#someone take them because I don’t want this soiled cucumber

[azure-wolf-227]

Plant Mage Katarina AU

Katarina's magic is actually very powerful but most of it is aligned towards plants (Botanokinesis or Phytokinesis). Very little is related to literal earth - explaining her Earth Bump - though she can make any soil optimal for plant growth. She can also make any plants, fruits, and vegetables grow bigger and faster, as well as enhance their attributes like taste, nutrituness and in the case of magical plants, enhance their natural properties.

Plant Magic is a rare variant of Earth Magic that very few people possess. It’s actually rarer that Light Magic as Katarina is the only person who presently has it - the last wielder of this magic lived about a century ago - and there are other Light Mages besides Maria.

Katarina first manifests this magic when she's learning to farm, around the time that she met Mary. At first, the girls notice that the plants seem to grow faster/thrive and wonder about it but, since it's not too extreme, they shrug it off as luck. That is, until Katarina mentally wishes that the eggplants or cucumbers or something were bigger; her magic activates and they instantly grow larger. The giant vegetables surprise everyone and after Katarina explains what happened, her parents bring some MInistry officials that confirm that Katarina is a Plant Mage.

Katarina's parents are shocked at first, then very proud when they learn that Katarina possesses a rare form of magic. Though Milli is a bit miffed that they had to tell the Ministry officials about Katarina's field. Then they learn just how valuable Katarina's magic is - the last mage with this power saved the kingdom from a famine. If she weren't engaged to Gerald, many nobles would be offering marriage proposals for the chance to have that magic in their families. The Ministry is also very interested in having Katarina join them. The only reason they don’t push is because the Duke and Duchess won’t allow their daughter to be pressured to join.

Due to the value of Katarina's plant magic and to prevent people from trying to exploit her, the engagement with Prince Gerald must be kept. Also, if the Claes try to annul it, other nobles could accuse them of wanting to keep the power to themselves. Katarina believes that this is a Doom Flag because Gerald can't just break the engagement anymore, even if they both agree. So (in her logic) if he falls for Maria he will have to get rid of Katarina for sure.

Since the engagement cannot be broken, Millidiana starts to put more pressure on Katarina to improve her manners, giving her longer and more frequent etiquette lessons that cut on her hobbies and time with her friends. Katarina initially puts up with it but, eventually, she can’t take the pressure anymore and stands up to her mother about it.

Katarina also calls her mother out on her favoritism towards Keith as well as her criticism towards Katarina’s hobbies and behavior for not being “ladylike”. Millidiana argues that she must think about the Claes’ family reputation and what the other nobles will think of her. Katarina argues back that her friends don’t mind her quirks and that she doesn’t care about what others nobles think because they don’t know the real her, so their insults don’t hurt her. What does hurt is that her own mother doesn’t have any faith in her. (I know that it seems OOC for Katarina to get angry and call-out someone like that, but she was under a lot of pressure that finally boiled over and everyone has limits). Katarina then goes back to her room, leaving a shocked and guilty Millidiana to think about her actions.

Afterwards, Millidiana and Katarina have a talk where Millidiana explains that she was so strict because she didn’t want Katarina to suffer like she did and was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibilities of being a prince’s consort. Katarina understands her mother’s reasons and promises to do her best to take her manners a bit more seriously while Milli promises to be a bit more open-minded about Katarina’s eccentricities.

Although she now has a better relationship with her mother, Katarina is still worried about the Doom Flags related to her engagement to Gerald. Her parents reassure her that, if she doesn’t want to marry Prince Gerald, they’ll ask for the engagement to be broken no matter what the other nobles may think, but Katarina doesn’t want her family to be hurt for her sake.

Sometime before her 15th birthday and social debut, Katarina talks to Gerald about how she feels like she has him trapped in the engagement and that she’s afraid that he’ll hate her for it. Gerald reassures her that he doesn’t hold it against her and he reveals this feelings for her. Katarina is shocked and a bit in denial, asking Gerald why would he fall in love with her. When Gerald tells her why, Katarina asks him how he’s sure that it’s not just a passing infatuation and that he won’t fall in love with another girl. Gerald is certain that he truly loves Katarina but, if she really doesn’t feel the same, he’ll break the engagement in a way that will keep her safe and won’t hurt her family. Katarina tells him that she needs time to think about it and he accepts.

After learning that Gerald confessed to Katarina, Mary and Sophia do the same. Katarina is surprised and flattered but tells them that, while she does love them, she only sees them as sisters. Mary and Sophia are sad but they understand and are glad that they at least told Katarina their feelings. Mary decides that she’ll settle for being her sister in-law by marrying Alan and Sophia has the idea to pursue Keith because “if Katarina won’t marry my brother, then I’ll become her sister by marrying hers!”

As for the boys, Keith accepts that Katarina only sees him as a brother, Nicol keeps his feelings for Katarina hidden, and Alan is still unaware of his feelings for Katarina at this point.

Due to her unique magic, Katarina takes specialized practical classes with Kai Gerran as her teacher - he’s part of the Department of Magical Powers Research. Part of her lessons include identifying what plants grow where and what uses they have. It’s a bit difficult to learn about all the plants but Katarina receives help from Mary, and the two girls enjoy spending time together. Katarina bonds with Maria over both having rare magic and the expectations people have on them because of it.

A few other things that Katarina does with her magic are: creating plant Golems/animals, growing fruits and vegetables in interesting shapes, and swinging on vines like Tarzan.

Most of the Academy plot stays the same except that Katarina is aware of Gerald’s feelings and her friends are not competing for her affection - though they still warn Gerald to not try anything funny with Katarina. Katarina begins to develop feelings for Gerald but it’s hesitant to pursue him because, even though Gerald has no interest in Maria, she doesn’t know if Maria is interested in Gerald. After talking to Maria and Gerald and being reassured by them, Katarina starts to go on dates with him. There also Alan/Mary and Keith/Sophia developing in the background.

Katarina will still get Pochi and will become a Grass/Dark Dual-Type.

Some of the threats that Katarina faces due to her powers are: unscrupulous Ministry officials interested in studying her magic and others countries with agricultural issues looking to acquire her for themselves. Some foreign nobles attempt to seduce her into marrying them but Bakarina is to dense to notice their attempt and her friends protect her. One noble resorts to kidnapping Katarina but he’s captured before he can return to his country - and Katarina had pretty much rescued herself already. There are a few more kidnapping attempt - from both nobles and researchers - but they are thwarted before they happen.

(Added 2/11/2022)

OG Katarina also had this magic but, since she never interacted with plants directly, it never awakened/became noticeable. Her ego would have inflated even more that it already was if she did learn that she had this magic.

OG Prince Gerald would actually benefit a lot more from keeping this engagement since having a fiancée with rare magic would intimidate other ladies. Unfortunately, OG Katarina interprets his words “I already have a fiancée that has rare magic” as “I love my fiancée” which would cause her romantic pursues to get worse.

Not to mention, OG Maria’s chances of graduating the Academy with minimal mental health would drop drastically - unless the other Capture Targets protect her.

#otome game no hametsu flag shika nai akuyaku reijou ni tensei shiteshimatta #otome game no hametsu flag #my next life as a villianess all routes lead to doom #my next life as a villainess #hamefura #destruction flag otome #alternative universe #katarina claes #gerald stuart #geordo stuart #geokata #keith claes #sophia ascart #keith/sophia #mary hunt #alan stuart #alan/mary #alanxmary #nicol ascart #maria campbell #ensemble cast #story idea #plant magic

[moonflowerlesbians]

“choose your battles wisely”

Un-beta’d and written after surgery, so please take with a grain of salt. I’ll reblog with the AO3 link in the morning!

Rated T, ~4.1k. Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort

~~~

Jamie is an idiot.

Or, to be more specific, she is an absolute goddamn buffoon of the utmost clownery.

This is, more or less, Dani’s internal monologue as she follows the sound of pained grunts to a somewhat obscured section of the sprawling statue garden, where she comes across a rather disgruntled gardener lying flat on her back in the mud. Her oilskin hat has fallen to one side, and Jamie stares, bleary-eyed, at the grey England sky overhead. There is a decently sized marble sculpture on the ground beside her.  

“You alright, there?” Dani calls, after only a brief moment of amused silence.

“Jesus!” Jamie swears, her entire body twitching, which causes her outburst to dissolve into a groan. “Christ, Poppins, wear a bloody bell,” she grumbles.

Dani rolls her eyes. “You alright?” she repeats, quieter this time.

“Oh, who, me? Yeah, ‘course. Just, you know, enjoying some ‘me time.’” She moves to raise her arm in a weak attempt at waving Dani off, but the limb makes it mere inches off the ground before flopping unceremoniously into the dirt. “Taking in the views...”

“Some view,” Dani notes, with a playful, sardonic lilt to her voice. A pause. “Owen made sandwiches if you’d like to come in for lunch.”

“Be right there,” Jamie replies halfheartedly. She does not stir, her gaze still fixed on the dreary cloud cover, a firm set to her jaw. “Don’t wait up.”

“We might as well walk back together.” Dani crosses her arms. “That is, assuming you’re almost done with your ‘me time.’”

“Almost done. Right. Yeah.”

Dani watches the deep inhale as Jamie steels herself, the muscles of Jamie’s stomach flexing with effort. With a sharp gasp, Jamie pushes herself onto her elbows, but she only lasts a quick second before she’s once again lying prone, muttered curses falling from her lips.

Dani winces sympathetically. “Oh, baby, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Bit late for that.”

“What did you do?” She kneels at Jamie’s side, moist soil dampening her jeans, and brushes wispy brown hairs from her face.

“Picked a fight with the wrong woman.” Jamie nods at the overturned statue. “Credit where credit’s due, she’s stronger than she looks. Heavier, too.”

“So, you decided you were going to move a marble statue, on your own, after a rainstorm, which resulted in you, what, throwing out your back?” Dani translates. “And you thought this was a good idea because…?”

“Never said it was a good idea.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Right, well,” Jamie sighs, “we’ve established I’m not the sharpest knife in the block.” Her eyes meet Dani’s, defeated. “If you would be so kind as to lend me a hand, I’d rather not like to die like this.”

“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” She thinks she catches a fleeting smile before it is replaced with a grimace.

Gingerly, Dani wedges her arm between Jamie’s shoulders and the earth below, murmuring gentle apologies at each indication of discomfort. She offers her other hand for Jamie to grab. Together, they work her into a sitting position. Jamie’s chest heaves, and her face is a ghostly shade of white.

They stay like that for a minute. While Jamie catches her breath, Dani’s fingers rub what she hopes are soothing circles into her back. How long has she been out here?

“Are you okay to walk?” Dani asks.

“Suppose we’ll find out,” Jamie says in a tone not at all reassuring.

Dani braces herself and takes both of Jamie’s hands in her own, digging her heels into the dirt. “One...two…”

On three, she pulls, and Jamie staggers to her feet, with Dani catching the majority of her weight as she topples forward and the air goes out of her.

“JesusshitfuckingChristfuckshittinghellgoddamnit-”

“Okay, you’re okay,” Dani says, trying to angle herself to best support the woman about to get herself excommunicated for blasphemy. She can feel the tension radiating off of Jamie in waves.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Jamie promises, very much not fine and very much not good. “Nothing’s broken, I don’t think. Just, ah, a little crooked, s’all.” Her breathing is labored as they take a few tentative steps.

“Look, you just rest here, and I’ll run back and get Owen--”

“No, absolutely not,” Jamie cuts her off. “If that man finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it. Little shit still brings up the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five whenever I break out the pruning shears.” Her arm drapes heavy around Dani’s neck as they round a corner.

“What--”

“Don’t,” Jamie wheezes, “ask.”

“You realize how dumb that is, right? And I’m definitely going to ask,” Dani says, guiding them toward the front door. Jamie stops short.

“Side door,” she explains, “servants’ hall. Won’t go past the kitchen. Can use one of the empty rooms until I sort myself out.”

“You might want to get your head checked if you think I’m leaving you alone like this.”

Dani readjusts her grip, while Jamie nimbly flips through a massive ring of keys Dani swears she’s never seen before, yet Jamie handles with the expertise of someone who does this daily. Which, Dani realizes, feeling rather stupid, she probably does.

“Fuck,” Jamie says under her breath as the door opens, revealing a hallway Dani has yet to explore. Dani sees the problem. She looks at Jamie. She looks at the narrow staircase. She evaluates her upper body strength.

Then, Jamie is making a rather undignified noise as Dani lifts her without warning, and Dani would be lying if she said the look on Jamie’s face isn’t extraordinarily satisfying. Something about seeing her stoic, mulish girlfriend, gone limp in her arms, looking at her, a little awestruck, well… it’s a sight Dani intends to cherish. And definitely not for the potential blackmail purposes.

Only after Dani gingerly deposits her on the blue quilt in Dani’s room does Jamie say, deadly serious, “We never speak of this again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dani says, “take these.” She plops two pills and a cup of water in Jamie’s hand and disappears into the adjacent bathroom.

“That’s the spirit, Poppins,” she calls after her.

“Come on,” Dani says, reappearing in the doorway. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie scoffs, visibly shivering.

“The mud stain on my duvet says otherwise. Come on. Up you get. The bath is filling.”

“I can’t ask you to let me use your bath.”

“Good thing you’re not asking, then.”

The half-formed rebuke dies on Jamie’s lips, and she nods as if to say, touché, but Dani is certain she will not be hearing the end of this. She beckons Jamie up and pulls her into the other room, leaning her against the countertop. Without thinking, she begins undoing the buttons on Jamie’s top.

“Blimey,” Jamie remarks, not pushing Dani away, but stilling her movements.

Dani can feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She backpedals. “I, um, I didn’t-- I’m so sorry.”

Jamie just laughs, “Only teasing, love. But, ah, I can probably take it from here, yeah?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll just… be in the bedroom. If you need me.”

Dani slumps against the door as it closes behind her. The sound of the water running mimics the rush of blood in her ears. They’ve only been doing... whatever this is between them for a month. Not long at all. Certainly not long enough to be undressing her in the middle of the day with people in the house while she’s in pain. Dani hadn’t meant it in an erotic way but, Jesus, Dani, show some restraint.

She exhales. Right. Organize. Jamie will need a towel. She’ll need dry clothes. Maybe tea? A warm compress. Or ice? What do people put on sore muscles? A massage? Dani swallows thickly and shakes off the thought of Jamie’s smooth skin beneath her fingertips, tightness dissipating as Dani works the knots away. She absolutely does not imagine Jamie melting into the mattress or the moans that might escape through her lips, and she decidedly does not dwell upon the rare sight of Jamie, pliant and entirely relaxed.

Absolutely not. Shove that into a box and come back to it later. It’s worked well enough in the past.

Right then.

Dani sets about making the necessary rearrangements, shuffling her boots into the closet, digging out appropriately loose clothes for laying about, and swiping a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen, making some excuse about Jamie being too busy to come in, but she sends her thanks. Owen raises an eyebrow at this, but apparently does not feel the need to comment. Hannah, however, takes one look at Dani’s muddy knees and frowns.

“Miss Clayton, you had better not be tracking mud through my house.”

“Yes, Miss Clayton, or else you will have to mop up the mess just like Miles!” Flora states, intently focused on the cucumber and cream cheese sandwich on her plate.

“I told you it wasn’t me!” Miles objects loudly, his drinking glass making contact with the table with a bit more force than necessary.

“It’s in the past,” Dani dismisses, before the situation can get out of hand. She turns to Hannah, and, in her best I’m-setting-an-example-please-go-with-it voice, says, “Of course, Mrs. Grose, I made sure to wipe my feet at the door, but I will clean up any messes I made because it is very important that we all clean up our own messes.”

“Right you are, dear.”

“Could I get a cup of tea to take to Jamie as well? I’d make it but…”

“Say no more,” Owen rises from his seat at the table. “Wouldn’t want to poison poor Jamie, now would we?” Then, with a chuckle, “She’s got you properly whipped, hasn’t she? Trekking lunch out to whatever corner of the grounds she’s wound up in.”

“Why’s Jamie whipping Miss Clayton?” Flora pipes up.

Dani feels her face flush. “Oh, sweetie, she’s, um, that’s not--”

“What Owen means to say, is it’s very nice of Miss Clayton to deliver a meal to Jamie while she’s working,” Hannah says pointedly.

Owen coughs. “Ah, yeah, to-tea-lly leaf-ly of her to help out.”

“Hannah, I was thinking of taking my lunch with Jamie. Would you mind keeping an eye on these two for a little while?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hannah chaffs, “They’re an awful lot of trouble, these two.”

“You think,” Owen chimes in, “they’d behave if I told them I could use a hand baking biscuits this afternoon?”

“I suppose that might do it,” Hannah says, an expression of faux pensivity creasing her forehead. “What do you think, children?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Grose, that would be perfectly splendid!”

“Can we make snickerdoodles?”

“Don’t see why not,” Owen says. He hands a teacup to Dani. “Off with you. Go find your knight in mud and dungarees.”

Dani shoots them a grateful smile and heads back upstairs, delicately balancing the cup with the plate of food. She knocks thrice.

“Yeah.” Jamie’s voice comes muffled through the heavy wooden door as Dani cautiously turns the knob.

Dani lets out a moderately embarrassing squeak and immediately averts her eyes, intent on looking anywhere except at a very wet, towel-clad Jamie. “Oh, um, good. Y-you found the towel.”

“That I did. I, ah, wasn’t sure if these were for me,” she gestures to the neatly folded stack of clothes on the bed, “didn’t want to assume.”

“They’re, um, they’re for you.” There’s a fascinating crack in the floor Dani has never noticed before. It’s about four inches long and almost invisible.

“Hey, Dani, you can look.” Jamie sounds almost concerned. ‘S’okay. It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.” She grins wryly.

“No, no, yeah, I know. It just, I don’t know, feels different when it’s not for that reason.”

“Dani Clayton, not a fan of casual nudity. Noted,” Jamie teases.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t a fan.” Dani places the tea and sandwiches on the bedside table, stepping into Jamie’s space.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” Dani hums, “and I’m going to stop this runaway train right here. You’re injured.”

Jamie huffs. “Bloody rude.”

“How’s your back?”

“Feels fine. Right as rain. I’ll just get dressed and go back out--”

“You most certainly will not. You are going to get dressed and get in this bed and you are going to rest.”

“But I’ve still got to finish in the statuary, and Hannah’s brought up a crack she wants me to fix, and--”

“--and all of those things can wait. I’ve taken care of enough idiotic teenage sports injuries to know that straining it will only make it worse. So, put these on, and get into bed.” She leaves no room for disagreement.

“I can’t believe you just used your teacher voice on me.”

“I can’t believe you’re being this obstinate.”

“I’m fine!”

“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” It is not aggressive. It comes out softly, a hint of confusion combined with an ounce of desperation.

Jamie freezes. “I don’t…”

“You only took a bath after I practically forced you--”

“I wouldn’t--”

“You could’ve really hurt yourself.”

“I know, but--”

“How long would you have laid out there in the mud before calling for help?”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, an appeasing thumb running along the inside of Dani’s wrist, “look, I just…” she sighs. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is, though,” Dani insists.

“No, love, it’s not. Not when you’ve been… well, not when you’re me.” She pauses, sits on the bed, and nudges Dani down next to her. “I don’t like feeling useless, s’all. People look at you, see you laying about, they see weakness. Someone to be pitied or someone to be taken advantage of. Just once is all it takes for them to get the idea you can’t stand on your own two feet.”

She seems a million miles away, a decade, even, and Dani waits. Jamie will continue if she wants to.

“I don’t like being pitied. And I know that’s not...that’s not what you’re trying to do.” She chooses her words carefully, as if walking through a minefield. Dani stands on the other side. “No need to give me the talk about everybody needing help. ‘Cause, in theory, yeah, that’s true, but when you’ve always been the one doing the helping... it… it’s not all that easy to be on the receiving end.” The last sentence is rushed, and Jamie finishes with a humorless snort of laughter. Her thumb has halted its caress of Dani’s skin.

Dani is silent for a moment. Coddling would be met with rejection. Not outright, no, but Dani knows better. Jamie has lain bare this piece of her soul, held out a fragment of her identity in tender hands, and trusts Dani to take it under her care, treasure it. Jamie had woven the tale of her life under the moonlight, and Dani has spent the past month trying to unravel the threads, to understand. Now, Jamie has given her a new string to follow, but she cannot pull too hard, lest it fall apart.

Dani speaks, quiet, but firm. “We’ll just have to practice then, won’t we.”

A flicker of confusion passes over Jamie’s face as she processes. Then, she softens. Her thumb resumes its rhythmic movement.

There will be other times, Dani has said, and I will stay and I will be here for you because you aren’t alone anymore.

And that seems to be enough.

Jamie exhales through her nose.

“Bit nippy in here. Might, ah, might want to put on some clothes.”

Right. Yes. Of course. Jamie is still in a towel. Gooseflesh has risen along her legs, and she shivers.

“Oh, oh, yeah,” Dani stammers, “I’ll just--” She mimes turning around and is met with a chuckle.

“You weren’t this shy the other night, if memory serves.”

“That,” Dani reiterates, “that was different.” She makes a show of fussing with the corner of the duvet, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.

Jamie makes a noncommittal noise low in her throat. “I’m decent.”

Dani had picked the clothes, sure, but for a woman who prides herself on preparedness, actually seeing Jamie in Dani’s old elementary school t-shirt and loose-fitting, flannel trousers causes the circuits in her brain to fry.

“Your tea’s getting cold,” she says dumbly. “I didn’t make it,” she adds, noting Jamie’s look of skepticism. Apparently satisfied with that answer, Jamie sips at her beverage and slides under the covers, gesturing for Dani to join her. She shakes her head. “I still need to clean myself up. Hannah’s watching the kids for now, but I really should get back to them.”

“A tragedy of Shakespearen proportions.”

“You need anything else before I shower?”

“No, thank you, love.” Modest affection shines on Jamie’s face, and she speaks so genuinely Dani’s heart aches. She smiles.

“Get some rest, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jamie gives a mock salute, at which Dani can only roll her eyes before exiting  into the bathroom with an extra towel and a change of clothes.

When she returns, wringing her hair out, she finds Jamie soundly asleep. The teacup has been placed on the table, next to the plate now missing a sandwich, and Jamie is curled on her side, puffing slow, measured breaths.

Chamomile tea. Who knew?

Dani makes sure to close the door quietly, and she does her best to herd the children away from that side of the house.

It’s about time for supper when Dani makes her way back to her room. When Jamie does not answer her knocks, Dani opens the door, praying the hinges will not squeak for once. Jamie is still nestled in Dani’s bed. She’s rolled over, though, facing the door, and Dani can see her bangs billowing slightly with every breath. Jamie’s nose twitches where the hair tickles it.

This isn’t the first time Dani has seen Jamie in her bed, and she certainly hopes it won’t be the last, but this, this casual intimacy, is something so precious to her. She wants it to last.

Dani perches on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to remove the offending strand of hair from Jamie’s face, and Jamie stirs.

“Hey,” Dani whispers, and Jamie cracks an eye. She presses a hand to her forehead. One of her shirtsleeves has fallen to the side, revealing pale collarbones.

“Hey.” Her voice is gravelly, sleep-laden, in a way that makes Dani’s stomach turn over itself. “Time s’it?”

“Around six, I think?” That grabs Jamie’s attention. Before Dani can stop her, she’s scrambling to sit up, completely forgetting that’s a terrible idea and acting surprised when she topples back onto the pillows with a grunt.

“Easy, easy…” Dani scolds sweetly, as Jamie gasps. “You’re okay. Just lay back. That’s it.”

“Christ.”

“Forgot why you ended up here in the first place, huh?”

“I can’t believe you let me sleep all day,” Jamie says, when the stab of pain fades. “Thought you’d at least wake me up after an hour or so. Had things to do.”

“We said they could wait.”

“You said they could wait.”

“You can’t seriously be mad at me for making you take care of yourself.”

“Feel like I wasted a day, s’all.”

“Well, you didn’t. Taking care of yourself is never a waste,” Dani says, effectively ending the argument. “Do you want to come down for dinner, or do you want me to bring it up to you?” Jamie opens her mouth, but Dani continues, “Before you answer, I want you to think about whether you’re making this decision based on what’s easiest for me, or what you actually feel capable of doing.”

Jamie’s brows raise. “Someone’s feeling bold this evening.”

Dani resists the urge to shirk away, to cave. She knows Jamie would drop it instantly, reassuring Dani that she hasn’t actually overstepped. Instead, Dani says, quietly, sincerely, “You don’t have to put your needs aside to make my life easier.” She considers, leans down so that she’s laying next to Jamie on the bed. “Besides, I like taking care of you.”

Jamie studies her. Whether she’s looking for the lie or for Dani to pull back and say, “just kidding!” Dani doesn’t know. Jamie presses a gentle kiss to her lips, a kiss that speaks the words she cannot. A kiss that says, I’m working on it.

Dani stays close when they break apart, their foreheads touching. “So, dinner?”

“Should probably make an appearance.”

Dani gives her a pointed look. “‘Should’ or ‘want to.’”

“Want to,” Jamie assures, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“You know,” Dani says, helping Jamie sit up slowly, “we should probably tell them how you hurt yourself, or they’ll assume it was from less, hm, virtuous activities.”

“Dirty bird.” Jamie swats her arm. “Owen, maybe, but not our good, Christian Hannah.”

“But do you really want to deal with the comments at the table?”

“Fine. We tell them I fell, and that’s it.”

“Right, so I shouldn’t mention your incredibly stupid idea to move a heavy marble statue without help?”

“Not ideally, no.”

Dani pouts. “Do I at least get to ask about the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five?”

“You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?” Jamie sighs. “Fine. Ask Owen, then. Suppose you’ll find out about it eventually.” Dani places a gleeful kiss on her cheek.

“Come on, let’s get some food into you.”

The few hours of bedrest appear to have paid off, Dani thinks smugly, as Jamie is perfectly capable of walking herself down the hall. Jamie, however, seems to be rather content to use this as an excuse to lean into Dani, and Dani can’t say she minds all that much. She stands on her own as they near the kitchen and moves with only a slight limp and a wince Dani only catches because she’s looking for it.

At another time, she’ll wonder how often Jamie has hidden her pain.

“There she is!” Owen exclaims when they take their unassigned, assigned seats at the table.

“What happened, dear?” Hannah says simultaneously, as Owen does a double take, clearly trying to figure out what he’s missing. It dawns on him a moment later.

“Fell. ‘M fine,” Jamie shrugs.

“Must’ve been some fall,” Owen remarks, with a smirk that has Dani wary.

“Hm?” Jamie does not look up from the roll she’s buttering.

“You’re wearing Miss Clayton’s clothes,” Flora observes helpfully. Dani chokes on her water. Shit. How could she have missed that?

To her credit, Jamie continues without faltering. “Tripped, landed in a mud puddle, and I didn’t have a change of clothes in the truck. Miss Clayton was nice enough to loan me hers.”

Well, the first part, at least, is true. Dani pinches herself for not asking if Jamie had her own clothes to change into. Even if she does look divine in the free t-shirt they gave Dani when she started teaching.

Owen seems skeptical, but, blessedly, he drops the subject in favor of animatedly recounting the story of their baking adventures that afternoon.

Hannah catches them after dinner, just as Dani is preparing to send the children to bed. “Will you be staying the night, Jamie? In the unfortunate event your injury acts up, of course,” she says with a mirthful wink.

Jamie looks to Dani for an answer, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Yes,” Dani decides for them.

“I’m assuming I won’t need to make up the guest bedroom for you?”

“Oh, um, no, thanks. That won’t be necessary.” Dani isn’t sure why she’s blushing. It’s not as if the whole manor doesn’t know about them. They’d tried hiding at first, sneaking about and slipping into dark corners like teenagers. They were not very good at it.

Later, with Miles and Flora safely asleep and Owen and Hannah having taken their leave for the evening, Jamie returns to Dani’s bed, this time with Dani sliding in behind her. Dani nuzzles into her back, careful not to touch any sore areas.

“I know I was an idiot,” Jamie’s voice cuts nervously through the darkness, “but, ah, just wanted to say thanks. For caring about me. Not really...not really used to that.”

Dani can feel her entire body tense. She presses tender kisses along Jamie’s back. “Of course,” she murmurs, and she hopes her conviction comes across. “Always.” She hesitates. “You’re not wrong about being an idiot, though,” Dani giggles.

“You like it.” It’s not meant to be a question, though Jamie’s voice wavers.

“I do,” Dani confirms affectionately, “I do.”

Jamie relaxes against her.

#woohoo! #accidentally wrote like 3k more words than planned but its fine #pls enjoy jamie being a dumbass #and dani forcing her to accept affection #the haunting of bly manor #thobm #thobm jamie #jamie #damie #dani clayton #jamie x dani #dani x jamie #Hannah grose #Owen sharma #flora wingrave #miles wingrave #fic #writing #my writing #thobm fanfic #damie fanfic #jamie taylor #Danielle clayton #bly manor

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Grandma Knows Best

Masterlist

Summary: Three months and you were still on edge ready to run at a moments notice and Clark is beside himself with worry, it was time Martha nipped this in the but once and for all. Grandma always knows best.

Warning: Angst, Swearing, Past Trauma,  Panic attacks

A/N: so this one is very angsty the next chapter should be happier and a little humor but I wanted to have this final 'melt down' I hope you enjoy it xxx

Taglist: @sofiebstar​ @thefangirlsblog​ @gooseyhouse​ @charliestufff​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @loserrlauraa​  @cheeseman​

The potting shed was old and rickety, Clark and Konner were going to fix it up over the weekend well fix it up; they were going to knock out all the panels and put perspex glass over it making a humongous diy green house,  they were going to home depo to order the glass tomorrow, but for now it was perfect shelter for the older plants. Around six weeks ago Martha had dragged you in here to plant your first ever plants. It had been fun, poking tiny holes and planting the seeds you were out here everyday watching,waiting for a shoot! But after a week you had gotten bored and stopped looking until she had told you of the first few leaves of spinach had popped through...It seemed within days of that all your plants had sprouted, none had died and to say you were proud was an understatement. You loved watching them grow something about caring for the fragile plants watering and feeding them pellets and tending them was soothing in a way. Whenever you got to overwhelmed you'd come out to the shed and take care of them, it was a place you could escape all...Except grandma. Martha had all but exiled the boys when she noticed Clark pestering you inside. she could see that gardening was becoming a solace for you, something you did without a care and she was pleased. You moved slowly behind Martha as she showed you how to dead head some of the plants and curb the tomato's so that you got less leaves and more fruit. You watched fascinated as she made quick work of the tall tomato plants plucking the new budding stems that would only produce leaves that would shade the fruit so it couldn't ripen. She turned looking to you concerned today she planned to air out a few things with you it was high time you had a little heart to heart.Three months. Three long months and still you held back Martha was worried, you hadn't settled, well you had but you were still skittish ready to run at a moments notice. They hoped you'd be more relaxed but it would seem you were the opposite more guarded and secretive and not once had you referred to them as family. It saddened her, konner had let slip that you were frightened of hurting someone...Namely her. But the woman trusted you. Clark was beside himself he didn't understand what he needed to do he was a father...Your father and he hadn't a fucking clue! Martha had decided it was time to nip these silly fears in the butt herself something tells her you needed a female touch. Clark had come to her a few days ago in floods of tears he had tried to take you shopping for clothes and you'd refused so then he offered to get a meal and when you turned that down it was coffee even though he didn't even let you drink it...He just wanted some one on one time with you he had been so excited for you to come home, he wanted a daughter...But you didn't seem to want a dad? He couldn't understand it he was lost and confused he desperately wanted you to open up to him, wanted to wrap you up in his arms and fight off all your doubts but...He didn't want to rush things, Bruce had called him out for being overbaring at first and said things take time but still he was impatient. What if you thought he didn't care because he was now giving you space? He hated the idea of you fearing being abandoned and alone again. You seemed happy on the face of it but when no one was looking your face was blank a mask hiding everything below. The longer you stayed here the more he could see you pull back you were fighting it, fighting being safe secure and happy. He couldnt get through to help neither could konner he had been trying to hard and you'd shut yourself off from him, Clark didn't want that to happen with him. It crushed him knowing you were still frightened and had decided that it would be an idea to just stay at the farm. He wanted to give you stability but he wanted you to come to him to open up and talk or or at least treat him like a father even if you didn't call him dad.

Martha moved slowly around you discreetly positioning herself between you and the door. She knew you'd try to avoid this and if you had the chance you'd run off and hide and that was not happening...Not again last time you'd been gone for a whole twenty-four hours the Clark had found you sleeping at a bus stop at two in the morning scaring the daylights out of everyone. She turned to face you a small smile was on your face as you prodded the leaves on your prized cucumber plant the first cucumbers just starting to form. "You know your dad was thinking of helping you design your room... I got a few catalogues of wallpaper and stuff...Ideas for designs from the home depot" You looked up at her blinking with a soft smile then moved slowly stepping up beside her placing your hands on the wooden Table in front of you. "He shouldn't...No point we're moving to the city again so...Yeah" Martha tilted her head letting out a breath placing the ant powder over your the cucumber plant to keep away the earwigs. "Well that was the plan...But your dad thinks it might be best to keep you and konner away from it... So your all staying here its not like he has to worry about getting to work~" she gave a sly smile and nudged you softly then frowned at your sour expression. "I didn't realize" Martha eyed you cautiously and stopped tending to the veg and turned. Then dipped down to your level you met her eyes for a second. What she saw broke her heart you were hurting and unsure still so lost. "Well now you do...So tell me what do you think you'll do to your room...I'm sure it won't be pink!" You took another deep breath poking a finger in the soil drawing a line in it. And shrugged. Its not something you thought about kids in the system didn't decorate, everything is temporary. "Don't know....Shouldn't bother...Only two years" Martha turned a placed a hand on he hip unimpressed. But you couldn't help feel she already knew that'd be your answer. "Now what the hell makes you say that? You think were gonna what? Kick you out at eighteen? Honey no that’s all behind you now...I mean christ Clarks still here and he's what thirty seven? Thirty eight" You flicked your gaze to her then back down to the spinach shoots in front of you moving the spritz them with a mix of water and dish soap helping keep away bugs. You arched over to the small container that held a mix of rock salt and crushed egg shells it helped keep away the slugs and snails. "I...Its hard I forgot what its meant to be like...In the system you just get thrown out...Go to the streets....Always weed to run or something or you can go to the sewers" Martha frowned at that "So that was your plan? You were going to be a drug runner? Or go Live in the sewers?" She asked none to impressed you felt scolded and skittish under her gaze and you didn't even see it. A mothers; in this case grandmother's disapproving gaze was felt. "I...I was a drug runner on and off...Then well I made a delivery to the Joker...He was...Frightening and I called it quits after that...Didn't want to be near the big leagues...Big people let their little people die" Martha crossed her arms this was new you never really spoke about how you survived normally brushed them off. "You ever try these drugs?" The question was meant to be casual but didn't quite hit the mark, you shook your head truthfully. "Couldn't risk it...If I reacted bad I could of...Well killed people so it just didn't seem like a good idea" she eyed you carefully and nodded she believed you. "Right well don't let you dad find out... But seriously you should think about what you want to do with your room everyone needs their own personal space" you heaved a deep breath smoothing out the layer of eggshells on the dirt covering the pot. Martha said dusting her hands off leaning on hand on her hip the other palm was flat on the table next to you.

"Okay right out with it...Come on whats going on in that mind of yours?" Her voice wasn't irritated she seemed more worried, wanting to know what was going on so she could fix it rather than to berate you for it. You swallowed moving our arms shrugging at her with a heavy sigh. "Just...I- it only been a few months not that long- things are going well now...But they might not be-I'm still dangerous my power can react at anything at anytime-" you were cut off by a clump of moist dirt hitting your cheek splatting across your lips making you spit and retch. Ew. You growled looking at her with a scowl. "Hey-what the fuck?-ugh ew no stop it!" Martha scoffed and flicked another small clump of mud at your face making you splutter spitting out the small flecks of dirt in your mouth. You looked up appalled at her wiping your tongue and she just hummed chuckling nodding a playful smile. "Yes I see it has incredible reflexes, nothing gets passed it~" you glared at her as she chuckled louder then flashed your eyes playfully and pulled at the water in the watering can urging it up the spout sending a large slosh of water over her croc covered feet she jumped back giggling lightly but stepped back to the table moving the pots back turning around leaning back on the table patting it. "Up you go darling time for a little chit chat" you frowned Your laughter dieing...This was it, they'd grown bored of you...You bit your lip preparing for the inevitable still wiping your face wanting the dirt off but obeyed sitting on the table looking down. She didn't let you for long stepping in front of you tilting your face up and pushed away a few locks of hair. "You always hide behind these curls...I wish you'd pull them out of your face and let me see my beautiful little granddaughter..." Martha spotted the eye roll and pinched you chin making you look at her. "I'm not your grand-" she frowned moving the hair to stay behind your ears then smiled. "Hush....Ah and there it is..." you frowned not following her trying to avoid her all seeing gaze "There’s what?" You bit out still expecting to be told to pack up and leave. These types of talks are never good, your being shipped off. Back to the tower not that you'd stay fuck them you never needed them. You don’t need anyone! "The doubt of a scared little girl, you hide it or you try to...But its there your eyes are a window we all see it...You think your poker face is perfect but...You Y/n L/n Kent are an open book...Clark sees it to he wants to help he loves you, I love you and so does konner" You furrowed you brows and tried shaking your head wanting to look anywhere other than her. You couldn't look her in the eye with whats coming, they stutter when you do makes it harder for them to be rid of you. "I-I don’t know what- Look I don’t need an excuse just say what you need to say!" she shook her head tutting and continued butting in before you could talk yourself into a panic. "Don’t give me that crap...You still think we're just gonna dump you off somewhere eventually...Well you better think again missy...You are my granddaughter, Clarks daughter and Konners sister and that is the end of it we love you! And nothing is going to change that y/n..." "W-What? Your...your not getting rid of me? But that’s what they do...When they want to talk" you asked heart clenching but Martha gasp seeing you trying to bottle up your devastation and anger. She turned cupping both sides of your face shaking her head looking mortified you'd think such a thing. It was then she truly saw just how much damage was there. You thought you were disposable and could be thrown away at anypoint. "No! No no of course not...Oh god sweety no listen I just-This is exactly why we need to talk my love...We are never ever abandoning you...My god your ours! And you are never going anywhere! We love you but we...We don't really know what you need you never ask for anything love...But your here and that's it you belong here with us" you blinked rapidly you couldn't help but buy it, believe maybe foolishly that this time it was the real deal. You whimpered trying to save face wiping away the tears before they shed. "B-but my power-" you started to argue but was quickly shushed as she held a finger to your lips and rolled her eyes with a light hearty chuckle. "Makes you no more dangerous then Clark or Konner now enough...I don't care, and I don't want to hear it anymore...You hear me? You are not going to attack me at all we all know that by now...Your breaking your fathers heart, he knows you still feel unsafe here and your just waiting to be abandoned again and its not happening...Now this afternoon you and your dad are gonna sit down and look at some ideas for you room which you are both going to redecorate together over the weekend. A few days bonding with him will do the world of good and might make you finally accept that you are going no where" you looked down with a deep sigh and picked at the loose splinters of wood on the table pulling thin strands of the wood.

"He loves you, you silly girl we all do...I know you still have your original bag packed stuffed between the desk and wall, it's how we found you last time" you snapped your head up to her what? Your bag gave you away? She shrugged to you with a cheeky grin. "Oh what you think that phone's been magically charging itself for three months? I've been charging it and your uncle Bruce may have tracked it for us to find you quicker...Having your dad flying all over smallville in the state he was when you went missing wouldn't have been very subtle...He'd have ripped the place to shreds and terrified the locals" you blinked at her. He was actually worried?  You thought it'd been an act. you flushed heart tingling and warming when the thought of someone caring enough about you to worry when you vanished. "I hope that soon you will unpack it...Clark is...He is at a loss he wants to get to know you but doesn't want to push he is frightened he would chase you off...Just please talk...Whatever it is we can help we just want you to be happy and safe" you looked down sadly unsure how to express yourself. The Kents had been brilliant but you just...Something made it hard for you to let go of the past. Your Mum and Dad the ones you couldn't save who died whilst screaming...They had called out for you! for you to save them but you couldn't you were weak...Defenseless even with this gift you couldn't protect them...A life time of guilt a life time of being alone, telling yourself that you can't lose people if you don't have them around you. How could you explain that? how did you explain it wasn't what you'd do necessarily it was also what if you couldn't help? couldn't save them? tears welled in your eyes at the thoughts and you sighed shuddering a breath. Martha moved closer standing between your knees and hugged you pulling you to her shoulder holding you tight rubbing your back hushing you and suddenly for the first time you cried. You sobbed gut wrenching cries into her. Until then the only other person to hold you had been Clark and that had been to prove a point. You moved trying to pull back apologizing for snotting all over her but she was having none of it she held tighter petting your hair softly kissing your head. "Hey?...Its okay...I got you baby we got you...You don't have to be frightened anymore...Or alone we are here for you...We are my love I promise" you shook your head still weeping into her the flood gates opened and you let loose. Martha was happy and gutted, she knew you needed to get this out but at the same time it was difficult to hear you shatter like this. A normally stoic sarcastic unshakeable and frankly stressed out teen finally cracking masks dropping and finally opening up, showing the true terrified little girl she really was. "But its bad!...I shouldn't-youll just!? and like the rest I cant-I wont!!" You fought to maintain an even voice but failed miserably spitting out the words rushing them with broken sobs. Martha was quick to ask she needed to know whats going on, needed to reassure you to fix the issues if she could. "Whats bad pumpkin? What's wrong sweety?" Her voice was calm a gentle lull that aimed to sooth you and draw the truth from you. "...M-My parents they-they died!...I tri-ed they y-yelled for help-to me THEY CALLED OUT TO ME! and I didn't...I couldn't and on the beach...It was my fault! mine...If I'd held on they could have made it!! and-and now with you guys! I wont be able to...I can't.? Youll die! And itll be my fault! Its always my fault...And then its- I don't want to replace them-my real parents" You shook your head no. you tried pulling back again this time Martha let you and moved holding either side of your face as fat tears still streamed down your face. You cried harder coughing and hyperventilating choking on your own sobs panicked looking for a way out. She held steady holding both hands firmly on your face well aware of the earth beneath her feet moving sifting like sand but she ignored it, her grandbaby needed her and so she began talking you through the attack.

"shh shh calm yourself down...Thats it its okay...Your alright I've got you...I've got you baby... Good girl see thats it a little more...Deeper breaths in then out...Good" Martha held her breath as you coughed a few more times your breathing was fast but you were calmer your tears still flowing freely but it was a soft quiet crying as opposed to the borderline hysterical sobs moments ago. That was it the final piece to the puzzle, you didn't want to disrespect your real parents by accepting new ones- or in this case a new father. And you felt responsible for there deaths carrying that type of guilt wasn't healthy for anyone. "...Okay...Okay baby...Grandma understands now...It wasn't your fault...None of this was your fault and don't you think otherwise ever...Your parents loved you and were probably yelling for you to hide and stay still...And the beach that wasn't your fault the atlanteans did that...They tried to declare war honey...If you wanted to I'm sure your uncle Arthur would talk to you about it...He felt guilty when he found out" you gasped and shook your head panicked at her.

"No! It wasn't his fault" she smiled at that he'd be happy to know according to Clark the man was beating himself up over it. She'd have to mention something to Clark to get the message across. "Or yours love...You couldn't have known what was going to happen...No one did we didn't-Clark didn't" You sucked in a deep breath and shook your head and opened your mouth to argue that you should have been stronger. "No no...I'm not done love...Do you think your mum and dad would want you to be alone?...Isolate yourself and refuse to live with a new family? That they want you to be unhappy?..I'm not asking you to forget them but its been a long time and maybe its time to accept that another family wants to be yours to protect you and guide and love you in your parents stead" you frowned wiping your face in vain as the tears still poured. "B-But what about you?- what if I can't save you? or Konner or-or" Martha shook her head at you chuckling raking her hands through your hair over and over in a soothing motion. "You don't have to...You don't have to save us love...Your dad is superman there isn't a lot he can't over come and konner is just behind him...And if anything ever happens here I'll have all three of you...Please don't make yourself unhappy in fear of loosing us, we aren't going anywhere" you blinked at her but gave a small smile Martha relaxed and hugged you again giving you one last kiss on your forehead. "Really? I'm- I don't need to....I wont be alone?" she shook her head at you somehow getting this off your chest made you fell lighter, it was freeing. You nodded thoughts still racing, no one ever took the time to really listen but it- Martha made sense your parents wouldnt want you to be alone would they? even if it was your fault which you still belived it was...They probably were crying out for you to hide, they must have known what was happening and only managed your name befor everything collapsed...The beach, well that was...It was war or the start of one. Seeing that she had gave you a lot to think about she patted your shoulders and nodded to the house. "Go have a shower and relax, we can plant these in the garden tomorrow...Just chill for today okay?" you gulped and slipped off the table to the floor slowly and turned timidly to hug her taking her by surprize you moved up on tip toes kissing her cheek and pulled away. "Thank you Grandma...That-You made sense" and with that you ran off letting the door slam behind you on your way out sprinting to your room. 

It took a while but after a few days of deliberation you finally come to terms with everything. Nothing else had been mentioned about it over the past few days, well things had been pretty normal but you'd been thinking alot. Martha made a lot of sense it wasn't a eurica moment but it had switched you on. Maybe it was time to move on...You'd never forget your parents you'd never stop loving them but maybe...Maybe you could love your new family to. That’s what they were...What they were trying to be a family it was just you that was the problem, to cut off and dare you say 'emotional stunted'. No one had ever just let you unload onto them like that before, by the time you were due to start therapy you were already in the hospital being sedated under the mental health act. You never had anyone to talk to and by the end of that ordeal you'd found a way to deal with it, reasoned with your own guilt and had your own take on what happened. Maybe this could be a new start...Its never to late right? Maybe you should just start interacting instead of avoiding them, you and konner got on you were friends but Clark and Martha...You'd tried not to be around them much. No point getting under their feet besides you didn't need to many attachments if you were completely honest talking to konner was just so you didn't go mad, you needed atleast one person to talk to. It was late on friday morning when Martha and Konner had left to go shopping. You woke up to Martha placing some more design magazines on your desk by the door. Grandma you mentally corrected yourself had said she was going out and would be back around dinner time with take out. She must have brought them up to try and sway you, wanting you to make the first move with..Dad. You hadn't approached him yet still nervous and every time you did get a bit of spine Konner was there to you didn't want to make a fool of yourself. She winked at you and nodded, it will be fine. Once she left you sat up skimming through the book's quickly then looked about the room you were in, it was spacious and at the back of the house...You hadn't the foggiest idea what to do with it at all, you’d never done this sort of thing before. You felt silly but it was kind of a big thing for you...The finality of making your mark on the house. It was daunting. You held the catalogues in your lap for a moment looking around...You should probably paint it your favorite color right? but what was your favorite color?...It had been so long since you thought about stuff like that you were stumped. You moved slowly to the door magazines in hand, it was time to start trying. You padded down the stairs timidly and peeked through the banister, Clark was in the kitchen sitting at the table. You sat on the step for a few seconds taking deep breaths watching him from between the wooden spokes in the banister then nodded you moved and hovered by the door. He looked tired reading the paper before him drinking his coffee. He must be tired there was an incident in india last night..Landslide he was there for a few hours digging out survivors and that says alot considering who he was. You crept up behind him and stood awkwardly curling your toes.

"Err clar-Dad?" He froze shoulders going rigid and turned slowly blinking a few times, he was shocked but happy? A grin spread across his face making his eyes practically glow. He swallowed placing down the paper he was reading. "Y-yes? Whats up?" You could see a slight tremble as he was trying to contain himself. You moved and sat next to him and placed the magazines on the table. "I err...well Grandma said that I can decorate my room...She got me these but, I've never done it and don't...I don't know what I can do or what to do...I can you help me?" He nodded quickly clearing the table he was vibrating with excitement, happy that his mother got through to you. You smiled and spread out the books. "So what do you like? Have you thought about any colors or themes" you blinked a little and flicked through the first magazine. "I like the sea" you said in a small voice sounding weird you'd never really spoke about your likes and dislikes before it was kind of irrelevant. You suddenly perked up drawing Clarks attention as you gasped seeing a few images of murals. "I...That’s cool I like the second photo...With the big mural its cool..." Clark looked over your shoulder smiling nodding it was very light and airy the room was three walls of faux white brick the final wall was a huge mural of the suspension bridge separating Gotham and Metropolis. "It is different you could have the mural on the wall across from your bed" you thought about it and smiled sheepishly nodding. "You think they have a beach one...Not like white sand and clear water...But like rocky? With forrest and stuff that sort of seaside raw and rugged..."  Clark smiled as you muttered away listing off ideas. Finally you were showing your true colours a bright and happy young girl slowly peeking out from behind her curtain of curls. "Well they should if not we can always go and take our own pictures" you gasped looking up at him shaking your head. "No no we don't...You don't have to do that..." you mumbled quickly avoiding his gaze. "Its no hassle...I do work for the daily planet I have access to some of the best cameras around...Ixm sure we could get a panoramic shot..We can fly out and find you a perfect spot it won't be that hard to scale it up and have one printed" he shrugged closing his own magazine waiting for you to answer. You twiddled your fingers it did sound fun...You'd never been anywhere before by plane the idea of going somewhere even quieter then this was very tempting you could just imagine the waves. "You can't book a holiday just so I can decorate...I'll just find one online" he chuckled at you shaking his head trying to hold back his amusement, he didn't want you to think he was laughing at you. "Oh no sweetheart I meant I will fly us out somewhere...It'll take a few minuets but there’s a great couple of island's near Vancouver extremely beautiful and lush there should be some good places there " you faltered then flushed. Oh yeah he can fly...Over the past few months you kind of forgot he was superman he was just Clark to you...Now dad. You took a breath. It was weird saying dad again. But you didn't feel bad about it just uneasy, what if he was doing this just to make sure you don't loose your mind and turn on them...Was that it? There must be a reason.

"Hey honey whats wrong? Gone all quiet all of a sudden, if you don't want to I can always ask your uncle Arthur to take a photo for us...Hell he might even have a few of his buddies photo bomb for you" Clark added trying to lighten the mood but secretly he was worried. Your happy dispositions had gone and you looked ready to run off and hide again. He was a little disappointed at the prospect of not being able to fly you off and spend a father daughter day at the beach, but these things would take time. "No no we can go! I want to go! it's just...I err forgot you were...That you could...Your just normal around here and just feel a little silly...I've also never been flying like at all and its just a little daunting" Clark grinned placing a hand on your shoulder squeezing it lightly. He was relieved you did want to spend time with him you were shy that was all. "That’s not silly at all and I promise flying with me is the safest way, I wont drop you, I'll never drop you, you can count on it...How about we go tomorrow afternoon? I can go borrow a camera from the office in the morning" you smiled into your lap twisting your t-shirt in your fingers nodding quickly trying to keep your nerves at bay. "Really? That's err fast and what about konner and grandma? Won't they want to come?" Clark's heart melted and burst all in one hearing you worry over your brother and grandmother. He was finally at ease. This wasn't a ruse you did think of them as family you did already love them. He'd ask his Ma about what was said but he doubts she'll tell him. But even if she didn't he's forever grateful to her because what ever was said has finally worked and for the first time he can truly say he felt like you'd accepted him as your new father and that meant the world to him. "Well they might but I have it on good authority that whilst we are having our father daughter weekend. Ma and konner are going to have fun of there own and spend the weekend in the city 'living it up' I have no doubt in my mind that they will be making good use of my savings...I have a feeling konner is going to wrangle himself a new xbox..." you looked down nervously the whole weekend? Alone with him. He moved his hand to ruffle your hair. "Hey...Its okay like I said we don't have to go flying, we do have to go to home depo tho ma still wants her makeshift greenhouse." You frowned he sounded defeated you turned facing him eye steely determined not to chicken out. This had to work, this was your home and you had to try harder. "I want to though...A-and like you said...You wont drop me I'd rather go flying for the first time with you rather then konner...He'd drop me just to catch me again and I'd probably piss myself" you muttered akwardly. "Then its settled! Tomorrow we go to the beach and take photos for your bedroom! Do you have a swimsuit? And some summer clothes it might be hot there and pack some suncream I wont have you burning! If you forget it your staying in the shade~" you smiled meekly at him nodding you did have a few summer clothes, some cotton shorts and a vest top should be fine. "Good you can pack a bag in the morning" he added grinning ear to ear finally feeling as though he had a chance to step in. You had opened the door and it was his job to make it stay that way. You crouched over the books with him feeling more and more confident as you began pointing out things in the books that you liked with him finally relaxing with him. Then it hit you like a truck. This really was it! Your very own room, your own home and a proper family.

You felt yourself getting choked up windpipe closing tightly only managing a few small hums in agreement as he pointed out different things colors and diy ideas. You took a deep breath trying to swallow the lump away from your throat. It was when tears blurred your vision and you sniffled trying to hold it back that Clark made his move wrapping you up in his arms all but dragging you out of your chair onto his lap. You wriggled trying to be released more out of habit then actually wanting to get away but he held firm tucking your head into his shoulder shushing you. "Your alright...I've got you I promise" he didn't speak after those words letting them sink in, he didn't need to say more then that his message was clear. You'd been accepted the fear and anxiety was melting away in one huge mass of relief as he just held you close one arm pinning you to him the other moving grabbing the pen that lived on the kitchen table and a small note pad used for shopping lists. He bit the lid off the pen and began writing a small list of what you'd need to get for your room. You tucked your face into him whining pitifully for the first time in years feeling truly safe and secure.

#superman x you #superman x teen reader #superman x y/n #clark kent x teen reader #clark kent x y/n #dc x teen reader

[cpinhais1920]

PINHAIS: A Testimony of A Living History

(Translated from Maria Martinho's article, edited by S. M. Amamangpang)

A stone's thrown from the sea, Matosinhos is the epicenter of the canning industry to the north of Portugal. In that area alone, 52 fish factories were installed, today only two remain and one of them is PINHAIS. The company was founded in 1920 by António Rodrigues Pinto Pinhal together with his brother Manuel Rodrigues Pinto Pinhal, natives of Espinho, who initially dedicated themselves to salting fish in a small warehouse, and Luíz Alves da Silva Rios, who is believed to have launched the challenge to the two fishing brothers to set up a company dedicated to the manufacture of canned fish, to which Luíz de Sousa Ferreira later joined. With the construction of the factory, the company started to produce canned sardines, mackerel and horse mackerel in olive oil, spicy olive oil, tomato and spicy tomato sauce. “We still maintain the original process. From the treatment of the fish to the packaging, everything is done by hand,” guarantees António Pinhal, grandson of the founder and currently responsible for the family business that is in the third generation.

He was only eight when he had his first memory linked to Pinhais. Hand in hand with his father, he saw trawlers loaded with fish arriving at Matosinhos pier on a Saturday morning. “I always did that at the weekend, it was happy to see the seagulls approaching, it was a sign that there was a lot of fish”, he tells The Observer. Later, he was in his fourth year in Economics at the University of Porto when his father asked him to work with him. “My cousin was his right hand, but he got sick and called me. I went to the auction to buy the fish, did the commercial and export part. Only when my cousin passed away did I join the staffs of the company directly and, as a working student, I finished the Economics course at night. ”

For a decade, António was responsible for carefully choosing the raw materials for preserves, a function that allows him to distinguish the quality of a sardine with the naked eye today. “The sardine caught at four or five in the morning is better than the hake at midnight, I can see that from the eyes, the gills and the scales”, he says, adding that it was also on the wooden base of the trucks used to transport the baskets of fish that could take the real test of the nine. “I would take the sardine and throw it to the wood, if it jumped it had been caught in the morning, if it was quiet it was because it had been caught earlier.”

When he finished his Economics course, he already had several job offers, but his father said: either the bank or the factory. “The bug got into me and I ended up staying here. I don't know if I did it right or wrong, but I don't regret it.”

While most canning companies have industrialized over the years, Pinhais has decided to remain faithful to artisanal production, despite the various crises. “There was a Portuguese olive oil supplier that sold the product much cheaper and one day he asked my father if he didn't want to buy a car, which at that time cost about 100 contos, with the money he saved. My father did not have a license nor did he know how to drive, so he refused.” It was like this for four years, until it was discovered that this oil was adulterated. “The containers that other firms distributed to the United States were recalled and the canning industry crisis started there.”

In 1935, Pinhais launched Nuri, a brand with the same products, but aimed at the international market. “One of the partners in the company was my uncle, a public relations person who spoke several languages. It was he who discovered the first international markets and when he went to Spain he met a very beautiful Spaniard named Nuri, that's how he decided to name the brand. ”

During the 40 years that he is at the helm of the canning industry, António Pinhal confesses that the most difficult moment was when the European Union's share of fishing emerged. The golden season in Matosinhos was from June to October, which forced the official to go buy fish in Sines, Peniche, Figueira da Foz, Spain or France. Nothing that would move him or make him lose his faith, after all the Pinhal family is deeply Catholic and in António's office are visible old cans, black and white photographs of the family, but also saints and candles.

“My father went to Mass twice a day and until three years ago we used to pray the rosary half an hour before the people left.” At 4:30 pm, someone put a cassette in the tape recorder and workers exchanged fish scissors for the rosary. “We stopped doing that when we hired people with other religions, it didn't make sense to be imposing that. It used to be different, people were more devout, especially when we talk about a fishing community. Times change and we have to accept those changes. ”

The fish arrives every morning through a special door, leaves the boxes and is immersed in an aluminum container in cold water and salt where the brine is given. “The large sardine is 40 minutes, the medium is 15 minutes, and the petinga, 5,��� says António Pinhal. After this process, sardines, mackerel and horse mackerel are spread on large marble tables, where the head and the gut are removed with a small knife. "This is a normally mechanized process, but here we do it by hand to ensure that the gut comes out completely."

Headless and with a spine, the fish is placed one by one on a metal grid and dipped in a tank with cold water to remove the salt. The rooks loaded with fish are distributed in carts that enter a greenhouse at 100 degrees for 10 to 12 minutes. They come out of there hot and during the cooling process all the moisture and grease drain out. “Thus, both water and fat do not go into the can and oil, when added, turns yellow and not brown. This is one of our major differences from the competition,” explains António Pinhal.

It is only after this phase that the fish is placed in containers to then be cut by hand with scissors to fit in the can of preserves, which can then carry tomato sauce, cucumber, carrot or chilli pickles. In this assembly line, several employees dressed in white are seated in a row, from the cap to the wellies, passing through the waterproof apron. Many have their names written on the back and pillows to ensure comfort throughout the day.

Emília Vaz is in the section dedicated to homemade tomato sauce. She is 67 years old and is the oldest employee of Pinhais. She started at 18 and at the end of 2020, she will retire. With the reddish apron and the sweat on her forehead, she proudly shows the marks on her body that the years of work left him. “I've already cut myself on the toes with the cans and scalded my foot to make tomato sauce,” she says, adding that the factory is her second home and her colleagues are part of her family. She treats them by their first name and says she likes to teach those who arrive there for the first time. Among all, she is known as the “Emília da Afurada” (Emília, The Sharp). “In the past, I crossed the Douro in a small boat, but nowadays I take the bus to Boavista and then take the metro to get here.”

About 30,000 cans come out of Pinhais every day, essentially filled with sardines. There is no waste around here, proof of this is that the fish's head, tail and gut is sent to the flour industry to fertilize the soil and the remaining oil is supplied to the soap industry. On the mechanical mat, the cans stuffed with fish and other ingredients arrive in a veritable rain of Portuguese olive oil and are then closed by another machine. Still greasy, the closed can is washed in a tank with water at 100 degrees and sterilized for 60 minutes to eliminate any bacteria and will be packed by hand. Three months is the minimum time to stay in the warehouse to gain flavor, only after this period of maturation is the canned ready to go on its journey.

Célia Ferreira is responsible for the packaging department and in the 15-minute snack break she is the only one in the room to wrap cans of preserves. “I can eat at home,” she says, smiling, guaranteeing that she likes what she does. Her mother, aunts and cousins ​​passed through Pinhais, so it would be almost inevitable for Célia to also work at the Matosinhos factory, where 1,200 cans per day pass through her hands. The natural employee of Leça da Palmeira walks surrounded by cards and packages painted in yellow, green, red or blue and knows the destination of each one by heart. "These go to Australia, those to the United States and those to the Czech Republic.

In 2016, the Pinhal family sold its stocks to an Austrian agent, the current owner of the brand. “It was a decision motivated by the fishing crisis, there were no orders, we lacked liquidity and we thought it was necessary to take this step. He is a trustworthy person, he has worked with us since 1985, he belongs to a family business connected to cereals. At one time, he was our best customer, he represented more than 70% of our exports, and he became the only way to save this firm,” recalls António Pinhal. Despite the change, everything seems to have remained. “The only premise was to leave everything as it is.” Currently, Pinhais exports 90% of its production to countries such as Austria, the United States, the Philippines, Denmark or France. Here, the points of sale are limited to gourmet stores. “Quantity is not quality. We bet on quality, while in large stores we buy a can of sardines at 0.90 cents, ours costs € 2.50. The labor is very expensive, we work with 14 or 15 stages, the other factories have only three,” justifies António Pinhal.

Extending the range of products is not part of the brand's plans, which work on original marble tables from 1920 and see their work space limited to small fish. However, there is a need to bring something new to the market, so next year, Pinhais will use leftover sardines to market patês. The online store was launched just in time for the pandemic and in the summer of 2021 a live museum is expected on the factory premises, a project that has lived in the drawer for several years and bureaucracy has delayed. “We want to make it known what the tradition of the canning industry was, showing, at the same time, how we work.”

António Pinhal is not afraid of the future and says that only the pandemic forced small changes in the company, such as the acrylics arranged among the workers, a laboratory converted into a quarantine room and more mechanized transport processes. The grandson of the founder of Pinhais eats preserves religiously every Friday at lunch. “Canning tins are normally six years old as an expiration date, but my father always preferred old ones that were 15 or 20 years old. Every Friday at lunch he opens an old can, watched, smelled and asked me to eat a piece. After five minutes, if I didn't feel bad, I would eat it. It was your guinea pig and I thought it was funny. ”

Source:

(https://observador.pt/2020/09/13/conservas-pinhais-a-fabrica-onde-se-rezava-o-terco-e-hoje-se-canta-o-fado-enquanto-se-enchem-latas/)

#Pinhais #Matosinhos #Portugal #sardines #sardinha #sardinas #sardinia #Nuri Sardines #Mabuti Sardines #Rios Sardines #artisanal #traditional

[script-a-world]

I really want to create new foods and recipes for one of my worlds, but I have no idea how I would go about doing research for something like that. Do you guys have any resources or advice that might help? To be more specific for this world, most ingredients are incredibly low quality (but they are in abundance) and any imported ingredients are only used for the rich. I was thinking their food would use a lot of seasoning to mask the quality, but I'm not too sure. Thank you!

Feral: We could actually do with a few more specifics to answer this question as fully as you would probably like, but I’ll do the best I can.

First, I’m not sure whether you want to create recipes using real world ingredients that would in fact be cookable to release on your blog as some kind of companion for your audience or you want to conceptualize some recipes to be able to describe taste, texture, etc. If it’s the first option, creating recipes from scratch is pretty difficult. You might want to consider taking some cooking classes to learn techniques, reading cook books for a lesson in combining ingredients, and doing a lot test cooking to nail down the flavor profiles. If you don’t want to go completely chef-y, you could also take recipes and then tweak them by substituting an ingredient or using a slightly different technique (baking instead of broiling, etc). This would also be helpful in the second case. If by "low quality" you mean "low cost," try looking at food preparation that developed in poorer, underprivileged, or minority communities, like American immigrant cuisine and soul food (the original styles, not the bougie, hipster, “elevated” styles).

For example, understanding how immigrant cuisine differs from motherland cuisine can be particularly helpful in determining how your world’s “rich” food can be adapted into “poor” food. In America we often think of corned beef and cabbage as being a traditional Irish food, but in reality, no one in Ireland really eats corned beef and cabbage - it’s a traditional Irish-American food because poor Irish immigrants could not afford the lamb they would have eaten at home (which was more readily available in say rural Ireland than in New York City and therefore at an affordable cost), and they often could not source any bacon or cured pork products because the butchers who would sell to them were often the Jewish immigrant butchers. So, the cheapest cut of cured meat they could get was corned beef and replaced the traditional proteins they would have used at home.

Second, I’m working off the assumption that your world has the same ingredients as we do, but it’s unclear. When you mention creating new foods, that could mean food preparation or it could mean edible plants and animals. If it’s the latter, then the easiest way to do it would be crossing real world things.

So, for example, everyone’s favorite vegetable on your world may be a cross between a cucumber and a lemon (the flesh is cucumber like but grows in segments in a thick skin that wouldn’t be eaten straight but could be zested, and the flavor is like a very watered down citrus). This also gives you the ability to create recipes by using the two ingredients you crossed.

Also, I’m assuming that you’re using actual food rather than powders and extracts (very common in scifi settings where "real" food is incredibly scarce), which I don’t have too many ideas on how to create recipes that way. Firefly has a pretty good method of just obliquely referring to “protein powders in every color” and showing cans of things but only really showing food prepared and being consumed when it is in fact real food provided to the crew as payment.

Finally, seasoning is a good way to hide low quality ingredients, whether it’s a cheap cut of meat or slightly wilted vegetables. Especially sauces. Especially, especially cream sauces (providing that milk of some kind is one of the ingredients generally available). Sauces make spices go further. Also, keep in mind preservation techniques (salting, smoking, drying, pickling); in the real world what has often made something the “cheap” version is that it is preserved and not fresh (with the common exception of salted foods when salt is an expensive import). But those preservation techniques also infuse additional flavors into the food.

And speaking of the real world - have you ever heard that England conquered most of it in search of spices and then decided it wasn’t going to use any of them? Spices were the purview of the very very wealthy for a very long time. The common folk did not have much access to anything they couldn’t grow in their own backyard. So, the working class dishes we commonly associate with England are not particularly spicy. As you’re deciding how the poor disguise the low quality of their food, whether it's less costly trying to appear more costly or slightly less fresh than one would prefer to eat or whatever, keep in mind what they are able to grow in the soil and climate they have (spices are typically tropical while herbs are more often temperate).

A helpful guide in food experimenting:

Cook Smart: How to Maximize Flavor Series

Part 6: Guide to Adding Flavor with Aromatics

Brainstormed: Low quality how? Like, the bakers put sawdust put in bread to save flour low quality? Our teeth are worn down by forty years old because we live in a desert and the sand gets into our food no matter what we do and grinds our molars to nubs? We only get the worst cuts of meat because it’s all we can afford or the best stuff has to be sacrificed or tithed? Salt is expensive because we don’t live near the sea or any salt deposits so trading for it is pricey? There’s been plenty of cheats, circumstances, and shortcuts throughout history that may decrease what we would call the quality of food, and all of those examples really did happen.

Your idea of quality may be a hoity-toity five star restaurant, or an enormous home-cooked fresh meal, or the tastiest dish with all the seasonings on it. Instead of describing the food as low quality, think about what your people would consider high quality. What do they love? What flavors are common, and what’s rarer and therefore richer? How available is plant-based food, meaning are there herbs and fruit trees in everyone’s garden or is agriculture and import the only way of obtaining them? How available is animal-based food, meaning do these people live as herdsfolk and eat a whole sheep every week including the organs or do fishing boats bring in dozens of kinds of seafood or is the entire population practically vegetarian until traders arrive with preserved meats?

Think about where your people are situated geographically to figure out the resources available to them, and their neighboring countries for trade. Also think about how developed your people are. This website is a timeline of food throughout history, and may help you pin down some barebones basics.

Tex: Both Feral and Brainstormed offer excellent advice, and I’ll be reiterating most of that in my own opinion.

Cooking techniques are cumulative skills that reflect a culture’s technological progression. We started with a plain old fire, so cooking food with that meant techniques like spitroasting - with the invention of pottery, we could put things in containers over, on, and even under said fire, which would bring us “new” techniques like broiling, boiling (comestibles in a liquid), roasting, sautéing, searing, and blanching (comestibles scalded in boiling water and then removed into an ice/cold water bath).

These cumulative skills are also exponential, in that most of these adapted techniques can be combined with other skills. Take, for example, a stew. The base ingredients - meats, vegetables, grains - can be cooked with direct heat (e.g. grilling over a fire), then added to a cooking container (e.g. pots of different compositions) with a fat (e.g. oil, butter) to further cook the ingredients until it’s a desired texture (e.g. “spoon tender”).

This would be a “complete” meal by itself, of course - but it’s a cook’s decision to continue on to a stew because… well, because they think it tastes good, and there could be social/cultural reasons to continue expending effort into their food. Adding a liquid - it could be water/milk, but also a composite liquid (more cooking!) such as a broth - and simmering (low indirect heat over an extended period of time) would turn this dish into a stew.

Stews (and soups, the less dense predecessor) are popular in a great deal of cultures for a variety of reasons. For one, it’s relatively easy to make - Medieval European pottage could be tended over a fire throughout the day, portions taken and the dish stretched with minimal fuss. For two, such dishes are filling, with minimal concentration on the type or number of ingredients - the basic recipe is usually water + grain(s) + vegetable(s), and can be dressed up with whatever extra ingredients are on hand. Vegetables are resource-cheap foods, as they can be grown in family/shared gardens, and grains provide the lion’s share of carbohydrates (glucose, necessary for cell function; see: cellular respiration) as well as other things like protein and fats that vegetables are usually unable to provide in significant quantities.

Soup is, in itself, preceded by gruel. Originally, soup was nothing more than something to dip your bread (or other grain-based, dry food) into, and expanded into more than just a glorified sauce. Gruels are liquid + grain, and even simpler than soups or stews. They’re very easy to make, and often invented when a culture experiences their transition to a sedentary society (marked by the shift from hunting/gathering to agriculture). Breads of some sort usually accompany this because someone will figure out indirect heating (our first baking!).

Bread-beers (Ancient History), as a side note, frequently accompany breads and gruels in terms of cooking technique epochs. The Ancient Egyptians had one, Eastern Europe another (Kvass). This is a cousin, sort of, to gruels and breads in terms of technique, and utilizes the introduction of fermentation (another skill! Possibly discovered by accident via “oh this spoiled food didn’t kill me, neat”) from ingredients such as yeast. Alcohol that doesn’t start from a solid base such as bread is the refined version of this technique.

So far, everything I’ve mentioned is made from staple foods. It is the application of technique that creates such a wide variety. There is some degree of social hierarchy when it comes to what techniques are picked by a cook, if only because some of the more refined (a term I use as a concentration of technique, not an indication of quality) ones are costly in terms of time and sometimes also available tools (e.g. it’s simpler to make a bread-beer than vodka, especially if you don’t have a distillation set-up).

Seasoning is… a thorny topic. Most ingredients that get called “seasoning” - especially in the modern, North American sense - are just plants used in lower ratios than others in a dish. Take basil, for example. When it’s used in low proportions, it’s a seasoning (e.g. tomato sauce with basil). When used in high proportions, it’s an ingredient (e.g. pesto).

Now, there’s significant overlap in which plants are called “seasonings” and which are called “herbs”. This would be because plants designated as herbs are frequently prized in cookery as adding aromatic or savoury elements to a dish - too much can be overpowering (e.g. rosemary in small amounts can be delicious, but in large amounts can be too bitter to enjoy), so they’re often relegated as a component towards flavour profiles. Their physical quantity available to a culture does not necessarily designate “high” or “low” quality, merely the ratio that is culturally-accepted in recipes. (E.g. Italy uses basil in many dishes, but does that make either the dishes or the basil low quality? No.)

Herbs, as another side note, are frequently also used in medicine - hence herbal medicine. The medicinal plants wiki is less biased than the herbal medicine one, and offers some greater anthropological context.

Quality in terms of food is… usually more the ratio of preferred to not preferred qualities. In meat, this would mean things like fat, tendons, and gristle. Food, or rather ingredient, quality is a benchmark of how much time needs to be invested in preparing a dish. It takes significantly less time to cook bread when the grains are already hulled (and oftentimes polished), than if you had to go out to the field and do it yourself. Higher quality = higher convenience.

(Despite what Apicius might claim, spoiled food is not actually edible, and is different than purposefully fermented or cultured foods.)

Higher-quality ingredients means time saved, and that time could be allocated toward more complex cooking techniques. This isn’t always true in practice, since something like a cut of meat is better for one type of dish as opposed to another for practicality’s sake (i.e. if you’ve trimmed your meat so much it’s cubed, you’re not going to get a steak out of it). There’s some debate as to the idea of ingredient quantity vs technique complexity, where touted “high quality” foods (e.g. Sachertorte) use few ingredients, and “low quality” foods have many ingredients - usually seasonings, to mask the subpar flavour of something like a cut of meat.

Like Feral said, sauces are a great carrier for flavour, as well as helping to stretch the usable lifespan of an ingredient. A cut of meat ordinarily good for a steak that’s close to expiration might not be a good steak, but it could make for a decent stew or sausage, both of which could have sauces added to them to increase the complexity of the flavour profile. The food timeline which Brainstormed mentioned also has a timeline on sauces, which I think might interest you.

You mention “all the imported food is for the rich”, and I’m curious about that. Feral gave the example of the British upper-class restricting usage of some spices to the wealthier - and thus upper - classes of their society; is that what you’re referencing? What spices are you using as a base for your world, can they be domesticated? (For that matter, do greenhouses and the accompanying opportunistic entrepreneurs also exist? Or just a general opportunistic individual.)

The economic context of spices can’t be readily dismissed - there’s a weighing of amount of resources against amount of diplomatic tensions, so even if there’s an abundant amount of a given product, the providing nation could well make a money-based rude gesture in the direction of their client and increase the prices to artificially restrict supply. (Take tea, for example. Many, many economic wars have been fought over that [Abstract].)

The fluctuations of class-availability can include a factor of a nation’s influence on the global stage, and they could demand a good at a lower price and in large enough quantities to satisfy - at least temporarily - multiple social classes. This often comes at the cost of quality (here, in terms of purity of ingredients) - you can see this with tea, black pepper, olive oil, and many other class-oriented comestible goods (1, 2, 3, 4, 5). I will stress that quality grades aren’t precisely the same for single-source foods and multi-source foods (e.g. sirloin steak vs curry powder), because a drop in single-source quality is more noticeable than multi-source quality due to fewer things to hide an ingredient’s quality behind.

Foods can still be heavily seasoned on both ends of the class spectrum, but there would be differences in local vs foreign (domesticated vs imported), and whether it’s a specialty dish (e.g. foods made for holidays, see: stollen) because infrequently-made dishes on a cultural basis are more likely to have fewer differences in ingredient quality and technique complexity.

There are also some dishes that have artificial class restrictions, because the upper classes have a habit of refusing to eat dishes from the lower classes as a means of social division. This is especially apparent in something like bread (1, 2), but fluctuations of technique complexity and ingredient quality availability can mean that the classifications of bread types can shift (1).

Further Reading

(PDF) Evolution – Culinary Culture – Cooking Technology by Thomas A. Vilgis

History of Cooking by All That Cooking

Feral (again): Modern History has a four part series on food in Medieval England broken down by social class with commentary on how it compares to food today, which may elucidate some of what we’ve been talking about in regards to the culturally variable meaning of “quality” in food.

#pylons #food #Anonymous

[witch-diaries]

Witches guide to SAGE

Ok so I had to do this post after having a small argument with a friend. (White) Sage is fantastic. It’s aromatic, It enhances intuition, it’s used for cleansing and clearing, but... here is the big “but”, if not used properly when cleansing or clearing a home, room, or crystals it can be a pest. And can cause unintended mayhem. My cousin who has been a Witch since she was 10 (She’s currently 71) cautioned me greatly in using sage, she loves the herb, (growing it is a ton of fun) but most people don’t know how to properly and safely use sage. 

USING SAGE:

Sageing a home is a ritual, it’s not some act where you burn a smudge stick and wave it around going from room to room. People tend to think that doing just that you will cleanse a place of negative energy or spirits. But it doesn’t work that way. You need to put intent into it. You need to have a clear mind while doing it, you can’t be distracted, try closing your eyes and counting down from ten, call on your guides and angels to help put positive energy and intent into what you are doing; that the act you are about to do, will bring peace, serenity, and balance to your home (or crystals). Once you have cleared your mind and have the positive vibes going, start smudging! Start at the entrance of your home, trace the doorway and move to the handle (this is important, it will help repel negative energy from entering your home), from here, move to the corners and work your way clockwise through your home, getting every nook and cranny, every shadowy place (it’s best to light candles and have the lights on while doing this, putting black tourmaline in the 4 main corners of your home will boost good vibes and put up protective wards during this process). Don’t forget to use positive affirmations while smudging each room “Happiness, love, and positivity fill this room” as an example. Don’t forget to get window’s saged (all corners). Get every cupboard and drawer and closet, don’t forget to be thorough! Once you have cycled through the place, make your way to the back door (If you don't have a backdoor then go back to the entrance where you started). Sage the corners of the door again, and the door handles one last time while saying your affirmation. For the best results (I’ve had to do this in a friends house he had a poltergeist) have a friend or partner walk with you while you sage, ringing bells or singing bowls after each room has been thoroughly saged. I know it sounds like a lot of work, but this is the only process I’ve found that works 100% of the time to purge negative energy or spirits. 

GROWING SAGE FROM A SEED (and out of season):

Latin: Salvia officinalis

Family: Lamiaceae

Difficulty: Easy but slow

Season and Zone: Warm to hot season, Full Sun, Hardy

Timing: Start indoors mid-February to mid-April. Transplant out or direct sow starting mid-April. Starting indoors may be more reliable, particularly if using bottom heat and maintaining optimal soil temperature at 15-21°C (60-70°F). Seeds should sprout in 2 to 3 weeks.

Companion Planting: Sage repels both the cabbage moth and the carrot rust fly, so it’s a great all-around companion plant in the vegetable garden. Do not, however, plant it near cucumbers, which are sensitive to aromatic herbs.

Ok, so this is a bit of a toughy. I don’t have the greenest thumb... it’s more like a black thumb because I can never get anything to grow. Now if you want something to grow, ask my Grandad, he once grew an almond tree out of a half-eaten seed purely out of spite against someone. One time he grew MJ just to prove a point. Anyways the point is I can barely grow chives and chives are super easy to grow. 

Here’s the lowdown on White Sage, it’s a perennial, which means once you grow it and plant it in your garden after its matured, you won’t have to plant it again because it will come back each year. A single plant can last decades. It’s a hardy plant, very hard to start it, but once it's grown it's even harder to kill. it has a 20-30% chance of germination from seed which makes it hard to grow, and because it takes so LONG to grow you need to start before the last winter frost. 

But I found a way to cheat the system... 

Usually, you start Sage indoors, about 6-8 weeks before the end of winter... so usually in February (if it's from seed if you want to do it the traditional way). If you plant from a cutting also start indoors. Now, here is the thing about sage, it is a bitch to start from seeds which is why most people use cuttings, it’s a hell of a lot easier, but I like challenges. Best thing to do if you grow from seeds is to freeze the seeds for about a week before you start to the germination process. Once a week is over take the seeds our and wash 3-5 (if you want a single plant) in filtered water. This is because Sage has a 20-30% chance of germination. Wash and rinse the seeds a couple of times and then put them in a Tupperware container filled with water, leave them for about 12 hours, rinse and change water and leave for another 12 hours. After this you might notice that there is this clear jelly on a couple seeds, one might have even sprouted a little root (aww) take these seeds, rinse them one more time and wrap them in a moist paper towel (like when you grew bean sprouts in grade school). Put the wrapped up seeds back into the container (which should be empty of water, you don’t want to drown then little suckers), and place the lid on loosely. Leave it in a warm place (like in a window that gets a lot of sun or near a heater) for a few days (3-5) and actively add a little bit of water to keep the paper towel damp. 

Once you see some little roots poking out of the seeds, get a small planter and place the germinated seeds in about 5mm under the surface of the soil.

The thing about Sage is that it's pretty similar to succulent plants. It thrives in hot dry summers, needs little to no watering after its sprouted (NEVER OVER WATER YOUR POOR SAGE BABY) and actually thrives in coarse soil with fewer nutrients. It needs tons of sun, especially while a seedling, so I recommend purchasing a plant light. (I got a really nice small one off of Amazon for 20 bucks total) Once it’s sprouted it needs daily mistings (yes get s squirt bottle and mist that baby) and constant light (this a plant light). Nurture it with positive vibes and lots of love and you will have your very own sage plant! After a few weeks of growing and maturing, you can replant it in a garden or into a larger planter. 

During the winter, cut back the leaves, and cover it (if it’s in the garden). If you have it indoors, keep the temperature regular and don’t let it get too hot or cold or it will kill your plant, especially if it hasn’t fully matured yet (which takes 2 years from a seed). 

Pests: Slugs and spider mites can be a problem for Sage, so remove weeds, remove badly infested plants by putting into a plastic bag and trashing them, and use neem oil in lightly infested parts to get rid of pests.

Disease: The leaves are susceptible to fungal infections like mildew or verticillium wilt, so in order to avoid this, do not water from overhead, but use a dropper to water straight to the roots. Also space the plants evenly apart (about 25-30 cm) so there is proper air circulation. When growing indoors, keep a fan blowing in the room to let the plant breathe.

HARVESTING:

Harvesting Seeds: You’ll know that the seeds are ready to be harvested when the blooms are brown and completely dry. Gently roll the bloom between your fingers until the seeds fall away, place them in an envelope and then into a ziplock bag and freeze (for next season).

Harvesting Foliage: Now this is the fun part! You can now make your very own smudge sticks! Just take the foliage (leaves) and cut them from the plant, and make a thick stick shape with them, wrap them with embroidery floss or twine, and hang them in a window to dry. When the smudge sticks are dry they are ready to be used! 

(if anyone has any more to add to this post feel free! knowledge is power after all and sharing is caring!)

#Sage #White Sage #sage masterpost #plants #plants and crystals #crystals #smudging #growing #harvesting #witchcraft #witchy stuff #witch 101 #garden #green witch #witch garden #herbs #home garden #witch

[wordsonpagespress]

Toll-Free, by Rudrapriya Rathore

fiction by Rudrapriya Rathore | runner-up for the 2016 Blodwyn Memorial Prize in fiction, sponsored by Book*Hug

Near the end of the year, the toll-free number flashes across my phone three, five, seven times a day. There’s an odd rhythm about it that orders everything I do. A buzz on the morning subway ride where the train surfaces long enough to get phone signal, like a metallic dolphin mid-leap. A buzz during my lunch break while I eat my cucumber-cheese sandwich at the receptionist’s desk. A buzz when I walk to the grocery store in the evening, or if it’s Friday, to the Owl to get a drink with Phil. And when I get home after dark, two or three more while I watch TV in bed, the phone lighting up my covers with its bluish glow.

I never pick it up.

“Why not?” asks Phil, sucking down his weekly dose of pub fries while they’re still hot.

“Why should I? It’s just a telemarketer.”

“You don’t know that.” We’re more than a year deep into Owl Fridays and the waitresses know us so well they give us the same window table every time. Phil likes the curvy girl with the ponytail, though he’d never admit it, and gives his usual order trying not to look at her chest.

“Who else would call me this many times? It’s a machine, I bet. Not even a real telemarketer.”

“What if it’s your bank?” He licks the salt off his fingers.

“It’s not my bank. My bank emails me.”

“It could be your insurance company, or your internet.” He glugs his beer. “What if it’s the government or something? CSIS?” We look at each other for a moment, thinking it through. Then he snorts into his pint and I laugh because he’s dripping on his shirt collar.

“Alright, I get it. I’m too boring for CSIS.”

“That’s true. You haven’t even had two beers in a row since college.” Phil wipes his face. He likes this. If I play along for long enough, he slips his arm around me on the walk back to the subway station. Once in a long while, he comes home with me. We have sex for half an hour and then he calls a cab, waving as it pulls up to the curb.

This began when I got the job at the reception desk. Phil’s a manager in the office, I think, or an agent. A buyer. A seller. They’re all something like that, the ten or twenty men and women that pass by me every day on their way to the coffee machine. They look the same: blandly content, middle class. They say the same things on a weekly rotation. Hump Day! Happy Friday! Nearly the weekend now! Ah, Mondays! Sometimes I play a game where I try and beat them to it. “Almost Friday!” I say as Marie turns the corner, her glossy pink lips just opening up to greet me. She pauses. I think I see a flash of irritation move across her face—or maybe it’s just a ripple in the sea of foundation-powder blush. “That’s right!” she replies, heels clicking by.

“If I’m boring, what are your colleagues?” I ask Phil.

He shakes his head and gets up to pay. “You should pick up the call. See who it is.”

The phone buzzes two more times that night, and each time, as I lay there in my pajamas watching TV, I look over hoping it’s Phil. CSIS agent here, Ma’am. We’re concerned about the dullness of your daily routine. He might say that, if he called. That sounds like him.

I think of calling him, but I can’t make myself do it, can’t imagine what I would say. That kind of spontaneity belongs to a different kind of person. Those people regularly surprise themselves with what they come up with. They find a new version of themselves in every phone call, while I agonize over how to sign off in work emails. Sometimes I sent documents I needed for the next day in emails to myself. I watched them leave and then land in my inbox, a virtual boomerang. Each one pinged, Look! It’s you!

But the toll-free calls were different. I liked knowing that someone or something had logged my number. There was an entity on the other end of the line, and it wanted something from me.

I roll over and turn off the TV show. It’s almost eleven o’clock. If I did call Phil, he might not answer. That would be the best scenario, I think, if he sat in the dark, too, watching the phone buzz, liking the feeling of being wanted.

***

Either the next day or the next week, I get a voicemail. I stare at it with my eyebrows furrowed over my cucumber sandwich before opening it. I almost want to walk to Phil’s office so we can listen to it together, but I don’t. It’s been so long since I listened to a voicemail that it takes me five tries to remember my password, and when I finally get it right, the perky automated voice sounds a lot like Marie. I listen hard, but the message is just silence. Not dead air, exactly, but a kind of quiet hum. When I listen the second time I think I can hear a slight shuffle. Clothes, maybe, rustling against each other.

I tell Phil later, when he walks by to get coffee, and he says, “That’s weird.”

“I know.”

“Pick it up! Next time. I’m telling you.” He raises his eyebrows for emphasis.

That day I get home and tip over the potted plant on my windowsill while doing dishes. It spills fresh, black soil into the clean dishes on the counter, so I have to wash them all over again. Afterwards, I fix the plant and realize the windowsill’s dirty, so I clean that too, and it gets me on a roll, scrubbing the counters and the floors and the walls of the kitchen, where dirt has been secretly accumulating without my noticing. The top of the fridge where I keep the cereal boxes. The crack of space between the stove unit and the cupboards. I clean until my knees hurt and my nostrils burn from the soap and bleach, and then I listen to the silent message saved on my phone again, this time with earphones, so I can turn it all the way up. The shuffle is still there, hiding under a hum. Something human that does not speak.

It starts happening all the time. My voice mailbox fills up every two days, the mechanical-Marie alerting me loudly every time I punch in my password. The messages are always nearly silent, but one in every ten or so sounds slightly different. There’s a muted, tinny beeping through one of them. A sound that could be breathing, if you listen a certain way. A buzz like an air conditioner.

One night, I make a spreadsheet so I know how often the noises happen and colour-code it according to the time of day. I type the number into a search engine, but nothing comes up. I even search company directories online, trying to trace it to a corporation. Another night, I dream that something is watching me through the small camera lens on my phone, so I stick a little piece of green tape over it when I wake up.

Phil passes by my desk three or four times a day and we exchange nods. Friday at the Owl, he leaves early, after only one drink, so I go home and scroll through the spreadsheet, waiting for the phone to ring so I can make another entry. According to the numbers, I’ve been receiving more calls since that first voice message. It’s no longer three, five, seven times a day but thirteen, fifteen, seventeen. I cross-reference columns, trying to find a pattern, but there’s nothing there except for the fact that I never get the good voicemails, the human ones, more than once or twice a day.

It should be scary. I know this. It should make me feel anxious, like I’m under surveillance. But it makes work bearable, to have that phone constantly buzzing in my pocket where no one else can hear it. I suddenly like seeing Marie, because she doesn’t know that she sounds like the automated voicemail lady who greets me so fondly, and I wonder in my daydreams at the desk if Phil is actually the one making the calls, because maybe he doesn’t know how else to tell me he loves me.

My mother calls. I hear another call go through while she tells me about her new yoga class, and my hands shiver a little while I think about the new voicemail. She asks me if I’m dating anyone, and it slips out of my mouth: Yes, I am—actually, he’s here, I have to go. But of course she asks who, and I tell her, A man in my office, we get along great, it’s been a couple of months now.

“Well, well,” she says in a tone of voice that suggests she finds this difficult to believe, “What’s his name?”

Another call starts on the other line and my palms grow clammy. “Phi-Patrick.”

“What?” I resist the urge to hang up on her.

“Patrick,” I repeat. Maybe the voicemails have sharpened my ears somehow, because I can hear something that sounds just like if she was sucking on a cigarette. She hasn’t smoked since before I was born, though, and I refuse to ask her.

“It sounds like things are really looking up for you, darling. I couldn’t be happier. Just a little while ago you were telling me how bored you were, and terrified of never getting married. Is this Patrick—I mean, is he serious about you?”

My hand lowers the phone from my ear. There’s a translucent smear of sweat and beige makeup on the screen. Feeling as though my face is breaking down and sliding off me in wet little puddles, I half-cover the bottom half of the phone and call out to my empty kitchen, Patrick, hon, are you serious about me? and giggle.

“He says he’s not quite sure yet,” I say to her, laughing.

She laughs too. I hang up and wash my face.

***

I love it when Phil is nervous. This I realize at James’s retirement party, which I attend in a blue dress that makes my legs look longer than they really are. A big frosted cake has been ordered from the bakery in honour of James, his name piped over it in green and yellow, and a card that says, Now Real Life Can Begin! has been signed by everyone regardless of whether they spoke to James or not.

Phil gives a speech. It’s not clear to me why he is the one giving the speech instead of one of James’s friends. Maybe he is a bigger manager or agent or buyer or seller than I thought. He hands out glasses of champagne in the lunchroom and then takes a few index cards out of his pocket. He reads off them a few things about how lucky we have all been to benefit from the great attitude James brought into the office, and makes a joke about how some people think not working means being less tired, but others think it means being re-tired, tired again. Then he begins to talk about how much we’ll miss him. He must have copied the cards out wrong, because he reads the same one twice. He knows, too, but is too embarrassed to stop, and remains blotchy for minutes after everyone has toasted James and begun to chat again.

I watch from across the room, near the doorway, and he catches my eye and smiles. I gesture to him with my glass and point out the door, trying to ask if he wants to grab a drink later, but he shrugs and begins talking to someone.

Later on, at home, I watch the phone ring. For reassurance, I print off a copy of the spreadsheet, all eighty pages of it, and lay on my impeccably clean bedroom floor listening to the hum of the printer. I remember my favourite voicemails—the breathing, the definitely human shuffle. There will be someone, I tell myself, who can explain this to me. I smooth my hair and tuck it behind my ears before beginning to read over the notes on the spreadsheet again.

[magicalcreeks]

You picked the constellations off the ground (let’s return them to the sky)

When an earthquake destroys the house, sometimes it takes two unlikely people to work together to help rebuild the foundation.

Craig Tucker can make new friends after all.

Hello friends, I’m working on a new short story, because I have zero self control. It’s here on my Ao3 as well, But I’m posting it below. 

The story is going to have slight Staig, with Creek breaking up and getting back together because Creek is endgame.

Enjoy!

...

“W-We need to end this, Craig. I can’t do this anymore... we can still be...”

With those words, the party quickly came to an end for Craig. He looked the twitchy boy in the eye for the last time with a blank face, noticing the nervous sweat inching down his cheek.

“Excuse me,” Craig did not want to give Tweek the luxury of a proper goodbye. Instead, he set his canned beer on the table next to them, then he turned away before the dam could break.

His chest felt as if there was a weight resting on top of it. He couldn’t breathe properly. Craig pushed himself through the crowd of sweaty, drunk bodies squeezing in Clyde’s house.

Craig, he could no longer hear the music over his ringing ears. Somehow he managed to open the sliding door to the backyard, the cool air of the night blowing onto his skin. If only it was raining.

“Fuck...” he swore to himself. Fuck, he said a little louder until his body was consumed by an ironic fit of laughter.

“Fuck,” and he dropped his body onto the cement porch, hoping Tweek would not come searching for him. A break up to a fake relationship should not hurt as much as it should, but for some reason, he pained him more than his break up with his girlfriend back in elementary school.

It was to be expected. Holding hands, the hugs, the kisses, even when they cuddled against one another while they played video games in Token’s basement, it was all for show. Tweek was an actor, which was why he was the president of the drama club. No one should fall in love with an actor. They will never know what’s real or not.

Craig lifted his hand to touch his face, we can still be friends, was what Tweek was going to say because he was too nice for his own good. The likelihood of them ever being friends again was slim to none, and that’s what scared Craig the most.

“Yeah, well, fuck you, Kyle!” A familiar voice slurred. Craig twisted his body around to see what all of the commotion was.

“You’re fucking drunk, stan!” Kyle was fuming with his hands balled into trembling fists at his sides. He grew to a staggering 6’0, even towering over Craig who was the tallest kid in his grade at one point. Seeing him so mad at Stan looked scarier with the height difference between them.

This could get ugly.

“I’m not drunk,” Stan swatted a hand at Kyle who grabbed onto his wrist to keep him from stumbling over, “Let go of me!” He tried to pull his arm back but when he realized he was stuck he sunk his teeth into Kyle’s hand.

“Ouch, you fucking-!“ It took everything within Kyle to refrain from punching him in the face. Stan was a terrible drunk with a drinking problem, and he was tired of dealing with his antics every time a drop of alcohol touched his lips. Kyle rubbed the area he was just bitten, eyes falling on Craig, now realizing he was there to watch the scene between them.

“You take care of him, dick,” he gave a Craig an icy glare before turning his back on his supposed best friend. Before Craig could attest the door was slid shut.

Now it was only him and Stan sharing the open space outside. Craig listened to the honking horns, obnoxious laughter, and the disgusting gurgling sounds coming from Stan. This was all happening too fast. he could barely register the fake relationship that had just ended with his boyfriend— or his fake ex-boyfriend— now he had to babysit a 17-year-old.

“He’s such an asshole,” Stan said, still throwing up middle fingers to the closed door, Craig groaned.

“You look like shit.”

“You’re one to talk, Marsh.”

So maybe they were both going through a lot of shit, that didn’t mean Craig wanted to talk about it.

“Can you believe this guy?”

Craig dropped his head into his knees. He really did not feel like talking, his plan was to stay here until the party was over and until he was certain Tweek was gone.

Stan nearly fell on his ass trying to lower himself on the spot next to Craig. He nearly did until Craig caught him by the elbow, him grunting to push Stan off of him when he toppled into his lap.

“You really are drunk,” any other time he would have made a snarky comment, especially if it was towards Stan. He felt bad for the kid. Stan’s eyes were bloodshot and glossed over, not to mention he smelled like a bar mixed with whatever illegal substances Kenny brought with him. Craig moved away the hair sticking on his sweaty forehead.

“Wow, dude, your hands are like, really soft...”

“Stop talking,” Craig was feeling for his temperature, he’s seen his mom do this a handful of times when his dad came home wasted after a long night of drinking.

“Y’know, my mom always does this when she catches me drinking.”

“You look much smarter when you don’t talk.”

Stan’s lips lowered into a small frown, his flushed cheeks giving him the appearance of looking much smaller than he actually is. Craig removed his hand from his head, then snorted when he watched as Stan’s head dropped unexpectedly.

“You must drink a lot if your mom is catching you.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He slurred. His head felt cloudy, there was an aching throb behind his eyes, “it’s all Kyle’s fault...” then he laid his head on Craig’s shoulder, closing his eyes to settle his stomach.

“He’s just... such an asshole... why won’t he notice me?” Stan murmured.

Craig shifted in his spot, then he gave his sleeve a tug. This was awkward. He prayed Stan wouldn’t start crying on him, “it helps to talk about it, I guess,” he suggested, desperate to take his mind off of Tweek.

“You know,” Stan lifted his head, their faces only inches apart, “You’re not so bad. Even when we fought when we were kids I always thought you were pretty cool.”

Lacking the proper response, Craig looked straight ahead at the fence stretching to the opposite end of the sidewalk. He could see the long-faded chalk drawings, from childhood, still scattered on each individual picket. Token and Tweek were always in charge of making the drawings because Clyde, Jimmy, and Himself could not draw for shit. Craig told Clyde to get rid of it, but Clyde insisted all the remnants, such as, the old deteriorate treehouse, the planks they buried deep in the soil, and the strings going from each side of the fence were all keepsakes.

Craig was convinced Clyde was a hoarder, or just really fucking lazy.

“I don’t feel so good...” in the midst of Craig’s nostalgia, he failed to notice the green tint Stan had taken on.

Stan pushed himself away to face the patch of grass beside them, he clenched onto his sides as he stinging bile came spilling from his mouth. Craig could not help but be disgusted by the sight in front of him, he couldn’t stand himself, nevertheless, stand to watch other people puke their brains out. Even so, he was there by Stan’s side, offering soothing circular motions on the middle of his back. You idiot, he said to himself, feeling the painful jolts through touching his back.

“Clyde is going to be pissed,” his joke fell flat. What he thought was a failed attempt to lighten to mood actually got a chuckle out of Stan.

His face was a pasty white and drenched with sweat, “at least you don’t look green anymore,” he said. Craig thought about standing up to get him a glass of water or something.

“You really are a dick,” he rubbed his throat, his hoarse words feeling as if it was traveling through a tunnel of sandpaper.

“You’re going to get dehydrated, idiot.”

“I just...” Stan fell back to lay his upper body on the cool concrete, he took a minute to absorb the thumping beats of the music indoors rocking his body, “I don’t want to think,” he bleached through another vurp, the crash of the alcohol coursing through his system setting in.

You and me both, Craig thought, his brooding green eyes staring over at him, “and I don’t want to be responsible for you dying.”

Very soft, but audible snores came from Stan’s open mouth.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Craig said to himself. This was the night that kept on giving, well, at least you didn’t have to worry about him running down the sidewalk naked like a certain someone he knew— Clyde.

Craig leaned back on his elbows holding up his body weight, again, he sighed for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. Secretly he was disappointed Tweek hadn’t come out to find him, to say he was playing a prank dared by one of the guys who wanted to fuck with him. With breakups he’s witnessed, there were always heated with one couple yelling at the other or vice versa. The strange thing was he did not feel any resentment towards Tweek— his heart was fucking hurting, but at the end of the day, he wanted him to be happy. God only knows he deserves it.

He closed his eyes. That was when he finally succumbed to the boiling emotions within him, he needed a good cry and possibly a nap. Craig mimicked Stan’s position. He laid back on the porch, opening his eyes again to stare at the night sky above them. He felt a prickling in the back of his eyes then loose mucus falling to the back of his throat.

His forearm acted as a blanket to cover his eyes from the world around him.

Yeah, he didn’t want to think either.

...

The following day at school, Craig was sitting at his usual lunch table. Every day he would pick the cucumbers out of his sandwich while listening to Token and Clyde bicker about something they saw on TV.

Today wasn’t one of those days, “it feels like a nutcracker is trying to break into my skull,” Clyde whined, flinching at the light tap of his tray touching the lunch table. He took his seat between Token and Jimmy who silently agreed. Their head was in their hands, Token looked about ready to fall over.

Craig could not help but to roll his eyes at his expense, Clyde was a lightweight, they all were. Which is why when Craig was in the mood to get piss drunk he will only do it in the comfort of his house where he can go to bed when his head started to buzz a little too loud.

“That party was awesome, though,” said Token, drinking from his thermos he brought from home that smelled strongly of a homemade hangover remedy.

“H-H-He-Hear, Hear,” Jimmy agreed, trying to relive the long night of motorboating college girls. How Clyde convinced college girls to come to his party was beyond him. Ladies dug a man with a sense of humor.

Craig picked out one of the cucumbers from his sandwich, feeling it was right to eat one today instead of leaving it in the aluminum foil.

“Doesn’t Tweek usually eat your cucumbers? Or should I say cucumber, if you know what I mean,” Clyde proudly wiggles his brows before regretting his action, wincing, His hungover was still strong.

“Choke,” Craig told him.

No one heard about their break up yet, and Craig could only imagine how everyone will react when they do find out. He was not looking forward to being made out to be the cheater like when they staged his fake break up. He was also not looking forward to the awkward lunches with him and the guys. They may have ‘broken’ up but the guys were friends with both himself and Tweek. If things got too awkward then Craig would gladly leave, temporarily, for the sake of keeping things cordial.

When Craig finally went home last night everything felt like a dream, even up to the part where he practically carried Stan to his house on his back. The kid was heavier than he looked, then they had to stop a couple of times for him to empty his stomach in a nearby bush— how he still had stomach bile to throw up was beyond him. Luckily Stan did not live too far from Clyde. He even insisted on Craig helping him up the tree so he could sneak into his bedroom without waking up his parents. hoisting someone heavier than himself up a tree branch and making sure he did not break his neck was not fun for him.

“W-Where is T-T-Tweek?” Jimmy asked the table, though, his question was aimed more towards Craig who always knew where he was, “I-I wanted him t-to h-h-he-hear my new joke.”

Jimmy was currently rehearsing a new act for his gig down at the retirement home. Tweek was the only one who found his jokes funny, so he was the person Jimmy went to make sure he was hitting the right punchlines.

“You’re quiet today,” Clyde noticed, the balance of the table feeling off without their missing body and Craig’s remarks.

“I haven’t seen him,” Craig ignored his comment, the fizz of his soda sizzling in his mouth.

“Oh look, there he is,” Token pointed out, his hand waving in the air to get Tweeks attention.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I forgot my textbook,” Craig lied, crumbling the aluminum foil in his hands with half of his sandwich still in it.

Just as he was stepping over the bench, he nearly knocked into Tweek, the blonde holding up his hands and offering a nervous laugh.

Fuck, Fuck, Craig gulped, “Hey,” he said as coolly as he could, adding in a nonchalant shrug.

“H-Hey, Craig...”

Tweek did not know what else to say, but it looked like he was coping much better than Craig was. He was wearing his hair the way Craig likes it, with a thin black headband holding his bangs back so he could see his eyes; a bright blue with a slight heterochromia in the center. Like water and earth, Craig would say, he always said while the water peacefully traveled there were moments it would crash into the shore. Tweek had the earth to keep him grounded during those moments.

“What’s going on here?” Clyde was at it again with his unnecessary commentary, if only that stupid smirk on his face knew the truth.

Craig excused himself, this being the second time he was running away from his issues. There wasn’t enough inner monologue in the world that could prepare him for the feelings he got being near Tweek.

They were going to have to talk eventually. Just not now.

He tossed the crushed ball into the garbage pail near the exits of the cafeteria.

He had no idea where he was going to go from here so he walked until he reached one of the many exits leading to the back of the school. Some fresh air would be nice, especially with the anxiety he felt.

Pushing open the door, what he hadn’t expected was dreary music along with a thick scent of burning nicotine.

“Life will eat you up and spit you out, just like those fucking conformist in there with their fake smiles and preppy attitudes,” a goth girl lifted a long, black cigarette holder to her purple painted lips. Henrietta was her name, Craig surprisingly remembered from those times when she participated in their games as kids.

Her choppy black hair rested on the back of her neck, with one hand stationed on her long, mesh black dress exposing her tattered stockings. Taking another puff of her cigarette, she held onto her disgusted grimace as she continued talking to the body next to her.

“Yeah, totally,” a male voice responded.

“Stan?” Craig made himself known by letting the steel door close behind him. It was Stan since when was he cool with the goth kids? He stepped forward to see Stan’s face ghosted over with horror.

“Craig, what are you doing here?”

Henrietta took a hint, not wanting to be around whatever love fest was happening before her eyes, “see you later, stan,” she spoke kindly to him while stubbing out her cigarette, “conformist,” she scoffed at Craig, leaving the two be by going through the cracked door.

“What are you doing out here, man?”

It was strange hearing Stan talk when he was sober. He put on a tough guy act which annoyed Craig, taking on the same douchey persona he would call Clyde out for. Well, he wasn’t in the mood to argue, but it was good to see Stan make it out of his drunken haze alive.

Craig leaned his head against the brick wall, ignoring Stan’s eyeing glare.

“You need a smoke?” Stan offered.

Craig hated everything about smoking. Two of his relatives died from lung cancer, another has to use an electrolarynx after getting Laryngeal and surviving. That was enough to scare Craig away from the idea of ever touching a cigarette.

“I don’t smoke,” he said, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets to warm them up.

“I don’t really either, but,” Stan shrugged, “I guess I’m a social smoker.”

A silence fell between them, this one awkward with both parties being fully aware of their respective motor functions. Craig didn’t mind. He always welcomed the silence.

“Thanks for helping me last night,” Stan finally spoke up after an excruciating two minutes of silence. He flicked the cigarette bud towards the asphalt.

“So you remember.”

“I mean, how can I not remember someone pushing against my ass.”

Craig opened his eyes then panned his head to the left, “you wanted to go through your window, asshole.”

Pfft, Stan snubbed a laugh, his joke going over Craig’s head, “yeah, I guess I did. Thanks again.”

“I hope your mom wasn’t too worried.”

“Wh- What all did I say last night?” He flushed, a hand racking through the back of his unwashed hair. Kyle always said he tends to word vomit when intoxicated.

“For one thing, you told me I have soft hands.”

“Oh god,” Stan was so embarrassed he could drop dead right there. Did he really say that to Craig Tucker of all people?

“Then you told me how you mom catches you drinking. I’ve heard worst so don’t feel special.”

“Did I really say you have soft hands?” He groaned through his hands, peaking through his split fingers.

Craig snorted, “is that really all you’re worried about?”

“I mean, yeah, you’re a dude.”

“That’s a closed minded attitude coming from you,” Craig wished he had taken him up on that smoking offer, even if it went against everything he believed in, he tends to deal with his problems in self-destructive ways.

Stan realized that may have come out the wrong way. He’s not a homophobe. Hoping he did not offend Craig he offered an apology, “you never answered my question,” he changed the topic with a sly smirk gracing his lips.

Oh? Craig shifted his body up the wall, the back of his heels going numb from the pressure, “the question was...?”

“Really?” Stan rolled his eyes, knowing damn well Craig was doing this to be a dick, “what the hell are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“No- what? No! Dude, you can’t answer my question with a question,” he protested, his lower lip poking out like a child getting ready to throw a tantrum. If Craig was going to dance around his question, well then they might as well just stand there in silence until one of them speaks or leave. Stan had a feeling that was probably what Craig wanted. The competitor in him could not let him win.

Craig’s plan was to keep evading the question until Stan eventually tired. He did not want to tell him he was here to get away from Tweek— the longer he could keep their ‘breakup’ under wraps the better. The wound was still fresh and it was common knowledge to never open an old wound. That’s how infection happens.

The glint in Stan’s eye said otherwise, he stared at Craig with his icy blue eyes to make him uncomfortable. It’s what he and his sister use to do whenever they lied. Staring just made people uncomfortable.

Time was passing between them, at this rate Stan could get better results watching a rock. Craig was not budging. He knew Stan’s strategy, he had a sibling too.

“C’mon, you’re like, immune,” Stan hunched over his back in disbelief, “just tell me and I will never talk to you again.”

Now Craig was interested. To never talk to Marsh again... “I’m holding you to that,” he warned, removing his hands from his pocket along with a leftover wrapping paper.

“Yeah, Whatever, just tell me.”

“I’m avoiding someone, okay?” He tore off small pieces on the paper, watching as the wind lifted it away.

“Who?”

Gosh, Marsh was annoying, “you said you would never talk to me again,” Craig retorted, still ripping apart the wrapper between his fingers.

Stan lifted a finger to his chin, “if I remember correctly,” and he did, even with the fuzzy thoughts from the party he recalled some things, “someone told me that, it helps to talk about it,” that glint in his eyes further twinkling.

“I’m starting to think you weren’t really drunk last night,” Craig commented, side-eyeing the watch on his wrist to check for the time. His class started in less than two minutes, then he looked at Stan with his eyes blown up to a comical size; he could skip this class just once.

Covering his watch with his opposing hand, “I’m avoiding Tweek.”

“Oh...” why did he sound so disappointed? Stan slid down on the wall to sit on his bottom, reaching for his iPod leaning on a rusted tin can. He shuffled through songs for a few minutes until he settled on one he was pleased with, a grin stretching across his lips.

Craig wasn’t sure if he should tell him he shuffled back to the same song. He probably knew.

“That sucks. Are you guys in a fight or something?”

“We broke up,” the chain hanging next to him rattled as his head burrowed deeper into the garage door, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You guys were seriously dating?”

“Really?” Another sigh escaped his lips. To him, it felt like they were seriously dating.

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know what the guys thought but the two of you dating happened so fast, I was sort of confused for a while... that sucks that you two broke up. Sorry, man.”

Craig’s mouth was pressed into a paper thin line, “Yeah,” for some reason he trusted Stan to keep his mouth shut.

“Do you and Kyle always fight like that?”

Stan froze, his stare training on a trail of ants traveling in front of him, “we haven’t been getting along lately,” he said dryly, he hadn’t expected such a question directed towards him. His friendship with Kyle was a sore spot.

“He’s busy with his own life, ya know? Co-captain of the basketball team, he’s studying for his SAT and ACTs... He doesn’t have time to focus on our friendship, I guess.”

Stan avoided looking up, his hands fiddling with his tattered shoelaces on his worn white sneakers. He and Kyle haven’t spoken for a week prior to last nights party. His messages went unread on Instagram and Snapchat, and what delivered the final blow was the picture he updated on his story. It was a video of him at the bowling alley with Kenny, Cartman, and Butters— They didn’t even like Cartman.

No one wanted to hang around someone who constantly dampened their good time. Stan shook his head then chuckled, earning an eye from Craig who he forgot was still there, he was so unlovable.

“Hey,” Craig got his attention, “you want to know what else you said to me?”

“What?” He rubbed at his eyes, though his cheeks and nose had already flushed over to a pale pink.

“You said I was pretty cool.”

“No, I didn’t, you’re lying, you’re the lamest person I met.”

“You said I was pretty cool,” Craig repeated, standing up straight so his weight distributed evenly on the soles of his feet. He saw Stan was traveling to a dark place. Avoiding the problem wasn’t always bad.

“The only way I can know you’re cool is if we hang out more,” Stan offered, coughing to conceal the crack in his voice. Weak, he thought, so weak.

“Are you asking me on a date, Marsh? Can’t you see I’m vulnerable with a broken heart?” His sarcasm went appreciated, though there was a hint of sadness in his words. They both needed a pick me, Stan did not want to go straight home tonight, and neither did Craig. Perhaps if they could escape their harsh realities, even if it was for a few short hours, it could help them.

“Let’s skip.”

“And go where?”

“I don’t know, but we could help each other. c’mon, unless you’re a pussy.”

Craig flipped him off, which did not phase Stan or anyone in the grade because they were used to his rude gestures by now. Skipping school wasn’t a bad idea, as long as his idea of skipping didn’t involve them getting in trouble with the law or burning a building down.

He watched as Stan took the lead, an ember of curiously burning in the pit of his stomach at the idea of his and Stan hanging out, or, even having a lick of fun without either of them clawing at each other throats, participating in the competitive rivalry of both their gangs. There were things Craig did not know about the other by looking at the surface and making his own assumptions, he was like a pile of rope tied in a dozen knots.

As he followed his lead to the gate of the school, Craig wondered how they could help each other.

Something in him wanted to know more.

...

Clyde [2:34 pm]: dude, where the fuck r u?

Clyde [2:34 pm]: we need 2 talk

Clyde [2:35 pm]: answer ur phone

Token: [2:37 pm]: listen, if you need someone to talk to we’re here for you, man

Craig watched the flood of messages come in on his phone, his fingers unable to type back due to the grease of his pizza. He swallowed the food in his mouth, then set the slice on his napkin.

He and Stan have been sitting in a secluded booth at the back of the arcade, both of their ears drowning in the distorted mixture of the dates sound system playing music from the radio and the animatronics performing a scheduled act for the empty dining room. The pizza was shit. At least they got it for free because when they walked in the waiter was close to throwing it away, the table didn’t order a third pie, the frantic waiter explained after shoving the pie into Stan’s arms.

Here they were again. Stan had his legs on his seat with one knee up, his pinky finger digging in his ear as he started off at the show in front of them.

“Well, are you going to answer them?” Stan questioned without taking his attention away. He just knew it was Craig’s friends looking for him, let’s just say he has experience cutting himself off from the world.

“No.”

Craig wanted a moment before asking his question, “how often do you come here?” Upon walking in he had noticed the looks coming from the workers, someone even shooting a quick, hey, before going back to their jobs. He was beginning to think the pizza wasn’t a coincidence.

Stan held his cup of Dr. Pepper up to his lips, “not often,” he shrugged, his finger scratching at his denim pants.

They were interrupted by a plate of cupcakes placed in front of them, happy birthday, they read in fluorescent red writing with a ridiculous amount of sprinkles covering the white frosting. The waitress offered them a kind smile before leaving to clean up a nearby table.

Craig raised a brow, “not often, huh?” Though his interest was on the birthday he did not know about.

“It’s not a big deal,” Stan scoffed with his face falling solemn, lacking a reason to care about his birthday. Another year closer to death, woo-hoo.

“Hey, where are you going? Don’t make a big deal over this,” he called out to Craig who slid out of the booth to do god knows what. Stan tilted his head back to catch a glance at the spinning holographic party streamers hanging above them.

“Put this on.”

“Dude, no.”

Craig held out a party hat, courtesy of the front desk who only had ones decorated with pastel butterflies. Craig was wearing his already, even though he looked ridiculous with it resting on top of his hat.

“Put it on or I’m going to put it on myself,” he was trying to be nice, okay? Leave it to Marsh to make him regret that decision.

Eventually, Stan gave in, grabbing the hat then stretching the elastic band around his head, with a snap it squeezed onto his chin. Pfft, Craig finding amusement on the look on Stan’s face.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Stan protested, reaching for a cupcake.

“I’m not laughing.”

“Yes, you are. It’s freaking me out, you always laugh around Tweek.”

He hummed in thought, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You did, like, a lot. Do you remember when we were all over at Cartman’s house?”

“Yeah, where are you going with this?”

Stan smiled a dreamy smile, his chin falling into his hand, “You were laughing the whole night, we all thought you were possessed.”

“People laugh, what’s your point?” Craig, unsure of where Stan was going with this. So he laughed at Tweek’s shitty jokes around shitty people, was he not allowed?

“He makes you really happy, that’s all,” he took a messy bite of his cupcake, the frosting getting on his nose with crumbs falling onto the table.

“That could be said about you and Kyle.”

“Yeah, well... where do you want to go after this?”

“What, there’s more?”

Stan raised his hand, his mouth still stuffed with cupcake he said, “di’ you th’nk this was...” he swallowed, “did you think this was all we were doing?”

“Are you kidnapping me?” Craig raised a question.

“It’s not kidnapping if you like it.”

“Who the hell likes getting kidnapped? But whatever, where are we going now?”

Their ditch day was still in effect, even though school for them ended less than an hour ago. They risked running into their friends, but who the hell came to this place anyway? The was the first time Craig stepped foot in this building in almost seven years when he was invited to Stan’s birthday celebration.

Wherever they were headed to next, Stan was eager to get there. They still had daylight with the changing seasons causing the sun to set much quicker than before; so with that logic, they had two more hours of daylight which could translate to two more hours of them ‘hanging’ out before either of their parents got worried.

Grabbing for his book bag making quiet clinking noises, Craig assumed their endeavor may result in them making an array of poor choices.

“Oh, right, take the cupcakes,” Stan instructed, not watching to leave perfectly made pastries behind. Earlier today he did not wake up with the intent to celebrate his birthday because he did not want another depressing year alone, now he had an excuse to get high on sugar and drunk from liquor.

“I’m not taking the fucking cupcakes,” where the hell did he expect him to put cupcakes? Craig felt his jacket, then opened his pocket wide.

“Don’t say a word,” he said.

...

Blue skies transitioned to an ombré creation of pink and orange, the horizon hosting a thin line of red which Craig could see from their high position on top of an abandoned train car.

South Park hasn’t used this old train line in years. Over time it slowly transformed into an area where teens could experiment with drugs, have thoughtless sex, and sometimes where the vampire kids hosted their night long raves. He wondered what use Stan had with a place like this. At least the view was nice.

Stan was busy cracking open the lid to the small bottle he carried with his teeth, spitting it out under them, then hearing it bounce on the field of rocks, “want some?” He offered the bottle to Craig. Guests first.

“No thanks,” he declined, not much in the mood to drink. His palms were digging into pieces of rust on top of the car.

“Suit yourself,” said Stan, wiping the dripping alcohol from his lips than sighing. It was always the buzzing feeling that calmed him, then the warmth that came after it; never about taste or flavor, it was all about the feeling. That’s why he drank.

“You don’t talk much do you?” His tongue has begun to loosen under the influence, “not that I’m surprised, you were always the quiet one.”

“Why did you take me here?” Craig trained his eyes on the party hat now sitting in his lap. He analyzed the finger dents left from taking it off. He wasn’t going to tell Stan that he was still wearing his.

“There’s no one here,” Stan observed, stretching his hands out to justify his point. They were alone, and far, far away from everyone else.

Craig’s phone was still going off from before. His guess was Clyde had formed an unsuccessful search party. He should text him back, but... “yeah, no shit.”

“I come here to scream, sometimes cry, but mostly to scream. You have a lot of shit going on so I figured you want to try. I’ll go first...”

Stan cleared his throat, Craig rolled his eyes, then he screamed until his face turned a violent shade of red, leaving Craig astonished. He’s never seen someone so angry like they were trying to release years worth of emotions all at once.

There was no way he could mimic that.

“You try,” he said hoarsely, taking another sip from the bottle.

On the inside, Craig wanted to scream until he no longer had a voice; he wanted to punch a wall; he wanted someone to hate. All day he had been convincing himself he should hate the Asian girls for their perverted artwork, that he should hate himself for caring about those around them. They would have pulled themselves out from their funk. His back straightens. He didn’t hate Tweek. He wanted him to be happy.

“It’s late,” he said, the sun nearly set with the moon taking its place. He saw the twinkling stars in the sky, “I don’t want to wake the neighbors.”

“There’s no one around us-“

“I think I’ll take that sip now,” Craig interrupted, holding his hand out for the bottle to be placed in his palm.

Yeah, Stan whispered, yeah, sure.

Then, like a flash of lightning, the bottle was hurled across the field, landing between two unused rail tracks, “what the hell?!” Stan yelled, knowing damn well that was one of his last few bottles until he could snag another one.

Craig was unfazed by the other boy's anger. When he finally looked up at him, his eyes were rimmed with red.

“Yeah," he said, "it does feel good to scream.”

...

#south park #Craig Tucker #stan marsh #Tweek Tweak #creek sp #sp staig #my fanfiction

[eldritchsurveys]

892.

5k Survey XIX

901. Would you rather have a candle scented like blueberries and creme or butterscotch pecan pie? >> Dear god, none of these. I’m disgusted just thinking about it. 902. Which ones are fruits and which are vegetables: Banana- I’m not Google. Cucumber-  Tomato-  Apple-  Carrot-  Eggplant-  Cherry-  Pumpkin-  903. Does it annoy you when people talk loudly on their cell phones in public? >> Yes. It annoys me when people talk loudly in general, so. 904. Is love a commitment to one person, or can you love more than one person at the same time? >> Obviously the latter is true. I guess most people prefer not to do it that way, but that doesn’t mean the possibility doesn’t exist. 905. Cover or original: Smooth Criminal; is it better by Michael Jackson or Alien Ant Farm? >> I like the Alien Ant Farm version more. Blue Monday better by Orgy or New Order >> I like the Orgy version more. I Want Candy; Is it better by Aaron Carter or Bow Wow Wow? >> I don’t like this song no matter who does it. Love Song; Is it better by 311 or The Cure? >> I like both versions, but not enough to have either of them on my Spotify playlist. It’s My Life; Is it better by No Doubt or The Talking Heads? >> I’m not sure I’ve heard either of these. If I did, it was probably the No Doubt version, but I don’t remember it, so.

906. What is the most uncomfortable feeling? >> Down with superlative questions. 907. Do you like Maroon 5? >> No. 908. Would you ever go on a blind date TV show? >> Fuck no. 909. How much of your wardrobe is dry clean only? >> Just my suit. 910. Who’s arms would you like to crawl into? >> King Crimson’s. :’) 911. What the hell is your problem?

Shall we start at page one, or....? 912. Look around you. What is the most beautiful thing you can see? >> The art prints on the wall, I guess. 913. What is the most beautiful thing you can’t see? >> --- 914. Take a deep breath. Yawn deeply. Do you appreciate the things most people take for granted, like breathing? >> I’m not going to do any of that right now, but I will say that I don’t spend a whole lot of time appreciating my breathing, or whatever. 98% of the time, I am the “most people” in this question. 915. Do you appreciate breathing more when you have a cold and you’re all congested and can’t breathe right? >> Absolutely. Being sick tends to put a lot of things in perspective. 916. Is congestion a positive thing because it helps you to appreciate breathing? >> I wouldn’t go out seeking that experience on purpose. By and large, I prefer to be congested as infrequently as possible, no matter what accidental good effects it may have. 917. How is your life like a work of art? >> I don’t know.  918. Do you feel that your life influences and is influenced by many other lives? >> Here’s the thing -- traumabrain of course thinks that no one is affected by my existence and that I’ve made no impact on the world whatsoever except maybe when I’ve hurt people and I might as well have never existed. But that’s because it’s traumabrain, it’s gonna think like that no matter what. Logically, I understand that if I think people have had effects on me, and I do (most of them negative, buuuut), then it stands to reason that I’ve had effects on other people. 919. Has a smile ever made all the difference in the world to you? >> I don’t think so. 920. Have you ever looked at a tree and considered how the roots could be miles long, trailing and entwining with other roots underground, all of them holding the soil together? >> Yeah, it’s so fucking cool! Also thinking about the fungal colonies that interact with them, these vast networks under the earth. Sick. 921. Do you notice the little things in life? >> There are little things I notice and little things I don’t notice. 922. Do you feel, as Jung did, that deep down, underneath our individual personalities we are all the same? >> I don’t know, really. I have no opinion about this. 923. Do you feel a great oneness with the universe? >> I feel the opposite, actually, a great disconnection with (and rejection by) the universe. Remember, traumabrain. 924. When was the last time you decided to really enjoy yourself? >> I mean... like, whenever I do something I want to do? 925. When was the last time you set your self free and acted without caring at all what someone else thought? >> I generally behave like myself most of the time... this isn’t a real dilemma for me. 926. Have you ever held someone and appreciated how delicate and fragile all life is and felt that they were even more precious and beautiful because one day they would die..and so will you? >> No. 927. In ten years someone else might own your house and the room you are sitting in now. Someone else might be standing right next to where you are sitting now. So that means you could be standing right next to someone but you can’t see him or her because they are ten years away. Ever look at life like that? >> Oh, yeah, that I’ve thought about. 928. When was the last time you: Soaked in a bubble bath: I don’t do this Read a good book outside: I don’t remember, because spending relaxing time outside is hard when people are always out there being loud and intrusive with their... existence. Held someone’s hand: It was Inworld, whenever it was. Felt truly joyful: Meh. 929. What do you bring to this world that no one else can? >> Hmm. 930. Do you feel that you are part of every living thing in this world and that all those things are part of you? >> That’s a pretty intense feeling, I’d think. I feel like I would have to be on psychedelics to feel like that. It would be kind of strange to just feel like that all the time. 931. Are you more afraid of death or not completely living? >> --- 932. What was the last thing you wanted to do but didn’t or couldn’t do? >> I don’t remember. 933. Why don’t you try and do that thing now? >> --- 934. What is the most wonderful thing happening right now in the world? >> *shrug* 935. Name 7 things going on around you that you normally wouldn’t notice: >> Nothing is going on around me, I’m in my room alone.

936. Name three things you hate >> Bodily functions, bad smells, noise. 937. Name one GOOD thing about each of those 3 things you hate. >> Proper bodily function means that my body is not literally shutting down on me at the moment (and since I don’t exactly want to drop dead right now, that’s a good thing). Bad smells can alert me to things that need to be cleaned or purged, or let me know that I’m approaching an environment that I don’t want to be in so I should go the other way. I’m having a hard time with "noise”, so I’m skipping it. 938. What do you tend to see in black and white, rather than in shades of gray? >> Various things about myself and my place in the world. #traumabrain 939. Admit three things you do that you are ashamed of but shouldn’t be. >> --- 940. What qualities make a person “good” in your eyes? >> I don’t think of people as “good”. 941. Do you have any of these qualities? >> --- 942. Are you willing to do what it takes to achieve what you want to? >> If I wanted to achieve something, I guess I would. 943. Name one bad quality about someone you love. >> --- 944. Name one good quality about someone you hate. >> --- 945. Are you pro life or pro choice and why? >> I am pro-choice. Because I just am. My worldview and understanding have led me to that conclusion. 946. If you are pro life write a reason someone might be pro choice. If you are pro choice write a reason someone might be pro life. >> As far as I understand it, people are often pro-life because they believe that all human life is sacred, and that the moment of conception marks the creation of a new human life, which from that moment on should be treated with the same rights (particularly the right to life) as any other human. 947. Can you see the beauty in? A bumble bee: Let’s just say “yes” to all of these and move on. I have a pretty developed and broad sense of beauty, it’s not complicated. A man skating:  A woman combing her hair:  A box of tissues: Yourself naked:  Light:  948. What are you most afraid of? >> Stuff. (This question is just way too fucking common.) 949. Whose life would you REALLY NOT want to ever have? Why? >> I don’t really want anyone else’s life. I just want my own life to be kinder to me. 950. Can you come up with a reason why you might want their life? >> ---

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

[findingschmomo]

[UshIwaOi] Bridge the Gap Chapter 1: Bravery

Title:  Bridge the Gap Pairings: UshIwaOi Rating: T Genre: Established Polyamory, Child!Kageyama

In which Oikawa struggles to forgive, Ushijima struggles for words and Iwaizumi struggles to relate.They find their answers with each other, and surprisingly enough, with the boy loitering outside their window. Links: AO3

The first time Ushijima sees the boy lingering at his store window he thinks nothing of it. He simply continues wiping his counter clean of dirt. He’s meticulous, making sure to catch every fleck of soil to reuse later. When he looks up again from the task, the boy is still looking into his shop.

He’s tall, but Ushijima can see he’s quite young. There’s a youthful look in his eyes, large and round, taking up most of his face. Baby fat clings to his cheeks, but the rest of him is gangly and thin. His clothes are dirty, roughed up, a few holes near the hem. A troublemaker most likely.

The boy’s blue eyes meander about the shop, taking in the mutlitude of flowers, their colors, their shapes, their sizes. Until, finally, the boy’s eyes rest on Ushijima. Ushijima gives a slight, acknowledging nod, as if to say, you may enter. But the boy misinterprets, eyes going wide, face coloring into a panic as he runs away, down the sidewalk and out of sight. Ushijima blinks, and the incident is forgotten soon enough, as a customer passes through in search of the perfect bouquet.

He remembers the next week, when the boy returns, just as scrappy. He sports a small bandaid below his left eye, and his lips are drawn into a scowl as he moves up the sidewalk. Ushijima watches as he pauses, frown slipping off his face as he starts taking in the flowers of the shop.

Ushijima puts down the box of fertilizer in his hand, walking over to the door and opening it. The chime rings as he steps outside, but by then the boy is gone, running off from whence he came. Ushijima frowns.

He mentions the boy to Iwaizumi at dinner that evening.

“Huh, how old?” Iwaizumi asks, cracking open an egg over his rice as he talks.

The meal is simple. With just the two of them home there really is no need nor want to try any harder. Ushijima thinks a moment, staring at his own bowl, “I would suppose he’d fall between the ages of 10 and 13.”

Iwaizumi swallows down his mouthful, letting his head rest against his fist, “A middle schooler with dark hair and blue eyes loitering outside the shop?”

Ushijima nods, taking a bite of his rice.

“I can look into it at work. But I would have been alerted if there was a missing kid. He might just be playing hooky.” Iwaizumi shrugs.

“I do not wish to get him in trouble,” Ushijima supplies, “I was more so looking into advice on how to convince him to step inside the shop.”

“Come up with better wording. It sounds like you’re luring children off the streets.” Iwaizumi teases, and lets out a muffled laugh at the blank stare he receives from the other man.

“He seems interested in flowers,” Ushijima explains.

“He’ll come in when he’s ready then,” Iwaizumi says. He extends his hand when the frown on Ushijima’s face does not budge, squeezing the taller man’s hand. Ushijima lets out a sigh, but turns his hand so he can hold Iwaizumi’s, letting their fingers intertwine. Iwaizumi grins at him. Ushijima slips a small smile.

The meal is soon forgotten, as Ushijima finds himself with a lapful of Iwaizumi in his arms. The shorter man kisses him, calloused fingers running through his soft dark hair. His hands curl at the back of his neck, pressing their faces closer to each other. Ushijima’s hands run along Iwaizumi’s strong back, pulling his uniform shirt from his belted pants, allowing his fingers to duck under it. Iwaizumi shudders at the touch, fingers tightening to coil at the hairs at the nape of Ushijma’s neck. Ushijima hums into Iwaizumi’s mouth, pulling him closer with a rough tug of his belt loops, until their chests are flush against each other.

The phone in Iwaizumi’s pants pocket begins to vibrate. Iwaizumi groans, pulling away from the kiss, “Who is it?”

Ushijima slips his hand into the offending pocket, pulling free the buzzing cell and seeing Oikawa’s face, mid squawk, cucumber slices falling from his eyes, and green paste all over his face. “Does Oikawa know this is his contact photo?” Ushijima asks with a raised brow, redden lips forming a rare open smile.

Iwaizumi chuckles, reshuffling himself on Ushijima so he sits on his lap properly, leaning his side into the taller man’s chest. Once he’s comfortable, he answers the call, selecting facetime. Oikawa’s blurry face pops up, slowly coming into focus.

“Iwa-chan! Ushiwaka-chan!” Oikawa greets, voice chipper but strained. Ushijima watches Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow, obviously taking in the bags under Oikawa’s eyes, his ruffled hair, and his forced smile. He can feel the man in his laps shoulders’ tense, and in retaliation he nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck.

“Oi, are you sleeping ok?” Iwaizumi frowns.

Oikawa pouts, “What, no greeting? That’s so rude!”

“It is good to see you, Oikawa,” Ushijima offers, the comment rumbling through Iwaizumi from their proximity. Iwaizumi arches slightly, instinctively.

Oikawa only glowers further, taking their current state and position into consideration, “Are you guys having fun without me?” Ushijima nips at Iwaizumi’s neck in response. Iwaizumi squirms, but smirks at the camera. Oikawa lets out a whine, “No fair!”

Iwaizumi chuckles to himself, but he pulls away from Ushijima, sitting up properly, “How it’s going over there?”

Oikawa sighs, tone drooping to a less affected pitch, “It’s terrible. I’m on the front lines here, Iwa-chan.”

“Don’t compare this to war, asshole,” Iwaizumi huffs.

Oikawa glares at him, Ushijima feels his hands tighten around Iwaizumi as well, angry indignation flaring in him momentarily because it can feel like a war. Oikawa says as much, “If there’s two sides and they’re drawing lines down the middle as they fight, I can call it a war.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and Oikawa glares a bit harsher, the playful air beginning to evaporate. Ushijima can see it dissipating in the air, in the way Oikawa’s eyes darken and Iwaizumi’s body tenses. So he takes action, grabbing the phone from the shorter man’s hand, letting his own face take up most of the view, “Oikawa, when are you returning?”

Oikawa blinks and softens the angry furrow of his brow, “Aww, does someone miss me? Being with grumpy Iwa-chan all day must be so tiring, even stone-face Ushiwaka needs a break!” Oikawa sing songs, playful grin returning to light up his visage. Iwaizumi lets out an angry huff, but the he seems to relax again against Ushijima’s chest, “I’m taking the last train back on Sunday so I won’t be home until late.”

“I see.”

“How’s the store?” Oikawa asks, shuffling a bit to lie down on his childhood bed. He nuzzles into the pillow in his arms, and then his eyes catch on something off camera, hurriedly grabbing it and pulling it into frame. Ushijima catches a glimpse of worn down green fleece before Iwaizumi tears the phone from his hands.

“Is that Zilla-kun?!” Iwaizumi shouts into the phone. Oikawa’s cackle is so loud it becomes distorted through the receiver, despite being muffled by Iwaizumi’s vice like grip.

“I found him in my attic! Going through boxes for hours has its perks,” Oikawa explains, squeezing the small plushie in his hands, “I saved poor Zilla-chan from obliteration. My mom wanted to throw him out.”

“I fucking knew you stole him asshole,” Iwaizumi shouts.

Oikawa grins innocently, “Now, now Iwa-chan, we all do stupid things as children. What matters now is that Zilla-chan is safe and can live with us again.”

“He damn well is.” Iwaizumi snaps, “And he’s staying in my room and never going near you again.”

“Unfair!” Oikawa laughs, snuggling even closer to the old doll.

“The store is fine.” Ushijima pipes up, awkwardly, making his two boyfriends laugh at his timing. Oikawa turns his attention back on him, face disarmed and smile genuine.

He hums, “I’m glad. Is Iwa-chan staying safe on the streets?”

“I keep the streets safe, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi sighs, “Get it right.”

“But who keeps us safe from Iwaizumi’s brutish tyranny?” Oikawa wonders, camera spinning as he rolls onto his back, “I suppose I can dedicate my life to that, helping those in need and keeping you in check.”

“Only you can make a cushy lawyer job sound like martyrdom,” Iwaizumi huffs.

“Cushy?” Oikawa barks, pointing at his face, “Do you see these bags Iwa-chan? What part of these implies cushy? I slave day and night to support my house husbands and this is the thanks I get.”

“I believe we all split the rent equally?” Ushijima interjects.

Oikawa laughs, covering his mouth with his hands, “Oh Ushiwaka, I miss your banality so much. Iwa-chan give him a kiss for me will you?”

“Will do.” Iwaizumi promises with an easy grin.

Oikawa’s smile stretches to his eyes, and there’s a beat of comfortable silence between the three before he starts speaking again through a long sigh, “I have to go.”

“Right,” Iwaizumi nods.

“I miss you,” Oikawa murmurs, softly.

“It will not be long until we see each other again,” Ushijima supplies.

“We miss you too,” Iwaizumi translates.

Oikawa blows them both a kiss before he hangs up.

Iwaizumi slips off Ushijima’s lap and starts taking the dirty dishes to the sink. Ushijima joins him silently. Iwaizumi washes, Ushijima dries, until all the plates and glasses are back where they belong. Iwaizumi then turns to leave, but Ushijima stops him with one word, “Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi looks over, waiting.

Ushijima has never been a master of words. His bluntness has hurt him more times then he can count, his clipped responses only blossoming into misunderstandings. So he overcompensates, becomes long winded, because the last thing he wants to do is hurt the feelings of someone he loves, “I know, it is difficult to see Oikawa going through something like this and being unable to help.”

Iwaizumi frowns at him.

Ushijima keeps pushing through, because that’s what he does, “It does feel like war, at times. It did for me. Do not minimize that.”

Iwaizumi hardens defensively, response quick, “I wasn’t minimizing anything. Oikawa’s just being dramatic.”

“Iwaizumi,” Ushijima sighs.

The man huffs, “I get it, the teasing went too far.” Iwaizumi cuts him off, “I’ll talk with him when he gets back.”

Ushijima wishes to probe further, to have his opinion cut through him so he can realize the error in his ways. That it is alright to not relate to Oikawa in every single aspect of his life. That it is ok to not be part of each and all his worlds, just as Ushijima is not part of all of Iwaizumi’s worlds, nor Oikawa’s.

But Iwaizumi has turned away, stalking to his bedroom, most likely to change into his pajamas. And Ushijima is left wishing, for not the first time, he had been blessed with Oikawa’s gift of gab. And, perhaps, also blessed with his gift of time.

Because Oikawa and Iwaizumi have been given all the time in the world to know each other. To be immersed in each other. And Ushijima has never been one to like playing catch up. But he’s only wrestled his way into their lives, intimately at least, in the last few years, and sometimes the gap between them feels so wide he may just fall right in.

He lets out a tired sigh, grabs his work gloves from their spot hanging on the wall and ventures out to the balcony.

Their balcony is large, facing out onto the the front of their quiet street. He pushes through the plants, making his way through the slim path leftover so can lean against the railing and breathe.

Plants are much easier than people. They don’t need words to know how you feel about them. They just know. They are simple creatures. They make sense. Water, sunlight and soil. Easy.

Ushijima rubs the leaf of his tomato plant delicately. He smiles at its growth, a comfortable pride swelling in his chest. He pulls away to look out atthe small city lights, pulling his gloves off to cup his face. The night breeze is cool and welcome on his skin, and he finally feels his shoulders begin to relax.

Movement below catches on his golden eyes, and he squints in the darkness. He focuses on a dark figure down below, right by his store window. He grips the railing tightly, leaning forward. He worries, for a moment, that it is someone attempting to break in. There’s a shout resting on his lips, Iwaizumi’s name at the tip of his tongue.

But the figure is fidgeting on the sidewalk, moving back and forth restlessly, carelessly walking through the glow of the streetlight. And in those moments Ushijima recognizes him. Recognizes him as the boy from before.

Why is he out so late?

He is so young.

Ushijima retreats back to his apartment, climbing down the steps to the store. He hesitates a moment, and decides not to turn on the lights, fearful it might scare the boy away. He knows his store by heart, able to maneuver through the flowers and plants with relative ease.

He opens the door, cursing the chime inwardly that alerts the restless boy of his presence. Said boy freezes, fingers gripping the edge of his ratty hoodie, eyes wide and terrified.

Ushijima is silent for much too long, mind racing to say something, anything, to calm the child down. Instead he spits out, in his low monotone, “Who are you?”

The boy runs, feet skidding on the sidewalk from the speed at which he launches himself. Ushijima curses, feeling stupid. He slips back into his dark shop and takes a breath. He’ll do better next time.

If there is a next time, he thinks, there is no guarantee the boy will return.

Ushijima lets his head fall back on the door. He hopes the child is alright. It is terribly late an dhe is terribly long, and those facts alone stick in his mind and make his stomach churn. He frowns deeper, settling himself and climbing up the stairs.

Iwaizumi is poking his head around the main room, locking eyes on him as he comes up the steps, shoulders dropping, “Where’d you go?”

“Downstairs.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, coming forward, green eyes a touch apologetic, “Look, I’m sorry I got so, defensive with you. I’m a little stressed, but that was uncalled for.”

Ushijima had forgotten all about it, mind now consumed with other matters, “It is alright,” he assures, distractedly.

Iwaizumi furrows his brow, hand coming out to rest on Ushijima’s forearm, bringing his gaze back, “What’s wrong?”

Ushijima has never been good at lying, especially not with green eyes boring into him. It’s no surprise even Oikawa crumbles under the powerful gaze, “The boy was out front.”

“The boy?”

“The one who has been visiting outside the shop. He was pacing outside. I went downstairs to speak with him and he ran off,” he falters a moment, eyes coming to rest on Iwaizumi’s face, “I am worried. He seems too young to be out this late.”

Iwaizumi’s frown softens, and he turns away, grabbing at his uniform jacket he hangs by the door. Ushijima blinks as the shorter man grabs his keys and his flashlight.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go look for him.”

“You are in pajamas.”

“These sweatpants are decent enough,” he crack a smile, “It’s my job, Toshi.”

“You are off duty.”

“Not really how it works,” Iwaizumi chuckles, slipping down the stairs and out of sight. Ushijima watches him go a moment before grabbing at his own coat.

He joins Iwaizumi on the street, who motions him to point which way he went. He seems unsurprised by his presence. Ushijima takes the lead, letting Iwaizumi fall into step with him, sweeping his flashlight along ahead of them. They walk around the block in companionable silence, ears pricked, eyes surveying, but ultimately find nothing.

Ushijima frowns.

Iwaizumi slaps his back amicably, “I’ll keep an eye out on patrol tomorrow too. But, like I said, we haven’t gotten any reports about missing kids. He probably just snuck out and you scared him straight back home.”

Ushijima nods, but remains unconvinced. Iwaizumi’s hand slides down his back, moving towards his arm until he can clasp their hands together. Ushijima looks down at this, not really thinking as he brings their hands up, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow up at him, questioningly.

Ushijima murmurs against the hand, “I apologize if I offended you earlier.”

Iwaizumi’s normally harsh features soften, lips quirking into a smile, “Shut up,” he mutters, using his other hand to grasp the fabric of Ushijima’s shirt to bring him down. He steps up on his tiptoes, managing to graze his lips against Ushijima’s. The taller man bends down further, releasing their hands in favor of wrapping his arms around him and bring him closer.

“Let’s go home, big guy,” Iwaizumi decides, after an especially chilly wind passes through them.

Ushijijma closes up the shop during lunch, locking the door and walking down a few blocks to the police station. The sun is high above him this Saturday afternoon, the summer heat bearing down on his dark hair. His fringe starts sticking to his forehead unpleasantly. At least he’s wearing shorts.

He turns the corner, dodging a woman with a stroller. She waves at him, and he pauses, letting her compliment him on a bouquet her husband gave her a week earlier. He nods. The child in the stroller stares at him. He waves at her and her face twists with fear, tears beading at her eyes and color flourishing on her cheeks.

Ushijima begins to apologize and the mother shushes him, admonishing the girl. They part ways and Ushijima wonders if he should start practicing his smile in the mirror. He wonders if Oikawa would help him coach his facial muscles to create something more pleasing to the eye. Or maybe Iwaizumi would be better, having a similarly stern face. He’s still not sure how Iwaizumi’s able to soften his features into that brilliant smile of his.

He’s always been jealous of his boyfriends’ ability to emote so easily, the full spectrum under their belts. Ushijima has always felt incredibly stilted in this respect.

He keeps walking until he reaches the local police station. He waits outside, hands in his pockets, peering into the window. He spots Iwaizumi inside, speaking with his new partner, a rookie he’s helping mentor. Ushijima can’t remember his name for the life of him, but he stands there, red faced and scowling, fingers digging into his own arms where they’re crossed across his chest.

Ushijima didn’t know that law enforcement allowed bleached hair.

Once the rookie stomps away, Iwaizumi’s eyes turn to the window, giving a wave. He calls to one of the officers inside, and Ushijima does know his name, Daichi Sawamura. The two had joined the force together.

Iwaizumi steps out, grinning at him, “Wasn’t sure if we were doing this today.”

“It is Saturday,” Ushijima blinks, reaching his hand out to clasp Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi lets out a laugh, “Oikawa’s gonna throw a fit.”

“We can call him.”

“Yeah, we should,” Iwaizumi smiles, squeezing his hand.

They walk side by side, down the sunny path. Ushijima wonders if Iwaizumi is uncomfortable in his uniform, stiff black pants and a blue cotton shirt. His badge glints in the light, and Ushijima’s eyes linger, at how the shirt tightens around Iwaizumi’s muscled chest, and at the curve of his ass shaped by his pants.

Ushijima tears his eyes away when the crosswalk light changes. They keep walking, until they reach their favorite lunch spot, a hole in the wall Oikawa had discovered a few weeks after they first got their apartment. They grab the small table in the corner, and the waitress gives them a knowing nod.

She comes over to greet them, “The usual?” she asks, and they both nod, “Where’s pretty boy?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Iwaizumi smiles, “He’s away this week.”

“Oh hun, you never disappoint,” she comments right back, squeezing his shoulder. She gives Ushijima her own smile, and walks away to put in their orders.

“How are you able to communicate so easily with others?” Ushijima asks, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand.

Iwaizumi blinks at him, and then snorts, “Are you still upset about that kid?” Ushijima looks down at the table. Iwaizumi smiles, “You’re fine, you know?”

“I have difficulties expressing myself. This is not something I’m unaware of.”

“Yeah, but we understand you just fine. You don’t need to worry about it so much.”

“You do not understand all the time. Oikawa--”

“Oikawa likes to tease,” Iwaizumi interrupts, “He thinks it’s cute. So do I.”

Ushijima frowns, “I find it frustrating.”

Iwaizumi sighs, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t really know what to tell you.”

Ushijima looks out the window, at the people milling about the sidewalk, “I will keep working on it.”

Their food arrives, hot and steaming and they eat in comfortable silence. Iwaizumi offers up his fries, and Ushijima takes them. The waitress had left them a side of mayo, despite the fact Oikawa is the only one with the audacity to dip his fries in that specific condiment. It reminds Iwaizumi to fish out his phone and call up the man in question.

It takes a few rings before OIkawa’s face takes up the screen. He’s wearing his glasses, bags still present under his eyes, with an old sweaty t-shirt clinging to his chest, “Yahoo, boys,” he greets, squinting his eyes at them as he tries to figure out where they are, he then shifts his gaze to his watch, the movement so quick it pixelates on the phone for a moment, “You went without me!”

“We were hungry,” Iwaizumi replies simply, “Have you eaten?”

“Lost track of time,” Oikawa sighs, wiping the back of his hand against his dripping forehead. He grimaces, “He’s almost moved out.”

“Are things going smoother?” Ushijima asks.

Oikawa’s smile is more tired than joyful, “Nee-chan took mom out this morning so it’s been a lot easier. Quieter.”

Ushijima nods, “I remember when I was little leaving the house a lot with my mom while my father packed. It is humorous, I was very happy then, because she kept buying me anything I wanted. That was around when I got my dog.”

Oikawa smiles mournfully, eyes looking away from the camera. Ushijima can see his fingers fiddling with something off screen, and he longs to take those hands in his and calm their restless fretting. He wonders how anxious Oikawa has been this week away, what he has been doing to keep the endless thoughts from ravaging his brain.

Iwaizumi leans in, offering a distraction “Oi, what do you want for dinner tomorrow?”

Oikawa snorts, “I told you, I won’t be back until late.”

“Answer the question, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa giggles, “Surprise me, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re infuriating,” Iwaizumi sighs, but he smiles too.

The waitress come by with their checks, blinking at the phone when Iwaizumi turns it toward her. Her eyes widen, “Oh! Oikawa-san! There you are!”

“Did you miss me Miki-chan?” Oikawa coos and she laughs, waving her hand at him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replies, “I can’t believe you left your boys alone!”

“Alas, duty calls.”

She seems unconvinced, but she waves goodbye nevertheless with a cheery smile. Iwaizumi turns the phone back to him as Ushijima gets his wallet out to pay.

Oikawa smiles at the two of them, soft and genuine, because it crinkles the edges of his eyes behind his glasses, “Do you guys love me?”

“No.” Iwaizumi says immediately, eliciting a long painful whine from the man on the other hand. Ushijima smiles, as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, “What kind of stupid ass question is that, dumbass? It’s been, what, 5 years now?”

Oikawa grumbles something the phone doesn’t quite catch, but he’s pouting into the camera.

“We love you,” Ushijima supplies before adding with a quick glance toward Iwaizumi, “Unfortunately.”

Iwaizumi laughs as Oikawa squawks, “You’re corrupting him, Iwa-chan! Stop spending time together without me! I forbid it!”

“Bye Oikawa,” Iwaizumi replies, easily bringing the phone closer to his face to hang up. Before he does, he whispers a quiet, “Love you,” into the receiver, and then presses the red button as quickly as he can.

Ushijima stands up, stretching his neck side to side to crack it, “He seems tired.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi sighs, standing up as well. He hesitates, eyes falling to the ground before shifting up to peek at Ushijima’s face, “How’d you...you know, deal with it all. When you were little?”

Ushijima starts walking to give himself something to do while thinking, he peruses his mind for the right kind of wording, “I didn’t fully understand what was occurring. I simply dealt with it as it came.”

Iwaizumi looks at the sidewalk as they walk, hands in his pocket, “Must have been tough.”

Ushijima shrugs, “I suppose. But, my case is different. I didn’t really have any sort of relationship with my father. I was very young.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, “Oikawa-san, he was always strict but, I thought...I don’t know. I liked him. I liked both of them. I just…”

“It is difficult to tell what lies beneath the surface. An outsider can never really tell.”

Iwaizumi frowns at him, but it’s a real frown, one that hides gritted teeth. Ushijima can see the tendons working his arm as he fists his hidden hands. Iwaizumi says nothing.

Ushijima has clearly offended him. He’s just not sure how. He decides to stay quiet in case he makes it worse.

By the time they reach Iwaizumi’s station, the tension has dissipated somewhat. Iwaizumi slaps his back, squeezing his shoulder in goodbye. Ushijima still feels inadequate. He turns away, walking back down from whence he came.

He is consumed by his thoughts, thinking of Iwaizumi, of Oikawa, of his childhood, of college, of everything that has led him here to this moment. So consumed in fact, he almost misses him.

Almost.

The boy is in front of his store. Ushijima can see him from where he stands across the street from him. The boy is crouching on the ground, arms folder over his knees, face buried in them. His back is pressed up against the wall, in the shade of the store’s awning. People pass him by without a glance.

Ushijima frowns. He takes a breath to clear his thoughts and readies himself. He crosses the street, confident strides taking him until he stands right by the boy’s feet. He completely dwarfs him. He debates whether he should crouch down, but the boy has already looked up, eyes widening as he scrambles to stand.

Ushijima holds out a hand, and the boy freezes, staring at him, “Wait, here a moment.” Ushijima orders, eyes holding the boy’s face a second longer before he steps away to enter the store. He is gone only a few seconds, but by the time he steps back out, the boy has sprinted down the street.

Ushijima’s arm droops, hanging limply at his sides. He sighs, staring at himself through the slight reflection in his shop. He smiles, watching his lips contort up, but it’s not pleasing to look at. His frown returns. He has never been good at forcing smiles.

He twirls the orange peony between his fingers, watching its many petals sway in the winds. He caresses it a moment, before bending down and placing it against his storefront. Perhaps the boy will come back for it.

He straightens up and heads inside the shop, turning the sign back around to open, and slipping his purple work apron over his front.

Ushijima nuzzles his face into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck, breathing in the scent of pine and leather. Iwaizumi reciprocates by petting his hair, never letting his eyes look away from the document he’s reading.

Ushijima bites him.

Iwaizumi snorts, putting down his papers, “You know, you can be just as bad as him sometimes.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Ushijima murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to the reddening spot.

Iwaizumi tugs him up, away from his neck, “You both always want to be the center of attention.”

“I take offense to that,” Ushijima responds, “I do not whine incessantly, nor do I beg for the spotlight.”

“You have different ways of doing it,” Iwaizumi replies easily, smiling at him, “But they’re equally as ridiculous.” Ushijima frowns. Iwaizumi smiles wider, kissing him again apologetically,”I need to finish this.”

“It is Sunday.”

Iwaizumi sighs, “I know.”

“It is Sunday morning.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes, leaning back against the headrest. Ushijima sits up as well, letting their shoulders lean against each other. This time Iwaizumi slumps against him, letting his head rest on him.

Ushijima wipes his eye with the back of his hand tiredly, “What is this case?”

“There’s word of some drug traffickers passing through. It’s just more details about it so we can be on alert.”

“You will be careful?” Ushijima asks, pointedly.

“I’m the one in charge of worrying in this family.” Iwaizumi counters, picking back up his documents, “What should we do for breakfast?”

Ushijima shrugs, swinging his legs over to step out of the king sized bed. Iwaizumi doesn’t look up from his papers. Ushijima ventures out of Oikawa’s bedroom to step into the kitchen, investigating their fridge. Unfortunately, there is nothing all that appealing within its confines. He sighs, scratching his chest distractedly. They will need to go grocery shopping tonight to avoid a fit from Oikawa upon his imminent return.

He starts making Iwaizumi’s coffee before setting up the kettle for his own morning tea. He yawns, walking down the steps to the store. He walks up to the front, opening the door and letting it chime. He bends down, picking up the newspaper wrapped at his feet, feeling his back crack pleasantly as he straightens back up.

As he does so, his eyes catch on a figure staring at him right beside him. He blinks, tired mind supplying him slowly with the information that the boy is back, standing, terrified in front of him. They stare at each other a long moment before Ushijima’s sleep addled head remembers how speaking works, “I have something for you. One moment.”

He steps back inside, shuffling behind the counter and plucking another orange peony from the plant sitting there. He ventures back out, and much to his pleasant surprise the boy has remained rooted to his spot.

He nods at him, offering him the flower. The boy takes it awkwardly, staring at the flower in awe, handing coming up to cup the many petals. Ushijima smiles, “It is nice isn’t it?”

The boy’s blue gaze flicks at him distrustfully. Ushijima continues regardless, “Peonies symbolize bravery.”

The boy stares at the flower. Then his eyes glare at the floor and before Ushijima can build up the energy to speak again, the boy has run off, head down and fingers gripping so tightly to the stem Ushijima worries it will break in half.

Still, the worry dissipates, as if the passing on of the flower has eased the knot in his shoulder. His mind still lingers on the boy, of if he’s alright, but he feels he’s done all he’s can now. And he is satisfied. It will be up to the boy what happens next.

When he comes back up the stairs with the morning paper, he hands Iwaizumi the comics, and looks through the business section himself. Iwaizumi makes him his tea once the kettle steams and they sit down on the coach side by side in a relaxed silence.

They’re interrupted by Ushijima’s phone buzzing with a text from Oikawa, listing his arrival time. Ushijima reads it allowed, looking over to Iwaizumi who simply nods. The rest of the day is spent lazily between them, punctuated only with a brief trip to the grocery store, and a stop at the local cafe to grab a milk bread for Oikawa.

Iwaizumi insists on waiting for Oikawa, but he also insists on Ushijima going to bed. Ushijima easily ignores him, seating himself down beside him on the couch. He leans against him, pressing his weight against his side and resting his head on his shoulders. Iwaizumi sighs, but acquiesces, lifting his arm to wrap around the other man’s shoulders.

They turn the TV on and flip channels until they find a movie and sink in for the night.

Ushijima does not remember falling asleep, but he is awakened by a featherlight touch sweeping his bangs. He blinks his eyes open, blearily. Oikawa’s face appears before him, tired but smiling ever so softly. Oikawa’s eyebrows upturn apologetically and he presses a finger to his lips, motioning to his side.

Iwaizumi is still asleep beside him.

Ushijima carefully stands up. Oikawa turns away to shut the television off, but Ushijima has little patience for that. He grabs him, lifting him slightly in the air in order to kiss him properly. Oikawa’s breath tickles his cheeks, “Shush, don’t wake him.”

“I have not seen you for a week,” Ushijima whispers right back.

Oikawa kisses him again, “You miss me?”

“Tooru.”

Oikawa giggles as quietly as possible, “I didn’t mean to wake you either,” he sighs, pulling away carefully, “But since you’re up, can you put him to bed?”

Ushijma nods, leaning down and slipping his arms around the sleeping man. Iwaizumi stirs slightly, eyebrows knitting together as he is lifted from the couch, but they both know he is a notoriously heavy sleeper. Oikawa takes a picture of the scene giddily, cooing, “He’s so cute like this! God, if only...”

Ushijima grunts, because Iwaizumi isn’t the lightest man in the world, and quickly takes him to Oikawa’s bedroom, the master bedroom, and sets him down carefully in the middle of the bed. He takes a moment to tuck him in, watching as he turns to nuzzle into his pillow. Ushijima ventures back out to the living room, finding Oikawa scanning his phone, a fresh cup of water sitting on the counter next to him. Ushijima goes to hover beside him.

Oikawa looks up at him, “Go to bed.”

“Not until you do as well,” Ushijima replies.

Oikawa looks back at his phone with a grimace, typing something out, “My sister’s texting me.”

“It is late.”

“It’s about mom.”

Ushijma frowns, hand coming up to tentatively rest on the other man’s shoulder, “Are you alright?”

“Of course I am.”

“Are you alright?” he repeats regardless, hand reaching up to brush stray strands of brown hair from his partner’s cheeks.

“Ushiwaka.” And this time Oikawa’s voice shakes.

“You can tell me if you are not,” Ushijima insists, “I know, I know I was not alright. It is a difficult thing to ever feel alright about,” his hand glides back down to the other’s shoulder, squeezing it.

Something catches in Oikawa’s throat, and there are tears pricking at his eyes. He buries his face in Ushijima’s chest, hunched over, and Ushijima wastes little time wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close, squeezing him tight.

Oikawa shudders, fingers pulling at Ushijima’s shirt fabric for purchase, squeezing it tightly as he tries to burrow into him. Ushijima lets him do what he pleases.

Oikawa has never been a pretty cryer. His sobs are ugly and overtake his whole body, leaving him a shuddering mess. Ushijima’s one hand slides up his back to nestle in his brown hair, stroking his scalp in what he hopes to be comforting motions.

Ushijima is not sure how long it takes, but eventually Oikawa is able to regain some control, tears slipping from his eyes silently, body shaking only with the occasional hiccup. He pulls back, gulping down a breath of air as he lifts an arm up to wipe at his wet face, grimacing at the snot coating his skin.

Ushijima steps back to grab a tissue. As Oikawa blows his nose he speaks again, “I am sorry this all is happening.”

Oikawa snorts, a few more tears springing from his eyes, “I don’t understand it. They always seemed fine, better than fine. But, god, they were at each other’s throats.” Oikawa blows in his tissue again, a loud noise trumpeting out, “Nee-chan says they fought a lot when we were younger too but I can’t remember. They always seemed so quiet and I don’t know. I don’t--” he lets out a frustrated noise, and Ushijima waits patiently. Oikawa’s face forms a sneer suddenly, “Nee-chan said I shouldn’t be so surprised,” he pitches his voice a bit higher then and adds, “Where do you think you got so good at hiding your emotions from?”

He lets out a bitter laugh as he wipes at his eyes.

“Oikawa--”

“Stop,” Oikawa orders, grabbing another tissue, “I don’t wanna cry anymore. I’m a grown man.”

“It’s alright.”

“I want to go to bed,” Oikawa sighs, “I want to go to bed and not think about the past five days of hell. Can’t I do that, Ushiwaka?”

“Of course.”

They both slip into Oikawa’s bedroom with little ceremony, Ushijima crawling straight to bed, taking Iwaizumi’s left side while Oikawa fumbles toward his closet blindly. He slips off his clothes, leaving himself only in his boxers before venturing out to the bed. He slips in on Iwaizumi’s right, nuzzling tiredly into his pillow.

Ushijima watches as Oikawa peeks his eyes open to stare at Iwaizumi’s sleeping face, a finger lifting up to trace his brows. Iwaizumi lets out a sleepy grunt, face twitching. Oikawa bites down a tired chuckle. His brown eyes catch gold, and he smiles a bit wider at Ushijima, arm stretching out to take his hand in his own.

Ushijima squeezes back.

Oikawa falls asleep soon after that.

Ushijima stays up a bit longer, eyes focused on the cieling, mind muddling through the recent conversation, as well as everything from the past week. He frowns.

He had yet to tell Oikawa about the boy.

#ushiwaoi #iwaoi #ushioi #hq #hq fanfic #haikyuu!! #my shitty fics #and thus begins a new one #lmao #enjoy #forgot to post it here

[tipsycad147]

YOUR MEDICINAL HERB GARDEN

by Crooked Bear Creek Organic Herbs

One of the questions I get asked frequently is what herbs would I recommend for a small medicinal herb garden or for someone just starting out so they don’t get overwhelmed. So that’s what I’m going to cover today. Of course, I don’t know everyone’s specifics. I will have to make a few assumptions – there will be plenty of sun, access to water, and the soil is healthy. One other important point is that these are herbs I believe allow for a beginner herbalist to begin treating their family with, they are also good for more advanced herbalists (for instance, I use chamomile in many preparations because it’s good for so many things). I’m hoping this will enable more and more individuals to grow their own “farmacy”!

Matricaria recutita – Chamomile

Like I mentioned before, I believe Chamomile (Matricaria recutita)  to be one of the most important herbs in our home. I use it for upset stomach, trouble sleeping, calming skin irritations, colic, teething issues, anxiety, and more. It is one of those herbs that I could not do without. Once it is growing (seed germination can be difficult) it can thrive in almost any type soil as long as it is well-draining, high clay content or shallow hard pan soil would not work here. It does require full sun, so don’t try to hide this in a corner! It’s PH requirement is also quite flexible growing well in the soil as low as 5.6 up to 7.5. Sadly this is not a perennial plant which requires replanting each year. I left much of my flowers and allowed them to go to seed last fall hoping to see some new sprouts this year.

Uses: upset stomach, gripping pain, IBS, calming skin irritations and reducing infection, colic, teething, hair rinse, anxiety, sleep aid

Soil:  Well-drained

Sun: Full sun but will tolerate a little shade

Annual

Echinacea purpurea– Echinacea (Purple Coneflower)

I’ve always been fond of “Daisy” like flowers and Echinacea is no exception. Echinacea is not only beautiful to us but attractive to pollinators. So if you’re looking to attract more pollinators to your garden, this is an herb you want to consider. Being a perennial, as long as you are giving it space to grow it will grace your garden year after year. It does not do well with “wet feet” but, once established it will tolerate drought and heat due to its deep tap root. The best way to propagate is by root cuttings in Autumn.

For medicinal purposes, Echinacea flower can be used but will not be as strong as a preparation made from the root. If you are harvesting the flowers do it when the flowers are just starting to bloom, for the root harvest in the fall when all the energy has moved down (preferably after a frost or two). Don’t dig up the entire root, make sure to leave some to grow back in the spring. I left mine alone last year (besides clipping a few flowers) to allow it to propagate naturally.

In order for Echinacea to be helpful take it at the first sign of a cold, this is not a recommended herb to be used as a tonic. For internal use, I recommend three preparations: infusion or tincture (flowers) or decoction (root). Make sure to follow directions for preserving herbs if you want to use it over the winter./p>

Uses: Boost immunity

Soil:  Well-drained

Sun: Full sun but will tolerate a little shade

Water: water well until established, after that it will tolerate very dry

Melissa officinalis – Lemon Balm

First, a word of warning…lemon balm likes to grow and will expand in your garden if you do not keep it under control. This should not stop you from growing it, just understand you’ll need to cut it back and ‘tame’ it!

Lemon balm is my go to for two specific issues: anxiety and cold sores because of its anti-viral properties, but it is good for many other things as well: eczema, headache, insect bites, and wounds to name a few.  As a culinary herb, it adds a wonderfully fresh, lemony-mint taste to any dish, (it’s especially good in a fruit salad) and brews into a refreshing iced tea!

In my garden, it is one of the fastest growing plants I have. If I see it getting a little sad looking, I simply cut it down and it magically rejuvenates it – basically, It is another easy plant to grow and will grow prolifically if left alone! One way to control it is to clip it back several times in the summer and early fall to keep seeds from forming. Unlike mint, it does not grow underground “runners” so it makes it easy to pull any unwanted plants that might get away from you. On a side note, this makes amazing fodder for your chickens and goats. When our chickens got into my herb garden they decimated my lemon balm, of course, it grew back in a few weeks, but I was amazed at how much the chickens liked it. When I thin I just throw it over my fence and the chickens and goats fight for it!

Uses: Cold sores, anxiety, sleep aid, eczema, headaches, insect bites, wounds, colic, can help with ADHD

Soil:  moist, rich and Well drained

Sun: Full sun

Water: does not tolerate drought very well

These are three great starter herbs if you are wanting to step into growing your own medicinal herb garden.

I need to mention here that my assumption, again, is that you’ve done your research and have prepared your soil for planting. So many problems with plants can be avoided by feeding your soil and ensuring drainage is adequate and biological soil life is thriving!

Truthfully I have a really tough time narrowing it down to just 9 because so many plants are useful to have in your medicinal arsenal. However, one of the criteria I am looking for is ease of growing, which does slim down the list, and the ones I believe are most helpful for family medical care.

Last time I covered Lemon Balm, Chamomile, and Echinacea. This time I will cover calendula, Garlic, and Arnica. Three very different plants but all great for a home medical kit.

Calendula officinalis (Pot Marigold)

This sunny, happy, orange or yellow flowered plant is part of the Asteraceae family. Not to be mistaken for the marigold in the

Tagetes family. Sadly, it is an annual (I always prefer perennials), but with all its many benefits I still think it earns a place in every medicinal garden.

Propagate

Calendula does best when directly sown into the soil once the last chance of frost has passed. You can start them inside and transplant but there is more chance of harming the taproot. Make sure your soil allows for adequate drainage and oxygen, especially during the beginning stages, to avoid “damping off.”Calendula will tolerate a wide range of soils but prefers full sun.

A little tip

If you pick the mature flowers regularly in the spring and summer it may continue producing more flowers, even into the fall. Picking flowers also reduce the chance of pests (blister beetles, cucumber beetles, and aphids). Never let the flowers go to seed or you will greatly decrease your harvest.

Harvesting

The best time to pick is in the heat of the day when the water content is the lowest. Dry the flowers as soon as possible. The petals dry quickly but the receptacle does not so you can expect a total drying time of 10 days or more at 90 degrees or so. Let them cool and sort them carefully when they finish drying, as they reabsorb moisture readily.

Uses

Calendula is a wonderful anti-inflammatory for the skin and is used in many lotions, creams, and salves. Apply topically for skin irritation: dry skin cracked nipples, eczema, wounds.

Taken internally it will help the digestive system: colitis, peptic ulcers, gastritis (infusion) and is cleansing for the liver and gall bladder (tincture). It also helps reduce menstrual pain and regulate bleeding (infusion).

Preparations: tincture, infusion, salve, cream, compress

TYPE: Annual

SOIL: Well-drained, aerated soil

SUN: Prefers full sun, will tolerate partial shade

WATER: Water well 1-2 times a week

Allium (garlic)

You can’t go wrong with garlic. It adds a wonderful, flavorful explosion to any fare and, if used correctly, can add nutritional benefits. Garlic is also a wonderful addition to your garden as a pest repellent.

Propagate

Garlic can be planted in the spring but you will likely deal with smaller bulbs when harvesting. I recommend planting in the fall, so put this on your list as something to do as you move into fall. You’ll want to plant garlic about a month before frost hits. Simply break apart the bulb a few days before planting but keep the husk on the individual cloves. Plant them with the pointy end up about 2” deep and 4” apart. Heavily cover with mulch. In the spring green shoots will begin emerging. As the threat of frost is gone, feel free to remove the mulch.

A little tip

Do NOT use garlic bought at the store, use garlic from a previous harvest or buy them from a local garden shop. Be aware that you need to pick a variety that is good for your zone. Garlic flowers are lovely but if you are looking for larger bulbs, clip back any flower shoots. Because garlic likes extra nitrogen fertilising with rabbit manure or manure tea would give it that added boost. Water well about every 3-5 days during the drier season.

Harvesting

Harvest when you see the tops begin to yellow and get droopy (usually late summer in my area). Pull them from the soil gently, using a spade, brush off the dirt and hang in a shady spot with plenty of air flow. You can bunch them together but make sure every side gets air. It is ready to use when the wrappers are dry and papery. You can either “braid” them (yes, even hard neck garlic which is what grows best here) or clip off the tops and store in a dry, cool area.

Uses

Garlic is one of those things that mainstream medicine has recognised. There’s really no way you can go wrong adding garlic to your life on a daily basis.

• Reduce risk of certain cancers • Positive effects on the cardiovascular system • Lower cholesterol • Antibacterial • Antimicrobial • Antiviral • Antifungal

The key to achieving the highest health benefits from this powerhouse is to make sure you don’t cook it, yes, add it to dishes, but try to add it near the end of cooking, it will provide the most intense flavor and won’t destroy all the enzymes (allicin). Press the garlic through a garlic press and let it stand for 5-10 minutes, this activates the allicin. At this point, you can add it to your dish, blend it with some honey and spread it on toast, add it to a batch of elderberry syrup (already prepared) for an extra immune boost, or, get crazy and just eat it straight up. Warning – you will have garlic breath J

Preparations: capsules, food, infused oil, powder

TYPE: Annual

SOIL: Well-drained, aerated soil

SUN: Prefers full sun

WATER: Water well every 3-5 days during the hot, dry months

Warning

Because garlic is such a warming food, it can be aggravating to people with a warm constitution. In high doses, it may irritate the digestive system, causing gas, nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, and burning of the mouth. In normal and moderate doses garlic acts as a pre-biotic, food for the good microflora in the gut. People with a known allergy to Allium plants should avoid garlic.

Arnica

A daisy-like flower with a happy, sunny disposition also part of the Asteraceae family. This is a beautiful and helpful addition to any medicinal herb garden.

Propagate

If you are fortunate enough to know someone that has arnica in their garden, ask if you can have a cutting or if they are ready to divide their plant. If not, starting with seeds isn’t that difficult but germination can be tricky taking one month up to two years so patience will come into play here! Sprinkle the seeds and lightly cover with soil. Keep moist. The other option is to start them indoors with plenty of light (preferably a grow light) you can transplant these in the spring after the threat of frost is gone.

Uses

• anti-inflammatory • analgesic (reduces pain) • vulnerary (wound-healing: fractures, sprains, contusions, muscular pain, varicose veins) • rubefacient (increases blood flow to an area helping speed healing)

Arnica should only be used topically on the unbroken skin. It is quite effective when used as a poultice, in a carrier oil or salve.

Harvesting

Harvest blooming flower heads in summer, June through August.

Preparations: poultice, salve, infused oil, wash ( Steep 2 teaspoons arnica in 1 cup boiling water, let cool and use)

TYPE: Perennial

SOIL: Prefers sandy, slightly alkaline

SUN: Prefers full sun, will tolerate shade in very hot areas

WATER: Not drought tolerant until established, keep the soil moist but not soaked – a good weekly watering should suffice except during very dry, hot months.

I love nettles, the leaves are filled with a plethora of vitamins (high levels of Vitamin A, C, E & K), protein, chlorophyll, and minerals (calcium, magnesium, iron, and potassium) making it quite useful as a vitamin drink. Juicing fresh nettle, preparing a nourishing herbal infusion, creating a “pesto”, or even using it as the spinach in a vegetable lasagne are all great ways to enjoy this herb while benefiting from its nutritive power.

I am fully aware that nettle is available to anyone who wildcrafts, so why do I recommend growing it in your herb garden? Because you know how it’s been grown and where it’s been grown. You have worked to create healthy soil and you aren’t spraying it with harmful chemicals. Furthermore, it’s growing right outside your door making it quick and easy to harvest, whether you are harvesting enough to make herbal preparations or even if you just want a little for your dinner preparations. To me, keeping things simple is key.

But what about the sting? Well, it’s a small price to pay, and honestly, if you harvest them correctly (wear gloves here) and either dry or saute/steam them, the sting is no longer a threat. Interestingly, nettle actually contains juices in its leaves that can stop the pain of a nettle “sting”. I was out yesterday looking at some nettle, I wasn’t wearing gloves and just decided to grab a leaf, roll it up, and eat it. I didn’t get stung, I decided to do an experiment and just brushed my hand against the nettles, sure enough, I was stung. I immediately grabbed another leaf, worked it between my fingers until the juices were released and rubbed it on the sting. The intensity of the pain greatly decreased, I wasn’t that bothered by it so I didn’t keep the leaf on for long. A few minutes later, the sting seemed to begin intensifying again so I grabbed a plantain leaf, crushed it and applied it with total relief in a short time. The moral of the story here is grab it like you own it – nettles sense fear J

Nettle prefers rich, moist soil and full sun but will grow in shadier areas, the difference being that the plant in shade will produce less seed which can be harvested and used as well. Seeds are great for overwrought adrenals. The seed can be a little stimulating, if you dry it first this will decrease the effect.

As a nourishing herbal infusion, it can help with fatigue, building and purify the blood, and detoxify (it has a diuretic property). This is also a wonderful herb to include in your diet and herb regimen if you are prone to allergies.

Preparations: Infusion, Nourishing Herbal Infusion, Poultice, Tincture, Juiced, Food

Growing

TYPE: Perennial SOIL: Moist, rich SUN: Prefers full sun will grow in shade WATER: water well until established Propagation: Cuttings, Root transplant, seed

Lavender (Lavendula)

Lavender is a beautiful, highly aromatic plant that is not too difficult to grow in the right conditions. It is one of those herbs that almost everyone recognises by sight and smell. Who hasn’t enjoyed the scent of lavender in soap, lotion, or even in a room or body spray? Lavender is an antimicrobial which makes it a great choice for a room deodoriser with germ-killing capabilities. It is a calming herb that can easily be added to infusions and baths to help reduce stress and irritability and induce sleep. It also has wonderful anti-inflammatory properties making it a perfect herb when treating burns and bug bites. The essential oil has been used for many years to treat burns, eczema, reduce scar tissue and aid in healing infections (including fungal).

I don’t think you can have enough lavender growing so I choose a sunny spot that has soil that is well-drained. It doesn’t like to have “wet feet” so it really doesn’t require that much input. Watering once a week is generally sufficient during the driest months. Don’t put it in with something that prefers moist soil, it will not thrive and may not even survive.

Harvest the flowers when they are dry and make sure to dry them immediately to reduce the loss of the essential oils. The leaves can also be used but are not nearly as high in medicinal properties as the flowers.

Preparations: Get creative when deciding how to use this herb: floral bath, steam inhalation, infusion, oil, pillow, sachet for drawers, tincture, poultice, salves, lotions, & hydrosol (maybe you have a friend or know someone who makes essential oils like I do which gives me a great supply for hydrosols)!

Growing

Type: Perennial Soil: Rich, drier Sun: Full Sun Water: Water well once a week or so, let soil dry between waterings Propagation: Seed, Cuttings, Layering

Comfrey (Symphytum spp.)

Many people cringe when I recommend growing comfrey. They see it as an invasive plant that will eventually choke out the rest of the herbs in their garden. Though this can be true, with a little management you can keep this from happening while benefiting from the diverse offerings of this plant!

First, I want to mention the few obvious things that are not medicine related: comfrey leaves are wonderful mulch makers and, because of their large leaf growth, will shade out competitors like any unwanted weeds that may pop up in your garden. Because they are deep-rooted they pull up the minerals found in the soil and bring it up to the leaf. Chopping and dropping these mineral-rich leaves puts those minerals back into the soil and adds organic matter (thus aeration) to your soil profile. Additionally, bees and other pollinators love the flower and if you grow a blocking variety you won’t deal with it reseeding itself.

As far as medicinal use, there is virtually no competing herb that can heal skin the way comfrey can. As a matter of fact, it can heal so well and quickly that you need to make sure the wound is fully cleansed and there is no sign of infection, it could get closed up inside. Comfrey is also well-known for its ability to treat sprains, swelling, bruises and historically even mend broken bones! It can also help alleviate osteoarthritis and other arthritic type pain.  Comfrey contains allantoin which stimulates tissue repair and cell proliferation. Which means it is also great in salves to use on areas that are troubled by irritation or rash.

Comfrey is a pretty flexible plant and can grow almost anywhere. However, it does prefer moist, rich, loamy soil and dappled sunlight. We have found that once it is established it grows really well, even in imperfect conditions. If you are wanting to control the spread I would suggest two things: do not disturb the roots. Every small root piece will grow into another plant. Make sure you are going to keep it where you plant it and don’t till the soil. Second, reduce its growth by chopping the leaves at least twice in a growing season, and dead head any flowers that appear. If it is growing in an area that you don’t want it, the best way to get rid of it is to keep its leaves so low that it loses all ability to continue growing. Do not go pulling the roots because you will likely not be able to get the entire root system out.

Preparations: Poultice, salve, infused oil, infusion

Growing

Type: Perennial Soil: Moist, Rich, loamy Sun: dappled sunlight Water: occasionally, once it’s established it can tolerate drought much better because if its deep roots.

https://crookedbearcreekorganicherbs.com/2017/06/12/your-medicinal-herb-garden/

[dusty-cookie]

Through The Valley - Chapter 13

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10075958/chapters/26228781

Tags: @rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts @embracetheapocalypsewithme @kinkozan @lupienne @theblack-wolf @lovingzombiechaos @dragonracer @miiraal

Pairing: Negan X OFC

Chapter Summary: Negan and the no good very bad day

A/N: Yeah, this chapter was a doozy. I’m glad it’s done though and I promise it’s all leading somewhere ;) A big thanks to those people who keep reading my stuff and especially to those who encourage me to keep going. And  a very big thank you to @lovingzombiechaos for helping me improve.

Word Count: 4239

“I have to admit, I’m kind of proud.” Lilly looked into the distance and smiled.

“You fucking should be. Look at this shit. We’ll be drowning in our own vegetables soon.”

“With the stuff from the other communities and from what we get from here, we can finally start canning tomatoes and beans for the winter.”

“Mmmhh… canned beans. Keep talking dirty to me.”

Lilly chuckled and ran back over to Marv, who was busy installing the last plastic sheets on the third greenhouse. They had decided to expand the Sanctuary’s fence into the large patch of fallow land behind the dormitory to have enough room for the three long structures. Lilly had even suggested converting some of the area into a field to experiment with potatoes and pumpkins. The past couple of weeks had been busy with people rearranging and adding to the fence, scavenging materials and building the greenhouses and preparing the soil for the plants.

Under Lilly’s guidance, the newly created gardening team had already started to plant cucumbers, tomatoes, beans, bell peppers, all kinds of lettuce and onions. So far, the plants were thriving, as far as Negan could tell with his, admittedly, limited experience.

Negan swiped the sweat from his forehead and watched the people working on the project. All morning he had helped carrying the heavy rolls of clear plastic and raising the wooden poles.

His gaze kept wandering back to Lilly. She was back to her full self, as far as he could tell. She caught him staring at her, a frequent occasion nowadays more than ever and he turned to walk back to the Sanctuary. He had been careful not to dwell too much on what had happened between them at the Hilltop. Not caring had been his strength in surviving this world and it was time to go back to being a soulless motherfucker.

Lilly made it hard, though.

The next morning found Negan waking up from dreams filled with black hair and white skin and he refused to acknowledge the raging erection creating a small tent under his sheets. He sighed, got up and prepared for the day. A cold bath first, to take care of his most obvious problem. A quick shave later and after getting dressed, he held the red scarf in his hands. It went back inside the drawer with an annoyed grunt.

Negan needed a distraction, so he decided to patrol the perimeter of Sanctuary. Starting at the front door, he made his way through the vehicle lot and along the hall. He watched the people in the inner courtyard going about their business from the other side of the fence for a while. When he rounded the corner that led to the garages and workshops, he stopped in his tracks. A familiar voice came out of the motorcycle repair shop and Negan crept as close to the open garage door as possible without being seen.

“No Jax. This is a bad idea.”

“Come on, Lil, you promised. I’ve been waiting for this for ages. I swear I’ll be careful.”

“But it feels all wrong between my legs. It’s too big.”

Red, hot rage started to cloud Negan’s vision.

“You just have to get used to it.”

“Can you please get us at least some kind of protection?”

Negan had heard enough. He swung Lucille from his shoulder, ready to scatter Viking boy’s brain matter all over the walls, and jumped around the corner and into the shop.

He froze at the scene before him. Lilly was perched awkwardly on top of one of the motorcycles, her hands on the saddle to keep herself from sliding forward. Jax stood next to her, holding two helmets and two back protectors. Both stared at Negan with wide eyes.

“Oh thank God…,” Lilly exclaimed and jumped off the bike and ran over to Negan. She grabbed his free hand and looked up at him with pleading eyes, “Hello boss. I’m sure you’re here because you have a job for me? Patrolling? Inventory? Fence duty? Please…?”

“I… uuuhh… What?” Negan needed a moment to process what was happening before he realized what Lilly wanted from him. “Oh, yeah… I think Laura needs some help with the points.”

“Great! Sure! Always happy to help. See you guys later…”

And she ran off as if the devil was chasing her, leaving Jax and Negan staring at each other.

“Great. Thanks Negan. I finally convinced her to go on a ride with me.”

Jax turned around to hang the helmets and protectors back on their designated spots on the wall. Negan wiped a hand over his face. In a matter of seconds, he had gone through rage, then confusion, relief, shame, only to be back at annoyance now.

“What the fuck did you want to take her on a motorcycle for? She’s fucking afraid of these things.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s called exposure therapy. Trust me, she just has to try it once and then she’ll love it.”

“Speaking from experience, are you?”

“Well… yeah. I’ve known her for a while, though you seem to keep forgetting that.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked and Negan considered punching the smug look right out of his face. He crossed his arms to suppress the itching in his fists.

“If you know her so well, you should be more concerned about her fucking well-being.”

“Are you implying that I don’t care about Lilly?”

“I’m not implying anything, I’m straight up fucking telling it right to your fucking face. You probably just thought about your dick. Scaring her a little, taking her somewhere nice on the bike so you can score some brownie points with her.”

Negan had thought that Jax would get angry, or at least defensive. What he hadn’t expected, was for him to start laughing.

“Oh my… you two are just precious, you know that? Seriously though, I’m pretty sure Lilly has told you on more than one occasion that we’re like brother and sister.”

“She may have mentioned it once or twice. Just because she thinks that way doesn’t mean you feel the same, though. And why would you? You and her being so fucking close, living alone together for fucking months. Having a hot piece of ass right in front of you all this time… don’t fucking insult my intelligence and pretend you don’t wanna tap that.”

“I really don’t.” Jax chuckled while lifting up the saddle to take out his backpack. “Don’t project your own fantasies onto me, Negan. I love Lilly, but I don’t want to get into her pants. She’s missing a rather significant detail.”

“And what’s that?”

“A dick.”

“Oh…” Negan stared at Jax, whose grin had turned into a look of concern.

“Has Lilly never told you?”

“Not a fucking word.”

“This isn’t going to be problem, is it?”

“What? Please… I don’t give a flying fuck about where you stick your dick, as long as any dick-sticking is agreed upon by everyone participating.” Negan’s eyes widened in sudden realization, “Oh… so, you and Connor…?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious. Everyone else knows by now, I think.”

“Huh… I guess I was a little preoccupied lately.”

“You should talk to her. I know she has a habit of retreating into her shell when she feels hurt, but I’m sure you two can work out any problems you have if you just talk to each other, instead of about each other.”

“So she talked about me?”

“Incessantly. It’s starting to get a bit annoying to be honest.”

“What did she say?”

Jax sighed and then smiled. “I can’t really give you any details, you know, being her friend and all. Plus, she’d probably cut off my balls if I did. All I can say is, she likes you. She enjoys your company. Though that’s probably not really news to you.” Negan still couldn’t help himself from grinning. Jax chuckled when he noticed before he continued, “The thing is… and this is coming from me, not her… Lilly is fiercely loyal. It’s not easy to gain her trust, but once you do, she’s like a dog. Big, scary rottweiler. She’ll go through hell with you and leave a trail of blood and bones in her wake. But… and that’s the problem here in particular… she’ll expect the same from you. You’re not a free man, Negan, and Lilly doesn’t share.”

“Well, what the fuck does she expect me to do?”

“She doesn’t expect anything from you.”

“I can’t just tell the wives to fuck off.”

“I know.”

“I mean, I could, probably, but what would my men think?” Negan threw up his arms. “I melted someone’s fucking face off because of them, for fuck’s sake.”

“I know! I know, Negan. And so does Lilly. Again, she doesn’t expect anything from you. She told me herself that she would never ask of you to do anything that could endanger your position. This is your decision, really. You have to figure out what you’re willing to do to tap that hot piece of ass. Though the fact that we’re even having this conversation tells me that you’re way past the point of just wanting to get your dick wet.”

Negan frowned. “Why does this shit have to be so fucking complicated? Why can’t we just fuck and be done with it? You know… get it out of our systems.”

Jax laughed at that.

“You seriously think that would work? Have sex once and then drop each other like a hot potato?”

“Well not drop each other. But we could go back to being friends with the fucking out of the way.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” Jax rolled his eyes.

Negan sighed and twirled Lucille in his hand. “I really didn’t sign up for all this feelings shit when I picked you two up in this stupid fucking suburban shithole.”

“And yet you don’t regret it one bit.”

“Heh… ain’t that the fucking truth.”

“Has anyone seen my knife?”

Lilly was the last to join Negan and the other lieutenants for their twice-a-week meeting.

“What knife?” Dwight asked.

“My butterfly knife. I always keep it under my pillow while I sleep, but it wasn’t there last night when I got back from game night.”

“Probably somewhere in the greenhouses or in the rec room.” Negan had better things to do than go look for Lilly’s little potato peeler. “Can we fucking start now? What’s the news on the greenhouses?”

“Some of the tomatoes got blight.” Lilly reported without meeting his eyes.

“The fuck is blight?”

“It’s a fungus. Don’t worry though, we removed the sick plants and gave the others a special fertilizer. I still need to go back to that gardening store to get a couple of things, though.”

“I’ll come with you. Laura?” Seth looked over at his lover.

“No,” Negan interrupted, “There’s no need for three lieutenants to drive two towns over for a bag of fucking manure. Take Gavin if you absolutely have to be three people out there.”

“No problem,” Lilly continued, “So, about those potatoes… we still have more than enough to start a small field without…”

Negan had already zoned out. It had been nothing but dirt and watering techniques and slug infestations and optimizing the ventilation for the past couple of weeks. He usually started to think about other stuff after a couple of minutes. Today, he didn’t even realize that it was over until he felt all eyes on him, waiting for him to close the meeting.

“Go fuck off and do your fucking jobs then!”

Everybody hurried out and then it was finally blissful silence.

Negan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment when there was soft knock on the door. Squeezing his eyes shut, he childishly hoped that the visitor would go away if he didn’t answer. He had no such luck, of course. With a second knock and without waiting for an answer, the door swung open. Negan didn’t have to look up. He knew who the intruder was. Only his wives, and one in particular, had the proverbial balls to enter his office without an invitation.

“Hey handsome.”

“What the fuck do you want, Sherry?”

“Aww, no need to be so rude. Can’t a wife visit her beloved husband at work when she misses him?”

Negan’s eyes widened when Sherry made her way over to him and sat down in his lap, straddling him. “Uhhhh… Sherry?”

“What? Been missing those big muscles of yours.”

She rubbed the palms of her hands over his shoulders and chest until Negan grabbed her arms to keep her from going lower.

“We haven’t fucked in fucking months and now you come waltzing in here and hop on my dick like it’s the shiniest merry-go-fucking-round on the country fair? I’m gonna ask you again and you better come up with a good fucking answer this time: What. The fuck. Do you want?”

Sherry freed her arms and smiled at him. It caused a chill to run down Negan’s spine. Bitchy Sherry he could handle, but this was straight out of an episode of the Twilight Zone.

“The girls and I have been worried about you lately. You haven’t touched any of us in weeks. I just thought…,” Her hands continued their path down to Negan’s pants, fumbling with the belt buckle, “...maybe you need something familiar? Someone who has been with you all this time. Who knows you inside- and out.”

She slid a hand inside his pants. Normally, Negan would have been reduced to a panting, moaning puddle of lust by now. All he felt right now, though, was disgust. He grabbed her hips and stood up, placed her in his office chair and took a couple of steps back to put some distance between them and to fasten his belt. Sherry’s seductive smile had been replaced by a look of annoyance.

“Are you kidding me, Negan? You’ve been complaining for ages that I don’t put out for you anymore and now I practically throw myself at you and you refuse?”

“You’re damn fucking right I refuse. You want something. Something real fucking big. What is it? A free ride on Dwighty? A pony? My fucking soul?”

“All I want is for things to go back to how they were before you brought that bitch into Sanctuary.”

“Ah… so that’s the way the fucking wind blows. And the reason for you trying to blow me, heh…”

“So? If that’s what it takes for you to finally get her out of your thick head, I’m more than willing to take one for the team.”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself, Sherry. You’re not that good at sucking dick. Should have sent Valerie.”

“Fuck you, Negan! Have you stopped for just one minute to think about the consequences of you chasing that pussy all around Sanctuary? No, of course not. The big bad Saviors leader prefers to only think about his dick and not about his people.”

Negan slapped his hands on his desk and leaned over Sherry, his face contorted into a mask of fury.

“What in the everloving fuck are you talking about?”

“Do you think your men haven’t noticed the way you follow her around like some lovesick puppy? Spending hours in her room, or on the rec room couch, practically drooling all over her? And then you go on a trip with her? And she comes back with a fucking hickey on her neck? Are you fucking kidding me, Negan?”

Sherry was almost hysterical at this point and Negan took a step back again. She was far from done, though.

“I’ve never said a word when you strayed to some cunt outside of the penthouse,” That wasn’t exactly true, Negan thought, “But you indulging her every whim, taking her places, letting her have a fucking garden, promoting her to lieutenant in a matter of weeks… enough is enough. We are your wives! We gave up everything for you and now you won’t even look at us. Are you trying to become the laughing stock of the Sanctuary? Do you think your men will keep respecting you if you keep acting like this?”

Negan smiled maliciously at her.

“Wow, Sherry. Your jealousy and insecurities have really reached new fucking highs. Or lows? Whatever… Now listen closely, because I’m only going to say this once: First of all, that woman has almost single-handedly ensured our survival last winter, including yours, and now she has spent hours every fucking day for the past weeks planning and building with Marv so you can have fresh vegetables. You might want to show a little fucking gratitude while sitting on your ass all day, reading cheap fucking romance novels. She does that for people like you, who are too fucking occupied with such important stuff like painting your toenails, or running out of scented fucking body lotion, to even notice that it’s not a garden, but three big-ass fucking greenhouses.

Number two: we made that trip, because the woman who continues to work her fucking ass off for ungrateful little bitches like you had fallen sick and needed someone more competent than Dr. Clive fucking Fisher, a man too fucking stupid to handle a fucking pee stick.

Now… did you manage to conclude for yourself why I promoted her that quick, or do I have to repeat what I just said?”

“I…”

“Was a rhetorical fucking question, Sherry. You may be a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of them. So next on your list of fucking grievances: that you are my wives and you gave up everything for me? You are a glorified fucking whore, Sherry. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me. Well, the other girls mostly. You, not so much. But anyway, you all tried to take care of me.

But don’t fool yourself for one fucking second into thinking that you can not be replaced just like this,” Negan snapped his fingers, “You all agreed to be with me, because you are too fucking weak and too fucking scared to survive in this world. You, in particular, left your fucking husband and let me cook his fucking face before you even so much as tried to put in a little bit of effort. Well done Sherry, you fucking monster.”

A sobbing Sherry flew out of the chair and into the hallway as fast as her high heels could carry her. Negan bowed his head, panting slightly. This fight had been a long time coming, but now that it was over and that he had successfully used a slew of words to cut as deep as he could, he didn’t feel relieved. He didn’t even feel superior. All he felt was numb and angry and anxious.

Was Sherry right? Did his men lose their respect for him, because of how he behaved around Lilly? Negan had only ever seen the other Saviors being respectful and even friendly with her. But did they still fear him, or had he become too soft? He cursed Sherry under his breath for getting into his head.

The petty part of his mind told him to distract himself by punishing Sherry the only way he knew how.

He found Dwight in the inventory room, sorting through various snack packages.

“Hello Tighty Dwighty, need any help?”

Dwight rolled his eyes at the stupid nickname and Negan chuckled. He took a perverse pleasure in getting a rise out of people who could not take a joke, especially after Sherry's jealousy-fueled tirade.

“Not really. I’m just checking stuff that we’re going to run out of soon. Gotta tell people that the times of night-time pretzel snacking are over.”

“Well, once the shit in the greenhouses is ready, they can stuff their fucking faces with fresh cucumbers and beans. Personally, I can’t wait to put the stuff on everything from rice to applesauce.”

“That is one of the most disgusting things that’s ever come out of your mouth and that’s saying something.”

“Deep down, I’m a 300 fucking pound pregnant woman.”

“Speaking of which… you know there’s been rumors going around, right? About you and Lilly.”

Not this shit again. Negan’s face darkened for a moment, before he managed to put his smile back on. He studied a can of peaches, thinking about if and how to answer Dwight’s question. Had Sherry talked to him, too?

“There’s always fucking rumors. Lots of people living so close together, most of them being fucking bored out of their skulls… Hell, I’ve been called everything under the fucking sun from being former military to an escaped murderer. Wanna know what people think about you and why Sherry left you for me? Spoiler alert: It has to do with your penis.”

A flash of rage swept over Dwight’s face. Negan didn’t care. If Dwight wanted to play the “He said, she said” game with him of all people, he better be prepared to get hit with some juicy news, too.

“This isn’t about me. I don’t give a fuck about your and Lilly’s relationship.”

“Pfft, yeah, right…”

“Will you shut up and listen just for one second? Your lieutenants have been worried. We all don’t care what you do behind closed doors or on fucking trips to other communities. But Lilly is important to the Sanctuary. Look what she accomplished with the greenhouses. So what are they going to do when she can’t contribute anymore?”

“Why the fuck would she stop contributing?”

“Well, she might decide to become a wife after all. Or… or what if she gets pregnant…?”

“Oh Dwight…” Negan and Dwight both spun around. Lilly was leaning against the doorway, points ledger in her hand and an amused smile on her lips, “Don’t worry about that. I only let Negan stick it up my butt, so we’re all safe. Thank you, though, for being so concerned about my reproductive activities.” Lilly’s voice, while still laced with humor, had gotten a warning tone. She held the ledger out to him, “Good thing I need you to double-check the points, since you seem to have way too much free time on your hands.”

Negan burst out laughing, holding on to one of the metal shelves.The unburnt side of Dwight’s face had taken on the same color as the angry scar that was meant to remind him of his position. He snatched the ledger from Lilly and stormed out of the room, leaving her and Negan alone for the first time in weeks. He tried to get a hold of himself and wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

“That was the funniest shit I’ve ever had the honor to witness.”

“So glad to ‘contribute’”, she air quoted, “I’m getting sick and tired of people running their mouths, though.”

“Eh, let them talk. Most of them still like you. Fucking bummer, though, that it’s all just hot fucking air and not hot fucking, period.”

“Negan…”

“I know, I know. No more flirting.”

Lilly smiled sadly at him. He had tried on different occasions to go back to their usual banter when he had met her in the rec room, or at meetings. But while Lilly didn’t outright avoid Negan, she had made it clear that she wanted to keep her distance. He didn’t like it, but he had to respect it. Although he secretly hoped that it was just as hard for her as it was for him.

Lilly started to leave, when Negan addressed her again.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Jax likes dick?”

She turned around again.

“Because it’s not my story to tell.”

“Huh. Fiercely fucking loyal. That’s what Jax called you.”

“He’s not wrong, I guess. If I think someone deserves it.”

“Do I?”

“You’re my leader, Negan. I chose to live here and I will follow you and even kneel for you.”

“But nothing more than that?”

Lilly sighed.“Just give me some time. We can go back to being friends eventually.”

“But nothing more than that.”

“What do you want me to say, Negan? You have your wives…”

“I had the wives back when we were in that tent, too. But that didn’t stop you from fucking dry-humping me.”

“It was a momentary lack of judgement. It won’t happen again.”

“Bullshit, Lil. You want me and I want you.”

“Yeah, but unlike you I can ignore that.”

“I’m just sick and fucking tired of this hot and cold fuckery.”

“Then cold it is from now on.”

Negan let out a frustrated grunt and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine, have it your fucking way. I’ve got better things to do than chase pussy all around Sanctuary. You’re not the first hot chick that came to live here and didn’t want to be a wife and you won’t be the last.” He was trying to hurt her, by throwing Sherry’s words at her. Lilly saw right through him, though and he didn’t know whether he should be grateful for that, or terrified.

“Well have fun chasing all those other meaningless pussies, Mister I-don’t-do-kissing.” She sent one last pointed stare his way before she turned and left for good this time.

An assortment of cans went flying across the room, leaving Negan more frustrated than ever and now with the added anger over having to clean up inventory.

#negan #comic negan #comicnegan> #comicnegan #negan fanfic #negan fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #negan x oc #negan x ofc #negan smut #through the valley

[surveysonfleek]

384.

5000 Question Survey Pt. 10

901. Would you rather have a candle scented like blueberries and creme or butterscotch pecan pie? definitely butterscotch pecan pie. 902. Which ones are fruits and which are vegetables: Banana f Cucumber v Tomato f Apple f Carrot v Eggplant v Cherry f Pumpkin v 903. Does it annoy you when people talk loudly on their cell phones in public? i don’t really care...unless it’s on public transport and you’re stuck listening to them. 904. Is love a commitment to one person, or can you love more than one person at the same time? for me personally it’s commitment to one person. but i have no doubt that it’s possible to be in love with more than one person at the same time. 905. Cover or original: Smooth Criminal; is it better by Michael Jackson or Alien Ant Farm? Blue Monday better by Orgy or New Order I Want Candy; Is it better by Aaron Carter or Bow Wow Wow? Love Song; Is it better by 311 or The Cure? It's My Life; Is it better by No Doubt or The Talking Heads?

906. What is the most uncomfortable feeling? witnessing or hearing something you shouldn’t be seeing/listening. 907. Do you like Maroon 5? they’re cool but i’m not a fan. 908. Would you ever go on a blind date TV show? nope. 909. How much of your wardrobe is dry clean only? maybe only like five pieces. 910. Who's arms would you like to crawl into? my boyfriend. 911. What the hell is your problem? nothing right now. 912. Look around you. What is the most beautiful thing you can see? my corkboard lol. 913. What is the most beautiful thing you can't see? idk. 914. Take a deep breath. Yawn deeply. Do you appreciate the things most people take for granted, like breathing? sure. 915. Do you appreciate breathing more when you have a cold and you're all congested and can't breathe right? yes, i guess. 916. Is congestion a positive thing because it helps you to appreciate breathing? if you look at it that way. 917. How is your life like a work of art? i guess i’ve had plenty of cool experiences. 918. Do you feel that your life influences and is influenced by many other lives? yeah. 919. Has a smile ever made all the difference in the world to you? not that i remember haha. 920. Have you ever looked at a tree and considered how the roots could be miles long, trailing and entwining with other roots underground, all of them holding the soil together? nope. 921. Do you notice the little things in life? sometimes. 922. Do you feel, as Jung did, that deep down, underneath our individual personalities we are all the same? no. 923. Do you feel a great oneness with the universe? no. 924. When was the last time you decided to really enjoy yourself? ummm. idk tbh. 925. When was the last time you set your self free and acted without caring at all what someone else thought? today. 926. Have you ever held someone and appreciated how delicate and fragile all life is and felt that they were even more precious and beautiful because one day they would die..and so will you? no. 927. In ten years someone else might own your house and the room you are sitting in now. Someone else might be standing right next to where you are sitting now. So that means you could be standing right next to someone but you can't see him or her because they are ten years away. Ever look at life like that? nope. 928. When was the last time you: Soaked in a bubble bath: in niagara falls lol. Read a good book outside: i forgot! Held someone's hand: a couple days ago. Felt truly joyful: a week or two ago. 929. What do you bring to this world that no one else can? tbh i don’t think there’s anything absolutely only i can bring into this world. 930. Do you feel that you are part of every living thing in this world and that all those things are part of you? no. 931. Are you more afraid of death or not completely living? not completely living. 932. What was the last thing you wanted to do but didn't or couldn't do? work today. 933. Why don't you try and do that thing now? no, i called in sick. 934. What is the most wonderful thing happening right now in the world? idk, i’m sure a ton of people are really happy at this very second. 935. Name 7 things going on around you that you normally wouldn't notice: 1. someone being born. 2. someone dying. 3. someone working their ass off just to provide for their family. 4. a couple breaking up. 5. someone turning down an opportunity of a lifetime. 6. someone getting kidnapped. 7. someone winning a huge amount of money. 936. Name three things you hate 1. someone coughing without covering their mouth. 2. arrogance. 3. physical abuse. 937. Name one GOOD thing about each of those 3 things you hate. um, nothing. 938. What do you tend to see in black and white, rather than in shades of gray? idk. 939. Admit three things you do that you are ashamed of but shouldn't be. 1. where i am at this point in my life. 2. my body. 3. doing a damn 5000 question survey lol. 940. What qualities make a person “good” in your eyes? kindness. 941. Do you have any of these qualities? i hope so. 942. Are you willing to do what it takes to achieve what you want to? eventually. 943. Name one bad quality about someone you love. lazy. 944. Name one good quality about someone you hate. idk. 945. Are you pro life or pro choice and why? pro choice. 946. If you are pro life write a reason someone might be pro choice. If you are pro choice write a reason someone might be pro life. idk  maybe for religious issues. 947. Can you see the beauty in? A bumble bee: A man skating: A woman combing her hair: A box of tissues: Yourself naked: Light: yes to all. 948. What are you most afraid of? losing someone i love. 949. Whose life would you REALLY NOT want to ever have? Why? idk. 950. Can you come up with a reason why you might want their life? - 951. Name one thing that is beautiful about your body i have nice skin i guess. 952. Name one thing that is ugly about your body my stomach. 953. Name one thing that is beautiful about your mind i like learning. 954. Name one thing that is ugly about your mind i don’t like giving second chances. 955. Who was the last person you were rude to? someone who was rude to me. 956. Are your elbows soft? neither soft or rough. 957. Are you ticklish? sometimes. 958. Are you awkward or graceful? neither. 959. Do you wear glasses/contacts? glasses. 960. If you wear contacts what's the longest you have ever left them in your eyes? - 961. What's going on where you are right now? nothing really, it’s night time. most people are asleep. 962. What is your favorite thing to touch? squishy stuff. 963. What is your favorite kind of incense? i haven’t used incense in years tbh. 964. What relaxes you? sleep and massages. 965. How much time have you wasted? a ton. 966. How do you afford your rock and roll lifestyle? i don’t have that lifestyle. 967. What does teen spirit smell like? idk. 968. Do you mostly listen or hear? listen. 969. Look or see? see. 970. Do you comprehend all the things you read? sure. 971. Is it necessary to be repetitive in order to be creative? not really. 972. Do you control your attitude or does it control you? i control it. 973. Are your relationships mostly passion or conversation? in between. 974. Do you do what needs to be done regardless of the consequences? nope. 975. Is money how you keep score? not really. 976. Who can you do everything or nothing with and still have the best time? my boyfriend. 977. Just because you're angry does that give you the right to be cruel? no. but i can be anyway. 978. What is maturity and where does it come from? being responsible and making rational decision. it comes with age and/or experience. 979. Who is the maturest person you know? my parents. 980. Who is the most immature person you know? my sister. 981. If there was a fire and you could only rescue one thing from your room (all people and pets have escaped on their own, even goldfish) what would it be? my laptop. 982. If you could, what 3 albums would you force everyone to remove from his or her CD collections? 1 2 3 i wouldn’t... everyone’s entitled to their own musical tastes. 983. Does Marilyn Manson scare you or bore you? neither. 984. What do you think of the Insane Clown Posse? a bit eccentric. 985. What's the best movie about high school? clueless or mean girls. 986. Do you like Michael Jackson better in the 80's 90's or today? 90s. 987. Is choosing a different store to shop in from most people really making a statement? not really. 988. What's the riskiest thing you've ever done? idk. 989. Have you ever ridden in a car while the driver had been drinking? nope. 990. Who needs to get a life? me haha. 991. Do write on yourself with milky pens? no. 992. What should be different about high school curriculum? i don’t go to school anymore so i don’t really care. 993. Right now are you exactly the way you want to be? nope. 994. Who can save you from yourself? me. 995. Are you a responsible person? yes. 996. "It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious."— Oscar Wilde Do you agree? eh, i don’t agree. 997. How many greatest hits albums do you own? maybe 5. 998. Are you at risk for a.i.d.s.? not that i know of. 999. Do you want to have it all? not really. 1000. Do you collect green pictures of dead presidents? no.

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

[surveystodestressme]

49.

5000 Question Survey Pt. 10

901. Would you rather have a candle scented like blueberries and creme or butterscotch pecan pie? butterscotch 902. Which ones are fruits and which are vegetables: Banana fruit Cucumber veggie Tomato fruit technically but veggie in my mind Apple fruit Carrot veggie Eggplant veggie Cherry fruit Pumpkin veggie 903. Does it annoy you when people talk loudly on their cell phones in public? yes sooo much especially when a customer comes up to me while talking on their phone and expect me to help to them 904. Is love a commitment to one person, or can you love more than one person at the same time? in my opinion it’s commitment to one person, but i know people who love multiple people at the same time and that’s okay too. 905. Cover or original: Smooth Criminal; is it better by Michael Jackson or Alien Ant Farm? Blue Monday better by Orgy or New Order don’t know this one I Want Candy; Is it better by Aaron Carter or Bow Wow Wow? Love Song; Is it better by 311 or The Cure? don’t know this one It’s My Life; Is it better by No Doubt or The Talking Heads? don’t know

906. What is the most uncomfortable feeling? feeling unloved or unappreciated 907. Do you like Maroon 5? yeah 908. Would you ever go on a blind date TV show? maybe if i wasn’t in a relationship 909. How much of your wardrobe is dry clean only? none??? 910. Who’s arms would you like to crawl into? jack’s 911. What the hell is your problem? a lot lol 912. Look around you. What is the most beautiful thing you can see? my cat 913. What is the most beautiful thing you can’t see? my mom??? 914. Take a deep breath. Yawn deeply. Do you appreciate the things most people take for granted, like breathing? i guess 915. Do you appreciate breathing more when you have a cold and you’re all congested and can’t breathe right? lol yes 916. Is congestion a positive thing because it helps you to appreciate breathing? i guess so 917. How is your life like a work of art? you make it however you want with your own experiences.  that’s an interesting way to think of it though 918. Do you feel that your life influences and is influenced by many other lives? absolutely 919. Has a smile ever made all the difference in the world to you? sometimes it does 920. Have you ever looked at a tree and considered how the roots could be miles long, trailing and entwining with other roots underground, all of them holding the soil together? not really 921. Do you notice the little things in life? sometimes. 922. Do you feel, as Jung did, that deep down, underneath our individual personalities we are all the same? no. 923. Do you feel a great oneness with the universe? sometimes ig 924. When was the last time you decided to really enjoy yourself? recently 925. When was the last time you set your self free and acted without caring at all what someone else thought? i’m sure it was recently 926. Have you ever held someone and appreciated how delicate and fragile all life is and felt that they were even more precious and beautiful because one day they would die..and so will you? yeah 927. In ten years someone else might own your house and the room you are sitting in now. Someone else might be standing right next to where you are sitting now. So that means you could be standing right next to someone but you can’t see him or her because they are ten years away. Ever look at life like that? no i haven’t but that’s a crazy thought 928. When was the last time you: Soaked in a bubble bath: a couple months ago Read a good book outside: not recently Held someone’s hand: two days ago Felt truly joyful: all the time 929. What do you bring to this world that no one else can? joy?? but everyone can bring that 930. Do you feel that you are part of every living thing in this world and that all those things are part of you? sure 931. Are you more afraid of death or not completely living? death 932. What was the last thing you wanted to do but didn’t or couldn’t do? idk 933. Why don’t you try and do that thing now? idk 934. What is the most wonderful thing happening right now in the world? people are happy & living life 935. Name 7 things going on around you that you normally wouldn’t notice: 1. my cat moving her ears as she sleeps 2. the lights on the router blinking 3. cars outside 4. the air moving thru the vent 5. coffee dripping off of my mug 6. electricity in the house 7. how all of the electronics in my house work 936. Name three things you hate 1. rude people 2. pain 3. anger 937. Name one GOOD thing about each of those 3 things you hate. nothing? lol 938. What do you tend to see in black and white, rather than in shades of gray? uhhh idk? 939. Admit three things you do that you are ashamed of but shouldn’t be. 1. my chubby belly 2. that i bite my nails still 3. how much water i don’t drink 940. What qualities make a person “good” in your eyes? kindness 941. Do you have any of these qualities? yeah 942. Are you willing to do what it takes to achieve what you want to? i think so 943. Name one bad quality about someone you love. he jokes a lot 944. Name one good quality about someone you hate. i don’t hate anyone 945. Are you pro life or pro choice and why? pro choice. 946. If you are pro life write a reason someone might be pro choice. If you are pro choice write a reason someone might be pro life. bc they don’t want anyone to have to die ig 947. Can you see the beauty in? A bumble bee: A man skating: A woman combing her hair: A box of tissues: Yourself naked: Light: yes to all. 948. What are you most afraid of? dying 949. Whose life would you REALLY NOT want to ever have? Why? donald trump 950. Can you come up with a reason why you might want their life? u know why 951. Name one thing that is beautiful about your body my eyes are cool 952. Name one thing that is ugly about your body my tummy 953. Name one thing that is beautiful about your mind i try really hard to achieve things 954. Name one thing that is ugly about your mind i hella procrastinate 955. Who was the last person you were rude to? a customer lol bc she was a bitch 956. Are your elbows soft? no 957. Are you ticklish? very 958. Are you awkward or graceful? awkward 959. Do you wear glasses/contacts? glasses. 960. If you wear contacts what’s the longest you have ever left them in your eyes? i used to wear them and it was just for the day 961. What’s going on where you are right now? i’m watching youtube videos and my dad is playing a video game 962. What is your favorite thing to touch? slime 963. What is your favorite kind of incense? i like them all 964. What relaxes you? when my feet or back is rubbed 965. How much time have you wasted? lots 966. How do you afford your rock and roll lifestyle? lol not very well 967. What does teen spirit smell like? axe body spray 968. Do you mostly listen or hear? listen 969. Look or see? see. 970. Do you comprehend all the things you read? i try to 971. Is it necessary to be repetitive in order to be creative? not necessarily 972. Do you control your attitude or does it control you? i control it. 973. Are your relationships mostly passion or conversation? both 974. Do you do what needs to be done regardless of the consequences? not all the time 975. Is money how you keep score? no 976. Who can you do everything or nothing with and still have the best time? jack 977. Just because you’re angry does that give you the right to be cruel? absolutely not 978. What is maturity and where does it come from? it comes from within but it’s deciding to be serious when you could make a joke out of something 979. Who is the maturest person you know? my mom 980. Who is the most immature person you know? my brother 981. If there was a fire and you could only rescue one thing from your room (all people and pets have escaped on their own, even goldfish) what would it be? my computer 982. If you could, what 3 albums would you force everyone to remove from his or her CD collections? 1 2 3 i wouldn’t… everyone’s entitled to their own musical tastes. 983. Does Marilyn Manson scare you or bore you? i like him 984. What do you think of the Insane Clown Posse? they’re a lil weird but i don’t judge 985. What’s the best movie about high school? high school musical? lol 986. Do you like Michael Jackson better in the 80’s 90’s or today? any 987. Is choosing a different store to shop in from most people really making a statement? no 988. What’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done? oh idk 989. Have you ever ridden in a car while the driver had been drinking? no 990. Who needs to get a life? idk 991. Do write on yourself with milky pens? no 992. What should be different about high school curriculum? so many things 993. Right now are you exactly the way you want to be? not really 994. Who can save you from yourself? me 995. Are you a responsible person? i try to be 996. “It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.”— Oscar Wilde Do you agree? no 997. How many greatest hits albums do you own? none probably lol 998. Are you at risk for a.i.d.s.? nope 999. Do you want to have it all? no??? 1000. Do you collect green pictures of dead presidents? lol no

#bored #questions #quiz #survey

[adapted-batteries]

I Want to do Dirty Things with You

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General/sfw

Ship: Castrella

Word Count: 1623

A mysterious letter arrives at the Annex for Cassandra with an...interesting message inside. 

This is my first shipathon fic, and the first time I’ve written Castrella. Hope you guys enjoy!

Also posted to my Ao3.

---

“Oh, Cassandra, a letter arrived today. It’s addressed to you,” Jenkins said as she walked into the Annex for the day. He held the envelope out to her casually while he read a book on the table.

“From who?” she asked, accepting it from him and looking it over. There were no addresses or anything identifying its sender; only Cassandra’s name in pretty black calligraphy on the front.

“Not sure. Someone must have dropped it off in person,” Jenkins replied, not particularly intrigued.

“Ookay then. I wonder what it says,” Cassandra said, opening the fancy wax seal. Inside was a piece of paper, either handmade or specially bought hemp paper, containing the same calligraphy as the envelope. There wasn’t much script, but what was there made Cassandra’s jaw drop and cheeks flush pink.

I want to do dirty things with you, Cassandra.

-Estrella

P.S. Bring a change of clothes, or an overnight bag.

“Did it say who sent it?” Jenkins asked, suddenly quite interested in the letter.

“Oh, uh, it was from Estrella,”  she answered. “Do you mind if I have a personal day?”

Jenkins smiled knowingly, pulling out a drawstring bag that Cassandra kept in the Library if she stayed overnight or needed a quick change of clothes. “Go on and have fun. Tell her I said hello,” he said as he handed her the bag.

Cassandra looked at him, confused as she took it from him. “Why did you have my bag?”

“Estrella may or may not have called the Library to set up the backdoor so she could deliver her letter,” Jenkins answered.

“Did you read the letter?!” she asked, eyes wide in a mix of concern and embarrassment.

“No, no, she actually didn’t tell me anything besides to deliver the letter and have the backdoor ready for you,” Jenkins clarified, raising his hands in surrender as he walked to the backdoor. “I just had a hunch. Go relax, you deserve a break.” He opened the door for her, revealing the glowing blue magic portal.

“Thanks, Jenkins,” she said, smiling. He smiled back, and with no hesitation Cassandra hopped into her favorite place in South Carolina.

Even before she got her bearings after magically teleporting, Cassandra could tell it was a gorgeous day. Birds chirped, the sun shined bright but not overbearingly hot, various flowers and soil scented the air, propelled by a gentle breeze. Once her eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she could see people doing a variety of tasks and activities around the grounds, though she searched for one in particular.

A smile appeared on Cassandra’s face when she spotted Estrella walking towards her. “I was waiting for you in the house, but as always your backdoor moved away, to the greenhouse this time,” Estrella said.

“It does that sometimes, we make do,” Cassandra replied casually, trying not to seem too eager to kiss her girlfriend.

Estrella eyed the bag hanging off Cassandra’s shoulder. “I see you got my message,” she said, stepping close enough to Cassandra to intertwine their hands.

“Yup. What kind of...things...did you have in mind?” Cassandra asked, blushing.

Estrella leaned in and kissed her, light and sweet, before answering. “Let me show you.” She tugged lightly at Cassandra’s hand to get her to walk.

Cassandra assumed Estrella would lead her to the house, but instead they went towards the vegetable gardens. “I’m getting the impression that ‘dirty things’ involves actual dirt,” Cassandra said as they walked past a group of people doing yoga on one of the open spaces.

“You would be correct, for the day anyway,” Estrella teased. “Unless that is you would like to do some night gardening. The moon reflecting off the lake is a spectacular sight.”

“Oh, no, I’m totally fine with not gardening at night,” Cassandra replied quickly, earning a chuckle from Estrella.

“Good.” Estrella let go of Cassandra’s hand as they neared the shed that contained all the tools and such for the gardens. “We get to take care of the cucumber and zucchini today, weeding and checking for pesky beetles,” she said as she stepped in the shed.

“That doesn't sound too hard,” Cassandra said, looking around as she stood outside.

Estrella reappeared at the door, rainbow polka-dot gloves in hand for Cassandra. “You do remember how many plants we had last time, right? They've almost doubled in size.”

“Oh,” Cassandra said, putting on the gloves with reluctance as Estrella disappeared back into the shed for tools.

“It won't be too bad. And afterwards we can visit the spa,” Estrella consoled, this time with garden trowels for both of them and shears in her tan-gloved hands.

“I think that is fair payment for toiling in the sun,” Cassandra said as she took one of the trowels. “Though if I get sunburnt, you have to smother me in aloe gel.”

Estrella closed the door of the shed and started walking towards the rows of large leaved zucchini plants. “If the mineralized water protects me from the sun, I wonder if it would prevent sunburns too.”

Cassandra dawned her thinking face. “In theory, it should, actually,” she determined. “The crystals absorb the sunlight before it can reach your cells. As long as it behaves the same way in...normal people, then it would not only prevent irritation of the tissues but also prevent the formation of thymidine dimers in the DNA, which would make it an effective preventative for skin cancer too.”

“Now that I think about it, I don’t recall seeing anyone red that wasn’t from physical exertion, though I’m not the one to ask. I’m sure the spa would have more knowledge about the state of our guests’ skin,” Estrella said, stopping at the top of one of the rows, smiling fondly at Cassandra.

“What?” Cassandra asked when Estrella made no move to start tending to the garden.

“This was supposed to be a break in your crazy life as a Librarian,” Estrella started, kneeling down next to a plant. Cassandra followed suit.

“So I can’t do science while I’m here? What’s the point of having a soil and plant scientist girlfriend?” Cassandra quipped, nudging Estrella with her elbow.

Estrella laughed in defeat. “Who am I to deny you that.”

---

“How do you manage to look so good?” Cassandra whined, wiping at her forehead with the back of her glove to keep the sweat from dripping in her eyes.

Estrella looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. “What ever do you mean, dear?”

“I’m pretty sure my face must be the color of those tomatoes over there, and I can feel the hair sticking to the back of my neck. Do you not sweat?”

“I can, but it has to be much warmer than it is now, and you would definitely know when I started sweating,” Estrella explained.

It took a second before Cassandra got it. “Oh, well that’s not fun.”

“It is quite unpleasant, and a lot more dehydrating than regular human sweating.” Estrella stood up, slipping her gloves off her hands. “Speaking of dehydrating, why don’t I get you something to drink. I’d rather not have you passing out from heat exhaustion.”

“I prefer not passing out too,” Cassandra agreed. She thought about going with her, but she also wondered if Estrella was going to refresh herself as well, and didn’t really want to see that, so she smiled up at her before looking back down to the dirt to pull out a weed.

A few minutes later Cassandra heard footsteps in the dirt. “Oh good, you’re back. I was getting pretty thirs-” Cassandra cut off, sucking in a breath as somewhat cool water poured on top of her head and back for a few seconds. Eyes wide, she glanced up at her attacker to find Estrella with a watering can in one hand and a thermos in the other. “When you said ‘a drink,’ I assumed you meant for a person, not a plant.”

“The beautiful flowers need a lot of water, right?” Estrella joked, sitting down the watering can. “I did bring you some lemonade though, they just made it.”

“Ooh, ok you’re forgiven for watering me,” Cassandra said, pulling off her own gloves to wipe at the water droplets on her skin.

“I was in trouble?”

“For like, I dunno, five seconds maybe. I can’t stay mad at you,” Cassandra said, taking a sip of the lemonade. “This is so good. I need to come more often.”

“Just for the lemonade?” Estrella asked, looking over at Cassandra with a smirk.

“Ok, maybe for more than just the lemonade…” Cassandra conceded.

Within five minutes Estrella got a taste of her own medicine as Cassandra emptied the rest of the watering can on her.

---

Cassandra found out just how intense gardening could be. Though they only spent a couple hours pulling out stray weeds, occasionally picking off beetles that didn’t smell that great when squashed, a variety of parts of Cassandra’s body were voicing their complaints. Estrella didn’t seem all that pained, though she had been doing this for years, Cassandra remembered.

Thankfully Cassandra stayed sunburn free, perhaps due to the “shower” (she may or may not have rubbed the water into any exposed skin for good measure). The spa was a well deserved treat to her weary muscles.

“I feel like spaghetti...lavender-scented spaghetti,” Cassandra said as they left the spa, her arm entwined Estrella’s. Before she could say anymore, a yawn escaped her lips.

“I don’t normally retire this early, but perhaps I can make an exception,” Estrella suggested.

Cassandra nodded. “Naps, naps are good.”

Estrella couldn’t help but smile at her. “You are adorable.”

“I know,” Cassandra confirmed, smiling at her sleepily.

Estrella couldn’t help but kiss her.

---

Post Notes: Castrella is great guys. Honestly I really want Estrella to be more involved in plot because that retreat is amazing and makes my inner botanist go nuts, plus Estrella is great and makes Cassandra happy so winning all around.

The sunscreen-like property was a random thought in my head, but it makes sense, provided that mineral binds to normal cells, since the cells of the vampires are apparently different. Honestly I’d love to just have mineral water to protect me instead of thick sunblock...summer is a season of suffering for my poor skin, but I still don’t stay inside as I’ve got gardens to tend to.

#librariansshipathon #Cassandra x Estrella #castrella #the librarians fic #the librarians shipathon #cassandra cillian #shipathon17 #estrella #jenkins #cassandrawlwweek #the librarians

[falke-scribblings]

It wasn't farm early, but it was close. Judy could still feel the cool morning air in her ears up here, even with the sun now shining directly on the rooftop.

Everything else felt pretty farmlike, too - the scent of the fresh dirt, and the feel of it running through her fingers. There was even a packet of seeds floating in her vision.

She looked up. Nick was holding out a lumpy parchment-paper envelope with the words green beans scribbled on it.

"Oh, good, you found them."

"Right where you said they'd be. And I brought the cream cheese." He stepped back to let her get to her feet.

Breakfast, as it usually was on weekends, was bagels from Moe's, eaten there on the roof. Judy brushed the worst of the soil off her paws and helped Nick separate the bagel halves.

"Will there be enough?" Nick asked.

"Cream cheese, or beans?"

"Beans."

"Should be just enough," Judy said. "This is fill for the second harvest, right? We don't need as many this time around."

Nick seemed to be counting the beans in the packet anyway. Judy let him doubt her. He was particular about his green beans. These seeds - and the young plants growing in a whole tray all to themselves now - were from the local farmers' market. They weren't her family's seeds, which she would have preferred, but they were way better than storebought. Close enough until she had time to go home and bring some back.

They'd had to expand to accommodate. Green bell peppers, cucumbers, chili peppers, new tomatoes, basil and dill in the corner, and now lots of green beans starting to come in. The rooftop garden was up to three trays, and they were considering adding a couple more. Now they were killing time building little scrap-wood planters for the plastic bins themselves, just so they looked nicer, and Judy was considering edging the lot with more perennials to bring more colors and pollinators around.

For now, though, they sat with their backs to the warming brickwork and munched on breakfast. They had time to take things slow.

"They'll take another month or so," Nick said. "The green beans."

"You're anxious."

"Just hungry." But his tail flipped in amusement. "You know I've wanted to try these ever since we started the garden. They're important to have if you're running one." He pointed. "Like tomatoes."

Judy had wondered, a couple times early on, if Nick had just been doing this to humor her, because it was an excuse to spend time together. The latter was definitely true - he wasn't going to deny that - but he'd also banished any possibility of the former in short order. Gardening was another thing he'd never had a chance to try before, and now he paid such careful attention to their progress. It had become a full-blown hobby for him, too. She'd make a real farmer of him yet.

She knelt next to him at the green bean tray and they went after the little weeds together. Up here, they were nothing serious, but they would compete with their cultivation for water and sunlight all the same.

They both ignored the spade, she noticed, and used their paws to pull out the interlopers and cover the batch of new seeds with dirt. Nick went to fill the watering can from the little tap in the corner.

As he was sprinkling the water in an even pattern over the furrow, Judy's phone rang. Both of them twitched their ears as they recognized the tone. That was an official contact. Judy brushed her paws again and dug it out of her pocket.

"It's the weekend, Fangmire," she muttered, and tapped receive. "Hello, Captain."

"Morning, Hopps. I'm assuming Wilde is with you."

Judy put him on speaker. Nick already had a patient smile at her apologetic expression. "Hey, Cap."

"Guess who Torren just found?"

He wouldn't call them on their days off unless it was Stern, their one lead in the cold case they'd been hammering on for two weeks. Judy put everything else on mental hold and started thinking about their progress again.

"A certain antelope."

"Figured you'd want to know we got an address that matches, finally. We'll have one of the second shift teams go out and bring him in. Unless you want it."

"No, go ahead and send them. We'll be along to the station soon."

"Suit yourself. It's your weekend."

"Our case, too. See you soon." She ended the call.

Nick scratched his muzzle. "What's Torren doing in on the weekend?"

The same thing they would be. She looked at his ears. "Sorry, Nick."

"No, it's okay. Quit it." They came back up, and he put a paw on her shoulder. "You're right and we both know it. We've been working on this one even longer than the rest of them. It's important. A llama got poisoned."

"Yeah, more than ten years ago."

But that gap didn't matter. Judy couldn't ignore the first big break of this case, any more than Nick or Torren or any of the others could. Now it would be cutting into their off time, because they both understood seeing these things through was as much a part of the job as anything else.

She decided their departure could wait, though - at least long enough to finish their watering.

---

Four weeks later, they were almost done.

And while it wasn't the hardest case of their careers so far - that honor went to the Boots fiasco they'd just wrapped up - it had been the longest. Stern had given them leads to the golf course, and the homeowner's association, and a bar down in Meadowlands. It had led them to and old golfing buddy, and a neighbor of the deceased, and even through the offices of a real estate firm that had negotiated two different sales of the house where an old llama had died.

The question, as usual, was who to arrest. All of their suspects had been in contact with the food and drink Derek Harstein consumed the day he died. The toxicology results were all negative for the food. But in all that time, in all those years, nobody had thought to check the silverware itself for DNA traces.

They'd spent most of the time waiting on those forensics checks, each of them entering the back of the queue with every other unsolved death and assault and rape. It was slow going. They'd spent long nights - and more than a few unintentional weekend shifts away from their garden and their time together that was more important than ever - tenaciously chasing leads and checking results against every name on their list of possible suspects. Now, at long last, Judy and Nick had cleared them all, except for one. The long shot.

"I still don't believe it," she said again, in the cruiser as they pulled to a stop. "She sat through days of testimony and interview. ZPD cleared her, and then cleared her again for good measure."

"We weren't there to see it," Nick said. "We're taking the reports at their words, and those reports didn't have DNA evidence to match."

"Okay, but his wife? Really? After all that?"

"Cherchez la femme," Nick quoted. They started up the broad steps. Harstein's widow had moved to a nice part of town, where she now lived in a giant old house as a total recluse. "The girl always has something to do with it. There was insurance involved, right? Mammals have killed each other with poison-laced forks over less, I'm sure."

"You read too many detective stories."

"You and I might as well be detectives at this point." He smiled over at her. "Don't worry. We'll be through with this in no time."

They rang the bell - twice - and waited so long that Judy would have followed Nick back to the car had she not picked up the faint sounds of someone walking around inside.

"Wait. She's in there."

The door creaked, and a positively ancient-looking llama peered out at them from behind thick glasses.

"Oh, hello, officers. Can I help you?"

"Mariel Harstein?"

She looked at Judy. "That's right. What can I do for you?"

Judy held up the warrant paperwork. "We're here to take you into police custody, Ma'am. It's about your husband."

Harstein frowned in confusion. "But my husband died a decade ago."

"We know, Ma'am. The DA would like to ask you more questions."

Harstein blinked. "This is all very strange." She fumbled for the ornate handle and pulled the door wider. "Won't you come in? The tea is on. We can talk about it over refreshments."

"Ma'am-"

But she was gone, turning to take unsteady steps back into the house. They followed, and stared.

Widowing didn't appear to have been kind to Harstein. There was a grand hardwood staircase in the main entrance, an actual dead-trees library through the archway to the right, and a full multi-scale dining room table, set with silverware and glasses for a whole host of guests.

And it was all covered in a thick layer of dust.

Read the rest over on AO3! Sorry to break it up. This one is kind of long.

#Zootopia #zootopia fanfiction #wildehopps #nick x judy