#mistakes cooking pesto pasta

[leclercloml]

Enchanted to meet you | CL16

Part 1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x singer!reader

Summary: after your relationship almost became very obvious you did a hard launch and obviously because everyone's favourite couple (little plot twist at the end)

Genre: SMAU

warnings: google translated french, grammar mistakes, incorrect time line to match the story line

Author's note; as I said before I'm still new to this and will probably do a part 3 🫶🏻

fc: Gracie Abrams

yourinstagram

📍camp nou

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 56,72,362 others

yourinstagram visca barça and forza ferrari till I die 💙❤️

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carlossainz55 hala madrid 🤍💛💪🏼!

⤷yourinstagram have fun in my block list 😙👋

username mother is a football fan!!

fcbarcelona hope you enjoyed 💙❤️

⤷yourinstagram it's a childhood dream come true, Visca el BARÇA 💙❤️

scuderiaferrari red (y/n version)

⤷yourinstagram the only W you guys taking this year

⤷username lmaaao tell em queen

pablogavi cantante favorito ❤️ (favourite singer)

⤷yourinstagram gracias gavira 🤍

⤷username MY multiverse of madness

⤷username ship ship ship

⤷username GIRL STFU she can have friends plus she have a boyfriend

landonorris istg I'm tired of yours and Carlos's very own el clasico it's so annoying

⤷yourinstagram ikr it's so annoying like what's the point barca is clearly better

⤷carlossainz55 🧢🧢🧢 14>>5

⤷yourinstagram argue with me when your team wins a treble.

⤷alex_albon what have you done

charles_leclerc

📍 camp nou

liked by yourinstagram, carlossainz55 and 43,86,529 others

charles_leclerc what a match, força barça 💙❤️

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carlossainz55 the betrayal is insane...

⤷yourinstagram nah he just have ball knowledge

username you all Y/N is literally the biggest barca fan ever

⤷username SHE WAS ALSO AT THE GAME

⤷username they went together no one can tell me otherwise

⤷username no shit Sherlock

username are they trying to soft launch? 💀

⤷username shhhh let them have their fun

maxverstappen1 barca 🔛🔝

⤷yourinstagram only a true champion can recognise the another champion 🐐

⤷carlossainz55 i have won a gp...

⤷username we already have our iconic duo y'all

yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc , lilymhe and 45,265,236 others

yourinstagram soft launch is overrated anyways

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charles_leclerc ma belle fille ❤️💙🧡💚🍀💕

⤷yourinstagram my beautiful boy ❤️🩵🩷

⤷username HELP THE EMOJIS

landonorris there are kids on this app

⤷charles_leclerc yeah...like you.

⤷carlossainz55 Lando go to sleep it's past your bedtime

⤷alex_albon I'm reporting your id only 13+ are allowed on this app

⤷landonorris blocked ALL OF YOU

⤷username this is already soooo fun 😭😭

charles_leclerc I was enchanté to meet you

⤷yourinstagram is it mother tay or danny ric reference?

⤷charles_leclerc whatever helps you sleep at night 😙☝🏼

⤷yourinstagram so mother tay it is.

⤷danielricciardo I'm deeply offended.

⤷yourinstagram you're still my fav tho (after Seb)

⤷danielricciardo okay I'll let it slide this time

username the comments from the drivers are just 😭😭☝🏼☝🏼

charles_leclerc Mon amour, ma vie, mon tout 💙 (my love, my life, my everything)

⤷yourinstagram I don't speak french but je t'aime à la folie (I love you to the moon and back)

⤷username the highway looking extra cozy today

charles_leclerc the girl on second slide single?

⤷yourusername nah she have a boyfriend who snores while he sleeps and burn the pot while cooking his iconic pasta pesto

⤷charles_leclerc I DO NOT SNORE! FALSE INFORMATION.

⤷carlossainz55 you do.

⤷pierregasly you do.

⤷alex_albon you do.

⤷username BAHAHAHA I'M LOVING THIS COUPLE ALREADY.

charles_leclerc

liked by yourinstagram, sabrinacarpenter and 34,562,361 others

charles_leclerc Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close. 🌊💙

view comments

yourinstagram sway me more 🩷

⤷carlossainz55 tf?

⤷yourinstagram it's a lyrics to song estúpido

⤷landonorris what else can you expect from a guy who says "mAriAh cAreY"

⤷carlossainz55 in Spain it's Maria Carey!

⤷username carlos, lando and y/n a trio we didn't know we needed.

⤷username nah because y/n and Lando just bully carlos and it's hilarious 😭

yourinstagram my beautiful beautiful boy ❤️

⤷charles_leclerc yours only 🩷🩷

⤷landonorris you both make me wanna unalive myself

⤷username "unalive" lmaaoo 😭😭

yourinstagram I told the stars about you ☝🏼

⤷charles_leclerc yeah? What did they say?

⤷yourinstagram it's a secret.

lilymhe my girl is so beautiful

⤷yourinstagram my lady is more beautiful

⤷lilymhe nahh you are.

⤷yourinstagram nahh you.

⤷landonorris neither of you is, I am.

⤷username HELP

Username i love them your honour.

yourinstagram just in case you foolishly forget; I'm never not thinking of you 🩵.

⤷charles_leclerc just in case you foolishly forget; you're all mine and I'm not sharing you (yeah not even to Lily or Kika)

⤷lilymhe am I the only one who smells.... jealousy?

⤷francisca.cgomes me too girl, me too.

⤷username my fav wags uniting.

username IT couple.

Twitter

PS: ahhh I just wanted to make a plot twist 😭 I'll do a part 3 as soon as I can!

part 3!!

Tag: @justdreamersdream

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smau #f1 driver x reader #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #leclercloml

[loves0phelia]

Friday Night (part 1)

Summery: A perfect night between you and Matt.

Words: 1k

Warnings: nudity at one point, grammar mistakes.

A/N: If you want to be added to a tagglist tell me xxx (and tell which characters i write for, you want to be tagged for please)

As one of Matt's favorite vinyl records played softly in the background, you stood by the stove, stirring his favorite meal. It was finally Friday, and you knew that after a week of battling both in court and on the streets, Matt would appreciate this small gesture of comfort.

The aroma of the food filled the atmosphere of the apartment; the scent was familiar, and you hoped it would bring a smile to Matt's face. As you listened to the soft melody, you heard another sound. It was just as familiar. 

As Matt's keys turned in the lock of the front door to your shared living space, a gentle smile tugged at your lips. Anticipation grew within you. Even though he has been your husband for just about a year and every time he comes home from work, you still get this warm feeling in your stomach.

Matt stepped inside, and your smile widened. There was something about his everyday suits and ties that never failed to make you fall more in love.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice comforting like an angel that fell from heaven.

"I missed you," you replied, as you wrapped your arms around him in a warm embrace. Your affection for the man was unexplainable.

“I missed you more, sweetheart. It smells heavenly in here,” he said against your hair. Your shampoo filled his senses, and your scent almost hypnotized him. He could stay forever in this very position.

His name for you made your cheeks burn. It's like you never got used to receiving such love. Matt never failed to make you blush like a high school girl.

“I made your favorite,” you said against his chest, not wanting to let go. You could also stay glued to him forever if it was possible.

“God, you're an angel, you know that? I needed that." His chest bubbled with a soft chuckle before his body detached from yours.

You watched as he made his way to the stove, where the pan of creamy chicken pesto pasta was. He stuck his pinky finger in the sauce and quickly tasted it.

Your hand playfully swatted his arm, a protest at his attempt to sneak a taste of the meal you were preparing. 

“Get your dirty hands away from my food!” You laughed, and he just continued moaning at the taste.

“It's so good, my love; you've outdone yourself.” His hand found its way to your waist to pull you closer, as if you weren't inches apart already. His lips brushed against your cheek, then your nose, your forehead, and finally your lips to lay a desperate kiss. The touch of his lips sent shivers down your spine.

“As much as I love that, Matty, we need to eat before it burns." You whispered into the air as his lips were now against your collarbone. He made a disapproving sound but still disconnected himself from you. 

He stood behind you with a protective hand on the small of your back as you placed spoonfuls of the pasta in two bowls. You made sure to put extra chicken inside his portions, knowing it was his favorite part.

You both settled at the two-person kitchen table before you dug into the delicious food you had prepared.

As you ate, conversation flowed effortlessly between you. Matt's compliments on your cooking skills warmed your heart; his words were gentle.

Between bites, you talked about your respective days at work. You listened intently as Matt told you about his; his voice brought solace and comfort.

As the meal drew to an end, you both picked up your dirty dishes and placed them down on the sink. Like a routine, you went to the right side of the sink to clean them with soap and water, and he stood by the left side to dry off the dishes you handed him.

You and Matt always shared chores. Whether it was doing dishes, doing laundry, or cleaning up around the apartment,. 

You both said it was a way to help each other, to live in an equal household, but truly, you both used this explanation to excuse yours and Matt's need to stay close at all times. You craved his affection, and he craved your touch and your presence.

“Do you want to shower alone tonight?” You laid your chin on his shoulder as he finished drying the last plate. He carefully dropped the dish in the cupboard, and he turned to you.

“You're actually asking that?” A grin replaced the natural pout on his lips, and once again, his digits touched the skin on the side of your body. Your shoulder rose in a shrug, and you pressed yourself against him.

"I'm not going daredeviling," Matt murmured, and he pulled you close. "So I want every moment tonight to be with you and close to you."

A shy smile bloomed on your lips at his words. "I love you so much," you whispered.

"I love you more, angel," he replied before leaning in.

As his lips met yours, you felt his fingers brush against your hand. With a gentle motion, he rolled your wedding ring between his index finger and thumb, a silent reminder that you were his.   After a few tender kisses, he brought you along with him to the bathroom. He carefully pulled away your shirt away and gave your jaw an innocent kiss. You then pulled loose his tie, as well as his white dress shirt, and he unclipped your bra. 

The shower that was previously opened was letting the bathroom fill with steam, making you and Matt undress completely and quickly. 

You both stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over your bodies. Matt's hair fell on his forehead as he tilted his head back, letting the water wash over him.

Grabbing the shampoo bottle, you squirted a small amount into your palm before lathering it between your hands. Gently, you reached for Matt, your fingers curling through his soaked hair as you began to massage his scalp with care.

A contented sigh escaped Matt's lips like a purr as your skilled fingers worked their magic; the sensation sent pure pleasure through him. The tension of the day melted away beneath your touch.

At that moment, as you stood together beneath the warm spray of the shower, everything felt so perfect. You and Matt both thought nothing could ruin this night.

#eddie munson x y/n #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock angst #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock smut

[rahleeyah]

So my mom was the best cook/baker like. Ever. Just magic in the kitchen and always trying new things and every time she brought food somewhere everybody always ate every last bit of it and raved about it. It brought her a lot of joy, the actual act of cooking and baking, and feeding people, sharing with people and making them happy. Everybody who ever met her has a favorite dish of hers, something she made that they may have only had once but that was completely unforgettable.

It's a high bar for me and my sister when we go to extended family gatherings. We can fucking cook, we learned from the best and we're a killer team in the kitchen, but like. No one is gonna be as good as the GOAT. And we feel a little bit of pressure, to make sure that whatever we bring is good. Partly bc for a long long time our family brought the Good Shit and we want to still provide that, but partly bc we don't want pity. We don't want anyone to even think "oh those poor girls" and tut over a subpar plate of meatballs. Bringing really good food is like a very quiet way of saying we're doing ok. We're strong. We haven't fallen apart. It matters that the food is good. If the food isn't good it means we aren't good.

We let my dad make requests for what we brought to Christmas. The three of us actually had a really nice - bittersweet, but nice - moment on Friday, going through my mom's recipes and picking things out. It was good to touch her things, to see her handwriting again, to talk about her. But my father asked for shrimp creole. This man picked one of the most cumbersome recipes he could have asked for - spices they only sell at one specific store in town, 3 pounds of shrimp to shell and devein, make your own stock, bake the rice, etc, while balancing 3 other recipes cooking at the same time - but like. Me and my sister are both stubborn as hell. He wants shrimp creole he's gonna get shrimp creole. And it's gonna be good, damn it.

And it was. Everybody said so, and ate plenty of it - and plenty of the Hawaiian meatballs, and the pesto pasta salad I made special for my niece, tho my coconut cake wasn't a big hit bc apparently a lot of people don't like coconut 🙄 - and that felt good. It just feels like. You know, we fuck up. We make mistakes. We're not perfect. Me and my sister, we're not up to a lot of people's standards, and we're used to being judged. But by god we can cook. There's lots of things we can't do, but this we can do. We can show up on time, and we can feed people, care for people, be there for people. And bring home empty bowls after.

And I think that would've made mama happy, but more than anything I think she'd just be happy we're getting along so well. I think she'd be glad to know we're still a team. A better team now than she probably ever dreamed we would be. That's the best part of all of it, honestly. Not just knowing that we did a good job, but that we did it together. Like not to be sappy but my sister and I have come a long way together and I'm grateful for that.

#trauma patience

[joannaliceevans-fanficblog]

You Will Find Me: Chapter: Eight Preview

Yay! this will be out later in the week. But for the mean time, here’s something!

Nat and Steve

Evening rolled around, and dinner time was quickly approaching. According to Andy and the website, the restaurant was one of the top-notch restaurants in Massachusetts. The lines were all out the door, and the reservations were about a month in advance. Lucky for both of them, they were able to secure a seat that was facing the bay. As they headed to the lobby, Nat paused and looked towards the front desk, where a woman was heard talking to a middle-aged lady. Lucky for both of them, they were able to secure a seat that was facing the bay.

“Beth, is there a room available?”

“Yes, there is, honey. Is there something wrong? You look upset?”

“It's-it's just a lot of things have happened, and I don’t want to get into it.”

“Okay, I’ll have Marcus get your things. The room is 417.”

“Thank you, Beth, and I’ll be back for dinner service. I can help out at the bakery.”

“Honey?” Nat heard Steve say. Nat turned to her husband and gave a smile.

“Sorry, I thought I saw something,” Nat said, giving her husband another smile. Steve looked at her as he took her hand into his.

“Alright, let’s go,” Steve said and led the way to the restaurant. As the hostess sat them at their table, Nat picked up the menu and began to browse.

“The filet mignon looks good.” Steve mentioned, making Nat giggle.

“Yea, it’s the only thing you like to eat besides my cooking,” Nat said, still giggling. 

Hey, you’re the best, okay?” Steve said as he leaned back into his chair. Nat sighed, as she, too leaned back into her chair. 

The waiter came by and took their orders. Steve ordered his Filet mignon with steamed veggies, mashed potatoes, and Red Wine Mushroom Gravy. Just as Nat was about to order the pasta, something caught her eye. 

A dish that Sarah first taught her. 

"I'll have the Baked Salmon in Filo Dough, with Pesto Sauce, lemon pepper grilled asparagus, and Lemon Pilaf Rice." 

The waitress nodded and left to place their order in. 

“Sarah was the one that taught me to cook that dish, too,"  Nat mentioned. Steve placed his glass of whisky down and sighed.

“Was that why you looked a bit lost earlier?” Steve asked. Nat sighed and leaned back into her chair.

“I thought I heard and saw her, or I don’t know. I just feel this might be a mistake.” Nat said.

#andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x female reader #steve rogers x natasha romanoff

[bonesandthebees]

🍂, 🥧, and 🍬!!

YOOO TY FUN ONES

🍂what does your editing process look like? how does your wip typically change as you work on it?

honestly... I really don't do a whole lot in the way of editing most of the time? like things definitely deviate from my outline as I write it, but once the main bulk of the chapter/one shot is written I don't usually change much besides rewording a few sentences if they sound clunky or fixing spelling mistakes and stuff. like, what i publish is pretty much straight out of my brain first try. on very very rare occasions i might have to make a major edit if the entire story feels stilted or i'm struggling to write it. like with vanderlyle crybaby cry, i wrote out most of the first chapter and then had to go back and delete like 3/4s of it to rewrite the first crimeboys interaction because I had to rework their entire dynamic. I was completely stuck on the fic for months until I gave in and rewrote that whole scene, and then it worked perfectly afterwards

🥧let’s talk about food in your wip. are there any special recipes or traditional meals? do any of your OCs cook or bake?

oh my god you guys don't know how much I love talking about food when i write. one of the only things i regret about being a crimeboys main is that I don't think it's very in character to write about food in detail when i'm in either of their POVs, so I don't do it. but if I ever wrote something in say, niki's POV? ohhhhh I would go so into detail with the food

idk if there's really any special recipes that I've made or my family has made that I've mentioned in a fic before. there are definitely family recipes I could bring up, but I just haven't really thought of it. however I HAVE written about food I really love before. like in what the water gave me, I think I had wilbur order an ahi tuna burger from a restaurant in one scene, and that was based off an ahi tuna burger i got from a restaurant that i still think about to this day it was so good. in world forgetting I mentioned them eating pesto pasta for dinner at one point, pesto pasta is my favorite type of pasta meal to eat. vanderlyle i obviously had a whole scene with them getting soondubu which is one of my favorite foods just in general. (also I don't really have any ocs I actively work on atm so I'm not gonna answer that, but I am gonna be developing some soon lol)

🍬share a sweet or fluffy scene from your wip!

OOO lemme see what I got

this is more funny than sweet but it's the closest i could find that's from something recent that i actually plan on publishing

ask game!

#ask #aliveburs #ask game

[1010ll]

how to upgrade your tomato sauce! 

i like tomato sauce because it’s cheap and i usually have some sad vegetables in my fridge that i can throw in. it’s easy to make variations and make it suitable for pasta, rice, potatoes, beans and so on, and makes a great pantry item. 

use a nice aromatic olive oil(doesn’t have to be expensive)

dont be afraid of onion and garlic

sauté(!) your tomato paste. it removes tinny, bitter flavours

use aromatics like rosemary, thyme, oregano, basil, bay leves for more classic flavours, or add chili, cumin, coriander, paprika, fennel seeds, mustard seeds, kaffir lime leaves, ginger etc. and experiment with combinations! almost every country has it own style of tomato sauce.  try googling nationality + tomato sauce.

ADD VEGGIES TO YOUR ONION AND GARLIC! before adding canned tomatoes, add small cut pieces of vegetables and sauté/cook it down(called sofrito). it will take a long time and it will be delicious. you can add almost everything: carrots, beets, parsley root/parsnip, bell peber, celery, eggplant, zucchini, squash, mushrooms, cauliflower, green beans, you name it! 

ADD SOME FUNK! chop up olives, capers, sun dried tomatoes, anchovies, lemon peel, artichokes, sausage, pesto, ajvar, fish sauce, soy sauce, kimchi, curry paste, a splash of leftover wine, beer, whatever :) it’s a good idea especially if you don’t use meat. 

let it simmer for a very long time. it will develop more flavours and make it feel more ‘whole’. add more water if needed.

if you do have fresh herbs, chop some and add on top! basil, cilantro, dill, parsley, chives, mint, spring onions etc.

try to make a game out of it, look in your fridge / pantry and think about possible combinations. 

have fun! and remember that there are no mistakes, only happy accidents that you can learn from. 

[harryhoney-bee]

24 please!

24- making each other diner.

There is a bit of suggestive themes at the end!

word count: 500, a tiny thing

"Why did you buy take-out?" Harry asked with a raspy voice, looking at the girl with her hands full of food containers, spring rolls, he guessed, because of the amazing.

"Why wouldn't I? It's our anniversary, I thought it might be nice to do something special here." Y/n questioned back in confusion, she had to work a double shift at her job, so she and Harry agreed to commemorate in a domestic way, she just wasn't expecting Harry's weird expression when she came by the door asking for help, since her hands were full. "Oh, did you want Chinese? We can order pizza if you want it's–"

"What? No baby, Chinese it's ok, but I thought we were having homemade food since I'm home all day." Harry had the week off, which made him incredibly happy, sadly Y/n's agenda didn't match his, so he was alone all day.

"Oh, maybe we need to work on our communication because I almost brought the whole restaurant," y/n laughed, kissing Harry's still confused face. "But it's fine, we can just have this for today and cook together tomorrow."

"Mhm, the problem is I already cooked, I made pasta ao pesto."

Both of them looked at each other realizing the mistake they made.

"How much did you make?"

"The whole package." He said, taking the bags from her hands and going to the kitchen, the room was illuminated with candles, the table was already set. "I made a lot so we could eat it for lunch tomorrow since you don't have to work.

When the girl entered the kitchen she was so surprised at how beautiful it all looked, the smell of the candle and pasta making the environment look even more romantic.

"Harry, it looks so beautiful! I feel silly with my take-out now!" She said, putting the boxes filled with food on them and turning around to see her husband, she could swear he was blushing a bit.

"I mean, it's not a lot but I thought we could use a bit of a classy diner at home, it's been a long time, right?"

Y/n wrapped her arms around him, feeling him giving her head small pecks, "My girl deserves only the best."

"I love you so much, I could suck you off right now," she said, voice mumbled.

Harry laughed, putting her closer, "I would appreciate it a lot, but maybe later, alright? Let's get some food in your belly first."

"What about my spring rolls? Do we put it in the fridge?"

"No, let's eat all together, you didn't have to go all the way to the restaurant so we could just put it in the fridge," he said, guiding her to the table with a hand on her lower back.

"I doubt it will be a good mix,"

Harry rolled his eyes playfully, setting the box on the table, "We can eat it separately, don't worry."

He slowly made his way behind the chair he was sitting, squeezing her thigh roughly while he whispered to her ear, "Don't take too long though, need your mouth in other places." He then stepped away, kissing her cheeks and leaving the girl dazed."

He made his way around the table, sitting in front of her, "Now go on, wanna see your plate clean."

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #boyfriendrry

[returntobeaconhills]

Moonrise - Chapter Two

Chapter Two - The Hungry Fox 

Walt puts out dishes heaped with eggs and bacon as everyone takes a seat for their post-run breakfast.

"What are your plans for the day?" Talia asks her children, but her eyes are specifically on Derek.

"I don't have class. Thought I'd draw for a while, out at the edge of the preserve." Derek clears his throat and picks at his bacon.

"That sounds like a nice day," Walt says. "You should stop back in for lunch and I'll make you a chicken pesto sandwich. How does that sound?"

Derek smiles. "Yeah, Dad. Thanks."

Cora checks the time. "I've got to head out. I'm supposed to open the coffee shop today."

Laura finishes up and stands. "I can give you a ride."

"Have a good day, girls," Talia says.

"Thanks for breakfast, Dad," Derek says as he finishes his own food.

"Of course. I'll see you at lunch." Walt starts to clear the dishes.

"I look forward to seeing your sketches later," Talia tells Derek with a smile, but her face is still lined with concern.

Derek leans and nuzzles lightly against her shoulder, head bowed.

Talia sighs, comforted by the touch. She pets over his hair. "You never tell me that I worry too much like your sisters do."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Derek says with a small laugh. "Anytime we're not all together, it's like there's a hook in my chest, pulling me to wherever the others are."

Talia turns her face to look at him. "There is nothing wrong with you! You just feel a strong bond to the pack." She hugs him. "Would you like to stay home with me today?"

Derek shakes his head. "No, I'm okay." He pauses. "That's what makes it so strange, you know? I don't even remember making the decision to break from the pack and chase. I just did it."

Talia's lips go thin. "Do you think something else was controlling you?"

Derek tilts his head and considers. "I don't know. I don't think so, but...felt like instinct. Felt like when I was first learning to control the shift, and I'd turn without even realizing I'd done it."

Talia studies him for a long moment. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," Derek murmurs. Talia squeezes Derek's hand. "So, tell me, what did this fox look like?"

"It was a little fennec fox. Sort of tan-colored. Great big ears. They're not native to California, but. Immigrants, I guess." Derek licks his lips. "And as a boy, I didn't see him very long, but he was tall and pale and... freckly."

"I see." Talia suppresses a smile. "Maybe you can draw the fox from memory while you're out today."

Derek's eyes light up. "You're right. That's a great idea."

Talia stands and kisses Derek's hair. "Take some snacks and water with you so you don't get hungry."

"Yes, ma'am." Derek gets to his feet, stretches, and waits for his mother's dismissal.

Talia nods. "You may go."

Derek bows his head and goes upstairs to shower and dress.

As soon as Derek steps outside, it feels as if he is being watched. Derek tightens the straps on his backpack, a nervous habit, and starts walking out to the edge of the preserve.

As Derek is making his way through the preserve, his eye catches something unusual. As he approaches, he realizes it's a pile of clothing: a discarded hoodie, a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, socks, and boxers. He kneels down next to the pile, scenting the air.

Once he catches the scent, the fox comes into view. The fox tilts his head as he watches Derek.

"Hey," Derek says, surprised. "It's you."

The fox lets out a short bark.

Derek flashes his eyes blue. "You never saw me like this. Do you recognize me?"

The fox huffs and nods his head. Still on his knees, Derek holds out a hand, palm up.

The fox approaches slowly. After several long moments, he sniffs Derek's hand. The fox pushes his head against Derek's hand in order to be petted.

“Hey, little guy,” Derek says with a laugh, gently running his fingertips along the fox’s ears.

At the use of 'little guy,' the fox nips lightly at Derek's wrist.

“Ow. Oh--sorry. You’re not just--those are really nice ears,” Derek offers.

The fox preens and ducks his head to offer Derek his ears. Upon closer inspection, Derek can see a small dusting of freckles and moles along the cream-colored fur.

“Wow, you have freckles even in your shifted form.” Derek’s fingertips hover over the freckles, mapping them from a distance like stars. “That’s...I didn’t even know that could happen. That’s amazing.” He gives a self-conscious laugh, looking away as a blush creeps up his neck.

The fox jumps on Derek's arm and climbs up to perch on his shoulder. He noses at Derek's red cheek before moving over Derek's shoulder to paw at his backpack.

“I’ll show you what’s inside, but you gotta jump off first. I don’t want you to fall off when I set it down.”

The fox uses Derek's shoulder as a launch pad to jump from. He settles on the hoodie as he watches with large eyes.

“Okay.” Derek swings the bag off of his shoulder and unzips it, pulling out several bottles of water, a brown paper bag with a bit of a grease stain on the bottom, a box of pencils, and a sketchpad.

The fox immediately pounces on the bag. He tries to tug it with his small teeth, but the sight is mostly comical.

Derek’s brow furrows slightly, even as his lips pull up. “Hey, little g--uh, fox. Are you hungry?” His eyes widen. “D-did I keep you from doing your hunting last night?”

The fox scratches at the bag and looks up at Derek.

“Sorry, yeah, let me...” Derek pulls a plastic container out of the bag, a bit of oil fingerprinting the outside. He opens it to reveal an aromatic Greek-style pasta dish with a bit of cooked lamb tucked into the corner, placing the meal in front of the fox.

The fox dives in, his little paws slipping in the dirt as he moves to eat. The fox eats about half of the food before pulling back. He yawns and curls up on the clothes.

“I’ll leave the rest for you. After your nap.” Derek puts the lid back on the container and picks up his drawing materials.

One of the fox's eyes stays cracked open, curious as to what Derek will do next.

Derek opens one of the water bottles and sets it upright on the ground next to the food. “Thirsty?”

The fox gets up and moves toward the bottle. He uses a paw to knock the bottle over and starts to drink as the water spills out.

“That’s good.” Derek clears his throat as he opens his sketchbook. “We always have plenty of food. More than enough.”

The fox gets his fill of water before settling back on the clothes. He hides his face with a paw as he sleeps.

Only the sound of the pencil moving across paper accentuates the fox’s even breathing. Derek stays perfectly still except to draw.

His phone goes off with a text. The fox stirs and lifts his head to look at Derek with as much annoyance as the small face can muster.

Talia to Derek: Everything okay, sweetheart?

Derek turns his phone to silent.

Derek: Yes.

The fox stretches out and sleeps for another half hour. When he wakes, the fox jumps up on a tree stump to get a view of Derek's drawing.

Derek breaks his pencil in his clumsy rush to try to cover up an extremely detailed sketch of the sleeping fox.

The fox huffs and scowls as Derek moves to hide his work. He jumps down and moves into Derek's backpack. He pokes his head outside, but doesn't make any other movements to leave it.

“Get cold sometimes?” Derek asks, voice a little too high as he closes his sketchbook.

The fox moves its head from side to side to indicate he’s not in the bag because he’s cold.

"That's good." Derek reaches out to pet him.

The fox starts a soft purr under the attention. Derek chuckles, a low, pleased rumble. The fox moves out of the bag and starts jumping around in a circle. He flashes his eyes at Derek.

"What's this?" Derek smiles at the sight, but scents the air to make sure it isn't a warning.

Sensing nothing, Derek looks back to the fox, who noses at the hoodie, then jumps up again before tugging at Derek's pant leg.

"Should I follow you? Want to show me something?"

The fox gives up and sits back. He considers for a moment before he darts off as fast as he can.

A growl escapes Derek before he can help it. He tugs off his clothes and shifts with a groan, running full-speed in pursuit.

The fox swishes his tail, almost taunting. With a short, joyful howl, Derek leaps over him, landing in front of the little fox so that they're facing each other. The fox scents at Derek before rubbing its face against Derek's legs. Derek flips onto his back, paws up by his chest, giving the fox room to play on his belly. The fox jumps up on Derek's stomach and nips at Derek's jaw.

As the fox's nose moves over Derek's throat, he goes perfectly, unnaturally still. The fox sits back on Derek's belly, confused. Derek shivers, nearly dislodging the fox in the process. The fox jumps down and lowers its head. Derek gets back up, shaking his head, taking a moment to recover before licking the fox’s nose in reassurance. The fox nuzzles against Derek. The wolf mouths at the fox’s snout again. The fox pulls back and sneezes, his small head twitching. There’s no mistaking the smile that overtakes Derek’s face, letting his long, wolfish tongue loll to the side. He leans in and licks the top of the fox’s head. The fox playfully slaps at Derek's nose before sprinting off.

They spend hours this way--Derek chasing the fox, constantly tackling or pouncing or nuzzling, and the two of them taking breaks in between to roll around and play in the underbrush.

As it grows dark, Derek hears Talia's howl.

Derek stills, ears pricking up. He howls in return, eyes bright blue, before he makes eye contact with the fox to see if he understands.

The fox licks Derek's nose before running off.

A soft, saddened whine escapes Derek, but he only allows himself a moment before he obeys the call.

Talia is standing in human form at the edge of the yard when Derek returns. Her face is etched with worry. Walt stands at her side.

Derek sucks in a sharp breath. Once he’s within a few feet of them, he lifts his chin up, baring his throat.

Talia relaxes at Derek's appearance but her tone is stern as she says, "You didn't answer your phone."

“I was shifted,” Derek murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

Talia reaches out to cup Derek's cheek. "You're okay?"

“Yeah. I’m good.” Derek leans into the touch, flashing his eyes as a sign of respect.

Talia matches it with her own red eyes.

Walt slaps Derek's shoulder. "See, Tal, no reason to worry. He just lost track of time, right?"

Talia huffs but her lips pull up the smallest bit. "You were just as worried when he didn't come home for lunch."

“I’m sorry,” Derek says again, biting his lip. “Did you howl before you got really worried? I-I tried to get back fast once I heard it--”

"It's okay," Walt assures him.

Talia tilts her head. "Were you with the fox again?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek murmurs.

Talia sighs. "I worry about this shifter being a bad influence. Did you get his name?" Derek winces. “No, ma’am. He didn’t shift back this time. But he seems very…sweet.”

Talia pets over his hair. "Go ahead and get washed up for dinner. You must be hungry. Did you finish your pasta?"

“No, ma’am,” Derek says, barely audible.

Talia kisses Derek's temple. "It's okay. You don't have to be upset."

“He seemed hungry,” Derek says quietly.

Walt frowns. "Did he need food? You could have brought him home for dinner."

“I sort of tried to ask about it, but...when he heard the howl, he took off.” Derek shrugs. “Maybe he’s scared.”

"Maybe." Talia leads Derek inside.

After getting washed up, Derek helps Walt finish preparing the meal and sets the table.

Talia keeps casting concerned glances at Derek throughout the meal.

"So, you found him," Laura comments. "Did you ask him out?"

Derek’s face goes splotchy and pink.

"Leave your brother alone," Talia warns her.

"I think it's good you made a friend, Der," Cora says as she helps herself to a second serving of food.

“Yeah. Kinda different for me,” Derek says, genuine. He pushes his food around on his plate.

Walt's brow furrows. "Is there something wrong with the food?"

“No, no.” Derek takes a bite, looking back up at Walt as he swallows it down.

Walt squeezes his shoulder. "I think there will be leftovers if you want to take some for your friend."

"Walt," Talia says. "It's getting late."

“Yes, ma’am. It can wait.”

After dinner, Laura pulls Derek aside into her room. "I can tell you how to sneak out if you want."

“They were pretty worried about me,” Derek says, putting his hands in his pockets.

"But this is so romantic. You need to at least get his name!"

Derek smiles a little despite himself. "You really think I should?"

"Yes!" Laura shakes his shoulders gently. "You almost never make connections with people."

Derek's smile falters.

Laura bites her own lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like a bad thing. It's really not! I just think if you're happy with him, you should pursue that."

"But what if it's..." Derek swallows, looking down at his shoes. "He didn't want to shift back with me there. He only did it the first time 'cause he was scared of me, didn't know what I was gonna do, at first. What if that's all it is, a fox and a wolf in the woods?"

Laura wraps her arms around him. "Did you ask him to change back? Maybe try talking to him instead of just playing."

"Maybe," Derek murmurs.

Laura pulls back. "If you don't want to, I won't push you into it. I just want you to be happy."

Derek nods. "I know."

Laura points to her window. "Go out my window if you want to try. Your room is too close to Mom and Dad's. If their window is open, they might hear you drop down."

Derek huffs a laugh. "Got it."

Laura winks at him. "I'm going to go watch a movie with Cora."

"'Night." Derek goes to his bedroom.

Talia and Walt both check in before they head to bed.

Derek sits cross-legged on his bed, going over sketches in pen.

Around midnight comes a soft tapping on his window.

Goosebumps rise on Derek’s skin. He drops his sketchbook and leans over to open the window, listening for any sign of his parents rousing as the wind moves through his room, sweeping up his papers.

The same young man from the woods tumbles through Derek's window, this time fully dressed in the rumpled clothes from the woods.

“Fox,” Derek blurts out, because he doesn’t know him by any other name.

The boy raises an eyebrow. "Stiles." “ Stiles,” Derek breathes out, slowly, testing the sound of it.

Stiles nods. "I waited. You didn't come back."

“I couldn’t come back.” Derek’s brow furrows in confusion. “My alpha called me.”

"Oh." Stiles shrugs, as if he doesn't quite know the weight of this. "Do you want to play now?"

“Um.” Derek shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, are you hungry? I’m a little hungry.”

"I could eat," Stiles admits. "What do you have?"

“Lots of stuff. My dad’s a chef, so we always have plenty.” Derek points to the door. “Want to?”

Stiles hesitates. "What about the others. Four others, right? I caught five scents total."

“That’s my dad, my mom--she’s the alpha--my older sister and my younger sister. But nobody’ll mind,” Derek rushes to add. “Promise.”

Stiles squirms. "They're all wolves?"

Derek’s eyes tighten, a small, nearly unnoticeable flinch, as if Stiles had pulled back to throw a punch. “They’re my family,” he murmurs.

"Okay." Stiles nods. "If you think they won't mind. Most wolves, they don't like foxes, it seems."

“Most people don’t like wolves,” Derek says simply.

Stiles scuffs his shoe along the floor. "They make you leave," he says in a small voice.

“You don’t have...?”

"I have someone," Stiles rushes out. "I have my dad."

“Oh.” Derek relaxes a little. “Is he hungry, too?” His eyes go wide, blood rushing to his face. “I-I mean...would he want to join us, or, or--is he a fox? Not that it matters if he’s--um.”

"He's not," Stiles says. He inches back towards the window. "He's human. And he's fine. I'm fine."

“Okay.” Derek clasps his hands in front of him to keep from trying to cover his blushing face. “Sorry.”

"I should go," Stiles says. He casts a glance at Derek's sketchbook. "You were busy."

Derek bites his lip and drops into a sitting position on his bed. “Okay,” he murmurs.

Stiles hesitates at the window.

“Sorry,” Derek says again, numbly picking up his sketchbook just to have something to do with his hands. He doesn’t actually open it, just turns it over on his lap, ducking his head so that Stiles can’t see his face.

The sound of a sneaker being kicked off draws Derek's attention as Stiles starts to undress. “What are you doing?” Derek squeaks out.

Stiles shifts. Once he's a fox, he jumps up onto Derek's bed.

“O-okay.” Derek lifts his hand, letting it hover over the fox’s head.

The fox pushes against Derek's hand. Derek’s muscles relax a little as he pets over the fox’s soft fur. The fox paws at Derek's legs like a cat settling in.

With a chuckle, Derek focuses on the fox, scratching behind his ears, rubbing his belly, running a thumb over the fine little hairs above his eyes. The fox's eyes grow heavy until he finally nods off, curled up against Derek.

Though he doesn’t remember the moment it happens, Derek falls asleep easily, slumping down to the bed like a puppet with cut strings.

When Derek stirs the next morning, he wakes to a very human, very naked Stiles sleeping against him.

Derek slaps his hand over his own mouth to keep from yelling. Hands shaking, he grabs an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it delicately over Stiles’s body.

Stiles nuzzles against the pillow.

There's a knock at the door.

Derek catches himself at just the last moment from clapping his hands over Stiles’s ears to keep the noise from rousing him. He swallows thickly, blushing to the tips of his ears.

"Derek, Dad wants you to know breakfast is almost ready!" Cora calls through the door.

“I have a guest,” Derek says, voice comically high-pitched.

The door cracks open enough for Cora to stick her head in. "What?"

Derek looks up at her, expression pleading.

Cora's eyes go wide. "Oh, my God," she mouths. She gestures for Derek to come out into the hallway.

Scowling, Derek gestures to Stiles, still sleeping soundly half-on top of him.

Cora rolls her eyes and closes the door. A moment later Derek's phone vibrates with a text.

He’s careful not to jostle Stiles as he checks it.

Cora to Derek: Omg!!!! Who is it??? I can't see his face! I never thought you had it in you! Scandalous. Derek: WE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING. He’s the one I told you guys about. He came in last night and shifted. I was going to get us some food, but he fell asleep, and then I fell asleep, and THAT’S IT. Cora: likely story. 👉👌👬❤️❤️❤️ Derek: 😡 Cora: How am I supposed to cover for you? I can't exactly lie to them. Derek: Tell them the truth. Just leave out the naked part! Please Cora: Okay. I'm going to eat all your pancakes. Derek: Save enough for Stiles Cora: Stiles?? That's who it is??? You know who he is, right? Derek: ...no? Cora: That's the sheriff's son you're in bed with. Naked. Derek: Oh my God. Is he Derek: ! Derek: Please say I'm not committing a crime right now Cora: No crime. He's 18. It's legal.

A pause this time.

Derek: You gave me a heart attack, Cor Cora: Sorry! I just thought you should know.

Stiles snuffles against Derek. "Your pulse started racing. Calm down," he mumbles, still partially asleep.

"Okay," Derek whispers, adjusting the blanket so that it covers more of Stiles's body.

Stiles nudges his face to hide under Derek's arm as he falls back asleep.

Derek stays perfectly still for fear of waking him. His phone goes off with another text.

Talia to Derek: I would like to meet your guest before he leaves. Derek: Yes ma'am

After twenty minutes, Derek starts to hear another vibrating phone and realizes it belongs to Stiles, still tucked away in his pants pocket on the floor.

Derek chews his lip before gently shaking Stiles's shoulder.

Stiles jerks awake. "Wha?"

"Your phone," Derek whispers.

Stiles rubs at his eyes. He falls out of bed and crawls over to grab his phone. He types out a text before standing up and stretching, still nude.

Derek averts his eyes, cheeks blazing red.

"Oh." Stiles looks down. "Sorry. Must have shifted in my sleep." He pulls on his clothes.

"There's breakfast," Derek says in a small voice.

"Cool." Stiles runs a hand through his hair. "You okay?"

Derek gives a jerky nod. "Just--didn't want to, um..."

Stiles looks down. "You've already seen me naked," he says, confused.

"Th-that's not an open invitation. I didn't want to, you know--take advantage. You shifted in your sleep this time. It was an accident, so."

Stiles shrugs. "I'm not embarrassed."

"Okay. Yeah, sorry, I didn't--of course." Derek gets to his feet. "There's pancakes downstairs." He heads to the door.

"Awesome." Stiles follows Derek out.

Derek leads the way down to the dining room.

The family is all sitting at the table still. Cora smirks at Stiles. Laura gives Derek a thumbs up.

Derek clears his throat. "This is Stiles. Stiles, this is my mother and alpha, Talia. My father, Walt. And my sisters, Laura and Cora."

"Hi." Stiles gives a small wave as he sits down.

Talia purses her lips.

Derek takes his own seat, watching his mother nervously.

"When did your friend arrive?" Talia asks Derek.

"Last night. He wanted to go out to the woods again, but we ended up just falling asleep," Derek says. "Just falling asleep."

"I see." Talia clears her throat. "We prefer Derek to only go out shifted at night with the pack, Stiles."

Stiles fidgets in his chair. "Oh."

"I'll get you some food," Derek rushes out, jumping up to go into the kitchen.

Stiles gets up to follow him. "Maybe I should go," he says when he gets into the kitchen. "I don't need breakfast."

Derek stills, eyes on his shoes. "They're protective. The way people are about wolves...there’s so much fear and hatred. We're strong, but that doesn't mean we aren't vulnerable without our pack there to protect us."

Stiles rocks on his heels. "I don't really know anything about packs."

"It's a connection," Derek says softly, hand coming up to rest on his own chest without realizing it. "It's always there. It pulls at you, like the moon pulls the water. That's where we got it from." He lets out a self-conscious laugh. "That's what my grandmother says, anyway."

Stiles gives him a small smile. "That's cute."

Derek leans back against the counter, loosening up the more Stiles does.

Stiles eyes a stack of pancakes.

Laura enters. "Mom wanted to see if you needed additional help," she says with a pointed look.

Derek shakes his head roughly. “Got it.” He stacks pancakes on a plate and hands it to Stiles.

"Thanks." Stiles pours a lake of syrup on the pancakes before he carries the plate back out to the table.

“You guys are freaking him out!” Derek whispers to Laura, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Sorry!" Laura whispers back. "It's weird! Cora came down and said you had a guy in your bed."

“Nothing happened! Nothing at all. Sleeping happened, actual sleeping.”

Laura laughs. "You're so innocent!" She gestures back to the dining room. "We should get back out there before Mom interrogates him."

Derek’s eyes go huge. He nods vigorously and goes back into the dining room empty-handed.

Walt frowns. "Aren't you going to eat?"

“I’m good,” Derek says.

“So, Stiles--tell us about coming in through Derek’s bedroom window last night,” Talia says, pouring honey over her pancakes.

Stiles takes a huge bite of pancake. Talking through the barely chewed food, he says, "I thought he might want to go for a run, and I didn't want to bother anyone else," he says easily.

“We’re pleased to meet you, but there are rules in this house, and I expect them to be followed, even by guests.”

Stiles swallows and puts down his fork. "Like what?"

“You will receive my permission before spending time with Derek after dark or in his bedroom,” Talia says sharply.

Stiles's jaw clenches. He nods. "Got it." He pushes his plate over to Derek. "Have mine. I need to get home. My dad is wondering where I am." He stands. "Thanks for having me," he tells the others.

Derek looks gutted.

Stiles hurries out the door with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Talia sighs. "It wasn't an unreasonable request."

"I know," Derek says quietly, sliding Stiles's plate to the middle of the table. "I'm still tired. May I go back to bed for a little while?"

Talia reaches out a hand for Derek. "Sweetheart, of course I want you to be happy. You know that. I'd like for you to find a nice person that is good for you."

"I know." Derek ducks down under her hand so that it rests lightly on the top of his head.

Talia strokes over Derek's hair. "You may go back to sleep if you wish. Do you have class today?"

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek says. “This afternoon.”

Talia smiles at him. "Good. That will take your mind off everything. Go ahead and rest some more, then you can eat something before you go." “ Yes, ma’am.” Derek flashes his eyes and bows his head before going upstairs.

When Derek reaches his bed, he sees a note scrawled out hastily on a blank sheet of his sketchbook.

It reads: Meet me at 2pm where you first caught me. - S

#sterek #teen wolf #stiles #stiles stilinski #teen wolf mtv #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fandom #sterek OTP #derek hale #stiles x derek

[affection-starved-starfish]

A reminder to myself to never let anyone cook for me ever again : my dad made raviolis with pesto sauce tonight. And he put the WHOLE FUCKING JAR OF PESTO in the raviolis. That’s 558 calories just for the sauce. So basically I just ate approximately 300 cals of pasta and 300 cals of pesto for diner 🤡 that’s an overestimation since I ate a much smaller portion than him but still omg.

As soon as I realised what he did I told him it was not some basic tomato sauce and that it had a lot more fat and salt. I looked up the calories and sat in front of my plate and I just felt like crying. I literally had to hold back tears. I finished my plate without enjoying a single bite because I was still trying not to cry because fuck that’s what a normal person would do. And then I felt the binge urges grow. I felt my mindset change and the little voice tell me that I was gross for eating this and that I was weak, I should’ve found a way out of eating it and that now that everything was ruined I might as well binge. I started thinking about the bread on the table, the butter in the fridge, the cheese, the desserts, the biscuits, the chocolate. All the things I wanted to eat, all the usual things I go for once the switch in my brain has flipped.

And I didn’t. YOU GUYS I DIDNT BINGE. I’m in my room right now writing this, the urge is gone and I feel like I can breath again. I don’t really know how I did it because for so many years I have been completely unable to break free. Add to this the fact that today the trigger was really strong, that I already had a piece of cake for my brother’s and my nephew’s birthday in the afternoon and that I have been restricting without binging for a while and you can imagine how much the self hatred and the all or nothing mentality was trying to fool me. This is the first time I managed to overcome this big of a compulsion to binge.

What I think helped is thinking about how bad I would feel physically afterwards (the headache, the stomach pain, bad sleep, acid reflux once I lay down, racing heart, being to hot, feeling foggy, being bloated the next day). I also thought that I would have to log it in my journal, that I would ruin a month long no binge streak, that it would do more damage than the pesto ever could, that I was doing this out of loneliness. I tried to distract myself and also planned on drinking a camomille tea and smoking a cigarette (which is something I enjoy but not after having overeaten, it makes me feel even worse). I distracted myself until my dad was done eating and I ran out of the kitchen.

I think what made it so triggering is also the context. Talking to a therapist has really helped me to become aware of the fact that a lot of my eating behaviours are emotional responses to my surroundings (I mean I already knew that. EDs are coping mechanisms for us. But I had never realised the subtlety of some of the triggers and how binging was my immediate subconscious reaction to it). For example here, the real problem was not the fact that I was forced to consume a ridiculous amount of pesto to pretend that I was normal in front of my dad. It was not the calories themselves that upset me. Because the piece of cake I had this afternoon did not make me bingey. It was a special occasion, I was enjoying a treat with my family. It was not triggering. And if someone else had made my dad’s mistake, I probably would’ve laughed it off, felt a little gross about it, and moved on. But no what really triggered me is the fact that my dad is a fucking child, oblivious to everything. It’s like the hundredth time he uses pesto and he still doesn’t know how to. This is just one small mistake but it’s the kind of things he does all the time. He tends to do things like that all the time and in more delicate or important situations. That’s the story of my life, my dad is a child and I have to be the adult and sometimes it gets too hard. I have lived like this for years and every time my brain responds with this fucked up habit of numbing my emotions with food. But now I am 21 and I have other options I need to get out of these coping mechanisms because they are trapping me. Yes they kept me alive when I couldn’t deal at 16 but now they are just making me too numb and distracted to focus on what’s important and on working on an escape plan.

Sorry for this rant but it kinda feels like a break through and it might be weird but I hope it helps someone.

tl;dr : I resisted the urge to binge because I realised that my dad being my dad triggered it and that the hours of self hatred that would follow were not worth it. That’s what I call growing up y’all.

#anamia #bulimina #bulimua #disordered eating tw #ed relapse #it's not as simple as just eating #tw ed stuff #anorecca #anorekcia #anorexik #edtumblr #just ed things #just ed stuff #tw ed behavior #tw ed mention #eating disoder things #eating disoder thoughts #restricted eating #eating disoder recovery #anarexx #ana thoughts #anarecia #bulimilk #bulimiii

[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 1

This is the first chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on AO3. 

Next

Eren doesn’t know why he let Mikasa and Armin convince him to come out tonight. 

As much as he would’ve loved to eat in a restaurant like Kuchel’s Kitchen a few months ago, he can’t help but be appalled as he stands like a traffic cone in the doorway, large and obviously out of place and in the way of everyone nearby. It looks nice enough from the outside—a little brick building squeezed between the local bookstore and a discount department store—but the inside smells like cheese and herbs and garlic, and Eren simply cannot believe his friends thought this was a good idea. 

His nose is already burning, but Mikasa has apparently grown tired of his hesitance and tugs on his arm.

“Come on, Eren, you can’t stand there all night,” she says, yanking him hard enough that he’s forced to stumble inside. 

“Can’t we eat somewhere else?” he asks, casting a wary glance around the restaurant. 

It’s close to closing, and most of the tables are empty. The white and yellow tiled floors even look freshly mopped. Eren winces when he makes eye contact with the red-haired waitress across the room and lowers his voice, quickly shifting his gaze away from her curious green eyes. 

“Anywhere else,” he hisses. “I mean, seriously, Italian?”

“You love Italian food,” Armin pipes up from behind Mikasa’s shoulder.

“I know, but—”

“You said you wanted to try being normal again, and this was our normal,” Mikasa says sharply, though her face suddenly twists and her dark-eyed gaze drops to the floor. “As close as we can get, anyway.”

When her grip on his arm loosens, Eren’s stomach painfully knots itself together, and he places his hand over hers. Armin comes closer, his hand coming to rest over Eren’s, and Eren heaves a sigh, squeezing his eyes shut as they begin to burn as badly as his nose, though for different reasons. He lets himself take a deep breath for a moment, and he allows the smells to really hit his sensitive nose. Though the restaurant seems fairly new—Eren’s certainly never been here before—there’s familiarity in the smell of freshly-cooked food. 

“Okay,” he says after a moment, “let’s try to be normal.”

The waitress who watched their strange display of affection comes towards them, menus in hand, when they finally settle down at a table. Her gaze lingers just a bit longer on Eren, and he stiffens, pulling up the collar of his turtleneck, wondering if something has given him away. Did his sweater slip down and she saw the scar? Is it the turtleneck itself? It is the middle of summer, but it’s late and beyond its covering aspects, the sweater helps him deal with the way his body now runs cold. Surely, the night time chill is a good enough excuse.

The redhead walks away with the promise to bring their drinks—waters all around—without a word to Eren, but that gaze has him pulling his long hair out of its bun, hoping to cover whatever he can.

“Eren,” Mikasa says, nudging his foot under the table, “relax.”

“I’m trying,” he says. 

Trying to be normal again. That’s what they were going for. Trying to pretend that Eren hasn’t upended his entire schedule, changed jobs, switched all his classes to their evening sections, dropping them when it wasn’t possible. Trying to pretend that his family was okay, that there isn’t something burning within him, something that he hasn’t been able to shake for months now. 

Trying to pretend that the smells don’t hurt his nose, that his teeth aren’t too big for his mouth. That he’s not thirsty in the way the water won't fix. 

Yeah. Perfectly normal. 

He keeps himself busy with the menu and tries to think. Tries to pretend that he doesn’t notice when Armin and Mikasa sneak nervous glances in his direction.

The red-haired waitress is back within a few minutes, and Eren makes a point to not meet her gaze; he instead focuses on her messy pigtails, her short stature, and the movement of her hands as she quickly writes down their orders.

He completely averts his gaze when it’s time for him to make his special request. 

“With the lasagna,” he begins, and he feels like his neck is burning, like she’s staring right where his scar is, even though he knows that it’s covered. “Can it be made without garlic? I have… an allergy.”

“Uh… I’ll ask?” 

Eren makes the mistake of looking up and catching the funny look she sends his way before she walks back to the kitchen. He drags his hands across his face with a sigh. 

“I shouldn’t have let you convince me to do this,” Eren grumbles, glaring at his friends between his fingers. 

“We didn’t want you to continue rotting in your bedroom,” Mikasa says. 

“When you taste the food, it’ll all be worth it!” Armin adds with a smile, but Eren just sinks down in his chair, sipping at his water with a frown.

They’re silent until the waitress returns with their orders, and the sight of the steaming dishes does allow Eren to perk up for a moment. He pulls himself up to sit up straight, inhaling the steam rising off of his plate of lasagna. He notices when Mikasa and Armin smile at the sight of his actions, and he smiles back at them, grabbing his fork. His nose is still aching and twitching, but he puts it up to being the scent of the restaurant, or probably because of the close proximity to Armin’s shrimp and pesto pasta.

That thought is what makes the instant burn in his mouth such a surprise. He feels it, feels the way the forkful of lasagna seems like its burning through his tongue, like the sauce is acid. And then he hears it, hears the unpleasant sizzle, and it’s his body's instincts that make his teeth feel too big, too long, too sharp in his mouth. He nearly swallows the thing before Armin practically lunges across the table and presses a napkin to Eren’s mouth, reminding him that he needs to spit the thing out, not attempt to digest it. 

Eren feels like a kid as he spits into the napkin in Armin’s hand, wincing as that little bite slides across the expanse of his tongue, leaving a burning, painful trail across his taste buds. He coughs and wipes his mouth with his sleeve, startling himself when part of his breath comes out in a puff of smoke. Even with the food out of his mouth, the pain lingers, and he hears the flesh in his mouth sizzling and popping, like his saliva is carbonated. 

So much for normal. 

Mouth aching, but the immediate danger decidedly passed, he finally looks across the table at his friends. Well, friend, Eren notices with some confusion. Armin has gone back to his seat, staring miserably at the little napkin that he’s folding around the lump of just barely eaten lasagna, but Mikasa is suddenly nowhere to be found. He twists around in his chair, about to scan the room for her and then—

“What part of garlic allergy do you not fucking understand?!”

And like that, he’s found her. She’s cornering the waitress by the door to the kitchen, towering over the red-headed woman. Her hands are clenched into fists, and she’s practically shaking with rage. Eren can’t see her face, but knowing her for as long as he has, he can imagine the glare, the murderous intent in her eyes. 

“Sorry,” Eren hears, but it’s Armin’s voice, not the waitress’s. “I… I wanted to… Because I thought it’d be a good idea to let you have something similar to Mrs. Jaeger’s cooking—” 

“It’s fine,” Eren says quickly, struggling around his injured tongue and enlarged teeth. 

He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not on their failure of a normal night. 

So Eren is grateful when Armin falls silent. 

Desperate to distract himself—both from the pain and from Armin’s guilty expression as the blond continues to wrap the lasagna lump in napkins like it's a little gift—Eren hurries to his feet and rushes over to where Mikasa is still bullying that poor waitress, though she has at least bothered to lower her voice a bit. 

“I swear, I thought I wrote it down—” the waitress begins.

“Well, either you didn’t, or your chef’s a selfish asshole who doesn’t care about his customers.”

Eren watches as the waitress's attitude suddenly shifts, green eyes narrowing into a glare. 

“Don’t talk about Levi like that,” she says, her voice low. 

“I’ll talk about him like that if he’s the idiot who fucked up my friend’s order,” Mikasa snapped back.

“Mikasa,” Eren warns, reaching out to grab her by the shoulder, to pull her back. 

“I said don’t—”

Whatever the waitress was going to say devolves into a screech as the door she was leaning on is abruptly pulled open, sending her toppling to the floor. The man with his hand on the handle looks down at the woman now sprawled on the floor with a frown. His gaze slowly rises to Mikasa and then shifts to Eren. Something instinctual, something he doesn’t quite understand makes Eren straighten up once that gray-blue gaze settles on him. 

“What’s going on?” the man asks, his gaze dropping to the waitress again. 

“Levi!” she exclaims, “I can explain—”

“One of the two of you nearly killed my friend, even though we specifically told her that he can’t have garlic,” Mikasa snaps, shaking off the hand that Eren forgot he still had placed on her shoulder. 

“Nearly killed is a bit of an exaggeration,” Eren says because they’re already making enough of a scene, and he seriously doesn’t know how he’s going to explain that his garlic “allergy” nearly burnt a hole through his tongue.

The man—Levi—wipes his hands on his apron, and Eren takes in his appearance. He’s a short man, black-haired, and despite the situation, Eren is distracted by the fact that the man is also wearing a turtleneck. Eren's grateful that he’s not the only one, that the stupid worry that he was sticking out like a sore thumb because of his clothes was probably just that—a stupid worry.

“Isabel,” Levi says to the waitress, “I don’t remember seeing a note that one of the dishes couldn’t have garlic.”

“I wrote it down, I swear!” Isabel quickly gets to her feet, careful to keep her distance from Mikasa all the while, and then she quickly pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket, presumably what she wrote their orders on. 

She leans closer to Levi, pointing to a spot on the page that he gazes at impassively.

“Isabel, that’s says ‘no gar.’”

“Yeah,” she replies, frowning up at Levi. “No gar. No garlic.”

Levi heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

“You can’t just make up new abbreviations without telling me—”

“I thought it was obvious!”

“Well, clearly it wasn’t. Why didn’t you just write out the whole word?”

“It’s not my fault that—”

Levi silences her with a heavy hand on her head, forcing her to dip her head in apology, and Levi quickly does the same. 

“I’m sorry for the actions of my employee,” Levi says, and it’s robotic, rehearsed. Eren wonders how many times the man has had to say these same words.

“It’s okay,” Eren says quickly, taking the chance to step in front of Mikasa and gradually nudge her away from the two restaurant employees. “Sorry about the fuss.”

“How bad was it?” Levi asks suddenly, his head still lowered. “The allergic reaction.”

Eren immediately turns to glare at Mikasa, who grows pale. How the hell is he supposed to explain? He doesn’t have any real allergies. He has no idea what they’re supposed to be like, but he’s eighty percent sure the trouble usually starts after the food’s ingested, not right when it hits a person’s tongue. 

“Not too bad,” Eren says after a moment, even though his tongue still feels raw and when he’s not careful he brushes the sensitive flesh with the sharp points of his teeth, which are still too fucking big, goddammit. 

“We’re lucky we noticed quickly,” Mikasa pipes up from behind Eren.

“I’ll compensate you,” Levi says, raising his head finally, and Eren doesn’t miss the way Isabel tries to shift her head and get the man to meet her gaze. A silent question that the man seems to pointedly ignore. “Are you old enough to drink?”

The word “drink” makes Eren freeze up, even though he’s sure that the man doesn’t mean it that way. He knows that there’s no way the man would know. But Eren's body goes rigid, and Mikasa’s nervous fingers clutching the back of his sweater don't ease his suspicions. He tries to swallow his nerves, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth and now there’s too much saliva and it just feels like he’s quietly choking. 

“Drink…?” he asks hesitantly.

“Are you of age?” Levi asks.

“I-uh, yeah, I’m—” Eren clears his throat, trying to get his mouth to catch up with his mind. “I’m twenty-two. So yes.”

Eren isn’t sure what part of his answer makes Levi raise a thin black eyebrow at him, but he’s just relieved the man was talking about alcohol. 

“Head back to your table,” Levi says, and he glances sidelong at Isabel. “I’ll serve you myself.”

The man turns on his heel and marches into the kitchen without another word, and Isabel quickly follows behind him, though she throws a final glare at Mikasa before closing the door behind them. Eren rubs his eyes with his cold palms and barely holds in a frustrated groan. 

He’s tired and he’s frustrated, and his injured tongue is not helping his thirst. If anything the pain is activating his body's desire to heal, and it's realizing it has nothing to work with. 

“Sorry,” Mikasa mumbles as they walk back to the table. 

Eren waves his hand at her dismissively, no longer in the mood. He’s just grateful that the restaurant was practically empty; he has no idea what he would do if there were even more people around to witness that disaster. He wants to go home, but he sits at the table and buries his face in his hands. He doesn’t know what would be more suspicious at this point; staying after Mikasa was so clearly upset, or leaving without getting whatever drink Levi is offering as compensation. 

“What just happened?” Armin asks, and Eren reluctantly raises his head out of his hands. “I couldn’t really hear from over here. What are we doing? Are we leaving?” 

Mikasa looks at Eren, which makes Armin look at Eren, so Eren stares at the table. He notices that Armin has tidied up their table, piling their utensils and barely touched plates. He’s already laid out cash to pay for the food too. Knowing Armin, he probably already calculated the tip. Eren sucks in a breath. They could probably leave now, with everything prepped for their quick departure like this. 

He tentatively presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and immediately flinches from the pain. His mouth is still hot, and although he’s concerned that alcohol might aggravate the injury even more, he would love something to cool his tongue down. 

“We’ll wait for the drink,” Eren says, “and then we leave and never come back.”

Armin nods, and Mikasa pulls up a chair, and the three friends wait in tense silence. Levi arrives within a few minutes with a glass of wine that he places in front of Eren. 

“I hope it suits your tastes,” Levi said, but his tone is surprisingly cold in comparison to the polite words. 

Eren slowly reaches out for the glass, not at all thrilled to have waited just for wine, which he’s never been particularly fond of, but when he feels the cool glass beneath his fingertips, he quickly changes his tune. 

As he pulls the drink to his lips, he catches the scent, and he can’t tell if he’s been smelling too many herbs or if the wine really does smell as delicious as Eren thinks it does. He takes a greedy sip without another thought, at first surprised because it’s a bit thicker than he remembers—

He chokes.

Mikasa’s on her feet in a second, and Armin is hurrying to Eren’s side of the table to see what’s wrong, but Eren’s too focused on Levi because he can’t believe—there’s no way that this man, this stranger, has willingly handed Eren a glass of blood.

Levi doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a single muscle in his face, even as Eren stares up at him incredulously. 

“You’re not going to finish?” the man asks after a moment of tense silence. “That stuff’s not cheap.”

Levi rolls his wrist, and Eren’s gaze is drawn to the movement, and he notices that there’s something beneath Levi’s sleeve, a lump that circles around the man’s wrist and extends a bit towards his forearm. 

Eren’s tongue is cool and his teeth are big and his mouth is dry even though that’s the first drink he’s had in months. He slams the glass down on the table, still half full with blood, and he gets up quickly, not even flinching at the screech of his chair dragging across the tile floors. He tries to wipe at his face with his sleeve but now that delicious smell is just smeared on his face and on his sleeve and Eren wants to down the rest of the blood in the glass but he also wants to vomit the amount that’s already in his stomach.

“Thanks for the food,” he says curtly, pushing past Levi. 

For the briefest of moments, Eren thinks he sees the man’s eyes widen, but it doesn’t matter because Eren is grabbing Mikasa by the arm and leading her out, and Armin is following and Eren never wants to set foot in this fucking place ever again. 

#Ereri #ereri riren #ereri fanfic #fanfiction #riren fanfic #riren #i'm not sure if'll post more chapters on here or just stick to a03 #we'll see

[blissfulalchemist]

“What’s wrong?” + “Don’t push me away” CatRaf 😘😘😘

Hello Jo! Please enjoy this little scene of comfort for the chefs  (.❛ ᴗ ❛.)

Cat wasn’t always the quietest when it came to walking through the woodlands, she’d like to think her legs would have been able to memorize where the noisiest parts were by now, no such luck though as she made her way through the dark. The small blessings came in that she wasn’t in her daytime dress, the night allowed her to wear converse, jeans, printed t-shirt, and a knit sweater to stave off the chill of the night, that she pulled closer as she neared the ladder. She steadied her breath shifting the backpack to ease the weight on her shoulders, tugging on the rope ladder, it stayed put as she smiled. Climbing always was the scariest for her, it was unsteady and she always feared falling alerting the wrong person that may have been hiding or passing through, but it was the safest option, that’s what Raf had told her at least.

She hoisted herself up the metal landing wrapping around the tree, pulling up the ladder behind her, setting it on the ledge quietly. Cat walked around towards the south end of the ledge, pushing through the branches finding Raf already sitting in the small clearing, back against the trunk. “Hey stranger,” Cat whispered, shrugging the backpack off, he turned to her smile on his face, making some more room for her next to him, “You weren’t waiting for a long time were you?”

Raf shook his head, “Would it really matter if I was? You still showed up,” she sat next to him, thankful for the dark hiding the blush in her cheeks. He reached for the bag, “What did you bring us tonight, Conejito?”

“Some pasta,” she helped him in unpacking their late night dinner, “Used your pesto recipe, never really had it much before you made it for me.”

He took a bite, laughing, “You did not use my version.”

“Okay so I tweaked it, sue me,” she rolled her eyes laughing, “I had a vision of something a little more citrus-y to match with the chicken.” She watched him take another bite, “But since we’re on the subject, what do you think of my bastardization of your pesto?”

He looked down to her eyes, “I never said it was a bastardization.”

“You don’t have to,” she pointed to him with her fork, “I know you’re thinking it. Friends tell each other the honest truth, Raf.”

“That’s very true,” he nodded, “It’s not bad, could use some improvements but not bad.”

“So I win this point,” Cat threw her fist in the air above her, “Yes!”

Raf brought her hand back down laughing, “More like half a point.”

Cat’s jaw dropped, “That’s not fair. I always give you a full point, since when did we start doing partial points?”

“Since it was my recipe that was the base,” he moved to pull out the wireless headphones along with the CD player, “Make something of your own creation and then it's a full point.”

She rolled her eyes as she took one of the ear buds, “Most recipes start with the same base ingredients so what’s so bad about putting a spin on yours.” Raf looked away from her, looking through their music selection, “It’s not like you’d have enough for a legal case anyway. It’d be like Queen verses Vanilla Ice.”

He gave a snort, “Someone’s been talking to their lawyer husband,” he settled on a classical music mix, “You okay with this tonight?”

She gave a shrug, “It’s your night to pick,” Cat met his eyes, seeing his smile wasn’t reaching them the same way it normally did, “I brought dessert too for us.”

Raf got the music playing, “Now that sounds perfect. What did you make tonight,” he settled himself back in his spot, earbud in place.

“Cobbler,” she pulled out the tupperware, “Well okay it was strawberry pie but I uh forgot somehow to put the bottom layer of crust.”

“You didn’t make enough for two circles, again,” he gave her a bright smile, laughing as she nudged his shoulder, “No judgement here.”

Cat took another bite, “That’s a lie. You are always judging my cooking. But it’s okay because I judge yours and it's all fair.”

“That’s very true, Cat,” she looked up at Raf, his hair creating shadows  on his face, “Still can’t believe you figured out how to get these to work with the cd player.”

Cat gave him a small shrug, He hardly ever uses my name, “Bluetooth works with bluetooth you know.” They ate in silence for a while, Cat noticing his fingers not moving in time with the beat. Cat placed her pasta down, “Raf,” she waited for him to look at her before continuing, “you don’t seem like yourself tonight.”

His smile returned to his face, “Just a little tired,” he chuckled, “Nothing to worry about.”

“Raf,” she pleaded, “I know you well enough to tell when something’s up.” She turned to face him, “You know I care about you,” she inhaled grabbing his hand, “so you know if something’s wrong you can tell me right?”

He placed his hand over hers, “I know. I know I can Conejito, but I’m fine really.”

Cat looked into his eyes, seeing the sadness there she always saw in herself and Wes, eyes that said you hated or disliked yourself in some way. She moved herself closer to him, fingers interlacing with his, “What’s wrong, Rafael? I know the look in your eyes, something happened.” She ran through a list of anything he could have been a part of in the week they had last seen each other, it was harder to do given how secretive Jacob could be and how much quieter Raf’s plans were compared to Wes’. He didn’t say anything, just sat there next to her, she wrapped her arms around him resting her head on his shoulder. 

He patted her arm, “I think I’m ready for some dessert now,” he reached over her easily to the “pie” taking a few bites. He smiled turning to face her as soft piano music played in their ears, “Despite it being not its intended form it’s really delicious, Conejito.” Cat gave a small smile, heart racing as his lips became dangerously close to hers. In any other moment she’d want nothing more than for him to kiss her, or she break that gap herself. Tonight though there was something wrong and she wanted to take care of him first and foremost. 

“Thank you,” Catlina started to rub circles around his back looking up at the moon, the song starting to change. She only needed to hear the first few notes to know that it was Debussy, which seemed fitting considering how they sat here at night under a full moon. 

Raf stood, pulling her arms away from his body, extending his hand out to her, “Care to dance a little, Catlina?” His smile was so bright and reassuring, she took his hand with little hesitation, maybe she could catch him off guard. He spun her easily into his arms, swaying to the music, keeping them from the edge with grace. He hummed to the tune his smile never leaving him, how she wanted so badly to match him in his smile. Enjoy and savor this moment with him, how close their bodies were and how it seemed that things were starting to change between them, surely, the possibility that he started to look at her as more than his friend. Her body burned while her heart warned against acting on it, calling to the pain that he seemed to be hiding from her.

If only she could just figure out what it was that was wrong, what happened to bring about the subtle hints of pain. She knew most of his drive to succeed and do what he could came from a place that feared failure, feared being a disappointment, not living up to the expectations that were thrusted upon him that he seemed to meet with such ease. Considering all that went on in the Whitetails there had to be some relation between the two. “Raf,” she said softly, “something bad happened in the mountains didn’t it?”

He gave a slight scoff, “Always something bad with Jacob up there.”

She shook her head, “More than that.” He stopped their dance looking down on her, “Did a mission go wrong?”

“Conejito,” he cupped her burning cheeks, “I know how you like to worry, like to think I’m like Wes, but I’m not. I’m fine, really I am.”

“You’re not above feeling hurt, sad, or in pain,” she countered, “At the end of the day you’re human, just like me and Wes, and it’s okay to rely on us for the bad moments.”

“I don’t need to. I know how to take care of myself,” he kissed the top of her head, “I appreciate your concern though, Cat.”

“Please tell me what happened,” she asked, “I promise I leave it be once you answer me that.”

He let out a slow breath, eyes searching her face, “Just what always tends to happen in wars. People go out and don’t always make it back.”

Her eyes widened slightly, “I’m so sorry Raf,” she ran her fingers through his hair down his jawline, “That’s not nothing, no matter how much it seems to happen here. It’s still losing people.” She watched as his shoulders slumped down, exhaling. “Let’s sit down and you can talk about it with me?”

He shook his head, “No, it’s okay really.”

“Rafael, I can see it's weighing you down,” she looked down to his hands, her thumbs running over the top of them, “Please, just this once,” she looked up to him, “let me help you carry this.” He started to shake his head at her freeing his hands from hers, “Raf, don’t push me away, please. I love you and care about you,” he turned to sit back down, “You didn’t want me to push you away, so please don’t start making the same mistakes as me.”

Cat joined him once he sat down, “I know you can’t understand though,” he argued, bringing a knee to his chest.

“You’ll never know unless you try,” she assured him, “You were out trying to take down a smaller outpost, someone there had information or supplies you needed right?” 

He nodded, looking straight ahead to the night sky, “Yeah, should have been easy.” She latched onto his arm, grabbing his hand giving a light squeeze, “Then that song, that damn song started to play.” He let out a sigh, “I had someone that left Jacob months ago, thought they were going to be okay, the smaller ones never have it playing or anything to play it and then Lance’s tricks….,” his words trailed off, but it was enough for her to figure out the ending.

“Raf, there was nothing you could have done,” Cat noticed the slight clench in his jaw, “No one knows how deep his conditioning goes and even then it differs from every single person. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Tell that to his wife,” he muttered, “Or to the person he killed, try explaining that it wasn’t my fault to their partner. No one else is going to see it that way. It was my plan, my responsibility to bring them home and I didn’t.” Cat listened intently waiting for a break to say something, “People count on me, Cat, I can’t keep failing them like this.”

“You’re not failing them,” she started, “People know the risk that comes with being in the line of fire and they know that not everything is going to go to plan. Things happen and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

“It could have been prevented if I hadn’t brought him along,” he gave a small shrug, “Or just listened to Tammy in the first place, never tried to help lost causes.”

“That’s exactly why you should keep doing what you’re doing,” Cat moved to face him head on kneeling between his legs, “You have a belief that they can be saved, that they are worth saving because no matter what people are capable of change.” She placed her hand over the left side of his chest feeling the scarring underneath his shirt, “You know because you’ve seen it before, people that are said to be lost causes are the ones that need you most. The people Jacob has, the way his methods dig their claws into people’s minds it's-it's impossible to not have a few failures, ones that are not your fault. If anyone is at fault here it’s Jacob, it's his methods that are causing this.”

“That’s part of the problem, I should know better by now, but I keep doing it,” he argued, “I keep getting people out just to send them back into a losing battle. That’s not fair to them and I’m to blame for that.”

“Raf, I know you. I know that you would never force a person to fight if they didn’t want to,” she took a deep breath, “This isn’t the first mission you’ve done that’s gone awry and if people thought so little of you they wouldn’t still choose to follow you. They follow you because you persevere, you never leave a person behind if you can help it, you have heart, you care, and most importantly, you don’t put yourself above them. You’re not just ordering them around, telling them what to do from afar, you’re out in the trenches with them, fighting by their side, you’re a leader and being a leader comes with its failures.” She sat back grabbing hold of his hand tracing patterns on the back of it, “I know you don’t want to hear that but you need to know that. ‘Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts’ and that’s what people look to, that’s what matters the most.”

“That doesn’t help get rid of the feelings that come along with it,” he said softly looking away from her.

“Then mourn,” she said simply, “Mourn, feel sad, angry, grieve, just be human and then once you do that you get back up and keep going. You continuing the fight and not giving up gives them peace and meaning to their deaths. No one is asking you to never feel when something like this happens, only that you don’t let it sit in your heart to a point that you start acting in extremes.” She turned his face towards her, “You being able to feel and seeing everyone as people and not a means to an end, it makes you better than him and that’s what you have to hold onto in these times. Your humanity.”

Raf looked at her a moment more before encircling his arms around her, Cat wrapping her arms around him tightly, stroking the back of his head as he buried his head in her shoulder. He didn’t cry or even say much of anything as he held her, her heart falling for him as she tried to find the right words to say, nothing seeming to fit other than the music playing in the background. Raf’s hands clutched onto her one last time before he released her, resting his forehead against hers, “Thank you,” he whispered, “It really means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” Cat said breathless, her heart fluttering, “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what, Rafael.” Her breath hitched as his hand moved up to push some of her hair back behind her ear, how wrong it felt to expect his lips to meet hers in that moment. Did his heart beat as fast as hers was right this moment? Was this really all one sided? Was she okay with this being the way it was? All questions for another time, not right now though. Not as he pulled away taking a deep breath.

His smile returned, not as big as he normally wore but still there, “That line you said about success not being final,” she nodded, “Did you come up with that all your own?”

She laughed as she found her place again next to him once more, pushing all her other feelings towards him away, “Nah. I’m not that smart,” she took a bite of the dessert, “Winston Churchill said that, or at least according to the internet.”

“Of course he did,” Raf moved to switch out the CD, “Clever work though in your placement of it.” He pulled out a soundtrack, “Shall we listen to some of your favorites while we enjoy the rest of the night? When do you have to be back?”

She gave a shrug, “Could stay out all night if you want, no one ever thinks to look for me,” her head starting to move to the sounds of a guitar playing, “Besides, day off tomorrow so I normally sleep in. What about you? How long do you have?”

“Same as you,” he turned to his own smaller bag, “Which works out cause I have a book of poems here that I’ve been wanting to show you actually, Conejito.” She looked over to it, “I know it's in Spanish but I can teach you some more if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Cat smiled up at Raf, pressing herself closer to him, “very much so.”

#x: top chefs #brains and disaster #i actually really love this like :')

[youtuberswithalex]

I’m Not Alone (Part Two)

Part One

Summary: Joan receives a text from Thomas asking them to come over.

Warnings: food, system switches, fear of abandonment (let me know if I missed any!)

Word Count: 1,697

A/N: I am,,, super aware how rushed this chapter seems. Apologies!! I just wanted to get it out before the New Year!!! Thank you all so, so much for reading part one and being so interested!!! It means a lot!!!

-----

New Message from: Tommy Salommy -Joan?

Reply sent: -sup

New Message from: Tommy Salommy -I need to speak with you on a matter regarding my OSDD system. Would you like to meet up for lunch?

Reply sent: -Yeah of course, is everything ok???

New Message from: Tommy Salommy -Everything is fine. I just want to properly explain what we weren’t able to the other day, if you would be comfortable with that.

Reply sent: -thats fine. ill be over in a few

New Message from: Tommy Salommy -Excellent. Drive safe.

-----

The second Thomas opened the door, he held out his hand. “I believe it’s time we had a proper introduction. My name is Logan.”

Joan stumbled and blinked for a moment, but they did their best to recover quickly and shook his hand. “Uh, Joan. Nice to meet you,” they replied.

“Well, technically speaking, we’ve met several times before. However, I do appreciate the pleasantry.” Logan adjusted his glasses and lead them inside.

Wait.

“What’s with the glasses?”

Joan turned the corner in time to watch Logan pull the glasses off of his face and glance them over. “Well, plural dissociative disorders affect more than just… ‘the mind,’ so to speak. It also impacts certain physical aspects of the body,” he explained, “such as our vision. Patton and I, though we do not share the same prescription, share this pair of glasses.”

“Patton?” Joan asked.

“Our Memory Holder. He is also the one to most often take care of Virgil, whom you met the other day,” Logan continued. He put his glasses back on and gestured to the stove. “Would you like some Pesto Gnocchi? I admit that I am not the best cook, but I attempted as well as I could.”

They nodded and came forward, grabbing a plate out of the cabinet as they did. “Is this the Hello Fresh stuff from this week?”

“Indeed.”

The two got their food and moved to the table, and they ate in silence for a moment. Logan had been right about not being the best at cooking—the pasta was a little underdone, and the mushrooms definitely burnt –but at least it was edible. Joan wondered if the wrong prescription glasses had anything to do with it.

“So… What’s your role in the system, again?” they asked.

Logan set his fork down. “I take on the role of Gatekeeper, meaning that I am in control of who is fronting, or controlling the body, and who is allowed into certain areas inside our Inner World. Thomas and I had agreed that I was supposed to be the one to explain everything to you, as I have done the most research out of us all.”

“Oh,” they said, “So you’re the one who let Anxiety be in control the other day?”

His face turned a brilliant shade of red before he shot them a glare. “Well, I did leave someone else in control,” he snapped, “But it seemed he chose to ignore his orders and allow Virgil to be forced into the front. I can’t be there all the time when there are more issues to be addressed.”

Laughing, Joan held up their hands. “Alright, alright! An honest mistake, I get it!”

“It was. Alters are in no way perfect; we’re all just as prone to error as anyone else.” He stabbed a piece of pasta. “Also, it was not my mistake. It was our Protector’s.”

“Okay,” Joan giggled, “I understand.”

“Since we are on the topic, however, I suppose we should discuss what I invited you over for.”

“And that is?”

“Our OSDD.” Logan set his fork down again and adjusted his posture, folding his hands in front of him. “Joan, I—we—Thomas has Otherwise Specified Dissociative Disorder, Type 1b. There are multiple people living inside of our head. I understand this might come as a disturbance to you, but I can assure you that it is nothing like the movies and media you may have consumed about systems. There is nothing dangerous about us, nor hardly any other system that exists.”

“Media portrayals can be a real bitch,” Joan replied, leaning back in their seat.

Logan raised his eyebrows. “You certainly aren’t wrong about that. If you are… freaked out, so to speak, about this new information, it is… completely understandable, if you do not wish to remain friends.” His voice and shoulders lowered, and his eyes flicked away. “We will not hold it against you.”

That sent a wave of shock and sadness rippling through their stomach.

Joan furrowed their brow, frowning deeply as they looked Logan over. His lips were pressed tight together, and his head tilted down and away. All of his muscles were tensed as if waiting for the worst. Fingernails dug into his hands; breaths were short, yet calculatedly quiet.

It seemed to them that Logan was expecting rejection, but for the life of them, they couldn’t figure out why. They thought they’d always been supportive and clear that they were going to stick by his side no matter what; hell, especially the other day, they’d been extra careful to prove to Anxiety—Virgil? –that they weren’t going to be upset. Had they done something wrong?

Or… Or maybe Thomas had done this song and dance before, and whoever was in their current place had been less than kind. Maybe he’d just gone through some things that caused some trust issues, or—

Oh. Oh.

It was in that moment that they remembered what caused DID and OSDD in the first place.

Severe, persistent childhood trauma.

Trust issues suddenly didn’t seem too wild an idea anymore.

“Logan…”

Joan leaned forward and tilted their head to catch his eye; when he looked up, they reached out and put their hand on his.

“I am not going anywhere,” they firmly stated. “I said it the other day, and I’ll say it again: I’m always here for you. And I mean always. So what if there are more of you than I’d thought? That’s not going to change how much I love you. I’m happy that you trusted me with this information, but I never want you to feel like I’m going to leave any of you behind over this.”

Logan’s lip wobbled, and he quickly bit down on it. They rubbed a circle into his hand and offered a soft smile.

“I love you. All of you. Okay?” they said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, soft smiles lingering on each of their faces as they soaked in the moment.

And then, a huge grin nearly split Logan’s face in half.

He yanked his hands away and jumped to his feet, slamming his palms on the table. “Can I give you a hug?!”

Joan flinched a bit, but they recovered as quick as they could. “Uh… Sure?”

Letting out a squeal, he practically flew around the table before flinging his arms around their shoulders the second they stood up. They stumbled from the impact, but wrapped their arms around his waist anyway.

He hummed and buried his face in their shoulder, glasses nearly falling off his face. “We love you, too,” he muttered. “So, so, so much.”

“You’d better,” they teased.

He giggled, and then he sucked in a small gasp. “Oh, yeah! I’m Patton, by the way!”

Joan’s eyes flew wide open. “Oh! Uh… Nice to meet you.”

The two pulled apart, but Patton left his hands on their shoulders, beaming at them for a long moment. Joan couldn’t help but smile back.

Then, he winced and hissed, eyes squeezing shut. He lifted his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?” Joan asked.

He groaned and slowly nodded. “Ah… headache… Patton, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that…?”

They frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Patton has the atrocious habit of figuratively ripping control out of the hands of whomever is in the front when he feels any extreme emotions,” he explained. “It always leaves us with a terrible Switch Headache, and yet, he never learns.”

“Do you need Advil or something?” they asked, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder.

Shaking his head, he put his glasses back on, eyes remaining shut. “Pain relievers don’t affect these type of headaches, unfortunately. But I do appreciate the offer,” he replied. “Um… I believe I am still Logan, if there was any confusion.”

He took a slow, deep breath before carefully opening his eyes. Swallowing thickly, Logan glanced at the food and pressed his lips together.

“I suppose we need to finish eating,” he said.

The taste of burnt mushrooms hovered over Joan’s tongue. They shrugged. “I mean… if you’re not up for it, with that headache and all, we can always save it for later,” they suggested. “Wanna watch some Steven Universe?”

“Would you be alright with Jacques Cousteau, instead? I personally am not quite a fan of bright cartoons in general, and especially not when I have a headache.”

Joan nodded. “That makes sense. What’s Jacques Cousteau?”

Logan’s eyes lit up—they weren’t quite as bubbly as Patton’s, or as giddy as Thomas’s, but they sparkled in their own, unique manner. “Oh, it’s this wonderful documentary series from the 1970’s about marine biodiversity. Jacques Cousteau, the host, was a French film maker and marine explorer that had an extreme determination to teach…”

As Logan began to ramble on, he moved to lead them to the couch. Joan couldn’t help a fondness seep through their veins. He wasn’t Thomas. He wasn’t Patton. He wasn’t Virgil. He was his own person, one that Joan was going to get to know and learn about all over again.

Thomas and his system had to have gone through a lot to get to where they were now. Joan could only imagine what kind of pain, and shattering, and growth that he’d lived through. Their heart broke at the thought, but they couldn’t stop themselves from feeling proud of how far they’d come.

And they were going to be there for the rest of the journey.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #patton sanders #character joan #alex writes #ina

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #4: Through Walls

prompt: more word count: 1217 warnings: none

~

I’ve been in love with Anna Johnson for as long as I can remember. Which is really only a few months, ever since I came to live with my cousin, but that’s long enough. They’re flatmates, so she has the other spare room, and in uni, and I’m only in high school. A senior, but still. They’re best friends (my cousin and Anna), and you’d think that that would make it easy for me to be friends with her.

Not so.

It’s just that she’s this gorgeous woman, sweet skin and red hair, and I’m… just so completely out of her league.

That, and she has a boyfriend. Hans.

I’ve seen him around the few times he’s come over, swagger and all. He’s always got his arm around her shoulders, always grinning. It’s an unpleasant sort of smile, but Anna doesn’t ever notice. They make out. A lot. In the kitchen, on the couch. I’ve heard them through the thin walls a couple of times. She sounds lovely, though I always try to discard that thought before it gets too strong a hold over me.

My cousin says it’s natural – “They’re always on and off” were the exact words used – but I don’t know. I’ve never made out with anyone for hours on end. I mean, I’ve never made out with anyone ever, but that’s beside the point. Even if I had, it would be reasonable. A few minutes to enjoy each other’s company or lips; a few minutes to appreciate how they taste and move. I said that once and was called ‘weird’, so I never said it again.

Maybe it would be different if I actually managed to get a girlfriend. Not likely, mostly because even when Anna’s in her 'off again’ stage with Hans, I don’t have the courage to talk to her. We’re not even friends, not really, so I shouldn’t be trying for anything more.

Except I do want to be her friend. I want to make her laugh – she has a beautiful laugh – and smile and I want her to be happy. She gets upset sometimes with Hans. He gets upset with her, too, and she just looks so desolate. She cares about him, but anyone with two eyes and a brain could see that he doesn’t love her back. I’ve heard the rumours around school about him. None of them are good.

I get my opportunity one day after school. The house is empty, but on the bench there’s a message, written in the scratchy handwriting of my housemate, and a $50 note.

Anna and Hans broke up. Can you get some nice stuff for dinner?

Absolutely I can get some nice stuff for dinner. I shove the money into my pocket and throw my schoolbag into my room. What should we have? I’m not a great cook. Sometimes I completely forget to eat if I’m thinking about other things, or doing other things. The best I can make is like. Pasta.

Huh. Pasta. I whip out my phone and do some Googling as I walk to the shops. If I get some nice pasta, and a chicken breast, and some basil, I’ve got the makings of a nice pesto pasta. That’s a little romantic, too, right? I’m not old enough to buy some wine to go with it, but that’s okay. Anna doesn’t really drink. That was made clear on like the second day I met her and she was going off on Hans because he’d had three heavy beers and wanted to drive out to get some more.

She’s safe like that. And cares about other people like that. Just another reason for why my heart thunders at the sound of her name, or the peel of her laughter.

So, either way, I’m taking this opportunity to cook for her and running with it.

The pasta is easy enough to cook. The pesto… not so much. It isn’t until she sits down to eat that I realise I’ve done something wrong.

It’s a frown, carried in the lines of her face, that does it.

“It’s a bit…” she starts, before swallowing. “It’s more grainy than I expected.”

Of course, I take a bite then, and within seconds I realise my mistake.

It was a basil plant I’d used for the pesto. Fresh. Basil. Dirt and all.

Anna shoots me a sympathetic smile over the table, but it doesn’t help much.

“You should try it when I’m actually concentrating,” I say, like I’ve actually had it before. The smile on her face remains, and she tilts her head. “I swear it tastes more like something out of a restaurant.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she says, and immediately I can feel my face warming up.

We move to the living room and put a movie on, and my cousin isn’t even home yet but I kind of hope it just stays me and Anna forever. She’s grinning at something on the telly and I’m looking at her and I probably look like the most love-struck fool. I feel like it.

I can imagine holding her. Like, we’d be snuggled up on the couch and I’d have my arms wrapped around her. There’d be a forgotten bowl of popcorn – or maybe even some chocolate. he loves chocolate. I could even get the nice stuff, like some Ferrero Rocher or from like. Darrell Lea (though I’m not even sure if that chocolate place still even exists).

Just as I’m letting myself get really caught up in the idea of maybe even like, hand-feeding her, my cousin comes home. Sits right between us and smiles at Anna, just like I would.

I swallow thickly. Bide my time and wait until Anna gets up to use the bathroom. I’m not watching her, though. Not this time. I’m watching my cousin.

My cousin… who’s watching Anna with a soft smile and even softer eyes and wow I’m a moron. I’d been so caught up with thinking about how I felt about Anna that I’d forgotten that of course she’d have other people interested in her.

There’s a tight feeling in my gut, and it’s clear that I’m about the blindest person in existence.

So I lean over and nudge my cousin. “Hey, maybe you should go and talk to her,” I say.

It takes a few seconds, and it almost feels like Anna’s going to return and we’re going to run out of time. I stay on the couch even as it shifts with the weight of my cousin standing up.

Elsa gets to the hallway and turns back to me with her mouth open like she’s about to speak. She doesn’t.

“Go and talk to her, Els,” I say again, voice even quieter.

“Kris…” She sighs. “For the record, I would have been okay with you. Well, more okay with you than Hans.”

I just smile. “I know.” But it isn’t really about me, so I make a shooing motion. She smiles one last time before heading down the hallway. The vibrations from their voices come through, but neither reappears. I grab my keys and head out the front door. 

Everything’s going to be okay. And maybe this way, I might actually… be able to be friends with her.

That would be nice.

#elsanna #june 2020 contest #prompt: more #submission

[tgai-spock]

Lines of ice from rolling was and subtle villains

Is it too late to casually remove this hat without anyone bullying me?

Chapter 6

They huddled like lost orphans down the corridor. Spock stuck with Janice and Nyota who were in the same English class as him, around them the rest of the first years scurrying about. Whispers flying past their ears with the occasional yell.

“Is it this way?”

“I don’t think it’s near the libraries.”

“Isn’t it outside?”

It was upstairs, directly above the library. Upstairs was different, lighter fresher. Not only did it smell a lot less like farts, it smelt like fresh mint. Fresh mint grew in pots outside every door, down the hallway that seemed to go and on for miles, and it was at a particularly tall mint, the group turned and walked into the classroom.

They sat and waited for ages. Had Spock not been so tired he would’ve begun to worry he was in the wrong class. The bags beneath his eyes were drooping and he found himself wishing he had chosen to have caffeine for lunch. The teacher floated into the room, he was sitting on a wheel chair, designed to give him height. It almost looked like he was leaning against a desk.

“Good afternoon class I’m Mr Calbot. Nice to meet you all. Lets start with a good introduction, who here likes English? Raise your hand.” He raised his eyes, a friendly look, a few raised hands. Spock's own up.

“Oh, well who here likes stories, TV films, and games?” He asked. The rest of the class raise their hand except for three people. The teacher gives a firm look to the three.

“So lets try this again, who likes language?” All but three raise their hand.

“I’m glad to hear it! You, what’s your name?” He asks pointing to the first boy who hadn’t raised his hand.

“Gary.”

“Gary what do you do in your spare time?”

“PSP” Gary said, the teacher sighed.

“Are you a little shy?”

“No” Gary said annoyed “I just don’t like english.”

“What language do you like?”

“I don’t like english.”

“What language do you prefer? Do you speak more than one?”

“No.”

“Okay. What about you? Are you shy?” The teacher asked pointing to another boy. The boy nodded, he had black hair covering his face and badly painted nails.

“Thats okay. What about you, are you shy?” He asked pointing to the last girl.

“No, I’m Jackie and I think English lessons are pointless.” She announced, like she was prepared to fight for her freedom, like what she said was a mighty speech and not her own foolery.

“Jackie what do you do in your free time?” Mr Calbot asks with a friendly shake of his head to invite conversation.

“I watch youtube videos and music.” She said.

The teacher sighed “well it’s to be expected. Our administration often makes mistakes and I try to find them as soon as possible. Joe, Jackie, I think the administration has made a mistake on your time table. Come on, down here.” He said scribbling on to a piece of paper. Joe and Jackie looked at him, fear on their faces.

“Are we being expelled?” Joe asked.

“No, I’m teaching a class who will get A grades, and A stars. You’re  aiming for C’s aren’t you?” The boys nodded and the teacher shrugged, “wrong class.” As the boys left the teacher turned back to them.

“On each of your desks is a copy of this poem - with basic annotations. Before we can annotate we must read. Would anyone like to read for the class? There’s a house point in it for you.” Spock did not put up his hand.

* * *

He could smell it before he had even entered the room. A smell so divine - so heavenly that his eyes watered, and his mouth salivated. Deep down the fear of eating 3 school meals a day vanished with the changing of the tides and as he gazed upon the dinner options, he felt at peace. Tucked away beneath a glass screen, within hands reach sat 5 bulky meals. Vegan fresh green pea and lemon pesto pasta, vegetarian egg fried rice with vegetable stir-fry, kosher butternut squash soup, omnivores bolognese and another diet specialised meal. 

Spock was vegetarian, he didn’t mind the occasional cheese or egg so it was a tough choice but the pasta won, the white rimmed bowl finding its way to his hands, to rest upon the white tray. His legs took him past the refrigerated section and he found a fancy glass bottle of cola, from a brand he’d never seen before. The pudding choices were small but just as delightful. Fruit salad with vegan ice cream? Or chocolate cake? He was won over by the ice-cream and took the fruit salad of strawberries, raspberries, blueberries and kiwi.

The cafeteria was still buzzing with people but it was less chaotic than that morning, without the teachers, the stage, luggage or the air of chaos, the room seemed comfortably big. His dorm had chosen to sit together, there was space for him and it seemed like a good place to sit, despite the nerves he felt, he sat down with Nyota by his side, Hikaru and Janice across from him, and Pavel at the end of the table closest to him. Charlie and Christine were at the opposite end of table, too hard to see and talk to from Spock’s position.

“Are you vegan?” Hikaru asked excitedly noticing their twin meals.

“No” Spock said “but I am vegetarian.”

“I went vegan last year, I think that’s why my parents sent me here, they don’t want to cook for me.” He gave a grin showing a missing tooth between his front and canines. Spock tried the first bite of his meal.

“Oh no, how awful…” Spock said, because he didn’t know what else to say “but at least they’ve got really nice vegan meals here.”

“I’d say, all I eat at home is peanut butter and rice. I’m going to have to call back home later and pretend to be pissed and hope my parents don’t offer to bring me home.” Hikaru said. He had a point. This meal was pretty good even by his peculiar taste buds. He wasn’t planning on sticking around the school because was fairly certain most people hadn’t picked up on the fact that he was obviously not human. Thanks to the hat that he had managed to keep stuck on his head. He himself had stopped and stared at several humans already upon seeing their eyebrows, plucked clean, or into straight circles or ovals. Pretty embarrassing for him to do, but it only took a second for him to decide if they were human. Humans went on the obvious  tell tale signs such as the sight of ears or eyebrows to tell species apart, and his ears were covered. His eyebrows only partially, yet he wasn’t sure that they were the giveaway he had initially assume they were. Or maybe the humans here just thought he was a cool vulcan because he was wearing a big ass sparkly hat.

“Did you guys know spaghetti was invented in Russia?” Pavel asked messily slurping spaghetti that splattered across his own face. Spock frowned.

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“That shits from italy ain’t it?” Hikaru asked.

“No.”

[Chapter 1]         [Chapter 2]         [Chapter 3]          [Chapter 4]

[Chapter 5]         [Chapter 6]         [Chapter 7]

#spock #pavel chekov #hikaru sulu #star trek tos #star trek aos #star trek #christine chapel #nyota uhura #loifrwasv #linesoficefromrollingwavesandsubtlevillains6

[yescannabis]

How To Prepare Your Cannabis For Edible Recipes

Pesto pasta made with canna oil. Photo by Eaters Collective on Unsplash.

You can cook or bake just about anything with marijuana – brownies, pasta, omelets, french toasts, soups, salads, sandwiches – whatever the dish, it’s possible. The essential to cooking or baking with weed is mastering how to create it with canna oil or cannabutter.

However, before you do anything, you must decarboxylate the cannabis first. The most common beginners’ mistake is to grind up some weed and mix them in with the recipe. That does not work! The cannabis needs to have its composites activated through heat. This is called decarboxylation. Think about when you’re smoking pot, you have to light it with fire, thus activating the compounds of the weed.

Keep reading.

#cannabutter #canna oil #decarboxylation #edibles #leafly #weed

[rocelledeala]

Pesto Pasta – with plenty of pesto sauce!

Anyone can make a Pesto Pasta, but not everyone knows how to make a pesto pasta that’s slick with plenty of pesto sauce without adding tons of extra oil! Here’s how I make it.

Best pasta for pesto

You can make pesto pasta with any pasta your heart desires. And even in today’s recipe video, I say to use your favourite pasta.

But I do have my preferences. My favourite is penne or ziti (which is just penne with a smooth surface). I find it’s the easiest to toss for even distribution and you get the “juiciest” pesto pasta.

Spaghetti and other thin(-ish) long strand pastas are my next favourite. I find that it’s not quite as easy to toss the pesto through and the more you work the pasta, the less saucy it becomes (though you just keep adding pasta cooking water, but there’s only so much you can add).

Twirls and other shapes with “crevices” rate lower just because there’s far more surface area so somehow, I just feel a bit pesto deprived.

Pesto pasta tips

I say that pesto pasta is one of the simplest pastas to make, but I do have a few tips to share – lessons learned from my own mistakes!

Toss in a bowl, not the pot you cooked the pasta in – basil doesn’t like heat. It turns black. The heat from the pasta is ok – but if you add the heat from the pot, the basil won’t like it.

Do not toss on the stove! Again – black basil.

Take out 1 cup of pasta cooking water just before you drain (not earlier, otherwise it’s not starchy enough). Take out way more than you think you need, you might need it. You will be surprised how much the pasta can absorb – I used 3/4 cup for 300g/10oz pasta for the spaghetti in the video (because I kept tossing to film and it kept sucking up the sauce!)

Salt the water – Pesto usually isn’t (and should not be) seasoned enough such that you don’t need to add any other salt once tossed through pasta. The best way to season Pesto Pasta is to salt the water.

DO NOT REHEAT leftover pesto pasta! Again – black pesto. 😭 Eat at room temp – that’s the best you can do.

I’m sharing these tips on the assumption that you’re using a homemade pesto (basil or otherwise). I actually haven’t used store bought pesto enough to know if it will turn black from heat.