

I pull the reins steady and Monty comes to a stop at the side of the trail just before a winding tree. We’re about two miles outta town now and it’s one of the last few trees around before the scenery fades into open land, offering nothing but sky and half-dead grass either side of the trail.  

I’m outta my saddle in a split second, hopping down onto the dirt and securing Monty’s reins to the tree. He gets skittish around gunfire. Not all that useful for an outlaw, but he’s a good boy and does what he’s told, so I’ve kept him all these years regardless. He gets antsy as the man from town appears a ways down the trail and I lean against Monty with my elbow rested on the saddle and one boot crossed over the other, waiting for him to reach me. 

It takes a few minutes for him to catch up to me and for a moment I think he’s gonna keep ridin’ west, following the open road into the next town over; which would be a shame ‘cause I’m really in the mood for killin’. But he stops just ahead of me and drops down off his beige Arabian; his spurs clinking with the impact. 

He’s a few years older than me – maybe 30 ish – and his jaw is shadowed with a scruffy stubble that looks more than a few days overdue for a trim. There’s wrinkles in the corners of his eyes as he scowls at me and what’s visible of his cheeks between the wide-brimmed hat and the previously mentioned stubble is littered with scars. He makes his way towards me with his hands on his hips - flicking his coat open to flash me a glimpse at his twin pistols - and I turn to face him, lowering my arm to my side where my Colt sleeps, cradled against my hip. 

“Mornin’, Miss,” he says, nodding his head. He seems friendly enough but I know who he is. I know it’s feigned. That friendly neighbour act might work on cowboys and workin’ girls, but he ain’t foolin’ me and there’s no way he’d expect to given who I am and the history our clans got with each other. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and stop right where you stand, partner,” I tell him, stopping him in his tracks a few feet away. “I don’t reckon you’s as dumb as to not know you I am.” 

He smiles and his crooked, blackened teeth make my stomach churn a little. “I know’s exactly who you is, Miss Sullivan.” 

He dares to take another step – his hands still on his hips and his chest puffed out – and I draw as fast as the thought flits through my mind. Raisin’ a gun to a man is second nature to me. He chuckles and raises his hands, but not high enough. His chuckle stops and he draws too and in the blink of an eye, we’re both starin’ down the barrel of each other’s weapon.  

I fire first, but I don’t got any use for him if he’s dead, so I aim for the hand that holds his gun and blow a hole in his thumb, earning a roar from him. The pistol falls to the dirt and he stumbles and I’m on him in seconds; pouncing on him like a rabid dog. I’m straddling him now and he fights back until I clock him around the jaw three times with the butt of my Colt and he finally gives up. 

“Alright, alright, you made ya damn point,” he hisses, spitting a mouthful of blood into the dirt beside us. 

I grip him by the collar of his shirt, curling the fabric around my fingers and pulling tightly. “Who named The Sullivans?” I ask him. “Who told The Law where we was campin’?” 

He smirks up at me. “Your gaggle of inbred yeller-bellies had quite the bounty on yer heads,” he says. “Happens y’all just got sloppy.” 

I hit him again. “You know as well as I do that that ain’t true, so cut the shit ‘n’ give me the name of the Wolf who tipped ‘em off.” 

“I ain’t got –“ 

Another smack should do it. 

This time I angle my strike downwards and get him in the nose and the crunch it makes under the impact of my Colt is enough to damn near echo. It’d surely turn my stomach if I hadn’t done it a million times before.

He yells and his head flops back and for a second I’m worried I’s killed him, but he starts shakin’ his head and I reckon he don’t think his buddy is worth dyin’ for.  “Jacob Dixon,” he breathes, his head rolling on his shoulders and his eyelids fluttering. “Goes by ‘Dix’… he’s the feller who ratted ya damn gang out. Just… enough with the damn hittin’, girl.” 

“Where’s this feller at?” I ask. He shakes his head and swallows hard. “You tell me where he is ‘n’ I won’t bleed ya like a stuck pig,” I spit, my face inches away from his. 

“Don’t go pokin’ around for him,” he tells me. “You’ll only find stuff you didn’t wanna know.” 

“I swear to the heavens if you don’t tell me the location, I will kill you.” 

“Alright, alright… But if I tell you, you’ll let me go?” he asks, blood trickling into his mouth from his nostrils and spitting back up at me as he talks. 

“Sure, I’ll let ya go,” I tell him. “If you give me the location.” 

“We’re camped before the Arizona border. I don’t know the name of the place, just that it’s inside the boundary of the New Mexico Territory.” He coughs and splutters and spits another mouthful of blood. “We’s been there a few weeks.” 

“How many of ya?” 

“I thought was gonna let me –“ 

I’m runnin’ real low on patience and the thought of a bullet carvin’ a path through this guy’s skull is lookin’ real temptin’. “How many?” I roar. 

“Five of us! The rest of the fellers is spread out in different states. Boss wanted us coverin’ the way from here to California. Said you was gonna be comin’ for him ‘n’ didn’t want ya to get closer than he’d like.” 

I push myself up onto my feet and dust myself off, smacking the dirt away from my knees as he flops onto the floor. “What’s ya name?” I ask him, fixin’ the position of my hat. 

“Tommy,” he croaks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and looking at the blood smeared across it. 

“Thanks for yer help, Tommy,” I tell him, raising my Colt and bringing the sights flush with his forehead. “But I never liked folk who grovel.” 

“No, wait, I –“ 

With a squeeze of the trigger, there’s one less Wolf in the pack. One less name on my list. Tommy’s blood seepin’ into the dirt of the trail beneath him, the liquid poolin’ around his head and creepin’ its way towards the spot where his Arabian had stood before takin’ off at the sound of the gunshot. His eyes are still wide with fear, his arms and legs sprawled out in every direction, and I feel damn good about it.

I wipe my mouth and then raise my neckerchief to my forehead to mop up the beads of sweat I’d earned in the sun-doused scuffle. Stuffing my Colt back into its holster, I head for Monty, who huffs and stomps at the gunshot that surely rings in his ears as much as it does in mine. “There, there, boy. It’s alright,” I tell him, placing my hand to his nose and soothing him. “I’s got us a lead on that rat of ours.”

#my writing #writeblr #writerblr #excerpt #writing #w benevolence

[jimbo-w-jones]

I was listening to Q644 today. In this tape, which is one part of recordings of a White Night in February of 1978, Jim mentions cannibalism occurring in Jonestown. Does anyone else have any insight about this? I’ll include some of the dialogue below. Jones: Hmm? You agree with that? (Pause) Carl Barnett, come by behind the pavilion, we’ve got the first one to cook. (Short laugh) Go ahead. Hell, we been through it. We shot ‘em and we ate ‘em, uh, the other time round.

Scattered in crowd: Right

.Jones: And that’s (stumbles over words) fuckin’ truth. Go on, honey.

Julius: Okay–

Jones: And everybody thought they had– they– some thought they had beef, some thought they had chicken, some thought they had fish. (Pause) (Laughs)(Scattered conversations)

Woman  1: (unintelligible beginning) teeth, too.

Jones: What’s that?

Woman  1: (unintelligible beginning) teeth.

Jones: Freeze Dry [Kivin Smith] knew he had teeth, yeah. One sister, it kind of bothered her, was when in the– was when the tooth was in the soup. There’s this one sister said, I didn’t mind uh, taking that soup, she said, but when that eye bobbed up, and looked at me– (Laughs)

Crowd: (Laughs)

Jones: (Calls out) Ah, shit on you hypocrites. You already– You already with a bunch of cannibals, so fuck you.

Crowd: (Laughs, scattered applause)

Jones: How many of– how many of us were here? How many of us were here? We were here, honey. And we’re just as saved as you are. (Pause) Didn’t know what else to do with the sonofabitches.

Voice: Tastes good.

2nd voice: Little barbeque–

Jones: That bother you? Anybody bothered by that?

Scattered in crowd: No.

Jones: High grade of protein.(Conversation too soft)

Jones: Somebody back there wants to ask Patty Par– Patty Parks, how you feel about eatin’– eatin’ somebody if we ge– kill one of the sonsabitches. They never come and ask for them.(Conversation too soft)

Jones: (Laughs) Somebody want to know, that you, you, you, you know, you’re not to express any opinion. How you feel if we get the, the– they had a white man come in here and tried to stab one of our people, tried to catch him, and it w– worked out that he got it.

Scattered in crowd: Right.

Jones: How you feel about eatin’ him, if we get another one tomorrow? That’s the last one.(Conversation too soft)

Jones: Come on, Patty, just speak it out. I don’t know– I’m not asking the questions, somebody else wants to know the answer. What’d she say?(Conversation too soft)

Jones: If she f– hungry enough, she probably eatin’ him, and he got no choice.(Conversation too soft)

Jones: Go ahead.

Woman  2: Tastes a little different–

Jones: So you want to– What’s that?

Woman  2: It tastes a little different, it’ll be a (unintelligible word) (Laughs)

Jones: (Laughs) Nobody never knew– Nobody knew the difference. Nobody knew the difference, and nobody got sick at their stomach or anything. That’s true. In fact, they’ve all felt good, said, Da– oh Dad, that was a good meal. Said, Reb’s [James Edwards] cookin’ up an awful good meal back there.(Conversation too soft)

Jones: Huh. Shit. (unintelligible word) over there, and if there’s anything left of me, you be sure and cook me, don’t waste me.(Conversation too soft)

Julius: Okay, uh, I was– I was standing in line thinking that uh, there’s a lot of people observing (unintelligible under Jones interruption)

Jones: Now hold it. I– If some of you people is so goddamn funny about that, that don’t mean– it isn’t just us black folks. I believe a whole lot of white capitalist, the best sports team from Chile go– or Argentina, going across to Chile, and they got co– hooked up there in the goddamn Andes, and I believe they ate each other, and they didn’t even bother to cook it, they ate it froze. They ate it raw, they ate all their dead teammates raw. Some, their own wives, and some of them, their own brothers. And the fuckin’ white folk that settled in California, when they went across Donner’s Pass, they all had to each– eat each other there, and they cooked ‘em and killed some of ‘em. Don’t talk to me about none of this, don’t act like this white religious shit to me. Everybody’s got this white religious shit till it comes time to eat the flesh and drink the (draws out word) blood. And that’s what Jesus said. Jesus did say it. The Lord Jesus did say it. He said, they eat my flesh and drink my blood. I ain’t found his, but if we find some of them fuckers– (Pause) If you eat people, they’ve got a long way to go, I mean, they got a long way to go. You can tell when you touch on this shit. That’s what Jesus said, (Cries out) eat of my flesh and drink of my blood. Did he not? https://jonestown.sdsu.edu/?page_id=27516

#jim jones #jonestown #peoples temple #tcc #true crime community #cannibalism

[bigbangsmasher]

(🍽) friends date friends date

“How can you be sure it’s really ready, though?” Tina reaches out to put her hand on the grill, only to have Makoto grab her wrist.

“Sis, what are you doin’?” says Tina, frowning. Try as she might, she can’t budge her arm from Makoto’s hand- that girl is strong. “I’m just checkin’ to make sure it’s ready to go! Can’t have a barbecue if the grill ain’t ready Makotes, you gotta know that.”

“You don’t need to touch it,” says Makoto, frowning. “You can feel the heat just from where we’re sitting, Tina. And if we have to run to the hospital, then that means dinner is over.”

“Nooo, just means dinner’s changed locations! To the hospital cafeteria! You know they got the good stuff there, like jell-o cups and crinkle-cut fries.”

“Better than barbecue?”

“Welllllllll-”

“C’mon, don’t BS me like that, Tina,” sighs Makoto. There’s only the two of them at the table, and Tina doesn’t know the cooking style, so Makoto takes the initiative and begins to place the meat on the grill. All at once, the cuts begin to sizzle against the metal’s heat, sending smoke into the air.

“Dammmmmn!” coos Tina, leaning in. “Lookit that! Back on Pandora we never had ‘cues like this, we just put the whole damn skag in the fire like pffbt! ‘Cue is short for barbecue.”

“I mean, that was obvious,” says Makoto, still focusing on the grill. She’s been to places like this enough times to know that if you take your eyes off the meat for even a second, it could cross that line from being perfectly-cooked to black and charred in a second. “But what’s a skag?”

“Okay okay okay okay, well, you know those doggy things they got in this city?”

“Sure, I know dogs.”

“Well, imagine if a dog was three times bigger, and three times hungrier for your bones. Also if it had a mouth like rarrrgh!” Tina mimes a mouth opening sideways, which prompts another frown from Makoto.

“Dude, every time I hear about your world, it sounds worse and worse. How does anyone survive there?”

“Dunno don’t care. Hey ‘Kotes, is the meat ready? Tina is gettin’ hongry over here!”

Flipping a cut of meat, Makoto shakes her head and elects to ignore the nickname. “Still a few more minutes. But then you gotta be quick, or else it’ll burn.”

“Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha gotcha gotcha. Buuuuuuut it smells pretty good so Imma just go for it.” Before Makoto can say anything, Tina lashes out with her fork and brings a piece of meat to her mouth. For a second, she chews with a pleased look on her face, and in the next moment her eyes go wide.

“Shit shit shiiiit! That shit hurted!” shouts Tina, spitting the meat on the table. “Aaaaagh, it’s like I ate an explosion!”

“Tina, are you alright?” asks Makoto, not budging from her spot. Despite her concern, the cause of the issue is painfully obvious: you don’t eat food that just came off the grill. “Try drinking some water.”

Tina guzzles the water from her cup, only surfacing when there’s no more left. “Phew! That was really somethin’, ‘Kotes! It was like I almost died for a sec there! And let me tell you, I have almost died like twenty times.”

“I don’t think you were in any danger,” says Makoto. Satisfied that the meat is done cooking, she plucks a piece off the grill and reaches across the table to place it on Tina’s plate. “Try again, but this time let it cool off first.”

“Gotcha gotcha. Say, Makotes, what did you say this kinda cookin’ was called again?”

“Korean barbecue.”

“Ohhh, ‘kay ’kay. What’s Korea?”

For a moment, Makoto frowns. “I-I don’t really know. An old country, I think. It doesn’t exist in my world, that’s for sure.”

“Hah! All you folks got crazy place names where you come from. Like Earth! Who the donk came up with that? Earth. Sounds fake.” Tina manages to silence herself for long enough to eat the meat, nodding as she chews. “Oh yeah. Ohhhhh yeah. This is way better, wayyyyy better.”

“Just takes a little patience,” says Makoto, plucking a few pieces of her own. “Just make sure to save room for-”

And now Tina is snatching up as many pieces as she can. Rather than berate her again, Makoto jumps into the fray herself, turning the grill into a food free-for-all. A girl who grew up surrounded by angry monsters versus a girl who had five siblings. Small wonder they’re so protective of their food.

#ask #meme #bigboomtina

[izzy-b-hands]

Mark the Date, Pt 1

Prompt: Calendar

I was gonna try and type a cute description here, but I’m afraid I’ll give away the plot if I do cuz I’m excited about it. So all I’ll say here is that Eugene and Snafu’s anniversary plays a part in this one! And it wasn’t going to be a multi part thing, but it was getting really long for a one shot, so I tried to find a spot to split it up a bit!

It was the same every year since they’d gotten married. They’d both plan something for the other, and spend the day together, no work or school to get in the way. 

The best part of it was watching Snafu. He attempted something that might have resembled sneakiness, but only vaguely. This year was perhaps his weakest attempt though. 

“Is that a...gazebo?”

Snafu nearly dropped the hammer in his hand as he turned to face Eugene, his eyes wide. “Um. Yes. What’s it matter?”

“Because I don’t recall us deciding to build one, or that you would do it all on your own,” Eugene replied, walking around the half-built structure. “Is this why you said I couldn’t come out here today?” 

“Meant to be a surprise,” Snafu mumbled. 

“Well, I am surprised. And I like it, but let me help you! Or get you water at least, you’ve been out here in this heat for hours,” Eugene scolded. He should have disobeyed and come out sooner to check on him. “We’re both lucky I didn’t come out here to find you passed out on the grass.” 

“I would’ve come in before that,” Snafu sighed.

“Sure, sure,” Eugene replied. “How the hell did you get the concrete slab down? I didn’t even see you bring in any of this?”

“Last few nights when ‘the cats were sneaking out’?” Snafu smiled, wincing slightly as he flopped back against the concrete floor of the structure. 

“I knew that was a lie, but this? In the dark?” Eugene laughed. “I mean, gettin’ it to set would have been a nightmare.”

“It’s worth it,” Snafu replied. “Part of somethin’ bigger, but that’s all I’m gonna say about it.” 

“Really? ‘Cause I know it’s eatin’ at you, to tell me more,” Eugene teased as he sat on the concrete slab. 

“Maybe so. But my lips are sealed,” Snafu’s hand reached up to pull at his shirt, tugging him down. 

“You really wanna do this out here, on this hot fuckin’ concrete?” Eugene murmured as he let himself be pulled down, moving to rest against Snafu, his thigh in between Snafu’s. 

“Really think I’m gonna let heat and sunburn stop me from gettin’ to you?” Snafu asked in reply. 

He was considering exactly what he was going to do to Snafu on the slab when Sid’s voice rang out. 

“Snaf! I got the uh-oh shit, Gene. I mean, I...” 

“I forgot we gave him the spare key,” Eugene sighed as he rolled off and up from Snafu. “What do you have, Sid?” 

Sid looked panicked, his hands hidden behind his back, the package he was trying to hide sticking out from behind him. “Nothin’. Just...Snaf asked me to run an errand for him. S’all.” 

“Is this to do with the bigger surprise you swear you aren’t gonna tell me anythin’ about?” Eugene asked as he watched Snafu bolt up and run to Sid like he was on fire. 

“What? Nah,” Snafu replied. “We gotta go talk for a minute, be right back darlin’!” 

He waited for a moment before following them inside, leaving his shoes near the back door so they wouldn’t hear him as he settled near the wall by the entrance of the sitting room. 

“You’re gonna tell him before the day of, right?” Sid asked. 

“‘Course,” Snafu replied. “But I mean...you think he’ll like this, right? Everyone’s helpin’ out and excited, and I know neither of us planned on ever gettin’ to do it, but...I’m not fuckin’ this up by not tellin’ him right away, am I?” 

“I don’t think so,” Sid replied, and Eugene could hear one of the chairs across from the couch creak as Sid moved in it. “But I know he’s gonna be curious as all hell right about now. Which is why I know he’s probably two feet away, listenin’ in. So lemme help both of you out-” 

Eugene slipped trying to get up and away from the wall as he heard Sid get up and move to the entrance of the room, but he wasn’t fast enough. 

“Hey. So, I know you’re curious. I would be too. But I promise, you’re gonna love what he’s cookin’ up. Gonna be a hell of an anniversary celebration, too. Give him another few days to finish that thing outside, to let me and some other folks finish up some ‘errands’ for him, then you’ll see. Be patient,” Sid smiled down at him. 

“Did you hear me come in or somethin’?” Eugene asked, wishing he wasn’t sprawled out on the floor at that moment. 

“No. Just know you well, buddy. And I’d be curious too, so I can’t blame ya. I’ll be back tomorrow around ten to help with the gazebo, so if you’re gonna...ya know, fuck on it, maybe do it before then? I love you guys, but-” 

“Oh my god, Sid,” Eugene interrupted, covering his face as he blushed and pulled himself back to sit against the wall. 

“See ya later!” Sid chirped happily as he left.

Snafu rounded the wall as the door clicked shut, and went to lock it. He walked back to Eugene, and slumped down beside him against the wall. 

“I could just tell you. Been so damn nervous about this, plannin’ it since our last anniversary,” Snafu said. His hands were shaking. 

Eugene reached over and held onto his hands as tight as he could. “Hey. I’m sure I’ll like whatever it is. I admit, I am...confused, to put it lightly, as to how the gazebo factors in, but-” 

“A wedding,” Snafu interrupted. “I can’t keep a secret from you, you know that. I was plannin’, since we never got one with a bunch of family and friends, and I know it still won’t be legal or whatever, but I thought bein’ back here with all your family and Sid and everyone else you know maybe it would be nice, and...” 

“You planned a wedding for us?” 

Snafu turned to meet his eyes, looking half scared to death. “I mean...I’m tryin’. Don’t really know how it goes. But I know you need someplace to hold it, and our backyard is big enough, nice enough for that. But I wanted somewhere to be the...hell I don’t know what you call it, the center of it all? So that’s why...” 

“The gazebo,” Eugene laughed.

“And I know your favorite color and mine, so that’s our colors. Apparently we needed those, according to Sid and Mary. That’s what Sid was doin’. Pickin’ up decorations and shit,” Snafu sighed. “God, you don’t hate this, do you? I mean, I know this is a big thing to spring on anyone and we’ve technically been married for almost three years, but-” 

“I love it,” Eugene interrupted softly, letting go of Snafu’s hands only to turn and pull him as close as he could, letting Snafu lean down to rest in his lap. “You planned all of this? And kept it quiet this long?” 

“It’s been killin’ me,” Snafu replied shakily. “Sid and Mary have known for awhile, and your parents. Got Burgie and Florence comin’ too. Won’t be a whole lot of folks, though I told your parents to invite anyone they knew would be, y’know...accepting. So no idea how many more that is, they haven’t gotten back to me yet.” 

“When is this planned for, exactly?” Eugene asked, though he was sure he already knew. 

“Day of our anniversary. Wanted to do somethin’ big. Probably settin’ a high standard for the rest of our anniversaries but,” Snafu shrugged. “If we’re stayin’ put here for awhile, then I wanted to do somethin’ showy. Show you off, and how much I love you.” 

He had words to say, but the tears kept getting in the way. He kept his arms tight around Snafu, and for that moment it was so good. Sweet and soft and wonderful-his husband had planned a whole wedding! For him! It was beautiful. 

“Our anniversary is in four days,” Eugene said, wiping away the tears. 

“Yup,” Snafu replied from his lap, his head resting gently and a hand on Eugene’s thigh.

“That’s not a lot of time,” Eugene said. “How much more is there to do? Aside from the the gazebo, I mean.” 

Snafu sat up, wiping tears off of his face. “Um. Not much, really. Sid and your dad have someone bringin’ over extra tables and things the day before, decoratin’ that night I guess. Already had your dad help out by gettin’ a tailor he trusts for our suits. Nothin’ fancy, mind, just black suits that he had on hand in his shop and can fit to us. And he’s coming over...shit he’s coming over tomorrow for fittings.” 

“Hold on. You were gonna have me fitted for a suit and just trust I wouldn’t ask why?” Eugene laughed. 

“Yeah,” Snafu giggled. “Shit, that wouldn’t have worked.” 

“No, no it would not have, but I find it adorable that you were gonna try,” Eugene sighed softly. “What time does the tailor get here?” 

“Hold on, I know this, I did actually write it down, shockin’ though that may be,” Snafu replied, jumping up and running into the kitchen, returning with a notebook that looked like it had seen hell. 

Snafu flipped through it seemingly at random, finally settling on a page. “He gets in at...eurgh. Seven in the fuckin’ morning. That’s what I get for lettin’ your dad set up that appointment, but he knows the guy, so not like I was gonna argue.” 

“Too bad,” Eugene sighed, standing up and trying to sneak a peek at the notebook. “Was gonna find a way to thank you for all of this.”

Snafu snapped the notebook shut and smiled. “Let some of it be a surprise yet. And what exactly did you have in mind for me?” 

“Somethin’ that means neither of us would be able to be out of bed before seven, that’s for damn sure,” Eugene said, letting his hands take hold of Snafu’s waist to pull him close. “Don’t know if I can wait until our honeymoon for it though.” 

“Only four days away,” Snafu said, leaning in to kiss him and nip at his lips. “You really can’t resist me for that long?” 

“You keep this up and I won’t make it five more minutes,” Eugene replied, his hands already undoing the front of Snafu’s pants. “Think you can still get up early if I keep you up for a bit?” 

“Somethin’s up already, you really think I’m gonna say no?” Snafu replied before letting the notebook drop to the floor as his hands moved to toy at the nape of Eugene’s neck, and he kissed him hard enough to move them both forward. 

It was a race upstairs, after retrieving the notebook and turning off the lights downstairs, much to Snafu’s frustration (”Too many goddamn lights, I’m dyin’ over here but we’ve got to turn all this shit off, for fuck’s sake.”) 

A few of the cats had taken up residence on their bed, but hopped off as if on cue as soon as they walked in. 

“Thanks for lettin’ us borrow the room,” Snafu said dryly as they trotted down the hall to the open guest room. 

“You know we don’t really own any of this, they do. They just let us live here,” Eugene laughed as he tossed his clothes to the floor and jumped onto the bed. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Snafu sighed as he stripped. “Think even your parents know that. They thought they were givin’ the house to us, but no!” 

“Get over here before the furry landlords get back in here and try and steal the bed again,” Eugene said, patting the bed. 

Snafu dropped onto the bed with a happy sigh. 

“You’re the settin’ the alarm so we actually get up, right?” Eugene asked as he let his hands trail along Snafu’s torso to his hip. 

Snafu rolled his eyes, but turned and set the alarm clock on the beside table. “Better?” 

Eugene nodded. “You’re gonna be too busy with me to do it later.” 

Snafu chuckled and smiled, stretching out and leaning against him. “That a promise?” 

Eugene replied with his lips against Snafu’s neck, his chest, working to elicit the moans and whimpers that he loved to hear. 

And for the first fifteen minutes or so, that’s what he got, as he nipped and kissed  his way down Snafu’s body. As he reached his hip, it registered that the sounds had changed. 

A look up revealed it; Snafu with his eyes shut, lightly snoring. 

Eugene laughed and pressed another kiss to Snafu’s hip before coming back up to rest beside him. “Gazebo building took it out of you, darlin’?” 

Snafu’s only response was to snuggle close to him as he pulled him near, so Snafu’s head came to rest against his chest.

“I’ll be patient then,” Eugene said as he played with Snafu’s hair. “Honeymoon night though? We aren’t gonna sleep at all.” 

He slept hard that night though, with Snafu warm against him. 

#text post #Sledgefu #sorry these are taking awhile to get out #the depression is making things a bit more interesting again #but I've got a bunch of stuff in progress that I want to get out as soon as I can manage!! #LeeH writes

[mtraki]

Morning greeted Arthur at the closing of the front door.  Still as stiff and hurting as the day before, his ribs protested when he struggled to his feet from the floor to peer around the curtain, out the window.  He could see Samuel heading for the stables in the dim light.  In this room shared with Lenny, there were no new notes today, and the tray from earlier was gone.  Breakfast would be downstairs.  Lenny was still out.

“Wake up soon, kid…”

Hosea was also still sleeping when Arthur went to peek in on him, and he thought his color looked a little better than it had some hours earlier.

Downstairs, he followed the scent of coffee into the kitchen, and there he found Miss Carrie working the stove with eggs and toast.

“Good mornin’, miss.”

“Mhmm,” Was the response, “An’ you.”

“Can I get some coffee?”

“Sure, gimme jus’ a minute to get you a cup.” Taking a moment to arrange the skillet, the woman turned and opened a cupboard a bit down the kitchen, plucking out a cup, “You want me to pour it for you?” “Nah, I think I can manage,” He chuckled, “Ain’t used to bein’ waited on like your Miss Bligh…”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, as the dark eyes leveled at him, “… I know you ain’t comin’ in my kitchen to talk some nonsense about Miss Bligh…”

“Now, now… No, I did not, miss.  I’m jus’ sayin’ it how I see it–”

“–Well, then either you blind, mister, or you an idiot.  What?  You think ‘cause I’m colored, an’ Miss Bligh rich I’m some kind of slave or servant?”

“I see you in here doin’ the cookin’, an’ last evenin’ too– maybe I got it wrong…”

“Sure, I do the cookin’!  Not all of it, but enough of it.  I do some cleanin’ as well, as it needs doin’, but if you didn’t know, that’s how you care for a house, mister outlaw.  You gotta keep it clean an’ keep folks fed.”

“Well sure– Look, I meant no offense, Miss Carrie, just forget I said anything…”

“You’d best hope I do, mister outlaw.” In a huff, the woman turned for her skillet again, then remembered she still had the cup.  Even more irritated, she set the cup down firmly by the pot of coffee on the preparation table, “Here.  An’ don’ make a mess or I’ll have you cleanin’.”

Arthur quietly poured himself some coffee and started to retreat out of the kitchen.  Back at her skillet, Miss Carrie gave one last scolding.

“You take yourself outdoors, mister outlaw, an’ keep quiet.  Miss Bligh was up all night seein’ to your outlaw friends, so you let her sleep now.  Don’ let me catch you botherin’ her.  You ain’t so big…”

Outside, the morning was cool, almost cold, and Arthur slowly walked the property, deciding to avoid the stables for the moment, sipping coffee.  Immediately he was caught in the realization that this brew wasn’t burnt– as tended to happen in their camps fairly often– and there was something different about the taste itself.  Maybe something different with the coffee beans?  Wealthy people coffee.

Besides the stables and the house, he discovered the gardens and the chicken coop not far from the porch.  One turned over plot was lined with bricks in an oval and grew flowers and flowering herbs.  The other were neat rows of vegetables in a rectangle.  Further behind the mansion was another building that looked like a barn, but upon closer investigation– the doors weren’t locked after all– he discovered was the carriage house, with a very fine, custom carriage and harnesses for four, all well-oiled and waxed under their dust cloths.

He could probably get over a hundred dollars for it at the fence in Emerald Ranch, if he could get it there in one piece.

Out behind the property, the land grew rockier and steadily climbed up toward the forested foothills.  It was a good place from which to approach the property if somebody wanted to attack, though dangerous for horses.  Watching the slowly rising rocks and trees, Arthur had the feeling he was being watched by unseen eyes.  He wanted his guns.

When nothing made itself known, however, the outlaw turned and headed for the stables.  Samuel had apparently finished his fence repairs and was hauling hay bales from the barn.  Trotting in from the run behind his stall, Slim whickered at Arthur’s approach.

“Hey, boy,” He greeted warmly, “You been good?”

The long black tail swished in response and the big Ardennes trotted back out into his run.

“I know, you don’ like bein’ stalled, boy…”

Maggie was enjoying her run as well, and seemed altogether much more content.  Silver Dollar was on the other side, still half-asleep.

Lancaster’s stall was empty, and looking out into the paddock, Arthur could see the big black stallion, mane and tail long, big hooves full of feather.  He was a majestic animal, the outlaw could readily admit, and he carried himself like he knew it, trotting energetically around the perimeter before plunging and blowing, getting the concern of the mares in their pasture.

Feeling Samuel watch him watch the resident stud, Arthur turned to meet the look, taking a final sip from the coffee– the dregs cold by now, “…Miss Carrie don’ want me in the house,” he said, as way of explanation, “and I figure I ought to see to my own horses… but looks like you already done feedin’… Can’t say either of ‘em are used to grain like this…” The young man just blinked at him, flexing his work-hardened hands.

“Say, feller, you mind tellin’ me where our saddles and gear got stowed?  Or… showin’ me rather?”

After a moment, Samuel gestured to an open door between two stalls– a little room, tucked in there.  Moving to investigate, Arthur found a room full of saddles– but only four of them looked like any proper saddle he’d ever seen, and one of them was his, a second was Lenny’s, and a third was Hosea’s– it was propped on a stand instead of on a rack on the wall, and the leather looked recently cleaned, though it was still stained with blood.  The others were too small, and too sleek, hornless, and stirrupless.  Some others had crooked protrusions of leather off to one side, making the outlaw wonder how somebody was supposed to sit on the horse’s back at all.  But his saddle, saddle bags, longarm holsters, and bedroll were there, and as far as he could tell, so were Lenny’s and Hosea’s.  Their weapons, ammunition, and provisions were not.

There was a big trunk on the floor that was about to get Arthur’s personal attention, but then he heard Miss Carrie hollering from the porch about breakfast, and Samuel appeared in the doorway of the little room, gesturing for him to come along.

“… An’ she tol’ me to be quiet…” The outlaw muttered to the younger man who shrugged and gave the ghost of a wry smile.

Breakfast turned into a tense occasion.  Miss Bligh’s appearance caused her companions alarm and Arthur some mild curiosity.  Her face betrayed her sleepless night, but more than that, both her forearms were black and blue from wrist to elbow like she’d been on the wrong end of a fist-fight.  But nobody said anything about it.

They weren’t asking, and Arthur didn’t want to make it his business–though he had his suspicions and decided he would not be taken by surprise.

She informed him pleasantly about Hosea and Lenny’s conditions, mentioning how she was certain they were both recovering well.  Then there was a repeat of the chatter from dinner, asking after everyone’s night and plans for the day.  The outlaw did not feel it overly uncouth to interrupt– and even if it were, it wasn’t as if he minded them thinking him uncouth.

“Miss, I don’ mean to sound ungrateful for all your help, but I’m gonna have to ask you where you put the rest of my and my friends’ things.”

When the silent staring stretched too long, he pushed back noisily from the table, aware of the aggression in his movements.

“Miss… I’m gonna have to insist you tell me…”

Samuel was climbing to his feet as well, in a much less abrupt manner, folding his cloth napkin and setting it aside instead of letting it fall to the floor as Arthur had.  But the outlaw’s gaze was on Miss Bligh’s face, on her bruised-looking, lake water eyes.

“Now?” Was her question.

“Right now.” He affirmed, “Unless you got a good reason for keepin’ them from me.”

Well,” She said quietly, “I don’t intend to keep your things from you at all, mister, though I can’t imagine you have a reason for needing them, right now, at breakfast.”

“I’ll accept them after…”

“I’ll be happy to furnish you with them, then.”

Watching her expression carefully, still, Arthur added, “… The guns as well.”

She blinked at him, but otherwise that kind, quiet patience never shifted from her face, “You must excuse me, but I do not at all understand what you may need any weapons for.  Nobody here means you any harm, mister.”

“You’ll excuse me if I insist on them anyway, Miss Bligh.”

Still her expression never changed, but she looked him in the eyes, and Arthur felt the moment stretch.  There was something surreal in it, and he felt gripped by whatever power was in the space between breaths.  Like he was being pinned down and examined, body and soul, by those lake water eyes.

 "… Alright,“ She said at length, "but for now, please sit down and finish your breakfast.”

#my mic #magpie fic #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 fic #holy cow #i finally updated it