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readinglatenights · 8 months

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Can you write a cute fanfic with belly and jere?

i got carried away... if this is too deep then just send another ask LMAOO

call it what you want babe

lol second thing i've ever written but i've had this idea for SO LONG!! you can totally skip the lines i just thought it was so applicable, this is based on the taylor swift song call it what you want!! warnings: angst w susannah and mentions of conrad BUT UNBEARABLE FLUFF AFTER BEGINNING!! IT GETS CUTE IM SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY paring: jeremiah fisher and belly conklin word count: 749 premise: takes place the summer belly and jeremiah get together, so basically after season 2 (basically canon complicit?)

all the jokers dressing up as kings; they fade to nothing when i look at him

it had been eight weeks since susannah fisher had died. it had been fourteen weeks since belly had broken up with conrad.

but it had been four weeks with jeremiah fisher.

belly realized shortly after reconnecting with the brothers that jeremiah had loved her. he had loved her more true, and more pure than anyone ever did.

and i know i make the same mistakes every time; bridges burn, i never learn

her life came to a devasting halt. people have come and go in her life, but susannah was someone who loved her from the moon to saturn. she always repeated that she was destined for one of her boys, but never understood jeremiah's undying fire for belly.

at least i did one thing right. i did one thing right.

so here she was, fingers interlocked as they walked down the boadwalk of cousins beach, wrapping up their time out. jeremiah looked down at the girl he had loved for so long, ocean eyes adoringly meeting hers. he asks, "d'you wanna find a keepsake for tonight?" she smiles up at him, barely focusing on his words. his language was entangled with the blaring sounds of the rides and people around them. nodding, he leads her to the ring toss stand and purchases 6 rings for the each of them. as easy as it was to love jeremiah, it was hard to win at ring toss.

i'm laughing with my lover; making forts under covers

jeremiah had gotten a ring to stay on a bottle, and the worker asked what prize he had wanted. he gestured to belly, "pick any one you want, bells." she points to the giraffe.

as she walked with him to the cousins beach house they all loved, she made a mental note.

trust him like a brother

as complicated as her life was, she needed someone who would be her anchor. she needed the boy who let her feelings run wild, but would still tie her to home. she unlocked the door to the cozy abode, leaving the keys on the seashell hooks. the air was reminiscent of moments she had had with susannah, conrad, her mother, steven, taylor, and even cam.

yeah, you know i did one thing right.

she let the thoughts clear her head, and let her heart lead her. jeremiah had taken off his shoes and turned on the tv, opting to play music instead of turning on a movie. belly sits the giraffe down on the kitchen island, slumping over slightly as she prepared dinner.

"what are you gonna name him?" jeremiah asks, walking over to her. his hands meet her sides, resting comfortably on her hips, pressing light kisses on her cheek and neck.

she poured the uncooked pasta into boiling water, then turned to face him. "i'm not sure yet," she giggles, choosing to lightly bump his nose with her finger. "you don't have to decide yet," he kisses her forehead. "we have all the time in the world."

starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

and they did. as jeremiah prepared their pasta, belly couldn't help but feel that everything in her life was worth it if she got to be with him. exciting nights alone couldn't even fathom replacing the most mundane nights with jeremiah fisher.

my baby's fit like a daydream, walking with his head down

plating their food and mixing a fruity concoction for both of them to drink, jeremiah grabbed the unnamed giraffe. belly sat on the couch close to jeremiah, and he pulled her closer. he wrapped his arms around her, cradling both her and the stuffed animal in his arms. the food was abandoned on the table as they laid together. for all the mistakes that she had made, for all the trouble they had gone through together, it had all amounted to this.

"jeremiah, have i ever told you how lucky i am to be with you?" she asked, nervously. he looked stunned, perplexed that she would say something like this. his features softened as he answered, "bells, you don't have to."

i'm the one he's walking to

"i think i'll never truly comphrehend how lucky i am to be with you." he pauses, looking at her. his pupils would morph into hearts if they could.

this was their ending.

so call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to.

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bubblyhoney · 3 years

Text

picnic bitch

warnings: crude language duh, suggestive (not explicit) content, an eminem reference

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

words: 1156

A/N: a continuation of a detail from my boyfriend!sapnap head canon :D

The breeze wafts across your face, moving a lock of hair to tickle on your cheek. You swat a hand up at your cheek and furrow your brows.

The weather today has been fairly pleasant and not too sweltering, thank God. The park is busy this time of afternoon, but you both snagged a spot underneath a huge tree in the southwest corner of the field.

“Pass me a strawberry, please, baby,” he mumbles from above you. You glance up at him, one eye squinted, and reach for the container of strawberries. “Feed me.” He smirks and drops his mouth open, tongue out. You just roll your eyes and place a berry into his mouth, careful to not get his spit on you. You settle back into his lap, content.

Today was the designated picnic day. You try to have a couple during the summer just because it’s so lovely to sit outside, relax, and eat, but you’d already had about six since the start of summer. They mostly consist of you feeding Sapnap fruit and laying with your head on his lap, stretched out and comfortable. Today you were sporting clothes all loose and blue as the sky, wanting to be stylish but not too sweaty. He’d gone for sweat-shorts and a green flannel over a white shirt: cute. Very cute. So cute you can’t help but stare and feel your cheeks flush.

Shuffling his legs, he readjusts his arms and hums as he settles back into the bark of the tree. Sweet music plays lightly in the background, courtesy of your portable speaker sitting perfectly on top of the picnic basket.

“You look ethereal,” is what you can’t help but to whisper. You peek one eye open and stare up at his relaxed face. He rolls his eyes but smiles down at you, tips of his ears pink.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, shy. You just huff and roll up onto an elbow, reaching for your lemonade. It’s tart on your tongue and you make a pleased noise at the taste, swallowing. He just watches you.

“What time are you making dinner?” You fold up onto your knees, raising your eyebrows as you screw the cap back onto your bottle.

“Oh, am I making dinner now?” Teasing, he reaches for your arms and you accede, letting him tug you onto his lap. “It’s salad night.” Making a face, he strokes up and down your bicep, both soothing and causing goosebumps.

“I thought you liked salad night, babe.” His hair is soft and nice on your palm when you reach a hand up to pet his hair. He stills and lets you, but shrugs after a moment.

“I like salad, but never as a full meal. Can we make spaghetti?”

“Okay, yeah,” you agree, shuffling forward on his lap. “That sounds good. I’ll be expecting homemade pasta, Chef.”

“Oh, yeah?” He brushes a wind-disturbed tuft of hair out of your eyes. Full lips split into a smile as he leans back into the tree, eyes closed. “Sounds like a lot of effort, sweetheart.”

Your skin tingles brightly at the pet name. A beam of sunlight breaks through the green leaves of the tree and stripes diagonal across his calm expression. When you said ethereal, you meant it.

The serene mood, all breezy and gentle music, breaks when you open your mouth. As usual.

“Hey, are you Mom’s spaghetti?” You pause for a second and let your hand drop onto his collarbone. “Because you make my knees weak and my palms sweaty.” The pick-up line takes a second to hit before his eyes snap open. Bowing forward, he makes a retching sound into your lap.

“Oh my God,” he breathes, cheeks puffy and strained as he holds in a laugh. “That was actually awful. You should be ashamed.” Shrugging, you relax back into his thighs with a sigh.

“I thought it was pretty good, actually. You’re in love now; I just beguiled you. Get beguiled.” Your voice is teasing, poking, as you play with the bottle of lemonade in your hands.

“I don’t think an Eminem reference has as much power as you think it does,” he says simply, and tugs you closer into his lap. One hand slides up to your neck, just resting, before he’s pulling you forward, inches away from his mouth. “But I do love you.” His lips slide easily against yours, tasting your chapstick and breathing you in. You taste like lemon and sugar. His other hand rests comfortably in the curve of your waist, squeezing intermittently.

You take a few minutes to just kiss. Not making out, not grinding or teasing. It’s peaceful out here, away from families, so you take your time.

It’s the second a drop of water plops right onto your shoulder that you tense. Pulling away, you raise an empty palm up in the air. Drop. Drop.

“It’s raining,” you practically wail, and clamber out of his lap. The sky has turned an ugly grayish blue, dark clouds that came out of seemingly nowhere looming in the distance. He huffs, irritated, and starts to gather your stuff up. The strawberries go into the basket, as do the sandwiches, and you toss your lemonade in as well. You stand to fold the picnic blanket and shove it down into a tan tote bag.

The park is rapidly clearing of people. Teenagers at the skating park hop on their bikes, adults walking their dogs scatter in the parking lot to their respective vehicles, and you two scramble to collect your things and make a dash for your car. It’s full on pouring when you yank open the passenger seat and climb clumsily in.

“This sucks!” He yells over the downpour, and slams closed the driver’s door. It’s much more quiet in here, you realize, and tilt your face up to the sunroof. You’d peeled back the covering on the way here “to let the sunlight in” and now it’s getting pelted with large, warm raindrops. Sapnap moves in his seat, getting situated, and starts the car with a rumble. It’s also fucking hot in here.

“This is not how I was thinking our picnic was going to end,” he pouts. “I thought we would actually make it to the cake.” A cartoonish frown appears on his lips and you melt, aw-ing. You reach a thumb to rub at his bottom lip.

“It’s okay, we can finish the cake when we get home. Spoil our dinner.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he huffs out a laugh, pulling his seatbelt to its lock.

“I doubt we’ll make it home without pulling over and shoving our faces with it,” he scoffs. A smirk grows on your face and he glances warily at it, shifting to reverse out of the parking spot. “What’s that face for?”

“Are you familiar with the idea of whipped cream play?”

Yeah, the cake doesn’t make it home.

A/N: ask or send me stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments are extremely welcome and even encouraged

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x reader #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap fic #sapnap fanfic #sapnap drabble #sapnap oneshot #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #bubblyhoneyfics

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eldrai · 3 years

Text

Seventy Two Hours (1/3)

Whumptober 2021 - day 8 - prompt: definitely just a cold

Character: Hotch

Warnings: canon-typical discussion of violence, vomiting

Word Count: 2.5k

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3

Summary: Four victims. A fifth suspected missing. There is no time for self pity - the world doesn't stop just because he's a little sick.

A/N: Part of a multichapter work for this whumptober! Next installment should be in a week.

masterlist / ao3

Aaron picks listlessly at the salad.

It’s some chicken pasta thing from the 7/11 around the corner, marginally less unappetising than everything else, and he’d bought it to stave off the faint dizziness. He’d skipped breakfast with the assumption the nausea might fade – and hadn’t felt particularly hungry to begin with.

The first mouthful tastes like cardboard and he has to wash it down with lukewarm coffee. Even so it sticks in his throat. The second is somehow worse, a clash of textures and tastes, sits at the back of his tongue and he forces himself to swallow before he starts retching. He gives it a minute to settle but eating has had the wrong effect: his hands go clammy as his stomach protests.

So.

Lunch isn’t happening.

It isn’t much of a surprise. He’s had a low-grade fever since he woke up, present enough to irritate him, not severe enough to stop him working. Jack had come down with a bug on Friday afternoon, complaining of a sore throat and a headache, and woke him up during the night to tell him he’d thrown up in bed. And promptly vomited on the floor. It must’ve come from school. A weekend of chicken soup and blankets on the couch had done wonders and he’d bounced back as children are wont to do. He’d thought he’d managed to get away without catching it but it shouldn’t be more than a cold.

Aaron massages the deep ache just above his nose. The headache isn’t bad on its own, but the low blood sugar and probably dehydration are taking their toll. The nausea outweighs the desire to go get a drink and anyway, if he’s going to drink something it might as well be coffee. He’s not getting energy elsewhere.

He tosses lunch in the trash and sits back down. Papers flutter as the door swings shut. There’s a pattern somewhere, there always is, and they’re missing it. Their last lead was of no help – an imprisoned relative more interested in the details of the crime than helping their investigation.

Work is an easy distraction and he lets his attention narrow to the case in front of him. Ignores the goosebumps prickling along his arms and a moment later sweat. Ignores his skin brushing painfully against the collar of his shirt. Ignores the stabbing pressure behind his eyes. And for an hour, it works.

His stomach lurches. It’s all the warning he has, a painful twinge in his gut, and he’s swallowing mouthfuls of spit and brushing past officers and just about reaches the restroom. The stall door bangs shut. He coughs wetly and vomits the pitiful attempt at lunch, the coffee, in forceful retches straining at his abdomen.

Aaron braces an arm against the wall. The dusty tiles swim beneath his feet and his head pounds, as if his brain is trying to work its way out through his eye sockets. Fuck. He wipes sweat from his face with the back of his hand; his forehead burns and his hand is icy cold. A disjointed shiver of relief and cold trails down his spine.

Jesus. How the hell did Jack recover so fast? It’s hardly started and he’s already wrung out.

He flushes and belatedly hopes people hadn’t heard him puking. The restroom is empty when he washes his hands, cups cold water in them to rinse out his mouth. It’s going to take more than tapwater to get rid of the taste but he’s only got a toothbrush back at the motel and thinking about eating something is… it won’t happen.

But with four dead victims and a fifth underway, it isn’t the time for pointless self-pity. Nothing in the world stops because he’s a little sick. Aaron spits out a final mouthful of water and heads back.

Instead of ignoring the illness, buzzing under his skin, inside his skull, he pretends it isn’t there. Swallows down the creeping nausea before it can truly come back. He finishes the coffee and the taste only slightly improves the acidic bitterness. He works through on autopilot and he’s starting to think it’s okay – it’s a one-off – by the time they’re crammed into the SUV. Morgan and Reid have the same debate they always do and Aaron doesn’t volunteer himself to drive. For one his joints ache, right from his neck to his ankles.

The roads out here, this rural, are prone to crumbling and potholes and a hell of a jolting ride. To its credit the SUV handles it fine – just not particularly smoothly. Aaron is usually the one driving when they get to roads like these, the kind he first learnt to drive on, but either way he’s used to it.

Not fifteen minutes in, he comes over in a thin, cold sweat as they navigate the winding roads. Aaron rolls his thumb over the pressure point on his wrist. Not now. For god’s sake, not now.

“Morgan,” Aaron says, when he really can’t ignore it, “pull over.”

“Like, now?” Morgan says. “There’s not really—”

“Yes, now.” He swallows and the acid taste is there again, thick and cloying.

Morgan catches his eye in the rearview mirror. “You okay?”

Aaron doesn’t trust himself not to throw up if he opens his mouth so he just nods.

“Yeah, you don’t look like it,” Prentiss chimes in.

It’s difficult to glare at her and try not to throw up at the same time, but from the look of it he manages. It isn’t worth the pain it takes to move his head.

“Can you—” His stomach flips and he cuts off the retching with a sharp, choked sound.

“Shit, yeah, hang on,” Morgan says.

The car jerks to a halt and he fumbles with the sticking seatbelt. Aaron gets the door open then he doesn’t have the chance to try again with the belt, leaning over the edge of the seat and coughing into the dirt. It’s all spit and bile and a splash of coffee.

Well. They aren’t going to believe he’s all right now.

He wipes his face and accepts a bottle of water. Sits up like nothing has happened and doesn’t wait for them to ask questions. “It’s a cold. Maybe a migraine. It’s fine.”

“You told me to rest when I had a migraine,” Reid says.

Aaron tilts his head back and offers a protest they all ignore.

Morgan drops them off at the scene and insists on taking him back to the hotel despite his insistence that he’s fine to be there and, if not, is fine staying with the car in case they need him. By the time they actually get there, Aaron is almost grateful. Exhaustion has sunk right into his bones and the sickness is stirring up and his sinuses ache like they’re infected. Sleep is admittedly not the worst thing in the world.

It’s strange, how the walk up to his room is as exhausting as the whole morning has been. The pressure has coalesced into a sharp stabbing pain through his right eye and he knuckles it until sparks burst in his vision. It doesn’t help.

Aaron doesn’t so much sleep as lie down and hurt. His jacket in a rumpled heap by his head, an arm thrown over his face, he closes his eyes and drifts into a half-asleep awareness. The pain ebbs and flows through his joints. Coarse against his cheek, the pillow grows warm within moments each time he rests his head. Heat hums under his skin.

He is somewhere close to sleep when he jerks out of it with a heave. A hand over his mouth, Aaron struggles upright and swings his feet over the edge of the bed. The world lurches sideways the moment he stands and he stumbles to the bathroom, trailing a hand along the wall for guidance.

The cool tile is a welcome relief as he falls to his knees with a jolt; he retches into the toilet, his palms pressing down on his temples to just ease the awful pressure. He ends up with one on his abdomen, over the sharp cramping accompanying every heave. When it stops, his trembling arms lack the strength to haul himself up for several minutes. Aaron shivers. The cold hurts.

With sleep unlikely, and the faint pain in his stomach a distant warning, he spreads out his paperwork on the small desk provided. The chair is hard and his arm hurts all the way down to his fingers. Maybe he’ll work some of the stiffness out of it. If nothing else, he’s done something far more productive than lie around and watch generic television.

As the evening light dims, the lines blending in to the shadows cast over the paper and his writing hardly visible, he doesn’t get up and turn the main light on. Resting his eyes, isn’t that what they say? And the paperwork has to be done. It’s a compromise.

The nausea comes back and it seems to him that every time, the intervals grow shorter. All he throws up is water. He doesn’t have the bile to spare. Aaron leans on the sink for leverage to stand up and drinks mouthfuls of water right from the faucet. The thirst hits him the moment the cold water soothes his sore throat and he drinks until he has to stop for breath.

It stays down for all of two minutes.

His stomach protests so violently he coughs it right into the sink, and he doubts he’d managed to retain even a few sips’ worth. Aaron stands over the sink and lets his head tilt forwards. The throbbing pain eases as he presses his forehead against the cold tiling.

Everything hurts.

He drags himself back to the desk, because if he’s going to crash anywhere it won’t be an old hotel bathroom, where it takes him three tries to grasp his pen and not let it fall from his shaky grip. Back and forth and back and forth he goes, refilling the glass of water on his desk every few trips, never allowed to settle semi-comfortably between vomiting bouts.

It occurs to Aaron, slumped against the bath for the ninth time tonight, this is hitting him much harder than it had Jack, and perhaps that isn’t usual. But his alternative is to call one of the team and tell them what, exactly? It’s a stomach bug hitting harder than normal. They can’t do anything about that. Toss him something with electrolytes in, perhaps, but he’ll throw it up before it can take effect.

A couple of times later he abandons the desk and brings his work with him to the bathroom: sits in the corner where the bath meets the wall, uses his legs as the surface, and saves his energy for the half metre to the toilet. Aaron sips water and takes the medicine he had the foresight to bring with him and the vomiting doesn’t stop, but it doesn’t worsen.

This is the peak of it.

The fever hasn’t wavered and he concedes defeat, unbuttoning his dress shirt and letting his skin prickle with the cold air. His sleep clothes are thinner, lighter, but his bag is a mile away on the bed.

His phone buzzes.

His phone.

On the bed.

Shit.

Aaron heaves himself to his feet with a grunt and steadies himself as the vertigo threatens to seize his feet from under him. He screws his eyes shut as the headache intensifies and feels his way to the bed, hits it knees first. He grabs his jacket and falls back on the bed, out of breath.

“Hotchner.”

“Hey,” Morgan says. “You all right?”

Aaron rubs his thumb over the most painful spot. “Yes. It’s a migraine. It shouldn’t last.”

Morgan winces. “Didn’t know you got them.”

“Not often.”

“Reid says he’s got a heat thing and a cold thing which helps with the headache.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Real convincing,” Morgan says. “We’re wrapping up for the night. The Petersen guy isn’t the unsub, he’s got a solid alibi. Just wanted to let you know.”

Unsub. Case. “I’ll be with you in the morning.”

“You think it’ll have stopped by then?” Morgan asks disbelievingly.

His stomach flips and his mouth tastes sour. Aaron pushes himself off the bed. “It should. I’ll talk to you then.”

He hangs up, cutting off Morgan’s rebuke, and makes it to the bathroom. Paper slides underfoot and, when he’s done, Aaron takes everything to the desk in case they check on him. The chair is a fraction more comfortable with his jacket thrown over it.

Aaron flicks on the lamp and winces at the harsh glare; his eyes ache as he blinks away the dots in his vision and fumbles for the off switch. The main light is the same standard cheap bulb, masked by a thin lampshade, and even the meagre yellow glow from streetlights outside the window hurts his head.

He rests his head in one hand and writes with the other.

Jack had been better by the next day so it stands to reason if he gets through tonight and eats something in the morning, he… he’ll be…

A sharp knock on the door.

Aaron lifts his head and cries out at the seizing tension in his shoulders; the base of his neck is a mess of strained muscles. The paper peels away from his jaw as he eases himself up from the desk—he hadn’t remembered falling asleep there and definitely hadn’t intended to.

He shrugs his shirt back up around his shoulders as a chill runs through him and forces his aching fingers to button it. Remembers to wipe his face just before he opens the door.

The hallway is studded with artificially white ceiling lights drowning in the softer morning light. Aaron turns his head – thinks if he listens hard enough he might hear the bones grinding together – and blinks at the sudden brightness. His skull is too tight.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Dave says, “but you look like shit.”

If he looks half as bad as he feels, Aaron doesn’t doubt it. “Good morning to you too,” he says, the words tearing at his throat.

“I was going to ask if you’re coming with but you look worse than you did.”

“Go,” Aaron says. “I’ll catch up.”

“Yeah, no. Take the day off before we all catch—” Dave gestures vaguely at him. “—that.”

He’d argue if his joints didn’t protest at his being upright. “Let me know if you need me.”

Dave goes and it’s a relief to shut the door and let his weight fall against it as he screws his eyes shut and presses his hands to his temples. His pulse beats sickly. The pressure comes as if his brain is pushing outwards and his skull caving in, pain from each side, impossible to relieve.

The sheets are pooled at the bottom of the bed, rumpled where he’d kicked them during the night. Aaron tosses the cover back up and, wincing, tugs the cord for the blinds to rattle shut. It isn’t dark, per se. Just a hell of a lot more tolerable.

He crawls under the sheets, goosebumps prickling along his skin, adjusting the pillow around his neck rather than lift his head and jostle the sore muscles, and this time sleep rushes up to meet him.

#whumptober 2021 #no.8 #definitely just a cold #criminal minds #fanfic #eldrai does whumptober #whump #vomiting #cm fanfic #hotch

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maevesdarling · 3 years

Text

Take me home tonight - Chapter 2

Wohoo, since I’m finally done with the semester, I found some time to finish the next chapter. It’s pretty emotional, so be prepared. I can’t tell you when the next chapter will come out but I’m planning on having it done by the end of the month so... fingers crossed!

Pairng: Walt Breslin/ Sal Orozco

Warnings: Nightmares, Canon typical violence, mentions of minor character death, blood, character injury, character death (only in a dream tho), PTSD, Beginning of smut (at the end of the chapter)

Walt spend the next two days cleaning the house as best as he could. He fixed the broken door in the guest bedroom, that hadn't been used since he moved into the house, and put new sheets on the old bed, dusting off the furniture and cleaning the windows. He wasn't exactly sure how long Sal wanted to stay and the couch wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep on so the guest bedroom would do.

Then he went and got groceries. Fresh vegetables, some pasta and cheese in case he felt like cooking for Sal and himself.

He knew fixing the entire house in two days was nearly impossible, but when he sat down on the couch on Thursday evening, the dog by his side, Walt was impressed with himself and the work he'd managed to get done in such a short time.

"I know you can get anxious around new people, but I promise this friend of mine we're meeting tomorrow will treat you well, so no barking, you understand me?" Walt asked the dog sternly. Fucking hell, I really should go outside more, I'm talking to a dog. He thought, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

To say he was a nervous wreck was an understatement. His heart was beating so loud, he was sure Sal would be able to hear it all the way from San Francisco or wherever the hell he currently was, and there was a slight tremor in his hands that just wouldn't go away. Even the animals started to notice that something was wrong, the dog wouldn't leave his side and slept at the end of his bed, his one eye constantly following Walt wherever he went, and the chicken flocked together more than usually when he went to feed them. They came up to him, clucking in excitement and when he got up to leave, a few of them always tried coming after him. Only the goats seemed unbothered by his behavior, they sat in their pen, eating grass and occasionally tried to tackle one another.

That night, for the first time in months, Walt had a nightmare.

In his dream, he was back at the airfield.

It's dark and the only source of light is coming from the stars and the distant car headlights behind him. He's panting, his lungs are stinging with every step he takes, the gun in his hand feels light, too light. He's out of bullets.

A shot rings through the air and somewhere behind him, a body falls to the ground, just as Walt reached the safety of the woods. He turns and his heart seems to stop.

The figure lying a few hundred feet from him is Sal.

He's bleeding from his leg. It looks bad, there's already a large pool of blood forming on the grass, he thinks the bullet might hit an artery. There's no way he'd get Sal all the way back to the safehouse with a leg like this and yet, he turns on his heel to get to Sal. Except the bushes around him seem to have come to life, some of the vines have curled around his legs, he tries, he really does, but he can't move.

His finger claw at the vines, the more he rips at them, the stronger they get. His heart is pounding in his ears. A car is approaching, he's gotta hurry!

The gun falls to the ground and gets swallowed up by leaves and roots, yet, Walt is still fighting. He manages to fall and tries to pull himself forward with his arms. He needs to free himself quickly because there's a figure approaching Sal, oh god, he can never make it in time, where the hell was his gun? With one arm, he's searching his pockets for the pack of extra ammunition, with the other, he's frantically pawing at the dirt underneath him to find the gun, only there was none. How could that be?!

He can hear Sal pleading in the distance. This is wrong, his brain tells him. Your brain is just messing with you! Sal made it off the airfield alive, it was Amat who got shot by Calderoni, not him. Only it feels so real!

The sound of a gun makes him flinch, Walt stops in his motion. He feels like he can't breath, like his heart has stopped beating. Sal is lying motionless in the grass, blood, brain and pieces of his skull scattered around him. The figure who shot him comes into view and looks directly at Walt. An identical pair of eyes is staring back at him. He's looking at himself, towering above a lifeless Sal, the gun he used to shoot him still smoking ever so slightly in the light of the car's headlights.

"You did this." He can hear his own voice shout at him. "You killed him. Just like you killed the others because everything you touch dies!"

Walt wakes up with a scream. He yerks off the bed and topples to the floor with a groan. The darkness from his dream has found it's way into the real world. He forgot to pull the blinds shut again and outside the window, clouds have pulled a tight curtain around the full moon that was previously illuminating the sky.

The dog whines and jumps off the bed to check on him, licking his face in a calming motion. "It's alright, bud. Just a bad dream." He mumbles, scratching behind the dogs sand colored ears.

He sits up, noticing that, just like in his dream, he can't move his legs. They're tangled in the bedsheets. He sighs and begins to untangle them before shuffling into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

His throat stings even after he finishes the cup and he contemplates drinking straight from the tab to satisfy his bodies needs, but then he decides against it and refills his empty cup instead. He's leaning against the kitchen counter dressed only in his boxers and a loose fitting t-shirt, his bare feet are stinging from the cold tiles.

He finishes his second cup and makes his way into the bedroom once more. The dog is lying on his previous spot, watching him. The brunette gives him a little pat on the head before slipping under the covers.

Still, sleep won't come to him. Walt is lying in bed, tossing and turning around, yet every time he closes his eyes, the memory of a lifeless Sal lying in a pool of his own blood comes back to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he can see Danilo standing in the corner of his room, half hidden behind his wardrobe, one half of his face is covered in blood, there's a pitch black hole where his eye used to be. The ghostly silhouette doesn't move, he's just watching him with a pitiful look that is deeply unsettling to Walt. He pinches his eyes closed and tries his best to ignore the horrors his mind has come up with. Thinking instead of all the work he's got to do come morning. In his head he goes over each task. Feed the dog, let the chicken out of their coop, refill their water… After what feels like forever, he falls into a light slumber.

By the time the sun is rising above the old apple trees in his backyard, Walt is long up and sitting in the chicken pen outside, nursing a bottle of beer in his hand. He shouldn't be drinking this early in the morning, yet he can't stop himself either. It's the only way the tremor in his hands will stop.

He's holding one of the hens in his arms, stroking her soft brown feathers while she is making happy noises and turning her head from side to side. He's still shaken up from the night but the fresh air helps him clear his mind. Outside the chicken pen, the dog barks and reminds him that it's time for breakfast. He's not feeling very hungry but gets up to make himself a cup of coffee nevertheless.

Morning comes and goes and he's not really doing anything. There's hardly any noise from outside, almost like the entire farm is holding their breath in anticipation.

He briefly falls asleep on the couch, which isn't a good thing given that his back was just feeling better but he can't blame himself after the night he had.

4pm rolls around and still no Sal. He hasn't eaten anything all day and his stomach is growling, reminding him to take care of himself so he pushes himself off the couch and starts working on a sorry looking sandwich that he eats in front of the tv, there's a telenovela he doesn't pay attention to on.

At around 6pm, just when he's slowly drifting off to sleep again, the sound of a car moving up the gravel path towards the house startles him. The dog jumps up from his bed and sprints over to the door, barking at the intruder.

"It's alright, boy, calm down." He says, gently and yet firmly pushing the dog out of the way to open the door.

A black SUV is parking on the gravel in front of the house, the drivers door is open.

"Walt!" Sal's voice comes from the barn. "There you are… Hi…" Emotions threatened to overcome him. There, standing on the gravel was Sal. He didn't look much different than the last time Walt saw him. He wore a tight, black shirt and an old, worn leather jacket Walt vaguely remembered him wearing before, jeans and some boots. His hair was a bit shorter than usual, he must have had it cut recently, but he still wore the same type of moustache, and he still had the same smile on his face. This was Sal. His Sal, in flesh and blood. He was here.

Suddenly, Walt's throat felt incredibly dry. For the first time, realization kicked in. This was real. His best friend, his partner, his lover, was here.

Before he had the time to even consider if he was going to hug Sal or simply stick out his hand in greeting, Sal had already wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him ever so slightly. Walt was physically unable to breathe. His body was frozen in place. Instantly, Sal pulled away, watching him in concern. "Shit, I- I'm sorry-"

"No… Please, don't say that…" Walt whispered. There was something wet on his face and when he touched it, he realized he was crying. "I missed you so fucking much." He sniffled.

"Walt…" Sal breathed, he looked like he was close to crying as well.

"Let's- let's get inside, okay? Can't have the neighbors seeing me like this." He huffed, furiously wiping his eyes.

The dog was waiting for them by the door, with his tail between his legs he was watching Sal approach. " 's alright buddy." Walt tried calming him down. "Let him sniff your hand, he doesn't like strangers but he doesn't bite I promise."

Doing as he was told, Sal held out his hand for the dog, allowing the sand colored animal to take in his scent. He relaxed a bit but was still a bit uneasy. "Sorry, he'll calm down eventually…" Walt remarked, pushing the front door open and ushering both Sal and the dog inside.

"You want something? A coffee maybe or a beer?"

"Thanks, I'm good." Sal said, taking in the living room. Walt followed his eyes as they landed on the dresser. There was an old snow globe he had found in the attic, a dying plant, a picture frame with a picture of Walt, his brother and their family, on of him fishing on one of the many lakes surrounding the property. The dog was sitting in the boat besides him, they were both facing the camera and even the dog looked like he was smiling. Another, smaller picture showed Sal, sitting inside Walt's old truck. He was wearing sunglasses and leaning against the window, smiling softly into the camera. The warm midday sun illuminated his face and gave the picture a warm look. Walt had taken the picture on one of their many stakeouts and kept it with him through all the years. The picture had deep lines from being bend over the years and one corner was slightly chipped.

The brunette could see Sal's thoughts racing. His eyes wandered from the picture frames to the old couch, and from there back to the dog that was by now standing behind Walt, hiding from the intruder.

"You… This is a really nice house, Walt."

The brunette nodded. Damn, this was awkward, Walt hated the distance between them. The fact that he felt like a stranger was talking to him. This was Sal for fucks sake, the man who knew him best on the entire fucking planet. Who'd seen him at his lowest, and at his highest, his best friend, who went fishing with him, who spend hours teaching Walt how to cook, even if it was just a simple omelette, who made sure that he was taking care of himself. This was the man who shared his bed with him more times than Walt could count. Who held him during the night, whispering sweet nothing into his ear. No amount of time could erase those memories, this was not a stranger, Sal was his home.

"Please-" He started, not really knowing where he was going. Silence fell once more between them. "Where have you been, Sal?"

Sal's shoulders sacked in defeat. It seemed like there was a weight on his chest, pressing him down. He sighed, sitting down heavily on the couch and burying his head in his hands. "It's a long fucking story, Walt."

The older man pulled out a chair from the kitchen and sat down, facing Sal. "We've got some time." He said, instantly feeling guilty for the way his words had come out. He sounded like he was interrogating Sal. "Sorry, I- just tell me what happened… Please?"

Sal nodded, visibly searching for the right words to start. "… Okay… So you remember I was going to San Francisco? I took a job offer and- shit- okay I wasn't honest with you… I told you it was a simple desk job, it wasn't. I was an undercover agent for almost three years."

Walt inhaled sharply, resting the urge to jump from his seat. "W- You didn't tell me?! Sal!"

"Please! I wanted to tell you! I wrote a letter that I planned on sending, but I almost got found out sending it off so I decided not to contact you any more. Walt! Everything I did was trying to protect you! If they'd found out I was an undercover cop, shit I don't care whatever they'd have done to me but they would have hurt you as well and I- I didn't want that to happen. It was so fucking hard, staying away from you, all that time, I- I didn't even knew if you where still alive, if you wanted to ever see me again or if you found someone else-"

Now, Walt did jump up from his chair, fast enough to make the dog whine in discomfort. "You thought I'd replace you with someone else?! Why? Why would I do that? I thought I made it clear that there is no one else for me, I tried, Sal, it didn't work. There's no one I'd want to spend the rest of my life with… Except you…" His voice faltered at the last words as he sunk down on his chair again, the tears from earlier had returned and where running freely down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry." Sal sobbed, his voice sounding like a child that had been scolded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you…"

"What if something had happened to you? You talk about protecting me, but who protected you? What if you'd died? I would have never found out, I would have spend the rest of my life looking for you…"

Wrapping his arms around himself, Sal cast his gaze towards the ground, unable to look at Walt any longer. This was unlike anything Walt had ever seen his partner. Sal was usually the emotionally stable one, the strong one, the optimist, who picked up the pieces when Walt shattered internally, who held him and told him that everything was good to be okay.

"No more of this." Walt said in a determined voice, crossing the distance between himself and the younger man. "We can discuss this again tomorrow, if you like. But no more of this, please. I can't stand to watch you fall apart."

Wiping a tear from his eyes, Sal gave him a loop sided smile. "I've been falling apart ever since I left you."

"Well," Walt said a bit dumbly. "You're here now. And I ain't letting you leave any time soon." That earned him a tiny laugh.

This close, Walt caught his partners familiar scent. He was still using the same fragrance as he had four years ago. "Shhh…" The brunette tried, sitting between Sal's legs and stroking along his arms. He had always loved Sal's forearms. They where muscular and and soft and fitted perfectly around the brunette's waist when they were lying in bed.

The touch seemed to calm Sal down, he stopped crying, dark eyes meeting Walt's.

"Kiss me." Sal breathed into his ear, asking, no begging, for Walt to touch him, to show him how much he still meant to him.

And Walt did.

He poured in all the love he still had for Sal, all the pent up feelings he had tried to keep at bay for the last four years.

His hands found Sal's face, cupping his cheeks and mapping the familiar territory. Every hair, mole on his face, every line, it was all still there, still so familiar. They both moaned into the kiss, melting against each other.

Only when the need for air was stronger than the need to continue kissing, did they pull apart, panting. A trail of saliva still connecting their mouths.

"I love you, Walt. I love you so fucking much it hurts, I-"

"I love you too, Sal, I love you, I promise."

"Show me. Please."

#narcos mexico #walt breslin #sal orozco #walt/sal

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hadestownmodern · 4 years

Text

Dinosaur Nuggets

One of our head canons in this AU is that Orpheus is a vegetarian from a young age. This is that story.

-A

“Mama, what did you tell him?” She’s never necessarily been angry with her mom, rather than just frustrated. As she paces around her mother’s rustic kitchen, she sighs, rubbing one of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “What did you tell Orpheus..”

It had to be a conversation between Persephone and Demeter, as involving Hades would have gotten heated quickly, and Persephone didn’t have the heart to come between her mother and her husband, not right now.

“What do you mean, honey bee, I didn’t tell him anything I didn’t tell you?” Demeter promises, kissing her daughter’s cheek before she goes back to the cutting board, julienning some peppers for the vegetable pasta she was making the three of them for dinner. “He’s just more receptive than you were to what I had to say.”

“Mom, you know he’s so impressionable. He cried at dinner the other night. Cried, screamed, was completely heartbroken that his dinosaur nuggets might have come from a chicken that was friends with your chicken. He was crying because he thought he was eating Lucy’s friend. His words, not mine.” Persephone whispers, standing on her toes to watch out of the kitchen window above the sink, to see if Orpheus had made any progress towards coming inside.

Instead, her four year old boy sat in Demeter’s chicken coop, surrounded by the various birds. In his lap sat the one he always spoke of, named Lucy, which was covered in white feathers. It sat on his lap as he tried to hug her, the bird spreading it’s wings in his arms in an attempt to get away. Regardless, she remained in his lap.

“Do you think he’ll get sick out there with those birds-” Persephone asks, biting her lip nervously, before dropping back on her heels and leaning her back against the sink.

“Persephone Beatrice I used to let you run around without shoes on and then not take a bath for a few days because I respected your free spirit. He will be fine.” Demeter assures her daughter, adding her sliced peppers to a hot saute pan. “He will be just fine.”

“You know I was a toddler, you could have told me to take a bath.”

“Well, as you got older I told you not to marry a city man from a rich family and you didn’t listen to me then, who’s to say you would have as a child?” She teases her, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “Orpheus is just an empathetic, kind soul. So what, he won’t eat meat. I don’t eat anything that comes from an animal, and i’m just fine. He will have enough to eat. It’s not the end of the world, Persephone.”

“I can only make three meals, mom! Three! Dinosaur Chicken Nuggets, Grilled Cheese, and Pasta with sauce from a jar! I can’t even make him Ramen now because it’s chicken flavored. We are down to two meals, so don’t you dare get him started on being a vegan, too!” She warns, shaking her head. “I now am down to two meals to make him.”

“Maybe it’s time you learn how to cook, hmm?” Demeter shrugs, handing Perspehone the rubber spatula she used to toss the onions and peppers in the pan. “It’s not terribly hard to do.”

“I married a man who can cook, we’ll have to live on grilled cheese in his absence.” Persephone rolled her eyes, setting the spatula down. “Or takeout. I’ve always been a fan of lo mein.”

“How is the million dollar man taking Orpheus’s dedication to animals? And hermes?”

“Don’t call him that. He’s fine with it, you know, he does cook so he doesn’t mind making something for him those three days of the week, and then Hermes, obviously, he’s good at it. But he’s also the king of peanut butter and jelly.” Persephone reminds playfully, breaking off a few pieces of raw pasta to eat while they talked. “We’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will. Orpheus will not be hard to take care of. He has a kind, loving heart. Which will get broken and hurt a few times. Like when Calliope came back-”

“Don’t mention that bitch, I should have killed her-” Persephone hisses, unknowingly tightening her fist in anger and crackling the raw noodles inside.

“No, she is not worth violence. And she won’t be back. Not for a long, long while. But people will hurt him, because he loves so deeply. You will want to shield his heart, but it is inevitable.” Demeter admits as she adds the pasta to the water, as they stand and watch him play in the coop together.

“I can handle that, I can learn to help him. I can learn to make more options, maybe ungrilled cheese..but mama..” She sighs, leaning her head on Demeter’s shoulder. The older woman lays her head atop her daughter’s, patting her hand gently.

“Yes, honey love?” She whispers as she squeezes her daughter’s hand.

“Is he going to be happy? You talk about heart break and that horrible mother he has and people hurting him- is he going to be happy?” It’s a natural fear, she supposes, that Orpheus will spend his life hurting and on his own.

“Oh, of course he will be. Growing up, of course. He’ll have a wonderful life. It takes good parents, good people raising him, to make him so loving and empathetic. And he has those.” Demeter compliments as her arm wraps around Persephone’s shoulder, rubbing her upper arm sympathetically. “And when he’s grown? He’ll be so happy. So loved. So loving. So in love. He’ll have a wonderful, wonderful life.”

Persephone lets out a sigh she did not know she held, nodding in relief as Demeter affirmed her wishes, her goals and hopes for the boy she loves like her own son. “Thank you. Thank you. And thank you for letting us stay-”

It was no secret Persephone hated to be alone, on her own in their city apartment, when her husband was gone for work. Her mother was always so welcoming, always ready to have her baby back under her roof.

“Of course. This will always be your home Persephone. Now, as much as I love that boy enjoying his time out there, bring him in to wash up for dinner.” She instructs, patting Persephone’s arm gently.

“I thought he couldn’t get sick?” Her voice is light, teasing as she sends Persephone off to gather Orpheus for dinner.

“He won’t. Doesn’t mean I want him tracking dirt and feathers to my table.”

With a laugh, she slips out towards the back door. “Mama? I love you.”

“I love you too, Persephone.”

#hadestown au #hadestown modern #hadestown modern au #orpheus #little orpheus #persephone #demeter #Annika writes #god I love orpheus as a toddler

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gothic-safari-clown · 3 years

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 20: Home

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19

Word count: 1827

El heard the front door unlock from the kitchen, and happily oblivious to the precarious status of her wellbeing, she waited quietly for Jonathan to come in and greet her. She had to make sure that the water didn't boil over anyway.

She only got an inkling that something might be wrong when the door slammed shut, and Jonathan rushed into view, looking slightly disheveled. He hadn't even put down his briefcase at the door.

Before she could inquire as to what was wrong, the briefcase was carelessly tossed onto the dining table, and Jonathan had locked her in a tight embrace, pressing a firm kiss into her hair.

"Woah, hi," she squeaked, hugging him back. "What happened? Is everything okay?" She felt the deep sigh as his body relaxed, and he stepped away again, smoothing down his tie as he regained his composure. Registering a few seconds later that she had asked a question, he nodded and raked his fingers through his hair to push it off of his forehead.

"Yeah, yeah, everything is fine." His heart was only just slowing to a regular rate.

She's safe.

Yeah, I told you. I can't believe how whipped you are, Jonny.

"Why didn't you answer your phone? I've been calling you for hours."

"Oh, I forgot to plug it in last night, so it died at work." She replied casually, still entirely unaware of the panic she had caused. "I had to go grocery shopping before I came home, and it's been charging in the bedroom since I got back; I must not have heard it." She turned back to the stove to give the boiling pasta a quick stir and check on the sauce on the other burner. "Are you sure everything is alright?"

Jonathan moved to stand against the counter next to her, needing to be near her still. "I had to see Falcone today."

"Oh? How was that?"

"Not good. He tried to threaten me into letting him into the operation, and when that didn't work, he...talked about you. I thought maybe he had already given orders, and I had to oversee the shipment as soon as possible to get it finished in time."

"Ah," El frowned, suddenly understanding the trouble. "So when I didn't answer the phone..." Jonathan nodded. Pasta still undercooked, El replaced the pot lid before turning back to the man next to her. "Well, I'm sorry for making you worry, love, but I'm okay." She smiled and stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Besides, nobody is taking me away from you without a fight. Speaking of which," she plucked a stray burlap thread off of his shoulder, "what happened here?"

Jonathan kicked himself mentally. How had his run-in with the Batman already slipped his mind?

"Scarecrow and I have had an eventful day." He said, suddenly exhausted, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

"I'll tell you what, why don't you go change out of your work clothes while this is finishing up, and you can tell me about it while we eat." He nodded but hesitated to walk away, which made her chuckle. "Nothing is going to happen to me if you leave the room for a few minutes. Go on." She pushed on his arm gently, which finally coaxed his weight off the counter.

He was still hesitant to leave the room, but he knew that she was right and obeyed, ignoring Scarecrow's continued snickering. He redressed as quickly as he could, hell-bent on returning to the kitchen fast. Of course, she was still there at the stove when he came back, switching off the burner.

Unfamiliar with normal relationships, Jonathan didn't fully understand his impulses, but he was so exhausted from the events of the day that he didn't have the energy to fight them. Before El could pick up the pot to drain the water from the pasta, he locked his arms around her from behind and dropped his forehead to rest on her shoulder.

"Jonathan..." her voice was laced with soft concern, and she raised her hand to rest on the back of his head. "You were really worried about me, weren't you, love?" Her tone was actually serious now, upset that Jonathan was upset. He didn't answer, just staying where he was. "I'll leave my ringer on from now on; I remember what this feels like." He nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "Come on, sweet, let me finish this up, and we can go sit on the couch while we eat. Up, come on," she coaxed gently, and Jonathan finally straightened up, allowing El to drain the pasta and serve them each a plate.

"So you and Scarecrow had an eventful day," she recalled as they settled onto the couch. "Tell me about that."

Dinner was soon forgotten as Jonathan began to recount their run-in with Batman.

"You set him on fire?" She asked incredulously. When Jonathan looked at her, he expected to see shock, maybe horror, but no. What he saw instead was a genuine, thrilled amusement that he had tried to burn a man alive. "That's hilarious. You set Batman on fire."

See, she thinks I'm funny.

"Scarecrow thinks so too."

"Mm, that's probably a bad sign for me," she said casually, returning her attention to her food. It seemed she had finally given up on feigning morality. Took her long enough.

"Yeah, probably, but you've made it this far." She hummed in response.

"So," she started slowly, wanting to address the initial problem, "Falcone?" Jonathan frowned, disliking the reminder that he now had something that could be leveraged over him. Not that he would give it up for the world, but if people were going to use Elianna to threaten him, then something would have to be done about that. Perhaps Falcone could serve as a warning.

Then again, maybe that had been the wrong decision. The old man's sudden mental break could draw suspicion. While it was true that they had been dumping the toxin into the water mains for weeks, the job would be cleaner if they didn't draw too much attention to themselves. And in one moment of anger and weakness, Jonathan had thrown away that advantage.

"I may have overreacted to that. We'll have to be careful about the project until it's ready to go. It should only be another few days."

"Overreacted?" El asked quizzically. "What did you do, gas him?" She was answered with silence and knew that she had guessed correctly.

She was sure that she was supposed to be upset, maybe a little annoyed with him for endangering such a delicate operation, but she couldn't help but feel a little flattered instead. He had done all of that for her?

Done eating, she placed her empty bowl on the coffee table and scooted closer. "He must have said something pretty bad about me to set you off like that." Jonathan's brow furrowed, remembering what Falcone had implied.

"It was...gross." For lack of a better word. He looked at her to find her smiling at him. "And no, I'm not going to tell you, so don't ask."

"I wasn't going to. I just think it's sweet that you did that for me," she said matter-of-,factly and kissed Jonathan's cheek. "Mostly, I'm just curious, would that have been your normal reaction, or was that just because the nature of our relationship changed?" She grinned as he blushed lightly.

"Probably the second one." He closed his eyes in embarrassment and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Either way, it was an overreaction. It's going to draw attention."

"Oh, who cares. There are only a few days left. Hey, that reminds me, I wanted to make a mask."

"We can just get you one from a hardware store; that should be easy-"

"No, I mean like," she sighed as she gathered her thoughts. "Like, you and Scarecrow have yours, and it's like a character almost. When people see it, they'll know who it is. It's your brand. I want something like that."

It was a fair point, Jonathan decided. And why shouldn't she get to have one like that? "Alright, what are you thinking?"

"Why, thank you for asking, love." She sat up straight as she began to present her idea. "When I was thinking about it, I asked myself, 'what are the most memorable silhouettes of all time?' There are so many to choose-"

"El, please, I've had such a long day." Jonathan almost felt bad interrupting. He knew how much she loved doing dramatic speeches, but he wasn't sure he had the patience for it this time.

"Alright, love, sorry." She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "Anyway, I was thinking something like a plague doctor. I feel like it would match the scarecrow in energy; it's sort of mysterious and technically meant for good, but it's become a sort of a classic horror icon." Jonathan nodded, agreeing with her line of thinking.

"Yeah. It might be a little tricky to pull off in such a short amount of time, but I think that's a good idea." Her face lit up. "We'll need a gas mask to rig into it, a pattern, and a stiff enough material to keep the shape."

"No problem. You know me, I started making my own Halloween costumes at like, ten, I can take care of it. In fact, I kinda already got all of the materials." Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "I made a pit stop between work and the grocery store. I just need a sewing machine. I was going to ask Harley if-"

"No need, I have one." They sat in silence for a moment.

"What?"

"I mean, Scarecrow does. He insisted on making the mask himself. Apparently, I was making it too neat, so he commandeered it."

"Wow, that actually makes a lot of sense," El nodded. "I don't know where I thought the mask came from, but yeah, that sounds right."

"Why don't I go get it out of storage so you can start?" El nodded excitedly, and in just a few short minutes, they had her set up at the kitchen table to get to work. Jonathan's night quickly went from a prolonged panic attack to something warm and comforting. Watching El work and helping her take measurements, and teasing her theatrics slowly helped him feel normal.

Seeing her power ahead with her ideas and devotion to their future life, unimpeded by the threat against her, brought a sense of security in a way that he had never quite felt before. While she worked, he came up with and solidified a plan to provide them with protection for the next few days at least, but it would have to wait for tomorrow. In the meantime, he contented himself with wiling away the time in the kitchen with his paramour, letting the rest of the world fall away.

#the mind's power over the body #Attraction To The Insane #series #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #batman begins #Nolanverse #jonathan crane x ofc #slight au #multi chapter fic #fic series #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #tmpotb chapter 20

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crocodileniall · 4 years

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wattpad // story page

nine: the things you do, they make me smile

word count: 2963

WARNINGS: sexual content, please no readers under 18

Clementine sighed dramatically, squeezing the sunscreen onto her hands. “Niall if you want to snog just come out with it. No need to dance around with the sunscreen.”

“It’s like you hate anticipation,” Niall chuckled, shaking his head. “Any ounce of build up and you have to destroy it.”

Clementine chuckled, hands rubbing over his stomach. She shrugged her shoulders, offering, “I like it when you say exactly what you want.”

Niall hummed as she leaned back, rubbing her hands together. She grabbed the sunscreen, squeezing a small drop onto her fingers. She tilted his chin down, smiling as she swiped her finger down his nose. “Your nose’ll burn. Your Irishness wasn’t built for italia.”

The Italian sun beat down on Niall’s shoulders as he trucked up the hill toward the house. Clementine was in front of him, two grocery bags slung over her shoulders.

“Hurry up,” Clementine called over her shoulder, smiling at him from behind her sunglasses. “The ice cream is melting.”

“I’m moving as fast as I can,” Niall grunted just as the ground began to even out beneath their feet. He was unaware that when Clementine said a walk into town it was 2 miles in and 2 miles back.

Niall watched as Clementine’s hair bounced in her ponytail. For a moment he imagined a younger Clementine taking the hike with her mother. It made his heart swell.

Finally, Clementine pushed the front door open and the cold air enveloped them. Niall let out a sigh, dropping his own bags on the linoleum floor. Clementine side stepped past him, putting the ice cream right to the fridge.

“We’ll make pasta for dinner,” Clementine told him as she began to gather up the grocery bags on the table. “Will you help me?”

“Of course,” Niall answered, smiling as she looked over to him.

“Melanie and her friends are supposed to be arriving soon,” she said. “A couple hours. They just landed in Florence.”

Niall hummed, nodding, watching her move around the kitchen. He admired the way she moved, confidence in her step.

Clementine had everything put away when she finally took a breath, leaning against the counter. She set her sunglasses down on the counter, looking over to Niall. “Fancy a swim?”

“It’s hot enough,” Niall murmured.

“Wait we should make margaritas,” Clementine urged, opening the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of juice. “Like get day drunk.”

“You said we were making dinner,” Niall laughed, straightening up. He opened the cupboard, pulling the blender out nonetheless.

“We will make dinner,” clementine assured him, bending down to the liquor cabinet. She pulled out a bottle of tequila, setting it on the counter. “Maybe a late dinner.”

Niall was already convinced, though. He watched Clementine pour the liquids into the blender. She let him take over while she changed. Niall decided that these days they were spending we’re ones that he’d never forget.

He closed his eyes and he could picture the way Clementine’s tanned skin looked stretched over her hip bones. Or sometimes when the wind blew, the smell of Clementine’s perfume mixed with sunscreen lingered in the air. It made his stomach jump in a way he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

By the time Clementine came back down, Niall had their drinks poured into glasses. Clementine walked in, one of Niall’s shirts hanging off her body like it was her own. She slung her pool bag over her shoulder. She kissed Niall softly as she took the drink from his hands.

The chasteness left Niall wanting more, following her out onto the patio. She sat down on a lounge chair beside Niall, sipping her drink. Niall pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the table between them.

“Will you put sunscreen on me?” Clementine asked, sitting up as she toyed with the hem of her t-shirt.

“I suppose,” Niall murmured, swinging his legs over the side of his chair to stand up.

Clementine pulled the shirt over her head, setting it on Niall’s. She gathered all of her hair to one side to let Niall cover her back. Niall couldn’t help himself, kissing at her neck. Clementine laughed the way she did every time Niall did that. Dramatically, she sighed, “Niall.”

And Niall murmured an innocent, “What?”

“Sunscreen me, would ya? I’m going to burn,” she chided, shoulders shifting to straighten up.

That’s where Niall sighed dramatically. He lathered Clementine up painfully slow, paying special care to cover her entirely. “So you don’t burn,” Niall explained after she asked what was taking so long.

Niall finished up, setting the bottle down on the chair. “Need me to do your legs?”

“No I’ve got it,” Clementine chuckled. “Want me to do your back?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Niall smiled sweetly at her through his sunglasses.

“Of course,” Clementine grinned, turning around to face him. “Anything for you.”

Niall hummed, turning his back to her. Clementine’s fingers on his skin had Niall thinking things he shouldn’t have been thinking. She lathered him up rather quickly, announcing that she’d finished.

“My chest?” Niall offered, turning to face her.

Clementine sighed dramatically, squeezing the sunscreen onto her hands. “Niall if you want to snog just come out with it. No need to dance around with the sunscreen.”

“It’s like you hate anticipation,” Niall chuckled, shaking his head. “Any ounce of build up and you have to destroy it.”

Clementine chuckled, hands rubbing over his stomach. She shrugged her shoulders, offering, “I like it when you say exactly what you want.”

Niall chuckled, eyelashes fluttering as she put sunscreen on his forehead and then his cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, Clementine was finished, closing the sunscreen up.

“Thanks, pet,” he murmured, pulling her in for a soft kiss. He reveled in the way her knees clattered against his thighs; the way her warm skin felt on his. Clementine deepened the kiss, nearly begging for more.

The hot sun, her warm lips, the liquor on her tongue- it was enough to make Niall dizzy. He pulled away, licking his lips. “Ready to swim?”

Clementine reached down, picking up her drink. She took a long sip, eyes glued to Niall’s. Unable to help himself, Niall reached his hand out, smoothing over the taught skin of her thigh. He couldn’t think of a time where he’s wanted her more.

“You didn’t sunscreen your nose,” Niall told her, voice soft.

“I’m okay,” she told him, looking up at him.

“Clem let me put sunscreen on your face,” he argued, grabbing the sunscreen.

Clementine sighed in exaggeration, leaning forward. Niall sunscreened her face, covering her nose and her chin and her cheeks. He did it painfully slow, knowing it’d drive her crazy.

“There,” he declared triumphantly. “All good.”

“Thank ya,” Clementine murmured, smiling at him. The annoyance on her face a moment ago had disappeared which lead Niall to believe that she’d been faking the whole time.

Niall pulled Clementine in, kissing her softly. He could taste the liquor on her lips. He wanted to lick every inch of her mouth. Clementine pushed him away, one hand on his chest. “I’m getting in,” she said, standing up with her drink in hand.

Niall watched her walk off, eyes glued to her bum. Clementine shot him a look over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. Niall grinned at her, not having to say the words.

Clementine set her drink down at the edge of the pool and then dove into the deep end. Niall watched the sharpness of her body as she went in. She appeared at the top of the water a moment later. Clementine ran her hands through her hair, smiling at Niall.

Niall did the only natural thing. He set his glass down beside hers and canon balled into the pool. When Niall came to the surface he heard Clementine’s laugh first. Then it was her legs around his waist and then her back against the pool wall.

Clementine ran her hands through his wet hair, pushing it from his eyes. Niall couldn’t think about anything but the way her eyes shined in the sunlight.

Niall kissed her, noses bumping together. Clementine pulled him in closer, their bodies pressed against each other. And this was what summer in Italy was. Very little space between them.

They lost track of time, a mess of tangled limbs and achy laughs. Clementine tried to teach Niall how to do a handstand in the pool but his balance was poor to say the least.

Niall felt breathless when they finally stumbled out of the pool. Their skin wrinkled and Clementine swore her head was filled with water. Niall watched Clementine dry herself off, rubbing her towel over her arms and then her legs.

Clementine groaned, looking up at him as she bent over, “stop looking at me.”

“You’re just so fuckin gorgeous I can’t help it, Clem,” Niall murmured, sitting down on the lounger.

“Well try to help it,” Clementine muttered, pulling her t-shirt over her head.

Niall reached forward, pulling her in by the hips. Clementine laughed as she tumbled into him. It wasn’t long before her lips found his in a teasing kiss.

“Always a tease,” Niall whispered between a kiss. “Say don’t look at me and then ya kiss me like that? Right, babe. I don’t buy it.”

Clementine rolled her eyes, kissing him again. Niall’s hands slid down her back, gripping her bum to pull her closer. Niall hummed against her lips, reveling in it. There was nothing he loved more than having Clementine all to himself.

The slam of the screen door shattered the moment, Clementine nearly falling backward onto the concrete. Niall gripped her hips to keep her from falling.

“Well well well,” Melanie tsked, shaking her head. “Lemen, when you said it was just you and a friend I think you forgot to mention a few things.”

Clementine breathed out a sigh, disentangling herself from Niall to sit down beside him. She looked up at Melanie, squinting in the sunlight, “Mel, mind your own business.”

“If we’re going to spend the week together, we have to set some boundaries, don’t ya think?” Melanie asked, eyebrows raised.

“Like?” Clementine asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“I don’t want to see you guys all...” Melanie trailed off, waving her hand in the air. “Like that.”

“To be fair we didn’t know you’d arrived,” Clementine retorted. “And since I am in fact older than you, therefore more wise and more in charge I think we’ll do what we please.”

“Don’t embarrass me,” Melanie muttered, eyebrows pulling together in what looked like desperation.

“I can’t imagine we’d ever do that,” Clementine chuckled, reaching behind Niall to grab her phone. “Chill, Mel.”

“Anyways,” Melanie mumbled. “We’re going into town tonight. There’s a club or something Bex was talking about.”

“Sounds like fun,” Clementine agreed.

“I don’t reckon you guys would want to come?” Melanie asked, eyes shifting to look at Niall for the first time.

“Maybe,” Niall answered, picking up the vibe that she wanted them to go. “Clem mentioned something about cooking, though. Dunno for sure.”

“We’re not going till late. We might eat here,” Melanie explained, suddenly making room for both of their plans.

Clementine hummed, nodding. “Just let us know. Making pasta.”

“Okay,” Melanie muttered, turning on her heels to go back inside.

Clementine cleared her throat, pushing her hands through her tangled hair. “That was awkward.”

“Kind of,” Niall agreed, chuckling. “Ya almost fell on your ass, though. I think that’s what was most embarrassing.”

“Can’t win em all,” Clementine laughed, standing up. “And sorry if Melanie acts kind of weird. She’s a big fan of yours. Reckon her friends are too.”

“It’s okay,” Niall shook his head. “I don’t mind. Just as long as I’m not splashed on the front pages in the morning.”

“Definitely not,” Clementine nodded. “I’ll talk to them. You want to go into town tonight?”

“Maybe,” Niall shrugged, standing up, grabbing his towel and his cup. “Whatever you feel like doing. If you wanna go out or stay in...” he trailed off. “I’m okay with either.”

Clementine hummed as they began walking toward the sliding glass door. When they stepped in, Niall felt instant relief from the hot sun. The cold air sent a wave of drowsiness over his body and he felt the desire to crawl into bed.

“Maybe another night,” Clementine decided when they’d gotten to the bottom of the steps. “I’m exhausted.”

Niall chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her head as he agreed, “me too.”

Clementine fell into bed soon after they’d gotten into their room. Niall lounged in bed, tv on quiet as Clementine showered. She came out, another one of Niall’s shirts and a pair of pajama shorts.

Niall sat up, eyebrows raising at her appearance. Clementine grinned at him, falling into bed beside him. “What?” She asked almost innocently.

“Where did ya find that shirt?” Niall asked, casually. He slid his hand beneath the t-shirt, fingers splaying out against her stomach.

“In my suitcase,” she murmured, pulling him down for a soft kiss. “That okay?”

“Fuck,” Niall breathed out against her lips. “More than okay.”

Clementine kissed him again, teasingly pulling away every time he wanted more. Niall gave in, letting Clementine kiss him. She licked into his mouth, hands tangling into the hair on the nape of his neck.

Like all the times before, Clementine straddled his hips, this time only a thin layer of clothes between them. Clementine gasped as their centers brushed together and Niall felt like it’d happen.

“Niall,” Clementine murmured, pulling away. She was breathing heavily, her skin flushed all the way down to the collar of her shirt.

“What is it, pet?” Niall asked, pushing his hands through her wet hair.

“Think I’m ready,” Clementine whispered, lips brushing against his at the same time as their hips did.

“Like...” Niall trailed off, voice thick. “Like you want to...”

“I want you to make me feel good,” Clementine breathed out, rutting her hips against his. It sent a shiver down Niall’s spine, her words, her hips. “Please, Niall.”

Niall gave himself a deep breath, eyes fluttering as he cleared his mind the best he could. Clementine kissed at his neck, nipping at his skin. “Are you sure?” Niall asked. “You don’t feel even a little unsure?”

“I’m sure,” Clementine mumbled, picking her head up to look at him. “Really sure- the most sure I’ve ever been about anything,” she added tactfully.

Niall was convinced, pulling her down for a clumsy kiss, noses bumping. Clementine hummed against his lips, rolling her hips against his. Niall was so hard it almost hurt, hands sliding to her hips.

Suddenly, it was a blur. How Niall wound up between her legs, pressing his lips to her sun kissed skin, he didn’t know. He did know that there was nothing he wanted more than to make his Clementine feel good, to coax the moans out of her pretty lips, to put his mouth on every inch of her skin.

Clementine’s moans filled the bedroom. It made Niall’s head spin. He’d imagined the sounds she’d make millions of times and hearing it for himself had him weak in the knees.

When Clementine’s orgasm washed over her, she cried out his name, rutting against his tongue. Her back arched off the bed and her toes curled. Niall licked her through her orgasm, humming against her center.

Clementine nudged Niall’s face away, finally breaking contact with her skin. Niall kissed her bitten lips, pushing his fingers through her damp hair. Clementine sighed against his lips, still breathless.

“I can do you,” Clementine murmured against his lips, hand sliding down to palm at his hard length.

“Clem it’s okay,” Niall insisted, putting enough space between them to look her in the eyes properly. “You don’t have to. No need to rush into anything.”

“No need to rush into anything?” Clementine repeated, eyebrows pulling together. “Niall you just had your mouth on my-“

“I know,” Niall cut her off quickly. “I know I did just...” he trailed off with a sigh. “Pet, we don’t have to go so fast.”

“I feel like we’ve been going painfully slow,” Clementine mumbled, relaxing against the bed.

“We have,” Niall agreed. “There’s just a lot of things to consider.”

“Like?”

“Like for one, you‘re still up in the air about confirming our relationship to literally anyone,” Niall pointed out. “I get the hesitation but to some extend I need to know if you’re in this.”

“I am in this,” Clementine argued, eyebrows pulling together. “Because I don’t spill all of our secrets to my friends about you that means I’m not in it?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Niall sighed, rubbing his head. “Clem, you haven’t even confirmed it to me. You squirm when I mention something even close to the g word.”

“I feel like you don’t want to confirm it,” Clementine argued quietly. “Obviously I’m not very forward when it comes to certain things.”

“I know,” Niall nodded in agreement. “But I don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for.”

“I am ready,” Clementine urged. “To be your girlfriend. That’s what I want I just couldn’t find the words to tell you without sounding like a child.”

“You wouldn’t have sounded like a child,” Niall chuckled, reaching out to slide his fingers between hers.

“I would’ve,” Clementine murmured, looking up at him. “And I don’t want you to think of me as a child. Or someone who needs protecting. I’m a strong woman, Niall and that’s how I want you to treat me.”

Niall hummed, nodding. His eyes traced over her face as he thought her words over. He’d admit he felt the need to protect Clementine from every bad thing in the world. It hadn’t occurred to him that she didn’t want that. “I will,” Niall decided. “Treat you like a strong woman,” he added tactfully.

“So I’m you’re girlfriend,” Clementine decided, nose brushing against his. “Officially.”

“Officially,” Niall agreed, dying to kiss her lips. “You’re my girlfriend.”

thank you for reading!

Let me know what you thought!

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#Niall Horan #Niall Horan au #Niall Horan fanfic #Niall Horan fic #Niall Horan fanfiction #njhcreators #1Dff #Niall Horan ff #niall ff #niall fanfiction #niall fanfic #nh fanfic #Niall Horan fluff #Niall Horan smut #niall edit #niall smut #nh smut #ofc

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writingherhope · 3 years

Note

5, 12 and 22 for Sam/Jack for the OTP asks :)

Thanks @purplejellosg1!

5) Who sleeps on the couch when they get into a fight?

----Jack. Jack sleeps on the couch. He is angry. Angry at her over whatever they’ve been fighting about. Angry at himself because he has allowed them to go to bed angry. Angry at himself because he is angry with her and he loves her so much he doesn’t like the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he is upset with her. It makes his heart race a little too fast and ache in a way that lingers for days, even after they’ve made up and he’s back in their bed.

12) Who starts a food fight in the kitchen?

----Sam. She’s trying to cook him dinner. It’s the first time she’s cooked for him. Hell, it’s the first time she’s cooked for herself in ages. She’s nervous and overly cautious, afraid she’s burning the boiling water on the stove awaiting the noodles. It’s when he walks in to check in on her, one hand resting on her shoulder before he has announced his entrance, and she’s so concentrated on not burning dinner that she doesn’t feel his presence. It’s then that she jumps and drops the pasta sauce, hot from the sauce pan. It hits the floor in a splat that scatters drops of tomato across her floor and on their jeans. He’s chuckles, making sure she’s okay and not burnt, before he bends down to start helping her clean it up. She’s upset now, dinner is ruined and he’s just chuckling and telling her it’s okay and everything will be fine. That he likes noodles with butter and salt or cheese, he smiles when he says cheese like he is talking about cake. Somewhere in the back of her mind she is humored by his light-hardheartedness and knows he’s trying to make her feel better. But she’s not ready to feel that, she’s upset. Looking at the bowl of ricotta she has on the counter, just waiting to top their dinner, she thinks dinners ruined anyway. Grabbing a handful, she tosses ricotta in his direction and finds her nerves and her dismay dissolving as it plops down his face from his graying hair.

22) Who is super bad at sexting? and who send them encouraging messages throughout the day?

----Its funny you chose this one. I’m working on a Sexting AU (but this below is for a Sexting-Canon Compliant fic that I guess I’ll also try to write).

----Sam is bad at sexting. She’s never been very vocal in bed, well that’s not true. She was. She just never had anyone listen to her, so she chose to just shut up. So texting her desires, she thought should have been easier, I mean she doesn’t have to vocalize them, it’s just like writing a story. She realizes as she’s trying to tell him exactly what she likes, but also be sexy about it, that she’s too in her head and to scientific about it. He grins lovingly at her texts and does eventually help her along in the ways of sexting. He hates texting. Sexting is something different altogether. That he’s embraced. Because honestly, one of them had to if this long distance thing was going to work. So he tells her he loves her throughout the day, that her brain is her sexiest aspect, but he loves her breasts and her legs and the way she moans when he runs a finger across her stomach, just below her belly button.

#otp ask #fic writing #i guess i'm writing these now #so yay #thanks #please keep asking if you all want!#purplejellosg1

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spartanguard · 5 years

Text

always pass on what you have learned

so @optomisticgirl found this twitter thread and told me I had to write Captain Cobra in the same situation. It took a little bit but here it is: 1.9k of Captain Cobra/dad!Killian fluff. slightly canon-divergent (Henry hasn’t left yet when Hope is a baby, but he IS an adult—so if you don’t like reading about him doing adult things, even just in passing, back away).

summary: Henry had a visitor last night. she hasn’t left yet and it’s morning. will Emma notice? or will they hide away and make a break for it? Killian is eagerly watching (with his sidekick, baby Hope) to find out.

It was a testament to Killian’s well-honed captain’s eye that he was able to pick out the slight anomaly in the usual prim order, despite the early hour and his sleep-deprived state.

He’d just hit the bottom of the stairs with his teething infant daughter on his hip—who had decided that 4 am was the perfect time to wake up wailing and that 8 am was when she wanted breakfast—when he noticed the unfamiliar pair of shoes sitting at the end of the row of boots and sneakers in the foyer. They weren’t Emma’s style, and certainly were too large for Hope; that left only one option:

“Well, darling. It seems as though your brother’s lady friend spent the night.” Hope babbled back at him in response, green eyes wide. “It looks like today will be more interesting than we thought.”

Henry wasn’t necessarily in trouble or anything; the lad was 18—nearly a man grown. And he’d endured enough lectures from both his mothers on the many modern contraceptives that he would have that end of things covered (and if not, then he was old enough—and had a strong enough support system—that he’d be able to deal with the consequences). Emma would probably be displeased, but she knew she couldn’t stop him. And honestly, they couldn’t say much given that they’d surely done worse—Hope being the evidence of their late-night activities.

So Killian’s curiosity was just that: who on earth had Henry been fucking last night? He hadn’t dated anyone since breaking up with Violet last year. And would she get out past Emma’s notice?

(“Fucking” seemed a crude term to use, but Killian had no other words to describe the sounds coming from Henry’s bedroom as he rocked Hope back to sleep earlier. Lovemaking, it was not.)

He’d just started feeding Hope her favorite squash purée when the stairs creaked, making him pause with the spoon midair. It was too early for Henry to be up on average, but if he was trying to sneak someone out, then maybe…

But it was Emma who blearily shuffled into view, eyes barely open but feet moving on instinct toward the Keurig. “You gonna stare at me or you gonna feed her?” she quipped, as Hope protested the delay in her meal.

“Both,” he replied easily, complying with his daughter’s demands and never missing a moment to ogle his beautiful wife. In the relative silence that followed, the only noises heard were the gurgling of the coffee contraption and Hope’s happy smacking of her mouth as she ate.

No sounds came from the room above, even once the smell of pancakes and bacon filled the house.

“His loss,” Emma concluded with a shrug as she wiped the last bit of syrup off her plate with what was left of her small pancake mountain. She savored her final bite, setting her fork down and leaning back in her chair. “Well, I was going to start working on laundry and cleaning the bathrooms, if you wanna clean this up and keep this one occupied?”

“Sounds perfect.” Hope might be slowly munching on her puffed cereal right now, but once she was loosed, it was a full-time job keeping her from climbing and crawling into places she wasn’t meant to go. Emma had put up some magical barriers, but if the occasional sparks they saw in their baby’s hands were any clue, it was just a matter of time until those became useless.

And he was also extra intrigued to see what Henry and his friend would do now—or if Emma would find them first.

Once the kitchen was cleaned and the puffs devoured (and subsequently cleaned off the floor, where they of course had been stepped on), Killian was keeping Hope occupied in the living room with some toys, trying to get the 11-month-old to take her first steps. Alas, it wasn’t meant to happen for her today, but he did finally hear movement coming from Henry’s room—the creak of the floorboards as two individuals made their way around the space; he had a decent idea of what they were doing.

He could also hear Emma cleaning the bathroom in the next room over. And could see their visitor’s shoes still by the door.

“What do you think, little one?” he asked Hope, pulling her up to standing as she tried to crawl into his lap. “Will your mum discover your brother and his friend, or the other way around?”

Hope’s responding gibberish was as much an answer as he expected—and, oddly, seemed to fit the scenario.

“It seems we’re in agreement, love.”

Nothing developed, though, by the time Emma finished upstairs and then went down to the (now finished) basement to handle laundry. If anyone wanted to make a move, now would be the perfect time; they had a 10-minute window while Emma folded the clean wash.

Killian was reading to Hope from a giant stack of books (mostly from Belle, of course) when finally, footsteps alighted on the stairway. He tried to maintain his focus on the story while watching to see who came down from the corner of his eye—especially since the steps were far too light to be Henry’s.

He had to rein in his gasp when he saw Ava—Henry’s best friend—hop off the landing into the foyer, grab her shoes, then tiptoe back up, not casting a glance his way but clearly trying to avoid being seen. The sound of rushing water from the bathroom shortly followed, to no surprise; it was past 11 am, and no one had a bladder that strong.

His amusement at the whole situation was quickly turning to wonder: why would Henry feel the need to hide a relationship with his best friend? It wasn’t as though she was a stranger; in fact, she was one of Hope’s favorite people. Of all the ways the lad had managed to get in trouble over the years, this was far from anything awful.

Just as he was considering sending Hope after them—neither teen could say no to her adorable face—Emma came back up from the basement and continued on up. The waiting game would continue, though he had to assume it couldn’t go much longer; they were no doubt starving, but far too intelligent to get back to what they’d been doing last night.

By this point in the day, he could only assume the kids were waiting for Emma’s usual afternoon nap with Hope. (She never intended to fall asleep when she put the babe down; but no one begrudged her the rest. Nursing was hard.) That’s what he’d have done, at least; but he also had never quite been in this situation. Before he turned pirate, he was too focused on the Navy to pay much attention to the fairer sex; after, it only helped his reputation to be caught leaving.

Not much later, Emma came to retrieve a drowsy babe from Killian. “Someone’s definitely ready for a nap,” she assessed, scooping the littlest Swan-Jones into her arms. “I’ll be back down soon.”

“Take your time,” he said as he stood to give her a quick kiss, knowing full well neither of them would be seen again for a couple hours.

Silence settled on the downstairs soon, and Killian set about cleaning up the mess of toys in the living room before turning his attentions to the rest of the downstairs—and keeping out an ear for any other happenings.

He was dusting the frames that hung above the fireplace when two careful sets of steps made their way down the stairs. There they were. But he remained focused on the task at hand, letting them slip out seemingly unnoticed. They were good kids, they weren’t doing anything bad—they were just being ridiculous.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the door quietly swing open and Ava creep out. Once she was out of sight, he turned his head and managed to catch Henry’s eye, who evidently was watching to make sure they weren’t seen.

Henry paused as they stared at each other and gulped, which just made Killian smirk. And give him a wink. Henry gave an awkward nod—both knowing they’d chat later—and followed his (girl?)friend out.

Several hours later, Emma was upstairs giving Hope a bath while Killian prepped dinner for the adults when Henry returned. (Emma had been a little bummed that Henry left without saying goodbye, adding that “he should have just invited Ava over”; Killian held his tongue.)

“Smells good,” Henry commented as he entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. “New recipe?”

“Sort of; still trying to replicate my mother’s,” Killian replied as he stirred the sauce, to go with the pasta that was cooking on the next burner. “Should be done in a few. I’d imagine you’re rather starved after the day you’ve had.”

He glanced at Henry from the corner of his eye; the lad had stopped in the middle of opening his can of soda and was turning a color that matched the tomatoes in the pot.

Henry gulped. “Am I...am I in trouble?” he stammered out.

“No,” Killian answered casually; there was no sense in torturing the boy.

“Does Mom know?” he continued, still visibly nervous (but he at least finished popping the tab on his can).

“Does she need to?” Killian tossed back. “I was always under the impression you and Ava were just friends.”

“We are...I think...I’m not sure.” Henry took a sip of his drink and leaned against the adjacent counter. Killian silently looked over at him, letting him continue. “We’re just kind of fooling around, I guess. Like, we like each other, but with her going to UMaine in the fall and me leaving, we don’t really want to get super involved. Does that make any sense?”

“Aye, it does; that’s tricky.” Killian remembered a similar feeling on the outset of things with Milah—but was pretty sure Henry didn’t want to hear the sordid details of his relationship with his grandmother. (They talked about her, obviously, but Henry mainly wondered what she was like, and Killian was more than happy to oblige.) “Just...try to make sure no one’s heart gets broken. And make sure you’re being safe.”

Henry’s blush had been fading, but then it returned in full force. “We are,” he insisted. “Wait—you heard us?”

“Much to learn, you have, young padawan.”

The Star Wars reference drew a chuckle from Henry, but he quickly tossed back, “Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re a Jedi Master at being quiet either.”

“On the contrary, Master Henry—I don’t let anyone hear anything I don’t wish them to,” he countered with a wink.

“Eww! Seriously? Come on, Killian!”

Killian was laughing quietly at the reaction when Emma joined them. “‘Come on, Killian’ what? That smells good,” she added, echoing her son.

“Oh, nothing—he’s just trying to make me lose my dinner before I even eat it.”

Emma playfully swatted Killian’s shoulder. “Be nice! Especially since Prince Henry has finally graced us with his presence.”

The conversation fell into banter and discussions of plans for the week ahead, as normal as ever. No reference was made to the previous night by either man, and Emma still seemed oblivious; Killian and Henry were fine to leave it that way, and it was never mentioned again.

But Killian did notice that Henry used a bit more discretion with visitors from then on.

And he may have been a bit on the loud side when he and Emma made love that night. It was only fair.

thanks for reading! tagging @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @flipperbrain @sherlockianwhovian @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells

#captain cobra #captain cobra ff #killian jones ff #my ff

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liv-andletdie · 6 years

Note

001 LOZ 002 TP zelink (because I love the puppy love AU) 003 Midna

The Puppy Love AU is like my whole life right now thank you so much

LOZ

001 | Send me a fandom and I will tell you my:

Favorite character: Zelda (every Zelda I can’t pick)

Least Favorite character: Malo. That’s not even a Joke, this kid freaks me out! He’s the scariest thing about Twilight Princess he puts me on edge!

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Zelink (I’m guessing I can’t put down 5 different Zelinks can I? Can I?) Hylink, Shad/Ashei, Pipit/Karane, Telink.

Character I find most attractive: TP Zelda. I need to be honest it’s always TP Zelda.

Character I would marry: SS Zelda is wife material. I want to make her pasta and talk about her day with her

Character I would be best friends with: They’d probably all find me really annoying but I like to think that I’d get along well with Uli from TP because she’s a mum and I’m a maternal person. Also she’s lovely and doesn’t deserve the stress she gets put through in that game.

a random thought: How come Lon Lon Ranch is in BOTW but not TP? TP is meant to come before BOTW, there’s nothing between MM and TP. Time is Twilight’s Grandfather.

An unpopular opinion: The Hero’s shade armor isn’t that great. It’s not actually very good looking at all.

My Canon OTP: Pipit/Karane (It’s Canon! Sometimes Zelink isn’t and it makes me sad)

My Non-canon OTP: Shad/Ashei

Most Badass Character: Toss up between Midna who makes Zant explode and BOTW Zelda who walked through a Guardian infested Castle Town with nothing but her sealing power to protect her as she went to face off against Malice and Hatred incarnate.

Most Epic Villain: WW Ganondorf. He had a motive (albeit not a water tight one) it was the first time I was like “…oh man my heart” over GANONDORF!! though props to TP Ganondorf for dying standing up and putting me on edge!

Pairing I am not a fan of: Ze/Gan

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): MIPHA! at first I was like “I could see Miphlink happening” because I thought that if Mipha had made Link Zora armor then they must have at least discussed marriage at some point and he must have reciprocated those feelings. NOPE! according to the DLC she knew him when he was 4 and that’s making me uncomfortable and then to top it off she hadn’t even talked to him about marriage nor were they together apparently?? IDK but way to make an amazing character kinda creepy Nintendo

Favourite Friendship: Midna and Link, these two get on like a house on fire! They didn’t at first though and I actually really like that. We got to see the progression from “I’m only sticking with you because I need help and you can help me” to “I CARE ABOUT YOU DON’T DIE! DON’T DIE OMG DON’T DIE!”

Character I most identify with: Sheik! Because no one knows what gender I am and I also hate Ganon

Character I wish I could be: Link. I’d get to run around exploring and then I’d get to become friends with Zelda WIN WIN (aside from the monster killing part but oh well)

Midna

003 | Give me a character & I will tell you:

How I feel about this character: I love her. I. LOVE. HER! The game is named after her for a reason! Because she’s GREAT! She actually never lies to you until the end when she says “see you later” and I start crying because NO I WON’T YOU SHATTERED THE MIRROR AND MY HEART!

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Me, Not really anyone… I’d say Link but I see their relationship as more of a sibling kinda relationship so no

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: Zelda. She gives her life and her light so that Midna can live! Also I love to HC that the two met before Midna met Link and were already aware of each other. So like Midna shows up with a wolf like “Check it, we’re gonna leave the castle now. Bye” And Zelda’s like “when you said you were looking for a blue eyed beast I didn’t actually think you’d find one… wait is that? That’s the triforce of courage! Midna!”

My unpopular opinion about this character: Do I have one? I think I agree with everyone about Midna? Maybe I would have liked to have seen more of her true form. Also the reveal that she was the Twilight Princess wasn’t a shock to me

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish Zelda and Midna’s friendship could have been more fleshed out. The one thing TP was missing was more female friendships (we had Ilia and Telma but that was more maternal) It would have been really cool to see Midna and Zelda learn from each other and adopt each others habits maybe?

Favorite friendship for this character: Link. Hands down Link.

My crossover ship: I don’t really have one

Thank you so much for the questions!!! I’m sorry I couldn’t do the TP Zelink one, But I’m happy I got to talk about Midna which is always fun

#ask game #zelink #zelda #link #midna #andelynk #loz #legend of zelda

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garden-of-succulents · 6 years

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Jack can be a girl's name

1.5k of pre-canon trans Jack fic for Paulina, who’s a tireless advocate of trans fic in fandom. Brief misgendering; may paint a rosy view of women’s hockey culture in Canada, but let’s have some wish fulfillment.

2008

The campus in summer was warm and drowsy, golden sunlight and rustling trees; the girls on the team saw it through windows from their air-conditioned gym, or the dim cold of the ice rink. They were working harder than they ever had before, but still, there was a summer-vacation air to it. It was exciting. They’d come from all over Canada to play hockey, to potentially qualify for the national team; some of them had never played against girls as good as they were before. Three of their coaches were Olympians, one of them could only come on a limited schedule because she was also working at the Canadiens’ prospect camp; other members of the national team came in sometimes, during lunch or in the dorms in the evening, to hang out and get to know them. It felt like the cup of possibility was held to their lips; it made them bold.

So they had plans for Coach Gill’s other student, who came out to the rink when they were doing conditioning in the gym across the hall. He passed them in the hall when they were coming out of the locker room, swerved to avoid hitting any of them with his hockey bag and kept his eyes averted, and disappeared into the echoing boys’ locker room with their curious stares behind him. They knew Jack Zimmermann was 17, played in the Q, the son of an NHL legend, and already the top draft prospect for 2009; his parents paid for private lessons for him with a three-time Olympian, on top of the hockey school he was going to this summer.

Hopefully he was going to be easier to beat than he was to shock. They shared one table in the underpopulated cafeteria, and he took his tray to sit alone at the nearest unpopulated one. He ate steadily at lunch through their most graphic descriptions of sex and bodily functions, two days running, looked up and said, “That’s nice,” when they asked loudly what he thought about their coach getting married to another woman.

So, on to phase 2. Mackenzie and Amy made a beeline for Zimmermann at his table, where he was eating pasta and overhearing a well-projected discussion from ten feet away.

“–Not if he’s on T, but otherwise, he can play.”

“So they have to put off transition until they retire?”

“There’s already a guy on my team. I mean, not like out-out, so the announcers get it wrong, but we know.”

“So do the girls have to be on like, estrogen? Isn’t there still a physical advantage?”

“The gendered division is so stupid anyway, they should–”

“But passing up an NHL salary would be a big problem, like, you could play a couple years and set yourself up for life. Our side doesn’t get that kind of advantage.”

“Yeah but think what it would be like. Either you’re closeted doing the most macho sport ever, or you’re hoping that an entire team of NHL assholes accepts you as a trans girl? Imagine making a trans girl use a boys’ dressing room. Full of boys.”

“I’d welcome a trans woman in the sport,” the adult du jour, captain of Team Canada, says.

“So.” Mackenzie set her tray down next to him, and Jack Zimmermann dropped his spoon.

“Hi,” Amy said, putting hers down on the other side. Mackenzie was going for intimidating, but Amy had to smile. “Can we sit?”

Zimmermann nodded silently, looking like he had difficulty swallowing. Mackenzie leaned her elbows on the table and leaned forward at them. “You busy in the afternoon?”

He shook his head, still trying to clear his mouth.

“We do 3-on-3 in the afternoon,” Amy said. “Most of us are gonna be the U-18 national team. We were wondering if–”

Zimmermann finally got his mouthful down, and blurted out, “I wanna play with you.”

They thought that phrase meant, I want to play against you.

It didn’t.

Conditioning, training camp, wasn’t too hard. She could live with those. It was the first day at the Colisée de Rimouski, the first step into a locker room, that made Jack think I can’t do this with the panic of a swimmer about to drown. Made her look at this room full of boys and think Imagine making a trans girl use a boys’ dressing room and start to hyperventilate

Then someone bumped into her from behind, someone in the room noticed her and shouted, “Zimms,” and she went in mechanically, collected fistbumps, sat at her stall. Opened her bag.

The art to making it look inconspicuous was to take the pill out of the bottle with your hands still in the bag, palm the pill, and slip it under your leg, pressed to the bench. Put the bottle back. Do something else. Then grab your water bottle and take it as a separate motion. Kenny was the only person to even notice, and he shrugged. It could have been a painkiller.

Well. In a way it was. By the time she hit the ice, she was calm. She can do this.

2009

She can’t do this.

Jack still hadn’t told her parents what happened with the overdose–they were talking like it was still all a mistake. And before she corrected them she got them to give her her cell phone from her bag of personal effects and asked if she can make a phone call.

She doesn’t know if it’ll work, this number. It’s from cards the captain of the women’s national team handed out to all of them, when they were done playing that day. This is a Sunday, and maybe it’s an office number, nine-to-five hours, maybe it…

“Hello?”

Jack closed her eyes and said, “Hi. Um, this is Jack Zimmermann.”

There was a moment of silence, surprise, where Jack’s stomach turned into ice, but maybe it was because they hadn’t talked in a year, because–“Oh my god, kid, are you okay? I saw–”

“I was wondering,” she said, squeezing the words out against that icy pain, “if you still… if you meant it, about letting trans women play.”

Another horrible silence, and then: “Yes. Absolutely. I don’t know what I–yes. Whatever I can do, I’ll do it.”

Jack gasped out in relief, and noticed she’d been crying for the last–forever–and–

“We can do this,” her captain said. “We’ll figure it out.”

2011

“Look up,” Alicia said, “and stick your tongue out.”

“Thith is dumb,” Jack said, trying not to move as Alicia took a firm grip on her face and sketched the eyeliner in with expert hands.

“The tongue stabilizes your eyelids,” Alicia said as she worked. “That’s why it keeps going on crooked for you.”

Jack worked her jaw when she was free, then obediently held her mouth open for lipstick. Her face felt weird and sticky. It was a little better after she closed her mouth and eyes and Alicia blew on finishing powder, but the makeup still felt… heavy.

“Making a good first impression,” Alicia encouraged, setting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You look great.”

Jack was a little more dubious, about everything from her makeup to her bob to her dress, but breathed out and tried to feel ready anyway.

“You’re… still sure about your name?” Alicia asks, for one last time.

“Jack can be a girl’s name,” she repeats mechanically. Alicia lets it go.

The Samwell Women’s Hockey welcome barbecue is held in the summer sunset of the quad outside Founders, people piling their plates with hamburgers and potato chips; some of them, like Jack, are in summer dresses, others in athletic gear, one other freshman with a mother at her shoulder the way Alicia is at Jack’s in a sports blazer and dress pants.

“Knight,” the other frog mutters, pumping Jack’s hand. “Call me Knight.”

“Oh,” Alicia asks brightly behind them. “Any relation to–?” and Knight tows Jack away to a food table before their mothers can make them stay and talk about geneaology.

Jack turns down the mickey Knight pulls out of an interior blazer pocket and feels a little uneasy, but Knight’s constant stream of chatter (“–wanted me to go to Harvard, but I’m glad as fuck I didn’t apply, so much better here. Where are you housed? Yeah, I’m in Lyons too, third floor”) is a safe refuge to come back to when she’s made forays into greeting the rest of the team. Some of them are polite, others welcoming, some of them she’s already talked to on the phone, but none of them seem as desperately glad to have Jack to talk to. Knight even keeps up a running sotto voce stream of commentary during the coaches’ welcoming speech.

And then the moment it ends she says, “Thank god that’s over,” and strips off her blazer, handing it carefully to Jack. Jack takes it, surprised, and hesitantly trails the teammate who’s ambling somewhat drunkenly away from the lights of the quad. A few other teammates come with them, and then one girl who Knight seemed to know a little bit hurtles past them, whooping and screaming, and tosses her dress off and plunges into the Pond in panties and bra.

Jack keeps picking up clothes, feeling a little rude but not certain that they have good plans for them otherwise, and sees when Knight strips down to boxer-briefs and a binder before diving into the water.

Oh, she thinks, like it’s lighting her up from inside. Oh, you too.

“Get rid of those,” Knight shouts at her, surfacing and splashing outrageously. “Get in here!”

“It’s tradition!” somebody else yells, and other girls around them are jumping in too. Jack looks back at the adults, where one coach is smiling and another covering her eyes with resigned laughter. Her mom is patting Mrs. Knight’s back reassuringly.

She catches Jack’s eye, makes a shooing motion.

“Hey,” Knight says five minutes later, when Jack has dunked three people and been dunked twice. “Your mascara is running.”

“Thank God,” Jack says, scrubbing at her eyes. “I hate that stuff.” She looks up. “How is it?”

Knight sputters helplessly with laughter, and Jack has to laugh too. “Like you’ve got a double shiner,” Knight gasps, holding his stomach. “C'mere, let’s go dry off and I’ll help you get it off for real.”

#stuff i wrote #omgcp

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astrofireworks · 7 years

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the one in which sanha accidentally changes their entire house (and knk's too)

au masterlist

for @goddammitdanyul - buddy ur post it’s canon now~~~

It’s the hottest day in the whole history of ever, MJ swears. It’s the kind of sluggy day where all the energy in the world has been absorbed into the weather and nobody has any motivation to move or do anything at all, much less MJ. He’s been slumped over in the armchair by the window for the past hour, trying to seek coolness from the three Cooling crystals he stole from Bin earlier in the day.

Perhaps he should steal another one, a small voice at the back of his head says. It sounds a little like Sanha, so MJ chooses to ignore it. Also because going upstairs to Bin’s charms room requires Getting Up, though, something MJ’s unprepared to do.

And anyway he’s pretty sure if he moves from his spot in the armchair an MJ-copy made purely out of sweat would peel away from his body and remain in the exact same position he’s in now, twirling its salty, sticky finger around (increasingly ineffective) crystals.

Perhaps he could ask Sanha to do it… MJ tilts his head a single degree to the left and is greeted with the sight of Sanha, Soggy Noodle Extraordinaire, sprawled out nearly unconscious on the floor, kind of like that one soggy noodle that falls out of the colander by accident when you’re trying to drain a pot of pasta.

Jinjin? He raises his head, mildly more alert. Maybe he could wheedle Jinjin into asking Bin for him.

After a few seconds of scanning their living room, MJ flops his head back down on his arms. Damn Jinjin and his hardworking tendencies – MJ’s just remembered Jinjin’s hard at work in their garden outside, Cooling crystals hovering around his face and tucked into his gardening apron pocket.

How does he do it? MJ wonders, staring blankly at the road in front of their house. The heatwaves coming off the baked asphalt are enough to warp the entire road, making it seem like one of those visions that one guy from the Seventeen coven could cast. He can feel them from where he’s seated at the windowsill, indoors with the air-conditioning working overtime – how can Jinjin even function outside when he’s sweating from every pore?

“Hyung, I’m bored,” a whine comes from the noodle on the floor. MJ shifts from where he’s been staring at the road and pushes all weird thoughts out of his mind – if we sweat from our eyes would it be considered tears or sweat – in order to reply to Sanha.

He squints at the noodle, “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Rocky with his potion orders?”

“He’s taking a nap. Says it’s too hot outside and it’ll throw off the temperature of his potion or something like that, I wasn’t listening much after he told me to go.” Sanha rolls onto his side, slowly rolling a bottle of water on its side and flicking his finger at it.

“Also, Bin and Eunwoo are working on more Cooling charms – it’s all they’ve been doing the past two days and I didn’t want to third-wheel,” Sanha adds on, almost as an afterthought to the two still-silent, not-quite-yet-boyfriends upstairs.

There’s a moment of silence as they both watch the water change colour with each flick and then –

“Let’s play a game, hyung!”

MJ groans internally – he’s getting too old for this.

Nonsense, a voice in his head (sounding suspiciously like Jinjin), you told me yesterday you still felt fifteen.

I am fifteen, MJ argues with mind-Jinjin. One of Rocky’s hyungs told me that as long as you act younger you’ll look younger.

Mind-Jinjin snorts and offers, yeah, but then Jimin told him he acted too young right after.

MJ’s about to reply mind-Jinjin but he feels the bottle Sanha was toying with hit his shin and an annoyed Sanha go, “Oi, hyung, are you even listening to me?”

Oops, caught.

“What did you say?”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

MJ stares blankly at Sanha for a while – what goes on in that noodle brain?? – before slowly responding with a hesitant, “Purple?”

Sanha hums in agreement, and waves his hand in the air. Sunshine yellow magic spills out from his finger tips and wafts in thick clouds around the room, strangely reminiscent of the time Sanha tried to cook but somehow managed to burn the entire pot of rice to a crisp and set off the fire alarm, before seeping into the door cracks and into the window gaps and out of the house.

“Wait, what did you just do?”

Sanha beams slightly in MJ’s general direction (but mostly at the ceiling), “You’ll see.”

MJ waits with bated breath for three dangerously silent seconds – if there was anything wrong, Jinjin would run in screaming to confront them.

One.

Two.

Thr-

“Hyung, what colours do you think your dads like?”

MJ heaves a sigh of relief when nobody bursts through the front door, then turns to Sanha – “Black, probably. They always wear black and white.”

“Yeah, but that’s because blood stains don’t show on black clothes.”

“I’ve never seen them use other colours though,” MJ considers. The only splash of colour in the entire KNK coven house was MJ’s room, MJ’s kitchen, and MJ himself.

“Huh,” Sanha responds.

Again egg yellow clouds tumble from Sanha’s hands, and MJ watches (with no small amount of envy) as they curl up from where Sanha’s lounged on the floor, around the armchair, around the television, around the lamps – then out, out and away.

“Sanha, what was that for?”

“What was what for?”

MJ resists the urge to toss Sanha’s bottle right back at his face. Just barely. “Your magic, you idiot-“

“I explained it just now! You just weren’t listeni-“

“Wait, wait, Sanha, shush, there’s someone coming-“ MJ flaps his hands in Sanha’s general direction, ignoring the younger’s protest that he wasn’t even making that much noise, thank you very much, the real noisy one is the one sitting right there in the armcha-

And sure enough, a red convertible rolls up right in front of the Astro house and stops by their curb. Two small, dainty figures step out of the car, and almost as if the temperature outside dropped 20 degrees, MJ’s view of the baked pavement stops being warped by heatwaves. Actually, now that MJ’s squinting, there seems to be small gusts of snow trailing in their wake, melting and almost sizzling in the hot sun instantly.

The two figures in everyday clothes, approaching their house? They’re definitely magic.

“Hyung, what’s up?”

MJ’s frozen slightly (pardon the pun), bright eyes peeking above clenched hands on the window sill. He doesn’t reply Sanha.

Magic users. Coming towards the Astro house.

Vaguely, he feels the air change as Sanha gets up from the floor to catch a glimpse through the window as well.

“Stay down,” MJ hisses at Sanha. “We’ve never seen them before; I don’t know if they can be trusted.” He doesn’t know if he should send Sanha up to Bin or down to Rocky first but right as he starts voicing it, he sees a flash of green apron and straw hat burst from his garden and straight at the two figures –

“Jinjin!” MJ leaps up from the armchair, sweat-copy MJ be damned. Jinjin stands no ground against magic users - he’s only a human, albeit one equipped with sharp garden pruning shears, and MJ sure as hell isn’t losing him to two witches with mysterious intentions.

Wait.

He pauses, hand on the doorknob.

That’s definitely Jinjin’s laugh. MJ has all of Jinjin’s laughs carefully categorised in his mind, and this is one of them. The delighted giggle, not the slightly nervous laugh whenever Bin says some startling thing, not the amused snort whenever Sanha tries to pull one over on Jinjin, not the soft chuckle he reserves for when MJ and Jinjin watch dramas together. The oh-my-god-I-haven’t-seen-you-in-two-months-how-are-you delighted giggle.

Almost as if on cue, Bin flies down the stairs and past Sanha, running to the door at almost full speed, Eunwoo following close behind and yelling for Rocky to “get your ass upstairs, you lazy piece of rock, your favourite witch in the world is here”.

MJ steps out of the way right before Bin crashes into the door with a soft thud, still giggly and excited. He shares a confused look with Sanha before Bin swings open the door and they’re both stunned in place by the sudden hea-

Heat? It suddenly feels like 20 degrees, not the baking 40 degrees it was before. He sees the bewilderment spread across Sanha’s face, no doubt an exact reflection of his own.

Who are these witches?

Almost in answer, Rocky comes skidding to a stop right behind Sanha, doubling over and breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead.

“How do I look,” he demands, pushing his sleep-mussed hair away from his forehead and out of his eyes. Meeting only with perplexed looks from MJ and a weak, “Bloated?” from Sanha, he tsks and straightens his back before marching out of the house and is met with loud cheers from the five already outside.

Over the next couple minutes of hasty introductions and laughing and Rocky blushing way too much, MJ and Sanha come to learn that Doyeon is a weather witch and that she can create micro-climates; Yoojung is an elemental witch and can create things out of thin air, with the extra power of being able to control how many times Rocky blushes per minute. (Although MJ isn’t entirely sure if that last one was a witch power or a female power in general.)

It’s about five minutes’ worth of the eight of them standing in Doyeon’s nice, cold bubble, laughing and generally being happy before Yoojung asks innocently, “So when did you guys decide to repaint the house?”

Everyone turns away from where they’ve been facing the two girls to look up at their coven house, previously a weathered white and now a very violent shade of vivid plum with specks of space violet. Seungjun sticks his head out of his now very black house, vaguely confused, mildly startled and blinking in the bright light.

Everyone freezes.

Sanha runs for his life.

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thesoggychef-blog · 6 years

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Easy Fall Side Dishes | MyRecipes

New Post has been published on https://simpleeasycooking.com/easy-fall-side-dishes-myrecipes/

Easy Fall Side Dishes | MyRecipes

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1 of 44 Photo: Iain Bagwell; Styling: Kay Clarke

Cheesy Sorghum and Shaved Squash Pilaf

Cheesy Sorghum and Shaved Squash Pilaf Recipe

Long, slender ribbons of butternut squash make for a beautiful and unusual presentation; just be gentle when stirring so you don’t break all those gorgeous pieces. Try to grab a squash with a long neck–that straight surface works best for ribboning. If you can’t find sorghum, you can use farro.

2 of 44 Photographer: Greg Dupree; Prop Styling: Kay E. Clarke; Food Styling: Torie Cox

Tangy Potato-Green Bean Salad

Tangy Potato-Green Bean Salad Recipe Hold the mayo. Replace the usual creamy potato salad dressing with this lively lemon-dill vinaigrette. f you are taking this to a party, chill the cooked potatoes in the dressing for 30 minutes, and then assemble the salad (with the green beans, radishes, chives, and remaining dressing) on a platter just before serving. Haricots verts are slender green beans. If you can’t find them, feel free to use sugar snap peas or snow peas. Cook them for one minute, along with the potatoes. You can make the lively lemon-dill vinaigrette ahead of time and store it in a Mason jar in the refrigerator. Shake it well before using. Serve this at your next outdoor barbecue or picnic and you won’t even miss the traditional potato salad covered in the mayonnaise dressing. Leftover salad is great served with cold chicken or a ham sandwich.

3 of 44 Photographer: Hector Manuel Sanchez; Prop Styling: Lauren Smith Ford; Food Styling: Tina Bell Stamos

Bitter Greens Salad with Lemon and Pecorino

Bitter Greens Salad with Lemon and Pecorino Recipe Some mixed green salads seem like an afterthought. This one definitely does not. Although it may look unassuming, our Bitter Greens Salad with Lemon and Pecorino is bright, tangy, and assertive and just the right thing to serve alongside a hearty main dish like grilled steak, roasted pork, or a rich, cheesy pasta.

4 of 44 Photo: Iain Bagwell; Styling: Kay Clarke

Shaved Apple and Fennel Salad with Crunchy Spelt

Shaved Apple and Fennel Salad with Crunchy Spelt Recipe

Simply put, apples and fennel are right together–the flavors are so complementary. I love the way the paper-thin slices intertwine and then get interrupted by bright hits of parsley. Canola oil may seem like an odd choice, but I wanted to keep the flavors clean and straightforward; you can always use olive oil if you’d like the vinaigrette to assert itself.

5 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Causey; Styling: Heather Chadduck Hillegas

Orange-Sage Rolls

Bake these light and tender whole-grain rolls ahead and freeze up to 1 month, or make the dough ahead and bake on the day: Punch down the risen dough to form a ball, wrap with plastic wrap, and chill 8 hours or overnight. Return to a bowl and let rise at room temperature for 1 1/2 hours before shaping.

6 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Causey; Styling: Lindsey Lower

Charred Okra with Tomatoes

Charred Okra with Tomatoes Recipe

A serrated peeler works like magic to peel plum tomatoes, sparing you the hassle of blanching and shocking in ice water to get the skins off.

7 of 44 Photo: Alison Miksch; Prop Styling: Kay E. Clarke; Food Styling: Torie Cox

Okra and Chickpeas in Fresh Tomato Sauce

Okra, an important member of the canon of Southern foods, can be fried, stewed, sautéed, and roasted. One of the more traditional ways to cook okra is to partner it with onions and fresh tomatoes. This easy and delicious recipe for Okra and Chickpeas in Fresh Tomato Sauce, developed by chef and cookbook author Virginia Willis, is ready for the table in just thirty minutes. Light enough for a main dish on a summer evening, you can also serve it with fish or grilled chicken. For the best results, choose fresh okra pods no longer than 4 inches in length.

8 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Davick; Styling: Buffy Hargrett

Grilled Sweet Potato-Poblano Salad

9 of 44

Mediterranean Green Beans

10 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Causey; Food Styling: Catherine Crowell Steele; Prop Styling: Thom Driver

Cheesy Cauliflower Latkes

Cheesy Cauliflower Latkes Recipe

No Hanukkah celebration is complete without latkes. Go classic potato for the first night, and then try borscht-inspired beet, cheesy cauliflower and Gruyère, and earthy-sweet carrot and curry variations on the other nights. The trick to crispy cakes with less oil is to start with a very dry grated potato mixture: Drain well, and then squeeze in a clean kitchen towel. The frying oil may get too hot during successive batches; remove pan from heat for a minute or two, and lower the temperature as needed.

11 of 44 Photographer: Gina DeSimone; Prop stylist: Kashara Johnson; Food Stylist: Briana Riddock

Poached Cherry and Goat Cheese Crostini

Poached Cherry and Goat Cheese Crostini Recipe

These elegant toasts, featuring sweet poached cherries and tangy goat cheese, are the perfect pre-meal nibble for a summer dinner party. While the recipe sounds fancy, it’s super easy to prepare. You’re simply simmering fresh cherries in a poaching liquid made by mixing orange liqueur, water, and a few other ingredients.This enhances the stone fruit with sweet, zesty flavor and creates a stunning crimson-hued sauce, perfect for spooning over rich and tangy goat cheese. A toss with fresh herbs and a light sprinkle of black pepper brings mellow earthiness for full harmony in every bite.

12 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Causey; Styling: Missie Neville Crawford

Roasted Butternut Squash with Parmesan-Garlic Breadcrumbs

13 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Causey

Classic Herb Stuffing

Classic Herb Stuffing Recipe

A straightforward holiday stuffing calls for great bread; we love the nutty, toasty dimension of a bakery whole-grain loaf. Sauté the onion, celery, and carrot mixture until tender but not browned. The added moisture from the veg will help soften the bread and make for a more cohesive stuffing.

14 of 44 Photo: Hector Sanchez; Styling: Heather Chadduck Hillegas

Braised Cabbage with Apple and Bacon

15 of 44

Green Beans with Chanterelles and Cipollini

16 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Causey; Styling: Missie Neville Crawford

Roasted Butternut Squash with Coconut and Chile

17 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Causey; Styling: Missie Neville Crawford

Roasted Butternut Squash with Pomegranate and Tahini

18 of 44 Photo: Mary Britton Senseney/Wonderful Machine; Styling: Mary Clayton Carl

Butter-Pecan Mashed Sweet Potatoes

Butter-Pecan Mashed Sweet Potatoes Recipe As a shortcut to sweet potato casserole, simply bake sweet potatoes in the microwave, mash them, and top with chopped pecans. This 5-ingredient recipe also includes three additional flavor variations using maple syrup, chipotle chili, or parmesan cheese and sage.

19 of 44 Photo: William Dickey; Styling: Buffy Hargett

Bacon-Brown Sugar Brussels Sprouts

20 of 44 Photo: Annabelle Breakey; Styling: Randy Mon

Roasted Parsnips

Roasted Parsnips Recipe Though mildly sweet like their carrot cousins, parsnips are starchy, like potatoes. Subbing them for spuds, as in this recipe, is a good way to expand your winter repertoire.

21 of 44 Photo: Jan Smith

Pecan White and Brown Rice Pilaf

Pecan White and Brown Rice Pilaf Recipe Dress up a simple rice pilaf with dried cranberries and toasted pecans for full autumn flavor. Mixing brown rice with white rice makes this dish great for transitioning to whole grains.

22 of 44 Photo: Thomas J. Story; Styling: Dan Becker

Raw Spiced Applesauce

Raw Spiced Applesauce Recipe In this easy homemade applesauce recipe, you don’t have to peel the apples, or even cook them. The whole thing is made in a food processor.

23 of 44 Photo: John Autry; Styling: Leigh Ann Ross

Roasted Root Vegetables

Roasted Root Vegetables Recipe Roasting root vegetables (such as parsnips, carrots, and potatoes) in olive oil, salt and pepper creates a rich, caramelized flavor and transforms these simple veggies into a memorable side dish for pork or beef.

24 of 44 Jennifer Davick

Sweet Potato Pockets

Sweet Potato Pockets Recipe Tired of sweet potato casserole and looking for a fresh way to serve this fall favorite? Simply stuff won ton wrappers with canned mashed sweet potatoes, boil, and sauté in oil until golden brown.

25 of 44 Becky Luigart-Stayner; Jan Gautro

Cider-Glazed Carrots

Cider-Glazed Carrots Recipe Infuse julienne-cut carrots with the flavor of apple cider by glazing with a sauce made from brown sugar, butter, cider vinegar, and seasonings. This side is easy enough to serve on busy weeknights, yet pretty enough to include on holiday dinner menus.

26 of 44 Photo: Leigh Beisch; Styling: Dan Becker

Butternut Squash with Green Chile and Mustard Seeds

27 of 44 Photography: Becky Luigart-Stayner; Styling: Melanie J. Clarke

Pumpkin-Sage Polenta

Pumpkin-Sage Polenta Recipe Pair this richly flavored polenta with ham steaks or pork tenderloin for a satisfying supper. Aromatic sage perfectly complements the light pumpkin flavor.

28 of 44 Photo: Romulo Yanes; Styling: Claire Spollen

Parsnip Ribbons with Miso Vinaigrette

29 of 44 Photo: Hector Sanchez; Styling: Heather Chadduck Hillegas

Cane Syrup-Glazed Acorn Squash

30 of 44 Photo: Hector Sanchez; Styling: Buffy Hargett Miller

Pimiento Cheese Creamed Spinach

Pimiento Cheese Creamed Spinach Recipe

“Creamy spinach casserole has always been a favorite in my family, so it’s a sure-fire hit for any gathering. The pimiento cheese flavors give it a uniquely Southern twist.” –Perre Coleman Magness, author of Pimento Cheese: The Cookbook

31 of 44 William Dickey; Lisa Powell Bailey

Sautéed Green Beans and Pears

Sautéed Green Beans and Pears Recipe This side takes just 10 minutes to prepare and 5 minutes to cook. Simply sauté sliced pears with butter, brown sugar, and balsamic vinegar and combine with green beans steamed in the microwave.

32 of 44 Photo: Becky Luigart-Stayner; Styling: Lydia Pursell

Roasted Carrots and Fennel

33 of 44 Photo: Alison Miksch; Styling: Buffy Hargett Miller

Browned-Butter Farro

Browned-Butter Farro Recipe

Farro is an ancient form of wheat that has seen a resurgence in recent years. Here we toast cooked farro in a bit of browned butter for a surprisingly delicious side.

34 of 44 Photo: Hector Sanchez; Styling: Heather Chadduck Hillegas

Orange-Ginger-Chile-Glazed Carrots

Orange-Ginger-Chile-Glazed Carrots Recipe

Roasting whole carrots in a hot oven and then giving them a final toss in a sweet glaze yields an unforgettable side dish. Look for multicolored carrots for a stunning presentation. If you can’t find them at the supermarket, try a local farmers’ market. We use a little chile pepper to add just a whiff of heat. Feel free to increase the pepper or omit it, if you prefer. Also, you can sub chopped fresh thyme or mild flat-leaf parsley for the rosemary.

35 of 44 Photo: Jennifer Causey; Styling: Missie Neville Crawford

36 of 44 Photo: Randy Mayor; Styling: Lindsey Lower

Cauliflower with Anchovy Breadcrumbs

37 of 44 Photo: Randy Mayor; Styling: Lindsey Lower

Cauliflower with Coconut Curry Sauce

38 of 44 Photo: Romulo Yanes; Styling: Claire Spollen

Glazed Parsnips

Glazed Parsnips Recipe This side dish comes together in minutes, making it an ideal match for a more labor-intensive entrée.

39 of 44 Photo: Becky Luigart-Stayner; Styling: Lydia Pursell

Wild Rice Salad with Dried Cherries and Parsley

40 of 44 Photo: Chris Court; Styling: Carla Gonzalez-Hart

Cardamom-Glazed Carrots

Cardamom-Glazed Carrots Recipe

Turn up the volume on classic glazed carrots with exotic cardamom and fragrant fresh ginger. If you can find multicolored carrots, use them for a lovely presentation. The parchment paper lid slows moisture loss just enough to form a beautiful glaze.

41 of 44 Photo: Chris Court; Styling: Carla Gonzalez-Hart

Farro Stuffing with Butternut Squash, Red Onion, and Almonds

Farro Stuffing with Butternut Squash, Red Onion, and Almonds Recipe

Earthy flavors and starchy comfort come from whole-grain farro, not bread, in this nontraditional stuffing. You can assemble up to 2 days ahead. Take out of the fridge, let stand at room temperature 45 minutes, then bake at 350° for 25 minutes or until thoroughly heated.

42 of 44 Photo: Iain Bagwell; Styling: Kay Clarke

Cheesy Sorghum and Shaved Squash Pilaf

Cheesy Sorghum and Shaved Squash Pilaf Recipe

43 of 44 Photo: Chris Court; Styling: Carla Gonzalez-Hart

Roasted Fennel with Rosemary Breadcrumbs

Roasted Fennel with Rosemary Breadcrumbs Recipe

Instead of roasted root vegetables or Brussels sprouts, try roasted fennel. Fennel has licorice notes that mellow in the oven, becoming slightly sweet. A splash of cider vinegar at the end brightens the dish.

44 of 44 Photo: Whitney Ott, Randy Mayor; Styling: Claire Spollen

Sautéed Chard Agrodolce

Sautéed Chard Agrodolce Recipe

Agrodolce is Italian for sour-sweet flavors typically created with vinegar and sugar. It’s a perfect counterpoint to sautéed greens in this quick and simple side dish.

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northshorehealthandfitness · 7 years

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Thai Sweet Chilli Chicken Noodle Bowls

I hope you’ve been practicing your Lady and the Tramp noodle slurping skills.

I’m not talking veggie noodles this time either – even though you guys know I love me some zoodles. I’m talking saucy, sweet chilli-coated, don’t-let-me-hit-the-bottom-of-the-bowl soba noodles that are kinda like takeout but a bazillion times better. Catch my drift?

In my meal delivery side gig I’ve done a LOT of noodle experimentation recently. Zucchini Noodle Pad Thai is one of my favourite dishes to make for myself, but when you multiply 1 bowl of zoodles by 12 people, the result is very confused looks on the faces of grocery store cashiers. Alas, I always promise that the dishes I’m making are gluten-free (because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to eat them), so I’ve been trying all sorts of rice noodles, lentil pasta, etc. True soba noodles are made from buckwheat which is a lovely gluten-free grain, but they’re often made with a mixture of buckwheat and wheat (which definitely isn’t gluten-free.) Thankfully there are a few brands that sell 100% buckwheat soba noodles including Eden Foods which is the kind I bought.

In true Angela style, my noodle bowls – this Thai Sweet Chilli Chicken Noodle Bowl in particular – is rammed with just as many veggies as noodles and is a perfect option for cleaning out the fridge at the end of the week. I used chicken thighs from MeatMe.ca, the company I mentioned here that sources meats locally and ensures the farmers they partner with raise their animals ethically and sustainably. If you’d told me years ago that I’d notice a difference between properly sourced chicken and conventionally-raised, I probably wouldn’t have believed it. The difference is real though, and this has been one of the highest-rated lunches amongst the crowd I’ve been serving to.

Oh, and don’t worry if you don’t have chicken thighs – you could totally save time by using meat already shredded from a whole chicken if you’d like!

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Thai Sweet Chilli Chicken Noodle Bowls

Skip the takeout and toss together these healthy Thai Sweet Chilli Chicken Noodle Bowls instead. It’s a perfect recipe for using up any leftover veggies in your crisper at the end of the week.

Author: Angela @ Eat Spin Run Repeat

Prep Time: 15 mins

Cook Time: 30 mins

Total Time: 40 mins

Yield: 4 servings

Category: dinner

Method: bake

Cuisine: Thai

Ingredients

For the chicken:

1 tbsp melted coconut oil

4 bone-in, skinless chicken thighs (see note)

3 tbsp Thai sweet chili sauce

Ginger lime dressing (you will have some leftover):

¼ cup extra virgin olive oil

2 tbsp lime juice

1 tbsp rice vinegar

1 tbsp coconut aminos (for a soy-free version), low sodium tamari (or soy sauce, if you are not allergic to gluten)

2 tsp grated ginger

1 tsp sriracha sauce

1 clove minced or grated garlic

For the rest:

340g 100% buckwheat soba noodles

2 cups shredded napa cabbage

1 cup shredded carrots

1 cup thinly sliced cucumber

1/2 red bell pepper, thinly sliced or diced

2 cups diagonally sliced snap peas

cilantro, green onions and chopped peanuts (all optional, to garnish)

Instructions

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Line a baking dish or pan with parchment paper and lay the chicken thighs on top. Brush them with Thai sweet chilli sauce, then bake for 25-30 mins, or until a thermometer inserted in the thickest part of the chicken reads 165F.

While the chicken cooks, prepare all vegetables as directed above. Boil the soba noodles in water according to package directions, about 6-8 minutes. Drain and rinse under cold water.

Let the noodles cool slightly before tossing them with the vegetables. Whisk together the dressing, pour it over top and toss to coat. (You may want to just use a little bit, then add more on each individual serving later.)

Pull the chicken off the bones and shred it once cool enough to touch. Add it to the larger mixture and toss again, or serve on top of each portion of veggies and noodles.

Serve garnished with cilantro, green onions and chopped peanuts.

Notes

I used MeatMe.ca chicken thighs, but you don’t necessarily have to use thighs for this recipe. If you want to shorten cooking time, this recipe works great with a pre-roasted rotisserie chicken from the grocery store.

Better than takeout: Thai Sweet Chilli Chicken Noodle Bowls Click To Tweet

So tell me… what are you cooking these days? What are some of the easy healthy meals you’re loving this fall?

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northshorehealthandfitness · 7 years

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Tuscan Bean and Quinoa Salad

Blood, sweat and tears went into my dinner on Monday night. For real.

Picture this: It’s the last day of the Thanksgiving long weekend. I get home from a coffee date with a friend, toss my keys on the counter, take of my shoes, change into my PJs (#priorities), and open the fridge to figure out dinner. I’d already thrown together a whole bunch of leftover veggies as part of my weekly meal prep earlier in the day, but noticed a bag of radishes sitting in the crisper.

I grab them, my mandolin, and get to work with slicing them. They were pretty small, so I didn’t bother trying to pierce them with the tool you’re supposed to use to grip the veggies as you slice. Being the type that hates food waste, of course I’m still trying to slice them down to as close to the root as possible.

As I sliced away, my mind starts to become more engaged with the audiobook playing from my computer. And then it happened. My middle finger had a nasty run-in with the mandolin blade.

Instinctively, I freeze. All at once, I clench my right fingers with my left hand, squeeze them, tilt my head up to the ceiling, squeeze my eyes shut tight and bite my lip to stop a steady stream of 4-letter expletives from coming out.

I maintain this position for about a minute before mustering up the courage to take a peek. Slowly, I look back down to my hands and start to release the grip around my right fingers. I can’t really feel the damage at this point so I really have no idea what I’m about to see. The optimist in me thinks, “well I’ve been standing here for about a minute and don’t see blood yet – that’s gotta be a good thing, right?

I open my hand up a little bit more and see something red in my still mostly curled up right fist. “I CUT IT RIGHT OFF! IT’S FINGER MEAT!! NO!!!!”

Wait. No it’s not. It’s the end of the radish. Thank freaking goodness.

But then I see my middle finger, and in swoops my left hand to cover it up again, like a parent who quickly yanks their child’s head towards them to cover their eyes during the love making scenes in a movie. I run to the sink, turn on the cold water and run my finger underneath, again, tilting my head up to the ceiling and squeezing my eyes as tight shut as I can. (Am I the only one who does this? Why do we do this?)

This goes on for about 10 minutes before I open up the drawer under the sink and single-handedly open up as many Band-Aids as I can. Surely it would stop gushing soon, right? I couldn’t help but envision needing to be rushed to the hospital, still clenching my fingers an hour later with someone yelling “WE’VE GOT A BLEEDER!“, just like in There’s Something About Mary. Thankfully, the context of my situation would be far less embarrassing.

After another 10 minutes of alternating between rinsing and squishing with paper towels, I apply a dry makeup remover pad as a base and layers of Band Aids over top until my middle finger resembles a mummy.

With only a couple of whole radishes left sitting on the counter, I promptly decide I’ve done more than enough slicing, put them back in the fridge, toss the mandolin in the sink, and thank the heavens that the rest of my dinner had already been prepared.

And now here I am, writing this post. I’ve been attentively watching for the red spelling error underline because my middle finger is still in its mummified state which makes typing kinda tricky. But injury aside, I really wanted to share today’s Tuscan Bean and Quinoa Salad recipe with you so in my mind, quitting was not an option! And don’t you worry – there are no radishes or mandolins required.

A few recipe notes + helpful tips

Bean best practices

You can use whatever beans you like, and if digestion is an issue that normally makes you shy away from beans, try soaking them first. It might sound like more effort, but it makes a difference. Soaking helps remove the oligosaccharide substance on the surface (which can cause gas and bloating), making the cooked beans far easier to digest. As an added bonus, soaking can also reduce cooking time. Check out more about why I prefer to soaking my beans and grains in this post.

Make your quinoa taste better

If you’re sick of straight-up quinoa, try boiling it in low sodium vegetable broth instead of water. Other ways to add flavour include adding a bay leaf to the water as the quinoa cooks, or quickly stir frying a clove of garlic and some chopped shallots in the same saucepan before adding the quinoa and liquid of choice.

Fresh herbs are a must!

Seriously, they liven up this salad (and everywhere else you use them), and the flavours can help reduce the need for dressing and additional seasoning. I’m of the mind that you can never have too many and toss them on top of just about every meal I eat, but if you shy away from buying them because you think the leftovers will go to waste, simply blitz your leftovers in a food processor with a bit of olive oil and freeze them in ice trays. Voila – instant flavour cubes for pastas, soups, stews, marinades – the possibilities are endless.

Tuscan Bean and Quinoa Salad

Make it once, enjoy it all week long! This Tuscan Bean and Quinoa Salad makes a perfect plant-based lunch or dinner that’ll leave you feeling satisfied and energized.

Author: Angela @ Eat Spin Run Repeat

Prep Time: 15 mins (+ chill time)

Cook Time: 10 mins

Total Time: 25 mins

Yield: 3 servings

Category: salad

Method: boil

Cuisine: Mediterranean

Ingredients

2/3 cup uncooked quinoa (this will make about 2 cups cooked)

2 cups diced cucumber

1 ½ cups halved cherry tomatoes

1 cup shredded spinach or baby greens

2 cups cooked beans of choice (Great Northern beans, white navy beans, kidney beans and chickpeas are all great)

1 large roasted red bell pepper, cut into strips

1/4 cup sundried tomatoes soaked in hot water for 10 mins to rehydrate

1/4 cup very thinly sliced red onion

2 tbsp finely minced fresh parsley

1 tbsp finely minced fresh basil

1 tsp dried Mediterranean seasoning or blend of Italian herbs

For the dressing (you may have some leftover):

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

3 tbsp dark balsamic vinegar

1 tsp Dijon mustard

sea salt and black pepper, to taste

Instructions

Boil the quinoa in water according to package directions, about 10 minutes. While it cooks, prepare all remaining ingredients as directed above and toss them together in a large bowl.

When the quinoa is finished cooking, drain off any excess boiling liquid and let it cool in the fridge for 5-10 minutes. (This will prevent the heat from wilting the greens.)

Whisk together the dressing. Pour it over the salad and toss well to coat.

Once the quinoa has cooled, stir it into the rest of the ingredients. Adjust to taste with sea salt and black pepper, plus a little more Mediterranean seasoning if you like. Note that the flavour will intensify after the salad has been left to sit for a few hours.

Serve with lemon wedges for squeezing over top, if desired.

Pack this for lunch: Tuscan Bean and Quinoa Salad #recipe Click To Tweet

So tell me.. Has anyone else out there been the unfortunate recipient of a kitchen injury lately? What happened?

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