#have some low effort leftovers

[ms-demeanor]

Hey also you know that post about getting better at cooking and handling meat and stuff?

Meat is really expensive and it goes bad pretty quickly.

If you're a new cook and you're trying to figure out how to pan-fry something so that it tastes good, might I recommend tofu?

I'm not saying "treat tofu like meat and try to replace all your favorite meat dishes with tofu" (though, I mean, if that sounds good - go for it), I'm saying "it's a lot easier to practice heating a pan and flipping objects in a pan for a meal and seasoning objects in a pan when the objects in the pan cost two dollars instead of ten dollars."

Tofu lasts a lot longer in the fridge than meat does, is easy to season, and you can easily learn how to pan-fry it into a tasty snack (or main course) and only requires a little extra prep. You can also pretend that the tofu is raw meat (the texture isn't dissimilar) and start practicing for things like how to take it out of a package or cut it on a sanitizable surface, etc.

My favorite way to cook tofu is to press extra firm tofu for at least half an hour (you can get a cheap tofu press for around ten dollars, or you can put it between two plates with some books on the top plate - this is that extra prep i was talking about - tofu cooks best if you press the excess water out), then slice a 14oz cake of it into 8 slices. I lay these flat and sprinkle cayenne pepper, mushroom powder, and smoked paprika on all of the slices, then I rub it in and flip the slices and season the other side the same way. I cook it in a frying pan with a thin layer of avocado or olive oil over medium heat, flipping every two minutes until the flat sides start to crisp up a little. Just before the last flip I add about a tablespoon of tamari sauce (you can use soy sauce, I've just got allergies) to the pan, sprinkling it over the tofu so that both sides get a little bit of sauce on them.

I have that with steamed vegetables and with jasmine rice (with two teaspoons of rice wine vinegar per 3 cups of dry rice and 4.5 cups of water). I also make a honey-siracha-mayo sauce that I dip the tofu in.

It's really good. And now I end up eating leftover rice and sauce with fried eggs for lunch at least two days a week and that's also really good.

This has become one of my go-to low spoon foods because it's so easy to make, it's filling, it tastes good to me, and it has become extremely easy for me to keep a stock of tofu in the fridge compared to the effort of keeping un-expired meat in the fridge.

I find that a 14oz pack of tofu feeds two adults for one meal, though I can stretch that to three meals if I'm the only one eating.

It makes a very cheap, filling, easy dinner that I can keep the ingredients around for without too much concern for food waste or anything going bad (the tofu that I get lasts about a month in the fridge and these days I just buy three packs every time I'm at aldi and cycle in new stock - it costs $1.50 per pack)

If you're interested in becoming a better cook, rather than worrying about actual high-risk products like raw chicken that can be seriously dangerous and also cost a fair amount, tofu has a pretty low barrier to entry while also being a good way to learn on a new ingredient that has some similar properties to raw meat.

[diejager]

if you’re still writing for the monster 141, what about a bay hybrid reader, who is just on the edges on going into hibernation because the base is in a colder area/remote snowy location

I’m gonna assume you mean bear?

Cw: bear hybrid!readr, hibernation, binge eating, hoarding, tell me if I missed any.

Winter was creeping closer and closer by each day, your instinctual need to sleep away the cold calling to you louder than the prior days. There was a bone-deep exhaustion that clung to you, the heaviness that cold weather brought to you was a constant and nagging feeling that urged you deeper in the nest you’d built yourself in your dark room. Your curtains drawn, lights often closed and locks installed, you’d spent the weeks preparing, hoarding soft pillows, thick blankets and clothes from people you were familiar with. 

They were surprised when you brought it up, blinking tiredly and occasionally yawning in the afternoon, stumbling between everyone’s rooms with a small plea on the tip of your tongue. You took whatever they were willing to give you: a blanket from Price and Rudolfo, a shirt from König and Gaz, a jacket from Ghost and Horangi, and a pillow from Soap and Alejandro. As long as it smelled like them, a lingering reminder that you weren’t alone in your humid room, their musk grounding and safety. You wouldn’t be alone.

Price had known you were - like most bears - prone to hibernation, taking between one to three month of your year sleeping away the cold, sinking into your mountain of fabric and sleeping off the coldest months. Your time depended on the year, the warmer it was, the less you slept, and the colder it was, the longer you slept. It might’ve been a bother in people’s eyes - humans - but it was instinctual, a primal part of your brain that still clung to your ancestors who strayed from the path of being normal bears. You couldn’t ignore the pull, the call to sleep, it wasn’t possible for a bear like you, and you were fortunate to have such accommodating teammates.

You grew hungrier, your stomach becoming an endless pit, an abyss that kept taking dish after dish, stocking up in fat and calories that you’d burn during your sleep, keeping you sustained and alive without having to wake up. You ate whatever you that was within your reach, the cold bread, the warm milk, the leftover of two days ago or Soap’s surprisingly good cooking, nothing was safe when you were a big and grumpy and hungry bear near hibernation. Ever supportive and helpful, Soap and Alejandro would jump in to cook for you, hooking Gaz and Rudolfo into being their sous-chef whenever they were free. It was the delicious scent of home cooked and warm meals that brought you to the kitchen, if it wasn’t a call for fixing up someone, it was the smell of good food. 

You were ravenous, gulping down the many, many plates the duo - occasionally quartet - placed on the table, their chests puffed up pridefully at your quick eating, you were practically breathing them in. Your constant eating helped you pack some weight, your skin stretched to accommodate your growing amount of fat that would ultimately burn over the months. And when the day came, you were low on energy, grumpy and easy to anger, your patience running paper thin, bidding your goodbyes and see you soon, wrapping your arms around them and teasing them about missing you during your lockdown. 

You’d sleep through the cold winter months and wake up to a warmer and busier time, to a welcoming and excited team that had spent the better half of winter waiting impatiently for the TF’s medic to wake up.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #soap mw2 #soap x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz x reader #price mw2 #price x reader #horangi mw2 #horangi x reader #rudolfo parra #rudy x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #monster 141 #monster cod au #monster 141 au #Bear hybrid!reader #hybrid!au #hybrid reader

[hairyjocktf]

First Workout of the Year

Aidan was just starting his second semester at university, and after a long winter break of being a bum he was ready to get back to his goal of finally getting in some semblance of shape.Despite his efforts during the fall he was still practically a twig, something the studs on grindr were keen to let him know. This was finally going to be when he packed on some size, he told himself as he headed into the campus gym. It was packed with people his size, trying for those new year's resolutions, with the regular jocks standing out amongst the crowd. He squeezed in between the hoards of people, getting in a basic circuit on the resistance machines. After about 40 measly minutes he was sweaty, out of breath, and decided to call it a day for his first workout back.

He headed to the locker room to rinse off before getting on his way. Letting the warm water pour over him for a few minutes, he let his thoughts drift to the hunks he saw in the free weight area. Damn they looked good, he thought, I hope I can pull off a tank top like that eventually. Eventually he came back to reality, turned off the water and reached for his towel. Or at least, where his towel was supposed to be. Shit! I must’ve forgotten it and not even noticed, he lamented. Soaking wet and low on options, he peeked out from the stall to see if anyone was around. Shockingly, the place was empty. On a nearby bench he spotted a leftover towel. Not that he wanted to use a dirty towel, but there weren’t many alternatives. Embarrassed about his actions, he darted over and snagged the towel before hiding back in the shower. 

Eager to put this whole situation behind him, he used the towel to dry off his body, followed by his face. But while wiping his face he noticed a stench that had been missed earlier. The towel absolutely reeked of sweat and body odor. Upon opening his eyes at the eye watering smell he saw an even more disgusting problem: the towel was coated in thick dark hairs! How did I not see that? He cursed at himself. He spit one out of his mouth. Disgusted, he threw the towel down to the floor and quickly changed back into his clothes before storming out of the gym.

On his walk back to his dorm he was pissed, Who would leave a filthy towel like that? He angrily thought, and why did I not pay closer attention? The afternoon was warm, and he felt himself sweating. Guess I’ll have to shower again, he thought to himself. As he kept walking he felt increasingly sore in his muscles, maybe that workout was better than he had thought. He caught himself scratching at his pit, which was odd behavior for him, but he brushed it off as just being sweaty and sore. He brought his finger back up to his nose and sniffed them. Phew I stink! He said to himself. A moment later that action registered in his brain, Why the hell did I just scratch and sniff my pit? He began to worry. His shirt began to feel a little tighter than normal, restricting his arm movements as he walked. His shoes also felt smaller than usual. He continued making his way home, nearly there, as worry truly set in.

By the time he reached his dorm his back was drenched with sweat, he was feeling sore and itchy and all around uncomfortable. As he reached his hand to the door to put his key in his eyes widened. His hand was much larger than normal, as was his forearm, and they were both coated in thick dark hairs. As he stared, the hairs seemed to grow denser as they spread up his forearm to his bicep, which was also inflating to ridiculous size. Aidan quickly threw open the door and ran inside straight to his bathroom mirror. 

What he saw made his jaw drop. His frame had grown substantially since leaving the gym just a while before, pushing against his now tight clothing. He could see his biceps and shoulders bulging under the fabric, stretching his t-shirt to its limit. As he stared agape in the mirror his pecs also began to grow, inflating his shirt even more. He groaned in discomfort as everything felt so sore as his muscles packed on years worth of mass in seconds. With a final grunt, his shirt split open, unable to contain his hulking body in a size small any longer.

His shirt in tatters, Aidan’s bulked up body was now clearly visible. Muscle mass was not the only thing growing on him. As he stared at his mountainous pecs, tiny dark spots began to appear across them. Dark pinpricks spread across his chest before erupting into dark brown hairs. Thin at first, they quickly darkened and thickened into respectable chest fur as his skin disappeared beneath the growing coat. It spread out from the center, swirling across his pecs and thickening around his nipples as thicker, longer hairs sprouted around them. The hairs crawled up to his collarbone, making sure that plenty of dark hairs would be visible above any shirt. He moaned from the feeling of the hair spreading, filling his new body with ecstasy.

Aidan felt his previously flat stomach contort, with pronounced abs growing in and giving him that sought after V shape he admired in other jocks. That definition was quickly buried under his spreading body hair, however, as it raced down from his chest. Thick, dark hairs grew down in waves across his stomach, burying his abs under a coat of dense fur just like his chest. But that was just the beginning of it. He felt a strong itch below the waist of his paints as pressure increased substantially there. Pulling out his waistband he watched in horror as thick hairs erupted across his groin, engulfing the wisps that had been there before. The hairs were thick, dark, and grew curlier by the second as they spread. They grew up above his waistband, connecting to the forest that had covered his stomach, and then down to his thighs. His balls were not spared that fate either, with his sack becoming overrun with fur. With a densely hairy crotch that only continued to grow, Aidan groaned and put his hands up to his face, revealing a flash of dark under his arm. 

He lifted his arm just in time to see thick, wiry hairs erupting from his armpit. They grew longer and thicker as they spread out, and he could see the sweat getting trapped in the bushes already. He scratched at the growing tuft of hair with his other hand, feeling the hairs grow and curl as they filled his armpit to the brim, sticking out even when he put his arm down. Those hairy pits already smelled to match the jock he was becoming, it was eye watering. The hairs even filled out to the point of connecting with his chest hair, giving his upper body a full coat. Or so he thought, at least, before the hairs began crawling up his boulder shoulders, the fur wrapping all the way to his back. The itchiness growing on his other side told him all he needed to know. Thick hairs were worming their way out across his shoulder blades, dusting his entire back with dark fur. The hairs climbed down, thickening as they approached his ass, which itself had grown quite a bit without him noticing. The itchy feeling reached a zenith as dark brown hairs began pushing out of his plump ass, giving him a nice thick fur coat even there. He reached around to scratch at his hole, feeling intense pleasure as thick curly hairs burst out around it, filling his crack with dark hairs.

It was at this point, half lost in pleasure, that Aidan noticed his pants becoming incredibly tight. To avoid what happened with his shirt he quickly stripped them off, watching his quads grow to three times the size they had been, and the rest of his legs packing on impressive size. The thick hair in his groin and on his ass spread downwards, coating his thighs in an absolute rug of curly hairs. They of course did not stop there, shooting up across his calves and stretching down towards his feet, which began to grow quickly. After kicking off his shoes he watched as his feet grew longer, toes getting thicker as the same thick dark hairs popped up across his toes and the top of his foot. He was now stuck with huge hairy jock feet! Aidan looked back up at the mirror, seeing a hulking and incredibly hairy jocked up body that looked nothing like he had just an hour before. The only thing out of place was his babyface, though something told him that was soon to change.

As if waiting for that moment, the hairs on his face began to sprout. Follicles pushed out hair after hair as his chin darkened. His hands scratched at the growing stubble as it covered his face, wiry hairs exploding across his upper lip. The thick hairs continued growing and spreading, giving him full coverage, reaching high up on his cheeks and connecting down to his chest hair. The fur crawled out of him, leaving barely any of his skin visible by the end. His body continued to explode with muscle, his frame getting heavier and bulkier. The hair hid most of the definition but anyone would still be able to tell how absolutely built he was now. The changes had taken a lot out of him as well, he was drenched in sweat and out of breath looking at his new form in the mirror. He absolutely reeked as well, all the new hair catching sweat and musk. 

Somehow though, he didn’t seem to mind that much. He had always been a real hairy and stinky guy, ever since puberty hit him hard in middle school. Kids had made fun of him then but now they admired and lusted after him. He was a real stud, and he was late for his second workout of the day.

This was my first ever tf story, let me know if you like it! Hopefully they'll only get better from here. If you have ideas for future stories also let me know, I'd love to try out more.

#hairy #hairy tf #jock tf #hairy chest #hairy pits #hairy back #male tf #hair growth #my writing

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 39

part 1 | part 38 | ao3

Eight hours, four pizzas, and one — yes, one, Henderson, Jesus — job-well-done beer each later, Steve waves the kids out the door and promptly collapses facedown on his shiny new vinyl flooring.

"God," he groans, rolling his forehead on the floor.

Eddie's not much better off. He's slumped against the front door, bracing his weight with one hand, head hung low between his shoulders. His hair's all frizzed out with sweat, and Steve can hear his soft panting over the hum of the radio. "Yeah," he says in breathless agreement. "Fatherhood is exhausting."

Steve snorts a quiet laugh. "Welcome to the babysitters club."

"Not even getting paid for this shit," Eddie complains, but Steve can see the smile tugging at his mouth when he steps over him. "I'm gonna grab a shower. That okay?"

"Go ahead," Steve mumbles, eyelids heavy as he waves Eddie down the hall. "Towels are in the closet. Borrow whatever you want."

His limbs feel like lead. Shoulders throbbing; headache worse. He's also... maybe, possibly having some major regrets about moving all the couches out onto the front lawn along with the rolled-up carpet earlier (a fact he'd sooner eat his own shirt than admit to Eddie, because Eddie warned him not to do it; told him he was going to be too tired after installing the floors to bring them all back inside, and Steve had shrugged him off at the time because Steve's an overconfident dipshit.) Anyway, he's pretty sure the spasm in his spine is price enough to pay for not listening. He's not about to put up with Eddie's gloating, too.

Eddie pauses in the hallway, rings tapping against the wall, smug little bastard look on his face. "You doin' okay down there, champ?"

It's a serious effort to raise his arm to flip him the bird, but Steve manages.

—

"Hey, sunshine."

Eddie's voice is gentle as Steve blinks himself awake, neck cracking horribly, little puddle of drool under his chin. He's not sure when he drifted off. The last thing he remembers is nuzzling his cheek against the floor, feeling the weirdly papery material slide against his stubble; thinking about how it was cheap and it was tacky but it was new and it was his. How it felt like as good of a fresh start as anyone in Forrest Hills was going to get.

"How long was I out for?" he groans, rolling onto his back to stretch out his stiff limbs.

Long enough, apparently. Eddie got a whole pillow fort situation sorted out while Steve was snoozing — dragged all the pillows and blankets off Steve's bed and arranged them in a pile in the middle of the empty room, pulled a side table and lamp over from the corner, gathered up the radio and the last box of leftover pizza and his black lunchbox and a couple of beers to share.

He's also freshly showered and wearing Steve's pajamas. Looks clean and warm and soft; borrowed Hawkins High green sweats, a thin, white undershirt, the shoulders damp where his hair hangs in pretty wet waves.

Steve is so, so normal about the picture Eddie paints.

So normal.

Not at all popping a boner over a guy in ratty loungewear.

Steve crosses his legs — subtly, left ankle to right knee, but Eddie gives him a knowing smirk over the lip of his beer bottle anyway.

"Shut up," Steve blushes.

"Did I speak?" Eddie asks.

—

part 40

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

[callofdudes]

Hello how are you are you good? May I ask for some headcanons? Please make it longer if possible. A wonderful cook with a female reader. For Ghost Simon and (separately)Konig, please? if you do this can you tag me in the post too please? have a nice day

No I totally didn't lose this in my drafts while trying to come up with stuff. I do hope the length is ok, sorry that it took so long 😓

Y'all are wholesale today! I like it! Thank you for the request @simligul I tried to make it as long as I could so I hope you enjoy.

Female! Cook x The Tall Boys.

(Each tall boy sold separately)

Ghost:

He cannot cook to save his life. He knows how to put honey on bread and that is the extent of his knowledge.

He's gotten used to the MRE's that they're mandated to eat, but the first time you cook him a meal from scratch he falls more than he thought he ever could.

This man straight up either eats MRE's when he's at home or orders skip the dishes constantly to the point where it's kind of unhealthy.

Before you were living together he didn't know you could cook. He'd taken you out to restaurants but hadn't ever witnessed you active in a kitchen before.

So when he does...

You smile when he approached the kitchen, curious of the wonderful smells that are being produced. His nose leads him right to you in your apron with stains all over the cloth.

"What is this?" He asks, admiring the scene from the doorway and the apron you wore.

"What do you think? I'm making food."

He poked his head around and eyed the different ingredients simmering and popping in pans on the stove and his stomach cries out loudly. He looks back at you and you laugh at how he's practically begging you with his eyes. "Get out of my kitchen, I'll call you when it's done!"

He will come back every now and then to check on you (and the food).

When you finally set up the table and call him to eat he is borderline hyper. He sees all the steaming beautiful food and he will devour it all.

You are too good for him. Before he even sits down he will assure you that it looks absolutely delicious.

When he does manage to sit down and starts eating his stomach is beyond grateful. He had gotten so used to eating MRE's that he had genuine forgotten what it was like to eat a real meal. When he gets through the first three thrill bites his stomach grows three times the size. You yourself are a bit surprised by how much he ate. You barely had any leftovers to pack up.

Full of food and warm he'll hug you from behind while your washing the dishes and mutter thanks into your neck.

He'll hang around you for the rest of the evening and gratefully crash next to you in pure bliss.

From the day you first cooked for him forth Ghost longs for the days when he can return from war to your loving arms and a home cooked meal.

After going back to camp he'll occasionally mention that the food there tastes like shit compared to what you can make. This causes Soap to want to come with him on leave just to taste your food.

"I've missed you." He'll hug you close and rest against you for a while before taking off his head and stepping into the living room. Before he can even take his boots off he can smell the thick aroma of food. His stomach praises you loudly, making you giggle.

He takes off all his things and kisses you before going over to the kitchen. Again he will praise you for every bit of food on the table.

If he comes home after you've already packed up for bed, he'll check the fridge for food and there will be a little sticky note on the containers of leftovers. "Hey love. Sorry I couldn't be there to greet you. Tonight's dinner is xyz, have as much as you'd like."

He misses you when he isn't able to come back for the holidays. He loves hanging out with you around Christmas and Thanksgiving. But the food you make is so good around the holidays. He's always surprised by just how much effort you put into meals.

He tries to keep mention of you around base low. While he enjoys talking about you, he doesn't like the constant teasing from the others. But when Johnny starts to hear more about how good a cook you supposedly are, he is on his knees begging to come back to Simon's home with him for the holidays. And Simon was going to refuse, until somehow he didn't.

He thought you were going to be abrasive about all the guests when he showed up at his home with Price, Johnny, and Kyle right behind him, but you welcomed them with open arms.

Ghost smiled when you opened your arms and welcomed Price into your home. How you smiled so kindly and you were genuinely happy they were there.

There was no anger for being intruded on or barging to reach your husband, it was heartwarming to watch how you treated them.

When you'd met everyone and shaken their hands, you greeted Simon who was still taking his coat off. But that didn't matter. You pulled him into a short kiss before urging him toward the couch.

Simon and Price tried to help you with setting up the guest bedroom but you weren't having it.

"You lot must be exhausted. Sit, I'll have supper prepared in an hour." Simon smiled. "You're wonderful." You shoved him down onto the couch. "Rest, hang out with your friends." And you walked off to start preparing the guest room for the three.

You were right to assume they were exhausted. They tore their gear off and settled down on the couches. Finally getting to watch some good TV.

They didn't bother to move for the rest of the evening until you called them to dinner.

"Dinner is served boys!"

Kyle and Johnny were the first ones up and sprinting for the kitchen. Their stomachs empty of anything but the McDonald's they'd had early before their flight out.

Johnny was in heaven when he came in and saw the food. It was enough to feed a small army. He grabbed your hands and shook them roughly. "Oh Mrs. Riley you're an angel." You chuckled and handed him a plate as Simon and Price came in to inspect the food. "Take as much as you'd like, don't worry about leftovers and if I need to make more I can."

"Thank you ma'am." Price served himself.

Once they'd vacated the kitchen Simon gave you another kiss and took what the boys had left. "Do you want any?" He asked.

"Have it darling. You deserve it."

The boys were impressed with your cooking the first time. But when the 25 of December rolled around three days later it was a feast. You were happy to have Simon's friends along with your family for Christmas.

"Any friend of Simon's is a friend of mine. You are always welcome in our home."

Jokingly you get Simon a cookbook for Christmas so he can take it to the base with him. Whenever he gets the chance to go shopping (which is rarely) at least he'll be able to make something comprehendable with the foods.

Simon does eventually ask you to teach him to cook. And you'd thought he'd never ask. You started with basic recipes, something he could remember easily and come back to. A starter. And then you got out of hand. Sauce all over your apron and Simon getting his oil covered fingers all over you.

You taught him to bake as well. Because who else is going to make the 141 cookies? You couldn't keep sending them in boxes every month when mail slots opened up.

Simon enjoys baking more than cooking. He will lick all the utensils. If you're making chocolate cookies he'll lick the spoon/spatula/whisk, whatever you used he'll lick it clean. And you need to constantly supervise him when baking because will 100% eat raw cookie dough without fear of consequences.

"Simon! Don't eat that! You'll get sick!"

"fuck off!" He'll say as he playfully pushes you away and grabs another handful of dough.

If he ever comes across a dish he likes or thinks he'd like, he'll send a picture of it to you. When he goes to Mexico Rodolfo takes care of meals for the group and If Ghost likes something he'll hint you off like, "Hey Y/N, look at this really delicious looking dish... A shame I'll only be able to eat it once. Unless..."

Another thing he enjoys about it, is not just the food. But watching you cook. You have a smile on your face the whole time and you seem in utter bliss to cook for you, him, or anyone else.

And the apron.

Teasingly pulling on the strings from behind you or helping you take it off. It's small but it manages to mesmerize him every time.

If you are part of the military most of this still stands, when you first cool for him and the boys he's stunned and amazed. Maybe he's a little annoyed that you didn't start making food sooner when everyone was bitching and moaning about MRE's.

In the very, very, very rare instances where Simon is sick you're the type to not let him out of bed. Simon is either so sick he's unable to move or he can power through it, there is no difference to you. You'll lay him in bed and bring in a warm bowl of soup. And while Simon protests you'll cup his jaw and help him eat.

"I don't need help-"

"Shh, lay down Simon, let me take care of you."

"I hate how sweet you are."

"I love you too."

König:

König knows a little about cooking, but not a lot. His mother taught him him how to make basic cultural dishes including some sweets.

He enjoys cooking on the occasion but the military doesn't offer him much for culinary adventure. So he's become less fluent. Put him in a kitchen however and he could make you a warm meal from his heart.

When you first cook for him, his mouth is watering. He's absolutely starving when he gets home from base and his surprise when he came to see you and your house was swimming with the smells of culinary love.

He'll slip into the kitchen and eyeball all the stuff that's going on. In a heartbeat he's on his knees for whatever your making.

"Darling- please! I haven't eaten a proper meal in so long!"

"Get out of my Kitchen König, I will call you when it's ready. Just rest."

This man will sit by the corner of your kitchen. He will make sure he's pressed up against the wall but not entering the space. He'll crawl into a ball and whimper to make sure you remember he's sitting there.

"König, it'll only take a couple of minutes." You chuckled when he starts to slowly drag himself back into the kitchen hoping you wouldn't notice.

When you finish up he is giving you the biggest puppy eyes he can. It's as if his irises grew in size, they're practically sparkling when you motion with your finger and he jumps up. "YES! Thank you!"

He grabs a plate and doesn't hold back to shovel food onto his plate and rush to the table to consume it all. There is barely enough for you this big boy took so much.

He's scarfing it down when you take your seat and all you can do is just lovingly stare at him. His eyes are practically glazed over when he tastes it on his tongue.

"Darling, this is absolutely amazing, thank you."

"You're welcome König, you deserve it."

This man goes into a full food comma. When he's out his plate in the dishwasher he goes and passes out on the couch. You find it absolutely adorable.

He's just passed out. Usually when König comes back home it takes him at least a day or two to take the hood off and another couple to full relax. But tired and full it's the first time you've seen him throw his hood on the coffee table and just pass out without a worry.

You're not even complaining.

König and you exchange recipes. While you teach him some of the dishes he doesn't know how to make, he'll show you how to make dishes from his home.

When he gets back he will not shut up about you. He won't tell new recruits or other members unless their already friends, subject of his anxiety. But he loves to talk about you with his small group of friends and his operatives team. You're his shining light.

When he starts digging into military food again his head is just filling with all the ways you could cook this so much better and slop in a tube was just as bad as it was when he first signed up.

He finds himself getting particularly homesick now whenever he eats food that is not cooked by you. He always thinks about the dish and it will relate back to you in some way.

After König teaches you to make his favorite sweets, you make sure to send him a tightly sealed box of them every month for him. (If they can survive over time ofc)

He shares with his team because he wants them to also taste your baking and cooking. He will proudly tell them how wonderful you are and after tasting the sweets they all agree.

König is a little more lenient with his leave time, so he gets to see you somewhat more often then others. When he returns again around Thanksgiving he isn't expecting utterly extravagant meal he finds.

He slouched against the door, tired and gross. He looks up when you come over. Your apron on and your hair up. You gasp when you see him. "I thought you were coming back tomorrow?"

König tiredly shakes his hand and opens his arms for you to rush into. He's sore but he hugs you tightly. You smell of freshly baked goods and spices. He breathes you in deeply and he knows he's home. He sighs and nuzzles his forehead against yours.

"I've got food on the table love, come join whenever you're ready."

"Thank you meine liebe."

When he does join you he takes in all the smells of home. His mind and his body starting to relax just at the hand of the fruits of your labor.

You guide him to the table and get him a plate. The area is well lit when he returns to make him feel comfortable.

The two of you will talk as he eats. And it's not unusual for him to go back for seconds or thirds. Sometimes if he's extra hungry he'll raid the pantry for food.

Crashing in bed after a warm meal is the best feeling. His stomach sated, he wraps his arms around you and feels his worries slip away.

You crawl in bed next to him and snuggle up against him. "Goodnight" and despite his food coma, König pulls you to his chest, content to stay here forever.

When he's on leave he offers to bring Horangi back to stay with you both, just so you can taste the food. He has no plans for his leave except sitting in the kitchen and enjoying whatever warm meal you've set up for him.

Bringing Horangi back then were both incredibly excited about your cooking. König could almost taste it and Horangi had heard many good things.

You were overjoyed to have Horangi over and cooked a feast for the two. Horangi's mouth was watering and all König could say was "Seeeee!"

Both König and Horangi sit by the kitchen entrance, watching you like cats going back and forth, back and forth.

The smell of the food is not lost on them when you bring them into the kitchen finally. Seeing everything you've prepared.

"This looks stunning ma'am, thank you a thousand times for having me." Horangi took your hands and squeezed them, unable to contain his excitement. Or his hunger. His stomach started to snarl before he could finish his expression of gratitude.

You once again stand back and let the men eat what the want. You weren't at all surprised when Horangi had just the appetite that König did.

It was funny watching them talk while they feasted, occasionally melting and having a brain aneurysm over how good it was.

Compared to the food on base, Horangi will now get on his knees and kiss the ground you walk on. You are a fucking angel for taking care of him when he comes over.

He will not stop talking about "König's wife can cook!! And you don't get any of it, because you're not invited! 😏"

König is just glad you're there for his friends, willing to provide hospitality and food. You can't turn down anyone it seems.

But he wouldn't change that about you.

He loves to dance in the kitchen with you. If you're cooking something and you have music in the background, König will come over, hands cupping your waist and drawing you toward him.

"And what are you doing??" You hold a spatula covered in sauce up to him and he licks it happily. "What does it look like??" You pulls you in and twirls you around the kitchen.

"König, watch out for the stove." You giggle.

He keeps turning and spinning you, pressing kisses to your throat and cheeks.

"I love you so much."

"I love you too you big goof."

He smiles, nuzzling against your neck, the smell of the spices imprinting on your skin. They must have. After you've cooked an apple pie you still smell of cinnamon. And it drives him crazy.

König loves you so much, he wouldn't dream his life any other way. And certainly not without you in it. He gives you another kiss and you shove him out of your kitchen.

"Food isn't really yet."

"But looooove-!" He whines.

"No, you'll have to wait. Like a good boy." You smirk.

He huffs, but he can't say no to that. So he plops down and sits longingly at the entrance of the kitchen, watching you as you cook.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty headcanons #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #konig headcanons #konig x reader #könig headcanons #könig cod #könig x reader

[yeosbbm]

Cowabunga

Smut | MDNI

starring: surfer! yunho x lifeguard! fem reader

genre: mutuals to lovers, perfect match

summary: being a lifeguard is fun since you get paid just to keep the peace and keep people from drowning. it does get boring however…that’s until you saved yunho from drowning while surfing and he repays you back with a small date and more...

warnings: size kink, sweet/dirty talk, indirect exhibitionism (you don’t get caught/nobody around), oral (fem+masc received), fingering, unprotected piv

A/n: This shit took forever to write so if it flops then oh well I’ll just delete it allah please.

The sun is beaming and the cobalt ocean sways and rolls into itself. Today was a good day to be a lifeguard. A lovely view paired with rarely having to get down from your chair tower.

The most you have to do is yell “No trash thrown into the sand please!” Or “No fighting!” every now and again. A person hasn’t had trouble in the water except for once or twice.

It’s a calm low effort job. BUT, you really do wish it was more exciting, there’s only so many sunsets you can watch and shaved icees you can eat.

During your silent contemplation you feel someone knock and bump your lifeguard tower. While getting ready to curse you notice it was just Mingi and the others.

“Hey ! (y/n) .” Mingi says while lightly knocking on your tower. “Min. PLEASE. Stop knocking the tower.” You say pinching the bridge of your nose.

“We told him not to.” Wooyoung and San say in unison.

“You dropped your whistle by the way.” Seonghwa chimes.

You sigh while coming down from your tower. You look around for the “dropped whistle” but still don’t see it in the sand. “Where’s the whistle.” Mingi points and shows it was still around your neck.

“We just wanted you to come down since you haven’t left the tower all day.” Mingi chuckles. You want to be mad but you were a bit hungry and aforementioned bored out of your mind.

“The Tiki Cafe ?” You ask squinting from the sun’s brightness.

Mingi nods “Yeaa Tiki Cafe, gotta meet with Yunho anyway.”

You all head over to it. It’s a small cafe most people at the beach or locals go to. You all order your usuals and begin to talk and eat.

In the midst of a conversation Mingi looks over at the door and smiles. “YUNHO !! Over here !” He whisper shouts. Yunho walks over to the table and leans over onto it with his board.

He greets the other guys and nods his head at you. Yunho is Mingi’s closest friend as well as a known surfer. Him and Mingi surf together all the time. You two have spoken before and follow each others instas but your convos stay short and casual.

You can’t lie. This man is beautiful. His tall toned body paired with his perfectly set face, the cheesy smile and sweet boyish charm. You most definitely found him attractive.

You bring yourself out your staring when you notice a large crack running down Yunhos surfboard. “Wait what happened to your board.”

“Yikes man, what DID happen.” Mingi says grasping the nose of the board to ogle at the crack.

Yunho looks down at it and gives a shy smile. Gosh he’s handsome. “Dropped it on the asphalt. It should be fine..I’m still heading to catch the big wave today.”

“Really ? You sure your board will be able to stay up ?” You’re not exactly a surfer yourself but you know that cracks can be detrimental.

Mingi’s eyes widen at the news of the big wave. “Bro the waves about to come in 10, let’s go catch it !” You roll your eyes and ask for a to go box. Yunho pats your shoulder. “No need to worry, I can always swim if I get wiped out.” He gives you a playful wink before heading out with the guys.

————————-

You guys return to the beach. You pull out your to-go box and munch on your leftovers while watching the beach goers and occasionally watching the guys and their antics.

Yunho stops by your tower with his board. “Hey do you got any board wax ?” You usually have some but Mingi used up the last bit. “Sorry I’m all out” Yunho was staring at you as though he didn’t care.

“It’s ok, by the way there’s sauce on your shirt.” You look down and see the grease spot that you couldn’t see due to your lifeguard swimsuits’s red hue. “God. Thanks Yunho.”

“Don’t worry you still look good..I mean you always look pretty.”

“Oh..thank you, again.” You practically shrink into yourself after the compliment. Yunho fondly stares “I was wondering if..”

“ YUNHOOO THE WAVES HERE.” Yunho quickly turns before grabbing his board. He turns back to you looking torn between the wave and the convo. “Talk to you later ?” “No worries just tell me when you’re done.” He smiles and rushes over to the guys getting ready in the water.

Time passes and you see the guys close by splashing water on each other. However, you realize Yunho isn’t there ? Your intuition screams for you to look farther with your binoculars.

You see him riding a large wave. Focused and concentrated. But. You noticed where the crack in his board was began to split, and soon Yunho gets engulfed into the water. When you see him not come back to the surface you know somethings wrong.

You get off the tower and run down into the shore. You tell Mingi to come with you to help Yunho.

After swimming over and a draw boat comes, Yunho is finally safe. You, Mingi and Yunho go to the nearby clinic to ensure he’s fully ok. You waited in the waiting room while Mingi was inside with Yunho. Finally, Mingi comes out.

“Hey is Yunho ok did they- ?”

“He thinks you’re cute.” Mingi shrugs and takes his phone out.

You can feel the heat fill your face from the random info. “I didn’t ask that, but thanks ? Is he ok though.” You’re sure he is from Mingi’s calmness but still need the verbal assurance.

“Yea he’s perfectly fine, waves just knocked the wind out of him.” Mingi’s demeanor is unphased..which is a switch from how scared and worried he was initially, it seems like he’s even smirking from your concern.

“That’s good..thank god.” Relief washes over you but you can still see Mingi’s smirk.

“So when are you telling him you like him.” He says still typing away on his phone.

“What,,your bestfriend just almost drowned why are you asking silly shit.”

“My bestfriend is completely fine and I’ll let him know to text you.”

“What.”

Mingi starts to walk back into the room Yunhos in. “Just let him take you out.” He closes the door, and now you’re just sat there speechless.

————————-

“Meet me at the shaved ice shop at 8 ?”

That’s the text Yunho sent a week after the surfing incident. You already know Mingi told him to text you. You’re whirling in a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment.

You sit at a stool in the icee shop checking your phone trying to keep yourself occupied. Then you see him. In a plain black tee and grey jeans..outside of his typical swim short and sandals attire.

You both begin to talk. You expected an awkward conversation considering how you two were aware of one another but not close..however, you two meshed so well ? Finishing each others thoughts and falling into each others jokes with no hesitation. Such a smooth and clean interaction.

“I just wanted to thank you..the guys would’ve never knew I was in trouble if it wasn’t for you.”

“No need to thank me..it’s my job, but like literally.” Yunho let’s out a breathy laugh at your words, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Hey shop closes up in 5, time to head out.” The shop manager tells you while gesturing at the door. You both head out and walk over to Yunho’s car.

He stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “I have my swim trunks and a blanket so we could swim and hang out if you’re not ready to go home.”

“Do you always keep a blanket in your car ?” You laugh.

“No no but, I really did want to spend time with you alone…we can leave now if you want…” Yunho looks away, running his hand through his hair.

“It’s ok…come on let’s go.” You reach your hand out to Yunho, fingers interlocked you two walk to the lower part of the beach. You take off your clothes..your swimsuit being underneath.

“Do you always keep a swimsuit under your clothes.” Yunho playfully mocks. You roll your eyes trying to hide your amusement.

You both swam together. Splashing water alongside of Yunho trying to teach you some swimming tricks he learned for if he wiped out on his board. The moonlight and stars leave bright streaks in the ocean swallowed by the night.

Soon you both get tired and return to the higher part of the beach while Yunho lays out the blanket. You both started sitting away from each other, talking more and finishing things discussed in the shop. Slowly it became you and Yunho laying side by side, hands brushing against each other.

“Hey..” he tilts your head to look at him. “Yes…” He looks into your eyes and looks away before returning them back. “I know we don’t talk but..I think I really like you.”

You stare, heart pumping harder at his words. He bites his lip in regret “I know that was too random, sorry I’ll take you home.”

“…Yunho don’t…I like you too..” You’re both facing each other, close enough to wear you feel each others breaths.

“You do….”

“I do.”

In seconds Yunho’s lips were on yours. His kisses were slow and methodical, his hand cupping your cheek while the free hand was set on your hip. Soon his tongue was brought into it, slowly whirling with yours.

Now..you knew what you were about to do was bold. But you couldn’t help it. You got on top of Yunho, hands sliding down his bare torso on his damp skin. This kiss continues and you feel him bring his hands to your hips.

You begin to grind down, not as fast or steady as you wanted due to nervousness. Yunho understands though, and ground you into him for you. The kiss finally breaks and you take a breath..the reality of it all hits you and you hide your face away in an attempt not to be consumed by his gaze.

Yunho can’t help but to want to see and relish in your shyness and glassy eyes. He puts his fingers to your chin, making you look at him.

“Getting shy on me ?” He says stroking your chin. He brings the hand back down onto your hip and continues to grind you two together. You can feel his bulge, the sensation intense from the thinness of your swimwear bottoms.

After mustering enough courage you reach down his swim trunk’s waistband.

“Can I...” Yunho is reeling at the fact you can’t even look him in the eye. “Go ahead baby..” Yunho nods and watches you go further down his torso. You pull the shorts down and there it was. His cock springs up, unbearably hard and oozing precum.

You lightly pump him in your hand and he winces in pleasure. After bringing your confidence up you bring your lips to the tip of his cock and suck. Yunho’s head is thrown back, lips parted. You begin bobbing your head up and down, struggling to take it all in your mouth. Yunho’s ok with that though…he actually finds it cute.

“Fuck…you’re doing so good for me.”

He gather your hair in his hand and helps you make your way up and down his cock. You peer up at him seeing him with a face of content while also taking airy breaths. You feel him twitch in your mouth. That’s when he pulls you away.

“You’ve helped me too much, I need to return the favor…” Yunho swiftly lays you back and pulls off your swim bottoms.

Such a view for him. Your skin moistened by the remaining sea water sitting on it, body unveiled to him..breast peaking from your swim top due to it being disheveled from all the movement. He opens your legs, another lovely view..your heat is sopping wet. He groans from the sight alone.

He pulls your swim top off, it was barely hanging on anyway. Parting your legs, he leans down and places kisses across your inner thighs. Then begins nipping and sucking at the skin. Your hips begin to stutter up from anticipation.

“Mm someone’s getting impatient hm ?” Yunho lightly swipes his thumb across your clit leading you to sigh.

“ ‘need your mouth on me…”. Your face is beyond warm and hot…being so exposed has you losing your mind but in a way…gives you more sexual gratification.

He takes his thumb away and begins licking and nipping at your clit. Fingers making their way into your hole, curling in a “come here” motion. You find solace by grabbing his hair, gently pulling which makes him take it farther.

He laps at your cunt. Sucking at your clit while speedily fucking you with his index and middle finger. The alarming pace with his fingers easing more of your arousal out. “..Yunho..more, please fuck..” He takes his fingers away and starts making out with your cunt. You’re bucking into his face while his tongue takes you apart.

“Cum on my face for me ” You’re done for. His tongue finds the perfect rhythm flicking against your clit. Then he places open mouthed kisses on your cunt.

You cum all over his face and he licks up as much of your essence as he can. He comes back to your face and kiss you; tasting yourself and his lip balm. “We can stop now if you want…” he whispers kissing down your neck, his cock hard against you.

You shake your head no. “Inside..I need you inside..” Yunho loses it at the confirmation. He opens your legs up for him and kisses you while bringing his cock into you. He presses all his weight onto you while slowly thrusting his cock into your soaking core. You’re filled to the hilt..his cock stretching you while his tip thumps against your gspot.

It’s all so intoxicating. The scent of the cool beach and him mixing with your own scent. Combined with the wetness shared between your bodies and the sensation of his cock stuffing you full over and over again.

Your senses are overloaded. All your pussy can do is clench around his cock. Yunho is just as fucked out..feelings your plush walls tighten around him.

“Fuck. Almost everyday..” His hips meet yours in a harsher fashion. “Almost everyday I see you…in that swimsuit.” The drags of his cock are becoming heavier and heavier. “And I just think about having you all to myself..pull the swimsuit off you and fucking you…just like this.”

Yunho takes notice of how your cunt sucks him in with his words. “I bet you knew…I bet you wanted the same..” He slams into your cunt with the punctuation. “So fucking good.” Your moans are loud. Praying nobody is taking a late night visit to the beach because they’d know exactly what you were doing. You naturally quiet yourself by biting your lip.

Yunho stops your silence by snapping his hips faster while kissing you. He holds your face in his large hand while he fucks into you harshly. He pulls his lips away, his sighs and groans in unison with your moans and whines. “Who cares if someone hears..I need to hear you.”

His thrusts become sloppy and lose their tempo. He’s just as close as you are. “You gonna cum on my cock for me ?” Only moans of affirmation can be vocalized. After his tip hits the right spot a few more times you cum on it. Your arousal covering his cock and lower abdomen.

His thrust falter. He pulls out but his tip is still pressed onto your cunt’s bud and he cums all over your pussy. You can feel his warm seed run down your folds.

You both fully collapse onto the blanket. The air is filled with sex and the humidity from the weather. You can hear the ocean sway and Yunho’s breaths. Above you the still moon and stars. Your eyes begin to lull before Yunho rises and picks you up off the blanket.

He takes you both to the mini showers used for washing sand off and cleans you both up. You both put your clothes on, him helping you put on yours while asking if you’re ok and whispering affirmations.

Soon you both head back to his car and begin to ride along the beachside. His hand occasionally resting on your thigh during the ride. Soon you both finally arrive to your home to drop you off.

“Are you on beach duty tomorrow.” He asks drawing shapes into your hand with his fingers.

“I shouldn’t be.” You begin holding his hand, rubbing your thumb against his.

“Meet me at the shaved ice shop again ?”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez headcanons #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateezhard #idol smau #idol smut #kpop smut #kpop smau #ateez smau #ateez x reader #ateez fic #atz x reader #atz smut #yunho smut #yunho x reader #ateez yunho #atz yunho #atz imagines #mingi smut #seonghwa smut #hongjoong smut #yunho #ateez scenarios #ateez mingi #atz mingi #yunho x y/n

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt 2)

((Part 1 Here))

Magic won’t fix anything.

Cinderella holds onto words. Commands. Be patient. Be kind. One big loving family. Magic won’t fix anything. Her loved ones’ words ring in her head the entirety of the following month, soaring above and diving beneath each other.

Sometimes the boy’s voice says, Be patient.

Sometimes her father says, Be kind.

Sometimes her mother says, Magic won’t fix anything.

Cinderella’s rations are in order. A week’s worth of dried foods to sustain her journey into town. It’ll take her a week on foot, three days by carriage but she doesn’t have access to a carriage. Her stepmother will be taking it. Her mind whispers, the Capitol is a week by carriage. You could—

She lets her mantras drown the thought. Cinderella is too old for fairytales.

The mice watch her from the windowsills the day of the full moon. She is mending Anastasia’s stockings by the fireside. It is the last time she’ll do so and she attempts to summon some fondness for the chore. It’s her sister who trusts her with this task, she has spent so many evenings warm and cozy with a needle and thread, she has gained some skill in mending from so many years practicing—

No fondness wells. Instead Cinderella’s eyes burn from the length of time between blinks and her heart beats so slowly that she feels like time is moving backwards. The fire crackles and Cinderella breaks the thread with her teeth, finishing the mend as sloppily as she can. With any luck, it’ll rub and give Anastasia a blister while she dances with the Prince.

She’s horrid. Did her mother see this side of her when she made her daughter promise to be kind? Cinderella starts on the heel of the next stocking.

“Cinderella.”

Stepmother is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, one elegant hand presses to the rough stone, the other behind her back. Drizella peeks out from beneath her arm, hair piled up on top of her head. Anastasia hovers behind, swishing her emerald skirts from side to side.

“Yes, Stepmother?” Cinderella asks. Her voice startles her. Low and rounded and empty. She is deep inside her own head as Stepmother steps into the sunlight streaming through the small window above the preparation table. “Is there something you need assistance with?

“I have been thinking,” Stepmother says. Her chin lifts and her eyes glint when she eyes the basket of stockings. “You have…shown efforts in this household. I know the girls and I have not been as attentive as of late. Our focus has been entirely on the ball. Yet, I would not have you thinking your…help has gone unnoticed.”

“It was my idea,” Drizella blurts. She darts under her mother’s arms and pelts forward, nearly falling when she stops just short of Cinderella’s seat. She grins down at her. “This is my idea!”

“Our idea,” Anastasia says with a sniff. She steps around her mother with tiny, practiced steps. She’s using a strange accent, half Capital and half west mountains. She’s been attempting to blend into the upper nobility. “We thought of it together.”

“Yes, my girls are so kind,” Stepmother says. She reveals what she’s holding behind her back and Cinderella’s breath stills in her lungs. It’s fabric, beautiful, shimmering silver fabric. A hint of a lace sleeve peeks out from the bundle. “Here.”

Cinderella stands. This can’t be what she thinks it is. She doesn’t reach for the bundle even when Stepmother takes a step forward, hand outstretched. She swallows. “Is that a dress?”

“We had some money leftover at the seamstress,” Drizella says, leaning into Cinderella’s side. She tilts her head to rest on the taller girl’s shoulder. “Isn’t the color beautiful?”

“I didn’t want lace on my dress,” Anastasia says. She sits in Cinderella’s abandoned chair, smoothing her skirts like a court lady might. “So the seamstress said she could add it to yours. You’re welcome.”

Cinderella is staring at the dress. This can’t be real. Something in her chest trembles. Were they thinking of her at the seamstress’ studio? Her? “Why?”

“So you can attend the ball of course,” Stepmother says. She takes another step forward. “I am not so ungenerous as to ban you from going. Did you think I would?”

Yes. Cinderella’s hand trembles when she reaches for the dress. Her fingertips graze the smooth fabric. “It’s beautiful.”

“As beautiful as you are,” Stepmother says. Stepmother’s voice trembles. She blinks quickly as if holding back tears. “I have never told you so. It is not good for a girl of your…station to nurture ideas. However, I have come to regret my restraint.”

Don’t! Cinderella ignores the warning. Her heart is aching so fiercely that she can scarcely breathe. She takes the dress from Stepmother as gently as she would hold one of the mice. “You want me to come with you?”

“We’re all noble daughters,” Anastasia says primly. Her eyes are on Cinderella’s folded dress. “Wearing that, you might look the part.”

“Indeed. We leave in an hour,” Stepmother says. She holds out her hands to her daughters. “Come, girls. Let’s not get in Cinderella’s way. She must pack quickly.”

Cinderella feels light headed. She strokes the fabric and marvels at how cool and light it feels against her fingers. She doesn’t have anything else to wear to the Capital, not a stitch, but she has a dress. A dress her family gave her.

Don’t.

“But I want to see her open it,” Drizella whines. She walks backwards towards her mother. “Go on, Cinderella. Take a look. You’ll love the silhouette.”

Cinderella hardly notices Anastasia tiptoe around her. They bought her a dress. She doesn’t care what it looks like. It could be decades out of fashion. It could be completely bare. She doesn’t care. They bought her a dress and Stepmother acknowledged her hard work and—

Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t—

Cinderella unfurls the dress. Something so light she didn’t notice it in the folds of the fabric drops to the ground and rolls.

Coal.

The dress is streaked with black soot, the front wrecked by the stains. There is no lace on the dress except for the one sleeve. The hemline is unfinished and cut at an angle that can’t be salvaged. The silver fabric is ruined everywhere except for the back panel of a skirt which Stepmother had used to conceal the mess.

“Oh, dear,” Stepmother says as Cinderella stares at the wreck. The trembling in Stepmother’s voice isn’t regret. It’s glee. “My, Cinderella, your dress is a mess. You won’t be able to go to the ball after all, will you?”

“In that?” Anastasia asks. She presses a hand to her chest, once again safely behind her mother. “No, no, no, you could never go in that.”

“Maybe you can clean it,” Drizella says. She’s bouncing on her toes. “You’re good at cleaning, right, Cinderella?”

“Alas,” Stepmother says, shaking her head. She ushers the girls ahead of her. “We leave in just an hour.” She clicks her tongue. “Do hurry, won’t you, Cinderella? Of course, if you can’t save the dress, what’s the point? Perhaps you should stay here after all…entirely up to you, dear.”

Anastasia’s snorts and Drizella’s shrieks of laughter echo behind them. They’re off to pack, thrilled by their prank. Stepmother stays in the doorway. Cinderella can feel her looking. Cinderella can’t tear her gaze away from the dress. After a long moment, Stepmother speaks.

“It is not in my nature to be cruel,” Stepmother says. Her heel taps against the stone. “I see we have hurt you. Perhaps you think us unkind for this little mischief, hm?”

Cinderella’s head is bowed. She can’t bring herself to speak.

“Trust me,” Stepmtoher says, “that it is not even a tenth as cruel as it would be to have you come with us. You are beautiful, Cinderella. Does it please you to hear me admit it? I can concede that much at least in light of what you must be feeling. But my daughters have worked hard for this day. They do not deserve the cruelty of having you who have worked for nothing overshadowing their efforts just because you were born beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Cinderella tastes the word like poison on her tongue. “I—I am not—“

“Save me your false humility,” Stepmother says coldly. Her tapping heel stills. “You think yourself clever, but you are just a girl. I see how you lord yourself over my daughters. I have spent years attempting to curtail your excessive pride to no avail. In the end, you’ll see today as a favor to all parties involved. My daughters deserve this opportunity to rise above their station. You? You will have the opportunity see where you really belong.”

There is something interesting happening in Cinderella’s chest. Whereas before her heart beat so slowly it felt as if time flowed backwards, it’s the opposite now. Her heart is beating so fast and so loud that a river rushes through Cinderella at the speed of light.

“Beauty,” Cinderella says. She finally pulls her gaze from the ruined dress to meet Stepmother’s eyes. Stepmother’s mouth thins in displeasure, but Cinderella doesn’t care. “All these years over— over your perception? Your idea of what I am? Who I am?”

“Do not condescend to me,” Stepmother says.

It is not a denial.

Cinderella is a child again, perched on top of her father’s shoulders. The light is golden in her mother’s hair and she reaches for a strand that’s fallen free of her pins—

She is crouched in the garden, watching ants pull at a grounded butterfly’s wings. Sickened, she steps on them, pounds at them with her heels. Her name rings through the air as her mother hurries towards her—

Her father’s back is fading into the light as he leaves her mother in her window. Her mother’s shoulders shake and Cinderella is behind them both, clutching a doll—

She is holding her mother’s hand and it’s so cold. Her eyes are as pale and lifeless as the butterfly’s wings. Cinderella calls for her mother and the silence swallows her whole—

Cinderella is crying in the snow. She is dying or dead. Her legs are frozen, as cold as her mother’s hand, and she can’t tell if she’s even walking still. A bell rings through the trees and, half-mad, she follows it—

She lies in the warm grass of the meadow as the boy talks about stars and constellations and something beautiful unfurls in Cinderella’s chest for the first time in years—

She hopes. There is hope so bitter that it puckers her soul a little more with every letter she writes. She stands at the window and waits for her father or a letter or a sign—

You deserve more, the boy says. You’re strong, Cinderella. You have endured the freezing cold long enough. It is time to find somewhere warm—

When Cinderella is able to rip herself from the memories, Stepmother is gone. The dress is crumpled on the ground and Cinderella’s heart is loud in her ears.

“I,” Cinderella says to the empty room, “am more than beauty.”

Something in her chest cracks. A bone, maybe. A heart.

A dam.

Cinderella, not waiting for night, bursts out of the kitchen door. She lifts her skirts so that she can lengthen her strides and runs. The woods swallow her without preamble, the canopy glowing green in the afternoon light.

Be kind.

She leaps over fallen trees and dodges low branches, not caring as sticks fling up under her heels and leaves whip at her face. Her heart pounds.

Be patient.

How could she have been so blind? They were never going to love her. Stepmother saw only what she wanted to see, a part of Cinderella that is not who she is, something that’s never mattered.

One big loving family.

She poured love like blood into their mouths. She did what her parents taught her and loved with hands so open that her fingers bent backwards. For what? To be boiled down to nothing? To be pretty?

Magic won’t fix anything.

Cinderella, chest heaving, leaps into the clearing. She can feel her hair tangled behind her. Her hands are stained with soot and they leave black fingerprints on her skirts. A cut on her leg oozes. The wind whips at her in alarm. Cinderella doesn’t care.

She approaches the tree. The boy is waiting, still for once. How did he know she’d be there so soon? Why is his presence watching her like that? The rainbows of magic shiver like grass, bending away from her when she stalks through them.

“You promised me magic,” Cinderella says. Somehow she is not out of breath. She presses a hand to the oak tree’s warm bark. Her eyes spark. “Didn’t you?”

“I did,” the boy says.

“Then show me magic,” Cinderella says. “Whatever you want. Whenever you want. Just—keep your promise. Take me away from here.”

“Your wish,” the boy says, “is my command.”

The bark shifts under her fingers and Cinderella falls forward into the tree. She doesn’t have time to scream. Would she even want to? She drops into darkness so warm that her shoulders loosen as she plummets.

Out in the meadow, a single butterfly drifts across the top of the wildflowers.

——-

Thanks for reading! This is turning into a whole novella, but I’m having a blast writing it!

Part three will be posted next Friday (sorry this one was a day late! I’m traveling) and is already up on my Patreon for those who’d like to support me there :)

See you next week!

Patreon (X)

#my writing #short story #cinderella #Cinderella fan fiction

[hero-israel]

So I've seen a lot of talk from people who allow that Israel was justified to attack Gaza after October 7th, but they feel that Israel still attacked too indiscriminately, killed too many Palestinians, and destroyed too much of Gaza. Two particular hangups I've seen most commonly are the idea that Israel should have done a "tactical counter-terrorism" action rather than a ground invasion, and a specific objection to Israel dropping 2000 pound bombs on Gaza specifically. I don't feel that I know enough about military tactics, so I don't know how legitimate it would have been for Israel to go into Gaza "tactically" or to drop smaller bombs, but I suspect Hamas would be a lot stronger than it is currently, and the same people would still be tut-tutting Israel's actions (if not calling them out with equal outrage). It's very frustrating

Everyone wants a better alternative but nobody describes what it is. Reminds me of the recent post about the Houthis - "don't bomb them, you need to find a way to get rid of the Red Sea embargo that only kills the badguys and nobody else." Okay, I'll just ask the genie of the lamp to magic them away. There are no options for going into Gaza that aren't utterly horrible. Hamas knows this, it was the whole point of their trap, and it is working.

Here's a fair-minded, moving essay by a Gazan Palestinian saying Israel needs "targeted, low-intensity, long-term operation[s] that could sustainably reduce Hamas’ military capabilities and create conditions to introduce a new administration in Gaza," and also admitting "tunnel warfare is dirty, complicated, costly and requires lengthy efforts and campaigns, not the short and swift operations upon which Israel’s military doctrine is built."

IOW, "go in and kill Hamas and destroy everything they have - but don't kill anybody else. Find a way to do it slower and smaller and neater, but still make sure you win."

It doesn't work that way. The tunnels are obviously boobytrapped, how are you supposed to order men in? The problem isn't expense, the problem is failure. Also a slow, prolonged ground campaign would require a lasting re-occupation, another lose-lose. Israel has purportedly been using the 2,000 pound bombs as bunker-busters to collapse the tunnels - maybe that's working, but it also kills the hell out of people on the surface, again part of the trap. I am disappointed that the IDF hadn't spent every waking hour the last decade building some technical gizmo that could make the tunnels uninhabitable, some kind of seismic or ultrasonic whatzit. I said a while back that I was in favor of flooding the tunnels and fixing the environmental consequences later. I've got messages in my inbox now urging me not to take that stance, that Israel should not be seen as "salting the earth," but it doesn't matter since it seems Israel isn't actually doing it, for whatever reason, so there's no point in a Tumblr blog taking a stance either way.

Tom Friedman is another useless Boomer leftover from the '90s and his "philosophy-of-cab-drivers" shtick is laughable, but he actually raised a good point here:

Netanyahu, I would argue, doesn’t want to win. He wants to be winning, OK, that is, he wants to be able to say, we’re winning. We’re winning. We’re winning. It’s just around the corner. But he doesn’t want to actually win because, if the war actually ends, two things are going to happen. Then he can no longer avoid what is the new political end state. And I believe there will be an eruption, a massive eruption, of Israeli anger at him that I hope and pray will drive him from power because I believe he is not only the worst leader in Israel’s history. I believe he’s the worst leader in Jewish history.

And that’s a long history. And what is Netanyahu’s calculation? It’s very simple. If he is not in power and has to face the conclusion of his trial and three corruption charges without the protection and influence that comes over the judiciary from being in power, he has a very good chance of going to jail. People forget. Israel jailed a president and a former prime minister. They’re not afraid to do that. And he does not want to go to jail. And he does not want to give up power.

And so this is a terrible situation where Israel is in a existential war, and its prime minister has basically dual loyalties, one to the state and one to himself. And at every turn, he is prioritizing himself.

I wish I could totally rule out the possibility that Netanyahu is going to try to drag this out until Trump's inauguration next year. I can't.

[ms-demeanor]

I'm not a huge fan of french toast so I don't make it all that often and when I do make it I prefer to eat it with this whipped cream cheese stuff that I make (8oz cream cheese, 8oz heavy whipping cream, 2tbsp powdered sugar, beat until fluffy) and raspberry jam. My dad also likes this, so when he was over this weekend I made some french toast. This, however, left us with a lot of leftover whipped cream cheese stuff and I was poking around trying to figure out what to eat it on when I realized that I had all the ingredients for scones, plus the raspberry jam and some lemon curd in my fridge.

I keep forgetting that it takes like less than half an hour to make scones if you have all the ingredients and a pastry cutter, and I almost always have all of the ingredients in a pastry cutter.

Anyway I ended up making us scones to have for breakfast to use up the last of the whipped cream cheese stuff as like a low-effort clotted cream and it fucking ruled. If you like scones you should know that it's actually pretty easy to make them. I should go make scones.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

my mom for some reason bought a whole spiral cut ham and so it's time for my favorite "low effort quick and easy healthy and delicious dinner with Lu, who just got off a 10 hour shift and is, perhaps, Hangry":

don't talk to me scramble

(so named because when I come home from work and am eating a late supper I want everyone to shut up and let me eat in peace)

YOU WILL NEED:

3 of the biggest eggs you've got - 4 if they're smaller than LargeTM

ham: deli cut works here but I literally just grabbed the spiral cut ham and ripped pieces off with my bare hands until I had a generous handful of Ham Bits (you can probably use whatever lunchmeat you have in your fridge for this tbh)

about like 3 tbsp of cream cheese?? Gordon Ramsay it babey

one(1) slice of pepper jack cheese or whatever kind you like

big handful of spinach (frozen works but I used a slightly wilted leftover salad since it needs eaten soon) or other vegetables of choice. bagged frozen stuff is great in eggs

optional carb (bread, tortilla, biscuits, et cetera)

LET'S CRACK THIS THING.

butter or oil in your pan. crack ya eggs. throw the Ham Bits in immediately or else they will be Cold. once eggs start to cook throw in your SpinchTM or ~vegetals of choice~ so that they'll wilt/heat up. this is the point where you want to toast your bread or heat a tortilla or whatnot, if you're into that kind of thing. once eggs are MOSTLY cooked, toss in your pepper jack and cheem creams and stir it all around until it's melted. it will probably look a bit watery — if this is a texture no-no I suggest making this in omelette form, bc yes, cream cheese is awesome in an omelette. serve with Optional Carb if you wis, or by itself, possibly eaten directly out of the pan you cooked it in. you are adulting so well. your tastebuds and your body think you're the coolest 👍 go forth full, happy, and proud of yourself

#I usually only eat two eggs for a meal like this but I barely ate anything all day so I was like. THREE eggys for me tonight >:) #ham and spinach proportions were adjusted accordingly #I also didn't have bread in the house. sadly :( #anyway :) finally home from work #Lu rambles #adulthood woes #adulthood wins #idk my family usually has the basic components of a very nice and easy egg skillet on hand so. here we are :) #recipes

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 15

part 1 | part 14 | ao3

“Please please please please pleeeeease,” Dustin whines, tugging hard on the hem of Steve’s shirt.

“Dude get off me.” He slips the last of the leftover containers into the fridge, slams the door shut, and turns to glare at Dustin, who oh-so-conveniently had to step out after dinner to ‘walkie Lucas about a homework question’ and left Steve and Eddie to do the washing up.

In the absence of a Henderson buffer, the air between them had pretty immediately gone stale. Hesistant and charged, overly formal; fucking weird. Eddie moves like a weirdo, sways his hips out of the way of counter corners instead of walking a straight path, like some swaggering drunken pirate, and he spent the last ten minutes awkwardly traipsing around the perimeters of the kitchen as if Steve were a landmine he might set off at any time.

So yeah.

Steve’s feeling a little ungracious at the moment. “Seriously, what is so important that you can’t just show it to us tomorrow?”

“Ummm, scientific discovery? Wonder at the natural world around us?? Where’s your sense of adventure, Steve?”

“The last time I followed my sense of adventure out to your cellar I almost got—” His eyes cut sharply to Eddie, who’s doing a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop. Steve scrambles for a way to end his sentence that isn’t eaten by a creature with a razor flower for a face. “—uh, mauled.”

“Mauled?” Eddie asks, eyes bugging out. “Henderson, I’m not following you into the woods to get to turned into some feral thing’s chew toy, man.”

“It was fine,” Dustin insists, covertly kicking Steve in the shin.

Steve thinks of his NDAs and plays along. “Y-yeah. Totally fine. It was just, like, a rabid raccoon or something.”

“That… does not sound fine.”

“It’s cool,” Steve tries to reassure him (no idea why, really; that cellar’s nightmare fuel.) He throws a dish towel over his shoulder, nods his head decisively. “I’ll bring my nail bat with us.”

“You’ll fucking bring your what?”

—

Steve drags his nail bat through the leaves on the narrow trail, the wood thudding along behind him as they make their way to the cellar, a detached storm shelter at the far edge of the lot. It’s dark out here. And cold. His breath hangs in a puff of wet fog when he mutters, “Seriously, Dustin, this better be Noble Prize worthy stuff.”

“It’s Nobel,” Eddie says.

“Huh?”

“The, uh- the prize? It’s No-bel.”

“….Well, that’s stupid.”

“Why would it be Noble?” Eddie snorts, but his eyes are curious and kind.

“Because— because you have to be Noble to earn it? I don’t know!” Eddie laughs like he finds the answer cute. Steve doubles down. “That makes perfect sense, and you know it. A Noble Prize for a Noble Effort. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” Dustin grunts as he unlocks the cellar doors. “Now come on.”

—

The cellar's just as creepy as Steve remembers: low ceiling, dusty cement blocks, a single, sad lightbulb dangling on a string. He eyes the dark corner on the far side of the squat room, bricked up now but it wasn't before; there were tunnels under here, once, vast networks like blood vessels to the beating heart of a monster Steve still can't fully comprehend. He grips the bat a little tighter.

"—Shit," Dustin says suddenly, cutting himself off mid-ramble about how cool his latest science project is, how it puts Cerebro to shame. "I forgot the remote." "You want me to go get it?" Steve offers. "No!" Dustin says it in a rush, then stammers, "No, that's okay. You won't know what to look for." He seems nervous. Jittery. Maybe the cellar creeps him out, too. "Be right back, just wait here."

"Grreeeat," Eddie replies as Dustin jogs back up the stairs, cupping his hands around his mouth to call sarcastically after him, "We'll just be loitering in your murder basement, then; take your time!"

With Dustin gone, there’s nothing to do but stand there metaphorically twiddling their thumbs. Steve’s idly swinging his bat in a wide sweep around his calves, and Eddie’s staring at the ground, scuffing the toe of his shoe into a streak of dirt, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed. He’s humming something that Steve can't quite make out, but it doesn't sound like the stuff he usually blasts from his van. It's softer. Easy. Almost pop.

“Hey, wait a sec...” Steve holds up a finger, turning his good ear toward the stairs. The leafy crunch of footsteps isn’t getting any quieter, and now it sounds like there are two pairs, getting louder; circling back. “You hear that?”

Eddie nods. Looks serious and spooked. Steve raises his bat, a sudden spike of fear; he creeps over to the stairs. “Hey,” he calls to the darkness. The rustling noise picks up, a swish of movement through the brush, and then the crrrrroak of something metal. Something heavy, groaning on its—

Hinges. Hinges. Son of a bitch, the cellar doors. “Hey!” he shouts, breaking into a run. “HEY—!”

BOOMMMM.

The doors slam shut with a heavy crash and the grating clink of more metal scraping metal. Steve bolts up the stairs, shoves with all his strength against the slanted doors above him. The doors don’t budge. “What the fuck?” Eddie shouts from the bottom of the stairs.

Steve pounds against the doors. “HENDERSON?”

Eddie comes up to join him, using his forearms like battering rams to try to bash the doors open. His voice cracks when he hollers, “Henderson, for real, man! I-if this is some kinda- some kinda sick fucking joke it isn’t funny!!”

“It’s for your own good!!” a voice that isn’t Dustin yells through the gap in the doors, and Eddie squawks, “MIKE?”

Mike?? MIKE?? Oh, that goddamned ungrateful, conniving little—

“We just wanted you two to talk to each other!” Mike says.

Dustin adds, “For real this time."

“Yeah, for real this time!”

Steve punches the doors, and Eddie bares his teeth like he can scorch a hole through the metal with the heat of his glare alone. “Wheeler, you are SO dead!!”

“So fucking dead!!!” Steve agrees.

---

part 16

tag list below the cut, comment if you want to be added tomorrow (or dm me if you want to be removed)

@acedorerryn @ahsokatanoss @annabanannabeth @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awolfstudio @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @burymestanding @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cr0w-culture @cuips-not-cute @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @fandomfix8 @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @goodolefashionedloverboi @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @heartsong18 @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @messrs-weasley @nburkhardt @noodle-shenaniganery @novelnovella @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #st fic #my writing #my fic

[brightgnosis]

So we still went ahead and made Hungry By Nature's "Sheet Pan Moroccan Chicken" last night, even though it was just going to be the two of us eating (since his Mom was admitted into the Hospital yesterday, and everything).

The two of us're kind of tired of eating out all of the time at this point. Plus, I agreed to cook this week and that's what I'm going to do: Cook. I don't want to waste all of the groceries we've already bought to do that with. And at the very least, it's leftovers for them when they finally do get out of the hospital- which should hopefully be today 🤞

Y'all, this recipe was so good.

I made it with Chicken Legs because that's all I had and I didn't want to pay new meat prices for the Chicken Breast the original called for (we'd bought a huge thing of the legs on discount for $5.50 ages ago)- and I also added a touch of Red Wine Vinegar to the dressing just because. But other than that, I messed with nothing.

This is one of those incredibly rare recipes that you don't have to do anything to in order to actually get good flavor. We loved every ounce of it. And I discovered that I love just plain Roasted Onions. And I don't hate Chickpeas when they're done the right way after all (should've made a 4-ways rule instead of a 3-ways, I guess, ha).

Super incredibly easy to make, too. Literally just slap down the Chicken, cut your onions and Carrots and toss them on, toss on your Chickpeas, mix up your dressing, slather it on everything ... Then just let it bake. No turning or fussing- just don't let the dressing get on anything because it contains Turmeric (IYKYK). So it really is a perfect low energy / low effort meal if you're disabled, as long as I have use of my hands to slice that day.

I served it with some Rosemary and Olive Oil Cous Cous, and it was the perfect balance to give your mouth a break from everything going on with all the meat and vegetables. My Husband's definitely requested this as a permanent fixture, though.

This blog belongs to a «Multi-Neuroatypical + Multi-Disabled» «Queer» «Childless» «Jewish + Pagan» «NonTraditionalist» Homemaker. TradWives are unwelcome.

#Personal #2024 #Homemaking #Homemaker #Housewife #NonTrad Housewife #NonTrad Homemaker #NonTrad Homemaking #Food Is The Ultimate Love Language #My Experiments In Food

[witchsickness]

there is such a thing, steve supposes, as having seen too many monsters. after a while it gets old. you just—you get used to it.

stuff like billy hargrove, grave-muddy and swiss-cheesed and by all means not meant to be alive, fridge-illuminated in his kitchen and slurping mortadella slices like he didn’t die, like, three weeks ago, is ranking pretty low on steve’s shock scale.

‘oh,’ he says, ‘you’re alive.’

hargrove doesn’t exactly face him, but he does sort of growl in acknowledgment of steve’s existence. he also doesn’t stop the fridge raid, so. ‘jesus,’ he slurs, around a mouthful of italian sausage and what steve fears is molding lasagna leftovers, ‘curb your enthusiasm next time.’

‘next time you—come back from the dead?’

‘not my fault you hicks are grave-happy and buried me without checking for a pulse.’

‘oh, we checked,’ steve says, inching closer. three-am lasagna does sound pretty tempting. ‘you were definitely croaked.’

a visible shudder racks hargrove’s form. he looks—taken aback, and way too red-cheeked for a dead boy. that’s one more thing about the horrors they’ve seen. steve forgets, sometimes, how young they’re meant to be.

the fork hargrove has only been half-using clatters to the ground, makes them both jump like banshees are after them. for all they know, right? this is hawkins.

steve feels momentarily triumphant, but it immediately bleeds into guilt. how unfair is that? the asshole he traded high-school punches with saved his life, and now he can’t even gloat guilt-free. with a heavy sigh, he flips the switch. the neon cracks and fizzes and settles, falls mercilessly on hargrove’s blinded ex-corpse. he looks—well, steve’s peripherally watched enough zombie flicks by now to draw the parallels. as long as hargrove’s satiated by mr. harrington’s imported delicacies and leaves steve’s brain alone, they’re good.

he pulls two questionably clean forks out of the dishwasher, hands one to hargrove. that lasagne stopped being edible a week ago, he decides, forking a bite anyway. hargrove flinches when steve leans over his shoulder to assess the rest of the fridge’s contents, but doesn’t pull back. steve doesn’t, either.

‘how’d you get in, anyway?’

hargrove turns around, smirking. he elbow-leans on the counter, crosses a leg over another. the very picture of nonchalance, if you don’t have a clue. steve—knows better. he fights the urge to lick a thumb and wipe the mud off hargrove’s cheek, see if he’s real.

‘window was open, harrington,’ he drawls, chuckling at the way steve allows himself to get caught staring. ‘you should be more careful. never know what’s lurking in the dark.’

steve gives him a look. ‘don’t i?’ he regrets it, instantly. the shadow of shame on hargrove’s face isn’t half as satisfying as it should be, not anymore. ‘locks won’t keep the monsters out, man.’

‘would’ve kept me out, anyway,’ hargrove mumbles. he’s swapped the lasagna for his hangnails, maniacally having a go at them.

‘liar,’ steve tells him, and waits until hargrove’s insulted enough to look at him, ‘nothing would’ve kept you out.’ he gets a laugh, a real one, for his trouble. he bites his cheek and hopes this isn’t a dream.

hargrove tries, ‘your place is close to the cemetery,’ already wincing from the lie.

‘it’s really not. a for effort, though.’ steve takes the tupperwave from him, empties its contents in the trash. ‘look, are you, like, existentially opposed to a bath now? it’s just, the carpet in my room, it’s—it stains, alright? you’ll drag mud all over it, and cleaning it is a nightm—’

‘you gonna carry me to the bathtub, rich boy?’

steve—barely has time to feign offense, before a blood-crusted shirt lands on him. hargrove is standing half-naked in his kitchen. pointedly staring at his earth-stained feet. ‘don’t—don’t move,’ steve groans, ‘i’ll get you some old slippers.’

hargrove’s laugh follows him out of the room. ‘bet you were the type of brat who used to drag strays in all the time. fed them, bathed them, the works,’ he’s saying, which is unfair, and not completely untrue.

the strays usually ended up curled up in bed with him anyway, so.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #my stuff

[his-red-right-hand]

his red right hand Chapter Five

You awoke with a groan as your alarm blared from your bedroom, your tv hissing with the familiar white noise of static. Must’ve fallen asleep watching the movie. It would almost be peaceful if your alarm would just shut the fuck up.

You forced yourself upright with a hiss of pain, your side twinging uncomfortably as you moved in a way that aggravated the stitches there. Pausing to let the pain recede, deep breaths, you mostly stumble into your bedroom. Collapsing onto your bed, you hit your alarm maybe harder then it deserved. Just had to remember to breathe. Lying there until the pain subsided down to an ache, you looked over at the red numbers of your alarm clock, yup, seven thirty, it was still set for your regular shifts. Well, at least you had a few hours to get yourself ready without tearing out the stitches holding you together.

Plus, whilst the cut He gave you on your neck hadn’t been serious enough to require any sort of intervention, you still needed to work out a way to hide it. You didn’t want every customer and co-worker to know you almost got your throat slit. The cut on your collar bone had needed some butterfly stitches, so spaghetti straps were out for a while as well.

And you needed to shower. And to eat something, no matter how unappealing it was. Dying of an infection seemed almost anticlimactic after meeting The Ghost Face, and you were not immune to judgy nurse face, so you would be taking your antibiotics. Maybe you could buy some granola bars or something on the way home from work; they seemed like the least offensive option that required zero effort.

It was slow work getting yourself up, cleaned, and fed. Well, for a given measure of fed, you found some leftover noodles in your fridge that still smelled mostly okay. It was a good thing that you were working a half day today, other wise you’d be late. Hopefully you’d get faster at this as you got used to working around the hole in your side.

On the bright side, you had worked out how to avoid awkward neck wound related enquiries. You dug around in the vague pile that was your jewellery box and found a choker make of thick black velvet ribbon. You thought it might have been a gift from someone; a little goth for your tastes normally, but it covered what you needed it to and wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. And also thank goodness for low rise jeans, you didn’t want to imagine how uncomfortable you would’ve been with a waistband pressing up against your stitches all day. Along with a mostly clean t-shirt you were only putting your Docs on from being ready to head out.

Now just to try and fill the hours until you needed to leave.

The urge to break your no getting stoned before work rule was high.

Heh, high, funny, not.

You couldn’t get your brain working for long enough to read anything, hadn’t been able to for so long now. One of the few joys you had in life taken away from you, just like everything else. A small, treacherous part of your brain decided to remind you precisely where on the kitchen counter you’d left the bottle of pain meds you’d been given and that you had a bottle of vodka in the top drawer of your freezer. You quickly pushed that thought aside, you’d meant what you told Jed, you weren’t going to kill yourself. You just wouldn’t be particularly upset if you found out you had a terminal illness. Or if a local serial killer decided to kill you.

After all, what was the point of this endless empty waste of day after day after day after day.

Fuck, now you really wanted to get stoned.

You moved over to your tv, switching it on and, more gingerly than you’d like, settled yourself onto the couch. A bit of channel surfing, looking around for something nice and mindless you could half pay attention to until it was time to leave. Just turn off your brain for a little bit as you checked out the tube. Just try and mellow your vibes right the fuck out without any chemical assistance.

How the fuck did you normally get into work without being a complete wreck? Oh right, you were normally too exhausted to really think; and then interacting with the general public killed what remained of your brain cells. And once you were done you got really fucking high. You hoped this would be the only half day you had to work; you weren’t sure you could do your job without throwing things at people if you were actually awake for it.

MTV ended up being your saving grace, a nice procession of music videos to soothe and file down the sharp corners of your mind. Maybe you should go to the record shop once you were done with work for the day, you hadn’t been for such a long time now. Maybe you could see if you actually enjoyed music again, the way you used to.

Nope, that was just being fucking depressing again.

You lifted your head to look at the clock on the wall, about 20 minutes until you should leave. Fuck it, you could be early. You had probably gotten all of the not depressing thoughts you could out of your brain, an hour and a bit wasn’t too bad. You headed to your front door, grabbing your watch out of the little bowl where it lived with your keys and wallet, putting it on before shoving the latter two into your messenger bag. your Docs went on with only a little pain thanks to some careful manoeuvring. Then, a few careful moments considering your collection of cassette tapes before taking Temple of the Dog down and opening the case, slotting the tape into your walkman.

Say Hello 2 Heaven filled your ears as you put on your headphones, the music easing a few more of your jagged edges. Taking a moment to check your appearance in the mirror hanging by the door, yup, no knife wounds visible. Time to do this.

Opening your door and stepping out to another hot Florida day, its intensity quickly muted by your sunglasses. Locking your door behind you, you started your walk to the bus stop that’d take you into down town. Maybe you could try picking up a copy of the gazette before you got to the book store, check out how your interview with Jed went. Might even be worth getting a subscription, it was apparently the best way to keep up with your local serial killer, if the general gossip you heard about town and the odd headline you’d seen were to be believed.

Not that you generally believed guys who promised you a lot of fun, the last time it had even been close to true it was your Dad telling you about having your birthday at Showbiz Pizza. But it might be nice to try and keep track of him, you know, seeing as you’d met him and all.

A vague plan for day in mind, you relaxed at the bus stop, letting the music wash over you as you got on the bus, tapping your bus pass; and rode it into Rosewood proper. Getting off a few minutes later, you walked down the high street, heading into the convenience store a couple of blocks away from your job to grab the paper, picking up some granola bars as well whilst you were there. Now at least when your shift was up you could head straight home. After you paid for your purchases you walked another block to the Sunrise Diner, home to shocking amounts of cholesterol and a passable cup of coffee. And somewhere you can read through the paper for a little bit before you actually needed to get to work.

You settled onto a seat, pulling your headphones down for a moment to smile at the waitress and order “Just coffee, thanks.” Taking a moment to flip the tape that’d come to an end, Times of Trouble starting back up, and weren’t that the truth. Adding cream and sugar to your coffee, you took a slow sip. Dang, that was somewhat better than mediocre. Eh, Dale Cooper you were not, but you were drinking it more for the semblance of energy than for the flavour. Pulling the paper from your bag, you let your eyes take in the headline ‘Roseville Ripper Strikes! Three Dead and His First Survivor’ before skimming through the article. You’d read it properly later, to give it the attention it deserved. But given that you were present for the events it was reporting, you felt okay skipping the recap.

‘...families are heartbroken. The Gazette was able to speak to the survivor of the attack, who is in hospital in stable condition and recovering well, who has requested to remain anonymous.’

You hadn’t, fuck you could do that, but damn did you own Jed for that one. You didn’t exactly want to become famous as “That Girl Who Didn’t Die When Stabbed”. Should look into buying him a bottle of something nice to drink, like Scotch or something? That was what journalists drank, right?

‘...to remain anonymous. They were not part of the initial attack, nor are they a resident of the building. They told the Gazette that they were invited to the party by a friend attending courses at Roseville University; and had stepped out to get some air when they noticed a flash of light. They went to investigate, assuming that there was perhaps something untoward going on. But nothing could prepare them for the horror they found. The brutality of the attack already over, and instead a monster viewing his victims.

They spoke about the terror of the realisation of what they were witnessing froze them to the spot; and they were then attacked by the Ghost Face Killer. Apparently content to leave this new victim to bleed out; he then retreated from the scene, perhaps fearing being discovered by others?

Luckily for them, their fellow party goers quickly discovered the scene. An ambulance was called to rush them to the hospital where they underwent emergency surgery for their injuries. They were very frank about their confusion upon initially waking up; having believed that they seen their last the previous night. They credited their survival less on any form of luck or blessing, but instead they believe themself to be “Too much of an afterthought” to warrant a more thorough attack.

When asked if they had any advice should anyone else be unfortunate enough to encounter the killer that is haunting our town, their response was simply “Run as fast as you can.” A chilling take away from an encounter that that person is unlikely to ever forget.’

Reading it in print like that, it was easy to pretend it hadn’t happened to you. That it was all just a very vivid, if in somewhat poor taste, dream. That you got your fun new scar in the making in some sort of regular misadventure that involved too much alcohol, and the unironic use of the word hijinks.

Ugh.

You were halfway through your first coffee refill, trying to get your thoughts in some semblance of order before you inflicted yourself upon the general public, as you looked up at the clock. Shit, time to face the music. You pulled a five from your wallet, leaving it next to your cup as you folded the paper back up into your bag and headed out.

Roseville Books was Roseville’s premiere bookshop, if you didn’t count the Borders in the mall, with respectable genre collections and a somewhat knowledgeable staff. Even if they did tend to err on the side of sarcasm when it came to answering dumb questions. Was the large True Crime display about unsolved murders in the front window potentially in poor taste? Yes. Did they have to partially disassemble it at one point because they sold out of all the titles in it? Also yes. There’s nothing quite like a serial killer on the loose to drive interest.

You hear the jangle of the bell on the door as you push it open, heading inside, the soft sounds of Top 40 radio filling the air. The shop stereo was restricted to that after some uptight asshole had complained about the staff picks for music. Shoegaze was apparently not for everyone. You gave a quick wave to Zoey behind the counter as you headed into the backroom to hang up your bag in your cubby and get your ever so chic green work vest, proudly displaying your name badge.

Devin looked up from their desk, smiling and looking relieved as he saw you. “Hey there! You doing okay?” Oh no, he was getting up, please don’t go in for a hug, okay, he was just getting up to talk. Thank fuck.

“A little slower than normal, but not too bad, thanks.” You managed a tight smile, not really wanting to admit that the only reason you were here was that you were terrified that if you lost momentum on the sort of life you were managing to scrape by with that you would never be able to get up again.

“Okay, well, you’re going to replace Zoey up on the tills, got a stool for you to sit on and everything; and she’ll handle floor questions and join you on the tills if it gets busy. All good?”

“Yup, sounds great. I’ll - ah - get right on that.” You took a step back, not really sure how to best retreat from the conversation. Like, it was nice they cared, it was definitely better than working for an asshole, but you didn’t quite know how to react to your boss being the one to show the most concern for your welfare out of everyone you knew, including yourself.

You were stopped by Devin clasping a hand to your shoulder, giving it a little squeeze as he said “I’m really glad you’re alright.” You manage a quick nod and bustle your way back out into the shop, letting out a long breath before schooling your features into customer approachableness. You walked next to Zoey by the tills, seeing your aforementioned stool, hopping up to perch on it.

“You good there?” she asked you, her concern mostly cursory.

“Yup, all set. And hopefully back to full speed in not too much time.” The doctors had said you should be most of the way recovered in about 3 weeks, the internal damage taking a little longer. Apparently you’d only been mildly stabbed in the kidney.

“Heard you got attacked or something?”

Fuck. Can’t just admit to meeting a serial killer seeing as you actually had anonymity. Spin something, spin something fast. “I got lightly mugged. Luckily you can’t lose shit if you don’t have shit to steal.”

“Aww jeez, that sucks. At least you didn’t run into that Ghostface guy or something.” Oh Zoey, if only you fucking knew. “I’ma go stretch my legs then. See you for the lunch rush.”

You give her a quick flick of the wrist wave, spinning on the stool to face the front of the store, propping your elbows on the desk next to the register as you rested you chin in your hands. The stool was good, the phone was in easy reach if anyone called, and you could probably reach the special orders shelf without getting up. You should’ve bought gum for something to do.

Two phone calls, yes you did carry bibles and no Mr Books was not available, later and the Lunch Rush started. There were a couple of office blocks nearby, one of which had a book club amongst the workers; and both of them had a significant population of Harlequin Romance enjoyers. Not exactly your thing, but given some of the stuff you’d indulged in, you were in no place to judge. But most importantly, they had two alternating lunch shifts, half at twelve, the other half at one; and they descended like a swarm, taking the moderately bustling shop to two hours of midweek retail hell.

At least you only almost brained yourself once reaching into the special orders shelf.

And honestly you deserved an award for not throwing anything at all the people who felt the urge to loudly question why you had the apparently gall to dare to sit in their field of view. And just maybe, you wished a personal visit from the friendly local serial killer to the one who all but demanded you pull your shirt up to show her your stitches to believe that you actually were injured and were on limited duties. All because she had to wait for Zoey to get her some books from a high shelf.

God, you hated the public.

Two o’clock came slower then you’d like but faster than you dreaded, Zoey heading off for her break; and Devin coming up front to pull your normal duty of fixing the chaos that was formerly well organised sections. At least that’d keep them busy enough to avoid having to make small talk.

Whilst your last hour crawled, it was mostly occupied by a phone call that had you pecking out queries on the shop computer, it there almost entirely for the database of books they could order in. It would have been a lot easier if the person on the other end could actually remember the author or title, but that would be asking for a miracle and they did not happen in retail. But you did eventually get the, hopefully, right title ordered; and if it wasn’t then you at least hoped you weren’t behind the counter that day.

“So, do I get to do a full day tomorrow?” you asked as Devin came back from reorganising the horror back corner, that you were very proud of the selection of.

A moment’s thought. “Full day. Mostly behind the counter, but we’ll see if you can manage a little floor time. Deal?”

“Deal.” That was the moment your stomach chose to let out a growl, holy fuck were you actually hungry? Must have been expending energy trying to heal yourself.

Zoey came back from her break looking about as enthused to be back as you were to be alive, but you at least waited for her to come back out to slip off your stool. And you only needed to take a short pause to get yourself upright and able to walk. And she had the decency to not give voice to the look on her face, the one that said you looked like shit. The nurses had said light exercise was good for your recovery, you couldn’t get much lighter than standing up and walking.

“Gonna head out the back way, see y’all around.” A quick wave good

You took a few moments in the back to rest your forehead against the wall, taking one deep breath, then another. It was fine. You were fine. Time to go home and get so stoned you couldn’t think, then just rinse and repeat. Back to as if nothing happened to you in the first place.

Taking off your vest, you hung it back up in your cubby hole and picked your bag up as you started to head home. Your tape player and headphones were where you left them, at the top of your bag, slipping your headphones around your neck but not starting any music yet. You had an appointment with a burger.

Three doors down from Roseville Books was The Original Canteen. Not that there had ever been any kind of canteen there beforehand, but their fries were decent and they did these sinfully thick milkshakes that made your straw stand straight up. Also one of their line cooks was your weed guy.

You were injured, it was therapeutic.

And luckily for you, there was a shared back alley behind the row of shops, meaning if you were willing to negotiate through the various line cooks, bus boys, and wait-staff who used it for their well deserved breaks, you could buy weed straight from work.

You saw who you thought was one of the dish pit guys, taking a smoke break in the lull between lunch and dinner rushes. Not that rushes ever stopped smoke breaks as far as you were aware.

“Hey there, is Chad in today?”

The guy regarded you for a long moment, letting out a puff of smoke before answering. “Yeah, he’s in the kitchen doing prep.”

“I’m a friend of his, would you mind asking him if he could make me that barbecue burger he does to go, and if he’s got the stuff in for that nice side salad?” The burger was real, and very good, but the salad thing was the dumbest code word, and you could tell by the guy’s face he thought so to, but Chad was the one who set it, so that’s what it was. It’s not like anyone was going to actually tell him, given that he was the weed guy for the entire kitchen staff as well.

“Yeah sure, lemme just go check,” the guy disappeared inside the kitchen, and you could hear vague yelling as you pulled up your headphones and leant against the alley wall to wait for your food.

Ten minutes passed and Chad came out of the kitchen, holding a styrofoam take out container and greeting you warmly. “Hey girl! Just can’t keep away from my cooking, huh?”

You let out a soft laugh, his swagger semi-deserved. “And all your other amazing qualities,” sarcasm dripped from your tongue and he looked mock offended, clutching a hand over his heart. “So, how much do I owe you?”

“Five for the burger, twenty five for the side salad,” he said with a wink, taking the thirty bucks you passed him, giving you the box in exchange.

Feeling the little plastic baggy underneath, you smiled at him. “Thanks Chad, have a good shift.”

“Always do!” he called out in reply, heading back into the kitchen as you headed out the alley, back onto the main streets. The bus ride home was as unremarkable as the ride into town, music helping the journey to pass quickly.

You closed and locked your front door behind you, leaning back against it as you let out a long breath. One more day survived. Of seemingly countless remaining. Maybe you should leave the door unlocked, maybe someone would come in and murder you. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You dropped your bag on the little coffee table in front of your couch, putting your freshly acquired baggy of weed next to your gear box, and the burger box on the couch as you perched on the arm of it to take off your boots. Time to pick some music, roll a joint; and fucking relax. Then find something shitty to watch on tv, pass out on the couch; and just go about existing.

Standing after kicking your boots off, you went over to your vinyl, running your fingers slowly over the titles as you considered them for a moment. You could’ve sworn you’d put them back in order yesterday, but obviously you hadn’t. Well obviously, you were trying to tell yourself something, so you took Facelift by Alice in Chains from its odd spot and set that playing. The guitars of We Die Young started to blare through your home, how you wished that was true.

Back to the couch, you rolled a joint quickly and headed out the backdoor to your yard, burger box and lighter in your other hand. You sank down in your chair, kicked your feet out in front of you and closed your eyes for a few moments. Okay, burger on the side table, time to get stoned as fuck.

You spent a few minutes just smoking, holding the smoke in your lungs until the burn got uncomfortable; exhaling slowly and watching it curl into the air. You already felt more mellow, which was good, you thought this might have been a two joint day, which you couldn’t afford to do very often. You propped the blunt on the edges of your ashtray, and finally started in on the precious burger. It was still warm, but had had long enough for the cheese to get properly gooey, sticking everything together. Perfection.

It was kinda nice, sitting there with the mellow buzz crackling inside as you sated your hunger. Was this what being alive was meant to actually feel like? And how fucked were you that it took getting stabbed to actually give you an appetite? Not that it was going to last, it never did for more than a couple of days before you went back to just living on coffee and instant ramen. You’d learnt the hard way it was easier not to keep in anything that could perish just on the off chance you actually felt like eating.

Halfway through the burger you put it down, taking another drag off the joint before heading back inside quickly for a glass of water. Stupid body needing liquids to not choke. You let out a cloud of smoke as you came outside, followed by a couple of coughs. Okay, maybe a small mistake to hold it for that long whilst trying to actually do things as well. Yeah, well the music was good, the food was good, and the weed was good; of course you had to fuck it up a little.

Side A of the album finished about the same time as the food, one last puff on the joint before stubbing out the roach. Time to switch to side B. You left the back door open, letting the woods call to you still as you flipped the disc. Not that disappearing into the woods would actually do anything for you other than get you cold and lost. But it was a kinda romantic thought to daydream about.

Heading to the couch you slowly lay yourself down on it, mindful of your stitches, staring up at the ceiling and letting the music just wash over you for a bit. Just letting the thoughts flow out of your head, a little bit of nothingness for a while.

Maybe this was what being dead was like.

---

Your phone rang, and you let out a groan. Fuck, when did it get dark? The stereo was just playing the soft hiss of the needle looping around the empty last track. Damn, you really zoned out there.

Right, fuck, the phone. You really just wanted to let it ring out, you normally did. But Jed had said he’d call you if he needed to check in with anything; and he’d been nice enough that you’d feel a little bad letting him go to the answer machine. And you needed to thank him for the whole anonymous thing. Ah fuck.

Hefting yourself upright, ow ow fucking ow, gotta move gently still had a stab wound, you let out a few curses as you stumbled over to the phone. Picking up, and proud that your voice only sounded a little strained, you managed a “Hello?”

Silence for a beat.

A breath.

Then that voice that had been haunting your thoughts and dreams.

“So, what’s your favourite scary movie?”

#ghostface x reader #ghostface #danny johnson #danny jed olsen johnson #danny johnson x reader #dbd #dead by daylight #fiction

[ros3ybabe]

Daily Check-in: October 12th, 2023 🎀

Today has been a lazy yet somewhat decent day? There's not much to complain about. Besides the fact that I didn't do a single homework assignment, I'm exhausted, so that's alright. I did do a decent amount of Japanese studying today though I didn't open up my Genki Textbook like I had wanted to but oh well, there's always tomorrow!

🩷 What I Ate Today -

Brunch - Spaghetti with ground Turkey and meat sauce

Dinner - Taco bowl with ground beef, black beans, shredded cheese, shredded lettuce, sour cream, a small dollop of avocado, and red salsa with 1.5 low carb tortillas

Snack - bunny tracks ice cream, 16oz bottle of Dr pepper

Extra - 4? cups of coffee (or 5, I can't remember)

I was not very productive today in terms of academic progress, but I still feel like I did what I could given my energy levels. (and caffiene intake). Did not eat the healthiest, but I listened to my body, and honestly, not every day will be perfect, and that's okay!

🩷 Personal Achievements, Oct 12th -

cooked ground beef (leftovers woooo!!)

washed dirty laundry

put away all clean clothes

did my therapy phone call

video called my boyfriend

morning + night skincare

completed 2 duolingo lessons

completed 1 busuu lesson

completed 3 kanji lessons

typed up one draft for upcoming blog post

I had heard about an app called Kanji that teaches you kanji based on JLPT Levels, and I actually really like it, so I bought access to all levels for 11$ USD!! feel like that's a fair price for over 2000 kanji, and I'm excited to start expanding my Japanese knowledge. Also, I am trying out the LingQ app. It's pretty interesting and seems useful for reading practice! I don't know why I got such a kick to study japanese but I am not complaining!!

No Academic Achievements for Today

🩷 Personal ToDo, Oct 13th -

Review previous 3 kanji lessons

Complete 1 duolingo lesson

Complete 1 busuu lesson

Continue Genki I Lesson one (?)

morning + night skincare

morning + night journal

morning workout (at home)

make bed

read 1 chapter of atomic habits or other self help book

🩷 Academic ToDo, Oct 13th -

Culinary Chapter 10 Quiz

Consumer Debt Inventory Assignment

Chapter 9 Notes Psyc

Chapter 9 Quiz Psyc

Attend Psyc Lab

Attend Anatomy Lab

Using Credit Personal Finance assignment

module notes fitness health and sport

module quiz fitness health and sport

work on component 2 for psyc paper

Giving myself a lot of school work to complete tomorrow but that's okay because I have the day off from work so I know I'll be able to get a lot of it done, if not all of it! I'm hoping I sleep decently tonight so I can wake up ready to rule the world tomorrow. My goal is to wake up early, workout, shower, do some makeup and get ready, and be on campus early to get back into the school mindset because I know I've been slacking these last two days. I work a double shift on Saturday, so tomorrow is really the ideal time to finish everything as much as possible.

🩷 Song of the Day: Fearless, Jp Version - Le Sserafim

This has been my anthem lately. It's catchy, and I kind of prefer this to the original version in Korean, but that's a bit biased on my end as I am studying Japanese at the moment.

🩷 Tomorrow Morning Workout - Pilates

Even if I only finish the first video, I will be proud of myself. It's the effort that counts, and it's definitely gonna be a start! I will be posting an updated current workout schedule with routines soon!!

That's all for now! I will update tomorrow night!

Til next time, lovelies 🩷

#pink pilates girl #pink pilates princess #self care #self development #self love #wonyoungism #health & fitness #it girl #mental health #physical health #it girl energy #that girl energy #that girl #japanese langblr #japanese language #language learning #college studyblr #studyblr #university student #clean girl #coquettecore #coquette girl #wonyoung aesthetic #pink academia #pink aesthetic #pink blog #girl blogger #girl blogging #college student #student life