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imagineyourworld · 3 years

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Paper Rings

Howzer x Genderneutral!Reader

Summary: Will you marry Howzer even though he can’t offer you the shiny things you’re used to? (Inspired by the Taylor Swift song of the same title)

Warnings: Like one mention of war and allusion of poverty, otherwise just tooth rotting fluff

Check out my other work here

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What was he thinking? Your parents were a Duchess and Duke on your home planet, they were friends with the Syndullas, you grew up in a mansion and here Howzer was, wanting to marry you. Not only did he not have much property, most people considered him property, He couldn’t offer you what you were used to, what you deserved. But no matter how often he told himself that he shouldn’t ask you to marry him, he just had to. He couldn’t take the thought of dying without ever having told you just how much you mean to him, how much he wants to spend the rest of his life, however long, with you. But today, he finally decided, was the day. The war was over, for the first time since Howzer could remember there was something resembling peace, and you’d be arriving later that day. Just a few days ago you had commed him, telling him that you had asked your parents to let you finish your university education on Ryloth and they agreed. So you will spend the next two years right there next to him, And afterwards you could look for a job on Ryloth, or maybe, now that the war was over, Howzer could find a way to escape the army and the two of you could settle on your home planet or any corner of the galaxy you wanted. Provided you said yes. Howzer was on duty most of the day, which is why he couldn’t greet you the second you set foot on Ryloth. But as soon as his shift ended he hurried to the Syndullas’ house, in the garden of which the two of you had been secretly meeting for the past two years. Or maybe not so secretly, he thought as he saw Hera waving at him from the window of her bedroom. “Great”, Howzer muttered. He liked Hera, loved her like a little sister even, but he really didn’t want anyone watching this proposal. No one should know, in case you said no, an answer for which Howzer had to be prepared for. That’s the reason he had decided against asking for Eleni’s help in choosing a ring. Instead he had gone with a small silver band, engraved with the initials for both your and his first names. It was classic and simple. And cheap, the nagging voice in his head insisted. Of course there had been many more beautiful rings, but the truth was that he couldn’t afford any of them, even the engraving had almost blown his budget. He finally reached the bush behind which he knew you were hiding. The second he stepped around it and into your eyesight you had your arms wrapped around Howzer. “I’m so glad to see you. I missed you”, you greeted him. Howzer hugged you back for a few seconds before letting go to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “I missed you more”, he whispered, his forehead leaning against yours. You shook your head, a smile on your lips. “That’s impossible.” With a matching smile, though maybe just the slightest bit more nervous, Howzer grabbed your hand and lead you over to a thick log on the ground. As soon as the two of you sat down you rested your head on his shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable, due to his armour, but being uncomfortable with Howzer was million times better than being comfortable alone. Howzer tried his best not to look you in the eyes, which was a lot easier with your current position, because he knew the second you really looked at him you’d be able to tell that he was nervous about something. And he wanted to stall for just a few more moments, just in case the question he was about to ask would ruin everything. “So”, he started. “How was your day?” He didn’t need to ask twice. You began telling him all about the beautiful room the Syndullas had set you up in until you could find an apartment of your own. The university campus you had seen for the first time today and the classes you would take this semester. “I can’t believe I’m finally going back to university after I had to leave when this stupid war started. Although, without this stupid war we never would have met, so I suppose that’s one positive thing about this whole kriffing mess.” It’s now or never, Howzer thought. “Speaking of us...”, he said. He nudged your head with his shoulder to make you lift it before taking both your your hands into his and looking you deep in the eyes. “I really don’t know how to say this. I’ve tried to practice, but everything sounded wrong, so I suppose I’ll just wing it.” A horrified expression made its way to your face and if Howzer’s hands hadn’t been sweating so much he would have noticed moisture gathering in your own palms. “Howzer, my darling, are you breaking up with me?”, you asked, voice shaking and tears threatening to spill. You couldn’t believe it. Just a few days ago he had seemed so happy to have you on Ryloth with him, he had told you he loved you, and now this? Before you could do or say anything else Howzer began shaking his head frantically. “No! Stars, no! Cyare, just listen to me.” You nodded, although still a bit shaky. “I’m so happy to have you here with me for the next two years, but that made me realize, or rather it’s one of the things that made me realize, that I want to have you right next to me for the rest of my life. I don’t know how long my life will be, even now that the war is over, I don’t know what the empire will do with us clones, but if you’ll let me, I will do everything in my power to never leave your side. I know I can’t offer you much, I don’t have a mansion like the one you grew up in, or even a house to call me own, I can’t give you jewelry or fine clothes or the best food, but everything I have, everything I am, I can give to you. I offer you my heart and my soul and I promise to do whatever I can to make you happy for as long as you want me to.” After his last words he let go of one of your hands and knelt down in front of you on the ground. In the same swift motion he pulled a simple black box out of his holster where his blaster should be. “(Y/N), cyar’ika, mesh’la, my beloved, my beautiful, my darling, my sun and stars, will you marry me?” The tears that had been in your eyes earlier were now floating. Never had anyone said something like that to you, offered you so much and asked a question you never knew you wanted to hear. But Howzer, in his worried state, misinterpreted your tears. He sat the box down on the ground and put a hand on your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have known you wouldn’t want to marry a man who cannot offer you the riches you’re used to.” Tears were now making their way down his cheeks as well. You shook your head, slowly at first, then violently. How could he think that that’s why you’re crying? “Howzer, I love you. I love you whether you’re the richest man in the galaxy or the poorest, it doesn’t matter. I may like shiny things, but I’d marry you no matter what, even if you proposed with a paper ring.” Within seconds his expression went from shock to relief to pure happiness and love. He lifted the box from the ground again and opened it, showing you the ring inside. “It may not be paper, but I doubt this is worth much more.” Laughter bubbled past your lips. Without thinking you leaned down and pressed a kiss to Howzer’s forehead, another to his cheeks, his eyelids and his nose, before your lips finally connected in a loving kiss. “I still need an answer, mesh’la”, Howzer mumbled against your lips after you had separated to catch your breath. You wouldn’t have thought it possible to smile even wider, but somehow you did. “Yes. My answer is yes, Howzer. I will marry you.” With a smile matching yours, and after another quick kiss, he gently slipped the ring on your finger. And even though it was probably the cheapest thing you owned, it was also the most valuable and you loved it almost as much as the man who had given it to you.

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I know my usual day to post is Friday, but I was listening to Paper Rings and thinking of the latest Bad Batch episode and this fic just came to me and I couldn’t wait to write and share it.

#howzer x reader #howzer x you #captain howzer #howzer #captain howzer x reader #captain howzer x you #captain howzer imagine #howzer imagine #the bad batch #tbb #the bad batch imagine #tbb imagine

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obeyme-kaidii-writes · 3 years

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Baking Cookies

All Brothers x gn!MC

Format - Scenarios / Headcanons

Words - 2633

Content warnings - tooth-rotting fluff, some implied sexual activity (nothing explicitly stated or described)

Prompt/Inspiration - MC bakes cookies for Mammon, AO3 request

Summary - You spend the day baking cookies and spending some quality time with your favorite demon.

AO3

Scene -

Baking was perhaps one of your favorite hobbies. For special occasions you always whipped something up for your friends and family. And everyone could always count on you to bring oodles of cookies to holiday parties.

Since being in the Devildom, however, you haven’t been able to bake anything and you were sorely missing your hobby. Finally you decided to ask Lucifer about it and he arranged to have some human realm ingredients and kitchen appliances brought in for you.

While you were getting things set up in the kitchen, you suddenly felt some arms wrap around you from behind. When you turned to see who it was you saw….

Lucifer

He pressed a kiss to your temple when you turned to look at him, smiling warmly at you

He had come to check in on things and make sure that everything had arrived in working order

You thank him for his thoughtfulness, pecking him on the cheek in return

He wants to know what you plan on making, so you tell him about your favorite cookie recipe

He gives you another kiss to your head, and then says he has to go finish some RAD related things

But he asks that you bring him a cookie when they are done

And promises to come check on you later if he gets the chance

After spending most of the day in the kitchen, you finally have all your cookies on cooling racks

You realize then that no one else has bothered you all day

The fact that Beel never made an appearance strikes you as especially odd. You had even made extra so you could make sure you still had enough for everyone else if he popped in for a snack.

Hesitant to leave your cookies unattended, you text Lucifer and tell him that you’re done and voice your concerns

He explains he had placed a small spell on the door to keep the scent of your baking contained, so your cookies will be perfectly safe for the time it takes for you to bring him a couple yourself

When you arrive in his study, he’s still working diligently, but pauses briefly when you enter to call you over to his lap

Not wanting to stop working, he asks that you give him a bite

You of course give him what he wants, and assuming he’s trying to embarrass you, make sure to maintain eye contact with him the whole time

This results in a rare blushy Lucifer moment 😍

You take a bite of the same cookie, and he comments that there is some chocolate on your lips (there isn’t)

When you go to wipe it away, he stops your hand and kisses your lips

“Here, let me get that for you.”

After he pulls away, you smirk at him and inform him he has some chocolate on his own mouth

Needless to say, he isn’t getting much work accomplished after that

And it’s entirely possible that the rest of your cookies get discovered (and consumed) while you are...busy

Mammon

He’s very curious about what you’re up to

Wants to know if he can help, he’s kinda excited about the idea of making cookies from scratch

You tell him he can stay, but he has to listen to you exactly

He agrees “Of ‘course I can handle some bakin’. How hard can it be?”

Poor, sweet summer child

To his credit, he tries, he really does

But you finally have to stick him on “fetching detail” because of the utter chaos that results when he does anything else

There is flour everywhere, vanilla extract and other liquids are spilled on the counters, he’s probably dropped a few eggs too

By the time you get the first batch in the oven, you’re pretty worn out. It reminds you of baking with a small child, honestly.

You look up at Mammon, and he doesn’t seem to be having as much fun as you would have thought

He’s noticed the mess all over the kitchen, and starts to feel self conscious about how much trouble he’s caused

But you know the best way to distract him...is by teasing him

Hopping up on the counter next to the mixing bowl, you call him over so that he’s standing between your legs. He wraps his arms around your middle and rests his head on your shoulder

You return his hug, kissing his cheek, and thanking him for the help

“I couldn’t have done it without The Great Mammon.”

You then ask him if he knows what the best part of making cookies is

He lifts his head up to look at you, curious and feeling a tiny bit better

You then scoop some cookie dough out of the bowl with your finger, and act like you’re about to offer it to him, only to put it in your own mouth instead

He blushes. Hard. Which makes you smile

You go to do it again, and this time he catches your wrist and...helps himself to the cookie dough

After that, there is a lot of laughter and giggling that can be heard from the kitchen

In the end, you only manage to make a single batch of cookies, but you wouldn’t have had it work out any other way

Leviathan

He’s resting his head on your shoulder so you can’t see his face, so you give him a quick peck on the top of his head

You honestly hadn’t expected for Levi to join you, you knew he could bake too, but he had said he was busy today with whatever otaku stuff he does when you’re not there

He mumbles something about being bored and lonely, so you ask him if he wants to help and immediately perks up and agrees

You two make a great team, and manage to get things done in record time

You and Levi sit on the ground next to each other, backs against the cabinets, playing mobile games together, while the cookies are baking and cooling

The cookies you had decided to make were sugar cookies, thinking that Levi would get a kick out of decorating them

And you would be right

You’re amazed at the level of details he’s able to draw with royal icing. They’re almost too cute to eat

He’s a mixture of proud and embarrassed as you compliment him on his cookie decorating skills

You take lots of pictures so you can post on Devilgram and brag to everyone about your amazing boyfriend

Asmodeus is probably the first one to see your posts about the cookies and he hurries to the kitchen to see them himself

Cue another round of bragging about your boyfriend and his cookie decorating skills

Poor boy is getting pretty embarrassed now, especially since he can hear the rest of his brothers coming down the hall to see what all the fuss is about

So you gather up a plate of your favorites and make a hasty retreat with Levi to his bedroom, locking the door behind you

You climb into his tub with him, sitting between his legs and reclining onto his chest, with one of his arms around your waist

He puts on some movie that he knows you both enjoy, and you eat your cookies together while relaxing

When the movie is over (and the cookies all eaten), he hugs you close and hides his face in the crook of your neck

He tells you he’s had a lot of fun today, and that it was worth missing his gaming live streams for

And that’s probably like the sweetest damn thing he’s ever said to you 💗

Satan

He immediately asks you if he can help

He loves learning, so baking with you seems like a great way to pick up a new skill

He makes for a really great helper: follows directions to a T, asks plenty of questions, precise in his measurements

He’s also really good at keeping the kitchen neat and orderly

As you prepare to put the last batch of cookies in the oven, you watch Satan start cleaning up and wonder why his room is such a mess if he can be so meticulous in other areas

Once the cookies are in the oven, you begin to help Satan tidy up

Until…

You stumble a bit and Satan catches you

But...you had been carrying a bag of flour

Now...you are not carrying a bag of flour

Satan is covered in a POOF of white and you immediately start apologizing and trying to clean him off (while trying desperately not to laugh because honestly he looks pretty ridiculous)

He picks the bag of flour up off the flour, without saying a word, then looks at you, and then the bag, and then back at you before smirking

You start to get a very bad feeling about this

Before you can even blink, Satan has grabbed a handful of flour and tossed it right in your face

A food fight of epic proportions ensues

It does not stop until Lucifer can be heard stomping down the halls

“MAMMON what have I….”

Lucifer freezes when he enters the kitchen

You and Satan also freeze

And the three of you just stare at each other

“What is going on here…?” Lucifer finally asks

“Baking cookies…?” you reply

“...baking cookies…”

Lucifer then turns and leaves as quickly as he came. He does not have the time to deal with this. And it’s you who is at fault here. He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to do. Yell? Hang you from the rafters? He decides that’s a problem for….later.

You and Satan burst out laughing as soon as Lucifer is gone

A few sweet kisses are exchanged before you decide to actually clean up

Once the cookies are out of the oven and cooling, Satan invites you to his room for a much needed shower

“Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

And you are very much comfortable with it

Asmodeus

He’s come to check on you and see what all your excitement from earlier had been about

You explain about the cookie recipe you were going to be working on and ask if he wants to join you

He’s more than happy to help you, and was actually hoping you’d ask

He then presents you with a set of matching aprons to wear while you work, one for him and one for you

Asmo is a pretty good helper overall, but he’s very playful too

Lots of chocolate flavored kisses, cookie dough sampling, and pats on the ass

(You’ll probably have flour handprints on your ass, make sure to give him a matching set though)

It takes a little bit longer than normal for you to finish all you had planned, but you don’t mind. You really enjoyed having Asmo there to keep you company

While you start cleaning up, Asmo says he’s going to draw a bath for you so you can get cleaned off and relax

You make sure to grab a small plate of cookies to take with you, sorting the rest into pre-portioned and labeled boxes for the others to help themselves to

When you’re done, you join him in his room and are greeted by the most divine, relaxing scent you’ve ever experienced

Asmo emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in a robe and quickly helps you undress

The two of you slip into the tub together, with you sitting between his legs as he massages your shoulders, and your scalp while he washes your hair

You didn’t realize how tense your muscles had been from hunching over the kitchen counters all day, but he makes quick work of all the knots and kinks and soon you’re feeling much better

You then swap positions so you can pamper your favorite demon as well, he of course can’t resist making all sorts of exaggerated lewd sounds while you wash his hair, which leaves you giggling/chuckling

When you’re done, he leans back against you and you drape your arms over his shoulders and around his neck, just holding him close and enjoying the soothing warmth of the water

After the bath, the two of you curl up together in his bed, taking turns feeding each other the cookies you had set aside, smiling and flirting, exchanging lots of sweet kisses

The Attic Club Sandwich (Beelzebub / Belphegor)

It’s Belphie who has his arms wrapped around you, resting his chin on your shoulder

Since Beel had sports practice today, you decided it would be the perfect opportunity to bake him some cookies as a surprise

Belphie is there to...supervise

He spends most of your baking spree clinging to you or hanging off you in some form

But he does help out occasionally when you ask him to hand you things or put stuff in the oven

You catch him sneaking chunks of cookie dough, “for quality control purposes” he says

You let it go since you’ve already planned on baking a rather large quantity to make sure Beel would get enough to satisfy himself

With the last of the cookies in the oven, you start to clean up and Belphie hoists himself on top of the counter next to the mixing bowl, helping himself to any leftover remnants of cookie dough he can scrape off

Insists he’s helping by “cleaning the dishes”

As you wait for the final batch to cool, you spend some time just cuddling your beloved bratty demon, standing in between his legs while he buries his face in the crook of your neck and holds you close

Beel arrives home around then and heads straight for the kitchen to find out what smells so good

His face lights up when he sees you and Belphie

You see Beel and greet him with a smile, walking over to give him a sample cookie

He lets you feed it to him, blushing like the adorable teddy bear he is

Satisfied that your cookies have been Beel Approved™️, you send Beel away to shower, exchanging a quick peck before he goes, and letting him know y’all will be waiting in the bedroom with the rest of the cookies when he’s done

Happy boi hurries off to take the quickest shower of his life, and you and Belphie head to the twins room

Belphie decides he can be a bit helpful and agrees to carry the rather large box of cookies for you

Which leaves your hands free to loop through his arm and walk with him

While you wait for Beel, you sit in Belphie’s bed and he snuggles up against you, his head resting on your lap and his arms wrapped around your legs

Says he doesn’t need any cookies since he ate enough while helping(?) you

He falls asleep almost instantly, baking(?) cookies is a lot of work for him

It doesn’t take long for Beel to finish washing up and join you on the bed, wearing some comfy lounge pants, wrapping his arm around your shoulders

He lets you feed him cookies for awhile, exchanging lots of sweet chocolate chip flavored kisses in between

He’s so happy and thankful that you thought of him today and prepared something special just for him, you make sure to tell him Belphie helped too and his smile gets even broader

When you start to feel tired, you rest your head on his shoulder and he polishes off the rest of the cookies on his own

Beel then presses a kiss to the top of your head, before snuggling closer to you, hugging you tight

Feeling warm, relaxed, and secure, you drift off to sleep between your two favorite demons

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 3 years

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Something Held | Feeding Habits Update #8

Hi all!

Not me not realizing it’s been 3 months since I posted a Feeding Habits update hahahahahaha. Today let’s chat chapter nine, SOMETHING HELD. This also marks the last chapter in Harrison’s POV so prepare to say goodbye to this icon! TW: body horror, mental illness, trauma

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline, excerpts & a little reflection on making difficult decisions that my not particularly benefit the book but benefit you as the writer under the cut because this update is GIGANTIC.

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed):

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites

Scene Breakdown

Scene A:

It has been two weeks since Lonan found Harrison at his shared apartment with Suzanna and things are getting strange. Lonan and Suz are getting closer, Harrison is getting more distant and slowly losing it. One morning, Harrison wakes hearing Lonan and Suz’s laughter, and crawls to the kitchen to investigate. When he reaches them, Suz is evening out Lonan’s hacked haircut and they’re both sobbing.

Scene B:

Shortly after this bizarre encounter, Suzanna steps out of the apartment for a breather because her son is sort of terrifying her! So Lonan and Harrison double-team to clean up Lonan’s hair shavings. Harrison begins eating the hair while Lonan stares and they have a conversation about the state of their friendship.

Scene Ba:

This scene is gross and confusing! More hair is ingested. My god.

Scene Bb:

After the above ordeal, both boys rinse off because they’ve been rolling?? around?? in??? hair?? but also?? things don’t stop being a little gross

Scene C:

An air of calm finally settles over the apartment. Lonan brews earl grey tea for him and Harrison to share and Harrison asks if he abandoned Lonan in the final chapter of Moth Work. Lonan doesn’t really answer this question so Harrison continues on his confused, but finally lucid (one-sided) conversation, admitting he understands he burdens his mother, who still has not returned. They circle back to the question of abandonment and Lonan answers Harrison the way he wants to be answered (yes), and this is a moment of freeing, where he feels some sort of responsibility in this irresponsible new life he’s led in NYC. They sort of agree to be friends again.

Scene D:

The boys head into the city to find Suzanna, heading to a bakery near the Hudson River. Lonan drives in his used car, a strange experience since Harrison has not seen him drive in years. Taking the opportunity, he searches through the car and finds a map in the glove compartment. The map is erratically scribbled over and it takes him to moment to realize this is Lonan’s map and the first indication that Lonan, who he has assumed is this stable, perfect person, is not as unscathed as he seems.

The boys pass the waterfront and Lonan nearly crashes the car into an oncoming truck. Harrison regains control of the vehicle tucking them into a side street. Shaken, Lonan apologizes for the mess he’s created both physically from his nosebleed and between Harrison and his mother, which gets Harrison a little antsy because he doesn’t like the suggestion that he’s going to leave. Lonan clarifies, stating he won’t if that’s what Harrison wants.

Scene E:

Later, everyone is back at home and Harrison wakes up to a Lonan-less bed. He gets up to investigate the strange dripping coming from the bathroom and opens the door to find Lonan precariously teetering over a sink filled with water. Harrison, concerned, moves him away and tries to ask why Lonan is presumably going underwater, but doesn’t push. They both stand on opposite sides of the bathroom until the sun rises.

My process:

Honestly, writing this chapter was a huge up and down. The first half of it came much easier to me, but the rest was a literal hellfire to get through. I think I was incredibly fatigued with writing in Harrison’s POV as I’d been writing it since June (I finished this chapter in either December or January). This book has been a pain in the ass to write despite me liking what it is, and I really think it being the only place I’ve physically “gone” since the pandemic makes it even harder to write. I felt claustrophobic in Harrison’s POV since I’ve been writing it for half a year, and in a lil ~breakdown~ my beautiful sister reminded me of something she’d previously told me, “it's not about what works, it's about what you want”.

Let’s chat about this for a sec! I think I was watching a Harmony Nice video on her “hard-to-swallow” self-care, and she basically outline (I’m paraphrasing here) that it’s critical we care for ourselves in ways that might not necessarily be easy to do. Honestly, leaving Harrison’s POV is one of those hard-to-swallow self-care things I literally had to do because my mental health was not happy with me! Y’all know my boys are very close to me, and I’m not picking favourites but Lonan is 2500 times easier for me to write with at the moment. I think Harrison’s situation and how he deals with it is much too similar to mine but in a way that is difficult to place (Lonan and I are unfortunately similar but in a way that is easier for me to understand about myself!). From the beginning of writing his POV I’ve been in Struggleville, but kept pushing through hoping the next chapter would be “the one”. Not to burst my own bubble but there is no such thing in the state of mind I was in! I was pushing myself to find something that doesn’t exist because my brain was really not equipped to do what I needed it to do. I really, really did not want to quit on Harrison’s POV, but I had to, not because I don’t like him (he’s my baby) but because I needed a moment to myself. I felt way too seen in ways I don’t really know how to address in myself, so writing him was horribly frustrating at all times (my fault, not his).

My characters really do live in my head rent-free lol. They live in there! They take up space! They take up energy! They take up concentration, and resources I need for myself! Empathy is so integral to my process, that I give a little part of myself in everything I write. This is a blessing because I really get to dig my heels into the mind of another person, but a curse because I’m not a machine (and sometimes I forget that). It is a lot of emotional energy and labour to give everything you have to fictional people. I don’t think an artist needs to be tortured to create good art (this is not it!) but I never truly practiced this well? In my attempt to be empathetic, I was torturing myself a little bit, not going to lie!

So to combat this, I decided I needed a change. Hence, this chapter is imperfect and probably needs some stuff added to it, and while I’ve only written little of Lonan’s second POV, I’m feeling a lot better! It’s nice to get “outside” in a different place lmao this is so sad (pandemic writing things).

Excerpts:

I wrote the beginning of this in a livestream I hosted on my YouTube channel! There’s also a shoutout here to my dragon tree Lisa <3 miss u boo

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves the stove on while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna moulds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically.

This is the very next paragraph!

At first he assumes they’re laughing. The sun nearly rising between other high rises, blotting his room with dawn. This is not a surprise. They are probably making pancakes out of buckwheat and discussing the hilarity of whole grains. They are probably laughing at store-bought cherry preserves. Too sour. Their cheeks puckered. But then the laughs get louder, and the sun rises higher and it’s not laughing at all, but gasping.

Here’s Harrison crawling!! is this straight out of the exorcist probably!

Harrison’s instinct is to crawl. As if his smallness against the ground will stop anyone from hearing him, even before he unlocks his door. On hands and knees he shuffles from his bed to his doorframe, edges the door open with his shoulder. On hands and knees he hikes through the hallway, the gasping getting louder, shuffling until he sees them. Lonan sitting on one of the kitchen stools, a grocery bag wound around his throat. Suzanna clacking scissors in two hands so their blades ping in the sun. Her fingers loped around his hair, knuckle-deep, the blades snipping, the gasps growing, them both sobbing, the hair falling, the sun stalking, their bodies rocking. Harrison takes it in from his crawl. Experiences it all on his knees.

So this excerpt seems really you know, normal:

They clean up the hair. Harrison with the dustpan, Lonan with the broom. Harrison still kneels. Lonan still cries. The only thing that has changed since crawling into the kitchen is that Suzanna is taking a walk around the apartment complex. She needs air. Room. If she cries long enough, a cigarette. So Lonan sweeps. Harrison collects. This repeats.

The kitchen smells of nutmeg. Freshly grated from a whole club over espresso, Harrison imagines. He smells this as he tracks Lonan with the dustpan, hovering its open belly for clippings of hair. And Lonan is so compliant, brushes cuttings of himself onto the plastic surface so Harrison can trash it. As Harrison looks on from his knees, Lonan diffuses in sunlight, the window illuminating only his edges. A body so familiar Harrison knows exactly where it flares with light or absorbs it. A body with skin like mulberry silk. A body he could recreate in charcoal with his eyes closed. His archangel translucent and luminescing.

Skip this excerpt if you don’t want to read about Harrison eating hair!! i’m sorry!

Harrison picks a bundle of fallen hair from the dustpan. It’s airy from being recently shampooed, smells faintly of pear, maybe even ginger. This hair, touched by a woman, or a few women, and cut by one, or a few, in different contexts. Eliza’s hands deveining the roots, and then Suzanna’s, trying to fix them. So Harrison eats it. That bundle like a toothpicked cube of cheese. He puts it in his mouth and swallows.

Lonan watches like he’s unconcerned. He watches this feral animal—Harrison must be something feral, starved of something and ravaged by that hunger. Chewing mouthfuls of hair like that will quell of him of what is missing, if there even is anything missing, something unidentifiable in this bland circuit of New York City, this time-loop of sonhood, this fresh start a dousing of flatness. As Harrison eats, he understands he consumes that something like it’s holy communion, reuniting with that something by absorbing it. And still, that hunger moves him, from finishing the dustpan of hair, and closer to Lonan.

“Do you think I’m a bad friend?” Harrison asks, wringing the corner of his lips clean from loose hairs. From this perspective, Harrison on his knees collecting hair, Lonan’s eyes look bluer. Maybe their saturation has nothing to do with the angle, but Harrison feels this is true; his eyes are so crystalline, they are temptingly edible. Like two plump blueberries. Or a matching set of clear glass marbles. Harrison swallows. He repeats, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

Lonan swallows, adjusts his grip on the broom. “We’d have to be friends for me to answer that.”

“Aren’t we?”

And here’s the rest of this scene!

“You’re my mother’s friend,” Harrison says. “She trusts you.” He crawls closer to Lonan. “You’ve got secrets. Rituals. Tell me her favourite finger-food and who she wants to marry.”

“I don’t know your mother that well.”

Harrison wraps a handle around Lonan’s ankle. A muscle there jumps like a dolphin breaching the water. He’s memorized this plane of skin, could rebuild it from single grains of sand while blindfolded. He furls his hands across its surface, unfurls.

“You garden with her,” Harrison says. “You share a plate for dessert.”

“She’s kind to me.”

“You cook her breakfast.” Harrison tugs on Lonan’s ankle, knowing it won’t raze him, knowing he’ll come down anyway. “You know the exact temperature she drinks her coffee down to the last digit.”

“I’m trying to be hospitable.”

“You’re trying to be a son.”

Lonan kneels. Crouching so they’re huddled over each other, so it’s nearly impossible to distinguish one body from the other, which one sinks, which one rises.

“My mother’s only got one son to live with,” Harrison says, his voice thin from a clogged throat. He reaches for Lonan’s scalp, scrapes a line down the centre, now an even plane of cropped hair. “And it isn’t me.”

“You’re unstable,” Lonan says, burrowing his face either into a cabinet or Harrison’s shoulder—neither can tell. “You won’t let yourself have friends.”

Farther, toward the tile they go, a pile of hair scattering. “My mother wants me to forgive you by replacing me with you.”

“She’s grieving,” Lonan says.

Harrison loses his hands. He doesn’t know where they disappear to, if he touches skin or tile. “I haven’t died,” he says. Skin or tile. Skin or tile.

Here’s an excerpt from scene C ft. this memoir bit from the time I was shocked that this university I visited had real FANCY teabags:

Lonan brews tea. Earl grey, from a tin. Harrison doesn’t know why he expects it to come from a bag. An individual paper sachet, or if he’s lucky, one of those fancy ones woven from nylon. But it’s from a tin. Two teaspoons into the bottom of a single mug they pass back and forth, wordless at the kitchen table. Strung in the bathroom, Harrison’s t-shirt hang-dries, nearly figure-like, an unfilled phantom. He tugs a throw around his shoulders and stares at his hands. Each crest of cuticle. Each bulb of knuckle. Each maze of fingerprints.

He is material. This is fact. Not just outlines. He’s got skin that goes pinkish when pinched, a pulse that juts from his wrist, two eyes that burn at the scent of lavender, ten fingers. But as he holds his hands up, studying them in the faint moonlight, it is difficult to believe his tangibility. In the city, he has lived as a haze. Fogging over grocery stores, eateries, nondescript. Fresh start has always implied an air of zest, a zing that should have fueled him to plant roots in this restart. But Harrison is rotten, aphid infected, overwatered, underwatered, then not watered at all. He flexes his fingers. He pops the joints. He tries to press his pinkie to the back of his hand. But none of this brings him back to himself. His hands continue feeling like someone else’s. His body invisibly marred in some way he can’t reverse, disconnected in retaliation.

Harrison reflecting on his relationship with his mother:

Suzanna has never left him alone this long, and to her detriment. He imagines her now, living the life she always should’ve lived, the life she lived before he crosscut his way to her most important thing. She’s probably at a salon, having her hair twirled with a round brush, making dinner reservations at some place always too expensive for two (extra points if it has a French name, more if she has to wait a half hour before getting a table). When she talks to her stylist, she doesn’t mention a son, but plans to travel up the west coast, all the way into Canada if she’s feeling adventurous. She’ll buy crime novels she’ll never read at duty-free, reapply a lipstick that cost her a paycheck in the reflection of a hand-dryer. After the salon, she’ll meet a woman at a wine bar, converse about children, and still not mention a son. Suzanna’s singleness will be a celebration.

The boys finally trucing it out <3

When Harrison finally opens his eyes, Lonan is staring at him. His eyes two reels of the Pacific. They cycle in blue. So much of him has changed, and yet he is still the same. Beyond the haircut, Lonan isn’t that much different. He can’t be much different. But as Harrison searches, splaying his palm on the wet table, he knows this is untrue. Lonan is hollower than he was last summer. A little more haunted. They have this in common, then.

“Can we be friends?” Harrison asks. With his pinkie, he finds himself writing against the damp table just as he did Lonan’s scalp not too long ago. Lonan’s gaze follows each loop of each letter, Harrison’s steady left hand.

Lonan is consumed studying what Harrison has written, where each letter connects in near-cursive scrawl. After a moment, he nods, once, twice, and then reverts to staring at the table’s new inscription. On its surface are two words: something held.

The boys in the car like old times <3

Lonan drives. This is strange because Harrison has not seen Lonan drive a car in over a year. Usually, Harrison takes the wheel, but tonight he guides them through the city, in search of Suzanna. His car is clean. This isn’t unexpected. A cherry-coloured hatchback that rattles whenever he makes a left turn. It smells vaguely of cotton air-freshener and the undercurrent of cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” Harrison pokes at the plastic nob for the radio, and it crackles to life. Synth and electric guitar pulse in 4/4 time.

“I bought it used.”

They’ve agreed to get to know one another while they search for Suzanna. Another restart, some attempt at an honest hour. As Lonan changes lanes, Harrison pokes open the car’s glove compartment. A tin of nicotine gum falls on the mat. A hot pink feather pokes from underneath the driver’s manual. Harrison hauls out both, runs the feather along the gum tin, then the back of his hand, and then Lonan’s cheek. When that rouses nothing, he unlocks the tin and removes a slit of gum. Right as he’s about to pop it in his mouth, Lonan says, “I wouldn’t eat that.”

“Why?” Harrison asks. “Did you lace it?”

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

Harrison puts the gum back, and then the feather. He sticks his hand farther into the glove compartment, feels around until he drags out a map of the state, bilgy and half torn. He unfolds it, careful to avoid the rips, and flattens it against the dashboard. Almost immediately, it wilts against the cold, faded from time in the sun. It’s been marked up. Half with pencil, half with a red ballpoint pen. After a few minutes, Harrison understands the previous owner’s route. Or at least he does at first. Following the red pen arrows, they started at Long Island, then reached Manhattan. Then a much longer arrow takes him from Manhattan to Geneva, and then Buffalo. And then the red pen circles, once, twice, three times, four times, and what is in the centre doesn’t even have a city name. What it does say is HELP, in all-caps, each letter then melting into an illegible scrawl. Harrison sees bits of words: Luke, woe, hands, clay, guard, stray, each wobbly and disappearing into the other, becoming cities of their own, destroying others. He tries to understand the route, but the farther he pours over the map, recircling each line with his finger, the more lost he gets in the ink.

“Is this your map?” Harrison asks. There is no proof that it is. Even the handwriting is all wrong. Ragged. Confused. Desperate. Not like Lonan’s careful, hesitant print.

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

“But is it your map?” Harrison asks again. Gently, he creases the paper and then slots it back into the glove compartment. Outside, they pass three convenience stores in a row, a flock of couples emerging from a bowling alley, tipsy and cradling leftover deep dish pizzas and mozzarella sticks. They pass two more convenience stores before Lonan finally answers.

“I was confused,” he says.

“This is more than confused,” Harrison says. “It’s disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbed.”

“But something is wrong with you.”

Lonan slows at a crosswalk. A group of teenaged girls whisk by in glitter and lip gloss.

“Yes,” he says.

This is Harrison trying to stop Lonan’s nosebleed after their bizarre swerve which I think is kind of <3 tendy <3

Harrison reaches for him. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other reared toward the red stream. His touch is tactful, so faint his fingerprints wouldn’t even be left behind, but still, the dabbing with his jacket’s hem is enough to redirect the blood’s flow from Lonan’s upper lip to the cuff of leather. The radio is still on, garbled like an unmassing of crepe paper lanterns.

This is the final excerpt for this update that takes us to the very end of the chapter! Harrison has just found Lonan supposedly head-first in the sink and though he asks at first why he is doing that, takes an alternate approach as the chapter closes:

Harrison gets up, his knees popping like gnawed bubble gum. He decides he will handle Lonan at a distance, if he chooses to handle him at all. Like a timid pet owner trying to tame their suddenly-rabid yorkie. Like a friend not trying to tip the full glass. To let its contents film at its surface, but never spill.

Somewhere in the apartment, Suzanna probably listens to them. If Harrison didn’t know her better, he’d imagine her pressed neatly against the door, waiting to hear the shuffle of their bodies or the tang of an argument. Instead, he imagines her at the kitchen table, gripping a glass of water for so long, half of it evaporates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Harrison says, stepping back until his spine hits the counter’s lip. He curls his fingers under the granite. Looks toward the window, now a faint periwinkle. Lonan heaves. His fingers caging his face, an animal restrained. They stand there until the sun rises.

So that’s it for this gigantic update! I have like four short stories to update you on so I hope to be back soon!

—Rachel

#writing #writerblr #amwriting #writeblr #fostered #mothwork #writingupdates #feedinghabits

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heyheshi · 4 years

Text

10 Years of One Direction

1.9k words

written and uploaded: July 23, 2020

🦋 - fluff

Please like and reblog! Also please don’t post my writings anywhere!

I wasn’t really planning on uploading this Thursday and this isn’t what I was supposed to write lmao, my mind is all over the place for the past few days due to 1D’s 10 year anniversary but oh well, here I am, waiting for Zayn to say something... anyway HAPPY 10 YEARS guys! More power to our family! Gosh I feel so old!

Masterlist

---------

"I'm almost done with the frosting babe!", you yelled from the kitchen hoping your boyfriend can hear you from his room upstairs. Slowly but surely, you wrote the delicate letters on the cake you made just for this occasion, "10 Years of One Direction".

"Come quick!", you heard footsteps descending from the stairs, "I'm done upstairs love, just gotta bring up the drinks.", Harry kissed your cheeks as he brushed passed you and opened the fridge to get some soda.

"Don't forget the wine. Is the laptop set up?", you asked finishing off the lettering with three exclamation marks.

"It's all done Y/N", your boyfriend laughs at you, "you're much more stressed than me! Loosen up lovie", he winked at you and run back upstairs. You just rolled your eyes and smiled.

You carefully placed the cake on the clean counter and cleaned up your mess. 30 minutes before midnight and you're not on your decent clothes yet!

Now, it's not exactly your fault why you're doing the cake this late. Your boyfriend thought that you made 2 cakes as that's what you both talked about but you decided to just make one and completely forgot to tell him.

You woke up nearing lunch - making a checklist on the things you need to get done for the day as preparation. Quickly eating breakfast (more like brunch) Harry made and started cleaning his room and did his laundry.

You often spend the night at his house so doing the domestic stuff for him is not much of a big deal to you. You basically live here anyway - but today needs extra work.

Around 2 p.m., you started to make the base of the cake as Harry leaves to go to the gym. You finished it, deciding to make the frosting later, and took a nap.

You woke up around 7 p.m., just in time to make dinner. On your way to the kitchen, you can hear H humming, something he does when he's alone. You smiled at the thought, cannot hold back yourself from kissing your boyfriend welcome so you run to where he is - quickly stopping in your track once you see him.

"Hi baby! The cake tastes so good, it'll be phenomenal with your frosting", you saw Harry eating the base of the cake smiling at you. You don't know how to react. Your mind working miles per minute.

"Har- i- babe! I only made one!"

"What do you mean you only made one, lovie?", Harry asked still eating the cake.

"I got tired earlier and just decided to make one...", face-palming yourself for your own carelessness.

"Oh shi- I, we can make another one! I'll make it! I'm so sor-",

"It's alright", you rounded the counter and kissed his messy lips, "I'll make another one, you can finish this one", you smiled reassuringly at him and squeezing his shoulder quick.

"I'll make our dinner, yea?", he offered. You can tell that he feels bad about eating the cake but it's really not a big deal at all. It's food, you're raised to share food and not spoil it. Plus you couldn't really be mad at Harry as he is your boyfriend and it's his special day in a few hours.

"Of course, I'll just start on a new batch.", you kissed Harry once again as you both started working in the kitchen.

Placing the mixture in the oven, the two of you eat the dinner around 8 p.m., Harry made your favorite Alfredo pasta knowing that he's trying to make it up to you.

Both of you being the slowest eater that you are, spent more than an hour eating - always teasing and flirting to each other like it's still the early stages in your relationship.

You told H to get his room ready and that you'll do the dishes instead and a little past 10 p.m., you're only starting on the mixture of the frosting.

Now, finally, you're ready to head upstairs and change into much cleaner clothes. Delicately holding the cake and walking slowly, you finally made it to Harry's room.

It looked like a huge fort, with his bed full of pillows and snacks and his laptop connected to the t.v. with their old music videos playing. You never pictured your boyfriend as the fairy lights type of guy but oh well this night, he is.

His room looks and feels really cozy, he even got balloons on his ceiling and the banner you made a few days ago is hung near his headboard.

You saw your boyfriend fixing the plastic table on the room where more snacks and utensils are placed. As if he can feel your presence, he looked back to the door where you are standing and quickly getting the cake off your hands to place on the table.

"Go get changed love, might as well binge on our old videos while waiting for them.", you only noticed that your boyfriend is already dressed for the occasion.

You forced him to wear their 1D merch with you. He is currently sporting a 1D pajama set, a Liam socks, and a Zayn beanie.

"You look cute babes!", you teased him and run to the bathroom to take a quick shower. You can hear him laughing at you and saying something sounding like "love her to death".

You changed to your own 1D pajama set matching with H and putting on a Narry socks and a Louis beanie and exiting his bathroom.

Harry is singing along to Perfect when you entered his room. You plopped into his bed and cuddled him.

"Ready?", you asked him giddily as you went to his laptop to open the zoom app.

"One kiss and I'm ready.", he winked at you and hugged you from behind. You shrugged him as a joke and pecked his nose.

After connecting his laptop on zoom, you both went back to bed and wait for the others. One by one, the other guys started joining the meeting.

"Harry! Y/N! Man, how's everything?", Liam greeted both of you with Bear on his lap. The three of you are in the middle of your conversation when another user joined in.

"Oi! What's up fuc- oh sh- sorry!", Louis raised his hand as he saw Bear on Liam's screen. El only laughed at her boyfriend and started talking with the rest of you.

Niall joined a bit later speaking without a sound. The rest of you reckoned that he's having a hard time setting up his zoom app until another user joined, and that's when Niall's audio started working.

"Ello lads! And ladies! And baby!", Niall cooed at Bear while Bear only stared at the web came, shyly.

"Sorry guys! Z is still in the bathroom! You know him!", the very pregnant Gigi joined the meeting as the others started talking to each other. You haven't met her in person so you're fangirling over her. Harry squeezed you to his side and laughed at you lightly.

"Hello hello!", at 11:59, Zayn finally appeared on the screen, Louis cheering for his best friend's appearance.

Everyone started talking, Bear being taken away to sleep after a few minutes.

"Was gonna egg your houses, except yours - Harry and Zayn. Liam and Niall, you keep dropping hints fooking hell!", Louis exclaimed while everyone laughed at him.

"I mea-"

"Shut up Liam!", Liam only laughed and put his hands in the air at Lou's antics.

"Harry, Y/N, you two looked like you really planned this!", Gigi complimented you both while you blushed whispering a thank you.

"She forced me to wear this! And look at her socks!", H raised your foot so the others can see it.

"Awe Y/N this is why I love youuu", Niall teased you. You haven't recovered from Gigi, now there's another teasing!

"Leave m’ girl alone! She's fangirling over Gigi!", you nudge Harry's ribs hard, feeling so embarrassed.

"Oh gosh, that's cute! I wanna meet you in person! I've already met El when we did this photoshoot, right El?", Gigi enthusiastically said as Zayn rubs his girlfriend's belly.

"Yes! We have to hang out! Ni and Li! Make sure your girlfriends join us!", Eleanor looks so happy and it makes you wonder how she does it in the midst of all the hate she receives. You and Harry aren't public yet and it makes you think of what will happen when you do.

"Harry keep it in your pants!", Lou suddenly shouted when he saw your boyfriend staring at you.

"M not doing an-"

"Baby fever man!", Niall laughed at Harry for being so obvious. You're so embarrassed at this point so Harry just flexed his room and the cake you made to remove turn the attention away from the both of you.

"Man, how do you think they'll react to the Infinity video?", Niall asked.

"Gonna be a blast, they don't know that Zayn had a part!", your boyfriend exclaimed beside you while everyone agrees. Within the next few hours, different websites will premier it and everyone can hardly wait.

Everyone stayed up until 5 a.m. catching up and reminiscing until they have to forcefully go to sleep for later. They can't wait to see each other for the interview with BBC where they'll be announcing their plans.

Each said goodbyes with a promise to arrive early to spend more time together before the taping starts at 12 p.m.

You and Harry both went to the bathroom to brush your teeth, Harry staring at you through the mirror as you did so.

"Mhve iwn wifh mo."

You rinsed your mouth with the water and replied, "what? I couldn't exactly understand you baby."

Harry finished rinsing his mouth, "I said move in with me... please."

"I- Harry re you sure? I mea-"

"Yes, I am! You're basically living here anyway! I want to take the next step with you.", he tried to woo you while hugging you in front of the mirror.

You nod and said yes. Turning around to kiss him.

"I love you", he said.

"Love you more", you kissed him once more, "Let's head to bed! You gotta be up nice and fresh for later," you tugged his hands towards his room and settled down.

“I always look good babyyy...”, and as much as you wanted to fight your boyfriend, he looks really cuddly now.

“Yes, you do, got a killer genes and all”, you run your hands through his hair smiling softly at him, as you felt your eyes became heavy.

“You do too! Our kids gonna have badass looks!"

“You definitely go a baby fever huh? Let's focus on your interview tomorrow first, yeah?”, you hugged him tight and tickled the back of his neck.

H only laughed, "Definitely got one, wanna be a father to our kids but I also can't wait for our fans to know what we're up to!", Harry placed his head on the crook of your neck.

“Good thing I want you to be the father of my future kids then... and tomorrow, they’re gonna love it! Gonna be thrilled about your announcement! Everyone’s been waiting for it! Happy 10 years again, so proud of you and everyone behind your band's success."

“Thank you lovie", Harry replied as he kissed your neck.

With that, you kissed his forehead goodnight and made sure your alarm is on to start the day.

-----

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a-d-curtis · 4 years

Text

Haggling the High Stakes

Everyone knows that Aang loves to haggle.

It certainly had become a running joke among their friends at least. Thankfully Aang’s haggling abilities had improved in spades from the first time Katara had witnessed him trying to negotiate with a pirate. Skills improved, he still brought just as much enthusiasm to it now as he ever did.

Katara found it pretty ironic, that for a guy who put so little stock in “worldly possessions”, the act of bartering brought him such great joy. Truthfully, Aang really did care little for “possessions” – he didn’t own a lot of things, keeping his life almost monastically lean. But there was something about the act of haggling -- the game and theatrics involved in getting the best price -- that would bring out the shrewdest of tradesmen in him.

Aang “talked price” in a way that was so obviously airbender. The way he and the vendor would flit from topic to topic, bantering good-naturedly, talking about seemingly unrelated topics that would then circle around to either drive up or down the price. The way he would feign interest in another item at the stall to, in a round about way, pull down the cost of the original. Or even walking away to examine another vendor’s wares to then be called back by the first seller, who suddenly appeared more willing to part with a product he earlier claimed he couldn’t bear to part with. Aang’s tactics weren’t as directionless as they might appear from the outside; he knew the price he planned to end at, he just employed a lot of weaving and schmoozing and crafting in the getting there. It was rarely strait forward and involved a lot of dramatics, but in the end, almost always, Aang walked away with what he wanted and for a price few others could hustle.

It was not uncommon for Aang to spend forty minutes or more wrangling price with a vendor at a bazaar, only to turn around and give whatever he had bought away without thought. “It’s the quest, Katara! Not the prize…”

Since Aang rarely shopped for himself, he was notorious for offering his “skills” to others, to spend their money for them. “Oh, Suki… I saw you looking at that saber over there. Want me to negotiate a good price for you?!” “Hey Sokka, I see that bag does look great with your new boots, but don’t buy it unless they throw in the belt for free!” “Toph, let me help you out here. I’m sure I can find something here for better quality and half the price!”

It was not unknown for him to approach perfect strangers in an effort to keep them from paying too much. “What’s the problem, Katara?! That peddler was clearly gouging that guy! I’m pretty sure it’s part of my duty as the Avatar to keep people from getting ripped off!” “Sure, sure, Aang,” she’d placate him as she’d steer him away from other people’s shopping business.

The glow on Aang’s face after cutting a great deal was almost Avatar State-esk – a wide toothy smile, self-satisfied smugness, lots of backslapping and handshaking post-haggle with any truly artful hawker. Katara found it hard to hold back a laugh with how truly pleased her boyfriend got after “whittling a great bargain”: chest puffed up, arms swinging proudly as he would recount the play-by-play of the exchange, his footsteps barely touching the ground.

Aang claimed that he had learned from the best. “Monk Gyatso didn’t love things, but boy did he love the process of bargaining for things! And no one was better at it, Katara! Monk Gyatso was a real master of the art. Wish you could have seen him in the zone!”

A nostalgic, far away look coming to Aang’s smiling eyes, “Did I ever tell you about the time Gyatso traded his glider for a couple of hopping lamas? Well he bought them from a one-legged butcher who thought Gyatso’s glider staff would make a perfect crutch. Well Gyatso took the lamas and sold them in the next town over to a soybean farmer for twenty whole silver pieces! The farmer’s fields had gotten infested with chokeweeds (and everyone knows hopping lamas LOVE to eat chokeweeds!). The farmer was so happy he gave Gyatso a big batch of his fresh made Tofu as a bonus!

“Well Gyatso took the twenty silver pieces to the local carpenter and bought a mahogany peg-leg (complete with a built in boot) which he took back to the one-legged butcher to trade for his glider back. The butcher was super happy! Gyatso gave him some of the tofu too (with a suggestion that it made an excellent substitute for meat). Not only did Gyatso save two hopping lamas from certain death, get a big basket of fresh tofu, AND help out a cripple, he did it all without loosing a shilling!

“But that was just the beginning! Gyatso took the tofu to the All-Nomad Airball Tournament and gave it to Cook Lhakyi to add to the pre-games feast. Gyatso knew that Monk Sangyal, one of the Head Monks from the Northern Air Temple, had a thing for tofu, but he also knew it gave him some serious gas. You see, Monk Sangyal was scheduled to referee the match between the Southern and Northern Air Temples, but we all knew he never called a fair game for the South. But once he’d loaded up on tofu, let me tell you there was NO WAY Monk Sangyal could stay in his seat when he was gassy – we’re talking shooting ten feet in the air every time he, you know, uh, broke wind… so he had no choice but to bow out of that match as referee, which left Monk Dhondup as the backup referee (and he was always more fair). PLUS with Monk Dhondup refereeing, it freed up his front row seat for Gyatso, which is what Gyatso wanted all along! PRIME spot to watch the championship tournament, which was why he went to the market to buy the lamas in the first place! I tell you, the man was a haggling Master…”

Occasionally Aang would get so caught up in nattering a deal, however, that he would completely loose track of his larger goal. Once at the end of shopping for traveling supplies (and taking way too long to do it in Katara’s opinion) Aang proudly held up what looked like a pair of pirate eye patches he had just spent the last twenty minutes negotiating for. “Look what I got, Katara! I really walked away with a steal for these! Not only did I get a great price, but I got the guy to throw in the second one free of charge!”

“What are you going to do with one eye patch, Aang? Let alone two!” Katara asked in exasperation.

Sokka joined in, “Yeah, wouldn’t two eye patches kind of defeat the purpose? I mean, if you need patches for BOTH eyes, why not just wear some dark glasses?”

“Or go all natur-al – like me,” Toph added pointing a confident thumb to her blind eyes.

Aang’s posture deflated as he looked down at the patches in his hands. “I guess I just got a little caught up in the moment…” he admitted.

“No point in being a cheapskate chaffer if you end up buying useless junk, Twinkletoes.”

But Katara had laughed out loud a moment later when she turned to see Aang and Momo both wearing matching eye patches and chittering out of the sides of their mouths like pirates together. Katara was beginning to think that it wouldn’t matter how much older Aang got, he was likely to be a kid-at-heart forever.

And admittedly, she loved him all the more for it.

But when the two decided to get married, and it came time to negotiate the bride-price, Katara began to dread Aang’s affinity for haggling with a new kind of apprehension.

Honestly, the fact that paying for a bride was still a tradition at all in her village rankled her. But it was common practice in both Water Tribes for the prospective groom to pay a bride-price to the woman’s family upon engagement.

“It’s archaic, Dad!” Katara had argued heatedly. “Not to mention humiliating! To be… bought… like a good canoe or a new polar-bear dog saddle?! Its completely demeaning.”

But Katara’s Gran Gran had stepped in and put her foot down, “It is tradition! Tradition as old as memory in our culture. Paying the bride-price is a covenant that helps to solidify a marriage union, to make it a promise between more than just a man and his wife, but between the couple and their tribe. And you will not rewrite thousands of years of history in one fell swoop, Katara!”

And so the couple had begrudgingly agreed to go through the motions of negotiating the bride-price, which was done in a sort of ceremony, in front of the whole tribe.

………

The sun was just setting over the horizon as the tribes people gathered in the large rounded gathering hall for the negotiation. Given the high profile of who was getting engaged tonight, the turn out had been nearly comprehensive – most of the village’s families were in attendance to Witness. The tribes people sat close together, shoulder to shoulder with their children on their laps, all straining to see and hear the impending negotiations. The prospective bride and groom would enter last.

Aang flew in on Appa just a few minutes before the negotiation was scheduled to begin, giving the couple little time to talk before it all began.

As the two entered the assembly chamber Katara grabbed Aang’s elbow whispering in exasperation, “Cut it a little close, didn’t you Aang?!”

Aang shifted the knapsack on his shoulder and kissed her forehead in apology, “Sorry! I got held up gathering… well never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

As the two entered the packed room, the chatter quieted down, all eyes on them. Chief Hakoda sat on a mat to the east of a fire in the center of the room; Gran Gran knelt by his side on the south. Katara looked at the empty place by Hakoda’s side, knowing that if Sokka weren’t at Kyoshi Island today he would be sitting with their father. For a fleeting moment, she missed her brother terribly; feeling that somehow if he were here then perhaps he could help diffuse this feeling of dread in her chest.

Aang was directed to sit on a mat directly across the center fire from Chief Hakoda. Katara knelt down next to her Grandmother; Kanna reaching out a withered old hand and gripping Katara’s hand in hers. “It will all be okay, my little Snowflake,” Gran Gran whispered.

But Katara was not feeling like it would be okay. Her stomach clenched in nervous dread. She had no idea what to expect from tonight. Traditionally, a bride price would be paid in trade: a good pair of sled dog-foxes, or a two-week supply of tiger-seal meat, perhaps a leather handled hunting spear thrown in for finesse. However, with the end of the war, and the prosperity and commerce that had returned to the South Pole, money exchanges had become more common. And given that Katara’s father was the Chief (and Aang unlikely to pay in meat), a money price would be the most likely exchange.

To date, the prices in coin generally ranged from twenty to thirty gold pieces, although last month a man from the North had paid the unheard of price of forty-five gold pieces to secure the hand of a girl from Katara’s tribe!

Katara looked over at Aang and groaned. He didn’t look at her, his face serious in the flickering firelight as he regarded her Father. She thought she could see his brain figuratively warming up for the negotiations ahead; preparing for the haggle of a lifetime! She had to look away.

Katara imagined Aang driving such a hard bargain that he would manage to buy her hand in marriage for a warm winter blanket. Inexplicably the thought made her chin tremble as she bit back tears of shame. This whole thing was so humiliating!

Katara knew that these events were anything but quick. Sometimes, when an agreement could not be decided upon right away, they would retire and continue the negotiations the following evening. Katara sighed thinking of Aang’s incredible bargaining stamina, and wondered how many days this would take. As the ceremony began, she tried to prepare herself for a long night…

A large basin of water and a small ceramic jug were brought in and set on the floor opposite the fire from Katara and her Grandmother. Aang and Hakoda both dipped their hands in the water: the washing of hands symbolizing the washing away of any past ills between them. Then both drank from the jug, first Hakoda, then Aang, as a promise to bring no deceit to their bargain and as a show of goodwill between the two parties.

Hakoda cleared his throat, preparing to recite the traditional opening words. He spoke as much to the gathered tribe as to the man seated across from him, “Avatar Aang, what brings you to sit at the fire with me this night?”

Aang responded also from rote, “Chief Hakoda, I sit with you this night to ask for the honor of marrying your daughter,” Aang’s silver eyes caught hers for a moment, “the esteemed Master Katara.”

Everyone there knew of their history. How she had left the village to rescue the Avatar, had helped to teach him to waterbend, had fought with him to end the Hundred Year War, and how they had fallen in love in the process. The two had been a couple for years now, this moment coming as a surprise to no one. But tradition called for certain sentiments to be expressed regardless.

Hakoda spoke up boldly: “Katara is my only daughter, my strength and support, my one great reminder of her mother who I loved with all of my heart. To part with her would be to loose a piece of my own soul. What merits do you claim, Avatar Aang, to be worthy of the hand of my daughter?”

Although she knew this type of speech was all part of tradition, Katara was nonetheless moved by the genuine emotion behind her father’s words. Back strait and tall, Hakoda sat with the confidence of a proven chief. But even with his chin held high, Katara could see that his eyes were soft, even a little sad.

This tradition was part of protecting his daughter, of ensuring that she would be cared for. Although she still did not like the idea of a bride-price, Katara began to appreciate the value in the ceremony. For her Father’s heart, if for nothing else.

All eyes now turned to the Avatar. It was his turn to respond. To build himself up, to lay out the many reasons that he could and would be a suitable match for Katara. To prove that he was powerful enough, capable enough, to protect her and provide for her needs.

But Aang said nothing.

Katara’s eyes darted to his face as he stared into the flickering fire, trying to read his expression, to understand the unexpected pain behind his furrowed brow.

She was fairly well acquainted with Aang’s griefs, and she had a pretty good idea what kind of insecurities he was wrestling with right now. She knew that he worried for her safety, that he worried that somehow her affiliation with him might put her in danger. Aang had worked hard to forgive himself for running away before the war, knowing that he had been just a child, afraid and lonely. But the knowledge that whether he had run away or not, he was the reason his people were massacred, plagued him. As much as she tried to reassure him otherwise, he worried that she would somehow be the same. His anxieties had gotten so bad a couple of years ago that he had even tried to cut ties with her; to break up in a half-baked attempt to keep her safe. Of course she hadn’t bought it, and truthfully he hadn’t really wanted her to, but it had dug up some intense buried pains for both of them. Sometimes she wondered if he would ever be free of his twin demons: grief and guilt.

After an uncomfortable silence Hakoda cleared his throat and asked again, this time his voice a bit softer, “Aang, what makes you worthy of my daughter?”

Aang looked up, locking eyes with Hakoda, and spoke quietly, “I’m not.”

Hands covered mouths as whispers were exchanged among the Witnesses, an audible murmur rippling around the room. Katara was sure she could hear her brother slap his forehead in exasperation all the way from Kyoshi Island!

“Aang…” Katara started to speak, but was silenced by her Gran Gran’s firm hand on her own. Of all the times to leave your Air Nomad humility behind, Aang, it would be now! Be Water Tribe and proudly proclaim who I know you are!

“I am not worthy of Katara,” -- another murmur rippling through the crowd -- “But I will do everything in my power to keep her safe and to make her happy. She means everything to me…” Then sitting up straighter, he added with conviction, “And there is no one who would love her more than I do.”

Although this was a discussion of marriage, it was strangely taboo for declarations of love to be expressed. This event was more about practicality than sentiment. Katara could see some people shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Even though it was supposed to be Aang trying to convince Hakoda of his merits, Hakoda spoke up for his soon to be son-in-law, helping him to save face in front of the Tribe. “I know, Aang. I do not doubt either you capabilities nor your motives.”

As though worried that Aang might declare his adorations again, Hakoda quickly pushed forward the process. “As you know my daughter is dear to me, and her leaving my household will be a great loss to us all. In a demonstration of your capabilities to care for my daughter, and as a small way to alleviate our disadvantage at her loss, I propose that we agree to seventy-five gold pieces as a bride-price for your engagement to Katara.”

There was a loud buzz of surprise from the onlookers. Seventy-five gold pieces?! Starting a negotiation this high was unheard of! Katara looked at her father in surprise. Why?

The noise grew steadily until the tribe members shushed one another loudly to hear the Avatar’s response.

Katara knew this was when the counter offers would begin. Somewhere well below the first offer but with room to go up in price as the two parties would parry back and forth until landing somewhere in the middle.

“Chief Hakoda,” Aang began, his voice carrying throughout the room, “No, I couldn’t pay seventy-five gold pieces…”

Katara’s forgotten embarrassment returned as she looked down to her lap, remembering why they were here, waiting for “Aang the Haggler” to begin bargaining in earnest.

“… I simply could not feel right about paying any less than five hundred gold pieces.”

There was a collective gasp from the room… before it exploded in noise!

Some people got to their feet, some yelling out, still others sat in astonishment, mouths hanging open stupidly. Cries of “Has he lost his head!?” and “Clearly this foreigner does not understand!” and “FIVE-HUNDRED GOLD PIECES?!” could be heard.

Hakoda himself sat back in silent bewilderment.

Katara, finally overcoming her own shock, hissed at Aang, “Do you even HAVE five hundred gold pieces?!?” before her Gran Gran slapped her hand again with a “Hush!” and “It is not your place to speak in this!”

Aang, face stoic, (although the edge of his mouth showing the slightest hint of a grin) looked at Katara and nodded, almost imperceptibly. Then, reaching into the rucksack at his side, he pulled out two full drawstring pouches, and set them before Hakoda with a heavy jangle.

Hakoda looked down at the bags in silence, then up at Aang like he would protest, but couldn’t seem to find his voice. Aang sat at the ready, as though prepared to offer more. Surely this was the strangest bargaining in the grand history of bride-price talks! This night was destined to go down in tribal history: a story to be told, and retold, for generations to come!

Aang spoke again, “No amount of money or treasure could ever compare with the privilege of spending my life with Katara. No matter the agreed upon price, I will forever be in your debt. But I hope you will accept my offer -- but a fraction of what I wish it was -- that I may receive your blessing and permission to take your incredible daughter, Katara, as my wife. I promise to honor her, and respect her, and to cherish her with all that I am until my soul moves on from this life to my next.”

The room was still loud and chaotic as Hakoda, his voice seemingly still unrecovered, looked back down at the bulging coin bags in a stupor. Then nodded once. Twice.

And that was that.

Technically, the bride-price was agreed and the engagement was official. Too bad there was too much disbelief and chaos in the room for the usual congratulations to be extended.

Gran Gran pulled on Katara’s elbow, leaning into her with a husky laugh, “One thing I like about your Airbender, Katara – he never ceases to surprise me!”

Katara couldn’t agree more.

……..

Having received Hakoda’s nod of approval, Aang wasted no time in grabbing Katara by the hand and pulling her out of the hubbub of the still startled and excited crowd. Running and giggling the two stole out into the chill night, only slowing once the din from the assembly hall became but a distant hum.

The moon shone her beautiful beaming face brightly upon them, as though sending her congratulations. They listened to the music of the back and forth of the waves on the icy shore. For a time they just walked in silence, holding hands and bumping shoulders, smiling widely. The glances they shared were, for some reason, unexplainably coy, like their new official change in relationship status hadn’t had time to feel real yet.

At long last, Katara broke the silence with a tease, “Not your most impressive performance as a haggler back there, Aang.”

Aang, unable to hold back his radiant smile, looked down and laughed. “Ah, but even a good haggler would never low-ball a truly fine treasure when he finds it. I could never insult your Father with an offer so far below its worth.”

Unable to hold back her smile, Katara raised a flirtatious eyebrow at him, “Oh yeah?” She couldn’t help but feel important, and so, so loved. Contrasted with the humiliation she had felt earlier at the idea of being bargained for, the difference was stark.

“Yeah.” Aang sighed with a dopy grin as he pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. “Besides,” he began, his mouth close to hers, his breath coming in warm puffs on her lips, drawing her own mouth to tilt upward seeking his.

“I still walked away with a steal!”

……………

A/N: I must admit that I based some of this on my own love of haggling =) So… how much for a review, eh? ;) ;)

#alta #aang #avatar aang #katara #kataang #avatar the last airbender

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aprilsyesterday · 3 years

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Just some stuff & pottery

And I’m back with another update! How have you all been? 2020 has taken too much from us, but I hope you are getting by and all safe and healthy. I just want everything back to normal, but that’s pretty much impossible now. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that 2021 will be a great year for all of us. Anyway, I just want to update again because I want to document some happenings in my life lately. Last week, Nov 7 – 8, we went to my parents’ place, and I was so excited to go home. I missed my family. I badly wanted to see my niece. I've been wanting to play with her, and thank goodness, she didn’t cry this time when she saw us. I can now carry her without having to worry about her bawling her eyes out or reaching out for her mama. She's such a cutie. We also ordered and prepared food because that’s what we always do when we’re complete – pig out. It was so nice to be home.

Last week, we also experienced the wrath of another typhoon – Ulysses. It was so scary. I couldn’t sleep that night because of the destructive winds and the heavy rain. It also destroyed lots of homes and livelihoods. I was deeply saddened, and I felt helpless seeing all the news about the people who were stuck on their roofs and even their pets due to swollen rivers and quickly rising floods. It was heartbreaking, and it's maddening how the government responds to these types of natural calamities. People were crying for help, but only a few higher-ups were there to listen and took necessary actions. Ugh, just thinking about it makes me so mad. The Philippine government is so messed up. So anyway, I hope people donate or do anything to help the victims of the typhoons. Sharing information about what’s happening in the Philippines or sharing donation drives can be a big help.

So yesterday, I got so fed up with the internet and decided to take a few hours' break. Thus, I did pottery! I decided to continue making more mugs since I already bought gloves, so I don’t have to worry about my Psoriasis skin flakes getting mixed with the clay. It actually took me almost 6 hours to finish the boob and moon mugs, but I'm not complaining though. It actually felt really great to have spent my time just doing pottery. I've improved too! I searched for tips and other videos on how to do this and that. Compared to the first mug I ever created, this batch is something I’m proud of, though I still did polish them earlier this morning because there are still surface cracks and other imperfections. I also realized this new-found hobby of mine and film photography are pretty much alike in terms of the uncertainty in results. Clay works can explode in the kiln if not done correctly, and the same goes for film photography. I can get blank rolls if I don’t properly check my camera and store the film canister correctly. And the same with the colors/contrasts, you never know what the final look of your pieces/shots will be. You know what I’m saying. (￣▽￣)ノ

I still have more than a kilo of clay. The pottery starter kit I bought from @potterysessions was really worth it. I can’t wait to use all the clay and make more mugs/cups and finally send them over for firing. I actually have lots of ideas I want to try, and I even want to make a beer mug for Asis now, but I might not be able to sleep if I don’t finish it today, so I’ll just have to wait for the weekend. By the way, Kaye and I also signed up for an online pottery workshop on the 29th. Yay! Another event to look forward to! (≧∇≦)/

Oh, and my stoneware collection is getting bigger! I can’t wait to take photos of them and document them here in my little online space. Ahhh! It’s only Monday, and I’m already done with this week. (*≧▽≦)☆

*edited* So, I also added more photos for this post–with and without flash of my final batch of mugs, and our new cabinet shelf.

I was finally done last week with all the 2kg clay that was included in my pottery starter kit and I will finally send my works for firing on Saturday! Just need to be sure they are bone dry before sending them over. Btw, I did those 3 mugs after my work.

11.18 – Kaye’s heart handle mug 11.19 – Asis’ wooden texture beer mug 11.20 – Weird face mug 11.23 – We got our customized mini cabinet shelf that was made by sir Donjie again! Our third time having something done by him. Kudos for his works!

#personal #pottery

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sunnytumbies · 4 years

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I'm somewhat confident that Amy's stress baking enables one or more of the other characters to then Stress Eat the baking, which could lead to Tummy Fic (tell me if I'm right and also you don't have anon asks turned on. c; might get more asks if you hit that switch!)

Whoops! Anons, you are now free to enter–sorry bout that!

So, funny story: Tiny, you are right–you are so right, in fact, that I decided to write a lil fill for this! I had like 500 words written and then accidentally closed the tab :’), and for whatever reason my response was even more determined writing to finish it. Long story short, it’s now a /4391 word monster/ that I’m not even all that proud of, but I’m posting it anyway! It’s gonna be confusing & maybe a headache for me later because this is happening later in the story than the first “major story event” fic I’ll be posting but...here we are.

Content warning: this fic involves dysphoria, mentions of menstruation, self-loathing, and binge eating as a response to stress. Please be mindful should you choose to read!

___________________________________________________________

Amy hums lightly to herself, dusting the last of the madeleines with powdered sugar, breathing in the comforting aromas, honey and lemon mingling with cinnamon and apple, almond and vanilla, chocolate and bread. She can’t pretend that this was a good decision, can’t act like she would not have possibly benefit more from a day of studying than a day of baking, but the knots in her chest have finally started to loosen, and it’s hard to take that as anything but a win. She plates the madeleines and slides them into the last remaining patch of free space on the L-shaped countertop, clutching the notebook that belonged to her mother close to her chest.

It’s not that Amy only ever bakes French desserts. She adores the challenge of baklava with its stubborn phyllo dough, loves the thrill and the spectacle of a good Baked Alaska; it’s just that sometimes, she needs to hear her mother’s voice in the only way she knows how–baking the way Maman taught her, dutifully reading the advice scrawled in the margins of her recipe notebook in eccentric cursive, cleaning as she cooks (”Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir, Amelie,” she’ll find herself muttering at times in a poor imitation of her mother. It translates to “It is better to prevent than to heal,” which she thinks is sort of intense as far as wisdom about cleanliness goes, but then, she’s never forgotten it). Professors will likely always butcher her last name, flattening the syllables into something harsh and ugly; classmates will continue to express their envy at the ease with which they assume she sails through her foreign language requirement, oblivious to the unique heartache of struggling to write in a language that flows from her lips with more ease than English sometimes; but no one can take this from her, her mother’s recipes in her mother’s own words, the familiar tastes and smells of home.

It started with the croissants, shaping the dough she’d prepped earlier this week in preparation to make pains au chocolat--she can’t stop her lips from quirking up in a small, proud smile, now, looking at how perfectly they rose, how flaky the croissants are, how tantalizingly the smell of chocolate and freshly-baked bread is wafting off of them, how they glisten with brushed-on butter. But when her eyes glanced over the mostly-full bottle of fruity olive oil in the pantry, how could she resist whipping up a lemon curd tart, with its buttery almond crust and rich lemon custard filling? And it would have simply been silly to waste the lemon zest she had leftover from the tart--not when she could make the madeleines, tiny delicious cakes sweetened with honey and brown sugar, the tang of the lemon zest cutting through the sweetness in the most delicious way, complimented by the dusting of powdered sugar. Then, she thought, that was an awful lot of citrus--she simply had to offset it with a quick apple mille-feuille, the autumnal scent of roasted apples, maple syrup, and apple brandy making her wistful for October. But wait--no mille-feuille was complete without the bourbon whipped cream on top, and shouldn’t poor lactose intolerant Cal have plenty of options too? Besides, a simple spiced bread wouldn’t take too long, and the mixture of star anise, ginger, and cinnamon, sweetened with honey and rife with dried apricots and plums, would be sure to make a delicious sweet toast for breakfast.

Even still, it wasn’t truly over until she noticed that several cartons of eggs--which she, for obvious reasons, tended to buy in bulk--were set to expire soon, and it would certainly be foolish to waste so much money--really, she hardly had a choice! She made chocolate macarons with orange ganache, a cherry buttermilk clafoutis; she made kouign-amann, with its buttery dough and sugary crust, and, in a desperate bid to eat through the eggs, another batch of macarons, this time with raspberry-rose buttercream. Struck with a flash of inspiration, she used the egg yolks she’d set aside while whipping the whites into stiff peaks fit for a meringue to make toasted-flour sablé, a sort of moist little sugar cookie, and while she was at it threw in a batch of snickerdoodles--cookies were easy to both make and get rid of in bulk, and besides, they were Cal’s favorite. Lastly, she decided to tackle a chocolate pound cake--quatre-quarts au chocolat de juliette, her mother’s handwriting rebuked her, along with an all-caps reminder to bake it in a bain-marie, PAS au four!!!!!. It made Amy laugh a little, but she couldn’t deny that the water-bath made for a much richer, much more moist final product than the oven.

She feels a brief rush of shame, looking over it all--it’s truly an improbable amount of baking she’s done, here--but her heart is full, her back aching in a satisfying, productive way. If nothing else, she’s made the house smell like home and has ensured that anyone who enters can leave full and satisfied. Finally, she removes her apron and checks her watch--perfect. She has about half an hour to get to work for her 8pm-midnight shift, a fairly non-intensive desk position at one of the campus libraries, and she’ll more likely than not have enough free time to look over her chemistry notes. As for the baked goods, she opts to leave them out, but takes a few moments to write out sticky notes (“dairy free! Come right in, Cal!”; “full of dairy! Cals beware!”), and smiles gently as she thinks of Cal coming home to a warm kitchen and plenty to eat. “That boy is too damn skinny,” she mumbles to herself fondly, and flicks off the kitchen light, leaving the one above the oven on to bathe the kitchen in a warm, welcoming glow.

Cal is not having a good day.

He shivers as another gust of wind blows what feels like through him, making his teeth chatter as he attempts to sink even lower into his hoodie. The slumping motion does not agree with his cramping lower belly, and he groans, straightening back up with an arm looped around his stomach.

Any day at this time of month for him is a difficult one. He knows for a fact that he “passes,” but he still feels uncomfortably seen, feels like he has to hide himself from view as much as possible. It certainly doesn’t help that his skin hurts, that his belly bloats and his bound chest becomes sore, that despite the fact that he no longer bleeds, he gets all the associated symptoms, yeah, thanks for that, genetics. Even so, Cal isn’t new to this, exactly, and he can deal with the cramping, can even handle the accompanying dysphoria like a champ, but today has been extraordinarily awful. He couldn’t sleep last night, feeling in turns too hot and too cold, and barely made it to his bio class this morning; all the coffee machines were down in the dining hall, meaning his eyes were burning with exhaustion by the time he was halfway through bio, let alone his other two classes of the day; perhaps most damning at all, the paper he’s been counting on being due next week is actually due this week, causing him to spend an extra few hours in the library after class, barely awake, forcing himself to get something, anything onto the page; and, the cherry on top of it all, he missed the last bus home, hence tramping home now in the dark and the rain. More than one car has splashed him as it’s passed, and his jeans are practically soaked through.

He’s cold, he’s exhausted, he barely even made a dent in the paper, and his fucking stomach hurts, the cramps now joined by an anxious knot; as much as he wants to take comfort from the fact that he can see the apartment complex getting steadily closer, he also knows that he’s going to be home alone, and something about that just does not sit well with him at the moment that Cal doesn’t want to analyze, thank you very much.

He shivers his way up the stairs leading to the apartment, down the exceedingly long corridor, through the front door, and is almost immediately assailed by both a rush of welcome warmth and a rush of smells so delicious and overpowering that he knows immediately that today was a stress-baking day for Amy. Something drains out of Cal then, equal parts tension and restraint, the anxious buzzing of his thoughts thrown off by the sheer number of baked goods spread across the counter top. He lets his backpack fall to the floor with a thud. His stomach rumbles--he ate today, but not well--and he sort of knows he’s doomed when he catches the scent of chocolate, as well as when his eyes land on a plate of snickerdoodles (which very much does not make a lump rise in his throat, okay, it’s whatever, it doesn’t matter, Amy made his favorite cookie for him in the middle of her own stress-fueled baking marathon, it’s whatever). Amy will be home soon. Quincy, too, at some point. He’ll be fine. He just needs to do what he can until then, and there’s no shortage of snacks to keep him busy while he waits.

Shocking no one less than him, Cal has many, many regrets, and at least half of them are baked goods he has put into his body over the last hour. He whimpers a little, oh-so-gently palming his belly, which has distressingly little give even when he ventures to apply a little more pressure with his fingertips. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this bloated, heavy with food and swollen with almond milk, and he’d be lying if he said he’s not fighting tears, beyond ashamed to be in this state: slumped sitting on the floor, back supported by the side of the counter, shirt riding up to expose the pink flesh of his belly. He has to swallow thickly a few times, imagining the sugary sludge that’s surely squelching through his insides right now, trying to force back a dangerous burp that squeezes out anyway and leaves the taste of honey and cinnamon in the back of his mouth. He tried to be good, and that’s maybe what sucks the most. He started with a few snickerdoodles, ostensibly the only dessert on the counter that had been made for him, unable to hold back a little groan of pleasure at the taste, buttery and comforting and complemented perfectly by the crunch of cinnamon and sugar. He had four before pouring himself a tall glass of almond milk, chasing a few more cookies with it before deciding to investigate the irresistible scent of chocolate wafting from the plate of croissants. The chocolate might be a bit much for his lactose intolerance, he decided, and opted for two thick slices of the spiced bread instead, toasted and slathered with ghee. He swore they tasted like fall, like tramping through leaves and Halloween costumes when he was young. Something about filling his stomach after being so hungry and uncomfortable all day, recklessly, indulgently, eased the tightness of his chest, until he could scarcely even feel the chill from his still-damp jeans.

He had already begun to feel rather full, but his interest was still piqued by the croissants, and he hadn’t even tried the little sugary-looking roll things, or the macaroons, or the cake--Cal squeezes his eyes shut, now, swallowing hard, struggling to even think about how much he’s eaten, but unable to completely erase the contrast from his mind between the overflowing countertop when he first arrived and the countertop now, an alarmingly high number of the cluttered plates more empty than not. All that really matters, he guesses, is that at some point filling his tummy began to hurt more than help, and he kept doing it anyway, and now his cramps have merely been replaced with sickly twinges and upset burbles.

He tries to take a deep breath, which hitches as an ominous gurgle bubbles from the top to the bottom of his packed belly, and the tears he’s been clamping down on start to roll down his cheeks. He can’t do this, not alone, at least, and Amy’s shift still has 3 hours to go--they must have just barely missed each other. Part of him knows that he will probably feel worlds better if he simply allows himself to throw up, but he can’t handle that, not right now. He cradles his aching stomach for a moment, one trembling hand cupped under his lower belly, bloated and hot, and one resting on the hard little bloat of his tummy, even that feather-light touch ushering up a series of strained burps. After another moment of feeling his stomach contents swirl and slosh uncomfortably inside him, the nausea and misery outweigh his pride, and he hesitantly lets go of his aching stomach, swiping at his tears and pulling out his phone.

I...fucked up, he texts her, and sends it before he can think twice about it. She replies almost instantly, one of his favorite things about Amy: ?????????????And a moment later, while he’s still figuring out where to begin: everything okay, honey?

The fragile control Cal has over his emotions abruptly slips at that, and he lets out a choked sob, swallowing hard when the motion upsets his tummy further. It hurts so fucking much, but Amy, Amy who bakes his favorites even in the middle of her own mini-crisis, Amy who takes the time to write adorable little sticky notes oriented around Cal’s dietary restrictions, Amy who calls everyone in the world honey because she cares about everyone in the goddamn world, Amy the literal human ball of sunshine--just, fucking Amy, okay?

Yeah. I mean. I’m safe, but I’m not okay. I… Cal doubles over as a cramp twists deep in his belly, panting a little. Maybe it would be easier to just let himself be sick. You baked...a lot. I had a bad day.

:((((( did u see my notes???? what’s going on??????

Cal has to blink hard against the tears at that, a new layer of guilt joining the anxiety and the shame of all he’s eaten. Stress-baking or not, this all had to have taken Amy a few hours, and he’d eaten right through a fair amount of almost everything.

I’m sorry. I did see your notes. It’s not lactose, I just ate a /lot/ and I feel sick and I don’t know what to do

A moment later, his phone buzzes with a call. It’s Amy, of course.

“H-hey,” he manages, sniffing, and then hiccups just before a deep burp gurgles up from his churning belly, clamping a hand over his mouth for a moment as his gorge rises with it.

“Cal, honey,” Amy says, sounding so fucking sad for him. It’s not like she’s never seen the fallout of his stress-binging before. “How much did you eat?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cal says hoarsely, his throat burning from stubbornly swallowing back stomach acid. “I’m just nauseous and sick and--and—” He falters, feeling like a child. “And I just really had a bad day, like a really bad day, Amy, and I know your day wasn’t so good either or you wouldn’t be stress-baking but I just, I’m so fucking tired, and my paper is due and—” He gags, suddenly, and has to take a moment to collect himself, hyper-aware of Amy’s concerned silence on the other end of the line-- “and I can’t do this alone,” he finally manages, voice cracking, and it is only the knowledge that openly weeping would send him over the edge right now that keeps him from dissolving into exhausted tears.

“I’m so sorry, Cal. I wish I could be there,” Amy murmurs soothingly, and it’s almost, almost like she’s there. “If I could leave work I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I’m going to call Quincy for you, okay?”

Cal’s heart squeezes at that, half-anxiety, half-hope, and maybe something else, too, a deep sense of being known--Amy knows that Cal knows that she can’t leave work. Amy knows that there’s only one other person that he’d want. Amy knows that he can’t--because of anxiety, because of what he sees as a low stakes problem relative to Quincy’s very high-stakes life, because, because, because--reach out to him himself when he’s like this. “Okay,” he whispers, and hope she hears the gratitude in it.

“Of course,” she says, so warmly that it makes Cal’s heart ache a little. “Hang in there, okay? Try to stay calm for me. I’ll let you know when he’s coming.”

“Love you,” he mumbles, and lets his phone clatter to the floor as soon as he hears the beep that means she’s hung up, clutching at his belly, feeling his stomach lurch and rumble. He’s so fucking full. He’s such a fucking idiot.

Some time later, Quincy comes for him.

Cal startles when the door creaks open, then whimpers a little at the resulting complaints of his stomach. There’s just so much pressure, his stomach tight and hot as though nothing is moving at all, though with all that he feels burbling against his palm, that can’t possibly be true. Quincy looks a little frantic in the doorway before his eyes come to rest on Cal, still curled up pitifully on the floor, both hands pressed gently against his bloated stomach.

“Oh—” Quincy breathes, shutting the door behind him, crossing the space between them in an instant and crouching in front of Cal. “God, Cal, Amy scared me half to death. Are you alright?”

“I’m—” Cal has to stop and breathe, composing himself as a wave of nausea crashes over him, his stomach squelching unpleasantly. All at once, he realizes that he’s no longer alone, that perhaps even if he should keep suppressing everything, he no longer wants to, and he no longer cares if he’s sick, he just wants to feel better, wants to be in his bed, wants to be warm and comfortable and safe--all at once, he’s doubling over his own lap, sobbing his heart out, barely even registering the flicker of amusement he’d ordinarily feel at Quincy’s eyes going comically round behind his glasses. His stomach aches, pain ringing throughout his abdomen at the movement, and before he can process much more than that a warm palm folds itself over his distended stomach, firmly enough to quiet the cramping there, but lightly enough to keep from exacerbating the nausea.

“Cal,” Quincy says, in that low, soothing voice of his, “I am so sorry that you’re hurting, and I’m going to make that go away, but to get you feeling better, I have to get you off the floor. I can’t imagine that you are ready to move just now?”

“No,” Cal breathes, his usual shyness dominated by hours of physical discomfort. “Please, just—” Tears dribble down his cheeks, his lack of sleep and general exhaustion beginning to catch up with him.

Quincy seems to hear him anyway. “Okay, hey, heyheyhey, okay, that is perfectly fine. I’m here, alright? I’m here to help you feel better.”

Ever so gently, Quincy eases himself behind Cal, so that his back is supported by Quincy’s chest rather than the hard base of the kitchen counter. Equally gently, his arms wind around Cal’s waist, both hands coming to rest on his abused stomach. He applies pressure to the bloated space between Cal’s navel and his ribs, rubbing in broad, gentle strokes, almost immediately ushering up a deep belch that has Cal going slack with the smallest but most welcome measure of relief. Quincy is so damn warm, and his rough palm is heaven where it rests on his lower belly, supporting the bloat from below to take the strain off of his overfull stomach. His other hand moves from that space in the middle of his abdomen to his stomach, the noticeable overfull bulge where the organ ought to be, rubbing in gentle circles. The pressure is almost too much and Cal shifts to tell him so, succeeding only in ushering up several more rumbling belches, one right after the other, left gasping with the relief of it. He is still painfully aware of how full he is, packed utterly to the brim with food, but the release of trapped air is so needed and so lovely.

Quincy holds him like this for a while, coaxing up the occasional belch, paying extra attention to the twinges that make Cal groan with nausea. Cal finds his eyes watering again, this time with sheer gratitude for his dearest friends, for their kindness, for the quiet lack of judgement Quincy exhibits as he rubs his aching tummy. Eventually, Cal feels like he might be able to move without throwing up, and Quincy supports his weight with an arm around his waist as they make their way to Cal’s bedroom.

“I’ll be right back,” Quincy says after depositing Cal on the bed gently. “Amy said you’d want a hoodie and some shorts. How did she do?”

Cal smiles a little sadly, having trouble finding his voice, and Quincy barely misses a beat, busying himself retrieving one of Cal’s biggest hoodies and a soft pair of pajama shorts. “Either way, let’s give it a try. You should probably take your binder off--all that squeezing can’t be helping, and no wonder you’re shivering in those wet jeans!” He ducks into Cal’s bathroom for a moment, filling up the cup next to the sink with cold water from the tap, and offers it to Cal, making sure his shaking hands don’t cause a spill before he lets go. “Try to take some sips of that, okay? Trust me. We need to break up all that sugar.”

Cal can’t argue with that, nodding, and waits until Quincy lets the door swing mostly-shut behind him, taking the deepest breath he can manage. His stomach twinges as he bends over to put the water on his nightstand and lifts his arms to pull off his shirt. wriggling out of his binder, and he pants for a moment as the sudden release of pressure on his stomach causes the nausea to flare before it thankfully passes again. He puts on the hoodie, immediately comforted by the billowing fabric, and wriggles out of his jeans and into the pajama shorts as quickly as he can manage, forcing himself to take a measured sip of water. His stomach tightens around it, and he swallows hard.

“Hey,” Quincy says softly, knocking twice on the slightly-ajar door before pushing it completely open with his elbow. His hands are occupied with a tv tray, carrying a heating pad and a steaming mug of tea. “Don’t force it. You’re still very full.”

“Y-yeah,” Cal manages, finding his voice. “Tummy really hurts.”

“I know,” Quincy murmurs apologetically, offering Cal the heating pad. Cal practically melts when the heat makes contact with his sore belly, instantly beginning to soothe his cramping muscles, even working its magic on the fullness, just a little. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, Cal. I know you’re very full, but when you can, you should try to drink some water and this tea. It’s peppermint, so it should help with the nausea.”

Flicking off the overheard light in lieu of Cal’s carefully-hung string lights, Quincy leaves the mug of tea on the bedside table closest to Cal, spreading the quilt at the foot of the bed over him, and Cal instinctively lets his head drop onto Quincy’s shoulder when he climbs onto the bed beside him.

Cal nearly weeps again when Quincy reaches for his bloated tummy without being asked, resuming a soothing pattern, rubbing wide, sweeping circles over his abdomen, applying pressure to the bloated place beneath his ribs, to his tense sides, to the hard knot of his stomach. Each instance of carefully-applied pressure coaxes up a series of rumbling belches that Cal didn’t realize he was holding in, eventually freeing up enough room for him to sip at the tea.

“Amy will be home soon,” Quincy says after several moments. “How are you feeling?”

“Like an idiot who stuffed my face with sweets all afternoon,” Cal mumbles, still wrestling with guilt, and Quincy frowns as his belly emits an audible squelch, smoothing a hand over it in slow arcs. Cal drinks a bit more deeply at the tea, unable to withhold a sigh of relief as it begins to fill the burbly places in his tummy, blissfully soothing the ache.

“You aren’t an idiot, Cal,” Quincy says sincerely. “Amy says this sometimes happens when you get overwhelmed. You’re overwhelmed.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice makes something big and terrifying shift in Cal’s chest, and he abruptly puts down the mug of tea in favor of hiding his face in Quincy’s chest, narrow frame wracked with tired sobs. He dimly registers that at least his stomach doesn’t react poorly to the movement. “I am,” he manages eventually, as Quincy gently shushes him, stroking his belly as though to keep it calm. “I am so exhausted, Quince.”

“So rest,” Quincy says simply, “at least for now. And when Amy gets here, we’ll talk about what we’re going to do next. Okay?”

Cal sniffs, nodding, still hiding his face, and Quincy lets him, simply bringing his arms around him, smoothing his hands over Cal’s back. Against all odds, particularly the still-overpowering sense of fullness, Cal feels his eyelids drooping. All of a sudden, everything has caught up with him, and he can barely form a coherent thought. It has been a day, his belly is now more warm than upset, and Quincy is a very, very comfortable pillow.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Quincy says, and Cal feels the rumble of his chest as he gives a low chuckle, too far gone at this point to respond. He’s going to have a lot to explain when he wakes up, but for now…

For now, Cal lays with his head on Quincy’s shoulder, arms looped around his neck, and Quincy pulls the quilt up around them. “I’ve got you,” Quincy murmurs, and the next thing Cal knows is blessed sleep.

#tiny-tum #perhaps it's for the better since i s2g that entire 500 words was the first sequence describing what amy baked but #i think they were like. better words!#i digress this is what we've got #Amy #Cal #Quincy #stuffing #stress eating #stress baking #belly rubs #dysphoria #side fic #answered #i think the reason im so unhappy with this is that i want quincy to be somewhat mysterious until the major fics are released but also i just #cant imagine anyone being super invested until they know more about these ppl #which is fair #but...yeah! hope ppl enjoy!#why am i so anxious about this

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soysaucevictim · 3 years

Text

First week of my new regimen, starting with the Fireheart Program (and then some of the DAREBEE Fitstivities; a bit late posting all this, too)!

Nov. 28

I woke up after 11AM.

After some of the usual and chatting, did today’s exercise.

First, today’s DD. 40 squat hold side bends with EC. Just about manageable. Does take minding the hamstrings a bit - but that wasn’t an issue.

Last, Day 1 of the Fireheart Program. I was really excited to start this from the recent batch of releases - because it’s a COMBAT exercise program. That’s my jam, man. I went for Level 3 and no rest, today. TEN probably made me inclined to do it in one superset - but remains to be seen if I can sustain that for the whole program.

I also mixed up how I structured some exercises on a whim: sometimes alternating for each rep, sometimes 50/50, sometimes that + balancing variations. (And as a minor aside, this program’s name/theme made me think of Roman Sanders and how he’d be down for this.) :,D

(I’m keeping the docket open for DAREBEE’s Fitstivities - Fit Christmas, Advent Calendar, Christmas Tree, and maybe even the Snowfight.)

Made dinner (ramen). Among the usual, did some chatting and watched a bit of a funny miniseries with friend.

Got to bed later than yesterday.

Nov. 29

I woke up around 2PM today.

After some troubleshooting, chatting, and doing some dishes - I did today’s exercises.

First, today’s DD. 40 balance back kicks with EC (20/20). A fun exercise. I almost lost my center about 10 or so reps in - but I’m happy my gains in coordination made it possible to reorient without dropping and needing to restart (for EC). Kicks are fun, man.

Last, Day 2 of the FhP. Today focused on upperbody stuff. Managed Level 3 with no rest again. I decided to squeeze in a few extra push-ups here and there just to get down a bit better form.

Watched the second Back to The Future movie with friend, amongst a lot of the usual. Did a bit of writing too.

Got to bed around the same time as yesterday.

Nov. 30

I think I was woken up around 10:30AM.

Hopped in the showered, realizing I had another dental appointment I needed to get to today. Didn’t have time to get in my laundry beforehand - but bro decided to take mine out for me.

Dozed off in the lobby a little, while I waited. Appointment went well enough, a bit painful and uncomfortable. But I’m happy I was able to get through it alright. Last time I’m going to need to get fillings done for the time being - so I’m happy that’s out of my hair. Walked to a nearby Starbucks to get a coffee to drink while I called in and waited on my ride home afterwards.

Got home and chatted a bit, before exercising.

First, today’s DD. 40 raised leg circles with EC (supine). This was just about manageable, despite how tired I was.

Last, Day 3 of the FhP. Ab Day. Level 3, 1′ rest. I love sit-up/sitting punches a lot! I’m still very pleased that my abs are in good enough condition at this point to manage that load of sit-ups without assist/breaks.That being said, started to really feel things in the last 2 sets. Enjoyable and fatiguing.

Did some of the usual before getting a hold of my laundry to put that away.

Probably a testament to just how exhausted I was, but I finally managed to get to bed in the green zone, tonight. (That target being 1AM or earlier.)

Dec. 1

I woke up after noon.

Spent some time preparing notes for my phone psych appt today. That went well enough.

After some time chatting and browsing stuff, I decided to rewatch POF while doing my exercises tonight.

First, today’s DD. 2′ jumping Ts with EC. I counted 130 reps by the end, listening to Rhythm Redux was a great pace-setter. Hit a state of bliss near the end, reminds me why I love jacks so much! =w=

Second, Day 1 of the ‘20 Advent Calendar Challenge. 3x1 up/down planks, I opted not to rest, given how easy the load was. Might not get away with doing things in one superset the whole way through it - but we’ll see!

Third, Day 4 of the FhP. Level 3, 30″-1′ rest in between sets (though it trended closer to 30″.) This was pretty fun. Honestly the only brutal part of the sequence were the squat + side kick combos. Kinda felt like the leg-equivalent to a push-up+punching combo (sans hidden burpee). Whew, mission accomplished, though.

Last, Day 1 of ‘20 Fit Christmas Program. Cardio Day. Level 3, no rest. Low impact and kind of a breezy “cooldown“ routine to get though. Remains to be seen if I’ll be able to get away with no rest the whole way through, definitely want to shoot for Level 2 minimums (largely dependent on how exhaust Fireheart’s gonna leave me).

Spent rest of night on the usual stuff.

Got to bed obscenely late again.

Dec. 2

I woke up after 9AM today.

Went out for some coffee and accompanying bro to get his car serviced. Then we hung out at Grandma’s place while that was happening. I also walked over to the facility for group, when it came time for that.

Group went alright, did a little bit of writing a bit before and into it. Once I got back to Grandma’s, after a stop at a convenience store, bro’s car was ready. We picked up some food on the way back home.

One of the first things I did when I got home and situated, I did my exercise.

First, today’s DD. 40 reverse plank kicks with EC (20/20). This was pretty manageable.

Second, Day 2 of the ‘20ACC. 3x2 burpees - I managed it in one superset. This was pretty manageable. And it’s making me wonder about trying to go for that 50 burpees in one go achievement - eh, some other time. :P

Third, Day 5 of the FhP. Level 3, 1′ rest. Did some plank jumps in/out for transitions and did all the punches/strikes 10/10 style. Push-ups were a bit messy, and plank hold counts probs weren’t consistently slow. Ah well. My energy levels were a bit spent going into this.

Last, Day 2 of ‘20FCP. Strength Day. Level 3, no rest. Did contemplate on resting even 30″ or less - but I decided I could one go this today.

Had to overhear another family blow-up. And felt generally overwhelmed. Chatting and usual distractions helped eventually.

Got to bed around the same time as yesterday.

Dec. 3

I woke up around 2PM, today. Which didn’t help me in feeling less harried.

I did some dishes and made today’s Hello Fresh meal. Bulgolgi meatballs. I liked it well enough.

After some chatting about technical stuff (which immediately got pretty stressful) and doing dishes, I did my exercise.

I got in my workout way too late today. but oh well.

First, today’s DD. 40 squat step-ups with EC (20/20). My water table and energy levels probably weren’t terribly happy about it - but I managed to get through it alright.

Second, Day 3 of the ‘20ACC. 3x3 plank walk-outs, one superset. Happy that my stomach didn’t really complain here, otherwise very manageable work.

Third, Day 6 of the FhP. Level 3, 1′ rest. Leg raises were breezy, side planks were pretty intense. Was a bit concerned about doing more floor work with a slightly full stomach, but it wasn’t a big deal.

Last, Day 3 of ‘20FCP. 100 jumping jacks, done in one go. I enjoyed myself here - still noting how far I’ve come when it comes to stamina to be able to do it without too much problem.

I did a bit of writing and got to bed earlier than yesterday.

Dec. 4

I woke up after 1PM.

Got some Iced coffee, deposited some cash, and picked up some Subway.

Got home, chatted and whatnot before today’ exercises.

First, today’s DD. 40 knee-in & twists with EC. Fatiguing in the thighs but manageable.

Second, Day 4 of the ‘20ACC. 3x4 V-Ups, no rest. Did contemplate on resting. But 12 I can manage well enough. Enjoyable exercise.

Last, Day 4 of ‘20FCP. Tendon strength Day, no levels, no rest. Just about manageable little sequence to get done!

I spent most of my night chatting and browsing TV Tropes.

Got to bed later than yesterday.

#adventures with fitness #adventures with hello fresh #family shit/

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athenagc94 · 4 years

Text

Gust and Piper Beginnings - Pt. 7

Here’s the next part of the story! Please enjoy!

I’m also posting the story here on AO3!

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

Gust collapsed on the couch in the middle of the living room. He muffled his groans in one of the decorative pillows that Ginger had just embroidered earlier that month. It was light blue with pale pink flowers. She’d been so proud of how it turned out. Now, he was using it to smother himself. Ginger only spared him a glance as she turned the page of her book. “Rough day?” He grunted in response, basking in the cool fabric of the pillow. “I thought you were done helping at the Harbor? You guys caught up, didn’t you?”

“Oh, we did,” Gust rolled on his back, still cradling the pillow to his chest. “But I was helping Piper today.”

“Piper?” This seemed to catch her attention. She closed her book and set it off to the side, eyes on him. He tried not to squirm under her calculating expression. “That’s a surprise. Why were you helping her?”

“She needed help,” he shot her an unamused look, “why is my helping her a surprise?”

Ginger smirked. “No offense, but unless you’re assisting me, the word helpful doesn't normally apply to you.” Gust frowned. He couldn’t really argue with her. She was right. He only ever doted on Ginger. No one else warranted or deserved his attention, well until now. “So what did Piper need help with? You look ready to keel over.”

“Piper hurt her ankle.” Gust stifled a yawn and curled up against the arm of the chair. “She can’t walk on it, so I offered to help her so she could keep working over the next few days. I don’t know how she does it.”

He really didn’t. He was at her workshop at the crack of dawn and she put him straight to work. He never anticipated that Piper, laid back and fun loving, would be such a hardass when it came to her craft. She never showed it. He emptied and filled machines. Then she sent him out to gather raw material that she couldn’t go out and gather herself. He’d turned his nose up at the pickaxe she’d given him, but he soon realized that it was the only way to get any of the things she’d asked for. His arms were still aching and a part of him doubted he’d be able to lift them in the morning.

While he did that, she was still working on her long list of commissions at her desk. He had no idea how she managed to juggle gathering her own supplies and making things out of them too. He was exhausted and he’d only been working a day, but this was Piper’s reality. He only got away when he did because he had to come home and watch after Ginger. He couldn’t even fathom what would have happened if he’d stayed longer. One of the Civil Corps members may have had to tote his unconscious body back home.

“How did she hurt herself?”

Gust waved her off. “In the old WOW Industries or something. We bumped into each other while I was searching for hibiscus flowers and she offered to help.” Ginger only gave a solemn nod at that. She knew how important those flowers were. He clutched the pillow a little tighter to his chest, like it would stop his heart from pounding out of his chest. “I should have said something sooner, but she insisted on helping me. So, I decided to help her with her endeavors for the next few days. That’s all.”

“Is that all?” Ginger cocked her head to the side and a small smile flutter across her face. She looked at him with such a gentle expression. He didn’t know what it meant. It made him uncomfortable. “That’s very noble of you. I’m sure Piper is relieved to have your help while she’s injured.”

“I was barely any help.”

Ginger only chuckled. “Did she ask you to come back tomorrow?”

Gust shook his head and rolled onto his back. He watched the ceiling fan rotate lazily overhead. He traced the orbit with his eyes. “She didn’t have to,” he admitted after a moment, “I told her I would help her until her ankle was better and I plan on keeping that promise.”

“I like this new Gust.”

He turned his attention back to Ginger, brow furrowed. “What?” Ginger folded her hands neatly in her lap and shrugged. It wasn’t an answer and that was mildly irritating for him. What was that supposed to mean? “I’m not a new Gust.”

“I disagree.” She stood up and tucked her book under the crook of her arm. “I thought something was different about you recently, but after tonight I think I now know what that is.” Gust straightened in his seat. What did she know? Before he could press, she was heading out of the room and towards the staircase. “I’ll let you get some rest. I’m sure it’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

Like that, he was left alone with his thoughts, which was a dangerous place for him to be. He had no idea what Ginger meant. How was he any different? He was still him. He didn’t feel any different. In fact, he felt very much the same and that’s what irritated him. Ginger had to be wrong. He was still Gust. Rude, crass, and standoffish. He found it very hard to believe that anyone would ever like this version of himself.

↢↢↢↣↣↣

“Have you eaten?”

Piper offered a mumbled response as she continued working on Minister Lee’s commission for a batch of new talismans. He wanted enough for the whole town, and she’d been working on them for over two hours. Before that, she’d been hard wiring a new desk lamp for Mei. The goggle marks were still embedded across the bridge of her nose. He doubted she’d taken any breaks between the projects.

This was his third day at the workshop and in that time he’d really seen how Piper operated. It was appalling to say the least. She never took breaks. She rarely stopped for meals. He’d taken it upon himself on more than one occasion to slip her a glass of water, just to remind her to drink something. Still, she worked diligently and she showed no signs of changing her ways. Honestly, he wondered how she’d survived this long without someone to force her to stop and take a breath.

“You need to eat.”

“I’ll order something from the Round Table.”

“Why waste the money? Don’t you have something around here?” He glanced around her workshop. There was a small kitchen in the corner. It had a stove, fridge, and a small sink, all of which looked like they went untouched. “I’ve seen the vegetable garden you keep out back. Don’t you keep any of the produce?”

“I do.” Her fingers worked deftly as they wrapped red cord around another engraved stone. It seemed like a mechanical response at this point, but still she didn’t look up from her work. “But I don't know how to cook. So I normally eat them raw.”

Gust blinked at her in disbelief. “You don’t know how to cook?” He massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed. This woman. If she didn’t know how to cook, how had she not shriveled away to nothing. She really was hopeless. “But you live alone? How have you survived this long?”

“The Round Table,” she tossed another talisman on the pile, “and the unadulterated kindness of Sophie and Emily. Without them, I might have starved.” She grabbed another piece of stone and began carving away at its surface. It’s like they were discussing the weather and not the fact that she wasted all her money on take out.

Gust shook his head at her. “No wonder you can’t afford that next plot of land, you’re wasting your gols on take out.” She only grunted in response, too engrossed in her work to really hear him. He clucked his tongue and made a beeline for the kitchen. He knelt down and opened the cooler box. Hopefully she had something he could work with. He was surprised to find it well-stocked. Meat and fish were neatly packaged on one shelf. No doubt boons from her adventures. She had an array of vegetables from her garden. There were even fresh eggs and milk, no doubt from Emily and Sophie. He rolled his eyes and started pulling ingredients from the fridge. Fine. If she refused to take care of herself, he’d do it for her.

He regarded the splay of ingredients on the counter. Blade fish, meat, palm jujube, and rock salt. He had been craving bacon fish rolls for a few weeks now, but he’d been too busy to find the time to make it. At least now he had an excuse. And he’d be feeding Piper in the process. Two birds with one stone. He swept his hair back into a ponytail and got straight to work.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m cooking.” Gust didn’t even look up from the frying pan as he laid out the thin strips of bacon. They sizzled softly and the smell of cooked meat was enough to make his mouth water. Normally, he didn’t have much of an appetite, but all the manual labor was making him hungrier than usual.

“Yeah, I can see that, but why?”

“Because it was obvious that you weren’t going to feed yourself.” He sniffed and sprinkled a little rock salt over the bacon. They only needed to be seared before he took them off and rolled them over the blade fish and palm jujube, so he had to keep his attention on the pan. “So I’m making us lunch. You’re going to stop working and we’re going to eat like civilized human beings.”

Piper snorted. “I’m not a child.”

Gust visibly bristled, but he kept his eyes trained on the sizzling pan. Don’t let the bacon burn. That’s all he needed to focus on. He didn’t need to indulge her. But of course, his mouth moved faster than his brain. “Well, then don’t act like one.” He sighed. This happened every time they spoke. “If you’re going to neglect to take care of yourself, someone’s gotta do it.”

Piper had stopped working now. She sat in her chair, knees tucked under her chin as she regarded Gust with pensive expression. “I’ve managed this long, haven’t I?”

Gust rolled his eyes. “Barely. I had no idea it was this bad.” He clucked his tongue and pulled the pan off the heat. “You don’t even know how to cook, ridiculous.” Piper chuckled and spun in her seat, but Gust failed to see the humor. These were fundamental building blocks of staying healthy, how could she just brush them off like they were nothing. It made his heart ache.

They didn’t speak as he busied himself with preparing the rest of the meal. Piper didn’t press and returned back to her work after a minute or two. A comfortable silence settled between them, it almost seemed natural. It was quick work, finishing up the bacon rolls, it was almost second nature for him. Cooking came easy to him. Much like painting, it was a form of creation. Gust always needed to be creating. It’s the only time he ever felt some sense of relief and purpose.

“Time for lunch.”

Neither said anything as they settled around her rickety kitchen table. The front of her coveralls were covered in stone dust, but Gust didn’t bother to comment. The bacon roll was good. It was such a simple recipe, but it always hit the spot every time he made it. Gust couldn’t ignore the way she watched him as he ate. The pensive expression was back as she nibbled at her lower lip. She barely touched her food.

“Are you going to eat or not?”

Piper regarded the plate in front of her, a soft flush blossoming across her cheeks. “I will, I will, but I have a question first.” He hummed around a mouth full of bacon fish roll. He couldn’t imagine a question so dire that she wouldn’t eat, but he stayed quiet. “Why were you looking for the hibiscus flowers?” Gust almost choked on his food. He swallowed thickly and it slid down his throat, settling in his stomach like lead. “Why was it so important that you find them?”

Gust considered her question. He stared down at his plate and the hunger he’d been feeling dissipated. He didn’t doubt that Piper knew about his mother’s death, but he doubted she knew how much her death had affected him. He could tell her, but then he’d be breaking down a wall he’d spent a long time building. He didn’t know if he could bear her condolences or Light forbid her pity. The pitying stares of the town had played a large role in his leaving in the first place. He didn’t want to endure that with Piper, of all people.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, Iー” he swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in his throat, “it was my mother’s favorite flower.” His voice was small, but firm. He fiddled absently with the watch on his wrist. “I try to gather them while they’re in season, so I can drop some off at her grave for her birthday.”

Piper’s expression softened. “That’s really sweet of you.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “As soon as my ankle is better, I’ll make sure you get those flowers. I promise.” She squeezed and he felt it in his chest. He tried to keep his breath even, but it was a struggle. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” Her fingers slipped away and Gust found himself wishing they hadn’t. He really liked the feeling of her hand in his.

She speared her fork into the fish roll and stuffed it into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back in her head and groaned. “Peach’s pants, this is amazing.”

And just like that, the topic was dropped. She didn’t pry into his affairs. She didn’t force him to talk about his feelings or offer empty condolences. She just let it be. He was so happy, he could have cried. Gust took a shaky breath and turned back to his meal. “Maybe I’ll make something for you again sometime.”

↢↢↢↣↣↣

Gust made her lunch the next day. He was only slightly embarrassed to admit that he’d spent his evening pouring over cooking books to find a recipe Piper might like. Ginger had noticed, but she’d been merciful enough not to comment on it. They were currently seated at her rickety kitchen table. Piper had become much more receptive to taking breaks with the promise of a home cooked meal. He’d settled on salmon fried rice today.

“What do you do for fun?” Piper arched an eyebrow at him as she chewed her food thoughtfully. She’d already devoured half of her plate, which Gust took as a good sign. “I feel like in the time we’ve known each other, you know a lot more about me than I know about you.”

Piper snorted. “And who’s fault is that?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Well, if you’re asking about my frivolous activities, I don’t have a whole lot of time to indulge in them these days,” Piper settled back in her seat, “but I did do boxing when I was back in Barnarock.” He must have done a poor job at hiding the surprise on his face because she took a few jabs at the air in front of her. “I was good too.” She added with a pointed look in his direction and Gust threw up his hands, relenting. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Piper was pretty firmly built. When he’d carried her back to her workshop, he felt the firm contours of her upper arms.

“But you’re so even tempered?”

“And why do you think that is?” she asked with a crooked smile, “I take out my aggression on Sam when we meet up and spar.” She tapped her temple thoughtfully. “Can’t be losing your temper, if you know you get to kick someone’s ass three times a week.” She shrugged. “It’s therapeutic for me, I guess.”

Gust bit back a smile. “I knew you were able to handle yourself in a dangerous situation,” he gathered another mouthful of rice on his spoon, “but I would have never guessed that you were this well-equipped for the job.”

Piper sighed. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t think those dangerous situations would come with the job,” she cradled her cheek in the palm of her hand, “don’t let them know, but I feel like I’m often doing the Civil Corps job for them these days. Like, why is it always me, ya know? I never see Higgins getting trapped in a cave with ancient bloodthirsty AIs.” She laughed, but it sounded strained and Gust noticed immediately. “But whatever, I’m just glad people can turn to me in a crisis.”

Gust frowned at her. She seemed sincere enough. She prided herself on being dependable, but her usual nonchalance was missing, but he didn’t point it out. Piper didn’t pry into his business, he should extend the same courtesy. “My lips are sealed.” He mimicked the zipping of his lips and Piper laughed. This one sounded far more genuine and it made his heart flutter in his chest. It was worth the internal loathing. Light, that was so lame, he was becoming his father.

“Now, you have to answer my question though.” She leaned across the table and Gust found himself leaning closer as well. Where did you learn to cook? This is amazing.” She gestured to the plate in front of her. “You could give Django a run for his money if you wanted to.”

“I learned when I lived with my Master in Atara,” Gust said simply, “it was an enlightening experience.”

Piper ‘oo-ed’ teasingly as she took a sip of her red tea. He was beginning to think that red tea had replaced the blood in her veins, she drank it so often. “I feel like that’s just a nice way of saying she made you her bitch and had you do all the cooking.” Gust pursed his lips at her, but he made no attempt to correct her. There was nothing to correct. She smirked. “Yeah, I thought so. That tends to be the case with those apprenticeships, you do the bitchwork so your Master doesn’t have to, right?”

“I learned a lot from Vera during my time with her.”

“Well, obviously, look at you. You’re talented and successful,” She waved him off with a swipe of her hand. Gust wanted to argue, but she didn’t give him the chance as she continued, “I just know there’s a lot of hoops to jump through before you actually get to learn something, so more power to you. I consider myself a pretty patient person, but I wasn’t patient enough to deal with that kind of bullshit.”

Gust straightened in his seat. “Wait, did you study in Atara?”

“Study is a strong word,” she smirked around the rim of her glass, “but yes, I tried to gain an education in Atara, but I dropped out after a year or two. Not my proudest moment, but the scholarly life wasn’t exactly my calling.”

“What did you study?” He would have never guessed that she studied in Atara like him. Piper was unintelligent. Quite the opposite, she knew how to hold a conversation and Gust always enjoyed speaking with her. He could admit that to himself now. He enjoyed her company.

“Political science,” another sip of her drink, “I wanted to be on the committee for the Free Cities at one point. Settle conflicts. Help people. Maybe even stop our war with Duvos.” She shook her head. “In short, I was naive and a dumbass. I apprenticed with one of Atara’s political tycoons and realized pretty quickly why things weren’t getting better. No one wanted to put in the effort to make it better, so neither did I. I dropped out shortly thereafter.”

Gust blinked. Politics. Of all the degrees, she’d taken an interest in the field his father so desperately wanted him to study. He supposed irony was cruel like that. He gave her a thin smile. “That is surprising.” He leaned a little closer across the table and she didn’t shy away. He regarded her hands. They were covered in grease and the nails had been bitten down to the nail bed. The hands of a hard worker. “I figured you would have studied carpentry considering your skill set.”

Piper tugged sheepishly at a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. “About that. I actually never considered carpentry before coming to Portia. This was kind of a worst case scenario for me and I was in a pretty desperate place when I made the decision.” Gust frowned at her. She never planned on coming to Portia. They were more alike than he’d thought. “Don’t get me wrong though, I don’t regret coming here now. I’m happier than I thought I’d be.”

Gust swallowed the bitter taste that had risen in his mouth. At least one of them was. “You are?”

Piper nodded and cradled her cheek in the palm of her hand. “There’s a lot of great people in this town, it makes it all worthwhile.” She reached forward and offered him an open palm, he took without a second thought. Grease stains aside, he liked the way her calloused hands felt under his finger tips. He’d found comfort in tracing them with his fingers. “And believe it or not you’re one of them.”

Gust snorted. “A lot of people would beg to differ.”

“Well, those people can pound sand,” Piper said with a shrug, “they don’t get to see the good sides of you.” She looked at him in earnest. It made Gust’s heart swell in his chest. He supposed she had a point. His good sides were often overshadowed by his shortcomings, but he was happy to hear someone had bothered to venture into the shadows to see them. He wasn’t sure if those good sides were worth the effort, but Piper seemed to think so. That was a small consolation at the very least.

He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand. This time she didn’t let go. “Thank you Piper.”

#my time at portia #mtap #mtap gust #mtap ginger #mtap builder

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shanie-the-toyaddict · 3 years

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Shanie’s Action Figure Update

1/13/2021

Well, time for another edition of Shanie’s Action Figure Update! Pictures:

First Row: Sami Zayn Elite 40 (NXT) and Elite 51 Second Row: Stephanie McMahon “Milk-O-Mania" Elite and Elite 50 Third Row: Marvel Legends Toys R Us 2-Pack Scarlet Witch (without Vision), Thor Ragnarok 2-Pack Hela (without Skurge), and Thor Ragnarok 2-Pack Valkyrie (without Thor).

So, some exciting news for you folks today! These are all figures I have gotten within the last 3 weeks or so, with the Scarlet Witch just arriving yesterday. The NXT Sami came the day before that and the rest showed up at the end of December. All in all, a decent showing, if you ask me.

So, about the figures!

All these figures came loose in technically “Used” condition. I am very poor and, whenever possible, will take the cheapest option available on a figure to save a buck. (More on that later) This means frequently buying loose and sometimes getting figures with a bit of wear. Out of this batch, despite all the figures being listed as Used, the only ones that really show wear are the NXT Sami, who has some paint rub on his eyebrows, and Hela, who has some annoying marks on her face. Neither one were dealbreakers for me, especially considering the deals which I got on the figures. If anything, I’m really just grateful I could get the NXT Sami for so cheap WITH his belt! Now I can display him as both NXT and IC champion, although there is still no word on when or if they will release an updated Sami Zayn figure in green.

Oh, and why did I buy two additional Sami Zayn Elites when I already had one? Well, see, I’ve sorta got this thing for him and I’ve decided I need all his elites now. I have one left to get, and once I get my hands on that one, I’ll be good on Sami figures till they release an updated one.

As for the Stephanies... these are both figures which I am aware I bought in the past. However, that Milk-O-Mania Alliance Steph is the only way to get an Attitude Era (ish) Steph, so I bought her to make a WrestleMania X-Seven Stephanie figure. And the Elite 50, while I know I have one around here somewhere, my apartment ate the one I bought with my very first Ringside Collectibles order years back, so I bought a new one. Both are in great condition, despite being used.

Finally, the Marvel Legends figures. These I decided to bite the bullet on because frankly, they weren't getting any cheaper. For the record, all three of these figures come from 2-pack, but they were all bought individually, without their box-mates.For Valkyrie, I know you would think I’d want “Triumphant Warrior” Valkyrie over this one, but I honestly like the aesthetic look of the 2-pack one better. White is not usually a color I’m fond of with my figures, due to the black color of my shelf. The Hela came with zero accessories but was pretty cheap which made me happy because ML Hela figures are pretty pricey. I was fine just getting the base figure and I really just wanted the horned headsculpt on her anyway. Finally, Scarlet Witch... ok, she was the most expensive out of any of these, but someone had listed one for an ok price and that plus my eBay bucks meant I got her for practically a steal, considering how much she goes for and the fact she was mint-loose. So these three I’m glad to finally add to my collection. Now my ML women’s figures collecting isn’t just pegwarmers (outside Agent Carter).

All in all, some great additions. However, I have some unfortunate news as well.

I had mentioned earlier my plans to make Hardcore Champion Shane McMahon as a custom for his birthday this year. Back before Christmas, I had ordered a loose suited Shane to use as a base figure. Then, with the holidays, I didn’t pay much attention to it, figuring that it would get to me in plenty of time.

It didn’t and it won’t. The seller turned out to be horribly unreliable (serves me right for ordering from someone with 7 feedback) and didn’t even ship the figure until the 8th of this month, and that was only after I got mad demanding to know where my figure was. It’s currently stuck in the system and is listed as “Arriving Late”. I highly doubt it will get here in time. I’m pissed, but again, it serves me right for A. Not buying from a trusted seller, B. Being so cheap, C. Not paying attention to the auction after I paid and D. Not speaking up immediately when I did notice the figure hadn’t shipped. I know this is his fault, but there were steps I could have taken to possibly helped the situation. Regardless, I’m likely not going to be able to make the figure I intended for the 15th, which has me seriously pissed off. Fucknuggets.

So, that concludes another edition of Shanie’s Action Figure Update. Stay tuned for some time (who knows when) later this month when I hopefully get that custom figure done and post photos to share with all of you.

#Action Figures #wwe action figures #marvel legends #Shanie's Action Figure Update #Shanie's Action Figures #Action Figure Update

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moonlight-mellohi · 4 years

Text

Storm of Cuddles

(Actual fanfic posted July 4, 2019)

Honestly I was just scrolling though some fanfics and found some cuddlefics, and suddenly I just wanted more?? It was just so cute????

If you know of any cute short stories/one-shots that are super fluffy and/or cuddley (and no NSFW) tell me in the comments, there SO CUTE

Ao3 link

Fanfic master post link

Words: 1,261

Summery: ' Today sucked.

It wasn’t an assignment from school messing him up, or friendship problems, or really anything that happened today on the terrible Friday it was that triggered his anxiety to hate him with a vengeance, it just did. And Virgil hated it back. '

In which I really want more soft (yet angst driven) cuddlefics, so I write Prinxiety

Today sucked.

Now though, he sat curled with blankets over his head, as soft snow flaked from the grey clouds high above outside of his window. Ha, snow flaked , his dad would be so proud if told that one. Well, if he even had enough energy to stand to go downstairs which by the way he did not . Instead he laid just below his pillow on the sheets, scrolling through the great mistake of Tumblr (which yes the screen light was bothering his head like crazy, but if your body tortures you, you torture back, right?) as anxiety grew and flourished in his chest.

A small ding from notifications made it flutter away for a small moment though, a smile flickering onto his face before falling back into unwanted neutral.

[Princey]- hey! dads going out tonight ona date, can I come over??

Virgil snorted at the spelling, typing back a response before the fear stopped him.

[On-The-Virge-Of-Panic]- One, fix the spelling before Pa murders you, he can hide a body

[On-The-Virge-Of-Panic]- Two, sure, just uhh don’t turn on the lights when you get here, got a bit of a headache

He bit his lip, thinking how stupid that last part was. Roman wasn't that stupid, they’d known each other since 6th grade for god sake. They had seen each other earlier today! He was going to call Virgil out, oh no no nonononononono- Ding!

[Princey]- very well! See you soon <3

Virgil snorted at the heart. Shaking his head, one happy thought finally infiltrating his anxiety drenched mind.

He really did have the best boyfriend.

______________________________

Roman skipped up to the house, waving one last time to his parents as they drove off. He knocked cheerfully, awaiting the very bubbly Patton opening the door.

After greeting both parents, he left them to their baking and books respectively before carefully making his way upstairs. Hearing the soft thunderstorm noises from behind a dark purple door confirmed his assumption that a headache wasn’t all his dark love was dealing with today.

Resisting hitting his forehead for not realizing it earlier that day, Roman carefully opened the door to reveal soft lavender fairy lights shining on drawn spider curtains. The white noise from outside played from an open YouTube Red tab, the plugged in laptop placed nearly closed on Virgil’s desk as it rumbled throughout the room. And there on the bed, black and purple blankets shifted as the human underneath realized the other had arrived.

Roman placed bag just inside before shutting the door quietly, walking the short distance to the bed before setting down on the edge. Silence engulfed the two for a minute as Roman studied the posters placed along the walls, letting Virgil adjust to another human being in the room before finally in a quiet voice “so, not just a headache?”

The pile whined (most likely thinking ‘he knows he knows he's gonna leave you alone like you should be, you don't deserve anyone you sad sack’ but hey i'm just the author, what do I know?) causing Roman to chuckle.

“Can I touch you babe?” he asked, causing another whine before after a few moments the blankets to be shifted, causing an opening. He lightly laughed in victory before shifting off his red and white Letterman jacket and sliding in, instantly getting attached to. He wrapped his arms around the shivering body, feeling tears drip onto his white shirt.

“You came” Virgil cried quietly, head tucked under Roman’s chin. The older nuzzled into the black and purple locks, cuddling the smaller closer “of course I came” he smiled “I don’t know how I leave you half the time” Roman chuckled.

This was the wrong thing to say apparently to the anxiety ridden teen though, since he tried to push away. Roman opened his arms a bit so he could back away, but not escape. He looked down into purple and green eyes, tears still leaking from them as he whispers “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I force you to be around me.”

Roman blinked his own grass green eyes, before processing the line “oh, oh hun no” he pulled the smaller teen close again “no you misunderstood me. Darkling what I meant is that I never want to leave you ” he pressed a soft kiss to the shocked emo’s forehead before closing the gap again. Virgil hesitantly clung back on, head tucked against Roman’s chest as the older carefully let their heads escape the scalding blanket cave.

After time the shaking gasps calmed down as the two held each other, Roman rubbing circles on his back and whispering small encouragements. And finally after a while, the two fell asleep, still cuddling close as soft thunder rumbled across the dark room.

______________________________

Patton placed his tray of brown sugar cinnamon cookies on a metal cooling rack, watching the steam roll off the dozen. His kiddo hadn’t been looking to happy today, so Patton had decided to cheer up his dark strange son with a batch of his favorite cookies.

..or five apparently the apron wearing figure realized as he stared around the messy kitchen, not realizing how much time had past. He had the first batch almost in the oven when Roman had appeared.. Ah Roman!

Patton chuckled as he realized the boyfriend was over, apparently wanting to go somewhere else as his parents Emile and Remy where out on a big date (Roman had swore earlier that both had mysteriously snuck ring boxes into their pockets, and the two had giggled over the couple proposing at the same time), and did not want to stay home with his chaotic twin, Remus. Patton quickly cleaned up the kitchen a bit (enough room to make dinner) before lifting the apron off over flour fluffed golden brown locks.

He skipped out to see his husband still in the same chair and position, the only difference was he was nearing the end of a different book. He swooped a quick kiss to the mans nearly black hair, breaking the trance Logan had been sucked into, and explained he was going to start making dinner soon. The adorable flustered nerd just nodded slightly before standing up out of the chair and replacing the pile of books back to their respective shelves, planning on assisting with dinner.

Patton grinned at the silent movement before making his way up the stairs, the soft rumbling of a thunderstorm finding his ears.

“Kiddos, I’m making-” he started as the door swung open under hand, but swiftly stop. He held his squeals at the sight of the two curled together, Roman protectively holding his sweet Virgil to his chest, tear streaks seemingly long dried along the emo’s cheeks. The father giggled before slipping his phone out and (after making sure his flash was off, he had a bad habit of leaving it on) snapped a few photos. He didn’t dare wake the two, seemingly tired after a bit of an emotional talk if the tear streaks and protectiveness had anything to say. He’d allow them to skip dinner tonight despite any protest from Logan, they seemed to need sleep. To be alone with each other.

With a soft smile, he carefully closed the door on the pair of teenagers, leaving the two to their storm of cuddles.

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chapter-61 · 4 years

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here comes the sun

CARRY ON COUNTDOWN DAY 8: Endearment Terms

AO3, POST-CARRY ON, POST-WAYWARD SON

I don’t know what I expected. For Snow to open his eyes and see me there, then pull me into one of his expert kisses and say, “Good morning, darling”?

Simon Snow is never going to call me “darling.” - Carry On, chapter 64.

5 times Baz calls Simon by an endearment term, + 1 time Simon returns the favour.

1. Penny

Everything hurts and nothing makes sense. The mage is dead, Ebb is dead. And Simon is in Baz’ arms. I don’t get it, but I’m too exhausted to ask.

Baz is mumbling something, and then I hear it.

“It’s all right, love.”

Huh. If I wasn’t on the edge of fainting I would be thrilled by this development, but it’s all too much. I’ll interrogate them later.

I hope mum comes soon.

2. Mitali

I’m glad Basilton Pitch made it to the Leaver’s Ball. I wasn’t sure he’d come. Secretly, I was hoping he’d convince Penelope to come with him, but no luck. I understand it, but I just wanted her to experience this before she’d go off to college. Of course, without Simon, there was no chance she’d actually come.

Taking another sip of my drink, I glance around looking for Basilton. We had a nice conversation earlier, and I’d rather talk about Latin prefixes than listening to Linda Possibelf’s conspiracies about the return of the faeries.

To be honest, I’m bored. As new headmistress there’s always something to do, but on the evening of the Leaver’s Ball I should be with my students, and not holed up in my office. I’m not too familiar with the students, however.

After another glance around, I decide to go outside for a minute and I start towards the stone patio.

There are people dancing in the middle, and while walking past them I scan them for familiar faces. Then, I halt.

Between the dancing couples, stands the oddest couple of all. It shouldn’t be a surprise, Penny has told me, and Basilton mentioned it, but it’s another thing to actually witness it.

For eight years, all Simon could talk about was his evil roommate. And now he’s dancing with him.

I’m happy for them. Now that they’ve stopped fighting, they actually look good together. More than one person is watching them, but they’ve only got eyes for each other. It’s sweet.

They’re lightly shoving at each other now, because of course they are, and before I think about it, I’m moving closer to listen to what they’re saying. Being forty doesn’t mean I don’t like to gossip anymore, and I’m sure Martin will enjoy it too.

“You are really bad at this,” Basilton is saying.

“I told you so!” Simon pushes Basilton away slightly but Basilton catches him and pulls him back into his arms.

In the meantime, the slow song has changed into something more up-beat, but the boys don’t seem to mind. They’ve got their arms around each other and Simon’s head is on Basilton’s shoulder. I grip my glass tighter and feel a slight ache in my heart. I wish Martin was here.

Soulmates. They make you yearn for your own other half.

I turn away but stop when I hear Simon again.

“Let’s go get some sandwiches.”

Basilton chuckles and replies, “Sure thing, sunshine.”

I smile into my glass and head back inside.

3. Agatha

It’s been two months since we came back from America and the whole thing at Watford happened. Sometimes I wonder if my life will always be like this, but I suppose I’m used to it by now.

What I’m still not used to, is Simon and Baz. Penny told me before I moved to America, but I didn’t really get it. And in the last few months, I still didn’t understand it. But I’m starting to.

Penny told me Simon and Baz had a rough year after Watford, that it went well at first but it spiraled down along with Simon’s mental state. I think they’re doing better now, though. I could ask Penny, but I don’t want to appear as the jealous ex, because I’m not. My romantic past with both of them is a bit wacky, but that was high school. I didn’t know myself back then and told myself I was in love.

They seem better, at least. Baz practically lives with Simon and Penny now, he’s been here every time I come over to visit. Just like today.

Penny has been catching me up on the latest Watford news over the last half hour, and that’s about as much magic talk as I can handle. I tell her so, and she doesn’t even look mad or worried. We’re all making progress, I think. She makes herself busy in the kitchen and I move to the living room.

Simon and Baz are on the couch, half draped over each other. They notice when I walk in.

“Agatha!” Simon calls me over. “Which movie should we watch later?”

I sit down in the armchair next to the couch and pretend to think. “Hmmm… What about… The Princess Bride?”

Simon cheers while Baz groans, and I smile at them.

Baz says, “I veto that choice. We’ve watched that at least five times by now. I think I can quote it by heart.”

“That’s the point!” Simon tells him.

“I don’t care, babe,” Baz says, “we’re watching something else.”

Simon doesn’t blink at Baz’ words, but I do. It’s not something I expected from Baz. For some reason, I didn’t think he’d be the type to casually throw endearment terms into a conversation. It sounded casual, though. As if it’s happened a million times before. Makes me feel like I’m missing something, or someone.

They continue to banter and I stand up and go back to the kitchen. At least with Penny I won’t feel like I’m missing a limb.

4. Daphne

When Baz told me he and Simon would take care of Mordelia’s birthday cake, I somehow believed him. Now, I’m having my doubts.

The kitchen has flour all over it, eggshells are laying around and everything is just plain dirty. I’m about to search the crime scene for anything salvageable, when I notice the oven is on.

I step closer, and lo and behold, there’s an actual cake in there. And it doesn’t even look half bad. Phew, crisis averted.

But why is the kitchen such a mess?

“Basilton?” I call out. I don’t get a reply, but there’s voices coming from the nearest bathroom.

I walk towards it, keeping an ear out for risky noises because that’s nothing I particularly want to see, but they’re just talking.

“How did you get dough in your hair?” Baz, exasperated.

“Because some wanker threw it at me!” Simon, even more exasperated.

A chuckle from Baz. “Wasn’t me.”

“Oh sure,” Simon says. “It was that other boyfriend of mine.”

“You’ve got me there.”

The faucet gets turned on and off and there’s a rustle of clothing.

Then Baz says, “You’re a mess.”

“But you like that, remember.” Sassy.

“I love it in fact.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Now, softer, Baz replies, “Because, honey, we match.”

I don’t hear their voices anymore, so I make my retreat and start cleaning the kitchen. When Baz and Simon exit the bathroom ten minutes later, I just smile at them and congratulate them on the cake.

5. Baz

After a full weekend of moving furniture, it’s done. We’ve finally moved in. My car is on the driveway, my bed is in the bedroom, and most importantly, Simon is in the kitchen. Our kitchen.

He’s making sour cherry scones, for our housewarming party this evening. I put the last plates in the cabinet and then turn around to watch him.

He looks so different from last year. Healthier, happier. I’m really proud of him.

He’s at the last step of the cooking process now: tasting. It usually takes him the longest, for obvious reasons.

I take a few steps until I’m behind him, and wrap my arms around his middle. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and press a kiss there. After all these years, after all what we’ve been through, he’s still warm to the touch.

Simon, with his hands busy, just turns his head and kisses my hair. I hum in response.

It’s all incredibly domestic and I love it. I thrive on it. What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic.

“Sweetheart?” I say after a moment.

“Mhm,” Simon mumbles, his mouth probably stuffed with scones.

“You’re leaving something for tonight, right?”

He snorts, swallows his scone and says, “I made another batch.”

It makes me smile, of course he did.

I reach out to take a scone for myself, and Simon (begrudgingly) lets me. It tastes pretty good. It tastes even better from Simon’s lips.

+1. Simon

I feel warm and fuzzy when I wake up. Our first night together in our own house.

Baz is curled around me, and everything smells nice. Probably those scones from yesterday.

I stretch, careful not to disrupt Baz, and then turn over to him. I could definitely get used to this.

Baz stayed over a lot when I still lived with Penny, but not every night. Having this, forever, means the world. Getting to wake up in the same bed as Baz every day, eating breakfast together, going to work, arguing about which movie to watch in the evening, going to bed together. It’s all painfully real and I’m in love with it. And with Baz, of course. I love him so much. Despite what we’ve been through in the last two years, in the last ten years, we made it. We made it, together.

And I can’t wait to see what the future will bring for us.

In the present, Baz is opening his eyes.

And I say what I’ve wanted to say for a long time.

“Good morning, darling.”

And he smiles at me like I’m his entire world and I’ve just made all his dreams come true.

#this one's a bit longer #i love 5+1 fics #carry on countdown #coc 2019 #carry on #day 8 #my fics

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makaris · 4 years

Text

Holy fuck, the Iowa Caucus

Okay so I want to break this down, mostly as a way to help myself make sense of it all. If this helps other folks understand the time line of events, all the better. My ‘sources’ are scattered and random, as I’ve been absorbing most of this stuff through osmosis and it’s super hard nailing down the ‘best’ link to something, given how fast all this is moving.

I will arbitrarily start my rant here.

BUTTIGIEG BLOCKS CRITICAL DES MOINES POLL

https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2020/02/iowa-poll-swiftly-spiked-after-buttigieg-campaign-issues-complaint

Shortly before the Iowa Caucus was to begin, the CNN/Des Moines poll was set to release. This is, apparently, a very important poll that a lot of the mainstream media (MSM) had already scheduled a lot of coverage for, as it would be a good indicator of the final state of things just before the election.

Then, Buttigieg campaign blocks its release. Why? Well, their campaign claimed that one of the pollsters may have not been giving out Buttigieg’s name while calling out. Not for any nefarious reason, just what is basically an IT issue. This alone isn’t really too bad. And, in a vacuum, not really worth too much fuss over. Like, I do think it’s a bit weird that CNN would let all that money/effort go to waste over a single campaigns minor complaint, but, still, whatever.

The fact that the poll ended up getting leaked and was very favorable to Bernie (and VERY unfavorable to Biden) is another small annoyance. It would have probably helped get a bit of positive / surprise coverage shortly before the caucus. But again, whatever.

https://www.washingtonexaminer.com/news/unreleased-final-iowa-poll-had-biden-in-fourth

Given what all ends up happening, it’s a just a prelude to some REAL hinky shit.

THAT FUCKING APP

So election day comes. I and many others are tuned into various outlets. We have the NYT and other vote trackers open, watching it all roll out. Looks like it’s going good for Bernie. Oh Boy!

Then, around 10PM, the numbers get pulled. We’re told that some app that was being used to communicate the votes was messing up. Numbers were going missing. They aren’t adding up. Tons of nonsense goes down.

The company that created the app is a company called Shadow (yes, really), which is part of a larger group called Acronym. It is staffed by ex Clinton staffers and other failures closely tied to the establishment, so the app being a POS should not be a surprise to anyone. Oh, and the company accepted over $42k from Buttigieg’s campaign.

https://www.truthorfiction.com/did-pete-buttigiegs-campaign-donate-42500-to-iowa-caucus-app-developer-shadow-inc/

It should be mentioned that this company and the people behind it will face no real repercussions. Yeah ‘Shadow’ might go under, but and they might have temporarily lost a few contracts with the DNC. But never underestimate how corrupt the democratic consultant class can be. They’ll be back to fuck some other shit up in no time.

Now, again, not trying to be conspiratorial here. Maybe the vapid bougie fucks behind this had no ill intent. Maybe their worst crime is being morons who did not test their software and accepted money unthinkingly. But at the very least, their history as agents positioned against one of the front runners, and acceptance of money from one of the others, is a clear conflict of interest and should not have been allowed to happen.

Moving on.

BERNIE RELEASES INTERNAL NUMBERS, BUT BUTTIGIEG VICTORIOUS?

Sander’s campaign releases their internal numbers, showing they are leading by a solid 5 points.

https://twitter.com/reaIKevin/status/1224685920504504321/photo/2

The above is the best we had that night.

Then, Buttigieg ended up reporting that he was ‘victorious’. This is obviously misleading at best, as he’d have no way of really knowing that. It was just blustering. An attempt to get ahead of the chaos and create The Narrative.

I won’t go into it right now, as this post is going to be long. But, in the end, the truth is not nearly as important as what people believe. If Pete can successfully insert the idea that he is winning, enough people won’t question it that you’ll gain some converts, regardless of it being untrue. Now, MSM would (surprisingly!) criticize him, a bit, but not nearly enough to make it a bad play, strategically. Pete is dangerous, because he’s the kind of guy that can identify an opening like this, see how it will play out, and shameless act on it.

When he got called out on it (again, surprisingly), he would later claim that he was being just being poetic / flowery, and didn’t mean to say that they had come in 1st and won, which is what victorious means. Pete’s lying, of course, because he is a liar who lies.

We’re getting head of ourselves. Let’s see what happens the next morning...

CONTROLLING THE NARRATIVE

The party decides that they need to do a LOT of ‘quality control’, and it’s just too much to release all at once. They need to do it small batches. And the initial 62% they decide to first release excludes all the area’s where Bernie is doing the best.

https://twitter.com/joules1971/status/1225057375540916226/photo/1

Hey look, Pete’s fucking winning now (if you exclude all the poorer, urban, or minority focused areas)! The numbers aren’t in yet, but it fits The Narrative, so who cares!

From then, past initial 62% release up to the 80-something-% yesterday, we at least have some data. We can look past the noise and see that Buttigieg’s claim to victory is NOT based on the popular vote. It turns out that, even with the releases being poised against him, Bernie is still leading in both the 1st and 2nd round of voting. The only thing he did not take is the SDE count, so they are end up tied for Delegates. What are SDE’s? They’re State Delegate Equivalents. I’m not going to claim to understand how it works, as it is extremely arcane, but an easier way to think about it is that Bernie won the popular vote, but Buttigieg won some Iowa-based electoral college. And even there, is only winning by a slim margin.

It is very important to stress that the delegates from Iowa BARELY MATTER. They’re not why Iowa is significant. The reason we care at all is winning Iowa means you get positive press, and a news cycle dedicated to you. Most voters do not pay much attention, and will generally vote for whoever they perceive to be winning. And who they perceive to be winning is generally based on what the media tells them.

If the goal was to hurt whoever truly won the Iowa election, you would do exactly this. You would you string along the release of info for as long as possible, so that either A) someone else gains the benefits of the election, based on misrepresenting, incomplete data OR B) folks stop paying attention.

Let’s stop and think. A bunch of stuff has happened already. Is it gross incompetence? Or is there nefarious intent? Both? Does the DNC even deserve the benefit of the doubt, after all the shit that they are on the record pulling in 2016?

Let’s assume incompetence for now, and see if it’s even still possible to think that later.

The point is, Bernie was getting his (OUR) media cycle stolen, and Buttigieg is now starting to gain in the polls.

UH OH, MATH IS HARD!

It starts coming out that the totals we were getting were incorrect.

https://twitter.com/Harvard4Bernie/status/1225189173998411778

Bernie votes (and a few from Warren even!) were going to other candidates. Black Hawk County managed to break into the news cycle, but they were far from alone.

https://twitter.com/MCulshawMaurer/status/1225198291140268033

https://twitter.com/crulge/status/1225185093091840002

https://twitter.com/Banalization/status/1225199174171451393

https://twitter.com/MikePrysner/status/1225229056519503872

Turns out TONS of counties were seeing major discrepancies. And, for some reason, all these errors and miscalculations were seeming to only break against Bernie. In some areas, all of Bernie's votes going to fucking Deval or Steyer, who otherwise had basically no support. The only reason we found out is because of local leaders that were smart enough to keep there own numbers, were paying close attention, and caught it. If they hadn’t, we would have never known. Now that’s what I call ~~~QUALITY CONTROL~~~~<3

I goes without saying that the DNC’s numbers at this point are EXTREMELY SUSPECT, and Bernie’s numbers are starting to look like they might be closer to the truth. However, even with this blatant idiocy / corruption (your pick), Bernie still has the popular vote.

TOM PEREZ NEEDS TO RESIGN

That brings us to earlier today, 02/06. 97% of the votes are in. Bernie is only down by 0.1 points in SDE’s, still will ahead in the popular vote, and we’re clearly going to win at this point.

https://twitter.com/micahuetricht/status/1225131303189852160

The remaining votes are coming from satellite locations, mostly minority groups. These groups were pulled in by the Bernie campaign and with their support we would surely pull in that last 0.2 percent needed to win in EVERY metric. There would be no way that the MSM or other campaigns could spin this. Bernie Won!

Then, Tom Perez puts his foot down, sees Bernie Winning all these unfortunate, unforeseen issues, and decides it’s high time to pull the plug and start the whole thing over from the beginning.

https://twitter.com/TomPerez/status/1225468833458245632

Tom Perez, in case you don’t remember, has been in control of the DNC since 2017 but was an opponent of Sanders during the 2016, including him offering plans on how to best shiv Bernie that were discovered in the Podesta leaks.

https://wikileaks.org/podesta-emails/emailid/4429

Notably, he helped engineer the narrative that Bernie could only connect with white liberals (ie the Bernie Bros myth), which has been something the Bernie campaign has been able to successfully push back on until it is now not only untrue, but the exact opposite of the truth. POC are the back bone of Bernie’s campaign!

https://twitter.com/CANCEL_SAM/status/1225566817889980418

ANYWAY, Tom Perez, sleazeball he is, decided to wait until just before we had crossed the finish line to pull this stunt. This is a pretty transparent attempt to delay the results (and the left’s victory!) as long as possible. It also achieves the goal keeping Pete out front and able to boost his polling going into the next states. Which is so far working for them, gaining 6-9 points just this week in NH.

https://www.realclearpolitics.com/epolls/latest_polls/democratic_nomination_polls/

I don’t think anyone would be opposed to a recount, but there can be no reason to not release the last 3% (which they already had: (https://twitter.com/JennUWinn84/status/1225474355028746241). It is overt, blatant corruption.

THE TAKE AWAY / WHAT DO WE DO?

- Don’t feel hopeless. That’s what they want.

- It is super important that we not only win, but we need to win in CRUSHING numbers. Because the DNC will pull every trick in the book to stop us, and we need to be ready.

- Paper. Fucking. Ballots. You’re not a Luddite for wanting this. It’s just the most practical, tamper-proof method. The app was a technocratic solution that was sold to the DNC, based on a problem they invented.

- More transparent oversight of our elections. We invade South American countries due to electoral malfeasance with weaker pretenses then what just happened.

- Capitalists will always break fascist when confronted with the possibility of marginally higher taxes. ALWAYS. For these reasons, If/When Bernie takes over the party, the DNC needs to be purged of EVERY LAST Reagan/Bush/Clinton era asset. We don’t need them, they are not our allies, they will actively try to sabotage us, and for all these reasons and more unity with them is impossible.

- Do not play into the ‘VOTE BLUE NO MATTER WHO’ game. It is not the time for that. We are in the primary, and Bernie is the front runner. The old arguments no longer apply, and no longer matter.

There are real fucking stakes here, and half/partial measures aren’t worth shit. It doesn’t matter if YOU think you’re being principled by showing up to cast a vote for Bloomburg over Trump. Anyone other then Bernie will suppress the vote, full stop. When people don’t vote, republicans win. You will not be successful in holding poor / underprivileged people hostage and trying to activate them politically if all your promising them is the status quo, or wonky means tested BS.

- We’re winning!...

https://projects.fivethirtyeight.com/2020-primary-forecast/

... But pretend we’re losing! We can’t get complacent.

Ok that’s enough. I have idea if anyone will read all this as I have like... four...? Followers? Sorry for my rant, but it’s time to get politically engaged!

#democrats #2020 Election #bernie sanders #dnc #tom perez #pete buttigieg #elizabeth warren #joe biden #bloomburg #iowa caucus

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littlestgahena1301 · 5 years

Text

Poison In My Mouth

Post-Kidnapping. A time where Bakugou starts cooking to ease up some past stress. Anxiety got the best of him, and his perceived notion of peace got even more shattered than before.

It's my first time trying to write any fic for this fandom, but I guess I should give it a try anyway. Also, English is not my first language, so please mention if I made some mistakes down there.

Word count w/o intro or outro= 2048

________________________________________________

The pan starts sizzling. Oil hissing just loud enough to let Bakugou know it's ready. Dutch onions was the first to go in. Slightly cold cresents descend on hot metal, Bakugou watched closely as he tries to lose himself in the process. After all, as a perfectionist, Bakugou won't let anything stop him from giving his absolute best.

Salt was thrown in just a bit late for the onion to preserve some of its natural sweetness. The batch that he got from the supermarket was pretty decent, and he would feel terrible if he failed to bring out the best of them. Salt draws out the moisture from the onions and makes their original taste a bit more concentrated in the center. A little bit goes a long way in this situation, as he needs to layer in some more seasoning later when other ingredients are piled up in the pan. He throws in a bit of chicken oil that he got from dry frying the skin earlier. Then comes the chopped chicken bits.

Sauteeing just enough to have them on the verge of browning, he had them pushed aside for other ingredients to come in. Mushrooms are generally hard to go wrong with and long beans just for that speck of greens peeking through. The green beans are pre-cooked though, he made sure to drown them a little bit in hot water for a bit so that they are not too crunchy when he's biting through it. He's making fluffy omelet rice, nothing in a fluffy omelet is supposed to be too crunchy.

The green suddenly reminded him of someone, for some reason, it took him back to that night where he sees Izuku rushing over to his side. Bloodied, hands purple and broken, so much that it pains him to just even recall the image. The sharp phantom pain that he felt running his left arm as if a jolt of electric briefly course through it. He instinctively curled in and grab onto his arm to massage it, although secretly knowing that it was just his mind playing tricks again. He shook his head as if it would also shake off his previous thought, and then he focuses on cooking. Remembering that night would bring him no good.

After they are good enough for him, he continued with just a slice of butter. Forget dieting for a bit and let's not be pretentious here, who the hell would say no to butter? His quirk works in his favor to burn off fat anyway, so there's almost no harm to it. He took a bowl of cooked rice into his hands and crumble them into the pan. Making sure he spreads it out evenly so that its more natural for him to mix it. After giving it a quick mix, he poured in a ladle of sauce. Beef demi-glace, his favorite.

Just earlier today, he contemplated using canned stuff but decided against it after reading the ingredients on the labels. He knows how to make his own sauce, albeit it was a tedious and lengthy process. He found that he couldn't really trust canned sauce since most of them are usually laced with food coloring and with too much sodium to boot. Besides, making his own sauce gives Katsuki a reason to stay in the kitchen just a little longer. So he did. Made his roux, add in some tomato paste, and only spent about an hour reducing the stock. In turns out well, and Katsuki was satisfied with its consistency.

He mixed it well this time, making sure that no rice is left uncoated. He makes sure nothing is too dry. The hot and crisp summer weather would usually make cooking a little bit faster but also causes his ingredients to dry out a bit too rapidly. It also makes him just a little bit more sweaty, which makes cooking a little bit tricker. He might just accidentally let a few drops into the fire and boom! There goes all his effort! It's a good thing that the room has air conditioning and proper ventilation that he only had to remember to turn on before cooking. Katsuki generally avoids staying too close to the stove for a long extended period if these resources were not available. He placed the rice in the shaper and set it aside.

Now, onto the main star of the dish. Katsuki oiled the pan just a little bit more to make sure it doesn't stick. Just enough for it line the pan for the size of the omelet. He poured in the egg and was quick to move after noticing it starts to solidify. He goes on shaping the omelet, flicking his wrist to keep it moving and rolling onto itself. This process had to happen quickly, or the egg will be cooked through, but getting it off just too quickly, and he'll end up with a raw middle. That's not something Katsuki wants to see tonight.

He quickly went to lift the shaper with his left hand, revealing its perfect shape. He steadies the egg on top of the right with a pair of chopsticks. He took a knife to cut it open; as expectedly, it opens up to reveal a partially gooey inside. He smiles to himself, he still got it.

He reaches out for the remaining sauce and scoops up just enough to let it run down the sides without drowning it. After garnishing it with some chopped spring onions, he felt quite proud of himself. Yeah, too bad he couldn't show off his skills entirely in front of his classmates. He bet they'll be begging him to cook for them, and Katsuki would definitely need to tell them to scram.

To think back, he didn't get to really taste the curry that he made during the camp. He didn't even get to check if they got the recipe right. All because of the.....

The...

..........

He felt a hand wrapping itself around his neck. Katsuki tried to pry it open, but when he reaches out, he made contact with his own skin. The fear never left him despite knowing nothing was there. It ran through his back as if an apparition slowly run their index finger, tracing his spine, while a malicious smile cracks their pale and ghastly faces.

Katsuki notices he started to sweat. A familiar pop was heard from his closed fist. He didn't realize he was gripping the spoon he had in hand. A small ribbon of smoke emitting from his now open palm, barely visible in the dark-lit- room.

Katsuki had no idea why he was so tense that night. His sleeplessness brought his feet to the kitchen, and he thought it would make him feel better. Tired and worn out, it might help him fall asleep.

He shook his head again.

Now's not the time to think about that. Besides, Katsuki shouldn't waste his perfectly-made food. His mom would've shouted his name loud enough to be heard by his whole neighborhood if he was ever late for dinner.

And now here comes the first bite. Katsuki expected it to taste just as usual since this is a recipe that he made so often, he could do it blindfolded.

He put the spoonful inside of his mouth and closed his eyes to savor it. The flavors swirled in his mouth.

Bitter.

What is this metallic taste in his mouth?

Was it blood?

Was the chicken raw in the middle?

He opened up his eyes to stab through one of the chicken pieces to check the doneness. It looks fine to him, so why does it taste so bad?

He took another one.

Bitter.

Raw.

RAW.

Then everything tasted bitter with a hint of metallic taste no matter how much he avoided the chicken pieces. He didn't understand, when did it go wrong? How could he mess things up after making it for so many times? Katsuki didn't think that he could let this haunt him the entire night. Refusing to give up, he lits the stove back up to give it another try.

________________________________________________

Kirishima does not usually wander at night, especially on days when he'll be too tired to even do so after a tough gym workout. His muscles are hurting a bit too much for him to fall asleep. Was the soreness from a strain? It looks like he needs to pay a visit to Recovery Girl in the morning.

Initially, he had only planned to grab some water from the fridge and then go back to his room. But after seeing plate after plate of omelet rice placed on top of the dining room table, he immediately forgot of his purpose for coming there. He recognizes Katsuki from behind, his face dimly illuminated by the stove fire.

"Bakugou? Bro, what are you doing?"

"Can't you see for yourself? I'm cooking! What else would I do in the kitchen?" his voice hiked a little bit. Not that he never screams, Kirishima just didn't expect it.

"Well, you sure made a lot of these..."

"Trying to get it right, Hair for Brains," He grumbled.

Kirishima got curious and took a bite from the nearest plate. It was a little bit cold but otherwise its a perfectly fine plate of omelet rice.

"Hey, what are you saying, man? These are great!"

"Shut up, I'm trying to focus! Something's off."

Kirishima took this liberty to taste every single one of them. Most of them taste the same, only differing slightly from one another. Kirishima settled for the most recently made one since it's still a bit warm. Seeing how Katsuki didn't stop him from eating, he thought that it's okay to eat them. Katsuki doesn't seem like he would eat all 5 plates anyway.

Katsuki gave the sauce another taste. Bitter. Blood. "It's still off."

"I don't know what you were expecting, Bakugou..." he trailed off as he took another bite. "None of them tastes bad."

Katsuki turned around to see Kirishima eating his latest one. "Who the hell said that you could eat those?"

"Well, you certainly didn't say anything about it earlier."

"I was going to compare them!"

"Yeah, but it's sad to let this one get cold like the others. Sides you still have like another half a plate to compare with."

Katsuki sighed, feeling defeated at the sight of the half-empty plate. "You know what? Fuck that plate! Just clean up after yourself, and don't get it my way!"

"Oh, thank you!"

Katsuki continued to re-evaluate what he did as the sauce continues to cook. Looking for weaknesses in his approach or his technique. He even brought down some notebooks to write down his steps. He just couldn't find anything wrong with what he was doing. Was there something else that he misses?

Katsuki heard the tap being turned on and saw Kirishima standing at the sink next to him and was washing the plate from earlier. He then dried the plate off and put it aside.

"Thanks for the meal, man. That sure hits the spot."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Would you invite me over to test some more if you're planning to cook again?"

Katsuki was perplexed. "Hah? I'm not gonna cook for you, damn it!"

"But doesn't food taste better when you are cooking it for someone else?"

"Never heard anything like that before." Katsuki gave him a skeptical look.

Kirishima grinned."I heard that from my mom! She said that food turns out better if you cook for someone else, especially if it was for my siblings and me!"

"Yeah, sure, you're just trying to get me to cook for you."

"And what's wrong with that? Does your food always turn out bad?"

Katsuki fumes."NO WAY ANYTHING I MADE EVER TASTE BAD! I'VE BEEN COOKING SINCE I'M OLD ENOUGH TO HOLD A KNIFE, HAIR FOR BRAINS!!!"

Kirishima giggled. It's so easy to get Katsuki to see everything as a challenge. "I'll look forward to your delicious food then, see ya!"

Kirishima grabbed the bottled water from the fridge and went on his merry way. Katsuki felt a smile creeping up his face as he saw how giddy the redhead was after the meal. He turned back to his stove to taste the newly made sauce. His smile grew wider.

Spicy.

Savory.

Sweet.

________________________________________________

Hey, its me again!

This fic was based upon an experience I once had with food. I noticed that I have a lot of anxiety after entering college, and it basically made every food taste bad. Some of the food did taste like blood, but not as severe as what I described in this fic. I just imagine that it's more heightened since his situation ends up as much more traumatic.

I noticed this after I ate something a few months ago, and the taste change midway after getting a trigger. At first, I thought the food was simply bad or poorly done. I started cooking sometime before at my rented apartment and found out that none of them taste as good as I remember that, and that deters me away from cooking.

At one point, everything tastes like a poison that I have to shove into my mouth to survive. This thing is not a singular incident too.

There's an article that said that mood greatly affects our taste buds, and things get more delicious when we're happy. Stress and anxiety could cause some changes in your perception of your five senses. Make sure your mental health is always in check if you are noticing these changes.

I started cooking again recently, and while some of them didn't turn as good as I thought, my tastebuds are functioning correctly once more.

I had help from a friend that's a regular home cook, and she's very open to answering my kitchen curiosities. I start slowly building back the confidence I lost, and now I can say I am at least not the worst chef ever lived. And hey sometimes you need a second opinion from someone you trust, and that's why I choose Kirishima and Bakugou because both of them play off each other so well that their chemistry is just natural. I also relate a lot to Bakugou on a lot of different aspects, so seeing him recover is also giving me some hope that I'll improve too.

If you are suffering from this condition, I suggest checking it with a doctor. Sometimes it might be other things other than stress or anxiety. If, however, if it was anxiety-induced, you could come back to eating after you calm down. No use of eating if you hate it.

@recoveryzine

#recoveryzinecontest

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monster-or-man · 5 years

Text

Monster or Man (working title) -Chapter 1

Hi all. So I’ve decided to post the first chapter of the first draft of my book that I’ve been working on for a long time. This is the first draft so it’s mostly just to get my ideas down, but I am looking for some feedback. If you enjoy it, please let me know. If you think there are improvements that need to be done, also let me know. Thanks!

She kept looking over her shoulder out of fear of being caught. What she was about to do would be considered treason, not only to the facility she was currently studying in but to the whole country. Dr Myrah Liang, in this place, her name wasn’t important, she was just one of many genetic scientists that were forced to work within these walls, however, soon she will be known all around the world. Thankfully, her outfit allowed her to blend in, the white long buttoned lab coat with the brown pants. It was the standard uniform for the genetic scientists, no one really batted an eye when they witnessed her standing at one of the various metal doors in the long hall. Reaching into her front pocket, an ID card was presented and pressed against the security keypad, little whispers slipped through her bright red lips. “Please, please, please.” Genetic scientists only had level one access, which only really opened up most of the labs and research quarters. To her surprise, the little red light on the keypad turned green and a small click notified her that the door unlocked. The lights flickered to life as she entered the room, revealing cabinets as tall as the walls themselves. Jackpot. Closing the door slowly behind her, Dr Liang’s eyes stared in amazement before rushing over to one of the shelves. Her fingers flipped through the folders, she had to find something, something that could expose this whole operation. Each file was labelled; December 17th 2001 – Afghanistan December 18th 2011 – Iraq March 16th 2004 - Pakistan April 27th 2018 – North Korea

Grabbing each file folder, Dr Liang thought that this might be enough evidence to get the media to pounce onto the people running this hellhole. However, she grabbed one more file as as a precaution. It had no date and the folder itself was completely blank. The scientist was so engrossed in looking at the files, she failed to realize that a security camera had been recording the whole time. Her head poked up from the stacks of papers and she began shuffling out. The plan to look as normal as possible was completely chucked out of the window, she just wanted to get out of there quickly before anyone noticed what she was doing.

Alarms echoed through the pearly white halls as the scientist bolted towards one of the many doors surrounding her. In her grasp were a stack grey coloured file folders, some of which had fallen out of her hands and onto the ground below. She didn’t bother stop and pick them up as the sound of heavy boots grew ever closer. With panicked breaths, the scientist slammed her body against the two large metal doors that separated her from her freedom. Her fist punched the enlarged elevator buttons but a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“And what exactly do yae plan on doing with those?”

That familiar Scottish accented, cold toned voice. She couldn’t help but swallow the lump of fear that built up in the back of her throat realising just exactly who was standing behind her. Much akin to a scared puppy, the woman’s head slowly turned, eyes widened and her body quaking. It was her boss, Dr Achim Lankanotvitch, dressed in a long black lab coat that was buttoned on his chest. His black short hair held was held together with enough wax that it looked like it could stab ones fingers if they were to touch it. The most eye catching feature which separated him from the rest of the scientists in the facility was the large metal arm that had completely replaced his normal limb. Large round glasses with reflective lenses covered his eyes, which made it difficult to read what emotion his face was portraying. However, judging by his straight posture and authoritative stance, he was not happy that this situation was occurring. “Your operation has to end. Too many innocent people are dying!” She shouted with the files hugged to her chest. “A shame really, I had such high hopes for yae.” Achim brushed off her statement, it meant nothing to him. “Leak those files and the whole world will spiral into a panic, wars will be started and a lot more lives will be lost.” He held out his blue gloved hand while his fingers twitched, demanding that she hand over the stack of papers. A ding from the elevator rang through both of their ears causing both of their heads to twitch. The rouge scientist moved to the opening doors, hunched over the files so no more would fall. “I’m going to put a stop to this, it’s time the world discovers your crime against humanity.” As soon as she said that, Achim almost leapt forward, attempting to grab her arm as she shuffled through the doors. He barely missed, but that didn’t stop the woman from hyperventilating in panic. She knew what would have happened if she got caught, a punishment so severe that she wouldn’t want to wish it upon anyone. Thankfully, getting to the elevator was the hardest part. Achim remained in his spot as the elevator went up. His left eye was twitching from the sudden stress that washed over him. Behind, several heavily armed security came to a halt. “Sir… someone is escaping with some sensitive material.” The scientist’s head turned slowly to face the soldier who spoke, his glare only darkened. “I KNOW!” That sudden outburst caused the entire facility around them to fall silent even the chatter from down the hall stopped. “Yae there… put him in the feeder… I need a drink.” “No! No!” The other soldiers were quick to listen to their boss’s demand, wrapping their arms around him as they dragged him away. Achim on the other hand made his way back down the hall. Luckily his private office wasn’t too far away.

As the boss walked down the hallway, his hands were linked behind his back. The Test Centre of Classified Somatology, usually known as the TCCS amongst the employees. Thirty years of blood, sweat and tears went into this place, sadly, for it’s creator, it had to remain hidden to the rest of the world. He approached his office slowly, nodding to the two soldiers who always stood guard at the door. They saluted back in a sign of respect as Achim entered. The room itself was large, but the office only took up a quarter of the space while the rest was used as living quarters for himself. In the right hand corner laid a messy double bed with the covers thrown over the side. Making his way to a large wooden cabinet, his metal fingers brushed against glass bottles, most of which were unopened bottles of whisky and wine, while others appeared to be almost empty.

“Hitting the drink already? It’s not even five o’clock.” A woman spoke from the door, Achim didn’t even hear her come in. She was dressed similar to him, a black long lab coat, but unlike her boss, she kept hers unbuttoned.. Her striking white long hair bounced as she walked before she slapped another batch of files on his desk. Being a much much older woman, she had been apart of the facility for many years, almost the same amount of time as Achim. There was no surprise that she would soon find herself second in command. “Leave me alone, I’ve had a rough day.” Achim snarked back at her comment while he poured himself a nice tall glass of Malt Scotch Whisky, the events from earlier today called for one of the more expensive drinks in his collection. “What’s this?” “Paperwork for that soldier you sentenced to death. Come on, you know the drill.” Her nail pressed against the file folder, tapping it. “Do you really need this right this second Karolinne?” “Yes, and don’t call me that while we’re on the job… I don’t want the rest of the employees to start…” She retorted with a small huff, still standing her ground in front of his desk. “I heard about the rouge scientist… What are you going to do about her?” Upon that question being asked, Achim stood up, whisky cup in hand as he made his way to the large window that was one of his walls. Behind the glass were fake trees, which rustled slightly as if something was moving. “It depends on how she plays her cards, if she goes to the media, we can shut it down before anybody gets a chance to see them. Head into parliament, she’d get shot on the spot. I’ll put out a nation wide warrant for her arrest.” Karolinne followed him, her eyes peering down to the area below. “I think you are being way to relaxed about this.” She looked at him before returning her gaze. “You under estimate her, don’t you?”

“I’m surprised, you more than anybody should know how many people have tried to put a stop to my operation, what is it now? Five? Six?” Achim took another sip of his expensive whisky, not giving her the time of day. She had nothing but respect for him, so when he gave her the cold shoulder, she went silent on the subject. “The president is going to get wind of this sooner or later.” Only then did the scientist react, shuffling in his spot ever so slightly but it was noticeable to her. On that note, Karolinne made her way to the door. “Get that paperwork done as soon as possible.” No response. Achim had become lost in his own thoughts. The TCCS had so much potential, however layers of red tape had constricted his ideas and expanding his operation was not possible anymore. Trees rustled below him once more, snapping him out of his thoughts. He slowly walked back to his desk and basically flopped into his chair, starting his paperwork.

Days had passed since the files were stolen, nothing had really come from it which was rather surprising to Achim. He half expected half of the world to be furious with him but it was all radio silence. The scientist was in his office, observing some of the security footage from that day, when his desk lit up. On the screen below his files, the face of the President himself showed up on the incoming call button. Great. He tapped the green answer square as if he was using a normal cell phone. Shortly after a holographic screen appeared in front of him with live feed from the Oval Office. “So nice to see yae mister President.” Achim attempted to clean his desk by just shoving papers back into the file folder, he’ll sort it later. The President of the United States, a man that held tremendous power over many countries around the globe. Personally, Achim felt like he was wasting it. There were so many missed opportunities that would have benefited the country greatly. “Achim! Why are you killing your own men again!?” He didn’t flinch despite the fact that his boss was yelling at the top of his lungs, clearly furious at him. “First of all, don’t yell at me like that… secondly, that man was incompetent, if you would assign me some people that could in fact do their job, then I’d be more than happy not to send them to the pit.” That didn’t stop the president from still screaming his head off. “That’s no excuse! We have people asking questions!” Achim held his tongue. As much as he wanted to scream back at the top of his lungs about how that soldier decided to make the smart ass remark, he knew that it would only lead to more arguing. The president continued. “We have an investor interested in helping you fund your operations, she will be arriving in the next forty-eight hours, get your act together and make sure you’re ready to show her your best work.” That new piece of information really put Achim on edge. His stance shifted while his arms were suddenly crossed at the chest, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “An investor? I told yae… we were getting more orders coming in, people have been paying.” “We’re running out of money, even with their contributions. You and I both know that we cannot turn down any interested parties at this point.”

The scientist rubbed his chin, disapproving by this sudden turn of events. “Fine, we will show her around.” “Good, now don’t mess this up.” On that note, the screen shut off with a faint clicking sound. Achim moved from rubbing his chin to rubbing his temple. Karolinne stood on the side of his desk, she looked rather amused with her wide grin. “On days like this I’m kind of glad you’re the one that has to deal with him and not me.” “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter.” He sighed deeply, expelling the pent up rage that had been slowly boiling up to the surface. “Either way, I want this place in pristine condition, a little extra funding would go a long way.” “Yes sir.”

#oc story #book draft #chapter 1 #monster or man #Any feedback would be great!#writing #written draft #writer

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